Twenty-Four Little Hours Brought the Sun And Flowers
Just got back from the theatre, where as of about 3:00 p.m. we had nearly completed half of Phase I-B. As I predicted yesterday, we didn't come anywhere close to completion, but at the same time, this part of the project clearly will go much more quickly than the first part, so realistically we only need a couple of four-hour work calls interspersed into the next two months to "git 'er done", as the kids around here say.
We'll spend a couple of evenings next week getting the space cleaned up and ready for an audience Friday night, then we move right into rehearsals for the next show, which for me personally means the heavy lifting is done for awhile - at least until we schedule some other massive project, like say, hanging a light grid or some-such.
Which also means of course that now I have no more excuses to not get back into the gym on a regular basis.
So, I've got the rest of the afternoon to clean up and relax before meeting a friend for dinner and a little show put on by some other friends this evening. Then two glorious days of completely unscheduled nothingness before heading back to work on Wednesday.
Mucho on the news front, but have been tres busy, hence just now getting around to posting.
Dale was released from hospital on the 26th, and if his subsequent blood tests show good results, they expect he'll be released to go home on the 3rd. I had initially planned to drive them back to Longview, but unfortunately, my boss isn't going to be back from vacation until the 4th, so no chance to clear the extra days off, and in any event, I'd just have to turn right around and come back the next day anyway, as I've got New Parents dinner duty on the 5th (Ida and Yellow Dog birthed their wee bebe on the 22nd (Nora Somerville Jorgensen, born 12/22 at 12:22 p.m.), and an Equity Membership Meeting on the 6th.
On the theatre side of things, I've temporarily resumed by recently divested PR position, as the person who had intended to take over the slot found she was in over her head, and so I'll be handling the reins again until a suitable replacement steps forward.
Also, we've been slogging away trying to get Phase I of our sound mitigation project completed, and I'm proud to say that, as of 5:00 p.m. today we are a literal hair's breadth away from finishing Phase I-A (installation of the first layer of cotton insulation, along with the 2x4 framing needed for Phase II, which will involve installing two layers of sound-deadening hardwall), and even managed to make a tiny start on Phase I-B (second layer of cotton insulation). It's been a dirty, back-breaking task; after pounding nails, hammering wood cross-bracing into position, and screwing it into place all Thursday and Friday evening, and all day today, I finally hit a wall around 4:00 p.m. where my upper arms went into muscle fatigue to the point that I could no longer hold a drill over my head steady enough to fit the bit into the screwhead. Even as I type this I'm actually supporting my arms against my rib cage; when I stop, they instinctively fold up towards my chest, as if the upper half of my body were attempting to curl up into a fetal position. In addition, I started getting leg cramps from packing a tool belt laden with about 30 pounds of tools, screws, etc., but, due to a thoughtful Christmas gift - thanks Dad, the money was well-spent - the new belt made the process part of the job easier, even if it exacted an unanticipated toll on the Ole' Bod. But despite the aches-and-pains, BenLau and I raced through the last three 36-foot sections in record time, and we are now literally only six pieces of wood from finishing this first step. Fortunately the second half of Phase I will entail far less sheer brute force, so tomorrow we'll be back at it for a few more hours trying to get as much done as we can.
Unfortunately, I don't think we're going to get I-B finished by then as planned, which means we have to try to squeeze out another day or two somewhere in our insanely busy production schedule over the next couple of months to get it done, before we call in some actual professional dry-wall installers (or, barring that some Union stage carpenters) to do the second half of the project in March.
Oh, right. And we've got our monthly late-night cabaret coming up in a week, so we have to clean up the huge mess, and get the space ready to greet the public by next Friday.
But, that can wait. Right now, I'm going to take a long, hot shower, in hopes it will relax my arms (and hopefully clear some of the recycled blue jeans out of my lungs) enough to fix some dinner.
Yesterday's hospital visit brought clear signs of improvement: Dale is more awake and alert, his voice is stronger, his personality is starting to reassert itself, he's able to make some minimal efforts towards self-ambulation, and he was even able to breath without the oxygen line by the end of the afternoon.
All-in-all, a pretty decisive leap from the day before.
Can someone versed in these things check my RSS Feed (Left Column, right below "Radar Pings")? Let me know via email that you were able to subscribe, then I'll post a test message to verify the feed is working properly.
Thanks in advance.
(UPDATE)
Okay, looks like the new RSS feed is uploading properly (thanks, BenLau!), and I'm guessing those two or three of you who actually subscribed to AtomFeed are getting this as well.
Why Don't They Let Me Go Home, This Is The Worst Trip I've Ever Been On
Just got back from spending 3 1/2 hours with my Mom in a hospital room watching over an old man trying to breath - and according to her, today was a GOOD day.
I hadn't seen Dale for about three weeks, just after his final infusion treatment, and he looked like a wreck then; now, even though everyone assures me he's out of the woods and actually on-the-mend from the flu virus, he looks like he's aged 20 years. He's lost probaby 15 or 20 pounds, most of his hair has fallen out as an after-effect of the last round of chemo, and he can barely speak after having had a respirator tube stuck down his throat for more than a week. Still, like my Mom said, at least they've taken that out, along with the IV lines, and the catheter, and he is able to sit up, and even get out of bed with assistance. But, I can't help but wonder what he must have looked like three or four days prior, when the virus was still kicking through his system - "death warmed over" probably wouldn't have been an exaggeration.
Clearly, he isn't getting out of hospital in the next few days; my obviously unprofessional guess is he'll be in for at least another week, and then probably one more week in Seattle, just to make absolutely certain he's recouperating, before they clear him to go home. Naturally, everyone is disappointed, not the least of which being Dale himself. When my Mom just casually mentioned her brother and sister-in-law coming over to Seattle on Tuesday, he started choking up; and this is a guy who, in my experience at least, rarely drops that stereotypical adult-male stoicism.
And my Mom's been doing this as a daily routine for well over a week, not to mention the numerous hours and days spent sitting in various hospital treatment waiting rooms for more than three months now. I have to give her credit; although he's the one enduring the pain, the discomfort, and the humiliation of being able to do almost nothing for himself (I discreetly stepped out of the room when he asked to go to the bathroom, figuring that between my Mom and the nurse, it would be better to get out of their way, but mostly to at least give him whatever small amount of dignity I could, considering that two women - albeit one his wife, the other a medical professional - were standing over him all the while), but she's been right there the entire time, lending whatever support she can.
We finally left shortly before 2:00 p.m., when he was due for some sort of treatment. I didn't get the details, and Mom wasn't really sure about the purpose, but apparently it requires him to be put under some sort of an oxygen tent, and the doctors and nurses have to don self-contained resperator units, so it's something that entails a relatively high level of decontamination, considering we were already required to gown, glove, and mask up before entering the room. We stopped for a quick lunch before I dropped Mom off back at the hospice hotel. She looks pretty beat, probably from worrying and lack of sleep, but otherwise, she's optimistic. After all, they've already come through the worst part, and she assures me there has been significant progress made since Dale was admitted, so I just have to trust her on that count.
I told her I'd drive her back over to the hospital tomorrow. The shuttle doesn't run on the weekends, and she's been taking the cab back-and-forth, which really add up - I scolded just a little, since, I reminded her, I could easily have driven her over, if she needed. I'm hoping I'll be able to see a little of the improvement everyone else has been reporting, and I'll probably feel a lot better about the situation if I can get some first-hand verification.
He Was Heading For Pennsylvania, And Some Home-Made Pumpkin Pie
So, just got the official word from the Moms: Dale will be in-hospital at least through the weekend, which means the odds of his being released to go home next week have been effectively reduced to zilch, which in turn means "Christmas In Seattle".
My aunt & uncle who live near Port Townshend will be coming over on Christmas Day, and we'll do a brunch or early dinner out, so there will be at least some minimal family-gatheringness in store. After that, I have an invite to an "orphan's Christmas" with a bunch of my theatre friends, so I'll be spending part of the Holiday with a sort of "different branch" of my extended family.
No idea at this point whether I'll be heading south at all. Again, unless Dale gets clearance to go home before next weekend, then my vacation time is gone, and I'll have to stay here, or at best do a same-day turnaround; will just continue to play things by-ear.
