Tag Archives: theatre

And, No, I Did Not Run Today

I am a very dramatic person. A drama queen, you ask, in an accusatory tone of voice. Perhaps, perhaps. On the other hand, there are worse things, my friend, than being a drama queen. For example, one could make unkind remarks in an accusatory tone of voice. Be that as it may, I offer the following tale for my Non-Sequitur Thursday post.

Once again I did not write a blog post at work, because I was working on my novel during breaks. My original plan had been to run after work and write a post about that. Then again, I’ve made a lot of running posts lately. One can get too much of a good thing (cue unkind remarks about how my running commentary posts are not necessarily a good thing).

I could not run immediately after work, however, because I had someplace else to be. When I apologized in advance for missing today’s meeting of the Wait Five Minute Club (I’ll write a blog post about the club another time), I said, “I have an audition.” I went on to explain I was auditioning to be one of the witches in a scene for MacBeth.

“It’s typecasting,” I said. Nobody disagreed. One guy referred me to a female co-worker (everybody calls her his work wife) as a source of information for the part. I assured him that I am an excellent actress. “But watch yourself,” I warned. “Or I’ll go all method on your ass.”

Now I sound quite obnoxious, calling myself an excellent actress. I was just being silly. In fact, I am probably an actress of normal abilities. But I love acting so much I hope I make the most of what talent I have. After all, one can go a long way with hard work and a good director (which I have often been fortunate enough to have).

Be that as it may, I went to Herkimer County Community College (HCCC) to meet with the man who was directing the scene. It is always kind of odd to me to drive up that hill, since I usually run it. I have not run it since the DARE 5K, although I plan to run it again soon. I had to find a building I had never been in before, to find the director’s office.

That was my main adventure, walking through two buildings at HCCC looking for an office. I found it without too much problem, though. I read the scene. Ooh, I love to read Shakespeare. I wanted to read it again, as well as a few more scenes from the play, but one mustn’t be greedy.

The scene is to be performed in Little Falls in October, as part of their Third Thursday event. I really must attend one of these Third Thursdays. Quite a lot goes on. It would probably make a good blog post.

After reading we talked about the scene to be presented, then branched out into Shakespeare, theatre, writing and all kinds of stuff. You may not know this about me, but I talk. I talk a lot. I like to talk. After I left the audition, I thought, “Wow, I talk too much.” I hope I didn’t sound dumb.

I don’t know yet whether I get to be one of the witches. That would be so cool if I did. If I don’t, though, I will try to go to the Third Thursday on Oct. 16 and see the scene. I’ll probably write a blog post about it.

Murder on the Blog Post

Is anybody keeping score as to how many posts I write about Why I Can’t Write a Post? I hope not. In fact, why should I flatter myself that people are paying that much attention to me in the first place? At least I was working on something different this time. I was trying to kill someone.

I just said that to be dramatic. I was writing a murder mystery. You see, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away… oh wait, that’s something else. It was in the North Country, as that area of northern New York State likes to call itself. And it was the 1990s, so, you know, not yesterday. My husband and I and some friends used to have a company called Murder For Hire. We put on interactive murder mystery dinner theatre.

I used to write most of them, and I like to think I was pretty good at it. We never made a lot of money, but we had a lot of fun. I really miss doing them. When I get a real intense bout of writer’s blank, sometimes I start one, just to get my creative juices flowing.

Regular readers may recall my saying that my novel is at a standstill. I keep thinking about it while at work (a good time for working out plot points), but nothing much is coming. So I started to think about something else. I thought about a possible venue for a murder mystery. I thought of an organization that might like to do one as a fundraiser. Then I thought about what kind of murder mystery they would like. Then next thing I knew, I was making notes.

I started that yesterday after I had written the day’s post, so I’ve been at it for two days now. I am enjoying it quite a bit. Will I feel confident enough to actually approach the organization I thought might like it? We shall see. And probably write a blog post about it.

