Saturday, December 23, 2006

Two For One

So, we're in New York for Xmas, and of course, there's no chance of snow. Too warm and not enough precipitation. It's still pretty cold (given the wind chill), but not enough.

Anyway, we went to see Michael Feinstein's Christmas show at the Regency last night. I had just seen "The Drowsy Chaperone" for the fourth time, and on the cab ride to the hotel, I mentioned to Pidge that at spent a good part of the evening watching Bob Martin as "Man in Chair;" the show is amazingly tight after a year and his performance is amazing in that he's so focused.
So, anyway, we're in line at the Regency, and I'm quoting some line for Pidge and who should walk right past us to see the same show but Bob Martin and his wife, Janet Van de Graaf. I went mental. And then to top it off, they were seated right next to us. I waited until after the show (Feinstein introduced him from the stage and he was on his way backstage), but after he paid his bill (in cash), I leaned over, extended my hand, and told him that I had seen the show for the fourth time that night, and was a huge fan of him, the show, and "Slings and Arrows," the Canadian TV show about a Shakespeare festival that he co-created. That was the right note, in that he thanked me and said that he's always glad to hear that someone likes the show, as it's special to him. I mentioned that I couldn't wait for Season Three (which is true), and he told me it'd be available in a few months.

So, we left the club and headed for the bathrooms. I came out and, while waiting for Pidge, who should I see but Bucky Pizzarelli, who had just finished playing for Feinstein. I said, "Oh, my god, it's you," and extended my hand. I told him that I was a huge admirer of him, his sons, and his daughter in law and thanked him. We shook hands, and I left, walking on air, having met two
people whom I admire greatly.

It's been a great trip so far. Good shows ("Room Service;" good lively production. "Mary Poppins;" a relentless entertainment machine, but incredibly well directed. "The Drowsy Chaperone;" I just love that show. "The Apple Tree;" quite entertaining, though it didn't feel as big as it did at Encores. "The Coast of Utopia: Shipwreck;" Not quite as good as the first part, but still one helluva show. Lots of food (too damn much; Junior's; Hell's Kitchen; Keen's Chophouse; Burger Joint), with more to come.

We went to Rockefeller Center after "The Apple Tree" to go to the observation deck. It was incredibly cold, but with great views. We went up Fifth Avenue afterwards, and it was just packed with people shopping and looking at Xmas decorations. Very hard to move, with Pidge vowing not to go back. We plan on on going ice skating at Bryant Park tomorrow after Katz's Delicatessen and "Company."

Monday, October 23, 2006

I have to tell someone: I met Hal Prince today. (For those not in the know; Hal Prince is probably the most important director of musicals in the 20th century, and certainly the most important producer of them: Short list of his credits (in chronological order): The Pajama Game, Damn Yankees, West Side Story, Fiorello!, Tenderloin, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, She Loves Me, Fiddler on the Roof, Cabaret, Zroba, Company, Follies, A Little Night Music, Pacific Overtures, On the Twentieth Century, Sweeney Todd, Merrily We Roll Along, Evita, The Phantom of the Opera, and Show Boat.)

Pidge and I had a weekend in NY (four shows: Grey Gardens [good, not great]; Heartbreak House [brilliant]; The Drowsy Chaperone [3rd time; I love that show]; and Tom Stoppard's Coast of Utopia: Part One [epic; amazing direction (Jack O'Brien) and deep, deep script]; not to mention two cabaret shows [saw Stritch at the Carlyle -- cost an arm and a leg, but worth it]).

Anyway, we were in the airport this morning, waiting for our flight from JFK to SFO (via Las Vegas). I looked over to my left and saw an old guy sitting by himself. I turned to Pidge and said (jokingly), "That guy looks like Hal Prince." I looked again, and realized it was actually him. He was making phone calls and texting messages, and impatiently waiting to get on the plane. Finally, when I saw my chance, I went up to him and said, "Mr. Prince. I'm a director and just want to thank you for your work. You're an inspiration for all of us." He shook my hand, thanked me, and said, "Well, that's a nice thing to hear first thing in the morning." He asked if I lived in New York. I told him, "No, San Francisco." "Ah, that's where you live -- and work?" I said yes. He asked my name: I told him, and said, "I hope to meet you again." I told him "likewise," shook hands again, and went back to Pidge, shaking from the adrenaline rush.
When we got on the plane (I assume he was going to Vegas to check up on Phantom), he was in the right aisle seat in the front row. I smiled at him, he winked, and I just had to crack up.

I was so stoked; still am.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Off to L.A.

Well, been a while, hasn't it?

I so meant to do a day-by-day report of my trip to New York, but the connection problems in the hotel were so miserable (I never knew from night to night -- hell, from moment to moment -- whether I'd have a wireless connection) that it just wasn't worth it.

Of course, why that's prevented me from writing anything for the three months since is a cosmic mystery.

Anyway, I'm going to Los Angeles tomorrow for a quick trip. The Director's Lab Gold Medal Class of '04 is having a reunion, so my plan is to go down Friday afternoon, have dinner (I crave a Big Boy combo) and see a movie (probably "Idiocracy"), breakfast Saturday (brunch with Kathy), followed by a matinee of "Curtains," then the reunion, and straight to the airport from there. I do tend to cram things in. Strange trip, though; between the inability to take any liquids (or toiletries) on the plane and the whole leave-Friday-afternoon-return-Saturday-night aspect, it's damn odd. I hate the idea of having to buy a stick of deodorant and a tube of toothpaste just to throw them out. Makes me wonder if the whole London terrorism plot was a massive scheme of the part of the personal care cartel.

"Rosencrantz & Guildenstern" actually ended up going pretty well. I was happy overall, and Pidge thought it was some of the best work I've done. so that's the only validation I really need. (We'll see how that translates to "Mrs. Bob.") The reviews were good, though, and we sold out the run, so that's the other important validation. They're doing "Midsummer" next year, and I wouldn't mind being asked back at all.

Getting ready for "Mrs. Bob" auditions in a couple of weeks. My perfect cast has thinned out some; two of my "sure things" opted out, and I have a feeling that two more may join them. I probably won't have trouble filling their shoes, but can't vouch for the quality. Not that the subs will be bad; it's just that they won't be my first choices.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

NYC: Days 2 and 3

Well, in spite of my good intentions to update this every day, the vagaries of the Internet just wouldn’t let me.

