Much ado about nothing

While on my way to work, I noticed that a house down the block from me had all the leaves in their yard raked right out into the street. When I got home, there was a guy with a leaf blower blowing them all back into the yard. Vindictive neighbor, not-so-bright gardener, or part of the vast conspiracy (see previous post) to keep me confused over the fate of mankind?

Today was dead slow as far as work was concerned. The high water mark had to be the listening party of the album my boss cut and produced back in his musician salad days of the late eighties. I know he's my boss, but he could out-Richard Marx Richard Marx. Listening to this music made my left eye twitch uncontrolably, so I used it as an excuse to get out of work a few minutes early.

I did manage to spend some time online today, where I updated my MySpace profile, and sent messages back and forth with a new friend. He he he...

And the irony is, I'm right handed

Why do some people think that just because I end up on their email list, that I automatically agree with their ideology? I got this in my email from the ex-boyfriend of a co-worker, and as it is apparent to me now, a total jackass. I offer my rebuttal here after each one:

21 Ways To Be A Good Democrat (Wait, is that an oxymoron?)

1. You have to be against capital punishment, but support abortion on demand. AHH, SPOKEN LIKE A TRUE FISHERMAN: THROW 'EM BACK WHEN THEY'RE YOUNG, KILL 'EM WHEN THEIR BIGGER.

2. You have to believe that businesses create oppression, and governments create prosperity. NO, CORPORATIONS THAT DRIVE SMALL BUSINESSES INTO BANKRUPTCY CREATE OPPRESSION (I'VE WORKED FOR WAL-MART-I KNOW) AND THE GOVERNMENT IS SUPPOSED TO CREATE PROSPERITY. IS THAT NOT THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE?!?

3. You have to believe that guns in the hands of law-abiding Americans are more of a threat than U.S. nuclear weapons technology in the hands of Chinese and North Korean communists. THE SECOND AMENDMENT WAS WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN IT TOOK TWO MINUTES TO LOAD ONE ROUND INTO A MUSKET, AND BESIDES, WHICH IS MORE LIKELY, THE ODDS OF OUR GUN-NUTS CREATING AN ORGANIZED MILITIA AS THE AMMENDMENT DICTATES OR SHOOTING THEIR BROTHER-IN-LAW OVER A COORS/BUDWEISER DISPUTE?

4. You have to believe that there was no art before federal funding. AS AN ARTIST, I TAKE GREAT OFFENSE TO THIS. ART IS SUPPOSED TO PROVOKE THOUGHT, EVEN IF IT IS AN UNPLEASANT THOUGHT. IF RIGHT-WINGERS HAD THEIR WAY, THE ONLY FUNDING GIVEN TO THE ARTS WOULD BE TO BOB ROSS WANNABES WHO ARE USED TO HAWKING THEIR WARES TO MOTEL 6'S ALL ACROSS THE COUNTRY.

5. You have to believe that global temperatures are less affected by cyclical documented changes in the earth's climate and more affected by soccer moms driving SUV's. YES, OZONE ALERT DAYS ARE JUST SO PLEASANT, AREN'T THEY? HERE'S A FUN FACT: THE U.S. CONSUMES 25% OF THE WORLD'S GASOLINE AND CREATES 80% OF THE AIR POLLUTION IN THE WORLD. ANJD YOU HAVE THE CONCEIT TO THINK THAT IT HAS NO EFFECT ON THE ENVIRONMENT?

6. You have to believe that gender roles are artificial, but being homosexual is natural. LIKE IT OR NOT, THE ONLY THING THAT, ON THE WHOLE, MEN CAN DO BETTER THAN WOMEN IS WRITE THEIR NAME IN THE SNOW. AND I LOVE THE NOTION THAT HOMOSEXUALS ARE THAT WAY BY CHOICE. "GEE, I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH ABUSE IN MY LIFE...WHAT CAN I DO TO REALLY PISS OFF NARROW-MINDED PEOPLE?!?"

7. You have to believe that the AIDS virus is spread by a lack of federal funding. DON'T EVEN PRETEND THAT IF THIS DISEASE HAD STARTED OUT IN GRANDMOTHERS AND VIRGINS THAT IT WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN CURED BY NOW.

8. You have to believe that the same teacher who can't teach 4th-graders how to read is somehow qualified to teach those same kids about sex. FACE FACTS...KIDS ARE GONNA HAVE SEX REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH YOU TELL THEM NOT TO. SEX EDUCATION IS NOT TELLING KIDS TO GO OUT AND HAVE SEX, BUT IF THEY DO, WOULDN'T IT BE A LOT BETTER IF THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WERE GETTING THEMSELVES INTO?

