Blessings

On my way home from rehearsal Friday night, I was stopped at the corner of 48th and 6th (in Manhattan) by two tall gentlemen (All right: tall to

me

. You bastards.) who asked me a question. I could not hear these men, as I was listening to one of my transcendentally brilliant mixes through my

Sony MDR-J10 earbuds

, so I removed said earbuds from my ears, only to discover that I still could not understand these men. They had fairly heavy French dialects, and were asking me something about channel four. "You mean NBC?" I innocently asked, pointing to the glowing studio sign down the block. (In my hometown, NBC broadcasts on channel four.) Non, Non. The bar: Channel 4. Sorry fellas. No notion.

They moved on, and as I reinserted my Sony MDR-J10 earbuds I wondered what kind of bar they were headed for. Would I be allowed in, if I tailed them? Sadly, I was distracted by the common flaw of my Sony MDR-J10 earbuds. If you yank them too hard, invariably one will get a wire loose and only send you smatterings of aural delight, which is not delightful. The opposite, in fact. Cursing my good-natured ribaldry with the French, I switched to Dane Cook (spoken word, IOW) for the long ride home.

Frankie, my character in this incarnation of

A Lie of the Mind

, is a tricky guy to play. The only background you're given on him is his relationships with his siblings and mother, and a brief reference to his having won a baseball scholarship in his youth. Oh, and he was played by

Aidan Quinn

on Broadway. (Who ranks amongst my list of least favorite actors, though

Benny & Joon

is an undeniable classic. You bastards.) He has nothing--as far as I have discovered within a week of rehearsal--of his own to fight for in the play, apart from his survival after receiving a gunshot wound. Most of his time is spent trying to help his brother out. Tricky tricky tricky. This morning, getting ready to leave for our first full stumble-through, I was busying my mind with questions about this problem. Questions like, "Why are you such a foil, Frankie?" and "Who made you such a tool, Frankie?"

Then we had our stumble-through, and stumble we did, with great conviction. My favorite moment was when one actress expressed frustration with not having learned a note about remaining positive about everything that happened on stage, and another replied, "Yeah Cindy, I mean, you

have

been working on it for a whole eight days now." (I refuse to indicate "irony" with an emoticon in this space.) I relished the run-through, dreading it as I had been, because something about its continuity allowed me to cease freaking out about how incapable of the work I felt and thereby

actually listen

. Imagine my profound sense of revelation upon actually hearing my scene partners. Ah, victory. Or, at least, a step beyond.

After rehearsal I called

Friend Younce

, who was in town with family for yet another niece's blessing. I had forgotten that this was the prophesied weekend of said visit. Fortunately (and, might I add, miraculously), I had nothing else doing tonight. Unfortunately, the crew was assembled IN

BAY RIDGE

. For those of you less familiar with the boroughs of my nuevo Zion, Bay Ridge is to Manhattan as Richmond is to DC . . . at least by

subway

. It is not so far from my home in Brooklyn, however. If the Younce clan had been gathered in the Bronx or Queens, yours truly wouldn't have had the evening he eventually did.

After near-on two hours of travel, I was amongst them. Friend Dave, his wife Michelle, their children Hildegard and Enoch, his sister Carrie and her husband Ed and their children Hazel and . . . uh . . . Ginger? No. Dang it. I'll get it later. Also Dave and Carrie's parents, whom I hadn't seen in years. It was great, albeit rather different from my usual hang time with Dave, which is usually more reminiscent of our olden days of comicbooks and discussions of girls and mythology. I love the Younces. They remind me of how sane, yet individualistic family members can be. And Dave is one of those friends of olde that I just fall back in with. So it was unconventional and welcoming.

There was pizza, and playing kids' games, and a movie (

Stranger than Fiction

, which I had already seen and--not joking here--I believe would have made a better book) and some of the olde discussion.

When I stepped out to head home on the R train, it was raining but warm. It was midnight, but really 1:00 AM, given the imminent spring in time. That amazing smell of newly wet asphalt was rising all around. It was uplifting; one of those moments that makes one wake up a bit, just enough to remember to recognize and appreciate the world around him. After a few moments of enjoying the sound of the rain on the street and the stone's-throw East River, I happily inserted my new

Sony MDR-J20 earbuds

into my ears for the not-so-long journey home.

"Oops."

It's funny. Chris Kipiniak's Spider-Man debut? It's funny. I can't tell if it's funnier because I know Chris, and can hear his voice in it, but that only matters to those of you who don't know him, so I don't really care. Does this dissuade you from picking up a copy? Oh shoot. My blatant nepotistic promotion has backfired. Well, suppose I told you there was an interesting error in the publishing of this comicbook? It may never come to anything that would make the book valuable, I suppose. Unless Chris' career takes off, that is.