My plan had been to do as I did last year here at the Cosmo by unplugging the cord from the phone and plugging it into the computer’s phone jack. Unfortunately, the hotel outwitted my maneuver by not only buying phones that don’t allow this, but also using cords that can’t be unplugged from the wall without more trouble than it’s worth (not to mention the hassle I had last year in having to place a deposit to make outside phone calls).

I was able to piggyback onto a wireless network with no trouble Tuesday night, but Wednesday was a comedy of errors, as I kept getting booted off networks after only a couple of minutes in every case. After what seemed like hours of attempts, I finally had to throw the towel in.

What I missed writing about was how I broke one of the windows here in my room. I tried and tried and tried to raise the window in order to get some more fresh air in here (it can get hot and stuffy – supposed to be in the mid 90s Saturday, with a heat index of 100), and the damn thing was jammed. I kept trying and trying to get the thing raised and it finally cracked – big time. I left it alone for the night. I was tempted to go down to the desk to tell them and give them enough time to call a glazier, but it was 4:30 in the morning and I figured it could wait until I left Wednesday morning. Well, given the noise from outside (even worse tonight, I slept for shit.) When I did leave, I stopped at the desk, expecting them to give me a hassle over paying for the window (which I would have felt some kind of obligation to do), but the woman didn’t even bat an eye, saying they’d fix it right away, and she called a maintenance guy. End of that story – except when I came back Wednesday night, and saw that there was a two-foot gap at the top of the window. I tried raising the window again, but it was still stuck . . . and then I realized that the bottom window doesn’t raise, the top one does – which makes no sense, given the way the lock is constructed, but hey, I can close it and block out most of the noise – seems like all they do in this city is pick up garbage all night. . .

Anyway. . .

Wednesday morning, I went to the South Street Seaport to buy my ticket for the evening performance (I already had bought my “Faith Healer” ticket online), and expected the usual long line and 30 minute wait. Imagine my surprise when my TKTS experience of Tuesday was repeated and there were only three people ahead of me. I saw that they had “The Lieutenant of Inishmore,” and got the ticket, leaving me with plenty of time to kill, so I decided to rustle up some breakfast, which I did, getting a turkey salad wrap, which wasn’t bad. By the time I finished, it was time to get in line for the show, and into the theatre I went. The show was at the Booth, which is one of my favorite Broadways houses (it was my favorite until I got looks at the Belasco and the Lyceum, which are just as nice), small and intimate.

There was a small mix-up with my seat, as a woman was sitting in the wrong seat, but she and her husband moved over with no trouble and the show proceeded.

It’s a very, very good show. Probably the best thing I’ve seen Ralph Fiennes do. He’s usually so restrained and bottled up, and he gets a chance to loosen up here and, if not charm the audience, then to play off them and have some fun.

He finished his monologue, we went into the scene change, they let the latecomers in, and Cherry Jones starts her monologue – and this piercing squeal from some woman’s hearing aid begins. The entire audience gets pissed off (excepting the oblivious woman her companions, who didn’t bother to do anything about it), and we spend the next ten minutes hearing ushers try to find her, her adjusting the damn thing, and various levels and types of squeals. The woman next to me (who’d been in the wrong seat) turns to me and complains about the house staff doing nothing. Through it all, Jones perseveres, acting away, either oblivious to the noise or just knowing it’ll be taken care of eventually. Finally, the noise stops, and we can all concentrate on the play. Comes intermission, and the woman next to me and I start talking about the deaf woman (who apparently was getting indignant that people were telling her off) and who we were. She and her husband had taken the day to come from DC to see the show. She had become curious about it after reading a review and wondering if it would have any resonance for her job and an “energy healer” (I know. . . ) I talked a little about myself, the Booth, and Brian Friel (about whom I wrote my thesis), and eventually Act Two began.

Given my overall lack of sleep on Wednesday morning (I can’t call it Tuesday night), I was dopey for the entire Act, and it was a real struggle to make it to the end. I’m 99% sure I saw it all, but it wasn’t easy.

Again, very, very good show. Fiennes good, Jones good (I’ve seen her better, and she had no dialect – which surprised me since I’d read she did extensive work and her coach gets a program credit), and Ian MacDiarmid – with the flashiest role – very good. Nicely directed, with a very interesting scene change effect that I’d like to steal sometime, if the occasion ever arises (traveler moves across the stage, and the set gets brought on or struck behind it as it travels).

After the show, I had a few hours to kill, so I went to Virgil’s BBQ on 44th. I’m usually leery of places in the theatre district, but I’d read good things about Virgil’s and I love the barbecue, so I went. Had a lovely salad – lettuce, chunky blue cheese, red onions (which I picked out), and a bacon vinaigrette – and a combo plate with pork and brisket. It was tasty, but overall inferior to, say, the Rib Shack in Daly City. Not bad, but not great, either.

By this time, it was time to leave for “Lieutenant.” I wanted to see it anyway, but being at the Lyceum made it irresistible. In all my years of coming here, I’ve never seen anything there. It’s a beautiful house, again small and much more interesting that the Booth from a decorative and architectural standpoint. I was disappointed to see that David Wilmot (the eponymous character) was out, but the understudy was quite good, so I guess I didn’t miss him too much. I was still having some drowsiness problems, but the play is so good and so funny – and so gory; jeezus god, I wondered how they clean up the set and costumes every night, not to mention wondering if they go through eight wigs a week when one character gets a ponytail cut off. No one, absolutely no one, writes like McDonagh, and the whole thing is hysterically funny at the same time it’s grim and bloody.

So far I haven’t seen a bum show (no "Paris Letter"s in this collection . . .) yet.

