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!

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?

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 . . .