It'll be interesting to wake up in my own bed Christmas morning, something I don't think I've done more than once or twice since I graduated from high school. I will sort of miss the ritual of pulling chocolate bars, deoderant, and odd tools out of my 47 year-old "Mickey Mouse stocking", though - some traditions you just don't give up on, no matter what.
The Holiday Season has been shifting into high gear this week. Monday evening we had a little soiree at the theatre, and Tuesday evening, a friend of mine threw together a little festive musical concert at a local watering hole.
John is a disgustingly talented person, as are far, far too many of our mutual friends and colleagues (sadly, I cannot include myself among this exalted host, being completely lacking in anything even remotely resembling musical ability), to the point that he can just bash out an entire album's worth of self-written and recorded music on a complete whim, something which has apparently become an annual seasonal tradition for him.
And of course, he's nice enough to pretty much give the stuff away. So, if you like what you hear, feel free to download the entire album's worth, and maybe send a couple of $$ his way, just to encourage him to continue.
Please Have Snow And Mistletoe And Presents On The Tree
Just got off the phone with my mom. Turns out Dale is in hospital for ten days, not the three she was given to understand when he was admitted last week, because they'll need to do several days of physical therapy with him once he's able to get out of bed. So, he's doing better, hasn't come down with pneumonia (which apparently is fairly common with this particular bug), and is off IV fluids, although they've still got an air-tube down his throat to be on the safe side. But, the upshot is, they most likely won't be able to go home until at least the middle of next week, so it looks like I'll be spending Christmas in Seattle for the first time in 22 years.
I suppose I could go down south without them being there, but just doesn't make a lot of sense, since I'm probably of more use to them up here. Mom isn't going to be able to do all the packing and moving when they do get checked-out, so she's going to need help with that. Plus, she's an absolute terror on the freeway; she hardly ever drives more than a few miles, and even that short of a distance makes her nervous, so I'm angling to convince her to let me drive them down, whenever that happens.
Most of the family is naturally upset by the news, but they'll get over it. The main thing is to make sure Dale can leave with his immune system intact and as much of his physical strength restored as possible. So, if that means delaying Christmas for a few more days, well, so be it. The presents will still be sitting there under various and sundry trees, and maybe for once things will be a little more relaxed, a little less hectic, and everyone will appreciate the experience all that much more as a result.
All things considered, I can't think of a better holiday gift.
What does one do for an encore after defeating "Spider Solitaire" at "highest difficulty level (four suits)" AND in alternating suit sequence (HSDCHSDC)?
Are there no more challenges to overcome? No more mountains to conquer?
*Sigh!*
I suppose I can always go back to "Minesweeper"...
My friends Ida and Yellow Dog are about to have a wee bebe (the official due date was the 7th, but they're expecting it to be more like the 15th, which I'm also rooting for, since it will make it easier for me to remember, seeing as that's also my Pop's birthday), and yesterday they threw open the doors to their newly-settled apartment for a baby shower.
My other friend (and Ida and Yellow Dog's downstairs neighbor) Brynn acted as social director. When I asked her a few days ago whether I could contribute anything in the way of snackages, she replied "bring sandwiches". So, I scanned the Evite list to determine the number of potential attendees (this is the way such things are determined in our bright, shiny, internet-enabled future), I came up with a rough number of about 100 servings - that's a LOT of "sammies" my friends.
Fortunately, sandwiches require very little in the way of cooking, just a sufficient level of organization and prep-work. So, after a late night/early morning to bed after Friday night's Spin The Bottle (another rousing renditionof our annual "60 Seconds Max" showcase), I was up at the crack o' 8:30 (thanks cats!) to prepare 100 sandwiches of various varieties:
- 12 peanut butter & jelly mini-bagels ('cause don't all kids love PB&J?) - 20 cucumber & butter on white (crusts removed, of course) - 24 turkey and cranberry sauce on multi-grain - 20 meatloaf and mustard on potato bread - 12 mini quesadillas on home-made corn tortillas - 12 mini "salsadillas" on same (for my lactose-intolerant & vegan friends, of which apparently there are quite a few)
Now, mind you, these were all half to quarter-sized sandwiches, so it's not quite as daunting as it sounds, although any project of this level is a challenge in my "Barbie Dreamhouse" sized kitchen; just finding room in my Incredible Shrinking Refridgerator" was problematic. But, the extra half hour of unsleeping proved crucial, as I had everything cut, sliced, spread, assembled, plattered, baked, and foil wrapped in plenty of time to allow for showering, dressing, and lugging it all down to "Red Dwarf" in time to make the 1:00 p.m. start.
And from all perspectives it appears to have been a smashing success. I & YD have a fantastic aparment overlooking CapHill's Volunteer Park, with a picture-postcard view of Mt. Rainier out the kitchen window. The place is rather intriguingly laid out: except for the living room, there's narry ten feet of continuous wall space in the entire place, which branches out into unexpected turns and oddly-shaped rooms, sort of like it was designed by a very tall rabbit, or perhaps prairie dog. Even so, it's remarkably light and airy, and even though the climb up three flights might get downright annoying (although certainly a great way to keep the calves toned - and I don't even want to think about how people get their furnishings up and down the narrow staircases), once you get there, it's utterly charming. Plus, it's a two bedroom, so they have a separate nursery all set up and ready for action (it was give a pretty thorough test-run yesterday).
Oh, and they have a rooftop deck one flight above with a 360 degree view of the surrounding neighborhood. Um, yeah.
One important realization that came to me during the course of the afternoon: man, has my extended social circle suddenly gone "baby crazy". Of the roughly 40 people who showed up during the course of the afternoon, and out of about a dozen married couples in attendance, there were something like eight or nine kids, ranging in age from about five I believe down to a three month-old, if I heard correctly. Most of the little ones were less than a year old, so this has in fact been a fairly recent occurance for many of them.
And there are more on their way, literally any day now. I know they can hardly wait, and the rest of us look forward to saying "howdy" to the little gal or fella, whichever it turns out to be (they know, they just haven't made it public, although I have it on what I consider good authority that Ida's physical attributes are apparently "telling".)
So, welcome to the world whoeveryouwillbe - you're joining up with some good company.
We're slowly wringing ourselves out from Monday's record deluge. We were relatively unscathed up here in Sea-town, with some flooding, a few brief power outages and a couple of washed-out roads, although outlying areas were hit a lot harder. I-5 between Centralia & Olympia is still closed, and from the sounds of things will be until the weekend. Still, this is the second time in just slightly more than four years we've broken our one-day rainfall record; thanks to climate change our "hundred year storms" are rapidly becoming something to look forward to on a nearly annual basis.
Thankfully, I live just below the crest of a hill, and most of the houses on block have sufficient yardage to absorb even this considerable amount of precip and runoff; folks down-slope from us weren't so lucky. Also, my basement apartment is quite well sealed, so no worries there. Still, scooting home on "Little Nellie" that evening was an adventure, as there was standing water on the roadway in several places along my route. Good test for the rain gear, which succeeded in keeping my warm and dry for the commute.
Although it's been a relatively slow week all the way around, I've got plenty of things lined up for the weekend: a late-night show tomorrow, a baby shower to attend on Saturday afternooon, followed by an evening at the theatah, then Sunday I'll be shopping for our annual union holiday party on Monday afternoon.
Hopefully, by then our precipitation situation will be more-or-less back to normal.
Interesting weekend at the theatre. Aside from getting exactly half of the sound battening in the air, and most of the wood cut to shore up the remainder; in addition to prepping the space for a staff meeting and a play reading for tomorrow, not to mention our monthly late night cabaret coming up on Friday; we had a visit - no that's not exactly correct - we were joined in our two-day work party by one of the founding members of our theatre company, a guy who literally hasn't been around for about fifteen years, but who heard we had some new digs, got a curious itch to see what we were up to, and decided to drop in yesterday to lend a hand - despite the forecast of a snowstorm, which did in fact hit mid-day (alas, it's all just a distant memory by this evening.)
Every institution has its history and mythology, and in the Annex chronicles, Micha Rice ranks as one of the "founding five", who along with fellow Bainbridge High School alums Dave Skubinna and Garrett Bennett, and Mike Rainey and John Lawler, created and established Annex Theatre, and who moved the company over from the island to Seattle in the late 1980's. For the first few years of the theatre's existence, these guys were its face, its core, and its leadership. Over the course of time, all of them eventually left the company, (Dave, regrettably, died of AIDS in 1994), passing on the torch to a newer, younger generation of artists who caught the bug, and just happened to land on the doorstep of the venerable space they held at 1916 4th Avenue from 1987 until 2000.
