In The Attic

Pearls before Swine

Did  you know that butterflies HAVE to open their wings and fly around on dewy, sunny mornings?  Apparently, their wings are equipped with solar panels from which they get their energy.  Huh.  How very eco friendly of them. 

I was reminded of that random fact simply because I am in a state of needing to conserve my energy for areas where it can actually do some good for my life.  I volunteered to "help out" with Hamlet props, and because I like to be involved with productions-- especially good productions-- I've been out there as often as possible trying to get what little bits done that I can. 

However, after having come off a big project like Twelfth Night and starting school again and lots of needs at home, my energy level has been on the low side.  Not quite at fumes, but the "fill up now" light is definitely on. 

Because of that, I wasn't particularly looking forward to the massive drive involved this weekend.  I'm picking up B- in LA and then driving her to Santa Cruz for our friends', Michael and John's, wedding .   But right now, as I'm an hour or so away from departing, I'm soooooo looking forward to it. 

I've downloaded a shitload of American  Theatre Wing podcasts as well as the entire series of Wormwood for our drive.   And I'm sure some musical theatre stylings will be involved as well.  And then, once I get to Santa Cruz-- one of my favorite places in the world-- I'll be looking forward to some pastry at the  Buttery or some Bangers and Mash at that Irish pub downtown and some book browsing at Bookshop SantaCruz. . . and, of course, a banana daquiri at Riva's on the wharf. My only "le sigh" is that Mondays are dark at the Shakespeare Santa Cruz festival where they are presenting R&J and  Alls' Well.  If I'm extremely lucky, perhaps I can get there on a Sunday Matinee before the end of the month.

Yeah, in the words of Adam Duritz "It's been a long time since I've seen the ocean. . . I guess I should.  Nya Nya Nyaaaa Na, Na na na, na na na. . . . "

Not a real blog post

So, I'm sorry I've been neglecting you all lately.  I feel I should create an aggregate rss feed for all of my blogs and post them here so you know what I'm blogging where. . . but most of it is theatre stuff and I don't know how interested EVERYONE here is interested in theatre stuff.  But there that is.

Now to the cream. . . . this is not a real blog post.  This is the most expedient way I have of getting some voice over audio to Laura at WSF as Yahoo Mail won't send it as an attachment.  Blast them!  So I'm posting it here for her to download.  You are welcome to download it, too, but it will be all about the virtues and mission of Woodward Shakespeare Festival and won't have much craft or structure to it. . . but if listening to the sound of my voice somehow intrigues and interests  you, by all means. . . DL to your heart's content!

So, Laura, here are the MP3's:

Download wsf-audio--text.mp3

Download mckennittprologue.mp3   (music)

Download mummersdance.mp3 (music)

Numbers don't lie. . .

So, I was updating my theatrical CV today and decided, just for "fun" to see how many man hours I've logged in on theatrical productions/studying theatre/teaching theatre over the last 15 years. 

I actually went show by show and job by job and worked out how long the rehearsal process was, how long prep times were, workshop times, hours by number of weeks in a class, performance lengths x number of performances, set building weekends (av. 4 hours per weekend day on a set), etc, etc etc. . . .

It worked out to 9,002  hours over the last 15 years.  If I had added in the ten plays I've dropped from my CV I might have gotten almost to 10,000 hours. 

But 9,000 hours over 15 years is 600 hours per year.

Which is 11.5 hours per week.

Which is 1.5 hours per day.  (With no days off, holidays or anything).

So if you take into account the holidays, the production breaks, the recuperation time after a burn out session. . . . that actually looks more like a part-time job than  people give it credit for. 

Let's do that math:

Okay, out of 52 weeks every year, I usually average two major productions and three small events (staged readings, play workshops, etc).  And I tend to be involved with a company even during my light times which usually requires a couple of hours a week of work during the slow times. 

So. . . . 1 year - average 12 weeks of prep/rehearsal - 6 weeks of performance days - 32 days of administrative work- 7 days  of special events prep, - 20 days of work filed under "other" (company errands, special meetings, covering house managers, etc. . . ). . . . = 185 days.

That's slightly more than 6 months a year I work on theatre stuff.    And I'd actually say that's been the average over the last 15 years.  Some years I did way more and some years I didn't do more than one show, so. . . I'd say that's a very good estimate. 

So, what's the real tale of the tape? 

9,002 hours divided by 15 years= Average of 600 hours per year.  Squeezed into 26 weeks (185 days)= 23 hours per week or an average of 3.2 hours per day during those actual theatrical working times of my life.