Thursday was DaveCon, and my plan was to walk from the hotel to the TGI Friday’s we were meeting at, but just past Houston, I realized that I would have trouble getting there, so I hopped it onto the subway. Got to the restaurant and was extremely confused. The address was on Broadway, but the restaurant is on 7th. I went in, went upstairs, and saw no one, so I went down the block to the Times Square Visitor’s Center, where I could check my email and verify the address. Everything seemed correct, so I thought I should try again, and sure enough, I’d had the right place all along; it was just that the group was around the corner. I caught up with everyone, even if some of the regulars weren’t there – Karen was out of town; Carl, Kathie, and Brady, who knows; Brad getting ready to move to Virginia the next day. After only a few minutes, we had to hoof it over to the Ed and get in line to get our tickets. It was a hot day, but we didn’t have to wait too long, and were soon marched in, given our instructions (be back by 3:45), and released. We went to Rupert’s, as usual, and ordered stuff. I had a lemon lime whippy, which was too sweet and a real mess (I had to use the bathroom in the Ed to hose down and clean my shirt). We chit chatted a little while, and then some of us repaired to the Angelo’s Pizza for drinks. Finally, it was time to get back in line, so off we went. Usually, the ushers will give us the spiel (“no ‘woo’ing, laugh at everything,” etc.), lead us into the lobby, where we wait interminably, and after finally let into the house. This year, though, they must have realized we (of all people) know what to do; they marched us straight from the sidewalk to our seats, with no preamble. It was a nice change of pace.

The show itself was okay. KYCE was good, Sandra Bullock, meh, and the band sucked as much as they had the first time I saw the show (Carl phoned us during dinner, and I told him that, not only could I not remember what they had played then, I honestly couldn’t have done it while they were playing it – they were truly unmemorable).

Afterwards, Tony Mendez came to collect us, and we went into the lobby to shoot our annual episode of the “Tony Mendez Show.” I got some nice face time (we all did), and then it was back into the house for photos and the tour for the new kids – I got to go for the first time in three years; nothing new, but it’s always interesting.

(There’s a car on the street right now, playing deafening rap. I’m three stories up, so I can only wonder how loud it is in the damn car.)

After the tour, we talked to Tony out on the street. He couldn’t go to the party as he had ballet tickets. While we were talking, a car pulled up with some well-dressed women in it. The driver got out and looked like she wanted to ask a question, hesitated a while, then got back in. I went up to the car and asked the passenger, an older woman, if I could help them. They were curious as to what was going on, but were also trying to give away their tickets for “The Threepenny Opera.” I was tempted, but had already paid for the party, so I was going to go. I told them they’d probably have no trouble getting rid of the seats; they told me they’d already been turned down five times. I suggested they try over by the TKTS booth, which they thought was a good idea. I hope they were able to get rid of the tickets; they seemed nice and I hate to see seats go to waste like that. Ironically enough, a little while later, Jim Dale walked by on his way to work (looking damn good for 70), and I saw Ana Gasteyer while walking to the restaurant. (So far I’ve seen Marian Seldes [bustling along northbound on 7th while I was in P.J. Carney’s], George Takei [leaving “Faith Healer”], and Dale and Gasteyer. I saw a woman today who looked a lot like someone, but I’m damned if I can remember who it was. Oh, and there was a woman at “Faith Healer” whom I thought might have been Frances Sternhagen, but I couldn’t swear to it).

We finally got to the restaurant, and even though we were a half hour early, they were able to seat us upstairs in a private area. The food was pretty good (I’d been bitching about having to pay so much, but I almost got my money’s worth – and they forgot to charge me for my first drink). We all talked a while, and then about 9:30, they asked if we could move so they could clean up. We agreed, but since there was no room downstairs, they sent us to their sister restaurant next door, which was horribly loud. After only about a half hour, we repaired to Hurley’s on 48th, where we usually end up. It wasn’t quite as crowded as the other places, but there was still only one table for 8 or 10 of us (the NBA playoffs were on), and after they informed us that it was a one-drink minimum, we left. After a few minutes on the sidewalk, we all parted and headed for homes or hotels (some folks went to Helen Read’s hotel room; I did not, as I was feeling sleepy). Cheryl Levenbraun and I walked to the Times Square subway station, and after a few minutes, my train came, and I was off for the hotel. I was up until 4:30 again, trying to do some work (which I’ll subtract from my hours next week, natch), and dealing with more connectivity issues. (I don’t understand how a signal can go from “Excellent” to gone in only a few minutes.) I figured I could sleep in Friday, which I did.

I’ll get to Friday’s exciting events tomorrow, since it’s now 4:15, and it looks like I’ll hit the trifecta if I don’t watch it . . .

Saturday? “Shining City” in the afternoon, “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” in the evening (I’m only hoping that Norbert is in; he wasn’t in when I bought my ticket Wednesday afternoon – great seat; second row center), then Jessica Molaskey at the Algonquin at 11:30. I’ve been afraid I wouldn’t be able to stay awake for her, but given my late hours this week, I’m hoping it won’t be a problem.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

NYC: Day 1

I promised myself I'd do this, so even though it's after 3 here, I'll give it a go.

The day started at about 4:45, when my alarm went off. I hit the snooze button and rolled over, but then got paranoid that it wouldn't go off again, so I basically just laid there until 5:03, when I got up.

Left the house at 6:03, only ten minutes later than I'd planned, but when I got to the parking lot, the guy kept driving around and picking people up (the nerve!), so I didn't hit the airport until nearly 6:45. Checked in -- the place was packed and it took nearly ten minutes for the poor woman who was manning the self-serve check in area to get to my bag. Finally cleared security sometime after 7, and was on the plane only a few minutes later. A whirlwind morning.

I'd cashed in some miles and was in the first class section, next to one of those women who is helpless without her cell phone and kept making calls about some tickets to some event that had to be confirmed and a trip to China or India (or both; I can't remember). I couldn't have been more fascinated by these calls. She was beaten, however, by the woman who was on the other end of the aisle and continued making cell calls while we were taxiing (long after the announcement to shut down your damn phones had come and gone) and who had to be told three times to shut off her laptop when we were landing. Some people are just too damn pleasant to be around.

The flight itself was pretty smooth and uneventful; some turblulence, but not much. I ate a not-bad omelet, drank a lot of water and juice, and slept a couple of hours. The movie was "The Pink Panther," so it was safe to ignore.

We got in about 15 minutes early, but the hike through the new American terminal at JFK is endless, so it was a push. (Seriously, every time you get around a bend, there's another slidewalk.) I got my bag pretty quickly, and was on the AirTrain by about 4:30, getting the A train about 4:45 and was in the hotel somewhere after 5:30. Called Pidge to let her know I made it, and immediately had to leave for midtown, to hit the TKTS booth to get my ticket for "Sweeney Todd," which has a 7:00 curtain on Tuesdays. I don't know if it's the new location or just the hour, but there was no line at the TKTS booth. I saw "Sweeney" was still on the board and immediately walked up to a window.