I happened to be one of those newbies, although I had a prior connection due to my friendship with Dave and Mike, both of whom I'd gone to school with at Western Washington University from 1983 - 1985. We all moved to Seattle (or thereabouts) shortly after graduation, and ended up working, along with a number of our fellow drama department alumns, at Ticketmaster Northwest, then located inside the bowels of the Kingdome; in fact, so many of us ended up working there (at one time there were about a dozen of us), that we quickly dubbed the place "the Western Theatre Alumni Club". It was from there that most of us joined the Annex Company, although of that group I'm the only one still actively involved in the organization.
Anyway, back to the main story: I drove up to the theatre yesterday morning, and was parking "Little Nellie", when I noticed this guy, 40-ish, portly, wearing a motorcycle "bunny suit", snapping pictures of our facade. He looked vaguely familier, but I couldn't place him. After I'd stowed my gear, he walked up and asked if I was part of the Annex group. When I replied in the affirmative, he introduced himself, and naturally, I knew who he was as soon as he said his name.
So, Micha spent about four hours yesterday, and three hours today helping us install the sound baffling, which was truly awe-inspiring. Again, keep in mind he's been out of theatre for more than a decade at least; just working, doing his thing, like most people. But, for some strange reason he gets this urge to reconnect with something that at one time held a great deal of importance in his life, and lucky for him there are people still keeping this thing he started going - and he even happens to recognize a couple of familiar faces out of the fifteen or so folks who also showed up on Saturday to help out - AND we're all there because we're trying to create a NEW SPACE in which to do this thing that we do - that he used to do, but doesn't anymore - but, who knows? MAYBE he can do it again.
It just made me feel (and based on reactions, I don't think I was the only one) very proud - and humble - to have Micha there in our midst, sweating and straining through the task at hand, while at the same time drawing that thread which connects everyone who's ever been a part of this merry band we call Annex Theatre just a little bit more tightly together. A little of the Old Skool In The House, but not so much riffing on the past (although there was naturally a little of that), but focused on building our future - together.
And I think he left feeling something too: that he was welcome, not just for the sake of his past contributions, but for being willing to give of his time and energy, and to put a little bit of himself into the new space and the new Company.
Welcome back, Micha. We'll keep the light on for you.
Finished off my third and final dental procedure this morning - turns out I had three cavities to fill, not two as I'd thought, but they were all in the same general location (upper right quadrant, but different teeth). So, at 8:00 a.m. I was in the chair with a swab of topical anesthetic stuck up against my gum to numb it for the Lidicane injection - using one of those horribly large, old-fashioned looking syringes - which, given my latent Aprilophobia was enough to set my eye to twitching.
Fortunately, the dental tech was pretty delicate, and in about twenty minutes I could literally feel the right side of my face drooping like the expression on a cartoon bloodhound. Then it was all a matter of drilling-and-filling, followed by a forty minute session of tooth bleaching.
So, now I've got gritty new tooth-colored molar coverings (I had been concerned they were going to use metal or some-such, but once they fade down a bit, I'm guessing they'll be indistinguishable from natural dental enamel, which pleases me somewhat), some sparkly white incisors, and a sore jaw now that the anesthetic has worn off - and of course, another bill racked up on the ole' VISA. Still, at least the insurance covers 80%, so I guess I should be thankful to have it.
Guess this will teach me not to put off regular dental hygiene for decades at a time.
One could sure get used to long weekends. Because of scheduling vagaries, this is the third long weekend I've had in a row, and I'm going to miss them. Tomorrow it's back to work on a full five-day schedule, and no let-up until Christmas, but fortunately it's also a fairly slow time of year at work, and my fellow staff members will be out at various times on extended vacations during the month of December, which means a little more variety for me as I pick up some of the slack.
Fortunately, I've got most of my extra-curricular projects out of the way until the beginning of the year. We've still got a lot of work to do on sound insulation for the theatre, but we made a crucial decision at retreat last weekend to only attempt to complete Phase I (installing the sound-deadening cotton insulation) ourselves. Given the amount of time and work it's taken us so far, staff could see that it was going to take a lot longer than we anticipated just to get this first phase accomplished, and that we would be risking burning out volunteers if we attempted the next phase on their backs. So, we'll be calling in some professional dry-wall installers to get the really heavy work done sometime in January. It means shifting resources, and reallocating funding, and so we most likely won't be able to afford some hoped-for electrical upgrades, but we can work around that, particularly since our next show is going to be lit solely by the efforts of the cast anyway.
Thanksgiving was interesting, as it was the first in about fifteen years that I've spent with one of my parents. Dale had a massive chemo session late last week, followed by reintroduction of about 7,000,000 T-cells on Monday, so he was a bit out of things. However, the docs indicate he should show steady improvement over the first seven to ten days after reinfusion, so with luck he'll be well on-the-mend. There's still another month or so of testing and monitoring to verify that the melanoma has been eradicated, but Mom says they expect to be released and back home for Christmas. Now, it's just a matter of hoping the treatment reduced the cancer level to the target fraction of a percentage that means his body's natural defenses can keep it in remission.
We ate early, which gave me time to stop in at my friend Bob and Rae's for an evening of comaraderie, and kicking actual bona fide rocket scientists asses at interactive party games. Now, rocket scientists finally have a response for when they get asked whether some task is difficult or not, "hey, it ain't like playing 'Celebrities'!"
Have You Seen Her Dressed In Blue? See The Sky In Front Of You
One more item off the slowly shrinking project plate for 2007: The annual theatre retreat went down over the weekend, at our now-regular fortress of solitude deep in the woods near Mt. St. Helens.
As per usual, a good mix of old and new company members in attendance, and a fair amount of discussion regarding our future direction, and what we want to accomplish in the next year. Along the way, a few personnel changes. I'm giving up my dual-staff position of Communications Coordinator in order to focus more on my Facilities Manager position, since a great deal of our goals for the year involve changes and upgrades to our new venue, and so that's where I'm going to need to focus the bulk of my energies in the meantime. Also, this was the first retreat with our new (old) Artistic Director, Bret Fetzer officially at-the-helm, so even bigger changes there.
It's always a great weekend, and the site itself is spectacularly beautiful, even in the pouring rain, of which there was a great deal. Yet the constant drizzle does afford the occasional surprise - and this one was enough to get everyone up out of their seats in the middle of a long day of discussion, for a brief respite to enjoy a little in the way of natural phenomenons.
Needless to say, after a long drive down on Friday, return trip on Sunday, combined with a couple evenings of socialization, followed by short nights of trying to sleep on very hard mattresses (which, even when softened slightly by foam pads, still don't afford much in the way of comfort), I was one exhausted retreater when I finally got home last night after dropping off my ride-sharers and their assorted gear, and got my own unloaded and unpacked. Still, managed to stay awake until around 9:00-ish, in the hopes I'd get a good - long - night's shut-eye, but not wake up at the crack of 6:00 or so. Thankfully, I was out like the proverbial light, and didn't wake up until about 15 minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off, so mission accomplished there.
And another three-day work week, making three straight weeks of short schedules; a guy could really get used to this.
Never Understood A Single Word He Said, But He Always Had Some Mighty Fine Wine
So the fundraiser went off pretty much without a hitch last night. It was a smallish turnout, but on the other hand, people were definitely there to buy wine, and buy they did. Not sure what the final take will be, once receipts are netted out and such, but all-in-all, I think they did pretty well. Plus, the board president managed to finnagle an additional chunk of change out of the assembled to match a pledge from another board member to replace the theatre's sagging, and completely ADA uncompliant garage door (the venue being located in an old underground parking garage).
Amazingly, I managed to get all the way through the evening without a single hit on my credit card. I did bid o an couple of items early in the evening (the Fantagraphics compillation of works was particularly attractive), however, I was (thankfully) deterred by the fact that: A.) the starting bids of most of the wine lots already exceeded my initial spending limit; and B.) the paying customers were clearly there to spend some serious money. so this turned out to be one of the rare instances in which I've attended a charity auction (even in a volunteer capacity), and gone away empty-handed, but credit-balance-full.
So, that's one more project out of the way for the year.