From the Spiral Notebook

In future years if anybody looks at this notebook, they may be confused (um, that is the spiral notebook I was handwriting in this morning; I’m typing this into a computer now)(that sort of thing makes me feel so time-warpy)(where was I?) How egotistical is that, thinking posterity might utilize my notebook for history (as if they could read my handwriting).

What’s going on is I’m having a waste-not-want-not moment. I found a blank back of a page in the notebook I’m currently using and thought to write my blog post here. This is a notebook I had been using in 2012-2013, when I was secretary for Ilion Little Theatre. Boring minutes in messy handwriting. Seriously, none of my notes convey the drama of backstage community theatre. I’m sure any theatre-minded readers will understand. I need say no more, and, indeed, in would be inappropriate for me to do so. What happens at the board meeting stays at the board meeting.

OK, so that’s about all I have for today: a page to write on and a story about where the paper is located. Nothing in particular to write on it. Regular readers know this sort of thing happens to me at least once a week. Sometimes more.

Oh, I know, you’re all thinking of “That Damn Book,” a rather ridiculous essay I posted a mere two days ago. I actually had stuff to write about that day. I just couldn’t write any of it with that compelling book so close at hand. Today I have sensibly left the book at home. Along with, apparently, the better part of my brain.

That is all that I wrote this morning before beginning work. Then I thought, how appropriate for Non-Sequitur Thursday: using notebook pages out of order. Will I find something as good for Lame Post Friday? As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

Lamely Theatrical

I said earlier this week that I would use Lame Post Friday to consider the term “marvelously theatrical.” Regular readers (if any) may remember that George Zucco was described thusly in a summary of a Horror Classic I once saw.

The term “theatrical” to me seems a little silly. I would think that if something is on a stage in a threatre it is, by definition, theatrical. Kind of like looking your age. My dad says, how can you not look your age? I’m 50. This is what I look like at 50. Hence, I must look 50 (I know, I KNOW some of you probably think I DO look 50 or worse. It’s just an example) (And when my dad was 50, everybody said he didn’t look 50) (but I digress).

Perhaps it is one of those words that “I can’t give you a definition, but I know it when I see it.” I could explain this better in person. I would sit demurely and say in a quiet tone of voice, “I am in a theatre. I am theatrical.” Then I would leap to my feet, make a wide gesture with one arm and shout, “I am in a THEATRE!” Then a wide gesture with the other arm, “I am THEATRICAL!” Can you picture it?

I bet some of you have been sitting there trying to get a word in edgewise and point out to me that George Zucco was in a MOVIE not the THEATRE. Oh silly me. Did I even realize there is a difference?

Of course I did, stop looking so smug. I would submit that the difference may be less than we think. And I believe audience expectations are similar: they want to be entertained.

There is a wonderful scene in All About Eve where Gary Merrill tells off Ann Baxter for scorning movies vis a vis Broadway. He basically says that theatre encompasses all sorts of entertainment, “wherever there’s magic and make believe. So don’t approve or disapprove. It may not be your theatre, but it’s theatre for someone.” (I may be misquoting; don’t judge.)

“I just asked a question,” she replies, in that demure, well-modulated voice she uses when she’s got everybody fooled.

Steve and I always say, “Yeah, right,” because she used a horrified tone of voice, as if Hollywood is the antichrist.

Hmmmm… Do you suppose that’s kind of what the summary writer meant? That George Zucco is way better than an ordinary movie actor — he’s THEATRICAL (with gesture)! Perhaps he was just looking for a more impressive way of saying, “George Zucco is really, really good.” I eventually came to the conclusion he meant that George Zucco chews the scenery in a good way.

He is a pretty good actor. His presence will certainly be a selling point in my ongoing quest for movies to write about. Maybe one day I will even write a marvelously theatrical blog post.

