My friends, it is with an obligated heart that I take up pen once more (well, take up keyboard, let’s be honest). It’s interesting how this season started out with so much sturm & drang in which I had no end of things to say on the matters. My stack of soapboxes knew no number and I could rail with the best of them. Funny how much can actually change in under nine months. Now, as the final show of the season is, I almost hesitate to say, going in with little to no insurmountable obstacles on the horizon I feel I have nothing to write about. Angst, it seems, is my muse. In fact, with a few small exceptions, I have but good news to report. I know, right?!
Dear World is huge, I won’t lie to you. Even if the scenery for the show itself wasn’t gigantic (the concept is a world made of stained glass; we’re using fabric on thin wooden frames to suggest a kind of Art Deco kind of Paris circa 1910 or so – it’ll look AWESOME, if it doesn’t fall over and kill somebody …), the show has a thirteen person cast, is using EVERY lighting instrument we own (nevermind what works) and involves reconfiguring almost the entire theatre … Again. Apparently, “subtle” isn’t a word used too often around here.
But here’s the thing: It’s cool, man. I mean, concept and production meetings for this monster started back in mid January. At this point, yeah there’s a lot of work to do but I really feel like we’ve got it covered. “That’s usually when the ground falls out from beneath your feet.” Yeah, I know! But my project leader’s not missing, there’s no secret Brotherhood of the Crucifix Screwgun sworn to protect the works of Jerry Herman trying to push my production van into a giant whirling propeller and although my managing producer does look like she chose poorly even I would hesitate in calling her a Nazi.
We’re all fine. Here. Now. Thank you. How are you?
I can’t (and won’t) take all the credit. EVERYONE’S been pulling their weight on this one, I feel like, thus far. And even some of us who wouldn’t normally have to. I’ve had some help. The weekend before actors took stage I had two good friends come up and help put some stuff together and whilst it was efficient it was also a blast to work with them again. But even with having to call in some cavalry, I’d say the longest day Anna, Scoot & I’ve put in was MAYBE a twelve hour day. Not fun, by any stretch, but c’mon. … After The Show That Shall Not Be Named, that ain’t much to bitch about. I’m trying really hard to watch for that inevitable other shoe to drop and don’t mistake my optimism for blindness: There’s a LOT left to get done before opening but the thing I have to keep reminding myself is that Opening Night is still TWO WEEKS AWAY. I mean, FUCK man.
(Speaking of which: As an important, yet brief, aside, very recently I called one of my crew “kid” and was lambasted for demeaning and insulting them by calling someone under my supervision “kid;” to which my response was something like, “Fuck off, Junior. Don’t talk down to your elders.” Dammit, if you get to call me “old” then I get to call you “kid” …).
But WAIT! THERE’S MORE!!! That’s right! To top Loadin going so well, about a week or so ago I got called into the main office and was told that someone had made an anonymous donation to BRT of no less than $3000 SPECIFICALLY to be used to buy a new table saw.
If ever I thought I might have a guardian angel, now’s that time. See, the donation was anonymous, yes; but don’t doubt for a second that this monumental event wasn’t set into motion if only slightly by way of this blog. I am verbose and I am loud and I have some VERY VERY VERY good friends who have a LOT more influence with important (reads: Rich) people than I ever will. I’ve been asked to keep our benevolent benefactor somewhat of a secret (at least from the kind folk at BRT) but let’s just say that our new Delta 5HP Left Tilt Single Phase Cabinet Saw will be nicknamed, “Nora.”
Honestly, about the only thing I really have to bitch about this past and this coming week is that JB Dawson’s fucked me out of a hundred dollars. It’s a long and stupid story; let’s just leave it at that when answering the carnivore-calling for dead cow one evening after work recently I had meant to pay for exactly one half the bill whilst my compatriots coughed up the other half in cash. Upon balancing my checkbook this afternoon I discovered that JB Dawson’s had withdrawn the ENTIRE BILL from my account. On top of that, at the time the $70 charge would have been covered but the $145 charge overdrew my account and Bank of America hit me with a $35 overdraft charge. Fuckers. This either came about by a mistake of my own or some waiter is sitting on a PHAT tip. Normally this wouldn’t be such a big deal as the issue could be rectified easily with a phone call and a display of my credit card receipt … This same receipt that I can’t find. Yeah. All in all, I lose. Bank of America could give a shyte about how much SHOULD have been taken out and what was demanded by an otherwise reputable restaurant (and they’ll be damned if they care enough to give me back the subsequent overdraft charge) and JB Dawson’s’ll just say, “I’m sorry Senator, I have no recollection of that.” unless I’ve the receipt to prove I’ve been screwed. I mean, the steak was good. But FUCK it was $145 good.
I usually keep my receipts until I balance my checkbook at home but of course Murphy would rear his ugly head the one time I apparently don’t. Stupid …
And I mean, although losing a hundred bucks isn’t cool, … Man, if I’m still able to get a good night’s sleep because I’m managing to not only do my job but do it well – I’ll take it.
That’s word. Good night. And good luck.