Contest

I've never done one of these before. Hope I get it right. It's a contest for a hand-made solid wood baby crib. Nice company, nice folks.

Your chance to win a free handcrafted baby crib, from Erik Organic Furniture.

Looks like this:

Reviews: To Kill A Mockingbird

Harper Lee’s Classic Comes to Life on Stage

Posted on November, 15 at 2:00 pm

Written by: Staff Writer

“To Kill a Mockingbird” is currently running at the Chanticleer Theater in Council Bluffs. Based on Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Award-winning novel, it is the story of attorney, Atticus Finch who defends a black man in the depression era of the South. His two children, Scout and Jem, learn valuable lessons about racial and social injustice in the small town of Macomb, Alabama.

The townspeople are convincingly portrayed by Robin Payton as Maudie Atkinson, Kristiner Dunbar as Stephanie Crawford and Molly Chedester as the elderly Mrs. Dubose. Mrs. Dubose’s biting comments are particularly entertaining.

Phyllis Mitchel-Butler brings Calpurnia to life with her quiet, yet no-nonsense manner in disciplining and caring for Scout and Jem while Atticus is at work.

Ron Hines gives the strongest performance as Atticus Finch. He captures the essence of the white lawyer who cannot ignore his conscience and defends a black man in spite of the town’s objections and the overwhelming odds against his client’s vindication.

Tym Livers is the embodiment of ignorance and meanness as Bob Ewell. His racial slurs and epitaphs punctuate the underlying viciousness and bigotry that was openly rampant in the South of that era and beyond.

The courtroom scenes are the most compelling. Atticus questions the veracity of Mayella Ewell’s testimony as well as that of her father’s. Corie Grant Leanna, as Mayella, points out Tom Robinson as her attacker and is obviously protecting her abusive father.

While the jury is out deliberating, there is a moving scene between Reverend Sykes (James Wright), Helen Robinson (Dara Newson) and Tom Robinson (Marty “Jamar” Johnson). Wright and Newson sing a spiritual as they attempt to comfort Johnson.

In the aftermath of the trial, Bob Ewell is intent on revenge. Scout and Jem are attacked. John Payton gives a brief, but moving performance as the mysterious and notorious Boo Radley.

“To Kill a Mockingbird” is as pertinent today as it was when the book was written over 50 years ago. It’s definitely worth seeing. Performances run Friday and Saturday nights at 7:30 PM and Sunday afternoons at 2 PM through November 28th. For tickets or information call 712-323-9955.

Hines an excellent Atticus at Chanticleer

Staff photo/Cindy Christensen - Ron Hines, pictured with Abby Cameron as Scout, stars as Atticus in Chanticleer Community Theater's production of "To Kill a Mockingbird." Hines nails the part, reviews Special Sections and Arts & Entertainment Editor Kim Bousquet.

Published: Thursday, November 18, 2010 11:52 AM CST

If a theater is going to stage the classic “To Kill a Mockingbird,” it had better cast a knockout actor as Atticus, a man of great character with a number of great lines that need to be delivered passionately yet calmly.

Ron Hines, who stars as Atticus in Chanticleer Community Theater’s production, nails the part. He is an excellent Atticus. He particularly shines during the extended courtroom scene in the show, delivering his plea directly to us, the audience.

Director Mark Manhart has assembled an interesting cast, capable of making minor roles memorable. The cast plays stereotypical people in a small Alabama town in 1935. Some of the more attention-grabbing roles were the mean old Mrs. Bubose (Molly Chedester); the poor Ewells who accuse an innocent black man of a horrible crime (Tym Livers was believable as the lowly Bob Ewell and Corie Grant Leanna as Mayella had a great moment in the courtroom); and the prosecutor with a slam-dunk case, Mr. Gilmore (Mark J. Schnitzler).

I thought Phyllis Mitchel-Butler was great as the Finch children’s nanny and John Payton made for a good combo of Nathan and Boo Radley. Dara Newson also had a great emotional moment in the show as Helen, the wife of the accused man, Tom Robinson (played by Marty “Jamar” Johnson).

There were some young actors in the cast who also did a good job in their roles. Abby Cameron as Scout did a fine job in her role in the spotlight as the inquisitive girl. Emma Chvala played her brother, Jem, and Lily Gilliland played Dill.

Overall, the cast in this drama with very little actual action did a great job.

Chanticleer, 830 Franklin Ave., presents “To Kill a Mockingbird” through Nov. 28.

Performances are Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30 p.m. and Sundays at 2 p.m. Tickets are $17 for adults; $14 for seniors; and $9 for children and students. For reservations, contact the box office at (712) 323-9955 or e-mail manager@chanticleertheater.com.

Realism stands out in stage version of ‘Mockingbird’

By Bob Fischbach
WORLD-HERALD STAFF WRITER

The Chanticleer Theater will honor the 50th anniversary of “To Kill a Mockingbird” with a stage production, opening Friday. But don’t expect it to slavishly copy Harper Lee’s 1960 novel or the 1962 movie version, said director Mark Manhart.

“It’s been such a pleasure doing this show,” said Manhart, who has worked to re-create the milieu of a slow, hot Southern summer. “The problem, of course, is that the movie is so well-known, but the movie and the play are not the same. Everybody remembers the enormous life that came out of Gregory Peck’s performance as Atticus.”

The role earned Gregory Peck an Oscar.

Still, Manhart said, he likes the play (1990) better, and he’s very pleased with Ron Hines, who plays Atticus Finch, the lawyer in “Mockingbird” who defends an innocent black man accused of rape in the deep South in 1935. Mark Schnitzler, as the prosecuting attorney, is also excellent, Manhart said.

Manhart said the play is so real that a scene at rehearsal the other night involving the Rev. Sykes character caused the entire company to watch, hushed. “You could hear a pin drop,” Manhart said.

Theater patrons have told Manhart they want to see the play because the book or the movie changed their lives.

“The whole race issue is out there so blatantly for everyone to see,” he said. “That script is just wonderful.”

Manhart cast three little girls to play Jem and Scout, the young son and daughter of Atticus, along with Dill, a male playmate. Manhart said the three girls “were a little clique” at auditions, and he wanted to use their established friendships in their onstage roles. The story is told through the children’s eyes.