In the final moments of the final confrontation between Spidey and the Circus of Death, embedded in one of the funniest captioned frames ("Meanwhile, up above.... Remember? The guy on the trapeze?") are two frames in which the dialogue and the character's expressions are switched. When the evil acrobat's face is contorted with concentration, he says, "Oops." When it's pale with fear, he says, "Almost...got..."

Last night I had another rehearsal of

A Lie of the Mind

, still reeling a bit from head cold and the necessary medication. It was a mess for me. I would shift between congested retardation and loopy impulse-control difficulties. It got to be very frustrating to me, trying to push past this wall of mucus to make good work. Every choice I made rang false to me, range falser and flat, and I could never be sure if it was because I was making such poor choices, or if I just couldn't feel the right reverberations.

Working out of order as we are, to accommodate everyone's schedules, one of the last scenes of the evening we worked on was the first in which my character, Frankie, is introduced to the family of his sister-in-law. In said scene, he's just been shot through the thigh, and he has very little dialogue to express a variety of things: pain, anger, shock, fear, confusion. More difficult still, his intention in the scene is bizarrely structured. It's rather achieved within the first moments he arrives in the room, and thereafter he merely fights for his own freedom . . . poorly. It was going to be tricky, and I knew it. The only thing an actor can do, past any preparation, in this circumstance is to jump in. I did.

And started making mistakes left and right.

Which worked great. It turns out, having a head cold is pretty excellent base material for emulating the symptoms of shock, which is rather the key to the strangeness of the scene. The character is slipping out of reality, but fighting it all along, struggling against himself to achieve what he's already achieved. He's getting no feedback, or at least none that he can understand and interpret.

It's tricky for me to embrace ignorance, or to relish "not knowing." It was one of the biggest lessons I came away from Italy with last June. And yes, it's one of those lessons I keep learning over, and over, and over again. I'll probably never get it naturally. So for those of you who know me: be patient. Someday I'll be able to admit just how little I know. Think of how much I'll be able to learn then.

Cold Head

Sorry, I'b a liddle buddled. I beant "head cold."

I am a wuss. I will admit it; I will declaim it with gusto . . . as soon as I feel a little healthier. When I get sick, there's nothing halfway about it. There's no "little 24-hour thing" for this boy, ever. I like to believe it is because--even on a physiological level--I maintain the courage of my convictions. Probably, though, it has more to do with having a Constitution score of about 2. (Yeah gamers: I went yon.)

Friend Patrick

(who has a much more admirable Constitution score) was right in his comment in my last entry. The past year has made personally known to me much illness and injury (for more detailed explanation:

12/31/06

). In the words of the Bard: I don't want to start any blasphemous rumors, but think that God's got a sick sense of humor, and when I die I expect to find Him laughing.

Meanwhile, the world marches merrily onward, oblivious to my suffering. Monday's rehearsal and showing of

The Torture Project

(v. 3.5.07) occurred. That's not to suggest it went poorly, I just never really know how it went until I hear back from the producers. I spent whatever of the day I wasn't in the Shabaq position lying on the floor trying to marshal my reserves. The showing was PACKED, the which I take some of the responsibility for. We had a small room to begin with, and there was more concern for surrounding the big-wigs with appreciative audience members than there was with actual space, so . . . mistakes were made. Which should be okay, what with it being a workshop presentation and all, but you never can tell. Some of the more memorable of these included:

  • Tripping into an audience member in the first row because there was no light in which to exit after my first scene.
  • Running out to strike a music stand and getting it nearly disentangled from the newly added Christmas lights on the ground before realizing I jumped the gun on its removal . . . all the while the next scene has already begun.
  • Literally choking whilst trying to make drowning noises in a tub of water placed behind the audience because--due to the necessary additional seating--I was awfully worried about splashing the designer handbag just inches away.

I blame it all on the sickie. The response immediately following the presentation seemed positive, but of course that's what you do when locked in a room with about a dozen people who effectively told you, "I made this, and I think it's pretty and special." We'll get the real response when Ms. Laurie Sales emails us all to say either:

  • Quit your day jobs! The Public wants to create an everlasting ensemble troupe comprised solely of us and the entire Schreiber family!

Or:

  • Do you guys want to rehearse in New Hampshire again? At least we get free space there . . .

For the moment, I am merely glad it's over for a while, and merely hopeful that the next time we mount

whatever

version of it we have much more ample time and resources. Since the showing, too, I had my first rehearsal for

A Lie of the Mind

. I spent the day leading up to it resting, which is a significant sacrifice when one works an hourly job one already has to take some time off from for various theatrical endeavors. Sadly, I was not (and am not yet) cured by this respite. I did, however, manage to unbind and recycle countless

Torture Project

scripts into draft paper. So I've got that going for me. Which is nice. (And which is today's movie quote; name it, you freakin' namers!)

