when you don’t know whether to go into the basement because of the tornado warnings, or stay out of the basement because it’s flooded, due to rain. This was two nights ago. The weather is much improved now.
Category Archives: a propos of nothing
patting self on back
I’ve been reading through the MOH&H program again, pulling stuff for Upstage, and I was very touched to find this in my TD’s essay, when he was discussing why he got interested in the show: “If the acting was this weird, what would the technical aspects be like?” It made me happy.
I’ll take that to the bank and smoke it – or actually, I’ll take it to Penn Station and the train to Jersey, where I’m going to see Two River/Aaron Posner’s MACBETH with Teller doing the magic.
Iturns
So, this actually is related to style – to stycomythia. I swear. To the idea of exact alternation. It’s downright theatrical, actually, and it’s about how patterns perpetuate themselves.
The following: Two men at a small party alternate their Ipods, one after another. Variations on the theme of country music. They give the hostess a cash “tab” for Itunes and buy songs they have to have immediately. One plays a song on his, the other on his. Ruby. The Pleasure Barons. Out of both respect and competitiveness. They alternate.
I screw up this order by trying to play some OCMS but I fail to make it work. They resume the alternating order.
This goes on until one of them has the idea, antithematically, of Journey, and the other turns out to have two Journey songs on his Ipod. He plays both. This disrupts the order of things, and the party ends shortly thereafter.
Shelby Lynne: “You can’t roll a joint on an Ipod.”
Patterns.
6.8
Today is the anniversary of the Northridge earthquake. My father, who’s a professor at Cal State-Northridge, was almost certainly saved by the earthquake happening as early in the morning as it did (4:30 am) since that campus was devastated by the quake. January 17 never passes without me thinking about it.
Our house, which had an enormous stone chimney in the front, had its entire front wall crumble. Bookcases came out from walls, turned around in midair, and sat back down on the other wall. The kitchen was a collage of glass, and every surface was covered in books.
Today is also our first preview. I invited some local friends and students to see our dress rehearsal yesterday, and they were thrilled after intermission and crying after the 2nd act.
The director did something interesting with scheduling yesterday – we had our dress run in the morning and worked in the evening, and now we have another work session this afternoon before our evening preview, which ensures that we have 8 hours of rehearsal between dress and previews.
Mama, don’t let your babies grow up to be…
It’s been a busy week – not only did I see Sweeney Todd again, (just as bloody, just as good), watch an open dress of Theresa Rebeck’s OUR HOUSE (vitriolic sendup of reality TV, pools of blood, writer-strike humor), have teleconferences with almost all the confirmed Convergence participants, and just finish 3 days of LYDIA tech, but I managed to overhear this conversation in the elevator, not five minutes ago:
Woman: My mother always wanted me to marry a cowboy, and I said, hell no.
Man: I’m not a cowboy?
Woman: Well, you do fix the fence sometimes. You’re sort of a cowboy.
Man: I could be a cowboy.
Woman: You do have those outfits. (To her companion) He has some cowboy outfits.
But back to what’s really important, which is the Sweeney Todd movie – I went to see it again on Tuesday despite the impending tech and my unfinished rewrite. I had Phil’s observation in mind that it was too clean of a London for him, and it certainly is a very clean propscape. Every object that’s introduced is used. Every reference is followed up on. It’s a spare staging.
It’s like a play in that way, and I think it’s Burton’s homage both to the material’s theatrical origins and to the single-minded focus of Sweeney’s mind. There may be other things in his world, but he doesn’t see them. And Sondheim approves – ArtsJournal led me to a piece in the Lebrecht Weekly where the composer said “This (ST) is the first musical that has ever transferred successfully to the screen.”
In conclusion, January 12 is my mother’s birthday. Happy birthday, Mom.
For the third year running,
the Super Bowl has interfered with my ability to rehearse. It conflicted with both VAST WRECK and MOH&H, and now it conflicts with a day of the Indy Convergence. I’m glad Caitlin noticed in time. Maybe this can be a Dara theatrical tradition, like being in previews on my birthday (also for the third year running!)
In other sports-related news, I just saw the Nuggets beat the 76ers at the Pepsi Center. Iverson had 38 points.
The Federalist Crosswalks
One of the good things about moving around the US like this is that you get to see the best features of many different cities. Denver has diagonal crosswalks in its downtown streets. Portland has a Free Square within which all the public transportation costs nothing. In Ashland, drivers, including truck drivers, stop for all pedestrians, even at green lights. In Austin, I lost my preconceptions about Texas driving, when I saw several pickups back out of driveways like they were putting babies to bed.
And the air and water are different, too. If I’d never gone to Ithaca, I’d never know how curly my hair could be, and if I’d never come to Denver, I’d never know the true meaning of dry skin.
I moved into my new apartment yesterday, with all the cast, which is why I’m musing on the nature of travel. I have a Murphy bed which folds down out of the wall, three closets, and a view of downtown. It took me about twenty minutes to figure out where the bed was. When it’s unfolded, I sleep on a slight rake, with my feet lower than my head. It makes me feel like I’m camped out on the slopes of some mountain with the Fellowship. This may also be because I’m on the sixth floor, which is the highest up I’ve ever lived.
My brother just arrived in Atlanta, and left me a message saying so – and wishing me well in “Denver, or wherever you are.”
Theater, or Wherever You Are.
By the way, my friend Alex, who I’ve known since I was 14, is tied with me for the number of cities we’ve both been in in 2008. (He’s a lawyer.) I knew there was a correlation between our professions.
Right back atcha
A friend of mine just sent me this message:
Wishing you a Happy New Year filled with health, prosperity and all the joy you can possibly stand.
I thought that summed it up pretty well – the things I wish for my friends and family and colleagues, in that order. I’m passing it on to all of you.
200-ready-when-you-are-8
8 is my lucky number, and my aunt’s too.
Last night, the cast of LYDIA had a New Year’s potluck. I made a roasted turkey breast, gravy, and rosemary potatoes. We watched the fireworks on the 16th St. Mall from the balcony of the apartment complex on 15th St. in Denver. It was the closest I’ve ever been to exploding fireworks. The cloud of smoke behind them was more beautiful than the lights.
Then the cast wrote an Exquisite Corpse poem together. It was one of the best I’ve ever seen. My line was,
“If all we have to give each other is the present – ”
Then we discovered that last call in Denver is earlier than it should be.
I learned a new tradition – you eat twelve grapes and get a wish for each one. I spent all of mine of the same wish, but I can’t tell you what it was.
And we had black-eyed peas, collard greens, cornbread and chili this morning in a New Year’s Day brunch with the Millans.
Happy New Year, world.
If the names “Kristy, Claudia, Mary Anne, and Dawn” bring back memories of hiding these books inside less trashy kid’s books in the bookstore…
“First of all, huh? Little cowboy shoes? I don’t know what those are. Also, anyone who can imagine wearing these outfits should be taken out back and beaten with their little cowboy shoes.”
from one of the posts at Claudia’s Room, where Tiff blogs her way through the Baby-Sitters Club books. It’s so much fun making fun of the writing. (One of the actors in the show got a BSC book for Christmas, as a joke present, and the name of the blog.)
Using “books” as a category tag for this is stretching it.
“Dawn actually says, “People in California don’t have yard sales.” MY ASS! Come on Cali readers, back me up on this one! I refuse to believe that nowhere in Southern California has there never been a yard sale (or a more convoluted sentence).”
Dara Weinberg 