Weekend Update

I took a vacation day on Friday as it was a use it or lose it situation, and I don’t like to lose it. Nor do I like Losin’ It which features a young Tom Cruise.

That’s sort of a lie, I’ve never seen Losin’ It.

Even with the extra day, the weekend felt fairly uneventful. Three more shows down, all of them well received. One of the evenings I got so emotional in my pivotal scene that I sort of lost track of where I was. I sort of shook myself out of it and realized that I do need to be aware enough to listen for my cue line. Oh yeah, and on Saturday night’s show, someone apparently had their iPod going in their purse/man purse, pouring tinny sounding music from the headphones; drum heavy and rockin’ music. This is not at all distracting to the actors on stage by the way.

Sarcasm tastes like chicken.

A friend who I had done my actor’s training with in San Francisco came to town and checked out the show while he was here. On sitting over cocktails afterwards he, unsolicited by the by, offered some coaching on where my characters focus should be. As this is sort of the thing he does, not realizing that he comes off as quite a prick, I sort of let it roll and said, “well, I disagree with you.” He continued to push his point and I had to get a little more forceful with him, pointing out that it was in fact me that had read the script, worked with the director and the playwright, had developed the character into what it was – he did not do these things. I informed him that in lieu of telling him to fuck off, I was going to respectfully disagree with him and restate that he was wrong.

Someone pointed out Saturday night that at midnight it officially became autumn, and the very air itself seemed to take the cue. On walking home there was a definite chill to the air that was not there the night before. It was a chill that had been merely a whisper in a crowded room before, a secret that everyone knew but kept hidden out of a strange politeness. I walked down the city facing side of Capitol Hill, letting the intensity of a new season punch me, pushing my breath out in a phantom plume. It had not occurred to me to wear a coat that night and I was cold, no joke, but it hardly seemed to matter.

Sunday night I spent with Kickers, going further out of my way to make him laugh than was probably necessary; it was enough to walk quickly into view to have him squeal in squinty-eyed hilarity. He got a little cranky towards bedtime, as the best of us will. But he went to sleep without much of a fight, or without yelling “shut up” at me and mumbling unintelligently when I try to take shoes off – as some friends have been known to do. After he was out, I busied myself with some light housekeeping, the TV on so I could at least hear “The Simpsons”.

But I overheard a commercial which was for an internet ready cell phone. “When you were young,” the smarmy voice over actor began. “Did you dream of exploring space? Did you dream of a magic box that could bring you information at the speed of light?”

That’s a pretty leading question I thought. He then went on to tell me that the company shelling out cash for his voice has gone and made my childhood dreams come true – assuming my childhood dreams involved the internet. They did not. If said company had turned me into a carnival ride maker, or made it so I could breath underwater, or let me hang out with the kid from E.T., then that would be something.

And that’s what I got… Except for this:


Zeptember song of the day: “Stairway To Heaven.” You say you’ve heard it too many damn times, and I call bullshit on that. Sure it’s been overplayed, but the vague spookiness still lingers, and the thing boils over into a crashing crescendo before sliding back down to a fading darkness. Doesn’t anybody remember laughter? Hell yes.