I Get the Christmas Spirit

Warning: The following blog post contains references to religion. In general I try to stay off religion and politics, because people tend to feel strongly about these subjects and I am no hand at argument. Also:

Full Disclosure: I am not an especially good practitioner of religion myself (raised Catholic, attend Episcopal church now) (when I go to church) (which isn’t often) (so you see…)

Where was I? Ah yes, the post…

Saturday I got a good dose of the Christmas spirit, courtesy of Herkimer Reformed Church.

Of course I love to go to church programs. Anything involving Christmas, children and music is sure to be fun, and a good blog post. I had a particular reason for attending this one, however, because I needed a person of God.

One of the few things I know how to knit is a prayer shawl. A prayer shawl, in case you didn’t know, is usually given to a person suffering from a physical or mental problem (mental problem meaning something such as grief or depression; not say paranoid schizophrenia). The maker prays while making it and it is blessed when it is finished. I think ideally one has a recipient in mind while making the shawl and so can offer a specific prayer. However, it is also acceptable to make one and see who needs it.

I don’t pray specifically; I try to more maintain a prayerful attitude while I knit. I don’t know how successful I really am at that (see full disclosure above), so I feel it is doubly important that I have someone with credentials bless the shawl when it is finished. I usually have this done at my church, but like I said I have not been there in a while. Additionally, our beloved Father Paul sadly passed away. I heard a new pastor has been chosen but does not start till January. I wanted this shawl blessed Saturday.

When I head that there was to be a Live Nativity at Herkimer Reformed Church, I thought this would be a good opportunity to find a priest (or do I mean minister? Reverend? Person of the Lord).

I put the shawl in a bag and Tabby on her leash. I felt sure there could be no objection to a cute little dog at an outdoor program. There might even be other animals there. Anyways, Tabby loves church. I know she loves the Herkimer Reformed Church, because we often walk by it and she delights in sniffing at the fence. It is located at the Historic Four Corners, a favorite spot of Tabby’s and mine.

It had been raining on and off all day. I thought it reasonable to hope the rain would taper off during the program. We found a place to park next to the Herkimer County Historical Society and crossed the street to where people gathered in front of the church.

The program had already started, but we had not missed much. A few people had sensibly brought umbrellas. I don’t think I need to tell regular readers that I was not one of them. Two men petted Tabby, so she was already happy we came.

The story was coming out of speakers near the church. After a while I saw the narrator standing nearby with a microphone and an umbrella. There were no live animals. The little kids were the sheep. Teenagers portrayed the shepherds, Mary and Joseph, and one of the angels. Adults played the Archangel Gabriel and the Three Wise Men. I saw a shepherd help one of the sheep put her sheep hat back on. I love live theatre with kids.

As the show progressed, the rain increased. The players huddled under the stable roof when they were able to. Audience members with umbrellas huddled under those. The rest of us just got wet. Tabby behaved herself very well. She seemed to want to go up where the players were, but she did not insist. She probably thought they would like to pet her. Or maybe she saw the open church door and figured it would be warm and dry in there.

The story was interspersed with music. The songs were recorded and some of the players sang along. At the end they played a medley almost everybody sang with, even the audience (yes, me, too). The Wise Men and the sheep started dancing, so I danced too. Tabby did not dance with me, which was disappointing for me, but she was quite soaked by that time so she probably did not feel like it.

I remembered my mission and approached the narrator.

“Excuse me, are you the priest?”

“No, that’s Pastor Mark.” The man pointed at one of the men who had petted Tabby.

I explained my situation to the pastor. He said a lovely prayer over the shawl. I told him how much I enjoyed the beautiful nativity. He said he was just sorry it hadn’t stopped raining.

That would have been nice. On the other hand, it was wonderful how the participants and audience stood in the rain, enjoying the true meaning of Christmas. When I left, the music was still playing and the sheep and Wise Men were still dancing. Merry Christmas, everybody!

To the Play!

There I was at work (on a break, that is), writing my Friday Lame Post, and I thought it was going rather well. Then I realized I had written something extremely similar already. I was mortified.