9. You have to believe that hunters don't care about nature, but loony activists, who have never been outside of San Francisco, do. I DON'T QUESTION HUNTER'S COMMITTMENT TO NATURE. HELL, ANYONE WHO WILLINGLY POURS DEER URINE ON HIMSELF HAS A CONNECTION TO NATURE THAT I'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND. BUT YOU'VE GOTTA CONCEDE: YOU HAVE A GUN AND THE DEER ARE JUST TRYING TO GET A DRINK OUT OF THE STREAM. DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A FAIR FIGHT, DOES IT? AND BY THE WAY, NOT ALL ANIMAL RIGHTS ACTIVISTS ARE JUST PLAYING HACKY SACK WHILE WAITING FOR THE NEXT DAVE MATTHEWS CONCERT.

10. You have to believe that self-esteem is more important than actually doing something to earn it. MAYBE WE JUST HAVEN'T FOUND POSITIVE ROLE MODELS LIKE RICHARD NIXON, KARL ROVE AND SCOOTER LIBBY.

11. You have to believe that Mel Gibson spent $25 million of his own money to make The Passion Of The Christ for financial gain only. PERSONALLY, I THINK A FILM LIKE THAT DESERVED THE $400+ MILLION IT RAKED IN.

12. You have to believe the NRA is bad because it supports certain parts of the Constitution, while the ACLU is good because it supports certain parts of the Constitution. YOU WANNA KNOW WHY WE HIDE BEHIND THE FIRST AMMENDMENT? BECAUSE WE'RE GETTING SHOT AT BY PEOPLE HIDING BEHIND THE SECOND.

13. You have to believe that taxes are too low, but ATM fees are too high. THERE ARE SOOOO MANY THINGS WRONG WITH THAT STATEMENT I DON'T HAVE THE TIME NOR THE ENERGY TO GET INTO IT

14. You have to believe that Margaret Sanger and Gloria Steinem are more important to American history than Thomas Jefferson, Gen. Robert E. Lee, and Thomas Edison. AS IMPORTANT, NOT MORE IMPORTANT.

15. You have to believe that standardized tests are racist, but racial quotas and set-asides are not. HOW WHITE OF YOU TO SAY THAT.

16. You have to believe that Hillary Clinton is normal and is a very nice person. NEVER MET HER, EVEN THOUGH I AM FROM ARKANSAS.

17. You have to believe that the only reason socialism hasn't worked anywhere it's been tried is because the right people haven't been in charge. I'VE NEVER BEEN CALLED A PINKO COMMIE IN SO MANY WORDS.

18. You have to believe conservatives telling the truth belong in jail, but a liar and a sex offender belonged in the White House. I HAVE NO PROBLEM WITH THEM TELLING THEIR VERSION OF THE TRUTH, ALL I ASK IS THAT THERE ARE SOLID FACTS TO BACK THEM UP. OH, AND BY THE WAY, BILL CLINTON WAS CAUGHT IN A LIE THAT ANY MARRIED MAN WOULD'VE LIED ABOUT.

19. You have to believe that homosexual parades displaying drag, transvestites, and bestiality should be constitutionally protected, and manger scenes at Christmas should be illegal. WHAT DOES IT SAY ABOUT YOU THAT WHEN SOMEONE SAYS HOMOSEXUALITY, YOU AUTOMATICALLY LUMP IN BESTIALITY (AND SOMETIMES INCEST AND PEDOPHILIA)? AND ALL WE'RE SAYING IS THAT SOME PEOPLE DON'T BELIEVE IN BABY JESUS ENOUGH TO WANT TO LOOK AT A LIGHTED PLASTIC DIORAMA OF IT EVERY YEAR?

20. You have to believe that illegal Democratic Party funding by the Chinese Government is somehow in the best interest to the United States. AGAIN, COULD YOU SHOW ME THE SOLID FACTS ON THAT?

21. You have to believe that this message is a part of a vast, right wing conspiracy. NOT REALLY VAST, BUT BY DEFINITION ALONE, IF MORE THAN TWO PEOPLE ARE INVOLVED, IT'S A CONSPIRACY. AND GIVEN THAT THIS WAS FORWARDED TO ME, THAT MEANS AT LEAST TWO PEOPLE WERE INVOLVED.

hitting me hard

The play went great last night. There were a couple of flubbed lines, but the beauty of this script is that you can get away with it. If you get stuck, you can just go to your next line and carry on without risk of ruining a plot point.

After the show, I went down to Arnie's for a drink. I don't know what was going on with my body, but two Guinnesses and a shot of Jaeger (which is usually my starter kit for an evening of drinking) hit me really hard, really fast. I stuck around long enough to sober up so I can drive home, where I promptly fell asleep and woke up with a moderate hangover.

