CAUTIONARY TALES FOR ADULTS
⊆ July 18th, 2007 by shirley | ˜Okay, so I’m totally cheating today. I’m stealing blurbs from Shawn’s Bouncing Ball and Cesar’s personal Myspace Blog entries. So sue me (no, really, don’t).
Let’s spin them to the theme of our show, which is something along the lines of:
Some *Life Lessons* Are Totally Worth Learning; Most However, Are Not.
So today we have for you folks-The Dalliances and Dilemmas of Bouncing Ball Theatrical Productions!
Oooooooh. Sounds scccarrryyy.
The Story of the Boy Who Went In To The Bathroom… And Locked the Door Behind Him
Tonight the cast grabbed a few cheap beers after rehearsal.After the beer passed through me I did, as many do, excused myself to go the bathroom. I wander off into a part of the bar that looks like maybe, just maybe, it might be abandoned; but find the restroom as instructed.I take care of my business, wash my hands, notice there are no papers towels, dry my hands on my shorts, and then reach out for the doorknob as I plan on exiting the bathroom. To my surprise, I find no door knob. Hmmm… I wonder, and try pulling on the towel rack to no avail. Then I look into the jam and notice the door is actually latched shut and without a handle there is no way for me to unlatch it. I make a brief effort at unlatching the door with a car key, but fail.
Darn, I think, but for the most part am unphased because modern technology has made it possible for me to have a phone in the bathroom with me… or else, I probably would have had to spend the night on the floor.I dial up Shirley. She doesn’t answer. I dial up Casie. She doesn’t answer. I’m getting desperate, so I dial up Mike. Thankfully, he does answer. I explain the situation, “Look, Mike, I’m trapped in the bathroom, can you come save me?” He says, “Okay,” and hangs up the phone. Almost immediately I hear Shirley’s delightful laughter echo through the bar and am at least glad that they all are now aware of my situation and that help will soon be coming.
I return to the group. Shirley’s phone in on the table right in front of her. I wonder if she thought, “Why the hell is Shawn calling from the bathroom? He’s probably up to something goofy. That Shawn, you know him.” At least I was no in any real danger.
When asked how I got trapped in the bathroom, I explain that the toilet lacked a door knob. The others look unsurprised as if I should have known to look.
Thanks, Mike, for saving me. Much appreciated. Next time, I’ll call you first.
The Tragic Tale of Too Little Tech Time
Have you ever left rehearsal and felt like you’ve been hit in the face with a cinder-block?On the plus side, at least there’s less beer in my refrigerator now.So, I figured I’d post this just to show that everything isn’t always rosy and happy in the world of producing low-budget “independent” theatre.
The downside to the Fringe Festival, (which before I point out the one downside, let me announce that I do love the Festival, it’s a great time, very rewarding, a joyous occasion), is the fact that they only give you two minutes in the venue per one minute of show. So we’re doing a show that times in at a whole hour, which means two hours of tech. Two hours, of course, is nothing for teching a show. But it should have been okay, I was confident going into tech because I knew that I had prepared the show. I intentionally created a script which I thought was tech-light, simple, festival-ready, but somehow it got bigger than I expected. I’m not sure how or where. The concept: she was flawed. …next year is it possible to pare it down ever further? Hmmm… here’s a new concept… a musical with no singing.
What breaks my heart is that I love my cast and company. They are doing such phenomenal work that I don’t want them to feel like the production elements… like say the production elements that I am responsible for… are working against them. I want them to be doing great stuff and know that they are doing great stuff and that I’m doing whatever I can to make sure the audience will see and hear the great stuff they are doing.
…or maybe I just always panic production week.
And finally, from the multi-talented Cesar Guadamuz:
The Perils of Spending a Summer Sweating it out in the District that is of Columbia
- The median weight in DC has gone up, simply by the influx of white-socked, mandaled tourists. I look forward to establishing my position of superiority and residential status by clotheslining the German grandma who insists on standing directly in front of the Metro doors. I have no tolerance for rogue tourists.- 30-year-old frat boys, little “brahs”, born-again bachelors, trust-fund babies, dudes, and every white-collar male in DC continue to trip on the $2 Miller Light fantastic at throw-up depots (vomit emporiums) such as Adams Mill Bar. Their female counterparts have once again begun the practice of destroying those 10-dollar manicures by dousing them with vomit. BTW, it’s May, but there’s snow everywhere!- Hipsters and bike riders alike have started rolling up their skin-tight, black jeans. Cause, damn it, it’s getting humid out there. Also, smellier, soggier deliveries.
Tattoos are now more visible. I had no idea that my co-worker was inked from neck to toe. Workplace is suddenly more interesting.
Adams Morgan is beginning to smell like an East London market.
Cockroaches have established open-air communes.
Have you ever noticed that beggars and homeless people are a little more aggressive when it’s warm out?
Due to a warm, moist, stagnant environment, you suddenly discover that the person you’ve been checking out on the bus prefers NOT to shower in the mornings.
Unapologetic joggers.
Babies, babies, babies, babies! While kept tightly sealed in a warm, dry place during winter months, with the yearly Warm-Up babies are finally unwrapped and let out. Like an army of unfocused, loose-bowelled, hungry zombies, there are babies everywhere in the city during this time. You have your babies in carriages, babes in arms, walking babies, babies eating grass, bouncing babies, babies rolling around in their soiled diapers, babies riding their 120-lb dogs, crying babies, rude babies, cute babies, mixed-race babies, finely-dressed Georgetown babies (aka, “little adults”).
Overwhelmed and broken by the sudden surge in responsibility, my anti-perspirant/deodorant decides to take a holiday.
So, what is today’s lesson about boys and girls? Plagiarism. That’s right: Play-Gur-Is-Em.
Shirley has stolen the well chosen words of her colleagues and posted them here for you all.
Credit where credit is due: the first two stories are from Shawn, the last is from Cesar.
And as Billy Bob would say: “Stay out of the Zoo!”