And then I couldn’t really think of anything better to write, because I got a headache. Not a bad one, but I didn’t like it. So instead of thinking about my blog, I plotted how I could get out of going to the play at Ilion Little Theatre, which Steven and I had planned to attend. We can’t go on Saturday, because we have been invited to a party. We will probably be too tired on Sunday.

At the end of the day, I told my co-worker (who had earlier that day heard my weekend plans) that I would go to the play on Sunday.

“You will not. You’ll be too hungover from the party. You won’t go see that play at all!” He felt quite confident in his prediction.

Long story short (I know: too late): here I sit, showered, dressed and ready to go. Play tonight. Party tomorrow. Blog post in between.

Short post for now.

Hope you all enjoy your weekend.

Pre-Party Post

OK, it is not Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I had at least three Mohawk Valley adventures yesterday as well as watching a fairly cheesy movie so I indeed have things I could write about about. And yet. And yet.

Last night was closing night of Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the play I was in at Ilion Little Theatre. I’m tired.

Just as an aside: there was a moment in the play where I actually put my wrist to my forehead. My line was, “Oh shame! Oh degradation!” It was a melodrama. I got a little melodramatic.

Steven (my husband and the play’s director) and I spent this morning running around, trying to get ready for the cast party at one (my gyrations cooking refreshments may form the basis of a blog post later this week) (preview of coming attractions). We have a little over an hour before we have to head out.

I can just hear one of you (oh, all right, it probably isn’t one of you, it’s probably that pesky critic in my head) saying, “Well, there, that’s sixty minutes you have to be writing something brilliant, or at least readable, or at least NOT yet another post about Why I Can’t Write a Post Today.”

In the first place, it isn’t sixty minutes, because I have to keep running downstairs to stir the chicken wings.

The fact is, I’m drained. I feel profound relief that I no longer have to put forth the great effort it takes to be a different person on stage. While the joys of so doing are undeniable, there is also no denying, it takes a toll. The toll today is a boring Sunday post.

However, my spirits are high. I am looking forward in the coming weeks and months to devoting more time to my writing, to walking my dog, to being with my husband, just to Being.

In the meantime, I’m afraid today I am obligated to head to the theatre one more time. I must, I positively must, eat some good food, have a drink or two, hang out with some perfectly wonderful people, have a few laughs, enjoy. It is a moral obligation.

Egg Update

I’m not exactly going to talk about that play I’m in (which I believe I’ve mentioned before). However, I thought I would talk some more about emptying egg shells which are needed as props.

Having successfully blown one egg with the egg blower my friend Rachel so generously sent me, I felt I was all set to prepare the poultry related props. Since Steven had gotten some deli ham (I think it was even turkey ham — lower in fat and calories!), I thought a ham and cheese omelet would make a nice Saturday supper. That way I would get a few more eggs blown.

My plan was to do the egg blowing earlier in the day, while Steven was at work, rather than when it was time to cook and we were both quite hungry. I would blow the eggs into a bowl with a lid and nicely store them in the refrigerator till needed. I could get at least four eggs ahead! This was going to be great! I got to work.

Good God, did this process really work for me before? I’m sure it must have; I wrote a blog post about it. Well, yesterday I even had a hard time putting the two little holes in the egg. Twist, don’t push; it’s a drill. Twist, twist, twist. Maybe push a little. Finally I accomplished it. Then I poked the doodah in (I believe doodah is the technical term used by native Ukranians), tried to add a little water, shook.

And spent about three hours blowing with the rubber bulb. OK, it was more like five or ten minutes, but when you’re puffing and puffing (luckily not with my lungs), watching this little blob of egg white kind of sort of poking out of this tiny hole, and it doesn’t appear to be getting any bigger… How do people do this with dozens of eggs to make those gorgeous baskets full of the decorative ones?