Next up, a couple of days hanging Phase One of the sound baffling project for the other theatre, followed this weekend by our annual Company Retreat (which, although we really do talk about Art, and Finances, and Big Ideas, is in addition to all that, just a good excuse to go tromping around in the woods for a couple of days). Then it will be a few more sound mitigation work parties in the beginning of December, after which there will be a brief respite until we get to work on the next show.
Baby, Whatever Comes Monday Can Take Care Of Itself
Show #1 of the season was put to bed last night, and we're already doing pre-production work on Show #2. Fortunately, we've got a couple of months to go, but in the meantime, we'll begin phase 1 of our sound mitigation next week.
Now, all I've got on my projects plate is the wine auction on Monday, followed by a couple of evenings of sound insulation installing, followed by a three day theatre retreat next weekend, and then I'm pretty much in the clear for the holidays.
On the Home Front: Moma and Dale have returned to town from their brief "holiday", and he begins the second part of his treatment sometime next week. According to my mom, they'll reinsert all the T-Cells removed during the previous procedures in one massive dose, then the remainder of the regimen involves monitoring his immune system to see whether the level of reintroduced cells was large enough to wipe out the cancer, which should take roughly two months to determine. So, we'll be spending a quiet Thanksgiving at the Cancer Hotel, and with luck, they'll be able to head home before Christmas.
Not much news on the Work Front. The search for my boss' replacement continues. We did some interviews last weekend, but the search committee wasn't sufficiently impressed with the candidates to make a final choice from among them, and they've directed our National Exec to repost the position, and cull through the previously submitted resumes to see if maybe someone with the right combination of qualifications was somehow overlooked (unlikely). Essentially, we're back to "square one", which means the chances of finding a successor, making the offer, having them accept and be on-board before the end of the year appears slim. Which further means my boss probably won't be able to actually retire until, well February at the rate things are going.
After Friday's show, Lisa V. and her friend Sam invited me up the hill for an aprez performance drink (in reality, it was I who taxied them, since they came by bus, and I had driven "Red Dwarf" that evening).
On the way, we debated where to go. Most of the CapHill bars are either: A.) too loud for my 47 year-old ears; B.) pretentious hipster joints where the service is generally so glacially slow it should single-handedly counteract Global Warming; C.) gay clubs where 70% of the clientele are straight 20-something women (and therefore waaaaaaay below my acceptible age limit, as I generally try not to feign attraction for women young enough to be my own offspring); or D.) Ex-gay bars now frequented by Seattle's version of "the bridge and tunnel crowd" (i.e. suburbanites come to the Big City for a night of urban debautchery apparently not on the menu at their local T.G.I Fridays or Olive Garden.)
After eliminating options as fitting into one of the above-mentioned categories, we finally decided on the newly relocated Cha-Cha Lounge (generally fitting into Category B, but with somewhat better service), but the crowd outside was so large we figured the bar itself would be impossible to navigate. So, we ended up walking down the street to the recently opened Moe Bar.
Now, for those not up on your Recent Seattle History, "Moe" is a NOT reference to Springfield's own purveyor of mood-enhancing libations, but rather, to the iconic "Moe's Mo' Rockin' Cafe", which was pretty much Ground-Zero for Seattle's "grunge rock" scene during the late 1980's through mid-'90's. After a number of spectacularly disastrous attempts to turn the space into a funkadelicized urban dance club in the late '90's & early aughts, the place was rechristened "Neumo's Crystal Ball Reading Room" (a rather lengthy and pretentious appelation that even its own employees have shortened to the more pithy and evokative "Neumo's"), and returned to its original incarnation as a good old-fashioned rock club.
After opening, the owners refurbished a space just a couple of doors down, which has direct access to the Neumo's space, as a strictly drinking establishment, and which has undergone a couple of reboots the past couple of years, with the current "Moe's" being the latest incarnation of said.
I've only been inside a couple of times previously, but it struck me as a much better use of the old warehouse space: high open ceiling, lots and lots of brick, the lighting dark and subdued, but giving it a sort of old-fashioned feel, like how such an establishment must have felt in the days before electric lighting. Plus the booths are now much more comfortable than I recall from earlier iterations of the space, and although the music is somewhat loudish, it's not so onerous as to prevent one from having a casual conversation with the person or persons seated next to you.
Plus, the place wasn't packed to the gills, so we were actually able to grab a table with barstools upon entry, then a booth within about 15 minutes after arrival.
But, the thing that struck me most favorably was that at one point fairly early on during our patronage, the ENTIRE BAR - by this time comprised mostly of 20-something hipsters, with a smattering of late 30's looking rockers and maybe one or two people of "advanced years" (i.e. MY age), suddenly and spontaneously broke out into a sing-along rendition to the Neil Diamond classic, "Sweet Caroline" as it came on the jukebox (or more likely some employee's iPod), with everybody belting at the top of their lungs, and mostly on-key, and including enthusiastic imitations of the obligatory "WAH-wah-wah!" horn sections. Needless to say, Lisa, an unabashed Neil Diamond fan, was overjoyed.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun the song was over, and everyone went back to their conversations, as if what had just occured was the most natural thing in the world; and for all I know, at "Moe's" on a Friday night, it may well be.
I'm Leaning On These Dugout Steps, Just Waiting For Your Call
Well, yet another little project is put to bed. We had three consecutive sold-out houses, which is pretty significant given the organization has: A.) never done an entire weekend of theatrical offerings as part of its scheduled programming; and B.) had no idea whether they'd be able to come even close to filling the houses for that many performances. On both counts, clearly it was a great success for them.
Additionally, I'm given to understand the audience in general was more diverse than is typical for them. Certainly, there were a fair number of theatre folk who showed up on the strength both of several known local playwrights being included in the evening, as well as several of the pieces having been done previously for 14/48 (and I'm sure Kerry's appeal to the community to come check out the event played a major role in encouraging them as well).
So, it was probably a good way to bring the venue to the attention of the local theatre community - venues always being at a premium in this town - as well as to establish a theatrical "niche" for Little Red Studio itself.
And I certainly got a workout from the process. I described it to someone last evening as the theatrical equivalent of doing a Nautilus circuit: playwright, director, set mover, live voice-over, light board op, and live sound effects - all on the same bill. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if I set some sort of local record for covering the largest number of different theatre jobs for a single evening's performance.
Just another notch to solidify my position as a consumate theatrical "utility infielder".
My schedule is full-up today, so I didn't make any plans for a birthday celebration. However, a completely unexpected opportunity fell into my lap yesterday afternoon, which resulted in the arrival of a store-bought German Chocolate Cake to a local watering hole about 8:30 p.m. last evening. I sent out a last-ditch email at around 6:30 p.m., when I was informed of impending delivery, and actually had a few people show for the event (shout outs to Flaming Banjo, Lisa V. and Rachie-Rache - who happened to drop in completely unaware, but stayed anyway).
Promptly at 8:30 p.m. a clean-cut young man bearing a QFC cake-on-a-tray walked in and promptly began eyeing the place, which was packed with becostumed Halloween revelers, for someone who looked like they were waiting for a cake. We waved enthusiastically until we caught his attention.
Since said young man works as an intern for one of the local alterna-weeklys the event was recorded for posterity (and preumably public snarkage at the hands of their web site commentors.)
The sordid details can be found here. Frankly, I would have preferred being hand-fed my birthday cake by someone of the female persuasion, but at my age, beggars can't be choosers.
(And don't ask about the thing on my head - how many of you WOULDN'T debase yourselves slightly, in exchange for free cake?)
The Man With The Foolish Grin Is Keeping Perfectly Still
Had my first dental appointment in *mumble-mumble* years today, ostensibly to take advantage of a free teeth whitening coupon I recently received in the mail.
Some people have an almost pathological dislike of doctors; my antipathy toward dentists isn't quite that extreme, but due to a botched wisdom tooth extraction inflicted upon me by my last dentist *mumble-mumble* years ago, I have been avoiding subsequent visits.
But still, sooner or later you have to look squarely into the eyes of your nemesis and say, "I will not allow you to intimidate me further. Have at, Sir (or in this case, Madame)! Cry 'havok' and let loose the dogs of periodontal hygeine!"
Or something like that.
