Well, with a free Flickr account, as noted a couple of weeks ago, you only get so much photo space you can upload each month, and I exceeded mine back then. So I'm stuck with a last couple of as-yet-unposted photos of that sparkling duo of dynamic felines, Hooker and Simone . . .





Yup, here they are once again in "Family Size/Fun Size" comparison mode. This is the photo I meant to post two weeks back, and messed up and instead put up one I'd already posted.


And we finally got our books up on shelves earlier this year, so they don't have a favorite hangout anymore:





What always gets me about some of these photos is how dopey he looks, when he is a cat of above-average intelligence (which, as Berit would remind me, is still pretty stupid), while she looks all knowing and clever, and (sweet and loving as she is) she's dumb as a post. If there's even a thought in her head in that look at the camera, it would be just, "Mommy?"


But, yes, sweet. He's cuddled up with Berit in the other room, and she's next to me on the bed, purring and trying to hug my mouse-operating hand. Good cats.

Once upon a time, it was not unknown to see TV commercials for brand new vinyl LP record albums.

And sometimes, for some reason, in those times, a major record label (or rather, in the case that follows, a noted division of a major record label) put some actual advertising dollars into promoting an album that next to no one would want to hear.

And sometimes, for even less explicable reasons, they put the money and control of that advertising into the hands of the actual recording artist responsible for the difficult music that they were trying to sell.

Which meant that once upon a time, you might wind up with a television commercial like this one,
which is what happens when Straight Records, a division of Reprise Records, a division of Warner Bros. Records,
hands over control of production of the TV spot to Mr. Don Van Vliet, aka Captain Beefheart,
to promote the new album from Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band
(and follow-up to that great populist hit, Trout Mask Replica),
sure to set toes a-tappin' all across the USA in the year of our lord 1970,
Lick My Decals Off, Baby:

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This actually aired on broadcast televsion a handful of times, before being pulled -- mainly due to offense at the title of the album.

I saw it first at MoMA in 1986 -- glad to have it handy now.

Oh, boy . . .


Well, today is Fall Preview Day in the theatre blogs, and I come to it completely unprepared, as it seems I have absolutely no idea of what's going on, being too wrapped up in my own damn work most of the time, without the price of a ticket for even a $10 show, as every spare dime I have goes into whatever show of my own I'm dealing with (though, yes, occasionally Berit and I do spring for a show, usually when it's by one of our friends who, a) we feel obligated to see, and, b) we are pretty damned sure is going to be great -- last night we went and saw Eric Davis' solo performance as Red Bastard in the Clown Festival at The Brick, which fit both (a) and (b), and was indeed terrific).


However, I have now got to see everyone else's Fall Preview posts, and as a result am completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of shows that I would like to see and won't be able to as I can't afford it (and this isn't even in the most part due to high ticket prices; I just have fallen into a life that allows me to mainly work on my own shows and not have to do much else, the flip side of this is that while I don't have to do very much that I don't want to do, I can't do very much of what I would like to do).


So, for those looking in here who don't get to all the theatre blogs, here's some links to what the other NYC theatre bloggers are looking forward to:


Isaac Butler - Parabasis
Mark Armstrong - Mr. Excitement News
Matt Johnston - Theatre Conversation and Political Frustration
James Comtois - Jamespeak
Adam Szymkowicz - Blog of a Playwright
George Hunka - Superfluities
Joshua James - The Daily Dojo
Matthew Freeman - On Theatre and Politics


and from L.A.:
Kyle Wilson - Frank's Wild Lunch


and from Buffalo:
Tom Loughlin - A Poor Player



The first thing, apart from what I'd like to go see that I'm not connected with in any way, is to note that I won't be seeing much of anything because I have a show of my own, Temptation, opening in The Havel Festival. It plays at The Brick in Williamsburg from November 2 to 26, produced by my company, Gemini CollisionWorks. I'm proud of where the show is going, and the Festival in general looks to be quite good and quite special (I'm on the artistic board of the producing company for the Fest, UTC#61).


So, HAVEL FESTIVAL!


With that promo out of the way, what would I see if I could? Well, since I learned about most of these from other people, who have written about them at the links above, here's a list, with links to companies/spaces.


1) The Tooth of Crime by Sam Shepard
2) Heartbreak House by George Bernard Shaw
3) The Coast of Utopia by Tom Stoppard
4) In Public by George Hunka
5) Hell House by Les Freres Corbusier
6) Adrift in Macao by Christopher Durang and Peter Melnick
7)Wake Up Mr. Sleepy! Your Unconscious Mind Is Dead! by Richard Foreman
8) Hamlet by The Wooster Group
9) The Death of Griffin Hunter by Kirk Wood Bromley (not written about by anyone else -- coming to The Brick early next year! -- revival/rewriting of a modern verse tragedy originally done in 1999)


Tom Loughlin, linked above, noting how many of us NYC bloggers are in an unfortunate financial state not enabling to see very many shows, has offered to go in on half of a ticket for anything we choose (to a certain point). I'm not comfortable with the idea, but I may get over the discomfort to ask him about it so I can see Tooth of Crime (dear god, I just checked the listings closer, and a good friend of mine from NYU, Jenne Vath, is playing Becky! Neat!).


