Tag Archives: hang time

Something Like Seven Years Later…

10 Jan

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When you do shows with people, there is this strange familial intensity of time, wherein these (sometime) total strangers, become the people you (for all intent and purposes) live with for two months (or more) of your life.

…And then, the show ends, and that living arrangement breaks up.

…You all go your separate ways…sometimes to OTHER shows with each other later in the season…or in the next…or five years after…or maybe, never again.  But aside from the total transplants and floaters, even if NOT working directly with these actors again, chances are: you’re gonna see ’em.

…See ’em in passing.  See ’em at Opening Night parties, or casting calls, or on stage in other shows. 

…And sometimes you get that little misty spike of endearment pop up, even just in those short moments together…when the chat comes super easy, and the catching up runs a mile a minute, and you both say, “Gawd, why the hell don’t we go out for drinks some time or something-or-other?!?”

…And you REALLY TRULY intend to…

…But then “life” and shows and movies and things happen…like one fucking thing after another (it seems)…

…And then it’s three years later, at the concession stand, waiting for your too expensive glass of bad house red to be poured out, seeing one another again…

…And it’s the same song, and the same dance, to the same tune…because there is obviously a genuine affection and intention there…as you (again) strike up a conversation like it was all yesterday when last you met, and it all ends with the same declarations of “friend dates” and nonsense hang-time in the pending scheduling…

…But it still doesn’t happen.

This occurrence is a regular phenomenon of the theatrical profession. Furious affections can lay dormant for years of time, and be revived immediately at first sight…years and years later…as if waking from a broken spell all of a sudden…like in a fairy tale.

Thankfully, we are (in current day) given the divination of the Facebook Fairy Godmother…so that even if we DON’T see our former family loves for half-decades at a time, we can still keep tabs on them from afar…

…Which (as tonight’s former castie-love, The Prodigal Blonde, pointed out), may be slightly freaky and stockerish…but gets the job done. Cutting out whole former initial necessitated opening lines like:

“Oh wow! How the hell ARE you?!”

“What have you been doing with yourself?!”

“Shut up, what?! You’re MARRIED now?!”

…Allowing us to cut right to the meat of the matter, instead…like:

“My god, it’s been…how long?! You look fantastic! Shut up, and you have a baby now! And that trip you took to France? Those pictures were AWESOME!! P.S. I really love your last headshot sitting!”

…Which obviously helps to make the ABSOLUTE MOST of our precious, cherished moments, whilst finally flung together for a matter of moments (waiting in line for the ladies loo, for instance), so as to not waste even a millisecond of visit time.

The Facebook (and other general social media) has become not only the ESSENTIAL self-marketing and networking tool of the artistic world…it has also helped us to Celebrity Stock our own friends, (as they orbit in the world outside of our immediate own), so that when (by chance), we actually DO manage to meet up for that drink we’ve promised to meet over for about seven years now (or maybe slightly less), we can just immediately get down and dirty to the real poop-hammock story realness of it all…

…Jump right into the deep end of cracking one another up, sparring wits, iknowwhatyoumeaning, and hearing (at least in this instance) that totally hilarious inverted squeak…of The Prodigal Blonde…which is one of the most wondrously definitive laughs of all time

…Immediately sending you back, to that one rehearsal, when you heard it for the first time, snorfled, and said something like:

“Um. What. Was. That. I’ve never heard a human make those kind of sounds. That’s not your REAL laugh. NOBODY laughs like that.”

…Which is how (I’m pretty sure) our whole friend-affair first began, (at least in MY book.)

…The end? infinitely ongoing.

~D

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The BFF Comes Home

2 Jul

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Night with the in-laws, The BFF & Fella.

…Home from her current stint in New Orleans, The BFF has flown in for a few days of play before she kidnaps the fella, perhaps for all of time.  Naturally, we plan on sucking so much joy out of the situation that only mummified carcasses remain at the end.  This should be totally doable as we have managed to achieve it every other time she’s visited from whatever new “abroad” has been her current place of residence.

…It’s like taking a full breath again, whenever she’s around.  A sudden realization I’ve been shallow with them all the other times, when she isn’t.

BFF’s are the sustenance of our lives. A necessary entity, who, from six miles to six hundred away, knows all your best and worst parts, and still loves you.  Even with them. Possibly despite them. Prob’ly because of them.

…Mine falls into that category.

…And I’m so damn shit-eatin’-grin happy to have her back here for all those reasons and more, that I won’t even think about the inevitable leaving and the taking of The Fella with her.

…Instead I choose to focus on the fact that The BFF is back, she’s breathing the same air as me, sleeping under the same sky…and tomorrow: we have a ditch-work lunch date, around two-ish. On the waterfront. Like Broads of leisure.

…With many more shenanigans to follow.

Welcome home, you crazy freak of nature. 

…I missed you, to grossness.

~D

A Buddy Date

27 Oct

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It’s buddy night.

The Fella, “Marty” and I grab beer, Cheetos, and pizza, and put on the Michigan game.