So, I arrived promptly on time for my scheduled appointment this morning (after dropping off Little Nellie at the Scooter Doc to fix a minor problem), filled out the paperwork, and was escorted to "the chair" (the obvious analogy to Capital Punishment did not escape my notice), where I was interviewed, X-rayed (digitally, which was interesting, since the images popped up immediately on the laptop screen facing me - lulling me into a false sense of security, since apparently the images don't "reveal all", especially to the untrained eye), lectured, measured, and eventually leaned back to begin: The Scraping.
The nice dental technician-lady admitted that, considering I hadn't been to a dentist in *mumble-mumble* years, things were in not-too-horrible shape. Still, I was showing some initial signs of minor gum disease, evinced by a deepening of the gap between the surface of my gums and the underlying ligaments or something. Not awful, and easily reversable, she said, with more frequent cleaning and more vigorous flossing (something I've always been, unfortunately I guess, somewhat adverse to doing).
And then the news sort of went downhill from there. Because of the length of time between visits, I had a rather significant plaque and tartar buildup that was going to require "deep cleaning" using an ultra-sound pick, which might necessitate a local anesthetic, and did I want one?
Now, I have a somewhat high threshhold for pain, coupled with an abject, profound, and completely irrational, albeit fairly common case of trypanophobia (fear of hypodermic needles), so I opted out on the shot in the gums. And frankly, the cleaning wasn't at all uncomfortable, aside from an occasional minor twinge.
However, because they had only scheduled me for an hour's worth of cleaning time, she was only able to clean about a quarter of the way through, meaning not only would I have to forego the whitening, but I would have to schedule an additional appointment to finish the remaining part of the cleaning job. Clearly this wasn't going to be nearly so simple and straight-forward as I had envisioned.
And then the dentist herself popped in for her perfunctory inspection, at which point, after poking and peering with the little mirror-on-a-stick, she informed me that I had two small cavities between a couple of molars in the "upper right quadrant" that would require filling, which means most likely scheduling a third appointment, before I can even consider doing the "free" teeth whitening, which keep in mind, was all I was really there for in the first place.
Now, this is a shock, not to mention a great disappointment to me. I have always prided myself on the fact that I have survived for 47 years with nothing in my body that didn't grow there on its own (I don't count the tattoos since they're external, decorative, and completely elective on my part); no fillings, no crowns, no pins, or metal joints, or stints, or transplants, or bionic implants or what-have-you. "All OEM", as the guys at Schuck's Auto Parts would say. So, the prospect of my first artificial "enhancement" is just a teensy bit depressing, especially coming right around a birthday, as it does.
I guess I should count myself lucky. By the time my grandparents were my age, I think at least three of them either had full-on dentures - both upper and lower - or enough gold, lead, stainless steel and ceramic inside their jaws to set off an airport metal detector. And my parents, although not quite so laden down with dental appliances, nevertheless have a fair amount of work in there as well I believe. So, I've truly got nothing to complain about, and certainly can only blame myself for my obvious inattention to dental discipline.
But still, I walked out of the office feeling a rather down in the mouth - to say the least! - which depression was exacerbated only slightly by forking over $80 for my portion of the co-pay (and further, being armed with the knowledge that I'll probably have to shell out roughly equivalent amounts on at least two of the now three subsequent visits I'll need to schedule before this round is over).
As I was walking over to my office, I decided that I might get a bit of good news from the Scooter Doc. Instead, things continued to deteriorate. Evidently, the hit-and-run of the previous Fall had loosened something inside my muffler, which is causing the muffler assembly to vibrate wildly, which in turn has put additional stress on the wheel assembly, causing the locking nut to come loose, and letting the wheel wobble about a quarter-inch or so off true. Scooter Doc was able to fix the loose nut and thus tighten the wheel with a few twists of a large socket wrench, but he recommended eventual replacement of the muffler, since the vibration will continue, and eventually the wheel will come loose again. Oh, and he just happened to have one in-stock, which would take about 30 minutes to replace, at a cost of about $200 for the unit, and maybe $30 labor, plus tax.
Well, I was already on a spending-spree, so what's a few hundred more here-or-there, right?
As I trudged the remaining few blocks to my office, I just kept telling myself, "it's all for the best. It's all for the best."
And, really it is, but even so, I sure can think of more fun ways to blow $350 in ten minutes.
If There's Something Strange In Your Neighborhood, Who You Gonna Call?
Saturday night's interactive haunted house event went quite smoothly, so far as I could tell. While perhaps not quite as well-attended as we would have liked, still the turnout seemed pretty good, considering we didn't spend a dime on the little bit of advertising we put out, and that we were probably competing against high-profile events elsewhere.
That said, four hours is a long time to maintain the pretense of being a ghost doing ghostly things. We got occasional breaks, and I at least had enough pre-recorded old-timey radio shows playing in the background to provide a bit of aural variety to my evening, but hunching over old radio receivers and electronics repair manuals was definitely not good for my back.
Next year, I'll have to see if I can come up with a character that either sits in a comfy recliner chair, or, lies flat on his back for a good portion of the evening.
Just got off the phone with my mom. Turns out the "cell-harvesting" phase of Dale's treatment went far more successfully than anticipated, and they're letting him go home for a week before they begin the re-insertion phase. Being doctors, their prognosis remains conservative, but based on current results, there's a strong likelihood he'll complete the treatment well before the end of the year.
While we were talking she asked if I'd seen any of the pictures from the massive brush fires down in Southern California. Well, yeah, I've seen a few, including some spectacular shots taken from 200 miles above the action by the ISS Expedition 16 crew (see yesterday's post).
"There's one in today's Seattle Times, and I think it's my cousin Alvin's house," she said.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." (I don't think I've ever even met the guy, but still, you have to feel a bit of sympathy for anyone who's just lost their home.)
"No, no, it didn't burn" she replied.
Sure enough, while we're talking I'm pulling up the Timesweb site and in the photo gallery accompanying the article there's what is presumably a shot taken from a helicopter showing a street in Rancho Bernardo, outside San Diego, which shows the remains of a dozen rather large, expensive-looking homes burnt down to the foundations, but with two homes at either end of the conflagration apparently completely untouched:
(Photo Credit: Louis Sinco/Los Angeles Times)
"I'm looking at it right now," I told her, marvelling at the sheer scale of what appears to be completely random destruction.
"I think his is the one on the right," she says, "your Aunt Laura was talking our other cousin in Bend (Oregon), and they're both pretty sure that's his."
"Wow, that's pretty lucky for him," I replied.
"Well, the thing is," she went on, "I guess he had the house fire-proofed last year after all the brush fires they had down there. He spent about $900,000 to get it done. He bought the house five years ago for something like three and a-half million (why don't I know MORE about these relatives of mine?) and now it's worth about five million."
"In that case, he definitely got his money's worth," I said "If I were him, I'd be calling the fire-proofing company and be asking about doing a testamonial for them when this is all over."
Even if it's not the right house, those two home owners on that street have pretty much used up their quota of luck for about the next 50 years, I'd say.
This Conversation Can Serve No Useful Purpose Any Longer. Goodbye, Dave.
Sometimes you have to marvel at the willful obtuseness of the corporate mind-set. I spent nearly an hour on the phone today with four different customer service reps, trying to figure out why an online payment made with my bank card was continually being blocked.
Basically it all boils down to the fact that VISA, in its infinite wisdom has decided that an effective anti-fraud security measure is to simply randomly reject certain transactions. According to the Online Banking Security Specialist (CS rep #4), there's been a lot of credit card fraud lately, and so VISA has beefed up its security system to red-flag "unusual transactions"; in this case an online purchase made on my ATM card to a foreign vendor (I was making a renewal payment to the French company that administers my Domain Name Server account.) However, she also admitted (somewhat reluctantly from the sounds of it - but I kept pressing her) there's really no concrete set of parameters that actually invoke a security block; it's all completely random. Also, there's no way for me, as the card holder to have the block removed.
Okay, I don't do a lot of business with foreign companies, so I can see how some computerized security countermeasures application might think that suspicious. Also, I just had the card replaced after foolishing leaving my previous card sticking out of the slot of an ATM a couple of weeks ago, so there's that as well. But, one would THINK there would be some option in the procedure to allow for a manual override of the block. But no, the only way to work around the security measure would be for me to call the company in Paris, put them on the line with someone at VISA, who would THEN give them a manual authorization code, which would allow the transaction to go through; I can't do it from my end, even though it's my card, and I'm the one making the purchase.