Pretty good seat; house left, about 2/3rds back. (Especially good for $59.25.) Pretty good view until the latecomers got seated and Stretch Armstrong seat down in front of me. Top his height with a proclivity to move his head around a lot, and it's a recipe for annoyance.

Some things about the audience tonight. One was the latecomers. They're seated at the first break, 40 minutes in (kudos to John Doyle for directing the show to preclude applause after every number), and among the late people was one woman who was in the middle of the third row. Manoel Felciano, who was playing Tobias, was in the middle of the Pirelli number, and froze solid, not singing, and just followed the woman with his head as she made her way to her seat. Reminded me of Kris Tabori's story about Donald Sinden, who would greet West End latecomers by making sure they had a program and they knew who was who. Felciano got a good laugh and hand and I'll bet that woman is never late to the theatre again. Felciano struck again later in the number, when he played most of the hair tonic stuff to a bald man in the front row.

Lots of kids in the center section -- three rows worth. They were at that indeterminate age: high school kids? College students? and reacted to everything, some of it inappropriate (the sex stuff, of course). Overall, they were really into it (one got the feeling they had done the show themselves) and helped prime the pump for the rest of the audience. The cast seemed genuinely appreciative at the curtain call (for which I had to stand, as usual, to see what was happening; I HATE the manditory standing ovation, but I think Sondheim's point about the audience having spent so much money that they want to prove it to themselves by giving anything a standing O is an excellent one), but that could be their standard call conduct (extra bows, applauding back, etc.).

Also, lots of little kids in the crowd -- like 6 and 7 years old. What kind of parent brings a kid that young (or younger) to a show like this? The smallest one (3? 4?) fussed a little toward the end, but I have to admit they were well-behaved throughout.

The other thing was the weirdness two seats over from me. Late in Act One, the guy started twitching and moving and muttering (or saying quietly) "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." I don't know if he was having some kind of Tourette's attack, but he didn't have anything close to it again, and his outburst was relatively quiet, if disruptive. I doubt if people three rows away heard him. Weird.

Anyway, as to the show. I admit I was a little dubious going in. Doyle seems like a one-trick pony with his "cast-doubles-as-the-orchestra" schtick, but it worked here, and worked really well (especially Patti LuPone on her tuba). Brilliant concept, and since he was the designer, too, it was all of a piece. He really understood what he wanted and got it. Very intense performances by Michael Cerveris (though not as obsessed as his Booth; but then, it was a Tuesday night) and Alexander Geminagni (which surprised me, cause so many people dissed him). Donna Lynne Champlin was very good as Pirrelli, but I just didn't understand how Felciano got a Tony nod for that performance. Decent work, but there were others in the show far better. LuPone was very good -- probably the best thing I've seen her in (certainly better than her final performance in "Evita," when she channeled Lucille Ball), but her ass is huge in her costume. I don't know if it's all her (one assumes it is), since she doesn shake it at the auidence in "God, That's Good," so she's either padded, or they've made the most of an unfortunate situation.

Overall, maybe not as rococo or impressive as the original Sweeney, but certainly a rethinking and a very good night of theatre.

Afterwards, headed to Ray's for a slice and a Pepsi, then to P.J. Carney's bar for a beer. I was going to get some supper there, but nothing looked appealing except for chicken tenders (the menu looked good; it's just I wasn't in a mood for anything on it) and decided to stop at McDonald's on the way back to the subway and get some of their own (less expensive) chicken. On the way, I stopped at Virgin and bought the "Drowsy Chaperone" CD and looked out for "The Brain" and was vastly disappointed. We've got an Answers promotion where some of the power users are living in a two-story structure on the top of the Hard Rock Cafe marquee at the Paramount Building. It's tough to see at all (I completely missed it this evening) and I feel sorry for those folks, having to sit there all day and do nothing but be on Answers. There's a bunk bed on the lower floor, and they're apparently working in shifts so they can go to their hotel rooms in their off hours (the whole thing is supposed to last 72 hours, I think), so it's not too bad, but one gets the feeling that these folks don't get out a lot, and to torture them by putting them in a hot fishbowl in the middle of Times Square and its attractions is a bit cruel. But they seem to be enjoying it on the Video feed. Of course, le'ts see how they do at 4 am Friday morning. . . Regardless, it's hard to spot (even when looking for it), and doesn't seem especially interactive.
Oh, my room. Nicest one at the Cosmo yet. I even have a window this time, although it's really noisy outside. I've managed to piggyback onto someone else's wireless network (thanks, "dickerson"), which is fortunate, since they've rigged the phones so that I can't unplug the wires and plug them into the laptop. Hopefully, I'll continue to have access.

Tomorrow: "Faith Healer" and "The Lieutenant of Inishmore." It's Irish Day!

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Jeebus, It's Been That Long?

Jeebus, It's Been That Long?

Since I posted an entry here? Time sure flies when you're not doing a damn thing, I guess.
We started rehearsals for "R&G" this week. Just a read-through and two nights of table work, but it seemed to go fairly well. Most of the cast read too fast and sort of skimmed through the text, but since I did mention in the beginning that I wasn't looking for either acting or performances, that's what they gave me.

The thing that concerns me the most at this point is that I don't have Carolyn (Guildenstern) for most of next week, and then I leave for New York, so whatever I don't get blocked tomorrow, Monday, or Tuesday will have to wait until the end of the month, and I hate to think that I'll still be blocking that late into the process. But, as I need to focus on, A) anything we block outside of the space will have to be adapted anyway, and B) once I get back , we'll still have a month. Things may be a little rough for the first week of performances, but I have little doubt they'll eventually pull together.

