Community Theatre Rant - 6/24/08

  Lord, is it I ?
     Not only is that one of my favorite Matthew quotes from the Bible, but it is exactly how I feel when I have to enter the world of Local Community Theatre.
        It is cyclical, it is gut-wrenching, and, in its own way, it is necessary. I think that "Local Community Theatre" (henceforth, 'LCT' ) is a vitally important thing in the world, as are many other things that fall under the category of "I don't want to do it, but I think somebody has to".   Like protesting against the War du Jour, caring and being informed about things like apple moth spraying and scores of other things poisoning and killing is us soon.  Wondering if/why vaccinations cause autism.  Why does everyone have asthma, cancer, and IBS ?  Who will study these things and get back to the rest of us ?    I am not available for this.
     Same for liking animals in general, helping to birth any mammal, being the cruise director on the Ship of Fools.  Going to church regularly.  Playing sports. Being wonderfully energetic and consistently outdoorsy, jogging at 7:30 in the morning...   Administering colonoscopies, dealing with dead people, eating jook and/or drinking horchata... being a vegetarian, liking country music, being an ignorant slob, not being smart, liking Oprah, not having cable TV....
       I could go on and on (and likely will, someday).  There are certain things that pretty much have to be done, most of which have something to add to the whole, in order to balance things.  I would rather be shot than do any number of things myself -  but am generally glad for (or at least aware of) those who do..and must do, certain stuff.
     To wit, and shame on me for loathing LCT so:  I admit that there needs to be a way for people to act onstage and work and never be famous but love it and it's important to them and it's free, so, technically, anyone has access to  live staged drama and, not unlike the opposable thumb, it's one step further away from savagery to have these kinds of things.   I have no desire to care about everything, so I depend on my planet-mates to pick an area and focus on it.  Be it free civic events or questioning large institutions or using pedal-powered electricity (Ed Begley, Jr. - you know who you are).  Someone's gotta  do it.
     However, out of, oh, 20  free productions since early 2000's, we have "seen" 6 or 7 of the plays, and have just pulled our skin off each and every time.  It's like  crawling over hot broken glass.   It is massive hysteria and insanity.  I blame Chief - it is unlike me to behave quite this way.  Unless really pushed... 

      The long painful road looks something like this :
 
1) Receive flyer and dates for the event and promise to try to see it
2)  Freak out later, and slowly start a rumbling about free you-know-what.
3) Realize you are also...free that night (s), and increase both volume and frequency of community theater grumblings.  
4) Start pounding fist sporadically, exclaiming "Community Theatre !!" (a la "Newman !" from Seinfeld)
5) By showtime, the whining and moaning and wild exclamations have cranked up, and desperation sets in. You start to sputter and talk out of your head.  Things like  "I don't even like any of my friends enough to do this !"    Or "I'm afraid I'll start screaming and never stop."  "If I vomit, we can go after the first act."
6) Act crazy and irrational in the car, in the parking lot, as we step into the theatre, as we are handed programs, as we advance to the  nosebleed seats (option of actually lying (laying?) down up there... Plop down and immediately place head between knees and breathe deeply.
7) Know that you have a whole roll of Mentos, and plan to parcel them out as reward to self and encouragement to  go on.  Promise not to chew all of them  Then you will scream and never stop (see step # 5)
8) Tough it out, sobbing and cursing during intermission, call the kids and tell them you are about to jump off a cliff. They invariably say "Gah - grow up - leave early ! " No can do.  Too rude.
9) Show ends, tears of relief, then the inevitable simultaneous rant on the drive home : why is there a fucking  inexplicable animal lurching about on stage during all of this shit, why not do a simple 'Our  Town' or 'Odd  Couple' or even 'Hair'.  Just because it's free doesn't mean it has to suck so bad, if I needed deeper meaning and  christing symbolism I guess I'd voluntarily seek it out, the whole audience sickened me, let's bitch-slap the director, and, of course "never again".  We go on like old people, both yammering at the same time, nearly apoplectic.
10) We then call our friend, tell him how much we loved it, how great he was (he is rather good, btw) and to be sure and let us know what the next LCT production is. 


       Then, we lay odds on the animal pelt that will be used.

            Hated it.
                 

