improv yourself.

Though the statistic is being disputed in an upcoming book, it's often said that fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce. I'm not certain which direction that author's research will put the magic number, but I certainly would go up with the offer given how many divorced, divorcing, and divorceable folks I personally know. I even know one couple who hit the judges chambers on the matter just yesterday morning.

I've been there, done that, and got my passport stamped. Mine is nearly three years old at this point. I have noted how we types all seem to flock together, or at least that's the coincidence in my circle of friends. Every Saturday night spent at our favorite pub finds my divorcee wife and I rubbing elbows with a consistent cycle of them. She and I have recently celebrated our one year anniversary. Our nuptials were stacked to the gills with folks who've filed and moved on to greener pastures.

The bright and colorful mystical land of splendor is one possible outcome, but I know a few people who've let the untying of the knot become the bane of their existence, and the source of evermore bitterness. I don't know which is worse, becoming embroiled in the long prison sentence of a stagnant toxin infested marriage or never getting over it. For some it creates intense cynicism and avoidance of relationships of all kinds, for some a continued cycle of the bevy of unresolved issues that marred the previous situation, and for others it allows for unbridled freedom and personal choice.

The key features of an intimate relationship that seem to surface again and again within our culture seem to rely on expectations of overwhelming hard work, petty jealousies, and suggestions that maybe you don't even enjoy your spouse/partner. If these things are true than move the hell on. There's no solid ground to build anything on. It's an emotional sinkhole with no feasible positive result.

The answer is simple, and it comes from an unlikely source: the stage. Sometimes a theatre game, and sometimes the main event, improvisation is a challenging diversion for an actor attempting to hone their skills. Memorizing lines in a script is often the easy part, but going off book and just going with the flow and focusing on the here and now takes far more skill.

The first rule of improv is to never say 'no'. No closes down everything about the scene. It puts up walls for the conversation being conveyed, the joke being set up, or the story that is being told. It grinds the gears to a half. The energy, wit, and creativity of even the weakest playtime improv ceases with answers in the negatory. There's nowhere to go.

The same can be said for relationships. The ground rules of, dare I say, traditional relationships is rife for the planting of the big ol' flag of NO. There simply must be nothing more enjoyable than to limit your partner or yourself from partaking of what life has to offer. This is why marriage, especially, gets a really bad rap. I think it's because most are too foolish and abiding to live it on their own terms, and with freedom, exploration, and a wingin' it regard to what they should do instead of what they truly wanna do. Don't try to control it, don't schedule it, don't set yourself up to fail. Set yourself up to win every single day.

act two

The more you are motivated by love,
the more fearless & free your action will be.
◊ Dalai Lama XIV

The last show I directed premiered one year ago, last night. Each and every aspect was a struggle and a fight, that left me longing for a different venue, another collection of board members, and some goddamned dignity. The core group of artists who did ultimately wage the waves with me without jumping ship command my utmost respect.

For a short time, I contemplated submitting a show for the theatre's consideration. Over the past nine months, in fact, I was asked time and again: Are you doing anything next season? What are you directing next? What's your next show? I thought about submitting something partially out of habit and mainly out of yearning to spray my creative juices all over something else.

After the mistreatment the general populace of the behind-the-scenes hacks offered the brilliant piece of theatre I assembled last time out, it appeared the only way to garner their attention and notice was to play it straight and way too safe. It seemed that grit and perversity were much too worrisome for their little minds to take on.

I thought about a few shows that their high school esteem could cheerlead behind that I could likewise add my own particular brand of spice to. I also had my moments of fuck-all, as I reconsidered shows like the unsettling 1979 work, Bent or anything that no one else in this town would have the balls to attempt. But there was nothing I could concieve of putting my blood, sweat, and tears into that wouldn't feel like I was wasting my time for a bunch of amateurs and a likely tainted prospective audience.

Oh, and I suppose there was the little fact that I was getting married. As the year passed, I came to realize such an event shares many attributes with putting on a show.