How do married people do this?

Sorry to bore you with a numbers post, but I found it fascinating. 

Here's the other thing at which I've been plugging away. . .

In my typical Project-Runway -challenge-style, I've taken on making an Elizabethan ensemble in 2.5 days.  (Technically I have all week, but I've got a dentists appointment tomorrow, a doctor's appointment on Thursday, life in general to organize, and the ensemble proper has to be TV ready by Friday at 4:30 a.m for a spot on KSEE Sunrise.  So, in actuality, we're talking 2.5 days). 

Here's the initial sketch:

I tried a new form of gown-- a front tying gown with a stomacher placket (the piece that covers the stomach-- duh!) pinned across the front.  I'm not thrilled with how the back looks right now-- I'll probably have to redo it later, but for now it will work.

And here it is with the stomacher and ruff-- I still have to handsew the ouches (decorative thingies) onto the placket and reinforce the ruff with a wire supportasse (there are pencils holding it up now), but that's for my half day tomorrow. 

While I'm not thrilled with the proportion of the look, I am proud of that ruff.  I think it makes up for a world of mistakes.  Yet to do tomorrow:

Reinforce ruff
Wire Supportasse
Sew on ouches
Extend girdle in back (that's the thing in front with the tassle hanging down).

Eventually, I'll make tie in sleeves to match the forepart and put rolls in at the shoulders, but I'll save that for when I plan to wear it without the ruff.  That ruff pretty much makes this outfit.   I made the stomacher reversible-- the other side matches the forepart fabrice-- and can be worn inside the gown under the ties if I want to go more gentry class.  I'm a little bit proud of that detail, too.   

Lots of thinking, little writing

So, I've neglected this blog in favor of my theatre blog, which has been neglected in favor of actual theatre. . .  but, basically, this quote sums up what I've been thinking about lately-- in terms of theatre, home, friends, family, effectiveness, happiness, and life in general:

You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.

--Buckminster Fuller

Using a game show as a confessional? WTF?

I'm puttering about the place with the TV on, waiting for the sublimely evil Gordon Ramsay's Hell's Kitchen to appear on my local Fox affiliate and I'm thusly forced to be horrified by the "game show" that precedes it.  "Moment of Truth". 

It's a little like that board game "Scruples" on public steroids.  They hook these people up to a polygraph machine and ask them really loaded questions about their lives, beliefs, feelings, attitudes. . . stuff that could affect their jobs, good relations with their families, and . . . really. . .their sex lives. 

Some are moderately easy to take because they are strictly personal:  "Do you feel like a failure because you had to move back in with yoru parents?"

But then it hits his girlfriend:  "Do you think she's the prettiest girl you've ever dated?"  No. 
"Have you ever given your number to another girl since you've been dating Nicole?"  Yes. 

And the family:
"Have you ever been ashamed of growing up Mormon?"  Yes. 
"Do you think your parents dislike Nicole because she's Jewish?"  Yes.

And in between some of these they interview the family or cut back to the family to see the angry and chagrined looks upon their faces.  And apparently, the family members have the opportunity to stop the answers to the questions if they feel there's too much personally at risk. 

But no one on this segment has used it. . . . even after more and more shocking attitudes are revealed.

I don't know how it turned out.  I had to switch the channel. 

But it did make me ask the question:   What is the difference between being candid and being confessional?  Isn't there a fine line between the two?  Princess Di was notorious for her confessional interviews in the years between her separation from Charles and her death.  It was sloppy and sordid, but fascinating.  (But when Charles tried similar tactics of confessional interviews, it was way to smarmy to be handled). 

But on the candor side is of course the aforementioned Gordon Ramsay.  That guy's as candid as they come.  No holds barred honesty and reactions, sometimes whether they are timely or not.  Abrasive and jawdropping at times, but somehow I feel like his candor is absolutely necessary in that moment and not as self-indulgent or emotionally exhibitionist as the nonsense in this show.   I mean, these people get monetarily rewarded for being truthful about their prejudiced and unethical attitudes and behaviors. 

Isn't that the stuff that's supposed to stay between a girl and her priest?  Or a girl and her therapist?  Or if we're getting the family involved, shouldn't that sort of stay in the soft-lit confines of a neutrally decorated office with overstuffed pillows and kleenex boxes? 

I'm all for being honest with onesself.  And honest with the important people in your life.  But I guess I just have a block about doing it on Primetime NBC. . . . unless it's fictional.  Then its fine. 

