The Actors Are Packing Imitation Heat

One of the truly best things about this show, Assassins, is the fact that the batshit among us will get to carry guns: Pistols that fire blanks. How better to prepare than to practice with the genuine article?

A few of us went out to the Arms Range in Upper Marlboro last night. Following an informative safety lesson and coverage of some terminology, we went into the target range and busted some caps with .38 caliber revolvers. Damn.

It was surprising how quickly we got used to the very loud noise; thankfully the blanks we’re firing on stage will be notably quieter. But still loud.

The other surprise? It was fun. Before last night, I hadn’t touched a gun since Boy Scouts. (No-- it wasn’t a rough troop. Just shotgun merit badge, folks.) It was exhilarating. And at close range, my aim was pretty decent, to boot. One-handed!

Yah, the majority of training this days leans toward a two-handed grip, but keep in mind these wackos largely did their shooting before it was popular. And they had little to no experience with firearms in the first place. So there.

Diego, our John Wilkes Booth, got in some good shots with his “Sic Semper Special”, while Andrea (or Dead-Eye, as I will now very respectfully call her) deliberately pegged one paper target, square in the groin. She promptly took the, uh, bulls-eye home to show her husband of six weeks. Gulp.

We resume rehearsal tonight and will go on almost non-stop through next Friday, when we open. Hope you have a good one, folks.

It Ain't Just The Place, It's The Company

Regardless of the outcome last night, the WATCH awards were a terrific occasion. Just wonderful. Two of the biggest reasons for it? Nano & Amanda.

I haven't seen Nano in months. I got us (some of the Elden Street Group) a table up front and off to the right. Nano sat across from me and cracked me up most of the night: One of the first award winners wasn't present, but was explained to be off at Harvard, earning a Law Degree. They were immediately followed another absentee winner, who was off on a cruise. Nano snickered, "earning a Law Degree." Snerk.


Nano is quite simply, the man. Any other claimants to said throne will have to get in line behind this man, who, in addition to being a loving father and husband, is a full-time firefighter. All the while he's acting in productions all across Virginia... and I have never seen him without a smile on his face. He is a rock. (And still, the man.)


Amanda was just phenomenal. I must have introduced her to two dozen people, and she was graceful as anything. Not everyone can meet perfect strangers, one after another, and maintain their cool, but she was at the top of her game. We talked, we schmoozed, we danced, and held our collective breath around 8:30 or so for all of five interminable seconds. Just smashing.

The whole night was marvelous. And that, I think, is as good a place as any to call it quits. Sweet dreams, folks.

Fun With Death Scenes

I’m headed to the Books-on-Tape company I work with, shortly, and I’m just jazzed about it. I typically play bad guys (villain-of-the-week, so forth) and my fair share of ‘red-shirts’, to boot. And if you don’t know what a red-shirt is, why are you reading this in the first place?

The icing on this cake? Death scenes. To date, my characters have been shot, mutilated, beheaded, thrown down a ravine, eviscerated by giant insects and flat-out skewered in combat with swords. Today? I get to add ‘blown up’ to the list. SHAZAM.

So far my favorite was the one with the bugs; as they were covering my hapless character in acid first, for easier digestion. We got some very satisfying sounds with a mouthful of water and some really guttural screaming. Man this stuff is neat.

So who’s hungry for lunch?

One Heck Of A Night

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Folks, you are reading the words of one happy customer. Damn. I had me a night. I mingled, schmoozed & parlayed with the theatre community of the tri-state area. The Mystery of Irma Vep won a prize or two, including Stan Harris’s unbelievably impressive tie with himself for best Sound Design. Outstanding.

Did I win?

Nope.

Hardly the point. I enjoyed my night incredibly, regardless. There are specific people to thank for that.

To the winners, congratulations. To the rest, my entirely empathetic pats on the back. Rock on. To Leta, who kept the show running smoothly, well done. Damn well done.

More to follow, folks. With a snapshot or two of yours truly in a sharp-lookin’ tux.

Bam.

It's Time

Well folks, it’s finally here. The WATCH Awards are in a few hours, and I’m heading out the door in just a little while. I have been looking forward to this evening for weeks.

I got a very nice phone call from Wendy, wishing me luck tonight. Against the other nominees in my competition, I’m going to need it.