Spring Training - 2/22/11

      It is a beautiful 80 degrees here in Scottsdale, and I have goosebumps.  11 a.m., and the field is lousy with World Champions.   Black and Orange figures scattered all around, the crack of the bat, whistles, shouts, some clapping - and the inevitable child's voice carrying over it all : "Hey....Panda..."   Relaxed excitement is the name of the game this morning.  The crowd (if you can call this handful of lizard-fans a crowd) sunning themselves and taking it all in.
     Ahhhh.  I know they are beyond excited to be here, but lazily clapping in their seats is perfect for a day like this.  Little Giant-Heads stand by the railing - hoping for an autograph of their favorite player as he heads off the field.   The Boys themselves seem spot on - relaxed and yet intense - concentrating and seeming to have fun doing it.  Coaches pitch.  Bruce Bochy strides back and forth - stopping to share a few pearls of wisdom along the way.. looks like the cat that ate the canary.  Or the National League.  Or the world.
   Who's here ?  Pat "The Bat" Burrell had a root canal done.  Really - Cactus League Dental Work ?  He still swaggers up to the plate as if his shit don't stink (ed. note : still mad at him re: no eye contact and a rather dismissive autograph during FanFest . That's bad mojo that needs to be cleared up before April.)   Brian Wilson is still kind of "resting".  Bad back, why rush it, no biggie, talking meetings with Charlie Sheen, but he's our Brian and that's okay.  Maybe he'll change up his workout to accommodate it.  Reportedly, a true beast when it comes to physical conditioning.  (ed. note - you've seen him shirtless, right ?)  He basically has carte blanche with me - as he is all business when he's between the lines.  Fact.


Pitchers' Fielding :
   First stop of the day, but I am apparently late, as I see a brief glimpse of Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain - and poof -  they be gone.  I swoon with the desert heat - and massive disappointment.  I was told to arrive at 11:00, dammit.   It's getting hot and dusty.

     A large part of this drill involves practicing through the creation of "situations".  The entire pitching staff is (was) here - sorting through different fielding scenarios, re-creating muscle-memory for those important plays.  It seems as it our Pitchers do need a full six weeks of throwing just to build up that arm strength.  Even with a shortened off-season.  I just see the tail end of them all scrambling and fielding.  My own muscle memory for baseball is also coming back.    I squat to test my catcher's stance.  No catcher me, my knees crack like fresh lumber and I limp on to the other side of the batting cage.

Batting Practice (BP) :  The Coaches are throwing these (rather easy) pitches to the Sluggers : it's all about the batting response and getting a bit of wood (oh come on - grow up).  They file up to the plate and crack off 5 good ones at a shot  - "home runs" are fast and furious : I read in the paper that NORAD is still looking for one of 

Butt-ster (yep - saw him a lot from the....rear view, hanging over the fence.) Posey's slams.  Cody Ross' balls were way outta there, as well.  I closed my eyes and just listened to the beautiful music provided by the long ball in the sun....  They bat in groups of 3, the coaches change, the balls all end up in the big bin.

     (Is it too early for a beer ?  I thought so....I'm parched...)

   Your hitters can usually get their hit together (pun totally intended) in 2-3 weeks.  They get used to the velocity, swing a million times (or 100), wear in the gloves, callous up the hands.  Tug on the jersey.

Player Notes : 

 Timmy Lincecum :  Look for another breath-taking season from Big Time Timmy Jim.

Madison Bumgarner :  Look for him getting another year away from his teens.  His mechanics were off the heezy last season - the boy could not seem to throw a pitch (but kicked more ass post-season).  He did experience, however, a family tragedy (and got married).  MadBum will amaze us this year.

Pablo Sandoval : Looks awesome - like America's Next Top Model.  The party line is between 38-40 pounds, but it might as well be 140 pounds.  Big Boy looks fly.  Let's not get distracted by his waistline, though - he needs to tighten up his other stuff a bit.   I heard it said that he "...would have swung at the resin bag back in 2009..."  Time to relax and strut that ass.

Miguel Tejada :  Time will tell, but it should be fun.  He could well fill the Clubhouse void left by Uribe and Renteria.  Former MVP shortstop, but his lowest slugging % was in 2010.  We throw so many strikes - and we can look forward to a Sanchez-Tejada double play team.

     People will make the mistake of underestimating the 2011 Defending World Champion San Francisco Giants.  Wait'll everyone realizes that it wasn't actually a fluke or weird luck or planet alignment.  It's The Team.  The actual people on the team. 

 And where they leave off, the fans pick up.

 We're doing it again.

 Just watch.

Lucy in The Sky (aka I'm Still Game)

     So now I am 11, maybe 12.  Still love board games - still experience a dearth of willing players, still continue to wheedle and beg my way into a little healthy, organized, 'from ages 6 to 60'  competition.  Of course, we had Monopoly Careers, Stratego (a bit too..warlike for me).  Aggravation, however, was a family favorite and enjoyed top spot for a while.  Those marbles got a work out, let me tell you.  I was always the red marbles.  I am still the red pieces in any game.  To this day.  Fact.

   One game of Aggravation in particular was quite surreal, and still amazes me.  This time, I wasn't necessarily the one looking to play.  

     One evening, my Mom and I were home.  My Dad - probably asleep.  Everyone else - basically grown and gone.  My brother was "out" (as in "where you going ? " "Out."  "What are you doing ? "Nothing") This brother is 4 years older, closest to my age and my biggest source of, well, aggravation.   The last thing he taught me was the true meaning of "dead to me".  What brother ?

    So, Bro came home from wherever he had been.  The first thing I remember was him standing in the upstairs hallway - repeating something about "..they're marching...they're marching."  I briefly wondered who or what was "marching" up there - and how did they get by without me seeing them ?