• BUDGET ($$$) - Whether you love it or hate it, money is a key component to any major undertaking. On previous plays I have done, the above theatre in question offered a reimbursement amount between 200 and 250 dollars, which would presume that a quality show could be put on for that precise amount. I have always disagreed. At ticket prices of ten dollars a pop, I don't believe that amount of moolah can put together squat which would warrant such an entry fee. I was able to pull off the last show for somewhere in the realm of 850 dollars, but the actual retail value far exceeds that given how many things were given to it pro-bono, to say nothing of a fair amount of DIY, which seems the proper buzz word for putting a little freakin' pride into the proceedings. I highly recommend putting yourself into everything you do, regardless the available funds. This is certainly the direction my bride and I took our nuptuals. It doesn't hurt, either, that we are both highly creative individuals who are also really good with money.
• LOCATION - As a wedding is essentially a limited engagement production, finding just the right scene for the folks in question is key. Working the theatre I have for so many years always made the choice an obvious one, but now that things have changed finding another option takes a lot more fore-thought and internal examination. I remember watching Paul Thomas Anderson's masterpiece Boogie Nights in a dingy, piss smelling, grungy dollar theatre that made my boots stick on impact. It was the right place to experience that grimy flick. The choice of venue for a wedding can easily link hands with the tone of the show. We took the better part of our eight month engagement to discover just where our show belonged. Ultimately we decided upon a ceremony venue that accepted our unboxable religious and spiritual belief cornicopia and lent itself to being a place embraceable by each person in attendance. Our reception space was the harder fought decision, which quickly became the obvious answer to the query. We decided on our favorite pub, an establishment with a history itself and for us, positioned on a street corner of much significance.
• PROMOTION - What's the point of putting on a show if no one knows about it? In this new speak age of Facebook and the changed dynamics of social interaction, the release of relevant information was highly considered. In ways we are quite old school. We quietly became engaged and shared the information with close family and friends before presenting the big reveal on the social drone machine. After that we dropped zero hints about any ounce of wedding planning or other adventures we were having, so the few handfuls of people who received our inventive invitation package in the mail by July were understood to be an exclusive lot, and the one-of-a-kind invite was in limited supply.
• CASTING - One can never spend too long in casting. I know from being involved in poorly cast situations. From the month of our engagement until the last few invitations were licked shut and mailed, my fiancee and I toiled over the guest list. Having been harshly shown the true colors of so many so-called friends over the years, we were more assured of the value of people who could see through all of the filth, all of the lies, and were worthwhile participants in our life ahead, as opposed to pawns for someone else's agenda or disingenuous soulless duds. A few additional flies would ultimately drop from view once it became time for the processional. The people who showed up, and gave it their all, and the ones who could not be there but certainly were felt from afar are the ones who continue to hold an invitation to the exclusive inner circle. The rest can sod off.
• SCRIPT - As a self-professed writer, words are significant to me. The tone of a script is often what draws me to material that I would like to share with an audience. The words are important, but so are the spaces between words that draw moment for reflection. Standing in front of our friends and family we heard more than a few people say 'wow' or the like. And there were even welcome moments of levity. The overall response was powerful.
• MUSIC - Music makes all the difference. I don't know if it's related to the choice of music that plays within a movie, at the workplace, in the car, or at a party. If the tone is set inappropriately or arbitrarily, the choice will be the production's undoing.
• COSTUME - If I learned a strong lesson from my first play, I say always have a costumer. Make sure it's their only job. I would certainly contend that my bride and I were the snazziest looking folks at the wedding. It would have been a disappointment if that were not the case. We set down ground rules after that. Everyone needs to wear what they're comfortable in, with the expecation of Florida weather and dancing. Without fail everyone looked like themselves. So much of what goes on inside of each individual was exhibited in their choice of attire. And humorously no one looked like they were going to the same place. The last show I did demanded the actors in essence dress themselves. They were advised to dress like their characters. They were concerned they'd just look like themselves, but in truth they found parts of themselves in their characters and wore that.

(219)

= 64%

π challenge.

On November 11th, 2011, I began a new blog challenge, as a means to further hone my photography skills and to place additional pressure on myself to become a tad more prolific. The challenge is simple and open-ended: post 314 newly taken pics in one year's time.

(as of this posting, I just passed #201)

My earliest memories flash before me like a photographic flipbook. This is much like an occasion when a dream is being recalled. The brief bursts of significant moments reveal themselves a few at a time. As we retell it we weave it into something else entirely - a new thing. It's got some structure and it's got flow, unlike the film school avant-garde of our more daring dream space. Our brains don't require this as we sleep. I believe this is something pertinent to our awakened state, however.

When something already exists, we tend to take it a little bit for granted. It becomes part of our pre-packaged idea of how things are. Our recognition of the things that are and the things that seem not to be become very distinctive. This is why a moment like riding your bike out of eyesight of mom or off the block entirely is something I recall being quite powerful.

It's the realization that something more exists. And this something is far more captivating than what is present now. Many people fear it. Expanded horizons are so full of unknown. We don't tend to partake of very much unknown, since the known looks so good on our mantles just the way it is.

Ultimately this creates stagnancy. It breeds unpleasant relations that harbor resentment and complacency.

I was given my first quality camera when I graduated high school. Before that I had borrowed the family 110 camera or would use that cheap 35mm I was given for an eighth grade overnight field trip. My true passion was filmmaking, but I made the most of the point-and-shoot experience I had with this above average 35mm with adjustable settings.

This was a time that pre-dated even the most primitive household digital cameras by several years to say nothing of social media. It was a time when people would still shy away from the lens of a camera. I wonder if it has anything do with the contemporary instant ability to veto shots as they come.

Whatever the case, this was a particularly formative period for my creative juices. As an aspiring filmmaker, I saw photographic images as pieces in a larger visual puzzle. At least that was my hope. But my comfort level and skills were still at such a pedetrian level, I was a long way from connecting meaning into my pictures.