I don’t want to ramble, (although heaven knows my brain is racing today) so I’ll keep this brief. I count myself very fortunate just to be a nominee, although winning would be phenomenal.

The tux is on, I’ve got a full tank, and whatever way the chips fall, it’s gonna be a night to remember.

Cheers, folks. Wish me luck.

Night, All

Folks, it’s been a long day. A long damn day.

Frankly, tomorrow is going to be every bit as lengthy. I’ve got a feeling in my gut. Well. A reduced gut, thanks to the good people of Special K. But a gut feeling regardless.

Getting into Byck tonight… took some doing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying myself and grateful to get outta the house. But finding the raving, ranting, lunatic Byck taxed something. One of my co-stars gave me a hug on a break halfway through the following number, because I looked like I needed it. I didn’t (like I’m going to turn down a hug, dammit), but Byck sure did.

He just got through screaming how freaking alone he feels, how despondent, how furious; of course he could use a hug. Might stop him from hijacking a 747.

If and when I figure out exactly where Byck is, exactly what his message is, it will be easier to slip in and out of the role. In the mean time, bring the stress on. I am 100% grateful for the focus-of-attention. Damned grateful.

Sleep well, folks. Have a good one.

Four, 4, IV

Alright… for random fun, enjoy the below. Found ‘em on Jack Scheer’s site and it seemed like fun to carry the torch a bit.

The Four Things Meme

Four jobs I’ve had:
Actor
Administrative… Okay, Secretary
Voice for a Cartoon Villain (aka my dream job)
Toyologist (Paid by Toys R Us to play with toys in the store, enticing parents to buy them.)

Four Movies I can watch over and over:
Sleuth
Spider-Man 2
Death to Smoochy
Boondock Saints

Four places I’ve lived:
Cockeysville, MD (shaddap)
Winchester, VA (College)
Richmond, VA (My first paying acting gig)
Olney, MD (lived here the last near three years)

Four TV shows I love:
West Wing (well, the earlier seasons anyway)
The Daily Show
Futurama
Scrubs

Four places I’ve vacationed:
England & Scotland (same vacation, figured it counts as one)
Ocean City
Cape Cod, once
Uh… I need to go on more vacations.

Four of my favorite dishes:
Kung Pao Chicken. Yum.
Chicken Carbonara sandwich from Quizno’s. Damn Tasty.
Sirloin Steak, Medium Rare
Tiramisu (Dessert is a dish. Or should be.)

Four sites I visit daily:
www.shortpacked.com
www.imdb.com
www.wikipedia.org
www.pvponline.com

Four places I would rather be right now:
In a Recording Booth
Sonoma
Onstage
Out and about with Pedro

Keep Don Quixote The Hell Away From Me

Last night’s rehearsal for Assassins was a bit… problematic. For me. We rehearsed Another National Anthem which includes, among other things, Sam Byck’s only solo. Much-needed lyrics flew from my brain like carrier pigeons. Sneaky little jerks…

The other problem presented last night was the choreography. I have the processing power to sing or dance the moves I need to do, but not both simultaneously. Attempts last night resulted in a fedora-wearing human windmill of shame. Frustration over said windmill got to the point that I was just about ready to kill something. Fortunately, as I was playing would-be kamikaze Assassin Sam Byck, I just *used* that anger. Master Tilley would be so proud.

Fear not. The show, she will rock. Oh yes. In the mean time, I’ve started a search for chimps who can wear my Santa Suit and carry a gun at the same time, for the number. (No, my PROP gun does not even go off.) It must be carried. By something with opposable thumbs. With a better chance of learning the freaking moves by March 10th. Kaplahr.

Casey does not dance well. At all. Just ask anyone at rehearsal last night (they’ll be the ones scrubbing their eyes for the next two days), or perhaps Danny, the girl I dropped, while dancing. Twice. (This was two summers ago.)

Damn.

One For The Books

Every so often, I’ll have a dream so downright bizarre or otherwise memorable that I feel compelled to share it. This morning was one of those occasions.

I dreamt I was Santa Claus.