Okay, I need food and Advil -- splitting headache. Maybe later I'll get to this past week, the great rehearsals for Temptation, the lousy breakdown of my van, the lousy and yet somehow great news about my brother in Iraq, various and sundry other items of miniscule to major note . . .

Awoke once again this morning to the disturbing sound (and smell) of kitty Hooker having another epileptic fit. Right underneath the bed, so he was playing a drum solo on the slats below me. He got himself out from under there halfway, so I could see him when I looked over the edge of the bed. As usual, Moni was standing a foot away from him, staring at him, confused.


Every time it happens, it seems to be smaller, though. Less floppity-flopping around this time, and it was just about an hour ago, and he's now sitting at the end of the bed here, cleaning himself off and looking fairly normal (though it's obvious he doesn't have all of his sight back yet, but he can distinguish between light and dark). He was up and walking around less than ten minutes after -- it used to take him at least an hour to be able to move his legs again. So, he's calm and resting now, and I cleaned up the drool and piss on him and the floor. Yup, now he's just lying there making his strange, wheezy, grunty purrs. I keep leaning over and moving his eyelids to blink so his eyes aren't damaged or something (oh, hmmmn -- he's blinder than I thought -- he's not responding to a finger poking at his eye -- well, it'll wear off).


And now, happier times, here's a picture of Hooker and Moni in a former favorite cuddle place, our prop wheelchair:

This week, we had the first rehearsals for Temptation, which I'm directing for the Vaclav Havel Festival.

First off, once again I find myself having the same strange feelings I've been having the past few years every day before I get to rehearsal, namely dread and frustration.  I have no idea why, but for the last few years, it's felt like more and more of a horrible chore to go to rehearsals (mainly as a director, only sometimes as an actor).

But then, when I get to rehearsal, and I'm working with the actors, it's like I've been given a massive shot of happywakeup medicine -- I feel energized and excited and like I'm doing what I'm meant to be doing, what I'm good at, and I just want to keep going and going.  Once upon a time, if I had rehearsal later in the day, I'd have that feeling all day, like a bouncy puppy, "OH BOY!  I get to REHEARSE a SHOW today!!!"  Now, most of the time, I just want the show to happen and not deal with the drudgery of rehearsal.  And then I'm at rehearsal and it's not drudgery at all, it's the best part of being alive, apart from being in the middle of a show while it's running and knowing it's going well.  I don't know how to get around this.  I know that I'll be fine when I get to rehearsal, but I can't feel it.  I just want it to go away.  It's just all DREAD.  Why has this happened to me?  Rehearsals are as fun as ever, why can't I feel that way in advance anymore?

So, Saturday we went to Central Park and read through the script with most of the cast -- Walter, Danny, Alyssa, Jessi, Christiaan, Maggie, and Roger.  Fred and Timothy couldn't make it, Berit and I took their parts and the as-yet uncast ones.  It was a beautiful day, and we found a moderately-secluded perch on some rocks.  I didn't give any direction to start -- I wanted to hear what came out naturally at a first cold reading.  It sounded good, for a beginning.  It runs shorter than I feared it might, thank god -- the final production will probably be 2 hrs. 10 min. with intermission, which is 20 min. shorter than I thought.  Maybe even less.  Great.

We had an occasional audience for bits and pieces of the reading, people walking by, as I figured would happen.  Wasn't as distracting as I feared, though I was amused and puzzled by the Asian gentleman who videotaped us for about ten minutes (I couldn't say for sure, of course, but yes, he and his friends came off as the exact stereotypes of "Japanese Tourists").  I was fairly clear in my head about what the show was "about" for me and this production before the reading, but didn't have the clear words to express it to others (does that make sense to you?  it's the truth).  During the reading words became more clear, and afterwards I talked a little bit about what this production of Temptation is trying to do.

It's all about two-facedness, masks, and lies, though ultimately Foustka's downfall isn't that he's a liar, but that he's a liar for two opposing sides -- it would be fine if he just lied in the service of one of them (well, no, but in the world of the play) -- but he won't pick a side and ultimately betrays both (and himself) by not committing, and is destroyed for it.  Of course, the heavy spectre of Communism hangs over the play, given when and where it was written, but the metaphor is wider and more universal than that -- I read that Charles Marowitz cut and rewrote the play to get rid of the "Communist country" overtones in his London production, but really that's not necessary.  Rather baby/bathwater, you ask me.