Scenic designer Bob Putman said the simple set will include a street with five house fronts, a tree, fences. A judge’s bench and tables will suggest a courtroom.

“We’re not filling the stage with detail,” Manhart said. “The simplicity will accentuate the acting.”

Would you like lies with that? (updated)

Burger King
3100 South Expressway
Council Bluffs, IA 51501-7665
(712) 366-2295

Time of visit: 9/22/2010 5:28pm

My wife and I stopped at this location for dinner. After purchasing our meal we noticed a large flat-screen television tuned to Fox News Network. Both the store manager and the regional manager were present at the time, so I asked if the channel could be changed to anything else. Both individuals informed me that the channel was set by corporate policy and was only changed for major sporting events. They were polite enough about it.

I will be calling the consumer relations number during business hours today to verify this policy. If I learn that I was misinformed then I will lodge a complaint against that location. However, if Burger King really does require that their onsite televisions display Fox News, I won't be frequenting the chain at all anymore. Either way, I'll update this post with the news.

Politics is a divisive issue and has no place where people are trying to enjoy a meal. But if the price of my dinner must help to spread a political view, I would rather it was not one which kills my appetite.

I'd heard that McDonald's was doing this, too. This makes no sense to me. Fox News is engaged in an active war on the middle class and the poor. These are the people who eat fast food, guys. When we can't afford fast food, where will you be?

Burger King Corporation
5505 Blue Lagoon Drive
Miami, Florida 33126

Corporate Headquarters
(305) 378-3000
Consumer Relations
(305) 378-3535

My political video

Please vote. Too much is at stake.

Web Designer's Family Tree

I'm not artistically inclined, and I don't make up that many jokes. This is entirely my own work, but if you think it's funny you can use it. Creative Commons rocks, y'all.

No play my Junior year

1977 - 1978. My Junior year at CHS. This was the year I did not do a play.

Mr. Crouch had moved on to another job. His replacement was Mr. Stephenson. I don't know his first name, but obviously it inspired no cute pantomime. (I found him on Facebook - it's Clell).

I didn't do a show this year because this was the first year I encountered the audition process. What, you mean I have to try out for this thing? But, but... everyone knows me!

Um, no, they don't.

This year's all-school musical was Annie Get Your Gun. So, naturally, the director had potential actors do a cold-reading monologue from Fiddler On The Roof.

Huh?

Now, if I were to read this audition today, I'd kill. In fact, there's an audition for Fiddler coming up next spring. Hmmmm....

But, at 16, I did not have a clue what this was about. And my audition/monologue was quite devoid of character. Old me would not have cast young me, so I can't blame the teachers/directors for passing me over.

Oh, and I had to sing, because, you know, musical play. Having no audition piece prepared, I was asked to do sing the words from My Country Tis of Thee, to the tune of God Save The Queen. I sounded awful.

So, no play for me this year. How on Earth did I keep busy?

Well let's see. The previous year I'd started the Omega science fiction club. This year we sold candy (everyone sold candy, everyone still sells candy. I buy candy from co-workers who have kids selling candy) and used the proceeds to build a float entry to the Henry County 4th of July parade. If I find pictures I'll include them, assuming I can make the scanner work.

The theme for the parade that summer had something to do with Frontiers. So we built a flying saucer in Jim Harbaugh's back yard. Space, the final frontier, yeah, you get it.

This thing was huge. We stretched muslin over a wooden framework and tried to spray paint it with silver paint. That didn't take so we painted it over with glue and spray painted that. The top had a huge plastic bubble, and we put in a blue emergency vehicle light under that. The battery connections weren't stable, though, so during the parade I stayed inside the thing, holding the wires together. There was probably a better way. Jumper cables come to mind.

Still, it was an awesome parade float, and if the judges had played fair we'd have taken first prize. Instead, they changed the rules so that we fell into a different category. Ya gotta love small-town politics.

After the parade we didn't have the heart to just tear the float down. It sat behind the Harbaugh's poolhouse for months. More on this later.

This was the year I took Journalism. Our teacher was Mark Bubalo. When he went to school everyone called him Buffalo Breath, so he took indirect revenge on his tormentors by calling all his students the same name. Or maybe it was just me. I became Ad Manager, which basically means I sold ad space. I liked learning about design, layout, and newspaper writing. Ad sales, eh, not so much.

One of my first stops was the Crest Theatre. The manager insisted on creating his own ads, but he was a terrible procrastinator. Selling him an ad required more time investment than any other stop, but it paid off in other ways.

For instance, when Harold learned that I was one of the owners of a flying saucer, he offered several free tickets if he could use it to advertise a new science fiction movie coming out that year. The float needed some patching up, but it sat in the Safeway parking lot for a month with a huge banner that just read "Star Wars." I hit him up for enough passes for the entire science fiction club plus 10 to raffle off.

I nearly didn't make it to the movie, actually. I was working as a janitor in a local nursing home, and got called in on the very day we'd planned to go. I didn't have a car at the time. Ended up sprinting to my job, started mopping the floors two hours early, and called for a ride to the show. That little stunt earned me a reprimand, but at this point I didn't care. I only agreed to respond to their last-minute notice at all because my mom worked in the same place (as a cook).

Besides, the situation took care of itself.

I was making one of my many stops at the Crest to remind Harold about his ad for the school paper one day. When I entered the building he was dancing around like a kid on Christmas (which is exactly how he described himself). Turns out that I'd just missed the delivery truck that had dropped off his new projectors. I listened to everything he raved about - it took an hour to get it all and I didn't get my ad. But I did get a beat story for that week when I wrote up the news about the town theater's new Xenon-bulb projectors. Even niftier: my story scooped the town reporters. The article was printed in the town paper before the high school paper.

When I stopped by the next week for my ad, Harold was so impressed by my article that he offered me a job. That's how I learned to operate movie projectors. And movie popcorn machines, and movie soda fountains, and movie brooms & dustpans...

This, more or less, is how I spent my junior year. If I dig up my old school papers again I'll probably transcribe my articles here for preservation.

Thanks for letting me bore you.

A cat in my lap

Finally, I can no longer be called lazy.

A Cat in My Lap

I know I have a lot to do,
So many things - see them through.
There are clothes to clean, grass to mow,
Cookies to bake, seeds to sow.
But I really can't do all these things in a snap.
Because, you see, there's a cat in my lap.