But, here's the really frustrating part about this: at the same time I was informed - for the 4th time - that there's no way for me to override the security restriction, I was also informed that the process was so random that if I waited for 24 hours or so, there was a very good chance I could get a subsequent transaction to go through with no problem.
So, the so-called "security protocol" turns out to be a completely arbitrary action taken by a compuer running on software that instructs it to randomly allow some transactions to pass through it, while at the same time denying other transactions for literally no valid reason whatsoever.
Now, there's really no point in blaming the machines, because of course they're just following the coding instructions supplied to them by an IT technician, at the behest of some middle manager who received a memo from a Second Vice President for Security Policies, or whomever it is that actually decides these things in the first place.
He's (and I will betray my gender by assuming it's a "he" - a reasonable assumption, given the general ratio of men-to-women in upper management positions, and the fact that most women have too much common-sense to make such a bone-headed decision in the first place) the one I'd really like to give an earful to right now.
But of course my chances of doing that are about as good as those of getting my DNS account renewed today.
UPDATE: Quite unsurprisingly, when I re-tried the transaction this evening using my other VISA card, it went through without a hitch. Evidentally, VISA must calculate there's less of a "security risk" that someone might try to commit fraud using a card with a $20,000 limit, than there is they would try to do so using a card tied to a checking account with only a couple of grand on-deposit.
Welcome to fall in Seattle: sunny and 70 one day, pouring wet and 52 the next. By Friday we're supposed to have more sun, but the temps will be the same as today.
Like we say around here: "if you don't like the weather now - wait a few minutes."
Space Shuttle Discovery (mission designation: STS-120) lifted off from Kennedy Space Center at 10:38 a.m. EST this morning, under the command of USAF Colonel Pamela Melroy. Discovery is scheduled to dock with ISS on Thursday, where it will join the Expedition 16 crew, under command of Peggy Whitson.
It's something of a credit to how far we've come in the past few decades that this significant event - the first time in the 47-year history of manned space exploration that women have commanded two operational space vessels - has gone almost completely without notice by either NASA or the media.
Just another day on the job I suppose, but a significant day to note nevertheless.
THURSDAY 11/01: Tech/Dress for SPF; possible birthday imbibement, if time allows.
FRIDAY 11/02: SPF performance
SATURDAY 11/03: SPF performance
SUNDAY 11/04: SPF performance/strike.
In the meantime, I need to finish the sound design for my Ghosty character, scrounge up a couple more props and costume pieces, do a bit of clean up in the theatre prior to our Thursday show, scrounge up a couple of props for the SPF piece I'm directing, and try to get in a couple of nights of theatre attendance in-between everything else.
And then I get a week of respite, before the theatre fundraiser I'm co-chairing, which goes up on the 12th, followed by our annual Annex retreat on the 16th - 18th.
Survived last night's WINDAPOCALYPSE 2007! completely unscathed - not even a brief power outage, although 280,000 other local residents weren't quite so lucky in that regard. At worst, we have a few downed branches in the front yard, and it appears about 70% of the fallen leaves on our street were blown onto the sidewalk outside my apartment, but that's the extent of the collatoral damage.
It's still a bit blustery outside, and the weather report indicates we could see some brief hail later today (Okay, in the amount of time it took me to type this, it's gone from "blustery" to "light monsoon").
With The Show up-and-running and nothing in the way of projects until next weekend I've got a light couple of days ahead - no major plans - so if the weather holds out for a few hours on Saturday or Sunday, I guess I'll be spending it raking up and bagging the half-ton of brown mush in front of my house.
Well, it was an interesting weekend to say the least.
Spent all day Friday Guest Slogging, which turned out to be quite a bit more work than I expected. Granted, The Stranger editorial staff probably gets a lot of source material sent in their direction by politicians, bureaucrats, in the form of press releases and whatnot, so they don't have to actively troll for news and posting ideas as much as I, and apparently my fellow GS's did. But, additionally, there's a tremendous amount of self-inflicted pressure to deliver interesting, topical, amusing, comment-worthy fare. I think we all did a pretty good job of things, given those conditions, but I noted a definite "petering out" towards the end of the day. Anyway, if you're interested in reading the sordid details, and the inevitable armchair criticism from the commenters, you can read all about it here (Just look under the section for Friday, October 12, 2007).
Friday night was of course, Opening Night for The Show, which by all accounts went swimmingly; a fairly full house, one reviewer in attendance, and lots of laughter, from what I could hear. I didn't actually see it until Saturday night, since right before curtain I was roped into helping prep for the after-show party.
David, our web master, came in Saturday to shoot some production photos, and asked me if I would be interested in attending the Sunday matinee performance of Seattle Opera's Iphegenia In Taurus; his wife wasn't feeling well, and he was looking to unload the seats. Generally, I'm not big on opera, for pretty much the same reason most people aren't. I don't have a classical music background, my knowledge of opera being limited to a handful of real-life experiences (and multiple exposures to old Warner Bro's cartoons) that have been well - boring, and encompassed just about every negative stereotype one can think of; large people standing around gesturing and bellowing in incomprehensible foreign tongues, while not much else happens. But, by the same token I do think it's important to broaden ones cultural experiences, and what the heck, it was a freebie. So, I said, "sure, I'll go."
(Ironically, I got a call this morning from my friend Colleen, who sings in the Seattle Symphony Chorale, offering me a half-price ticket to their matinee of Mozart's "Requiem" - odd that the only two offers I've received to attend classical events in ages would both come on the same day!)
A little later, I got another phone call, this time from my mom: "What are you doing today?"
"Um, I'm going to the opera this afternoon, why?"
"Well, your grandmother, and Aunt Laura and Uncle Gary are in town - "
"You mean, now?"
"They just got here a few minutes ago!"
"Okay, well I don't have to be there until 1:30, so I'll come on over now."
(Keep in mind, I later found out she'd heard from her sister on Friday that they were coming up; that's my mom.)
So, had a pleasant, albeit brief visit with some of the fams today, however, it did turn a little surreal towards the end, when they decided they wanted to go out and get something for lunch. Now, understand, these are not sophisticated urbanites we're talking about here. They're not stupid by any stretch, don't get me wrong; they're just regular, "average joe and jane" salt-of-the-earth types. That being said, they are nevertheless small-town folk, who don't venture up to "the big city" all that frequently (Portland is closer to their neck of the woods anyway), and among other things their culinary tastes tend toward the - how shall I say it - heart-clogging.
We're talking mid-western "meat and potatoes" type people here, whose idea of "exotic cuisine" is American-style Chinese food. To be fair, they're also game-eaters, so regular servings of deer, elk, moose - and occasionally even bear - might seem somewhat "out there" to even hoity-toity epicureans.
Anyway, the guys (my uncle and my mom's husband) decided they wanted to go somewhere that football was on. Okay, no problem. We're smack in the middle of South Lake Union, and there are any number of places nearby that would fit the bill. But, my uncle, who has been to Seattle on numerous occasions when he worked in the construction industry, only knew of one place in the neighborhood, and in the interests of both expediency, location, and access to large-screen NFL, it was decided we would dine - at Hooters.
I kid you not, before attending an afternoon of classical lyric theatre, I sat with my mother, grandmother, aunt, uncle and stepfather (I guess technically, that's the proper term) at Hooters, where their motto is: "Delightfully Tacky, Yet Unrefined".
Now, I've never set foot in the place before - I've really never had the urge or even the mildest sense of curiosity about the place, and I figure I'd already been given all the information I needed to know about it, just from what I'd seen and heard in the media. So, needless to say, my expectation going in was pretty low; and I think I can say in all honesty that I wasn't disappointed. Granted, the famous low-cut tank tops and push-up bras were eschewed in favor of more standard loose-fitting sports jerseys, but the tight orange hot-pants-and-hose combo was well in evidence, as was the teeth-clenching "peppiness" or whatever they call it, wherein every waitress seems to have been rigorously trained by Moon-Unit Zappa in proper "valley girl" speak, circa 1982.
And of course, it being Sunday, the place was packed wall-to-wall, mostly with jersey-clad males, a smattering of women who were presumably good-natured spouses or girlfriends, and surprisingly, about a dozen kids, most of whom appeared to have been dragged in by Single Dads With Weekend Custody, based on the noticeable absence of adult females in their parties.