I dreamt I was freaking Santa Claus. The only thing I can think of that put the bug in my ear in the first place? Sam Byck. We rehearsed Another National Anthem last night, which included my shouting “You know why I did it? Because there IS no Santa Claus!” half a dozen times. I’ll also be wearing a Santa Suit in the show, whenever our costumer tracks one down.

In the spirit of The Santa Clause, I was still me, just in the suit and expected to carry out Saint Nick’s duties. The sleigh looked like a giant armoire (brown, not red, go figure), with room for the sack, and reins hanging over the lip in front o’ me. I don’t actually recall seeing any reindeer, I was more focused on the sleigh, itself. And the sack. And the fact that I was freaking Santa Claus.

I got to the first house on the run, and it was Christmas Eve during the day. I gave myself too much time to cover the entire world, and was worried I’d end up late… Whattya want? It made sense at the time.

So there I am, in some stranger’s house, taking parcel after parcel out of a sack that never gets empty, when the man of the house shows up behind me. He’s totally cool with it. “Ah, you’re the new Santa,” or something to that effect. I shrug, and nod. I keep unloading toys. Weird.

On the second and third house, I actually run into some kids. They also believe implicitly that I’m Santa, despite the fact that A) I’m still only 25, B), I’m not fat, and C) Nary a hair on my chinny chin chin. They’re cool with it. “Hi, Santa.”

I keep making runs back to the North Pole, although I can’t imagine why; what with the magic sack. The place looks like a ski-lodge. Big log cabins, whatnot.

And the other thing? I’m scared of heights. I hate ‘em. But when I was in the Sleigh, riding high across the clouds, I was perfectly fine. Wacky.

I don’t know what to make of it. I really don’t. But it was loads of fun anyway.

If I Were Tired, I Would Sleep

Damn.

I had no appetite, today. And a friend isn’t having the easiest time… In addition to the other things going on.

I’m back in the position of having nothing new to read, nothing’s on, and it’s too late at night to call anybody. Cause I’m a night-owl, or something of an insomniac, take your pick.

Meh. And while you’re at it, throw in a bleh, kaplahr, and grah.

Damn.

Wakka Wakka Wakka

For your viewing pleasure, I submit today’s VGCats. Hi-freaking-larious.

You know, this gag had an uphill battle… The movie being parodied is years behind us now, you’d think every possible joke, spin, and satire conceivable had been done. VGCats found a new one, and by god it made me smile. I’m still grinnin’.

The other reason it was almost not-funny? The strip's track-record. Their tone varies from the ‘safe’ stuff like this, to downright obscenity. Some of it is really hilarious, some if it really isn’t.

Enjoy your morning, folks. I’m off for more coffee.

Oh, By The Way

The Improv set on Saturday night? Kicked ass. It's safe to say we were in rare form. Because of the ass we kicked.

Oh yeah.

On Art, A Confusing Thing

Folks, I have my pretensions. I’m aware of that. But something I don’t get (yet, if ever) is the abstract stuff, when it comes to Art.

My brother’s the visual thinker in the family; always has been, always will be. Christine and I went to a pair of Smithsonian museums. One had abstract sculpture and art, the other housed more traditional work.

I consider myself a smart guy, but when it’s come to the art world, I’ve always drawn a blank. If it’s not something I immediately recognize, I don’t get it. With the exception of William Koonig (more on him later), I don’t think I appreciated two works at the abstract gallery.

Sculptures that looked like nothing I’d ever seen. Photographs of empty hallways. Buh guh huh? Call me a stickler. Call me a dummy. Call me an art hater. I just didn’t get it.

There’s more to follow, on which I’ll expound later. Ciao, folks.

No Business Like It

Hallo, folks. Hope you’ve had a good afternoon… Christine and I are headed for Manassas this evening (by way of a Chinese Restaurant, yum) for a production of Stop/Kiss & The Vagina Monologues at the Cramer Center. As I understand it, they’ve cut some of the racier material in an effort to attract a broader audience. Yet, the theatre group in question is supposedly aiming for racier content. Seems like a strange road to me, but what the heck do I know?

Had a wonderful rehearsal last night for Assassins, and covered some very good ground with Sam Byck. The chorus also kicked some be-hind with Something Just Broke, a number not on the original recording, so it’s still new to me. Good, good stuff is happening.