He stretches and rolls and gives me a wink,
From his sleepy gold eyes - just a small blink.
I smooth his long tail and tickle his tummy,
He yawns and purrs to tell me that's yummy.
The telephone rings. The paper boy taps.
No move do I make. There's a cat in my lap.

Bright sunlight dances across the floor,
To warm my small friend just a bit more.
A happy prisoner am I in my chair -
Some moments of peace - not a care.
I think I'll take a little nap,
With this soft, furry ball, a cat in my lap.

~ Karen Boxell ~

Suspicion (UPDATED)

(originally published September 30, 2010)

A friend has been accused of a crime. What do you do?

Someone I know has been charged with suspicion of a pretty bad offense. Not the crime itself - he was charged with suspicion so that police could search his home to look for evidence. His name and face have been publicly displayed and to judge from comments from the public, he has already been found guilty in people's hearts.

Even if cleared of all charges, his name is smeared. He will probably have to leave his home - move to another city. Maybe another state.

Saying anything in his favor most likely besmirches me in the minds of some, but I honestly don't think that he'd harm anyone. Can't say I care for his politics, but being a conservative doesn't automatically make everyone a demon. Nevertheless, I'm not mentioning specifics. I don't want to help spread stories before I know the truth. In the unlikely event that anyone comments here, I ask the same of you.

And I do want to know the truth. If I've been wrong about this man, if he's actually guilty, then I will no longer consider him a friend. Go ahead and vilify him then. I'll even bring the tar and feathers.

I'd just like to know: what happened to "innocent until proven guilty?" Why must the evening news turn police suspicion into national suspicion? Why prematurely destroy someone's life? Why turn public opinion so roundly against him that only cave-dwellers could possibly give him a fair trial?

A trial that can never truly exonerate him anyway.

No matter how this turns out, it's disturbing.

25 things about me

People are always doing this on FB. This time I got tagged. Only thing is I'm not sure I can come up with 25 things. At least not 25 interesting things. At any rate, I'm putting it here so that, if I do manage to finish the list, it will be saved for the next time I'm tagged.

1. I only cut my hair to play a part, although sometimes that part is "job applicant." No special reason, I just prefer it long. I look dorky either way so I might as well be happy about it.

2. While it was the most painful experience of my life, I still would not presume to compare passing a kidney stone to giving birth. Come on, guys. If it lasted for hours, hurt like that all the way to the end, and you couldn't have codeine, and when the stone had passed you then had to take care of it for 25 years, then maybe it would be comparable.

3. I know what your dreams mean.

4. I auditioned for "Who Wants To Be A Superhero" (season 2). I still want to be a superhero. Sometimes, though, I'd rather be an Evil Overlord. I practically memorized the handbook.

5. My job title should be "Computer Systems Babysitter."

6. When I was 10, a Ouija board told me that I would die at age 65. I don't believe it, but for some reason can't put it out of my mind. Maybe because that's how old my grandfather was when he went. So it's kind of like a contest for me - on my 66th birthday I'll yell "I win!" and then probably keel right over.

7. I've been known to wear strange costumes.


8. I killed a rabid possum with a Bowie knife. It was him or me.

9. I've grown to hate computers over the years. This probably means that I should change careers, but I'm getting to the age where this is just too scary a proposition. So I'll probably hang on till I'm a bitter old man, then end my days as a Wal-Mart greeter.

10. I don't exist when I sleep.

11. I am not photogenic. I mean, just look! I look at pictures of me and think, "I look better than that."

12. Completely addicted to coffee. I'm pretty sure that I've built up a strong immunity to caffeine by now.

13. You will probably not meet a lazier man than I. If you do, you'll have to wake him up to say hi.

14. I used to think that I was a Scotch drinker. Then I tried Laphroaig. I quickly decided that I only like some kinds of Scotch, and no kinds of turpentine.

15. In spite of the fact that I know how to calculate odds, I still buy an occasional lottery ticket. Because no matter how closely a number approaches zero, it's still more than zero.

16. I hate when a manager puts a hand on my shoulder. I used to think that this was a touch of homophobia, but one day I learned that I hate it just as much when a female boss does it. The gesture is condescending and indicates ownership. It makes me want to throw a punch.

17. I always look like I'm angry. That's just my default facial expression. I'm not angry. One of the quickest ways to get me angry is to constantly ask me what's wrong.

18. I prefer dogs, but I own cats. As much as anyone can own cats. Actually I get on well with most animals. But not bugs.

19. I can do most of the Muppet voices. I felt ripped off when Henson died and there was no open casting. But now I can truthfully say that I sound more like Kermit than Kermit does. My talent for cartoon voices largely goes unappreciated, especially when my son and I do Beavis and Butthead.

20. I'm agnostic. I've tried looking into several different religions, but when it comes right down to it I just don't know what lies beyond this life. Furthermore, no one really knows. There's only one way to find out, and that's a one-way trip. I spent a long time hating on Christians, but anymore I only hate on people who bug me about religion. That's another way to get me angry.

21. I own stock in a company that makes flying cars, just because I feel cheated by the 21st century.

22. Despite appearances to the contrary, I'm not a liberal. I just believe that our government should be more concerned with individuals than profits. More about helping people and less about killing people. More regulation on corporations and less on copulation. And that doesn't make me a socialist nor does it make me any less a patriot. We have a very good Constitution and I never abandoned the oath I took as a soldier to defend it. Okay, rant over.

23. Sometimes I appear on-stage. Once in a while I've been paid for it.

24. I owned a hang glider for three years and never used it once. How sad is that? I ended up selling it for about $30 more than I bought it for. I hope the guy who bought it, used it.

25. If I bleed on a repair project, that project is a guaranteed success. No I don't think that I have magic blood - it's mostly because I'll be damned if I let some machine taste my blood and then not work for me.

Huh, what do you know? I finished.

Hope for the future

Originally published August 13, 2007

When we moved to Omaha from St. Peters three years ago, my girl had limited exposure to races other than her own. Not nonexistent, but never before had she felt that she was in a minority group. Her first couple of weeks in the new school were a little scary for her. What I learned from talking (but mostly listening) with her was that it was not the skin color that scared her, but the different way that people behaved around her: confrontational, as if daring her to be racist, all the while seemingly ignorant of just how racist that behavior is in and of itself.