Pidge leaves for Texas in the morning. She's going to some kind of tech writing conference in Dallas from Monday to Thursday, then to Carbondale to visit her mom. I leave for NY on the 13th, and she doesn't get back until the 14th, so we won't see one another for nearly three weeks, which is the longest we'll have ever been apart since she moved to Oregon from Pittsburgh. She's getting a little weepy tonight, as I'm sure I'll be -- and it's always odd around here without her, but I'll persevere. (I've never told anyone this: YEARS ago, I was taking a train somewhere, and the woman next to me was writing a letter. The trip was slightly bumpy, and I looked over to her letter. She was drawing a little train going up- and downhill, mentioning how it wasn't easy to write under these conditions, "but I persevere." Ever since then -- and it's probably close to 20 years -- I have never used the word "persevere" without thinking of her and her letter.)

Anyway . . .

We're going out to Woodside tomorrow for a picnic and rehearsal. For the non-company members, this will be the first time they see the space, and I can only imagine, not only what they'll think, but also what it looks like now. The company members were going out today to rebuild the stage, and I have no idea how much they got done. Hopefully, enough so that I can block a good portion of Act One. I've got them for three hours, so we should be able to get a lot done - maybe even all of the first act, which would be great and do wonders for my mood.

We went to Michael Spector's memorial today. He died of a brain tumor not quite a month ago, and there was such a sense of -- well, loss, of course (I suppose you get that at any funeral/memorial), but just the random unfairness of life. He would have turned 37 just 12 days after he died, but managed to cram so much into those years. I had no idea he had so many interests and friends (the place was packed, and many of those who'd been on the various lists telling about his dying weren't there). I mean, he was a great and funny guy and the best stage manager ever, but I guess it's one of those cases where you can never have a full sense of all the aspects of someone else's life.

More later. . .

Time Flies Like an Arrow . . .

. . . Fruit Flies Like a Banana

Feels like ages since I've posted. Got the job directing "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern." It'll be a challenge, especially since we'll be doing it outdoors and in various locations in a park (or something) in Woodside. Apparently, lots o' trees and hills; not the most conducive atmosphere for a comedic/dramatic examination of the nature of reality and a deconstruction of "Hamlet;" but it's a challenge, so that's good.Did I mention we saw John Pizzarelli two weeks ago in the city? Followed that up last night by seeing Audra McDonald. It's part of a new -- well, not philosophy, but a goal, I guess -- to see great artists when I can, and to not miss them, like I did Sinatra. We're talking about seeing Tony Bennett in Saratoga in September, but the tickets are dear, and I don't know if I want to see him that much -- but, still. . . .

Anyway, both evenings (Pizzarelli and McDonald, that is) were wonderful. It's such a pleasure (for me, anyway) to watch artists who are so skilled and comfortable with their talents that that ease and pleasure becomes almost a palpable sensation for the audience. Pizzarelli signed CDs after the show, so we got one, and I complimented him on the show and asked if his wife, Jessica Molaskey (whom I adore) is working on a new album. He said she was, which thrilled me almost as much as reading (while I was writing this paragraph, in fact) that she'll be appearing at the Algonquin while I'm there. I am so there.McDonald gave a great show, too, with new and old material. She went up twice, which I'm sure wasn't intentional, but reminded me of nothing so much as a magician or a slight-of-hand artist who will "accidentally" fumble a trick in order to make themselves seem more human or to make their feats that much more impressive. The best thing about both evenings (other than the high entertainment value, natch) was the fact that both of them seemed utterly human and down-to-earth, and people I could hang out with, once I got past the hero worship.Read a play called "Pack of Lies," that I'll probably interview for at Palo Alto next week. Very interesting play based on a true case in London in the early 60s. Middle-class English couple is best friends with an American couple across the street. One day, an MI-5 agent appears at the house and asks the English couple if the government can postion an agent to watch the Americans. Eventually we find out that the Americans might be Soviet spies, and we see the havoc it causes with the friendship and how the situation tests the limits of personal privacy, security, friendship, and where we draw those various lines. Very timely, I think (perhaps not as timely as "The White House Murder Case," but then what is?). It turns out that the Americans are, indeed, spies, but that's almost a MacGuffin. I'd really like to do it (time for a heavy drama, I think), and hope Peter hires me.Not much else. Have a couple of leads on a new Bob Cratchit, so we'll see. Hope to get back to this in less than a couple of weeks.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Double Feature

Feels like ages since I've posted anything -- because it has been.

Had a momentous day today. Went to two different movies at two different theatres for (I think) the first time in my life. I may have done it in L.A., though I can't remember. Regardless, it's the first time in decades.

Pidge had mentioned how much she really wanted to see "Thank You for Smoking." I was lukewarm, but agreed, since she was right that she usually sucks it up when it's something I want to see, and it was my turn to do the same for her.

We drove down to Palo Alto (the CineArts, where it was playing on both screens, which struck me as odd) and ot there pretty much just in time. Big crowd (again, surprisingly), so we didn't have a great choice of seats. What we got were pretty good, although they leaned back so far I was a little uncomfortable, and the head of the woman in front of me occupied a tiny portion of the screen. (That said, it was good to see a movie on an honest-to-god big screen.)

(Odd coincidence. The ticket takers at both theatres were in wheelchairs. I've never seen that at all before, and to see it twice in one day was off. NTTAWWI.)

Anyway, we saw a number of trailers, most of which actually looked good -- I guess that's the benefit of going to an art house -- even one owned by Century. The feature finally started, and I instantly knew I was in good hands with a brilliant credits sequence. I miss credits sequences. They can do so much work for the filmmakers in setting a mood or a time or place. I was watching "Murder By Death" and "The Cheap Detective" last night (the latter of which I hadn't seen since it opened, and boy, does it hold up; much better than MBD, in fact) and both (each?) had credits by Wayne Fitzgerald, who was a god at such things, and a good set of credits is worth its weight in gold.

To continue. "Thank You . . ." is laugh-out-loud funny (a rarity, I find), and the thing that impressed me the most about it (and there's a lot to be impressed about) is that it has a conservative political bent and is still funny. I've often complained that, even as liberal as I am, I'd like to see some kind of conservative political statement in the theatre or movies. TYFS has the usual Hollywood cliches upended, with the corporate shills being the good guys and the do-gooder groups being the, well, not the bad guys, but putzes. It was a refreshing change of pace. I'm not saying I want to see every film be like this, but it was nice to see for once. Nicely written, well-directed (and good continuity!), with fine performances by Aaron Eckhart, J.K. Simmons (who is thisclose to reaching "Money in the Bank" status), Robert Duvall, and Bill Macy.