Since that time, I have actually had the chance to create extensively, in a variety of forums. It took me a long time to recognize the fact that no one project really had any more importance than any other. For an artist, what matters ultimately is a body of work.

The debacle from one year ago at my theatre led me to turn my back on the place that did me likewise. As is the running theme of the past couple years, I have grown up far beyond what it currently offers. There are other horizons for my artistic contributions.

Toward the end of last year, during a year when my writing had been at a particularly prolific high, I decided I wanted to tune up my photographic powers as well. So many people who post on blogs have attempted to knock out a picture a day for a years time, or some variation therein. I am not like most people. I decided to be honest with myself and curtail the number of pictures to 314 (based on π, which carries certain significance for me) within the span of one year.

As of this post, I have posted 201 pictures to this challenge. (Sure, there are a few freebies along the way that I haven't applied to this for one reason or another.) Even though they may at first seem like a potpourri, scrolling along should tell a number of continuing stories, full of my usual dose of subtext.

I also feel that I have become far more comfortable with creating something from nothing. Most of these pictures were taken completely on the fly.

Sometimes overthinking can ruin the best things.

(-113)



an in

I was recently told a theory on memory. Pick a year from your life. Now try to recall x, y, z details about it. Each recollection is said to unlock another piece, until you really start to uncover key parts of the story.

Sure, not all of life is worth reliving. At least not our own. There's too much pain, too much uncertainty, too many dead ends, but living it secondhand through the words, images, or sounds of those works that we return to again and again. That's not a problem. It's vicarious living. And it's safer.

I am sure you've done this. You've found yourself flipping through television channels, stumbling upon a familiar movie well on its way. And then you get caught up. You might have even been watching something else, currently on a commercial break.

A story well-told unfolds in such a fashion that each piece overlaps the last as well as the following. The mosaic it paints makes so much sense that we become enwrapped within it. This is true of books, movies, theatre, or even within our favorite music. Each time through we begin to recall how perfectly the next part follows.

The pieces of our life make similar sense, in retrospect. Each event eclipses the next. Over time, the more we look inward, the more noticable the saga becomes. If the universe can be expanding then the same can be true of our human lives. Personally, I can see it on my slight scale how each piece of my life has led to the next. Even simply reading back through this blog, new things reveal themselves. What's revealed and what's absent certainly tells quite a tale.

One of the key shifts I've recognized is a change in dynamics. Each person who enters and leaves our life readjusts the tone of it. We all can have such great affect on one another, whether positive, detrimental, or somewhere in between. Like attracts like, separating the honest from the false. Old friends return, holding new meaning. New friends are created as families expand.

And thus, we enter a new chapter.

(190)

interpretation obscene

If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character...Would you slow down? Or speed up?
~ Chuck Palahniuk

(189)

attention whore

Babies don't know any better. Everything is new and scary to them, so they make the three noises that they've figured out at the two distinct volumes they've discovered. It's not their fault when their voice shows up in the middle of a movie, or a flight they shouldn't be on, or from the corner of a low-toned dining room.

Children who develop a scene in the checkout line between a irritable sibling or because of a wanton candybar haven't been shown a better resolution to their seemingly serious issues. These temper tantrums are normal, at least for a short while. Eventually we're supposed to grow out of this phase. The drive to push at the boundaries until the punishment in return is extreme enough that we stop is supposed to end.

Some adults simply don't let it. In the movies, they are often the show-offs, they are the people who sing their praises louder than everyone else, they are the people who need to prove something. They are the character we love to hate.

In real life, though, they are often two faced folk, full of sordid excuses for their failings. These weaknesses, whether directly noted or not, are always the fault of other people: parents, exes, siblings, friends, the government, or the cops. Someone else was always in the wrong, whereas they just sat there and took the beating in peaceful response like the perfect specimen that they are. After all they are never ever doing harm unto others.

The emotional environment and dramatic tone of any given place is always altered for their display. These big babies overfill their messy diapers with discontent and call for attention and admiration. The are overactors who need to have all eyes on them. They demand it, not command it. It's not since they're all that special. It's because they're twirling around that proverbial idiot glowstick in the middle of a darkened venue. And for some reason we're supposed to give them a pass.

(184)

no anchor

Drama.

What a loaded phrase: drama.

It lies there as if in all caps, screaming its way through our walls, dripping discontent into our breakfast cereal, and coming out our very pores as the day burns on, sploshing onto the heels of passersby.

DRAMA.

It's a TV Guide descriptor for 57% of everything fictitious. Here we have common life, love, and war in a nutshell. Ta-da, it's drama. The stage is rife with passing out it's pamphlets. And the news. You guessed it: real-life drama.

It makes for terrific viewing. Yeah, most especially when it's not yours.

I used to warm myself by it's fragrant campfire. It was all consuming, overwhelming, and a ritualized madness. It travels in packs, spreads like a virus, and is predictably the drink of choice of lovers and sexually frustrated strangers. And if you're not careful, it'll get on you. It's something to be decoded and navigated.