I was thinking of the documentary play by Daniel Kleinfeld that I acted in and designed (light/set), A Little Piece of the Sun, about the Chernobyl disaster and the Russian serial killer Andrei Chikatilo -- two stories combined, both about death caused by a country's/society's reliance on lies and deception.  Daniel lived in Russia (while it was still the Soviet Union?  don't remember . . .) and talked to me about discovering that it was a country where for years, in order to simply get by, everyone had to be a liar and a hustler.  And what does that do to the mindset of a country, of its people, when for years, merely in order to eat, to live, you have had to lie, cheat, and deceive all the time?

So I talked about this, and that EVERYONE in the play is a liar, on some level, or rather, many levels -- everyone has different false faces they are using with different characters throughout, and we have to work on making the levels clear to all of us.  Havel has been both very clear and very subtle in his language towards this end, and each nuance has to be thought about.  Many seemingly innocent lines have a hidden twist or sting in them.

There will be a "non-lie" style of acting that shows up in some brief scenes, where people are just bullshitting in the office, or two lovers, unguarded, are chatting in bed, but false faces go on all the time, and everybody knows it, knows everybody else's deceptions, but goes with it because they have their own.  I told Alyssa and Walter that in the scene where their characters are playacting with each other in a lovers' game, they should go so far in a certain direction that the audience should be wondering, just a bit, in the back of their heads, "Why are these two giving such bad performances in this scene?  They've been really good up till now" (which means not simply overacting, as the audience will "get" that this is a game between them immediately, but a specific kind of emoting without actorial skill, which can be difficult for good actors to pull off).

So, good reading Saturday.  Then, Sunday, same place (Central Park, not on rocks this time but in a sylvan glen), later in the day, same group minus Roger and Maggie but plus Timothy, another reading.  People had thought about what I said the day before and small changes, new modes of thought, were happening.  Timothy and Walter worked well in their scenes together, which are big and meaty parts of the play.  Still, good place to start, but just to start.  So much to do, to bring out.

Chance favors the prepared observer.  Right in the middle of one of Foustka's monologues -- in some ways, the most important one of the play, where he spells out most of its themes, dead center of the script -- there was the sound of fire trucks coming, louder and louder.  Walter went on with the speech, trying to talk over the sirens, but eventually the trucks passed directly by us on Central Park West, drowning out any and all sounds, blasting air horns, and Walter had to just stop and hold the speech until they went by.  They faded, and he continued, having kept his focus firmly on Timothy as Fistula the whole time.  The timing had been perfect, and I gave a little look and sly grin to Berit, who knew immediately what I was thinking, rolled her eyes and mouthed, "No!"  But it worked SO well . . . Christiaan saw that look and knows me, knew what I was thinking, and smiled and nodded (I think Danny did, too).  Yeah, Foustka should have that happen to him at that exact place in the final production.

I wish I had a window in the set I could use, cause really what should happen is that Foustka is giving the speech, softly and intently, the sirens start in the distance, he gets louder, the sirens get louder, he goes and closes the window, and goes back to taking softly, the sirens, though muffled, keep getting louder and louder, as does he, until the fire trucks are obviously passing right by Foustka's apartment, and he has to stop and wait for them to go, with his focus still on Fistula, sharp, laser focus.  A long pause for them to pass.  Then . . . onward as though nothing had happened.

Yeah, no window, but it'll be something like that.  Beautiful.  Oh, that'll be lovely.

Last night we rehearsed in a neat little affordable space on 36th Street run by John Chatterton.  Reminded me of the old Nada Piano Store rooms.  We staged the two garden scenes with Jessi, Walter, Danny, Fred, Alyssa, and Christiaan (missing Roger, Maggie, Timothy, and the uncast people).  Again, dread going in, productive fun work actually happening.  So, two scenes out of ten are now blocked -- as usual, we came in and I just ran through the first scene on my feet, no acting, no reading, just telling everybody where to go and when, line by line, and having them walk it.  Then we ran it, adjusting where necessary due to stuff not working or better actorial ideas.  Then we did the same on the second scene.  Three good hours work.  The actors are great, but then, they're people I know and like a great deal, and I know they'll walk in with 70-85% of what I want from them perfect straight out of the gate, so I'm really lucky that way.  And whenever they surprise me with bits of business, it's always good stuff.

Well, okay, not always, but mostly.  God, we have so much time, compared to most shows I've done, to work, and work, and work on the subtleties of the acting on this one.  Well, most often I don't do shows that need that much work in this way -- something I've got used to doing Off-Off-Bway, designing shows that don't need to be actorially micromanaged -- but this one does need it, and I'm glad I'll have the time for it.  I should have the whole show blocked by Sunday the 24th, then I have a month to the first full-cast run-thrus on October 24 to just focus on the acting (and, of course, my tech).