…”Marty” loses her mind as her Alma Mater’s Quarterback is outed on an injury, and all hell breaks loose. She’s jumping up and down, screaming at the TV, baiting the other team’s players with mean commentaries, bitching the umpires out on their calls, and yelling her ass off when any yardage is gained at all. She also yells when yardage is lost, but it sounds totally different from the other scream.

…The Fella might get evicted for this, but seems to be taking it quite well. In fact, I think it’s kinda catching. Cuz half way in, he’s hollering at the TV as well.

…In between plays, they go through all the intricacies of the game for me…using diagrams and dots, with swishing and articulate angles, in a host of examples of plays. I watch, blinking on, as I am not now, nor have ever been the slightest bit interested in Football, and prob’ly never will be. But for some reason, with the level of excitement they wield, and the intensity of their miming and explanations, I start to actually get a little into it all. Surprising, how much they get me to retain before “Marty” commands the game be shut off, end of the last quarter…so she doesn’t have to watch her beloved team “not win.”

…Notice how I didn’t say “lose.” It’s cuz I understand her grief, and I care about her too much for that.

…To try and ease the pain, we then pop on “Halo,” and commence blowing the absolute shit outta things, as therapy. For something like four hours. Then it turns to theatre talks, and chip eatings and tech stuffs and playwrights, and classical vs. contemporary works and how they sell, and why, and which ones we wanna do. It’s nearly two now as I complete this blog, (began earlier in the evening), and we have just finally left The Fella’s and The BFF’s house…nine hours later.

So we had a good day of it.

…Was nice to be back in the apartment again. I hadn’t been since The BFF moved to L.A.. And though I thought it might be kinda sad to go hang out there all night without her…there was no need to think so. She’s all over the place, in the million little ways that people you love always are. I miss her, sure, but it turned into the good kind…because we were thinkin’ about her, she was checkin’ in from time to time, and I know she was stoked that we had hang time together, so The Fella’s inclination to just work non-stop all the time, would get a much needed rest.

At least for tonight.

…If you call us “rest.” Which I really doubt you could. But at least beer was involved.

And now: to bed.

Full run again tomorrow. Early scene workings before the “go.” Need to get some good sleep.

It’s gonna be a long one.

~D

Post On The Move

21 Oct

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I’m taking you with me today. Out into the streets and rehearsal and friend meets and pub hang time.

…Its a sunny fall day in the Metropolis. I’m currently sitting in the UW district, drinking hot vanilla bubble tea (minus the bubbles), waiting for “K” and “A” to meet up. They just finished a 5k for Charity. I just finished brushing my teeth and putting a hat over my gross unshowered hair. Clearly, they are better people than me. This has never been disputed.

…Also, they are more hip and adventurous.

…For instance, I would never suggest consuming Bubble Tea on purpose. Usually, when shit gets gelatinous and gooey at the bottom of a fucking glass, you don’t drink whatever’s in there, cuz its obviously gone bad. But “K” and “A” are like, “Fuck that noise, ya’ll! This shit is delicious! I love chewing what I drink!” (They don’t really talk that way, P.S…but in my head, when I “write” them, they do.)

…Ooo! Bonus! “J” and Mr. Cuteness are enroute as well, I hear!

***Later***

We sit, (they chewing, me drinking), our teas as Mr. Cuteness is passed hand-to-hand. We, all commenting on how big he’s getting, and how red, the red hair has become, now the peach fuzzes have disappeared. He gnaws on me with his sharp new baby teeth, and I keep interrupting the line of conversation to stop and smell him constantly.

…His smell is like nothing else more delicious on earth.

Every time we all get together, it gobsmacks me that for months across this time last year, we were all working on a show together, and he was merely a robust belly bump we all petted and talked to and admired daily. We know this boy more intimately than legit blood family babies. We are his Aunties, and dote and pinch and play and love on him (and Mama), by turn, to ridiculous levels of necessity. Because we cannot help ourselves.

…It’s good to know that kind of pure, total, instinctual love and devotion can exist, in old maidenish, never-want-to-have-children-of-my-own-in-a-million-years, people like me.

…I missed these guys. We gotta figure out our rehearsal schedules to fit in meets between. I only live one block from their theatre, so we should figure something out, I hope. Life gets so busy and complicated, and suddenly it’s two or three months since you’ve seen people that pass your door every day. We need to fix that somehow, I think.

***Later***

A walk. Too good out there to pass it up. I’m already dressed, (and prob’ly smell), so to hell with it! Grab the phone, cue up Pandora and get out it in. Breathe deep. Snuggle into the fleece, zip-up, launch out, crunch leaves and those strange pokey nut thing seeds that go three layers deep and roll all over the pavement, screwing with the joggers who try to step between them. Read the new poem post at that one house. Then back home to shower and motor to rehearsal for final Act 5 review (in which I do not figure largely, so will be all the more able to observe and report back to the yous.)

***Later***

Sun has gone way suddenly, and a spit shower starts. I turn around and speed up back towards home. Two fellas building a trellis stop their band saws and “Hullo” me with matchin’ grins. Brothers, very obviously. I nod back, marching and thumb typing on, wiping the screen by turn, as the smell of wet sawdust follows me on the wind’s breeze.