It's often complicated.

That's the phrase that gets bandied about these days. It becomes the euphemism for the ill-equipped to move on, too lazy to move out, still fishing for apologies, tentatively expecting some leftover guilt-pussy, or whatever other unhealthy activity behooves one or both parties in this former relationship. The remains of this thing, or this fling, gets dragged about like gum stuck on the bottom of a shoe from seventeen and a half feet ago. There's just a vague suggestion of connection. But the truth is it's just dried spittle stretched dental floss thin that only looks like the solid entity you thought you saw.

These dramas swirl around the worlds of my friends and compatriots. And it's hard to miss, whether or not I'd like to tune in.

It's so much more important to not mourn the relationship, but to celebrate the freedom, the chance to strip off all of the layers of regret, disappointment, selling out of yourself, your character, your every desire that got overshadowed by the ill-shapen object that was this failed memory. Something dies when a relationship ends. Great. Let it.

It's best to rocket off to a place of healing. Don't get messed up at the bottom of a pint of Ben & Jerry's. The end was nigh for far longer than most people give themselves credit for: it's the rote memorization of the things to say, the empty feelings you have toward anything they have to say, the overall boredom, or the guilt feels for leaving them alone with your friends. Don't make a career of it. Get out!

I've known people who never got over their ex, that one ex. They never let themselves get caught up to the present day. They continue to leave that door open for them to re-enter: a year, five years, ten, or more down the road, thereby continually rotating through the same cycle, meeting the same failure, again and again.

Why do we of the human persuasion continue to do it? Why does it take so much time, so much effort to realize that being honest with ourselves is key? The rest will follow.

Just let go.

(171)

testing. testing.

We've removed the ability to reason from the people who are supposed to be in charge. ~ Adam Carolla

Sometimes the best thing to do is take life as it comes. Life is after all a particularly specialized form of live theatre. The heat of the lights are always on you, someone is always watching, and that mistake may turn out to be a happy accident. But there's no need to beat yourself up over that missed cue. Move along. There are more interesting things coming up.

That said, I haven't written here in some time. In fact, I have barely posted anything during the last several months. I have simply been too busy with work to have a moment to bother with it. I'm only now having the chance to breathe, to collect my thoughts.

Here's a little story. Some of it will be familiar. Some of it won't.

I work for a big, steadily failing ninety year old corporation. Let's call them the Loathe Shack. They've got a piss poor reputation, and when I first applied I was surprised they were still around. Of course I get hired there. For some reason every other place in town has passed me by on multiple occasions, but this joint scoops me up on first go. I figure it'll be a good bridge out of my fascist previous job and toward whatever the universe promotes next.

I counted wrong. I'm still there. And I've watched as floor slave after sales sucker has come and gone. And I've watched as manager after manager leaves either with a jumbo grab bag of filched items or within a moment's reach of insanity. It's kind of a sucky place to work.

But I'm a writer and an observer and I have a bit of a masochistic streak in me. I also happen to be terribly good at it. I'm not trying to be immodest. It's just an underpaid job with an ever expanding job description, overwhelming demands and expectations, and very little reward, but I work really well under such pressures and constraints. Plus I just happen to work at the store wherein a reality show could easily take place. And I don't mean the fabricated kind. I mean the pseudo-documentary sort. The lunatics, nimrods, and characters who cycle through make it worth the commute. I do have a love-hate relationship with the whole mess. And I get bored at jobs that keep me chained to doing two or three different things and only those, conveyor belt style.

So, what should happen when yet another manager's head explodes? Well, since I was already doing half of their job anyway, I stepped up to the plate, dusted off my distaste and said I'd watch over the place until someone else was hired. No one else was going to fix the situation, after all. It didn't take long for the whole thing to start fitting quite well. It became clear to the higher ups that I meant business, and that this guy isn't the usual fly by night slacker they usual stock their ranks with. They were listening! And receptive and open to offering me the store.

For the last three months I have overseen our little shack through a bevy of tidal waves and morale quicksand. I inherited a completely messed up lil' shop that soon swelled up with every problem under the sun, but I helped pull the place through it all.

So, what thanks do I get? I get the left field surprise return of the store manager who hired me, who has a fused temper the size of flaccid rubber and who I distinctly recall being forced to resign in lieu of actually being fired. This woman has bounced between a handful of jobs in the meanwhile. (Let go from each, by the way.) And now I am given the unpleasant task of teaching her how to do the job I have been doing so I can play second fiddle while I theoretically wait for another store to open up.

Everyone can't stand her. Our vibes live in different countries. No one has any idea how this egotistical show-off who was previously running the place into the ground could have been the better choice, but there it is. This job isn't my calling. I am terrific at being in charge of complex efforts. I suppose this is not really one I want that badly. I could do with a bit more respect than I've been shown, but it is what it is.

The universe clearly has other plans. Therefore, I play along.