Outside our co-op I spotted some pieces of a bedroom set that someone was throwing out yesterday morning, and started debating whether to drag them inside to use on the set (in Vilma's apartment).  In particular, two pieces that were probably the sides of a vanity, with drawers below a shelf and vertical mirrors above that can be angled inward -- good for the endtables to Vilma's bed, where I can angle the mirrors to both catch the light to cover the actors sitting on the bed, and give the audience a second viewpoint on the actors.  But.  They were big, and not light, and there's very little room in the apartment.  Berit and I looked at them on the way to rehearsal last night, and thought about it some more.  Then, as we came home in the rain around 11.30, we took one more look -- they were now stacked up with the garbage to be picked up this morning.  Berit looked at them, and then at me, ruefully, "They really are great . . ."  And that was it, I brought them in, and they're jamming up our foyer now.  The rain did a number on them, but they're going to work wonderfully for the set (I kinda wish I brought in the matching headboard, but where the hell would I have put it?).

Now, I need to figure out where I can rehearse with Walter and Timothy on Sunday.  I can only afford to pay for rehearsal spaces for the larger, group rehearsals that need lots of space.  Luckily, I got a LOT more rehearsal time in the actual space than I anticipated, so that calmed my nerves a bit as far as the budget for the show went.  A bit.

I'm "seeing" the show more and more, and it's better and better than I thought it would be.  Moving more from a solid craftman's job, taken on to keep in practice, to a labor of love, as it needs to.

We'll have to see if Cat Blogging happens later . . . I seem to have run out of room for the month in my Flickr account (it's only worth it to me to have the free account) and there's only two very similar cat photos as yet unposted. Maybe I'll have room to upload one more . . .


I'll probably throw one of them up. Though once again we're having problems with the wi-fi we're leeching here at home, and it's shutting off and on constantly, so internet activity can be rather annoying.


In the meantime, random ten for this morning while I try to do a tune-up on this laptop:


1. "Russian Dance" -- Tom Waits -- The Black Rider
2. "I Can Only Give You Everything" -- Them -- Nuggets II
3. "The End" -- The Beatles -- Anthology 3
4. "Lamento Beat I Versione" -- Mario Molito -- Kaleidoscopica
5. "I've Got a Feeling" -- Laibach -- Let It Be
6. "Love > Building On Fire" -- Talking Heads -- Sand in the Vaseline
7. "Don't Start Me Talkin'" -- The New York Dolls -- in Too Much Too Soon
8. "Hodokyo" -- Kazuki Tomokawa -- Nikusei
9. "It's" -- King Missle -- The Way to Salvation
10. "Strychnine" -- The Sonics -- Nuggets

God . . . I am such a geek.

And boy is this damned funny.

I do loves my ST:TOS and my NIN . . .

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So what do all those interests on my profile page look like in a visual representation?

Thanks to mcbrennan, who pointed me to the proper link, we can see after the cut.

(I had done this once before, but after trying it, and intending to go back to it later, the site was shut down for too high traffic . . .)

( My Interests Collage! )

Cat blogging in a bit.


I got back from the grocery store a little while ago to find Berit smiling -- "Guess what we forgot?"

Oh, lord. "Your mom's birthday?" (I'd forgotten my dad's earlier this Summer and B & I have been trying to help each other stay on top of these things).

"Nope."

Then it hit me. September 4. We BOTH forgot this year.

Berit Johnson and I have been together six years (and, uh, four days). Pretty much living, working, and in love together every day the whole time.

Which is over nine times as long as any relationship I'd been in previously -- I'm not an easy person to be involved with.

But then, neither is Berit, and somehow it's our mutual "problems" that help hold us together (we have them, so we put up with them in each other, so, no problem), that and our similar outlooks on life, music, humor, cats, the universe, everything (or most things). There are things we don't have in common, but we leave those to the other, and have no problem with having "apart" time as well. We have our ups and downs, of course, and little spats -- I'm sure that some people think we're The Battling Bickersons and others think we're disgustingly lovey-dovey, but in general, we care, we're in love, we're partners, and we put up with each other's prickly eccentricities.

So, it works. And we plan on keeping it working. Someday we'll get married. When we feel like it and get around to it (something else we agree on that others might not).

We may have both forgot (usually, only SHE does), but at least on this anniversary, as opposed to our first one in 2001, Berit wasn't stuck, all hopped up on Red Bull and paint fumes, in the backyard of The Connelly Theatre, painting around 80 cardboard boxes white and then stenciling black letters on them (for my production of The New Tenant in the Ionesco Festival), or something equally depressing.


Here we are four years ago in Molde, Norway:





I love you, honey.