(Seriously guys, you get the kids every other weekend, and not only can you not tear yourself away from that Packers-Redskins game to, like, take them to the zoo or the park or something, but you have to bring them to HOOTERS?!? And I'll bet you're still trying to figure out why the "little lady" became disenchanted with marital bliss.)
Oh, and as for the food, well, all I can say is Hooter's other motto should be something along the lines of: "If It Ain't Deep-Fried - We Don't Serve It!" Deep-fried pickles, deep-fried chicken wings, deep-fried shrimp, French fries, onion rings - even the ham-and-cheese sandwich my aunt ordered looked like the meat had spent at least a few seconds immersed in hot oil.
Fortunately, I had begged off ordering food, since I'd eaten breakfast only a couple of hours prior. Good call on my part; after just a couple of prefunctary nibbles at some of the glistening, grease-laden fare, my stomach winced in protest.
So, when 1:15 p.m. rolled around, I made my exit, gave my mom and grams a hug, was refused a handshake from my uncle on the (quite reasonable) excuse that his hands were slathered in buffalo-wing juice, and dashed in the direction of Little Nellie, having thus survived my first - and I hope only - excursion into Hootersville.
After that, even sitting through a 2 and a half-hour opera sung in French seemed like a piece of cake by comparison.
And actually, it wasn't half-bad. In fact, I'd say it was pretty good, given my abject lack of experience with opera. The leads sang well; the music was actually quite lush, even romantic, for a piece with such a decidedly dark tone; the set was gorgeous (the production is being co-produced by New York's Metropolitan Opera, where it will be staged after the Seattle run); and noted theatrical director Stephen Wadsworth's staging made the piece a lot more active than it probably would be under normal circumstances, since frankly, there's really not much in the way of story or action (David joked at intermission: "I guess the car chase happens in the second half!"). Heck, I even knew a couple of actors in the company!
So, all-in-all, a pretty wacky weekend, one I'm quite certain won't be repeated for a long, long, long time.
This past week has been (and will continue to be) chock-full of little odds-and-ends of things being started and/or completed.
The Columbus Day Holiday came in tres handy, as that was the day I actually managed to get a few things done: the boat got washed, the inflatable deflated and stowed, new dock lines and new shore power cable attached. After that, I had a meeting with our local theatre union federation, then did some work on prop pieces I'm going to be using for The Theatre's annual Halloween Event. That was followed by another meeting for The Theatre Staff, after which I spent a couple hours helping to finish painting the set for The Show, and finally rounded out the day by attending a 50th Birthday Celebration for my friend James, wherein much good-natured ribbing ensued, to be sure. I've got one coming up myself in just a few weeks, although - thankfully - not that "big milestone" one yet. Still, only three more to go until I get there - yikes!
Dang - when I look at it all in order - that was a lot to get done in one day!
This week includes finishing up some last-minute PR for the show; starting rehearsals for a 10 minute play I'm directing that will be done as part of an evening of short pieces early next month. Then of course, The Show opens on Friday, on which day I'll also be a guest commentator for the blog site belonging to our local alterna-weekly newspaper, which should be - interesting.
Working Too Hard Can Give You A Heart Attack, Ack, Ack, Ack, Ack, Ack
Got home from work just now and found the bill for the boat repair in my mailbox - along with the funniest - not to mention topical - "New Yorker" magazine cover I've seen in quite a while (there's currently a thumbnail in the upper right corner of their web site, but you really need to see it full-sized, just for the expression on Ahmadinejad's face.) It was good to get in a laugh before opening the billing envelope, otherwise I might have cried instead.
Let's just say, it was less than I anticipated, but far more than I was hoping.
Couldn't let the day pass without acknowledgement of one of the defining events of the 20th Century. For those who aren't already clued-in, today is the 50th Anniversary of the launch of Sputnik I, the first earth-orbiting artificial satellite.
Although this momentous event occured a full three years before I was born, the legacy of that tiny, beeping sphere nevertheless shaped a large portion of my upbringing. Not only was I quite literally reared on the sights and sounds of innumerable manned and unmanned rocket launches (some of my earliest memories, muddied though they may be in the loose temporality of a small child, are of sitting on my father's lap watching early Mercury lift-offs) resounding in my eyes and ears, but at the same time I was privvy to a significant cultural shift away from the omnipresent dread of "the nuclear nightmare" that defined much of the post-WW-II era, and toward Kennedy's now-famous "new frontier" of the 1960's. To say that I was born at the beginning of a new era in human history, presumptuous as it may sound, would not, I think, be inaccurate.
Of course, other geo-political and cultural issues came to the fore during that same period: our increasing military involvement in S.E. Asia; the counter-culture movement, and others, but for me, those pale in comparison. Space was the paradigm of the age in which I was born and grew up, and for those who know me well, it is still one of the things with which I most strongly define my sense of self.
I was less than six months old when Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin powered into orbit on the top of a Soviet R-7 rocket, essentially the same launch configuration that had put Sputnik into space three and a-half years previously. I probably saw (although it would be absurd to claim to remember) Alan Shepard's publically televised 15 minute sub-orbital flight mere weeks later. The same goes for John Glenn's February 1962 orbital mission.
But after that, the memories become clearer, sharper even as the frequency of such events accelerated with lighting speed: sitting in our ranch house outside Laramie, WY, watching later Mercury launches in glorious black-and-white; listening to CBS news anchor Walter Cronkite - to me, the veritable voice of the "space age" - describing Gemini missions, and of course culminating in that unforgettable July evening in 1969, sprawled in front of a color TV in the living room of our house in Lake Oswego, OR, while a grainy black-and-white image conveyed the ghostly form of a space-suited Neil Armstrong as he hopped down the ladder of his lunar module "Eagle" to take that first furtive "giant leap for Mankind".
Since then, there have of course been innumerable other triumphs, and tragedies - both for the Soviets and for ourselves - as we continue to take our first small steps off the planet we call home. And despite the complexities of international politics and the fickleness of public support, we endeavor to live up to the legacy left us by the herculean efforts of the likes of Korolev (a fascinating story, his, and one almost completely unknown to most people outside of the space fraternity) and von Braun, Gagarin, Glenn, Aleksei Leonov, Valentina Tereshkova,Ed White, Armstrong, Aldrin, Collins, Lovell, Schmitt, Young, Crippen, Ride, Krikalev, McAuliffe, Yang, so many others, all of whom, like those of us born into the First Age of Space (but unlike them, destined to watch the skies from below) are children of the new era, born out of the fear and paranoia of the past, and destined, despite the backsliding of the less visionary among us, to continue to take "small steps" into the future.
All thanks to a little silver ball flung into the unknown on a column of smoke and flame a half century ago today.
We Know Our Steam And Diesel, But What's A Mainyard For?
Just got a call from Andrew at the boat shop informing me my engine is back up-and-running.
Seems they encountered a number of unanticipated problems along the way, including: about five gallons of water in my fuel tank (from whence they can't tell - the tank itself isn't leaking, and the fuel cap seems tight, so they can only speculate that perhaps it leaked in through a vapor vent), there was a bunch of salt crud in the bottom of the tank which basically fried the electric fuel pump I had just had installed a few months back; and several of the fuel lines had been bent for no apparent reason.
I won't see the bill until I go in tomorrow morning, but one thing is for certain - it's going to put a big dent on my credit card account, probably to the tune of at least one "BOAT unit".
So, the Moms & husband arrived in town yesterday afternoon, and I kicked out of work a bit early to go help them unpack and settle into their new temporary digs. In typical fashion, she brought enough food to fill a normal-sized 'fridge (and freezer), along with enough cooking and dishware to outfit a small restaurant. "I just feel more comfortable using my own things," was her rationalization, despite the fact that their "apartment" already had a quite serviceable collection of kitchen items in-stock.
Dale is looking and sounding a lot better than the last time I saw him, nearly nine months ago, but in this instance, looks can be deceiving. When I went to shake his hand as I was leaving, he visibly winced at what I thought was a rather moderate grip; this from a guy who used to be strong enough to pinch bottle caps between his thumb and forefinger.
He goes in today for some orientation and paperwork, then starts the first round of testing tomorrow, which is supposed to keep him in the hospital for roughly two weeks, at which point the treatment will begin in earnest.