(166)

apples. oranges.

Today is the last day to submit a play for the 2012-2013 season at the local theatre I have contributed to for the last six years. The selection committee in all their glory will be reading plays and over-involved submission questionnaires between now and March to come up with next year's playlist. My name will not be among them.

I contemplated this at length, and realize that the behind the scenes horror that raped the last play into memorable obsolescence has left me with far higher expectations for those I wish to depend on while trying to undertake the challenging works for which I have become known.

Although I still have a list of plays that I would like to present in the dark, intimacy of a stage like that, whether they be squirm-inducing thinkers or my twist on more conventional titles, I don't think it's worth it when confronted with large children with their petty jealousies, sturdy egos, and narrow minds like the brood running the place these days.

(70)

good luck

The most recent play I directed closed two months and twelve days ago. The production was an intense, trying experience fraught with battles of egos, wits, and sensibilities. I have directed three plays now, and I learned a boatload professionally, artistically, and personally from each piece.

The theatre has already been making the call for show submissions for its 2012-2013 season. I have been contacted directly by folks hoping I'll submit a show, yet I still sense the flavor of that bad taste left from this last show. This moment feels like the sheer definition of dilemma.

I have until January 15th to sort out my decision.

(47)

ice storm

This past weekend, I spent a glorious Saturday at a high school on the north Florida coast judging the regional Thespian competition. I have been doing the same for the last three years. This was my favorite session, containing the opportunity to watch and critique nine straight hours of a total of sixty-one scenes having a cast of two.

After a 5AM caffeine-induced musically eclectic back roads trek, I arrived at the heavily populated and intensely hormonal grade school and made my way to the sign-in area. Immediately I felt the tailored shoulder of an old friend, as he leaned in to me with a good ol' dude hug. This particular guy has been sadly distancing himself from me since the predictable aftershocks of my divorce. We have a bevy of under-resolved issues that might not be worth pursuing. On his coattails was another long gone close friend whose level of disrespect over time still reeks in the occasional air we share. He and I had a total of seven words.

The day also gave me the chance to become completely enthralled by two teenagers doing great justice to a five minute scene from Angels in America, in what my panel deemed the best piece of the day.

(41)

tire rotation

Because things are the way they are,
things will not stay the way they are.
- Bertolt Brecht

Four weeks ago the doors shut hard on my most recent production. This show came and went so fast, I am still recovering from the whole experience it unearthed within me. In my effort to branch out and find undiscovered, challenging material brought with it a tornadoes worth of wonderful. The disarray it caused has offered a healthy opportunity to express things artistically that have been lodged deep within. Voyaging along the unexplored paths of full-on, deft, human comedy has allowed for layers and layers of actual drama to be shorn off, bagged up, and toted away.

The other night I pulled into the parking lot at the local hybrid high school for a theatrical production, feeling vaguely like a parent showing up to support a child's endeavor. Many colors shade the support of a friend:

2 pints want
1 cup obligation
1 tbsp. need
1/2 tbsp. urging
1 tsp. reciprocation
a splash of just because

It was a production of To Kill a Mockingbird, for which my friend did the costumes and make-up. It wasn't quite the amateur hour production I was expecting, having seen my share of teenage Thespian standards, however it did have plenty of awkward moments. It has been said that a weak play needs strong actors to nail, but a great work can be done justice by anyone. If this play fits into the second mold, then it seems surprisingly safe for our current era and almost downright stale and dated. The show had its good moments and my lady love and I picked out our favorite couple of young performers, who probably shouldn't give up the dream.

However, from my viewpoint, taking up the most prominence on stage was an 8 x 8 x 4 foot platform placed at upstage center. It was used to convey an old woman's front porch and the second act colored section of the courtroom. It was hard to look at that chunk of beautifully painted and constructed wood without seeing the lead actor from my most recent show writhing uncontrollably atop our support actor to the subtle tones of Sinéad O'Connor's I Want Your (Hands on Me) during the naughty and hilarious bedroom scene in our show.

If you allow your gaze to open to it, there are hidden depths and unexpected charms to be found in most anything. I find it's like synchronizing your proverbial watch with life. The world expands if you want to see it. Things take new form and new meaning, whether from the simple act of pragmatic sharing of set pieces or from allowing things their own organic reformation.

bite me

Halloween lurks just beyond the other side of the weekend. It breathes across the nape of my neck, offering itself inside out and exposed with chills and the allure of things forbidden and dark. My beloved and I have been devouring more than our share of the unsettling, the offensive, and the creepy, given both our propensities toward the strange, the dark, the twisted, and the visceral. This cinematic marathon has been a welcome change of relaxation, though heightened and enticing, following the close of the play. My literal season of theatre, drooping end to end across the full length of summer has been gnawing at me ever since we closed.

This part of October offers the opportunity for many to don a mask, a costume, or a disguise. Often times the inner beasts of our souls come out, as quiet waives bare their inner whore, I.T.s show off their true comic doppelgangers, executives' ties becomes nooses, and others merely continue to speak from alternating sides of their mouth.