Enjoy your weekend. Technical difficulties abounding on the home-front wireless connection; insomuch that there currently is none. It ain’t workin’! Gotta see what we can do about that, as traditional efforts to fix the problem have proven fruitless. I’m without fruit, here.

If you’re up for some laughs on Saturday, please make way to Frederick for the last of three Comedy Pigs shows at the Maryland Ensemble Theatre on Patrick St. Good times will be had by all. Well. Mostly all. 85%, ballpark.

More to follow, one hopes. Ciao.

You Should See The "Javelin Toss"

In the latest from the Not Gonna Happen News Network, Sex has officially been added to the roster of Olympic Competitive Events. We go now to our field commentators, Anita Man and Hung Nicely.

Anita: Thanks, Casey. Now; a number of ‘guidebooks’ were consulted to establish a series of rules and regulations by which we can gauge an athlete’s performance in the field.
Hung: That’s right, Anita. The Olympic Standard has compiled a manual of their own from these rules, which I believe has been put on the open market. I’m told sales are going through the roof.
Anita: Naturally, there have been any number of reservations about the Olympics joining the 21st Century; not surprisingly from numerous religious groups. Common requests include that competitors be married to each other, and of course there have been countless complaints regarding the Men’s Synchronized events.
Hung: From the Catholics?
Anita: Right on the money, Hung.
Hung: This will also be the first Olympic event to be broadcast not on a network, but rather premium cable channels, for our American viewers. HBO has vied for the Summer Olympics, while Cinemax has secured rights for our Winter Games.
Anita: Regarding the Winter Events-- I understand that there have been complaints regarding the cold?
Hung: Correct. We’re seeing absolutely devastating cases of shrinkage across the board, due to bitter winds and chills. The Irish Team has protested vehemently, but judges haven’t noticed a difference.
Anita: I hate to see that happen to any man, let alone when so much is riding on his performance.
Hung: Hear, hear.
Anita: We also are hearing that the acceptable age of competitors is being raised to 18, across the board.
Hung: Yes.
Anita: Can we get a look at some scores?
Hung: Miranda Lin for China in the Uneven Bars division secured the Silver with an average of 8.9, losing points for a somewhat sloppy dismount.
Anita: I see.
Hung: Judges have withheld scores from Russia’s Ivana Polevska until they can determine with absolute certainty that she wasn’t faking.
Anita: They may be at it for some time.
Hung: Roger McCallum, of the US Pole Vault team, was disqualified after his unheard-of score of 9.9 was proven to be the result of drug use.
Anita: Steroids?
Hung: Viagra.
Anita: I see. That’s all we have for now, Casey, but tune in later for an update on the Ice Events!

Click.

That Benevolent Brotherhood

I’m having difficulty this morning coming up with a good way to introduce this topic, so I’ll just jump right in: People helping each other.

These last few days and weeks, I’ve noticed (or perhaps, been in a better position to notice) that people are helping people, in ways small and not so small. It’s really good to see.

Someone you’ve known only briefly walks up to you and asks how your day was, with genuine interest. Tried and true friends are there when you get some bad news, or when you might need some help in the near future. Someone who loves you helps you study, night after night, for a ridiculously-important series of tests.

You take time. Or rather, you have time, and you give it to someone else. A colleague. A comrade. A companion. Sure, it isn’t free: It can start to tax a person, sooner or later. But you do it anyway, because you care about the people you’re helping, and you know the favor would be returned, without even having to be asked.

That’s friendship. That’s love. And that’s outstanding.

Hokay, getting a bit too serious around here... Next thing down the line will be funnier. Promise.

"Everybody's Free to Fail"

Last night was a musical rehearsal for Assassins. I was approaching it with some dread, as I was under the impression we were going to be dancing as well. Thankfully, this was not the case. Choreography is not my friend. Not *this show’s* choreography, I mean the stuff in general. Oil and water have a better chance of mixing.

Anyway: We did the group numbers. There were one or two note problems. I had one of ‘em. Repeatedly.

Sam Byck has a character voice. We don’t sound much alike. Singing in that voice has proven difficult, so that voice had to be altered. I think I’ve found a good compromise, but that didn’t help me hit the note I needed, last night.