But she adjusted. Last year she introduced us to her first boyfriend. If my little girl has to grow up and start dating, I could not have asked her to make a better choice. He was (and is) interesting, bright, hard-working, respectful, and creative, and the color of dark chocolate.

Unfortunately, like most teenage romances, it didn't last long, and I won't get into blaming anyone for it. I knew it would probably happen, and yes it did break her heart. But I wouldn't have wanted her to miss the experience of her first boyfriend, and I am so glad to have spent some time with him myself. I am encouraged that she will make good life choices.

I have read, from Joseph Campbell, that no one ever leaves behind the religion of their childhood. I believe that the prejudices that our parents imprint upon our young minds are never truly left behind, either, and for much the same reason. I have done my best to leave both -- I would never consider myself Baptist now, nor any brand of Christian, and I have come to hate the close-minded attitudes of the generation that raised me.

But there's a small spot, in the back of my mind, that remains a refuge for all the superstition, all the prejudice, that my parents branded upon me. They sit in their shadowy cage, knowing that I will never open the lock, yet always ready to try the bars just the same. I am gratified, however, to have refused to let it imprint upon my children. It dies with me.

The future is taking a lot longer to get here than it should, but I am confident that it will arrive.


Update September 4, 2010

I like to dust this off and read it once in a while...especially when my daughter enters a new relationship. I still believe that she will make good choices without being reminded every morning, but the protective instinct never goes away. Sometimes it needs to be caged up too.

I also need the reminder that things are getting better. In our current political climate, it's easy to forget.

Daddy's Dyin' (for some a' this chili)

INGREDIENTS

• 1 – 2 lbs hamburger
• 1 small or medium onion (Vidalias are best), chopped
• 1 medium size tomato, diced
• 1 tbsp chili powder
• 1 tbsp cocoa powder
• 1 tbsp minced garlic
• 1 tsp cayenne pepper
• 1 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp mustard powder
• 1 tsp curry powder
• 4 – 5 beef bullion cubes
• 1 small jar of your favorite salsa
• 18 ounces tomato paste (3 small cans or 1 large 1 small)

DIRECTIONS

Throw the onion and hamburger together in a large skillet and brown the hamburger. Combine all ingredients EXCEPT the tomato paste in a 5-quart pot. Top off the pot with water (save for a half-inch) and bring it to a boil for three to five minutes, stirring just enough so nothing burns. Lower the heat to simmer and stir in the tomato paste until consistency is smooth. Serve however you like to eat chili (crackers, cheese, sour cream, whatever).

You can substitute just about any kind of meat for the hamburger (Jimmy Dean sausage, stew beef, chicken, goat, road kill). You can even substitute black beans if you have a hippie vegetarian in the house. Or you can add the beans anyway if you just like beans. To really spice it up, throw in a couple of those exotic Eastern chili peppers.

But whatever you do....DON'T PEE IN YOUR CHILI!

The Second Bill of Rights (that we never got)

It is our duty now to begin to lay the plans and determine the strategy for the winning of a lasting peace and the establishment of an American standard of living higher than ever before known. We cannot be content, no matter how high that general standard of living may be, if some fraction of our people—whether it be one-third or one-fifth or one-tenth—is ill-fed, ill-clothed, ill-housed, and insecure.

This Republic had its beginning, and grew to its present strength, under the protection of certain inalienable political rights—among them the right of free speech, free press, free worship, trial by jury, freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures. They were our rights to life and liberty.

As our nation has grown in size and stature, however—as our industrial economy expanded—these political rights proved inadequate to assure us equality in the pursuit of happiness.

We have come to a clear realization of the fact that true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence. “Necessitous men are not free men.”^[2] People who are hungry and out of a job are the stuff of which dictatorships are made.

In our day these economic truths have become accepted as self-evident. We have accepted, so to speak, a second Bill of Rights under which a new basis of security and prosperity can be established for all—regardless of station, race, or creed.

Among these are:

The right to a useful and remunerative job in the industries or shops or farms or mines of the nation;

The right to earn enough to provide adequate food and clothing and recreation;

The right of every farmer to raise and sell his products at a return which will give him and his family a decent living;

The right of every businessman, large and small, to trade in an atmosphere of freedom from unfair competition and domination by monopolies at home or abroad;

The right of every family to a decent home;

The right to adequate medical care and the opportunity to achieve and enjoy good health;

The right to adequate protection from the economic fears of old age, sickness, accident, and unemployment;

The right to a good education.

All of these rights spell security. And after this war is won we must be prepared to move forward, in the implementation of these rights, to new goals of human happiness and well-being.

For unless there is security here at home there cannot be lasting peace in the world.

Franklin D. Roosevelt

January 11, 1944

I don't do warm-ups

It wasn't until I did a children's theatre bit in Korea that I was exposed to the concept of warm-ups. By this time I'd done several plays in high school, one in college, and had even taken Fundies of Acting at K-State. But I'd never before stood in a circle reciting tongue-twisters. The entire idea seemed rather juvenile, and clique-ish, an impression that remained unaltered when I re-entered the stage ten years later in St. Charles.

Nor am I alone in this perception. Several old-school stage actors find the idea bemusing, at best. Soon as I can find it, I'll link to an article which contains the phrase "What is acting about? Spitting." At the moment, I can't - a Google of the title of this blog mostly turns up links to my defunct online acting resume. Hm.. I need to put that up here.

Suffice to say that I come to rehearsal ready to rehearse. I don't find it necessary to "shake it out" or to repeat lines from Gilbert and Sullivan shows.

Last year I learned why - sometimes - it's a good thing to warm up.

As a first-time director, I was leading a group consisting of mostly first-time actors. This was "Our Town," and I'll talk more about that another time. Quite a few of them were younger, and I'm sure that at least one had ADD. They seemed unable to concentrate on what we were doing.

I knew that Felina teaches a kids' theatre class, and decided to let her try leading a few quick warm-up exercises. My sole purpose here was to try to bring some kind of focus to the group, and I have to admit that it worked - at least, to some extent. It reminded me a bit of a toddler's bedtime ritual: Get into jammies, brush your teeth, read a story, time for bed. The repetition of the warm-ups ritual before each rehearsal slowly embedded itself into their brains, and got across the idea that it was Time To Act now.