As the third show of the season opens at the theatre, the larger picture of the behind-the-scenes dramatic flow is evident. The first show received much notice, as it launched the season and was directed by the promotional chair of the theatre and was easy to swallow Jell-O for the local blue hairs and nostalgic set. The new show has gotten additional press, promotional push by the aforementioned idiot senior who shat all over mine, as well as the theatre as a whole who seemed bewildered and distracted while mine was in production.

Watching all of these primarily under-appreciated cult classic films, my recent play experience feels akin in many ways. Frankly, my small core team and I put on one hell of a piece of theatre. The fact that so many people missed it is a loss I am resistant to remedy, even though I did film two of the best performances. There is a call to share it with many of these folks at a favorite local hang-out, but my figurative middle finger goes up in response.

This show didn't need to be the commercial bomb that it ended up. The common expression leans toward a ball being dropped, but in this case we were on the loosing dodgeball team, getting constantly plummeted. So, much like the hasty manner in which we were instructed to tear down our set following the last show, the theatre has moved on to its new baby, wiping away clean the memory of this recently aborted one.

As I walked through the dim, quiet theatre taking clinical pictures of my set before the last weekend, I could still feel the energy of the space that continued to draw me in. I crave and feast on the creative, exploratory moments shared in this venue. These walls can certainly speak louder than any of the people currently inhabiting them, as the building is the only consistent part of its thirty year history.

The fear that guides so many away from the dark recesses of the human spirit are the same ones that people consistently seek out around this time of year. Making so many people uncomfortable, so uneasy, and so out of their element (in some cases, in life changing ways) will be what I can take with me from all of this.

in digestion

Every commentator gets their chance to have a post-show wrap-up. They're used for sporting events, fashion functions, and political debates. They come in many shapes, sizes, and hues, but they are all the opportunity for one voice to suggest the overall meaning, quality, or key points. They are the conclusion paragraph to the proverbial high school essay.

Monday night, my play's debriefing was held at the theatre.

My stage manager went back to wearing her Presidential cap, as she, my show's sexy, second in command, and I sat awaiting the arrival of anyone else. The next show's set is in stark contrast to mine, with an empty black stage save an over-sized desk. The lighting was harsh and dropped shadows on Mrs. President, who chose to sit behind the desk instead of any of the other ninety-eight seats in the building.

The technical director of the theatre showed up after we had already begun our discussion. I am not sure if it was a discussion, in the clearest terms, though. A cast member and friend of mine suggested it be less debriefing and more dissertation.

Given all of the battles I faced during the production of this show, whether from outside forces, the theatre itself, or any of the other folks in the room, the four pages of notes I prepared were all intended to steer directly clear of anything that could be construed as personal attack. I have come to discover that the timing of this show was poor, the conflicts of most of the theatre's Board members was notable, and I decided to let it slide that many were having an off three months when it comes to offering aide, support, and common courtesy.

So, I had pages of thoughts, observations, and suggestions that I - as a seasoned director at this theatre - felt could help other productions this season and in the future. Many of these were echoed by the technical director, who also happened to be my key set doctor on the show. Was the response of our supposed esteemed-so-nominated-for-a-local-leader-award President to jot these things down to give them their due, consider them, or even table them for the following night's Board meeting? You can probably discern the answer from the phrasing of the question that the answer is a big fat NO.

No, let's not sit back and digest it more. Let's not take any of the perspective of one who has just been to war to help better arm the troops in the future. We'll go ahead and simply get defensive, proving that this meeting was scheduled in hopes to receive endless streams of accolades and praise for how smoothly everything is running compared to year's past. The fact of the matter is that the disorganized, pseudo-leader-free days functioned in similar fashion, albeit two differences: fewer rules and fewer people wearing big titles.

bitter. sweet.

Look around me
I can see my life before me
Running rings around the way
It used to be
-Wasted on the Way (Graham Nash)

As the darkest of storm clouds gathered above the theatre, the cast and crew of the show disassembled the tangible pieces of our play, packing things away and cleaning up the remnants of our short-lived presence there. Under the shadow of the approaching rain, a palpable sense of urgency to clear out and move on was felt by all.

From a numbers position this show was a total failure. One can never fully grasp the why of failings, but it doesn't hurt to ponder. Our three weekend schedule was up against big name plays, a hippie music fest and other local concerts of note, Gator home games, and the like. Following all of the controversy that started up the rehearsal process, the theatre attacked my show with kid gloves and blinders, most notably the so-dubbed Promotions Chair person. The lonesome task of promoting the show with everything else fell quite heavily on my henchwoman and myself, yet even those efforts wore through with holes as positive Facebook event respondents with familiar names (friends, acquaintances, and frequent enthusiasts) ultimately numbered fifty plus in no shows. The mind becomes boggled by streams of disappointment.