The idea, as my mom explained it, is to gradually sift through his blood for healthy cells (T-Cells it turns out, from a quick perusal of the Fred Hutch web site), which are extracted and stored until a sufficient quantity (something on the order of 30 million) are acquired to begin the actual treatment process. They are then re-infused, and the artificially increased population of T-Cells then targets metasticizing cells and kills them. Apparently this treatment has proven highly effective in limited clinical trials, and produces almost no side-effects compared to more traditional regimens such as chemo and radiation therapy. But, it takes about two months to harvest a sufficient quantity of cells, and another month to gauge effectiveness of the procedure, hence the need for the extended stay.
Which means, the local branch of the family may be spending Christmas this year in my neck of the woods for a change.
Turns out there's been a slight complication with the aprez-inking situation.
I went in to see Michael at the tattoo shop yesterday after work, because I was having some concern about the way the piece was healing up - or not as the case may be. Upon lifting my trouser leg to expose the area, the first thing he said was, "You have cats, don't you?"
When I replied in the affirmative, he explained the problem, "Cat hair is very fine, and during the healing process it can get into the pores pretty easily. The mites that naturally live on the hair then get in there and start doing their thing, which can lead to an infection."
Okay, news to me. And it hadn't been a problem before, although in the case of my previous work, which are also much smaller designs, it was all covered for the most part by shirt sleeves, so probably never exposed to cat hair to the same degree this one has been.
He suggested putting antibiotic ointment on the tattoo for about ten minutes after the first washing of the day, then removing it (apparently antibiotic creams actually retard the body's natural healing process - i.e. they prevent scabbing, which is necessary to help remove the upper layer of skin after the ink has been applied subcutaneously, so generally they're not recommended), in order to kill any bacteria the wee beasties may be leaving in the pores. He also indicated that, if the inflammation hadn't become noticeably less after a few days, I might want to see a doctor about a prescription for some mild antibiotics, to prevent any possible bacterial infection from setting in.
So, naturally I rushed home, washed my leg again and applied some Neosporin - for about fifteen minutes, just to be safe - and went to bed last night wearing sweats - my cats occasionally like to crawl beneath the sheets, so even with relatively fresh linen there's sure to be cat hair down there somewhere.
This morning there was a definite improvement: the scabs are beginning to loosen (TMI, I'm sure, but hey, this is about as bad as it gets), and the red, irritated skin around the edges of the ink seemed to be noticeably reduced. Also, I wasn't feeling the amount of "pinching" on my calf, which I had previously attributed to the natural shrinkage of the dead skin tissue as it dessicated. Good signs all.
So, I'm going to give the remedy a try for a couple more days, and see how things progress. With luck, the irritation will dissappear by the beginning of next week, and I figure most of the scabbing will be gone by then as well, hopefully leaving the piece in a showable condition.
And She's Always Gone Too Long, Anytime She Goes Away
Well, howdy there! Some of you (all six I'm sure) are probably dying to know why the ole' Boat hasn't been rocking these past few days.
Blame it on Blogger.
Turns out they changed some internal server settings that mucked up how the Intertubes identify and direct traffic to certain sites (including this one), causing all manner of hair-pulling, gnashing of teeth, waving of arms, and general boo-hooing among those of us lacking rudimentary coding skills. But, as you can see, it's all been fixed now, and things are more or less back to normal.
So, what did you miss in the meantime?
Spent part of last weekend running box office for SketchFest Seattle, our annual local immersion into the world of sketch comedy. Met some nice folks from a number of groups around the country, including brief interactions with Ted "Joxer" Raimi, who was helping out his friends Keilly And Roeters, and an extremely brief, albiet memorable run-in with SCTV alum, Joe Flaherty.
Friday, as those of you who were able to access my previous post will recall, was the day of the New Tattoo, which is currently a scabby, unsightly mass of dead skin tissue clinging to my leg, but which should emerge from its epidermal chrysalis in a few days to the oohs and ahhs of admiring Company members by next Monday (hope-hope).
On other fronts, the boat mechanic called today with the news that my carburetor has been fully cleaned, sand-blasted, and flushed of gunk. They'll install it tomorrow, and as soon as I recover from the shock of the bill, I'll actually be able to take her out again - just in time for the end of boating season, naturally.
One final bit of newsiness: I got a call from my mom yesterday, who informed me that she and her husband will be visiting Seattle next week - and staying for approximately three months while Dale undergoes some experimental gene therapy at Fred Hutchinson. They've been assigned a temporary residence at Pete Gross House, which is just a few blocks from the Center, and about splits the difference between my apartment and office, so I imagine I'll be seeing quite a bit of them while they're here.
That should catch everyone more-or-less up-to-date.
Oh, remember kids: today be National Talk Like A Pirate Day, so get out yer' eye-patch and peg-leg, shiver yer timbers, and start talkin' pirate-like!
So, here's the result of two hours of my time yesterday at the neighborhood inkery:
(This is on the back of the left calf)
(And this is what it looks like from the front)
Technically, there should be an additional black stripe, in order to delineate a fifth "white" stripe, as appears on our logo, but Michael at Super Genius Tattoo, who did the work was concerned that crowding an extra black stripe into the image wouldn't leave sufficient room for the other "white" stripes to stand out. I may go in and have another black stripe added at some point in time, but given the fact that this was the most uncomfortable (read: painful) of the inkings I've had done to-date, I think I'll hold off on that for a bit.
I'd been thinking about getting another tattoo for quite some time (apparently, like potato chips, once you start, it's hard to stop), and had several ideas kicking around in my head, but after doing some research, and trying to develop some more specific graphic designs, I quickly realized most of what I envisioned would be: A.) time-consuming; and B.) VERY expensive.
Taking a different tack, I considered doing something that would be graphically simple, yet rather bold. I'd been thinking about doing a "tribal" for some time, but wasn't really interested in the Celtic or Chinese or Indian types of designs that most people usually associate with that type of tattoo, since, in my mind at least, they don't really serve the innate purpose of identifying ones self with a particular social group; they're just generic, and I suppose most people like them because of their association with more exotic or primitive cultures. But, unless you happen to actually BE from one of those "tribes", the association is ersatz and essentially meaningless, especially if everybody and their kid sister is sporting a similar image.
So, this line of reasoning naturally begged the question: "what exactly IS my 'tribe'?" And that, for me, is pretty easy to answer: "Theatre, of course." That's where 90% of my friends and social acquaintances reside, and where most of my creative passion is invested. But, even more specifically, Annex Theatre has been my artistic "home" for longer than any other company; even when I've wandered off to work at other theatres, it's been the one place I felt I could always return to, and where, no matter how long I'd been away, or what else I'd been doing, it has always been the place where I've felt most welcome, and where my contributions, as small or great as they may have been in the larger scheme of things, were always (and continue to be) appreciated.
And so, yeah. I put the Annex Theatre logo, the "fighting 'A'", on the back of my leg. Several people who heard of my intention, or who have seen the end product have mentioned the word "branding", and in a technical sense, I suppose they're correct. But, that's what I at least consider the entire point of sporting a "tribal" tattoo in the first place.
After all, if you're going to identify yourself with a tribe, it should at least be one that actually exists.
The Ship's Aground On The Shore Of This Uncharted Desert Isle
After several weeks of searching high-and-low for a qualified mobile mechanic, I finally got in contact with the guys at Gallery Marine, who assured me they could deal with a cranky 30 year-old marine engine.
Met the mechanic at the dock this morning, and a mere two hours later he called to inform me of several minor issues that he was able to correct, and oh, by the way, the carburator is full of "gunk" and needs to be thoroughly cleaned. So, he's going to pull it, take it into the shop for some TLC, and with luck, I should have an operable engine by sometime next week.
Just in time for the end of boating season, naturally.
Tonight is our first public performance in the space. We've hung a few lights (just enough to keep from popping circuit-breakers) and some drapes, wired some sound, painted the stage floor, cleaned the carpets, stocked the consessions, covered over the graffiti, stashed all the loose odds-and-ends out of sight, and told all our friends to stop on by for some late-night celebrating (it also being the 10th Anniversary of our monthly cabaret showcase - tin or pewter gifts greatly accepted). Things are about as super-spiffy as we can manage in the short amount of time we've had to rehabilitate nearly three decades of decay and neglect, and while it's certainly not tip-top (at least by our standards), it is functional - and that's all we need for the moment.
So, 11:00 p.m., 1100 E Pike St., "Under the big 'fighting A'", hope to see you there.