I haven’t done a musical in 8 years. I haven’t sung in public since my days of Sinfonia (OAS AAS LLS), and even then I had about 40-odd brothers backing me up in harmony. Byck stood alone last night.

For the record? This bar of Byck’s in the finale’ is not particularly high. It’s not in a weird key (for Sondheim). But it does sound completely different from the lines that come immediately before it. Which I think is what threw me for a loop. I hope that’s what it was, some weird mental block, as opposed to “Well, you just kinda suck.”

At least it was funny. The song is picking up steam, I mangle the notes, and hang my head in shame. The first time it happens, Andrea delighted in pointing out that the lyrics I wasn’t singing, “Everybody’s free to fail”, were appropriate. Har dee har har.

Take two: Nope. “F*ck me!” Our music director, Stuart, quietly said, “Well it is Valentine’s day, I’m sure somebody can accommodate you.” Oh, the comedy. I just shake my head, “Not asking, just an expletive.”

Take three: It works!! Get the right notes out, and we are good! Let’s do it a few more times!! Nothing I’d rather do! *Sarcasm detector explodes, flaming pieces rain to earth, those pieces explode*

Take four: Nuh-uh. “Damnation!!”

At this point my face is in my hands, I’m fed up. The notes are of this earth. They are not strange, they fit in the damn song. And I just couldn’t find ‘em. Stuart saw my frustration, and with all the charity of a horse surgeon who’s gonna give the animal a few more days to work out the limp, agreed to move on.

Rest of the night went fine, more or less. Byck has a solo in Another National Anthem, which went well, and Andrea was kind enough to say that it was sounding better.

Kaplahr. Glad to move on. Glad to.

Well. That's Over With.

The Scriptapalooza results are in, a day early no less.

I didn't make it.

I honestly don't know what I was expecting, or hoping for, here. I was so sure it would've worked.

The idea in question really is dead-- it didn't work as a comic. It doesn't work as a TV Pilot.

I could try again, and I will, with other ideas and plots; but for now, I think I'm done with the genre. Also known as: something my brother suggested I do (namely, move on) six months ago.

Shit. Shit.

I will say this-- I gave it my all. I gave it my absolute all. Much good that it did.

And you can bet I'll be back for more. Damn.

Ah, Love Is In The Air... Quick, Get Me The Bug Spray

Ah, February 14th. Valentine’s Day… The time when a young man’s mind drifts to romance and his fancy turns toward Vienna. Or something like that.

Fear not. This is not a bitter diatribe from a lonely heart, harping on being excluded from the festivities for those enamored with one another. Partly because this year I’m not being excluded (woohoo!). Regardless, I’m not slowly drifting around, six inches off the floor like a cartoon animal who’s smelled something tasty, or drowsily picking tulips as I pass by.

We’re not at the ‘drift-and-pluck’ stage, thankfully. Heh heh. Still: Any holiday celebrating a man who got his head cut off is a good one, in my book.

For whatever reason, I find myself thinking about Valentine’s Days past. (No sign of Marley, thank goodness.) Last year’s was not especially pleasant. The year before, John and I were at a restaurant, toasting to our sorrows before going off to Winchester of all places to hang out with women I hardly knew.

This year, I’ve started to date someone that’s… nice. She listens, she’s funny, she’s ready with the occasional barbed comment; and you know how I love those. Things are… pretty damn good, actually.

Oh, sure, there are other things going on at the moment that it wouldn’t be prudent to disclose, so I won’t (but I will happily answer any questions in private). That’s about it, folks.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Go hug somebody.

At Least It's Not Thursday

Bleurgh. It’s 12:30 on a Saturday night, and I’m not sleepin’.

I saw a show last night, The Invention of Love, that stirred more ideas and made me think more than any show I’ve seen in a long, long time. It was excellent, in every aspect. Technical, performance, production values, the whole nine yards. A damn good show.

Right now I’m… I’m wondering what I’m doing. There are people I need to talk to, more than one, none of which are likely awake. I kind of want a cigar but it’s far too cold outside to enjoy one, and my voice is finally on the mend, so I’m not about to tempt fate.

In thinking on my latest screenplay (okay, my second one), I think I may go back to my original ending. It had more punch than what I’ve been working on since. I haven’t given up on the notion of change, but in this case I think it may be futile. This story has… weight, for me. The ending should reflect that. Too many happy endings in Hollywood these days, anyway…

G’night, folks. And sweet dreams.