    Then, Mom - up and down the stairs, looking worried ?  I couldn't tell.   Maybe she, too, saw the marching.  Great.  Maybe we'd better wake Daddy. Something was clearly up.   And marching.

     In any other household, this may have been cause for concern.  In my house, the outrageous was served up just like the banal - it was all normal.  Just register the event, accept it, and move on, already.  If is is happening in your house, with your family - odds are it is run-of-the-mill - and likely happening in homes everywhere.  I never questioned anything - what a trusting child.  I was somehow instinctively ready and able to roll with the punches at a relatively early age : without ever realizing that there were punches to be rolled with.  What a smart child.

    Mom and Bro then come downstairs, and I watched as she tagged along behind him, wringing her hands and scowling.  He was muttering and swatting at something in front of his face.  Mom then suggested that I play a game of Aggravation with my big brother.  YAY !  It's like they know me !  I get to play (and hopefully win !) a board game without having to beg someone.  There is a God - and he favors me !

     I grab the Aggravation board, and set up the marbles (red for me, green for him).  I am so excited !  This evening at home has taken a wonderful turn !  We roll to see who goes first (please let me roll a 6) - and he suddenly jumps up and runs back upstairs.  (I think to myself : "Watch it up there - they are apparently marching.") He then returns with armloads of the oddest selection of items : books, socks, comics, Hai Karate aftershave etc.  His arms are full of this eclectic mix of shit - and I wonder what this has to do with the business at hand.  Just my luck : someone to play with, and he is not focusing properly.

     It is then that I look up and see his eyes.  Wow.  Huge, bulging, seemingly spinning.  Somehow, not looking at anything at all, but seeing everything.  Kinda scary, actually.  Without knowing why or how, I figured : "Oh great - drugs !"  This happened a lot in my formative years - not having the language or life experience to identify something, but somehow, always knowing what was what.  Maybe that's the part of me that learned to adapt, identify, and gear up for whatever came next.  Survival of the youngest ?  I guess I am lucky I could think on my feet.  Didn't occur to me that being..off my feet wasn't even an option.  Think fast, cutie.

     Still, we had a game of Aggravation to play.  He muttered and giggled and darted his eyes all around and endlessly fussed with all of his weird shit.  I grew irritated with his lack of attention to the game and seeming disregard for proper marble placement.  Did he forget how to play ?  Jesus Christ - they're marbles !

     Before long, he tells Mom he's on acid ( ? ) and tripping heavily (??).   SHIT !  I WAS 11 YEARS OLD !  I was now officially scared to death.  Fairly conservative at the time, I was totally appalled that he was "on drugs".  Big drugs.  Serious and heavy drugs.  (A tee-totaller since birth, I was known to be so anti-drug that, when faced with my sister and her boyfriend smoking pot while I was in the car - I frantically covered every bodily orifice to escape the Demon Weed.  But that's a whole 'nother story...)

     Now that I knew that LSD was vaguely involved, every move he made terrified me.  Every time he looked at me, I thought he was going to kill me.  I was sure that he would die right then and there.  I felt so responsible - totally in over my head.  Maybe because I WAS.  Mom thought it was somehow appropriate for 4th grade me to fucking babysit someone blasted out of his mind on acid.  Good call, Mom - I'm SO up for it !   I  long to put "Helping Someone Through a Face-Melter of a Bad Acid Trip" in my Girl Scout Badge workbook - will you sign off on it, or shall have the druggie do it ?


      She kept leaving me alone with him - still not knowing what to do, except for continue on with the charade of Aggravation.  Pathetic, really.  Then, she asked me ( ! ) what she should do.  She had somehow narrowed it down to calling the police or calling the hospital. ( How about waking Daddy, the other adult and parent of the acid head ?)  Again, instinct kicked in.  I "knew" right away that the cops were the wrong call . Okay, I also "knew" that Dad was so the wrong call, too.  Maybe a doctor could tell you how to take care of him, Mom.  I don't know - I'm 11, remember. ?  

     And I am scared.   Meanwhile, he kept fucking with the marbles on the Aggravation board (but why ?) - laughing maniacally and hallucinating to beat the band.  I was so pissed : there goes the game.  I was scared. 

      Like everything else, like in all my friends' houses, this was kept a big secret.  40 years later, I still don't know who (if anyone) knows about The Aggravation Acid Trip.  It was never spoken of again.  Way healthy for all concerned.  Especially for the unsuspecting baby sister.  
     My introduction to seeing someone through a "bad acid trip".  Learned early, never forgotten.  No cops. No parents.  Things marching.  Spinning, empty eyes.

     The thing about 40 years passing is...sometimes it all seems like one hell of a bad acid trip.

        And it started out as just a game..

(In retrospect, I should have just told him he'd taken a very heavy drug - and to sit back, smoke a fat joint, and listen to a little Allman Brothers.  Hindsight - still 20/20.)