That said, Katie Holmes has reached the point in her career where she has no credibility on screen. Between her not-overwhelming acting ability, whatever the fuck is going on with Tom Cruise, and her youthful appearance, she has a -lot- to overcome -- and doesn't do it here. The second she appeared on screen, I cringed mentally. She suffers here from the same thing she suffered from in "Batman Begins." She's supposed to be a tough and accomplished professional, and looks 12 and has all the gravitas of Macaulay Culkin. She needs to get off the screen -- now. Oh, and if you're going to have significant amounts of dialogue about a character's awesome "tits," you have to do one of two things. Either cast an actress with awesome tits and have her show them, or cut the lines referring to them. Director Reitman did neither. The only time we come close to seeing Ms. Holmes's mammae is in one long shot where she's standing in an office in a very modest blouse showing nothing out of the ordinary. Contrast this with the attention paid to the ta-tas of Ms. Renee Graham as Tiffany, the corporate jet flight attendant, and the whole thing becomes a "wha--?" moment.

The film ended and it was back in the car to drive to Mountain View to see the film I wanted to, "Inside Man." I'd read a lot about it in the past couple of days, and wanted to see it early, before any potential spoilers reached me. We got to the theatre early and it was a much different experience. Huge lobby, 16 screens, a completely different demographic. (For example: One of the trailers at the CineArts was for "A Scanner Darkly," which is Richard Linklater's newest piece of vomit, using that computer rotoscoping technique that I find so annoyingly pretentious. I turned to Pidge and asked who the hell could watch this for more than five minutes. Well, I found out. The Century 16 has trailers playing on monitors throughout the lobby [seems too cavernous to call it that, but what else is there?], so the patrons can't go more than about 1o seconds without having their senses assaulted. They played the "Scanner Darkly" trailer, and the girls in front of us were -riveted-. When it finished, they both agreed that they -had- to see the picture. Different strokes, I guess . . . )

After about ten minutes in line, they let us into the theatre, which had a suspiciously large number of people in it already. We managed to get decent seats, though (even if both of us complained that they were extremely uncomfortable), and passed the time until the trailers started; this time, showing the usual selection of things I wouldn't see on a bet. Is it me or is it Hollywood? Anyway . . .

We both enjoyed the picture, even if I felt it was a little long. I also expected more twists and turns (from the reviews), but still found it satisdfying, even if there were the usual selection of plot holes. Like how does Clive Owen's character know what he knows? And when he is where he is, how does no one suspect it? Really well-directed, with a real sense of New York and location in general, and just a slew of good performances from Washington, Owen, Dafoe (good to see him not play a heavy), Plummer (who I can't believe I like now), and even Jodie Foster, whom I usually loathe, but is quite good - but then I'm supposed to loathe her character in this one, so it works.

Regardless, it was a fine afternoon of filmgoing, and I look forward to a couple more in the near future. Still have to see "Find Me Guilty" and "V for Vendetta."

Coming up? I'm doing a reading of a new play Monday at the Lorraine Hansberry Theatre in the city. I play a crotchety college professor who's locked into the traditional way of doing things. Sort of a continuation from "Oleanna." Darold (from "Miss Daisy") called and asked me if I'd be interested in acting in it, and I said sure; especially since there's a little dough involved, and I'll be working with Lorrie Holt, among others. And it may give me a line into finding a black actress for "Mrs. Bob Cratchit."

Tomorrow, it's dinner with the Rustans at a mystery restaurant that's the last gasp of my 50th birthday. Don't expect anything momentous to come of it, but it'll be the first time we see them without Schlomo since, hell, since Leisa got pregnant.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Maude Maggart

Got back a little while ago from seeing Maude Maggart at the Plush Room. What a singer! I admit it took me about five or ten minutes to warm up to her (I have an inate dislike for cabaret singers), but once I got her, I really got her. She's got an amazing ability to really inhabit a song and phrase it and communicate it. (The one flaw in her delivery [for me] is that she doesn't quite have all the chops yet to do with a song what she wants to do with it. According to her biography on her website, though (http://www.maudemaggart.com), she's only been singing professionally since 2001. Once she really gets her talent melded with her intelligence, there'll be no stopping her. Just an amazing singer. She's not Jessica Molaskey, but she's in that league. She's Fiona Apple's sister and Brandon Maggart's daughter.

I'm a big fan of Brandon Maggart, whom I know best as having played Buddy on the early episodes of Sesame Street. He was teamed with an actor named James Catusi as "Buddy and Jim," two guys who made Laurel and Hardy look like brain surgeons. They were hilarious to my 13-year-old eyes. I only found out about her father after I got home, and I wish I'd known. I bought three of her CDs after the show and got to talk to her as I was getting them autographed. I would have mentioned her father if I'd only known. I'm slightly tempted to go back later this week (I won't, but I'm tempted), and would definitely mention him if I did.

When I started this thing, I expected I would be reviewing and critiquing movies and TV and comics and pop culture and politics, but there's been unsurprisingly little of that. Suffice it to say that I rented Sin City (meh; very comic-booky and true to the material, but too long and I'm not Miller's biggest fan) and Layer Cake (nice complicated caper-type picture, but it failed for me in the climax when one of the pivotal characters didn't pass the "who the hell is that?" test; I still don't quite know who it was). I've been reading comics, and am running hot and cold on Infinite Crisis. I admired the ideas behind it -- at least based on what they were saying at WonderCon -- but am none too pleased with the treatment of Kal-L, the original Superman (this is hopelessly geeky, I know, but I just don't give a rat's ass). I'm enjoying The Amazing Race and am looking forward to the return of The Sopranos this weekend. What else am I watching? The 24, the Apprentice, the Veronica Mars, still watching the ER (god knows why), Deal or No Deal, Justice League, and not much else (Dave, of course). I'm sure there are other shows, but I'm punchy right now, and can't imagine why I'm not in bed (it's 12:20 am). I did watch the premiere of The Unit last night, and in spite of my liking of Mamet, found it vile. If it was serious, it was replusive in its politics and if there was a tongue-in-cheek element, it went whooshing over my head.