Updating The List... Again

I stand before you, dumbstruck. Well. Not dumbstruck. And I’m sitting down right now. But metaphorically-- um.

I’ve made reference in the past to The List, a category of women that can flat out shut me up. As a guy who likes to talk, this is no small feat. Last night, the list grew by one.

Congratulations, Andrea…

Andrea and I have worked together on a few shows now, most memorably Proof from a year and a half ago. We’re both currently in the Kensington Art Theatre’s Assassins, which goes up in March. That’s neither here nor there.

At rehearsal last night, there was the occasional lull in progress, and the actors were making jokes with each other. Typical stuff. I forget what I said, but Andrea, from across the stage, says “Oh, shut up, Casey.”

My jaw dropped. Complete shock. Now, the other women on this wonderful list, who (thank god) don’t give classes in Shut-Uppery are able to do it with pretty much a glance. Just a look. The fact that Andrea just flat out told me to shut it; and that it actually worked, has earned her a place in that noble sorority.

Wendy, Tamia, Heather, Mary, McCall, make some room. Andrea’s joining ya.

Freaking. Lava.

I don’t know what it is about being sick that puts me in such a mood, but here I am. I never get sick. I have allergies, that’s the trade-off. And for the last four days, I’ve been clogged up, coughing, and dry in the throat. It’s been pissing me off.

Rather than go into a long-winded barrage of complaints that won’t actually accomplish anything, let’s just agree I’m not super at the moment, and move the hell on.

I’m not in the mood for much else.

Oysters, Sushi, My Voice...

“Things that are raw!”

My voice has been scratchy and approaching sore for the last two days. I went to bed hoping there’d be some improvement, but no such luck. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

I sound like I’ve been screaming my head off for days. My voice is raspy, weak, whatever you’d like to call it, because I’m not going to call it a damn thing. At least not out loud.

I don’t think I’m sick, per se, just in a bad way vocally. That, and I feel dehydrated as all hell. I’ve been drinking glass after glass of water, not that it helps much. I had some tea yesterday afternoon, but the cafeteria didn’t have any honey.

Tonight’s rehearsal for Assassins should be interesting-- I play Sam Byck: a loud, obnoxious blowhard. That can’t talk. Right.

Crap.

The good news, such as it is, is that I don’t have another voice-over gig scheduled until this time next week. But I gotta take better care of my voice. This is ridiculous.

See, If You Were To Seriously Injure YOURself, I'd Do The Same For You. Honest!

Amanda hurt her back, yesterday. I mean, she really hurt her back. And shoulders, and waist, and all that stuff. Seriously. OW.

I offer my sympathies, and, well, this:

The Sore Tyger (With apologies to William Blake)

Tyger! Tyger! Wracked in pain
Of moderate muscle strain
What immortal hand or balm
Could ease thy woeful injury?

In what far hospital wing
Did your stretching muscles sing
Warnings that the weight was great?
No nurse did anticipate?

Now what shoulder, & what hip.
Could twist and cause a trembling lip?
And when thy nerves began to burn
What dread nurse to help in turn?

What the boyfriend? What the Dad?
One to laugh and one was glad
Bringing meals and hiding shoes
Lest you run, compound the bruise

When the milligrams were took
And horse pill eased your pain, forsook
Did you smile at the cease?
What made you of your job’s release?

Tyger, Tyger Stuck at Home
Urging fast to rise and roam
What faithful friend or word
Could ease thy woeful injury?

Something Screwy's Going On Here...

A few days ago, a friend of mine said that the blog was down for a few hours. This was true.

Yesterday, I tried to post something, and it told me to republish the entire blog in ten minutes. It just wouldn't work, period.

So this is a test. This only a test of the emergency blogcast system.

Thank god this thing isn't a horse.

So Smart, Oh So Smart

We really are living in a technological age-- I actually feel underdressed without my cell phone.

Oh, by the way; I forgot my cell phone at home this morning. Nitwit.

Am I expecting any calls? Nope. Any pressing concerns that would require an emergency phone call? Hope not.

Nevertheless, I like the option of having it on me, just in case. Ah well.