So when I agreed to direct another show at the Plattsmouth Library, and again ended up with several newbies in the cast, I asked Felina to lead warmups from the first rehearsal. Even though it takes up a half-hour from a two-hour rehearsal.

Jerry asked Felina to write up her warm-up exercises. She went further than that, and explained what each one was for. I've developed a grudging respect for the practice and admit that it can help some people. I would rather that it didn't take up so much time. We have only two hours to rehearse, and many people show up late. It seems as if we're not getting nearly as much done as we should.

But when I skip the warm-ups, nobody seems able to focus. The toddler doesn't know it's bedtime and fusses about having to go.

I still don't personally need warm-ups as an actor. And if I am ever so lucky as to direct a group of stage veterans, I don't intend to use them. But I'll take any tool I can get to wring a decent performance out of people.

Release the Fuzzy

A co-worker of mine (Sue) has a two-year-old granddaughter who has apparently seen too many previews for Clash of the Titans. Not the movie itself, just the previews. She has become enamored of the Kraken. Whenever anyone asks where the Kraken is, or utters the phrase "Release the Kraken!" -- one assumes with accompanying Greek/Scottish dialect that only the gods have -- this little girl growls for all she's worth.

So, Sue was looking for a Kraken toy for her bloodthirsty granddaughter. But apparently no one at Burger King wanted to pick up the merchandising for CotT. Aside from a few Johnny Depp figures, Google can't find a Kraken toy that is recognizable as such.

I suggested a squid. But not just any squid - an 20-inch long plushy in lifelike colors, true in every detail.16.57 at Amazon.com

And then I suggested she find a growling sound chip to put into the squid. Because, you know, KRAAAAKEN!

Sue found a lion roari sound chip at Build-a-Bear, and I even brought in one of Robin's "Handmade with love" labels to tenderly sew upon a calamari tip.

I can't wait for video of this kid's next birthday! When other kids are playing with Barbies, her Kraken will be dragging them all down to watery graves.

Die Barbie! Die

Update 7/16 - Sue brought in the finished toy. It is so friggin' awesome! The kid gets it on Tuesday.

Denying My Mortality

Originally published on August 20, 2007

Yesterday I rode in the Corporate Cycling Challenge. This is a one-day event in which riders choose either a 10-, 25-, or 42-mile course, in an attempt to rack up miles so that their company can win a meaningless trophy. This is completely different from the Commuter Cycling Challenge, in which riders take the bicycle from home to work in an attempt to rack up miles so that their company can win a meaningless trophy.

Desk jockeys have to do something like this once a year or so just to prove that they're not total couch potatoes.

I did this last year, too. Signed up for the 10-mile course, ended up riding 25, and other than some saddle-sore muscles it was okay. I'm not a fast rider and I don't have a nifty fast bike, but I do get where I'm going most of the time.

This year, I signed up for the 25-mile course. And that's all I intended to do. But when I got to the corner where I had to turn left for 25 miles, or right for 42 miles, something in my brain went haywire. I thought, hey, I'm doing pretty good. And turned right.

Now, the first clue I got that this might not be a good idea came about a half-block before this turn, when I saw a few other people turning left. Since I started at 8:00 and most of the 25-milers started at 8:30, that's a pretty good indicator that I'm going just a bit too slow for the pro crowd. But I ignored that.

The second clue that I'd made a bad choice was having to stop three times before getting to the half-way point, in Fort Calhoun. I was getting a bit hot and poured water on my head, and went on, all undaunted and oblivious.

The next clue came at the half-way point. I arrived just as they were taking down the water tables. I did get there before the station was completely dismantled, so I got signed in and the company got credit for my efforts. But there were no snacks left, and the water was nearly gone. I chose to refill my bottle with Power-Ade instead - another mistake, it was watered down and really yucky. And then I set out again.

I might have, at this point, ignored the route arrows and just taken the same way back that I had come. It wouldn't have been 42 miles, and that didn't sit right with me - having taken credit for the ride, I felt some misguided sense of honor to actually do the work for it. So I turned up the biggest damn hill that I have ever tried to ride up. Time for the next big clue - I had to get off and walk.

After making the hill and back on relatively flat ground, a volunteer pulled up in his truck and offered me a ride. I turned him down - after all, the big hill was behind me, how hard could it be?

A couple of hills later I was winded and saw a rest point that some kind neighbor had set up. I prevailed myself upon his lawn chair and relaxed all muscles. Ahhh. This was when another volunteer offered a ride. I looked back down the trail and asked whether there was anyone behind me. "No," they said. I was the last one on the trail. And again I said that I would rather try to finish.

When I got up out of the chair, I felt a little dizzy, so I sat back down until that passed. The second time up, my head was clearer, and off I went.

But the next hill, though mild, started my legs and arms shaking. Suddenly I thought of the punchline to a joke...

And God said, "I sent you a bus, a boat, and a helicopter! What more did you want?"

...and resolved that I would take the next hint.

Presumably, the bus sank.

Sure enough, along came another volunteer - I think it was the same one who stopped the first time - and said, "Are you SURE you don't want a ride?" This was said in the same forceful manner that Judith Martin might use to offer a breath mint when what she really means is that you smell like you just scarfed down skunk roadkill. Like the one I nearly ran over on this ride.

So I had a nice air-conditioned ride home, where my wife didn't even berate me for taking such stupid chances. Indeed, she made me feel like a hero for making the attempt. We had fried chicken and I downed a porter and then slept a short but righteous sleep.

I may try this again, in two or three years, if I can keep up my exercise and build up endurance. But I will damn sure have a granny gear before that day.

Oliver!

This was my second show at Clinton High School. They were only doing one show a year, so my introduction to mangled musical Dickens happened during my sophomore year. Having been bitten hard by the bug, I had to audition.


I do not remember the audition process for this show, which is odd because there must have been one. Or maybe not - Mr. Crouch remembered me from the previous year and he might have just cast the show from memories of previous performances. But then, that doesn't really explain how I got a part at all.

I was cast as Dr. Grimwig, the pompous ass quack who cautions that Oliver not be allowed to get too cold or too warm, and he should be fed...if he's hungry. I played it far too straight - this is one part that should be hammed up. My only excuse is that I was still none too sure of my own abilities (not that I even had any at this point).