Costuming is exhausting

The subject of this post is both truthful and a tad self-indulgent.  But I am exhausted.  I've spent the last three solid days sewing and fitting actors for Twelfth Night at Woodward Shakes.  The fittings went remarkably well. . . only basic alterations needed.  I do have two items yet to build, though, but I have the patterns drafted for them which is the hard part for me. 

But nevertheless. . . I am exhausted.  And tired of looking at fabric.  Bah! 

In other news, I apparently would make a remarkably superior 1930's housewife according to this online quiz. Of course, the results are meaningless as I am not a wife of any kind, much less a superior wife in the 1930's style.  What I think it does say, though, is that I would play an excellent 1930's housewife in a film or play requiring such a role.  I know exactly what they're supposed to do and have a goodly number of skills to put to use in such a role.  I would not, however, be terribly motivated to be a 1930's housewife in real life, I'm afraid. 

82 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Superior Take the test!

My mother has a crush on . . .

Shia LaBeouf. 

Yes, you read that right.  Shia LaBouef. 

We went to go see the new Indy movie last weekend and during one of the previews (for his upcoming film called "Eagle Eye") she leans over and asks, "What's his name?" 

Me:  "Shia LaBeouf". 

Mom: "Oh.  Where do I know him from?"

Me:  "Transformers. . . the kid with the yellow car that turns out to be a retro Transformer."

Mom: "Oh, right.  Okay."

Then the movie proper starts.  And, of course, young Shia turns up on screen again. 

She asks, "And who is this?" 

Me:  "Shia LaBeouf.  The same kid from the trailer earlier and from  Transformers."

Mom: "Ohhh, really?  The same one?. . . he looks different here."

Me:  "Yes.  Now, shush!"

And we watch the movie and mom loves it (she loves all action movies), and afterwards she keeps asking me about Shia LaBeouf.  "What have you seen him in?  Do you think he's going to be a very good actor?  I think he's going to be quite handsome.  He was really good.  How long has he been in movies. . . "  And it just keeps coming. 

Then for a few days it backs off.  But as we are in a Burger King drive through, she sees some of the Indiana Jones tie in displays in the windows and I am treated to this conversation:

Mom: "What's his name again?"

Me: "SHIA LABEOUF!"

Mom:  "Riiight.  It's kind of a funny name.  Sounds like a dish you'd see on Top Chef.  Like an appetizer.  'I'll have the Shia LaBeouf,'. . . . . . Yum Yum!

Me:  *blink.. .. . blink blink*  "Yeah. . . I am so blogging that."

Men

"Men accuse women of being guarded, catty, and insincere.  In fact, men are guarded, catty and insincere."
~James Lipton

Thoughts?

Carrie Bradshaw Moment

Tomorrow is, of course, Mother's Day.  So, firstly, let me wish HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to those in my acquaintance or readership who are mothers. 

So, my Carrie Bradshaw moment today has to do with Mother's Day.  Today at the grocery store, I'm buying stuff for our dinner and a few Mother's Day cards and the cashier asks, "Are  you a mother?"  And my standard response to this question (or "Do you have kids?") is a head-up, full voiced, very chipper, "No, I do not!"

No follow up explanations.  No "No, never been married"s.  No "No, it wasn't in the cards for me"s.  No "No, but I've always wanted to"s.  Nope.  No kids.  Period. Paragraph. Statement.

I've finally gotten to the point where I make no apologetics for my single state of affairs.  I've never been married because there's never been anyone I really wanted to be married to.  I've never had kids because I've been responsible with my reproductive capabilities.  I won't offer up excuses and bow-headed embarrassment for not having fallen victim to many of my peers' dubious mating habits. 

Don't get me wrong.  I adore my mother.  I adore my friends who are mothers.  But you know what?  THEY never -- even unknowingly-- make me feel like I'm living completely outside of the rules of society. 

And so when that cashier said to me, "Wow. . . you really say that with some pride," I responded with, "Well, yes. . . This county has one of the highest teenage and unwanted pregnancy rates in the U.S. The fact that I've reached the age of 35 as a capable and independent woman is something to be proud of.   I've never felt like I was missing anything by not having children.  It could change someday, and I'll embrace it, but right now I have a lot of things to be proud of.  Being a mother doesn't happen to be one of them."

And then I took my change and walked out. 

So, again. . . . Happy Mother's Day to the mom's out there.  And what's more, Happy Day those non-moms out there who still somehow manage to care for people, nurture relationships, and nurture themselves, without their own day to show for it.  :D