Just saw my nemesis Scarlett Johannson in a makeup commercial, exhibiting more range than in any movie I've seen her in to date. She had a horrible lipstick on (and with her mouth, it probably took two tubes), but maybe there's hope for her otherwise.

This has been one of those long-ass weeks for me. Seems like Monday was about two weeks ago. I can't wait to work at home Friday. There's a couple of meetings at work tomorrow; one is the monthly department meeting, which can range from actually interesting to chew-my-arm-off bad. The other is the semi-regular meeting with Stephanie (my boss) and the rest of the team. I don't expect any bombshells, but you never know.

We had an Answers meeting today, and it began with my admitting I didn't know how to set up a Twiki page, which everyone looked askance at. I did my best "Dammit, I'm old!" impression by saying, "Hey, I'm 50!" Not quite (10 more days), but close enough. Then on top of that, it suddenly occurred to us that all the other surfers on the product are "new," meaning hired within the last year. If that didn't make me feel old (and it did), nothing would. These damn kids with their rock and roll . . .

Still waiting to hear about DaveCon 2005. Hope we hear soon; I'd like to make my travel plans.

Came up with a plan for Pidge's 40th birthday in 2007 tonight. I don't know if I can pull it off, but if I can, it should be memorable -- and better than that surprise party they pulled on my 40th. I've been promised there'll be no surprise party for my 50th, so I'm hopeful, but who knows.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

I'm Just Tired

Hasn't been a long week, but a jam-packed one. Pidge leaves for her mother's tomorrow morning, so I'll be a bachelor all week, but if that means anything anymore, it means, well, nothing. I'll read the paper, watch TV, be online and fall asleep on the couch downstairs. All in all, no change. I might take in a couple of movies, but don't expect to do much other than (hopefully) get some sleep.

We escaped the rain (more or less) today, but it's supposed to shower all weekend, which will further restrict me. Not that I had big plans, but still . . .

I do have work stuff this weekend, but other than that, JLU, and the Oscars, I got nothin'.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Laptops and "Cowboys"

Well, I picked up the new laptop today, and while it wasn't as screwy as I'd feared, it still took me about three or four hours to get everything back up to where I could work with things. The new proportions of the windows and software are annoying -- windows too big, text too small. Of course, if one tries to increase the size of the text, then it's too big. (There's just no pleasing some people.) On the other hand, one of the pieces of software we use in Surfing is FUBAR, and I'm hoping I can go in Monday and check the program settings from my desktop and make it work. It's software I've had this same trouble with before, and it eventually worked, but it just bugs the hell out of me.

Oh, on the way home tonight, I had just gotten off the freeway when the guy two cars in front of me decided he needed to make a u-turn right then, so he slammed on his brakes and the car in back of him (and in front of me) almost rear-ended him. What the first guy didn't realize was how narrow the road is there, and he had to back up (almost into me) to make the turn, which of course almost caused a collision with the guy heading in our direction. I assume the jagoff was on the phone; they always are . . .

Pidge and I had a surprisingly heated discussion tonight on whether Brokeback Mountain is a western. (It was prompted by an email exchange on the same subject at work today.) I said yes because if you asked the man on the street what it was about, he'd say "Gay cowboys," and cowboys=westerns. I'm not saying it's only a western, but it's that among other things. Pidge got huffy because I was acting snotty and superior, and used the old "you haven't even seen it, how can you classify it?" argument. (Which is, of course, an argument that falls apart as soon as movies starring, say, Adam Sandler or Will Ferrell are concerned; their presence assures crapitude, even without being seen.) I think we ultimately agreed to disagree.

Watching the Olympics tonight (sidenote: Something I noticed from talking to Pidge's father was that people who have participated in the Olympics almost invariably refer to them as "the Olympic Games"), I heard the phrase "Olympic fortnight" at least twice. Is NBC trying to class up the joint by going all Britspeak on us?

Realized last night that I almost have Mrs. Bob Cratchit fully cast, seven months before rehearsals start. Have only three roles to cast (well, five; but I have two offers out). Never had that happen before. Also realized the set won't be too horribly difficult, so I probably won't need major design help. (This doesn't apply to the lights, of course.) Speaking of my directing career, I dropped by Hillbarn yesterday (we'd borrowed a telephone from them for Miss Daisy), and was honestly impressed by how they're improving the joint. Hope I get to work there next season. Have to send another email.

While it's been a wee bit of a relief to not have anything hanging over my head now that Daisy and Don Juan are closed, it'll be odd tomorrow to have nothing hanfin over my head. Looking forward to it -- and I'm almost guaranteed to have as many people here in the living room tomorrow as there were seeing Don Juan.

And on that note, I'm outta here!

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Just Pathetic

The way I've gotten hooked on the "Project Runway." Obviously, I'm not a fashion maven, but it's always fascinating watching these people try to backstab each other and outmaneuver each other. That why I love "The Apprentice" and "The Amazing Race" so much.

Had an interesting experience tonight. I was coming home from the PSP directors' meeting (and guess what?! I have to dig up my own designers again!) and saw a cop in back of me. Being no fool (at least in this regard), I watched my speed and drove carefully -- maybe too carefully, as I soon saw the red and blue lights and pulled over. I turned off the engine, pulled my license out of my wallet, and waited. Sure enough, here comes the cop, shining the flashlight in my face, asks me for my registration and insurance. He looks them over, and asks if I know why he pulled me over. I say, with all honesty, "no." And he asks if I'd been smoking a cigarette and tossed it out of the window so that it hit his car. I replied, with even more honesty, "No; I don't smoke." He took a beat, said that he didn't smell anything and that it must have been the car in front of me (which I didn't recall seeing, but what the hey . . .). He let me go and wished me a good evening. After I started up the car again, it dawned on me that the cigarette butt thing had probably happened, and he probably thought it was a joint (which would be a logical assumption: "Oh shit, a cop; dump the dope"). Regardless, it was odd.

Getting a laptop at work tomorrow -- after only seven years. I'm very apprehensive about it; I've gotten so used to using my desktop tower as a footrest, I'm going to have to find a substitute; that and the whole VPN thing. I just -know- I'm going to have a lot of trouble logging in. On the bright side, I get to take off early since it'll take four hours for them to transfer all my data and I can't be on the network during that time.