In my opinion, practically every other cast member was about a thousand times better than me. Our Fagin was so good that he had his own groupies.

I was, however, more believable than one actor. We had the only fat Oliver in the history of the show.

More? There ain't no more, you done et it all!

He and I were the only ones without an English accent of one variety or another, but he was the only one who couldn't learn to pronounce "wash" without an R. It about drove poor Wedge nuts.

I had a warsh yesterday!

Even so, he had a good voice, and he could move, and he could remember lines, which puts him quite a bit higher up the scale than some people I've worked with.

The stage in our school was not large enough to support two levels, but the director wanted two levels. Ambitiously, we built a two-level set in the school gymnasium. The only reason we got away with this was that the coaches were promised a new gym floor would be built over the summer. That puppy got scratched up something awful - not so much from building the set, but from having to take it apart every school night so that the sports people could do sports things in there.

Or so I imagined

Surprisingly, our set was very sturdy. Not so surprisingly, one night the stairs nearly fell down because the top end hadn't been anchored properly during reassembly. There was real fear in Nancy's eyes as she realized she had to choose between in-character death from Sikes or real-life injury from a fall. Safety concerns won out - pursuee and pursuer both carefully backed down the stairs and resumed their chase elsewhere in the gym.

In addition to Grimwig, I was in the chorus for the tavern scene. This happens a lot with musical theatre - the chorus isn't usually big enough to make a respectable crowd. I just took off my hat, grabbed a mug, and spent the scene snuggling with Vicki, my then (sort-of) girlfriend, who was a generic tavern wench. And one of the stagehands -- I never learned who -- kept reaching in from behind the back curtain and pinching my butt!

I am flattered...

...and disturbed

Do I have to tell you that trying to get actors to break character is not acceptable during a live show?

There was no cast party that year. Or, if there was, I wasn't invited. There was, however, a quite extensive strike. This remains my least favorite part of theatre.

This was the last year Mr. Crouch taught at CHS. We gave him another award and pantomimed his name again. Good times, good times.

MungoGerrie

Originally published September 7, 2007

Around JK's birthday in 1997, my wife and I were talking about what to get for her, and of course the subject of cats came up. She has always been crazy for cats, and missed having one since we'd moved into a no-pets house a year before. We decided that, since our landlord hadn't bothered us so far, and every landlord from our past has kept our deposit despite our best efforts, we had little to lose by getting a kitten for our daughter.

There was a little pet shop next door to the grocery store where we shopped, that occasionally sold kittens. This shop made very little profit on these sales, because whenever they took in a litter, they arranged all the shots and made sure that they were free of fleas, worms, etc, and their end price was still only $25. The only kittens they had on hand at the time were orange tiger-striped, exactly the kind that Robin claimed to dislike. But we brought one home anyway, in a cardboard box, and that's how Jerry entered our lives.

He was supposed to be Jesse's cat, but over the years he formed attachements to each of us, in separate ways. As a kitten he would share naps with Robin (I have pictures). As he grew older, he liked to ride on Arthur's shoulders. As for me, I think I got more head-butts than anyone else, as a mature Mungo Jerry greeted me as a peer, and then claimed my lap for as long as I remained sitting.

We accumulated two more kittens in subsequent years, and Jerry more than tolerated each usurper. He always let the others eat first, confident that he would have enough. When Rumpelteazer paired off with Rum Tum Tugger (regardless of Old Possum's chronicles), he accepted that with the same grace. When we moved again, he was the quietest during the trip and the first to adapt to the new house.

This is not to say that he was always the perfect cat. He was intolerant of strangers handling him, and sometimes family too. Once while being adored by Lily, he suddenly turned around and hissed in her face, provoking an asthma attack. He hated going to the vet for shots and had to be held immobile by two pairs of hands. He was moody after every bath, and moody when Arthur moved out. He begged for our food at every meal, and turned over trash cans looking for more. He drank from the toilet if I didn't keep the lid closed. I can't count the number of times I nearly tripped over and cursed at that damn cat.

But at the end of the day, there was that head-butt, and a few minutes of purring in my lap, and I couldn't stay mad at him long.

About two years ago, Robin noticed Jerry was acting melancholy. We thought that he needed a companion, since Teaser and Rum had paired off and often didn't want him around. We brought Misty home from the shelter, but it never worked out. Teaser hated having another female around, and poor Misty spent two years confined in one little corner of the house or another, hiding. We eventually gave up and asked Arthur to take her. So Jerry never got his companion.

At last year's vet exam, I mentioned that Jerry seemed to be losing weight, but the vet said he was only a few ounces lighter than the year before and he seemed healthy. But he worsened over the next few months, drinking and urinating too much, not grooming well, begging more for treats and still losing weight. We started giving him a little bit of canned fish every day, and for a while that helped. I thought he might pull out of it.

A couple of weeks ago I took him back to the vet early, for tests. The vet returned my money and said that she wasn't equipped to help him. He'd lost almost seven pounds - nearly half his body weight was gone. His demanding maiow had diminished to a plaintive croak, then to a whisper. A full-service animal hospital might be able to do something. Maybe.

I had a decision to make. I could take him to the hospital and spend several hundred dollars that we just don't have in the hope that they could fix him up. I could have him put down immediately, ending his suffering. Or I could take him home, make him comfortable, and hope he got better on his own. I chose the latter, and now I'm beating myself up over it.

At first Jerry seemed to improve a little, but two days ago he laid himself down next to the water dish. He stopped eating anything, even his daily fish. He would get up occasionally and put his tongue in the water, and then lay down again.

Yesterday morning I came home to find Jerry on the basement floor. In spite of having trouble walking, he'd forced himself down the stairs to use the litterbox, ignoring one that I'd placed in easier reach. Having gone that far, he didn't have the strength to get himself back upstairs. I brought him up and sat with him until I couldn't stay awake any more.

When I got up, I thought he was already dead until I saw him gasp in a spasmodic breath that was painful to watch and must have been hellish to feel. I knew the end was near. I held him in my lap for about an hour. Then Jesse held him, and a few minutes later Jerry was gone.