Then again, from a creative standpoint, I feel this play was the most assured work of my career. Though I bypassed the budget several times over, straight from pocket, I put every red cent on the stage in highly tangible ways. The audience was instantly engulfed by a set that offered nothing extraneous, but set tone, suggested what was to come, and sold itself as a livable space. The production also offered me the chance to work with actors in new ways I hadn't explored before, thus helping us create an ensemble cast dynamic of actors who knew their characters inside and out, and shared much underlying chemistry with those they've supposedly known for the better part of twenty years.

Oh, how quickly our show's flame flickered out. Our swan song may have been the strongest performance of the whole run, as choreographed and tailored stage elements properly aligned with audience response. It was one of only a couple occasions that we received standing ovations. The production had been pinned down and against many an odd for such an extended period of time, only to be cut off at the knees as it began to rise, dusting itself off, building up confidence and steam. This beast of a show was tranquilized before it could truly have a profound impact. The old philosophical quandary about a tree falling in the forest would apply well to this one.

primal scream.

I learned long ago how burning bridges can be akin to professional suicide. For a lot of these nosedives I have fortunately been on the sidelines, observing, taking in the lessons others couldn't see plowing straight toward them. There's one industry friend of mine who I worked with on several projects who has never conveyed a single negative word about any show that has come along the pike. I have often seen this position as living in shameful denial while reaping the benefits of experience and a steadily bubbling résumé.

Tonight begins the final weekend of my play. There will be three more performances, and then this temporary dysfunctional family will scatter to the wind, focusing on other things, memorizing new pure moments, locking another one away in the mausoleum of memory. For a show so intimately about the nuanced and the obvious flavors of food, sex, love, and life, the absolute last thing I want to do is leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth about this unfortunately rushed but tightly woven experience. Once all of the warts are scraped away and the animal is skinned, what lies beneath is a work of art to make one proud.

I have such apprehension about the whole debriefing meeting set to occur on Monday evening. To quote the play: 'why are you asking me to criticize you?' I think the world already has far too many meetings, conference calls, and jam sessions, that a pow-wow with this forced outsider can only have a couple of extreme results, either possibly pounding on principles or on future opportunities. The iBoss died this week. I feel that the previous week he was loathed, yet in death he's a prince, a champion of our entire culture. Clearly no one can play it straight. No one can comfortably speak their mind. There's always merely a time and a place. My mom would always refer to that as picking your battles.

What's the answer? The Zen in my motorcycle maintenance has me taking deep breaths. I have seen this show develop so organically that I feel as if I can easily deconstruct it all down to its finer points, whether it be the dispositions of others or each layer of every metaphor. One must occasionally wonder about how far reaching ripples can be felt. My opinions are strong, but perhaps the bravest thing to do is add another line to my résumé and move on. Sometimes the best thing you can do is let people discover things at their own pace.

sacrificial lamb

it is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors
- Oscar Wilde

I'm not a particularly political person. I don't get energized by things the government does, by elections, by political rally, or by seeing talking heads in pressed suits exchange rehearsed ideas on C-SPAN. I have tried in the past to make my voice heard. It hasn't always been my voice, but the prescribed one given to those I was surrounded by - the assumed, popular position. But honestly it's simply not my bag. I'm glad for political uprisings over the years, giving votes to those who need now rock it, and the like, but politics are simply not my arena.

Though reasonably apolitical, I have a strong definition of ethics, boundaries, and principles. It comes as no surprise that there would be a literal sacrificial lamb in my current play. I think most people simply play politics. In the same way I work for a giant corporation (Radio $hack - so you don't have to scroll back through) who have been in existence in some fashion for ninety years, I am but a peon way the hell down the food chain. Some months ago they tossed out a survey about the overall conditions of the job for all employees to take, should they wish. Since we had to log in to the computers to take it, I can hardly guarantee the anonymity of the affair.

yin. yang.

The first weekend of the show simply flew past.

The opening night left me in a bit of daze. Going out for drinks, appetizers, and inadvertantly the twentieth anniversary of Nirvana's Nevermind record capped off the show's coming out soiree. I leaned between blissful enjoyment and deer in headlights shock that the presentation as a whole didn't fully meet my desire. The second night was brilliant. The audience was on fire, the difficulties only I saw on the first night were ironed out, and I finally got a glimpse of damn near the show I soldiered to put on in the first place.

And yesterday was our matinee. Few involved with this dark, twisted, adult show felt the theatre should have scheduled us for a post-church hour matinee, but there three of them sat on the schedule of our mere nine show run. The house was miniscule. For a bit I was beginning to worry we would have no one show, because the rain would keep them away, all of the other conflicting events would pull them elsewhere, or that the thought of mid-afternoon erotism amidst all of the Blue Laws would have them running for the hills. Though the audience was quiet, they were mostly pleased with the show. I saw plenty of soft bits of laughter, smiles, and pleasurable tittering. Everyone put on one hell of a good show, despite the turn-out.