Eventually I had a blow-out. As Rachel told me, it was not a dramatic explosion, just the sort of crack you sometimes get when you boil an egg. I got the rest of the egg out through the crack. The crack didn’t go all the way around the shell, so I think it is still usable. Perhaps for a rehearsal prop.

The second egg took a while too but remained intact. I looked at the two eggs in the bowl, thought of a few more congenial chores I wanted to get done, and decided that when it was time to cook dinner I would crack the remaining eggs needed the regular way.

So I’ll be blowing a couple more eggs as the week progresses. Will it rate a blog post? Hard to say. I foresee a busy week. I’m afraid this blog may experience a Week of Lame. But I hope you’ll stay tuned.

Just a Little Silliness

I’m afraid it’s Wuss Out Wednesday, a feature I have not taken gross advantage of like, for example, Lame Post Friday and Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I didn’t like the “real” post I was working on, but I came up with this bit of nonsense which I am oddly a little proud of. It may be that this will only be appreciated by theatre geeks — uh, I mean theatre lovers. It’s best read out loud in an airhead voice.

I have to do this paper for my online MFA course, so I thought I’d do it about that modern playwrite, Henry Gibson. Why everybody thought he was so modern when he was writing in the 1800s, I don’t know, but that’s what they call him. I know he wrote a play about hunting, something about a Wild Duck. I don’t think it it included recipes, which is too bad, because my boyfriend hunts.

What? I don’t see why plays can’t include recipes. They could put them in the program notes. I once read an Agatha Christie novel that included a recipe for chocolate cake. Delish!

Anyways, getting back to Gibson, I think he also wrote a play that was a biography of Hedda Hopper, only he had to change the name to avoid a lawsuit. I forget what that one was called.

I was hoping they had made movies out of his plays so I wouldn’t have to read them. Of course I mean read them AGAIN. I’ve read Gibson. That other guy, too, that wrote about the salesman. Roger Miller. Or was it Barney?

Not a Bored Meeting

I usually don’t write about my Ilion Little Theatre meetings, either Board of Director or monthly dinner. One reason is that I’m not sure if the people involved would like to be mentioned in a blog post. I mean, it’s one thing to stand up on stage in a play or even work backstage. In those cases, your name gets put in the program or even in the newspaper (spelled right or wrong). It’s already public. Meetings might be considered… less so.

By now some of my nosier readers may be sitting up by their monitors, wondering if they are going to be made privy to what goes on behind closed doors. Unfortunately, I do not plan to write anything that exciting, but I hope to come up with something at least mildly entertaining.

Last night (Wednesday) I arrived at The Stables, Remington Avenue, Ilion, NY, only slightly late for the 6 p.m. meeting. One board member could not be there because he had recently had surgery (was that a HIPPA violation to mention that?).

“If he was really dedicated,” I said, “he would have had his wife push him here in a wheelbarrow.”

I don’t know if anybody else remembers, but when Iraq had its first democratic elections, one old woman was pushed for miles and miles in a wheelbarrow just so she could vote. To me, that sets the standard.

“He might be at tomorrow’s dinner meeting,” someone said.

“In a wheelbarrow?” I asked hopefully.

As we continued our meeting, cast members of Rented Christmas kept walking by and going into rehearsal. Soon we heard the sounds of vocal warm-ups: “La la la la LAH la la la laaah!” (It sounds better than it looks.) Our president, who is also in the cast, shared with us a couple of cute stories about the younger cast members.

At the end of the meeting we had to sneak through rehearsal to get tables and chairs to set up for Thursday’s dinner meeting. Some of the cast was lined up across the stage singing Christmas carols. I sang along, but quietly. I have a terrible singing voice.

So I guess the main point of today’s post is to plug Rented Christmas. The singing I heard sounded pretty good. The story is heartwarming and family friendly. I personally look forward to seeing it. Performance dates are December 21, 22, 23, 28, 29 and 30. For more information visit Ilion Little Theatre’s website at www.ilionlittletheatre.org or their Facebook page.