Dang.

Blame Monkeys Or Pirates, Take Your Pick

We experienced some technical difficulties, earlier today. It was brought to my attention that you, the reader, could not read this fine online publication for a few hours.

I blame monkeys. Pirates seem unlikely, as they would have little interest in the website. Being pirates, there's nothing here to raid, nothing to pillage.

Monkeys, however. Monkeys can be right little random bastards. They throw poop, for Pete's sake. I wouldn't put it past them to play malarkey with the site.

I'm not saying Pirates couldn't have interfered with the site; they're capable fiends, I'll grant you.

But my money's on Monkeys.

Got No Witty Title For This

I saw The Crucible last night, performed by the Reston Community Players. Damn, was it a good show. I've seen the show performed before (hell, I've done the show before), and this was the best production I've seen.

My friend David played Deputy Governor Danforth. I like watching David work. He definitely has his own style, and he brings it to every role I've seen him in. (This is the same David from Book of Days last fall.) He's got a knack for the straight-laced characters, and Danforth's laces couldn't be straighter.

The set was something special. Windows were on skewed angles, effectively distorting the dimensions of the sets. The forest scenes were very nicely done as well.

I'd be remiss if I didn't at least mention the exemplary work of his co-stars. Vivien Bligh portrayed a wonderfully vulnerable Elizabeth Proctor. You could cut the tension between her on-stage husband John with a knife.

Heather Benjamin played Abigail with plenty of venom, which is exactly what the role calls for. The best performance, I have to say, was in the hands of Joshua Redford, who played John Proctor. Damn. Outstanding work.

Tonight is their closing performance, so if you're in the mood for some heart-rending work, head for Reston.

Find A New Tune, Find It Fast

Afternoon, folks. I hope your day’s treated you well. Mine’s been pretty decent, and I’m looking forward to The Crucible, tonight. Great show, and David’s in the cast. (Break a leg, David!) That’s later, though. This is right now.

Over the last year, I’ve been striving to take a more active role, just in my own life. By no virtue greater than repetition; certain habits, opinions, and attitudes have engrained themselves pretty stubbornly in my frame of mind. Some of them I can’t do a damned thing about. Others are much closer to being in my control.

I no longer indulge in regret. The choices I’ve made (and will make) shape who I’m going to be in the future, as well as who I am now. I like me. Couldn’t always say that. Yes, I've screwed up in the past, but there isn’t a single thing I can do to change any of that, so fretting over it isn’t going to accomplish a damned thing. So why bother?

I’m more interested in today. I’m being more careful with my money, getting rid of debts rather than buying crap I don’t need. I’m exercising. Hell, I’ve managed to lose 15 pounds, and that feels great.

As much as certain things are falling into place, (and I don’t want to diminish them in any way) there are other aspects of myself that, so far, I have been completely unable to alter. There are people that I can’t help but see in frames of mind that, frankly, no longer fit them. The ‘emotional camel’ that I am, I’m working (and I mean working) at letting go of that unrealistic view.

The best part about this problem? When it’s fixed, when it’s really fixed, the only person it can benefit is yours truly. …I’m not there yet. Not by half. But I want to be. The best way to remove that song stuck in my head is to learn a new one. And I’m not the only one who could stand to pick up a new tune…

As the Prayer for Serenity goes, Let me accept the things I cannot change. Okay: Let me accept that my brain just *works* a certain way, and I’m always going to need something to focus on, worthwhile or otherwise. The only alternative is going completely bonkers.

This is what’s on today’s menu, folks. There may be wackiness afoot shortly, but for the time being, this is where I am.

Ciao for now.

Crazy Therapy... No No, Hear Me Out

I’ve had my first rehearsals for Assassins, in which I’m playing raving, ranting psychotic Sam Byck. I’ll be spending the show in a Santa Suit, and delivering passionate diatribes. Good times.

No, really. Just in practice, just in rehearsing I got my gumption (yeah, it’s a word) up, angry. Full of vitriol. It felt good. Felt good to scream n’ holler out some tension of my own, using Byck’s words. I feel pretty damn good.

From what I’ve seen, it’s going to be a good show. Hope you can make it, folks.

More to follow.

It's The First Of The Month

Bunny, Bunny.