The last few hours have been filled with self-recrimination. I feel that I should have found the money somewhere in the budget for the hospital. I should have taken him for testing sooner. I should have been nicer to him when I was trying to cook and he would stand up an put his front paws on my leg, begging for treats.

I should have given him more treats.

I feel like I let him down, and I let my little girl down. It's natural for a father's heart to break when his child is crying her eyes out over a loss as deep as this one. But what surprises me is how bad I feel for myself. It's never hurt me this much to lose a pet. Hell, I've rarely mourned any human.

These last few hours, though, it's been very hard to be the strong one.

I'm going to miss that damn cat.

Update 7/4/2010

About a year and a half ago, we adopted two half-grown kittens - we call them Gumbie and Bustopher. Buster has become my shadow, and I see in him the ghost of Jerry. The only thing missing is the headbutts -- instead of accepting me as an equal, Buster seems to think I'm his mom. He'd rather knead my stomach.

I probably won't be any more ready for the next disappointment. All we can do is enjoy the time beforehand.

Writing exercise

Pen Dragons meeting, April 15, 2008. Yes it's old. I'm trying to consolidate my past self-publishing.


"I want to see your manager!"

The words carried throughout the entire establishment, but Donald stayed out of sight until the waitress bore the bad news to him personally. He hated to deal with unhappy customers, the worst part of running a high-scale restaurant, and right this moment longed for his hash-slinging days. He glanced out the window. A perfect spring day, just right for fishing, and he was stuck here dealing with irate customers.

"It's the Garret party," the girl informed him. "The big wedding rehearsal dinner." Of course, it had to be.

"What seems to be the problem?" Don asked the disgruntled diner. Seated at the head of the long table (actually a series of short tables hastily pushed together), in the "father of the bride" position. Which meant he was paying for all of this, which probably meant that Don was looking at a loss of profit for the entire party's dinner.

The man explained at the same volume that had begun his tirade. "This steak is the problem!" he shouted. "I ordered medium rare, this damn thing is bloody all through!"

Donald put on his best fake smile. "Of course it is, how could such a thing happen. Let me take care of this immediately, sir." So far, so good, Don thought. Maybe he could get out of this with a complimentary dessert.

Behind the swinging kitchen doors, another obstacle awaited. Robert ("Ro-BAIR, mah name eez Ro-BAIR") had attended culinary school in Paris and never let anyone forget it. Don approached the chef with the offending slab as one might a sacrifice for the altar.

"Robert, please put this back on the grill for a bit longer. The customer wants it cooked more," Don asked apologetically.

The chef took one look at the plate and exploded into a rant of his own. "He ask for medium rare, I geeve heem medium rare! Eet eez cook to pairfeck-shee-onne!"

Before Donald could answer, Robert continued. "And look! Eet eez smoth-aired in peppair, suffocated in salt, and zair eez KETCHUP on zee plate! KETCHUP!!! Non! I weel not cook for zis cretin!"

This was a typical reaction, and any other day Donald would have taken the trouble to smooth ruffled feathers. But today, the trout were singing to him from the lake, backed up by a chorus of catfish. The chef's tone and accent grated dissonantly in his ears against such music. Something in Donald snapped.

"Fine," he said, "Ro-BURT. Don't doo eet. You're fired."

And with that, Don stepped past his astonished ex-employee. With a practiced hand, he slapped the meat over the flame, for just long enough to brown the edges and still keep the middle pink. "Order up!" he shouted to the waitress.

In his mind, the trout sang a triumphant hallelujia chorus.

Theatre Weapon Safety

By Jerry Abels, reprinted with permission. Jerry is an ex-cop and a great stage manager.

WEAPONS SAFETY

In many productions the use of a weapon by an actor is essential to the development of a scene or a character. A realistic appearing weapon is vital to the realism the actor and director are trying to portray. The one thing no one wants to be real, however, is the injury or death that a weapon can cause when not properly used. Because of this, safety is the first and most important consideration in the use of any weapon.

Please note the use of the phrase “any weapon”. Most of us think of a firearm. . .a rifle, or pistol, or maybe shotgun, when we think of a weapon. Many other implements are also weapons. These include knives (of all kinds), swords, spears, maces, bows, even clubs and staves. In short, if it can be used to harm or in combat, it’s a weapon, and if it’s a weapon, safety has to come first.

General Safety Rules

1. Never use a “live” weapon on stage. A live weapon is any weapon which is combat ready.

This means firearms capable of firing a projectile, knives and swords with sharpened edges or points etc. Only use appropriate prop weapons.

2. ABSOLUTELY NO HORSEPLAY at any time with any weapon. Never fence, stab threaten, or even point a weapon at any time except under the controlled conditions of rehearsal. There should never be horseplay on stage at any time anyway, but with weapons this is critical. This rule applies even with plastic fake or prop weapons. They should be treated with the same respect as a live weapon.
3. IF IT’S NOT YOUR PROP, DON’T TOUCH IT. The first rule of props! ! ! Never handle a weapon unless it is assigned to you, and never let anyone else handle your weapon except the stage manager, props master, or armorer (if your production has one).
4. All weapons are to be kept locked up at all times except when they are actually needed on stage. This means that you pick up your weapon just before your entrance and turn it is immediately upon coming off stage. There can be no exceptions to this.
5. The stage manager is responsible for securing and issuing all weapons. In a complex production when the stage manager is too busy, or if the stage manager is unfamiliar with weapons, this duty may be delegated to the properties master or to a designated armorer with the agreement of the Vice President of Production.
6. In the case of combat arms (swords, knives, arrows, maces etc.), Specially designed props weapons should be used whenever possible. If live steel must be used (as in a sword fight where the sound of steel on steel is essential), all edges and points must be dulled and the weapons inspected before each rehearsal or performance.
7. Prior to using any weapons in rehearsal or performance, the entire cast and crew shall be instructed in weapon safety and specific safety procedures for the weapon being used by an individual who is trained and familiar with the weapons being used. Special instruction shall be given to all persons involved with the handling and use of the weapons.
8. Any injuries, no matter how minor shall be immediately reported to the director or stage manager and to the theatre manager.
9. Any weapon found lying around unattended or being handled by an unauthorized person shall be immediately reported to the stage manager.