The cast of

A Lie of the Mind

is awesome. Just awesome. I was in no shape to socialize, but the work is so engaging there was very little impulse to, either. I've been lucking out on the casts I've been a part of the past couple of years. I can't be sure if that's luck, actually, or one of the occasional benefits awarded those of us who stick with this nutty craft long enough to build a bit of a community. In addition, I have to spout that I'm very impressed with the director, Daryl Boling. I've worked with Daryl in this capacity twice before, the first on a debut called

The Center of Gravity

(his directorial debut, I believe) and the second on a production called

Criminals in Love

. It's been three years since

CiL

, and in that time I've caught only two productions Daryl's directed: his

Black Comedy/White Liars

a couple of years ago and his

Miss Julie

about a month ago. I suspected, based on that last production, that he had really developed since I last worked with him. My suspicions are confirmed. He is approaching the text with a sensitivity and insight reminiscent of David Zarko, and I can't wait to be able to breathe through my nose again so I can rise to his work.

Tonight is another rehearsal for

ALotM

, and naturally I have mixed feelings about being there. This is what I want to be doing most in the world, but nothing is exactly fulfilling when one is in pain (see wuss comment above). It's one of those sacrifices--along with the resulting reduced income--that tests my resolve to be doing what I'm doing. So in at least one way, I'm coming out strong today.

PS - This Vick's nasal inhaler is

good stuff

. . .

PPS - Total sidebar: Amazingly excellent actor Chris Kipiniak from the

TP

is a comicbook writer as well, and today the first of his

Spider-Man series

arrives on the shelves. It's a series for youth. I so don't care, and am getting my copy right now. I know a comicbook writer!

Strange Times bring Strange Tidings

Where have I been? Where have I been? I've been busy, okay? Do I have to report every little thing I do to you, huh? Huh? Do I? Do I? No. NO! I DON'T!

I'm sorry. Hey: I'm sorry. Really. I lost my temper and, um, I . . . I said some things I shouldn't have said there. I may have, you know, given you the impression that I felt smothered, and I don't. I do not. No, no, I'm just . . . stressed. I'm a little stressed right now, and I took it out on you and that wasn't fair and I'm sorry. Okay? Can I make you some pancakes? How about waffles?

And just where have I been? Oh, here and there. The glorious thing about my end-o-week is the astonishingly little time it has me strapped into a desk. The un-bloggerly thing about it, is the astonishingly little time it has me strapped into a desk. It's a trade-off. But it's Saturday morning, I'm doing laundry and watching old Paramount(TM) Superman(R) cartoons (first episode: "Japoteurs"!) and finally my much-neglected 'blog gets a tune-up.

When last we left our erstwhile hero, he was opining about the glacial pace of The Torture Project's development. He has since resuscitated after various activities in the intervening day-and-a-half to the extent that he is barely aware of writing about himself in the third person. >Ahem.< I did receive some unexpected support in my feeling of impatience over the TP, which helps me feel less psychotically insecure, so thank you, O eponymous anonymous contributor. In addition, we had circus night at the loft on a Thursday this week. We did not receive the promised jugglers, but we did have both Zoe(umlaut) and Dave of Paradizo Dance with us--a rare treat. I got to fly a thigh stand on Dave, which was like climbing a tree with roots to China, and based Zoe(u) in a high angel, which was a first for me. Friday brought another day teaching at Validus Preparatory Academy, but another "first." This time it was the first time both Alex and I were supervising the boys as they filmed themselves playing basketball, and it was fascinating. The guys were more responsive and invested in the project, and Alex learned a little bit about all the kind of work I had to do in her absence last semester. After that it was off to a photo shoot for A Lie of the Mind at Manhattan Theatre Source. I bought one of those circa-70s cowboy shirts (with the pearly snaps) for the occasion--a fantasy buy for me for some time now (whoa, slow down there, Tex) and the shoot was spent in pretty continual laughter over the antics of Todd d'Amour and Laura Schwenninger.

Tomorrow returns me to The Torture Project, but after such a varied series of hours I feel more equipped to be there. It's strange how that works. There is the usual inertia factor when it comes to personal energy, how one just generally feels capable of more when he or she is already active; there is also, however, a kind of recharge to acting that comes from just living a little more life. I wonder sometimes if it works the same in all things creative, or in all things in general. You have to be out there, having a life, to bring something back into whatever you're working on. Do other things one is working on count toward that? I venture a yea. It's worked for me this weekend.