…Raining harder now. Away goes the phone, as I tug my knit hat down further and push on.

***Later***

Change of rehearsal schedule due to flu-deaths already peppering the cast. We are all in socks and slippers (because the stage floor is being diagrammed for an intricate painting process that we keep fucking up with our shoes.) “M” is in Snookie slippers, marching around being indignant in great swarthes of Shakespearean language, with cartoon feet. My god, I love her so much right now.

…In the lobby, eating cake and BSing on-call, perpetually. Plans have been made for La Palma eats after. And I’m totally ignoring them all in the corner to write this, but they keep wandering over, by turn, to see what I’m doing. Talkin’ shit, you guys. Talkin’ shit. About YOU. Oh the power I wield.

…Off to go play…

***Later***

Line runs to infinity. We are absolutely puking meter in brilliance right now…changing accents by turn, cuz we can. Midwestern, Bronx, Boston, variety of English, and cartoon voices. If theatre shows had outtake reels, they would be twelve times longer than the legit show. And funnier. And grosser. And sexually explicit. And politically incorrect. Which is why we do this shit to begin with. We are encouraged to do things at our job that other people get sued and fired for, at theirs. We may live off condiments and stale popcorn left over in concessions from last weekend’s show, but we have a good time, damn it!

***Later***

Pub time with cast-ies, after fittings. We all order different shit and eat off each other’s plates. The Fella (a particular Ninja check-paying master) grabs my dinner and drinks off the list before I even have time to take my card out. We set a gamer/pizza/movie night together with “M” for next Saturday, (post optional add-on rehearsal), and talk shop the rest of the night.

…By 10:30, I am home, contemplating PJ’s and face-washing. Maybe some book reading. Or I’ll just catch up on my subscription posts. Either way, it’s time for me to get outta these pants, and free-bird from m’bra…so, “Goodnight, say I to the yous.”

…Tomorrow is only a couple hours away, and it’s gonna take all I got, to pretend it ain’t.

Gawd, how I hate Mondays…

~D

How Things Are From Here

6 Oct

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I am counter-acting last night’s chick-fest with a shit ton of James Bond hotness. It’s all about finding totally realistic balance in life, between men who will ride up on a white horse and pine for you, and men who beat the shit out of people while wearing Armani.  This is all I want.  And frankly, I don’t understand why it’s so difficult for the guy upstairs to get it right.

…And speaking of Bond.  How about a hand for my girl, Adele’s, epic leap into all-time cult status for her newest track to hit the “Oops, it leaked” viral rage.  Love it, babe.  Keep ’em coming.

Since last night actually ended mid this morning, spent the better part of the day working myself up to the point where I would be inspired enough to take a shower and get dressed. This happened eventually, around four…after making “breakfast” and finishing my book. Then a walk n’ talk with a bud, and now home to Bond.

…Oh Bond. There is something about men of extremes. Really does it for this dame, I gotta say. Cuz there’s a time and place for the roguish pretty-boy Willoughby, the right moment for the deeply devoted Brandon, and plenty of space for the sexy “I will fuck you up and look hot while doing it” Bond. Manly men. It’s all we want. Am I right?

…This would be the opposite to “M’s” current obsession of grilled-out rappers, who spend all their time pointing at the camera and tossing their dreadlocks like really disturbing shampoo ads. I only know this, as rounding the corner from 3:00 to 3:30, this is what she was playing on her ipad while zumbaing, to a tag-mix with JLo’s latest album. I giggled a lot in between eating chips. (And anything else that wasn’t glued to the coffee table.) Fun was had. It’s how we roll.

…It makes me miss The BFF…who is alive and well and currently residing on the books of Central Casting. And though I have rehearsals to keep me busy, and buddies to keep me company, you can’t replace a person who is “your person.” The Fella and I both know this to be true. It’s hard when other-halfs move two fucking states away…and you can’t just roll back and forth to one another’s houses anymore, for a talk, or do the weekly dinner makings, or go on ‘ventures. You realize how much a PART of your daily life they had become, and how important that family bond is…even though it’s stretching from casting agent offices right now, to me in sweats, tapping away at my blog per usual.

…It’s weird not to smell garlic cooking on the stove simultaneously…or corks popping. It’s weird to have a Saturday and not text almost first thing in the morning: “Dude, whatchu doin’ today?” And weird to not have our usual play-by-play conversations, over a walk, end-of-the-day.

I’m really proud of her to have made such a huge jump to such a different place. And I know she will make of it the best that can be made, cuz the woman doesn’t waste ANYTHING…least of all time, talent, or resources. She’s gonna be okay. And so am I, (in the current new position of private matters I’ve found myself in, since her leaving. ) It’s just…I wish there was a bridge that could be built to fill the gap, a time blip that could be established…so that no matter where on earth your people happen to live, at the end of the day, all it would take is a button pressing to zap you both into the same kitchen (whoever’s that is) and get back to the way things are supposed to be, when catching up takes place.

~D

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