Firearms Safety

1. ALWAYS ASSUME ANY FIREARM IS LOADED AND TREAT ALL FIREARMS AS THOUGH THEY ARE LOADED. Even if the weapon is a plastic toy or prop weapon, Firearms must at all times be treated with extreme respect. Even if you’ve verified that it is not loaded, treat it as if it were for the sake of others.
2. NEVER POINT A FIREARM AT ANYONE, EVEN ON STAGE. If the script calls for you to point the weapon at another character, point it slightly upstage of that person. To the audience it will look exactly like it were pointed at your intended victim.
3. NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, USE A WEAPON CAPABLE OF FIRING LIVE AMMUNITION. Whenever possible, use a non firing prop weapon. If firing the weapon is necessary for the production, obtain a stage weapon that fires the appropriate blanks. These can be purchased or rented through a Props outlet, and sometimes even borrowed from another theatre. This is one time you should not rely on your friend with the gun collection who has helped you with props before.
4. If you have to fire a weapon on stage, it is not to be loaded until just before you go on stage for that scene. The firearm is to be unloaded immediately upon coming off stage.
5. Whenever a firearm is being passed to another person, the person receiving the weapon must do a “chamber check” to determine whether or not the weapon is loaded. This is to be done in the presence of the person handing you the weapon. NO EXCEPTIONS.
6. Even a firearm designed to fire blanks can cause injury. Absolutely no horseplay is permitted with a firearm. All of the rules for weapons in general apply to firearms.
7. Don’t dry fire: Dry firing is pulling the trigger without a round in the chamber. This is hard on the mechanism of the weapon and can cause serious damage. Not to mention that it is horseplay.
8. Never take your weapon out of the theatre. Stage props look very realistic, they’re supposed to. Police take a dim view of people waving guns around or having them in vehicles, and that stage prop which cannot fire a live round will look mighty real from a distance or in the dark. The nicest thing that can happen is a long “vacation” in bad company and poor surroundings. (prison food isn’t that great either)
9. Clean the firearm immediately after every use. As a part of your post show duties the firearm must be cleaned before leaving the theatre even if you’ve only fired 1 round. Gunpowder is very corrosive to the metal of a weapon and will damage it and cause misfires.
10. The firearm and all blank ammunition must be kept under lock and key at all times when not actually on stage. Only the stage manager or designated armorer should have access to the key.
    

Not Everyone Can Act

This should be pretty obvious.  All you need to do is take a quick inventory of all the people paid to be on-screen to realize that ability and talent have nothing to do with the success of their careers.

I could go on but you get the point.

Now, once in a while one of these people will surprise you.  When that happens, you can be pretty sure that an outstanding director was involved in the project.  Unfortunately, not everyone can be that director, either.

 

Stop.  Just stop.

I bring this up because of my experience with "A Midsummer Night's Dream."  I've done this show twice, but the one I'm talking about was for Act II St. Peters, in the summer of 2000. 

I had heard the director bragging that she could teach anyone to act.  "How hard can it be?", she would say, pointing out the pretty faces in Hollywood and how stupid most of them are. 

 

Not you, Jeff.  You are neither stupid nor pretty.

At auditions, there were some pretty awesome choices for most of the main roles.  But our director decided to cast the show based upon looks.  Even so, we had one girl at auditions who looked and acted a lot like this--->

and was not offered any part at all.  No, she gave the part of Titania to a girl who, despite being only 17, was tall enough to appear opposite the choice for Oberon, who just happened to be the director's husband.  This girl was very sweet, and pretty enough, but she COULD NOT SPEAK.  I don't mean she was mute - that might have been better.  I mean that she could not pronounce words.  She could not project.  She could not slow down.  She was obviously intimidated trying to act opposite a man older than her own father.  It just didn't work.  

While I"m on this subject, I honestly don't think that the husband could act, either.  He had a monotone delivery that could replace Ritalin, but everyone in that particular group seemed to have a blind spot where he was concerned.  One board member, very excited over the idea of seeing this man on-stage, said that he could read a phone book and the audience would be rapt.  I thought that this was fortunate, because that's exactly what it sounded like he was doing.

The complete works of Shakespeare

She also cast her own son as Lysander, and I'm sorry Brisbee, but your boy had a lisp.  A pretty bad one.  My daughter heard ME talking about it, and let it slip, which caused a big brouhaha, and no one wanted to hurt his feelings.  I really should have spoken up.  He lisped like Barney Frank on novocaine.  He shouldn't have been allowed near that part - it was manslaughter.

Let me interject here that I did not, and do not, dislike these people.  Well, not most of them.  It was impressive just to get the board to agree to a Shakespeare play in the first place, and more so to get people in St, Peters MO to come see it.  This woman was one miracle short of sainthood. She did not, however, earn her halo during this show.

 Two weeks into rehearsal, it became obvious to everyone that our Queen of the Faeries was just not up to the job.  One line in particular will always stick in my memory.  When Titania and Oberon have their first spat of the play, Titania says,  "Fairies, away!  We shall chide downright if I longer stay."  Only she didn't.  She always says "chow down right."  It sounded like a stage direction for eating.  And she kept doing it, over and over, no matter how many times she was corrected.  "We shall chow down right if I longer stay!"  

Hungry Hungry Fairies

Even the director had to admit that she'd been wrong.  So she dismissed the poor girl, and took on the part herself.  Which was probably her plan all along.

Again, I must be fair.  Not every casting choice was a disaster or nepotism (or both).  Arthur did a great Peter Quince, although I think he could have handled a larger role.  As for myself, I was cast as Theseus and I believe I did well.  But my costume made me look like Elvis gave birth to a disco ball.

No, no picture of that.  *shudder*

Brisbee turned in a fiery Titania that survived her husband's wooden Oberon, even if it didn't make up for it.  Our puck dropped out of the show, but his replacement was a quick study - I suspected another planned substitution but couldn't prove it.  Enough of us were able to avoid singsong delivery that the play was actually understandable, and people seemed to enjoy it.  

I gained a lot from this experience, apart from a nifty blog name.  It was my first time doing Shakespeare, and I learned that it's a lot better performed live than read from a book.   I learned to be more objective about my own abilities and that of my loved ones, so as not to ever cast someone just because I know and like them.  And I learned a bit about the cliqueish nature of community theatres.  It didn't put me off the group - just made me a little more cautious.  In the end, not cautious enough, but that's another story.