There was even one old, crotchetty man who stuck it out. He moved seats after intermission and sat pouty and full of grimace. Most people dealing with his level of discomfort, displeasure, or disappointment - whatever it was - would have left during the intermission. The rough shows I have done are well-known to lose people during intermission. Assessing the room at the start of show offers plenty of chance to figure out who it might be. I can't for the life figure out why he hung out. I take it as a badge of honor that he took the opportunity to tell one of my show's personnel that it was 'the worst play' he'd ever seen. Extreme response demands emotional impact. I am not in the least offended. I just know I did my job. On the opposite end of the spectrum, I arrived home to discover an on-line review that offered overall glowing, albeit brief, observations about the show, including one that referred to me as 'amazing'.

Now I have the chance to bring life back to a sense of normalcy, slowly declutter the apartment, and pull all focus away from the art of the thing and instead take some of this freetime to promote the hell out of it. What's the point of putting on such a divisive play if only four handfuls of people are going to get a glimpse?

human behaviour.

Summer has come and gone. The boys of summer have packed up their gear and shuffled back to reality. Yesterday was the first day of fall, as well as the opening evening of my play. The appropriately titled Hell Week did not fail to meet its inherent demands. My last minute set doctor, if you will, came down with what was thought to initially be strep throat. My sound designer continued to miss the mark, offering half-hearted cues, leaving me to assemble everything show worthy by myself. And my lackadaisical stage manager decided to finally bring her 65% to the party as well as loads of very unattractive personality hues. Every tech night of the week felt like a marionette show of a sort, as getting people to communicate with one another without my urging or to notice obvious problems without my shining a light on them became all too common.

For this whole show I have been spread thin holding my faith in others, but then spread even thinner as their investments were shown to be fleeting. If I knew I would need to do nearly everything from the beginning, including in some cases doing actual basic thinking for people, I would have prepared many things prior to the point of being nearly too late. I gave my cast a black-out night on the evening before the show. I was not fully satisfied with the results of our full dress rehearsal, but since only one of the actors had become privy to all of the odds I have been working against this whole time, the last thing I wanted to do was keep my cast around while final touches were being put to the set and the tech department. Overworking my actors or letting their morale or energy levels waiver too much works against the success of performance and the show in my mind.

Our first night's house was medium-sized and reasonably responsive during the performance. We got a slew of exceedingly positive critiques. The cast nailed their performances, and as expected pulled out punches I knew they were saving for a paying audience.

The basic structure of things as they ran were the weakest points to me. My stage manager could not find it in her heart to put the board president hat away for the evening. Her concerns were not related to being a stage manager, who would warm up the theatre before everyone arrives or stay to ensure everything is wrapped up properly, but one who sees the few things she does as a piece of cake. She quite often leaves remnants of said cake behind for others to sweep up. I feel she wears figurehead titles, and for some reason people can't see through her weaknesses with power, control, and leadership. We opened house late since she forgot the tickets, although the way the bookkeeping is done here chit marks work just as well.

And then she wanted to curtail my pre-show playlist to get rolling with show, even it was her fault we got the late start. I have very definitive ways I set tone and mood in my shows, and for those arriving early it plays through the set and music, which specifically had its own share of problems besides. I like to take an audience on a voyage of sound, color, emotion, meaning, and full of dramatic umami. Our first audience experienced it with an immediate hiccup and dead air, equivalent to when an actor clearly forgets a line and stands looking awkward and out of character, or when wonderful comedy occurs and everyone bites their lower lip in an effort to keep from laughing and embarrassment ensues.

I don't know if it was that the show wasn't ready for an audience or if I just wasn't ready to let it go. In ways I felt my baby was being tended by some incompetent teenager. I have been working so tirelessly that the point of exhaustion has been left behind many miles ago. Instead of attending opening night, I should have been wrapped up in blankets, getting more than my of late allotment of six hours of shut eye.

I have high standards. I have invested blood, sweat, tears, cash, time, and effort on this production, and since it reeks so well of my soul I have equally high expectations for it. I think I look forward to night two far more. I have never had a show that was not completely ready for show on opening night. This puts my cast and my art in a very vulnerable position. This has been the most challenging production I have undertaken to date, but in so many ways my most satisfying and certainly the one with the greatest learning curve. Leave it to putting on a show about human nature to truly discover endless variations on the foibles programmed deep within us all.

my tribe

This play has been my most harrowing undertaking yet. In some ways I attribute this to the material, and how the core themes and meaning of a show bleeds heavily onto the flow of production. Things are far beyond gloves merely coming out. This one has tested ideals such as loyalty and conviction, and pitted us against them in an all out battle of wills. I have seen Darwinian truths as illness, innate inadequacies, and other intrusions have left an inordinately small collective of villagers building the camp. I have found myself harshly protective of my family and quick to question the motives of outsiders. In three days this season long gruesome trek of a show will hit the oasis, lap up laughter, applause, and cringes from what we can hope will be a welcoming band of foreign villagers.