I have to look over my plays and see if there's anything downstairs I can pitch to Pacifica. I'm tempted to pitch "Mrs. California" there, too, but I don't know if CCT is interested and if they take me and it, I'd end up directing it twice or have to pull another script out of my ass. Regardless, I'll pitch "She Loves Me" and I'm sure I'll be able to find something else. Though with PSP's audience ("Baby" and "Don Juan" don't draw flies, but "I Remember Mama" and "Heckle and Jeckle" make a ton of money? Bah.), who knows what's either viable or doable with their limited technical resources.

On a brighter note, I saw a 33-pound Chinese cat on Keith Olbermann's show tonight. He looked like a Volkswagen.

Damn!

If I'd've known people were actually going to be reading this, I'd've tried to make it interesting.

Hey, how about that Bush Administration, huh?

And those Olympics?

Wild, huh?

Monday, February 20, 2006

Dreading Tuesday

You'd think going back to work wouldn't be all -that- taxing, would you? Especially since I plan on being in the office only three days this week. It's just the thought of it that stinks, y'know? I do love the time off. I gotta win the lotto.

Had a thrilling day. Got hooked on "Project Runway" (they ran a marathon today), went grocery shopping (spent 0ver 200 bucks (!), but I can't remember the last time we went grocery shopping, so it's not -that- bad), cooked a new chicken recipe that was very successful (if I say so myself), and vaccuumed -- and there's laundry to do tomorrow!

I was asked what "Davecon" is, and it's fairly straightforward. Once a year, the more aggresive and notorious members of the alt.fan.letterman newsgroup gather in New York to see the show, go out for drinks afterwards (usually spending 50 bucks or so to get not near enough hors d'oeuvres or drinks; I'm thinking of passing on the food this year), go out for more drinks after that, and hang out. I use it as an excuse to see a bunch of shows, sightsee (though at this point, there's not a helluca lot I "need" to sightsee), see some friends, and just generally be in NYC. (And since I'm a director, it's mostly tax-deductable as a business/research expense.) Every time I'm there, I wonder if I coulda handled living in New York, and think I could still do it now, but then I realize I'll be 50 in less than a month and laugh and laugh.

Can't think of another damn thing to write. So I'll chalk this up more to just keeping this thing going than to saying anything profound.

Olympics, Gout, and Endings

So "Miss Daisy" closed today, and I think this was the first time I've ever not been sad at a show's closing. Don't get me wrong, it was a good show, but I didn't feel especially connected to it. Even being there today, I almost felt like I hadn't worked on it at all. Of course, it was a pretty sloppy show today; Pat was back to forgetting lines, and she and Darold were stepping all over each other. She claimed it was because I was taping the show, and while it's possible, who knows? In my magnaminity, I'm willing to believe her. There was a brief party at Christine's afterwards -- well, brief for me; I left at about 7:30, everyone else was planning on staying a while.

My gout mention in the title line is due to the fact that I ate a fairly large plate of pasta and some pretty good garlic bread and got that bloaty feeling. I ignored the spaghetti sauce (no mushrooms for me, please!) and the salad (no avocado for me, please!), so it was heavy on the starches. I guess I need more greens (ya think?)

Just realized I'm writing this in inverse order from the title, and you know what? I don't give a rat's ass. I've had the Olympics on while surfing tonight, and I just find it astonishing that anyone can do anything on the ice. I can skate -- badly; I canonly push with my right foot -- and am amazed that anyone can skate fast or backwards or anything. But I guess that's the whole point of the Olympics; to see what the limits of human achievement are. How those damn snowboarders fit into that, I have no idea, but I'm not a kid anymore, either.

Back to directing. I need a project. I need to direct something of my own, that I feel a passionate ownership for. I was planning on looking over my plays downstairs to find stuff to propose to PSP and CCT, but I think I need to factor in doing something for me. I'm tired of being a hired gun; I want to be the sheriff (I'm never sure how to spell "sheriff" until I see it).
Pidge is much improved today; she took it easy -- no long walks -- and that seems to have made a difference. We'll see tomorrow after we go to the grocery store. Am I suburban, or what? My big President's Day weekend? Laundry and grocery shopping. No wonder I feel the need for artistic fulfillment.

My big accomplishment for the day? Returning to this blog.

Jumping In, Feet First

Am I really the last person on Earth to start a blog? I guess I can't be; I mean, I already started on on Blogger, but never added anything once I started it -- like everyone else. I sit here are 2 am, watching reruns of the Olympics that are almost as old at the original game (the Greek ones, I mean) because there's nothing else on. I suppose I should turn in, especially since I have to get up and go to the closing performance of "Driving Miss Daisy" tomorrow (I'm taping it). We closed "Don Juan in Hell" tonight. Good show, but the 16 people who were there couldn't leave fast enough (they were responsive, though), and Pidge was hampered by having thrown her back out again. (She threw it out Thursday and was making progress until she bent over to pick up the garbage can lid. I came home from the gorcery store to find her sobbing on the living room floor from the pain. It got a little better as the day went on, but it's still not good.) All in all, a mediocre experience. I was glad to get back on stage -- especially after the "Urinetown" fiasco -- but it wasn't all it might have been and, being a show in Pacifica, didn't draw flies. This is definitely something that I plan on trying to change by the time "Mrs. Bob Cratchit" rolls around. I'm gonna take out a damn ad in the Chronicle, and hopefully get more than 15 people in the house.

Looked at hotels for my NY trip in May/June (DaveCon 2006 lurks), and was stunned at how much prices have gone up. Even staying in a cheap place is gonna be close to $2500 -- and that's not counting plane fare or tickets or food. I'll probably end up cashing in some miles and try going first class again. Man, flying first class is like crack; it's the most addictive way to fly. On shorter flights (and I guess St. Louis counts in that category), it's not so bad, but coast-to-coast? Faugh. No contest. Anyway, I looked on Hotwire and actually saw a three-star place for $135 a night in midtown, but may end up with the Casablanca or the Cosmo. God knows I loves the Cosmo, but I also like a place in the theatre district.

Had an epiphany tonight. I was unloading the trunk after we got home from the show -- wanted to take out our scripts and extra water bottles -- and noticed a light switch in the garage that I had never seen in the three years we've lived here. Learn something new every day . . .
Blah blah blah. Let's see if I can keep this damn thing up . . .