So now, I'm nursing my headache, and trying to figure out what to do with my fictional blog. A lot of what will go into this storyline of Declan's grandfather is what I went through with my own grandfather two years ago when he died. So, this should be easy for me to write...just draw on my own personal experiences. It's just not that simple for some reason. Oh, well...I'll figure it out.

It's...all about...tim...ing

I've been working on this play all week. My job is to run a slide show of title cards between each scene, run about a dozen sound cues and run the house lights. I was also tapped to throw a prop on stage. Sounds like a simple plan, huh?

There's an old theatre superstition that states if you have a good final dress rehearsal, that the opening show will be a disaster, and vice versa. We had a good dress rehearsal, so you know how this next part of the story is gonna go.

The first act (out of two) went flawlessly. I was so excited. I made all of the cues I had kinda screwed up on all this week. The actors made all their marks and said all their lines in perfect timing. Coming back from intermission was another matter. The stage lights are set up on a series of sliders so that the lights for the next scene can be set up without screwing up the current scene. While our light tech was setting up the next scene, the stage lights were going nuts. I told her "We're live! We're live!", and she frantically went to correct the lights. That panic attack subsided just in time for me to realize that I had about ten seconds to get out of the booth and down to the stage to throw the prop. I made my cue, even if it was preceded by the sound of me hauling ass.

Now, for the sound cues. The setup they have in the booth had me geeking out. They have this whole DJ setup with sliders, cross faders, mixers and I was geeking out over being able to use them. On the down side, all of my cues were set up on a mini-disc player, which required a new deck independent of the CD mixing deck. I would have to run the cues the old fashioned way, by pressing play and pause. I did, however, have use of the volume slider. The mini-disc player is solid black (in a dark sound booth), and required me to put post-its on the buttons to know which one to push, and the only way to change tracks is by use of a knob.

I screwed up two of the cues opening night. The first was because I pushed play instead of pause, and it kept playing into the next track. I caught it just a split second into the song that was not supposed to play for another five minutes. The second screw-up was because I started the track and accidentally hit the knob, changing it to the next track. Again, I caught it immediately, but not without the mistake being completely obvious.

Several lines got flubbed, some got skipped, but in the end everything turned out fine.

I'm all about accountability, so after the show I gave the director two bucks, saying that for each time I screw up I owe her a dollar. Before Friday's performance, she told me that those two bucks paid for her dinner.

Friday's show went perfectly. No flubbed lines. I only wish the reporter sent to cover the show had come Friday instead of Thursday.

It's...all about...tim...ing

I've been working on this play all week. My job is to run a slide show of title cards between each scene, run about a dozen sound cues and run the house lights. I was also tapped to throw a prop on stage. Sounds like a simple plan, huh?

There's an old theatre superstition that states if you have a good final dress rehearsal, that the opening show will be a disaster, and vice versa. We had a good dress rehearsal, so you know how this next part of the story is gonna go.

The first act (out of two) went flawlessly. I was so excited. I made all of the cues I had kinda screwed up on all this week. The actors made all their marks and said all their lines in perfect timing. Coming back from intermission was another matter. The stage lights are set up on a series of sliders so that the lights for the next scene can be set up without screwing up the current scene. While our light tech was setting up the next scene, the stage lights were going nuts. I told her "We're live! We're live!", and she frantically went to correct the lights. That panic attack subsided just in time for me to realize that I had about ten seconds to get out of the booth and down to the stage to throw the prop. I made my cue, even if it was preceded by the sound of me hauling ass.

Now, for the sound cues. The setup they have in the booth had me geeking out. They have this whole DJ setup with sliders, cross faders, mixers and I was geeking out over being able to use them. On the down side, all of my cues were set up on a mini-disc player, which required a new deck independent of the CD mixing deck. I would have to run the cues the old fashioned way, by pressing play and pause. I did, however, have use of the volume slider. The mini-disc player is solid black (in a dark sound booth), and required me to put post-its on the buttons to know which one to push, and the only way to change tracks is by use of a knob.

I screwed up two of the cues opening night. The first was because I pushed play instead of pause, and it kept playing into the next track. I caught it just a split second into the song that was not supposed to play for another five minutes. The second screw-up was because I started the track and accidentally hit the knob, changing it to the next track. Again, I caught it immediately, but not without the mistake being completely obvious.

Several lines got flubbed, some got skipped, but in the end everything turned out fine.

I'm all about accountability, so after the show I gave the director two bucks, saying that for each time I screw up I owe her a dollar. Before Friday's performance, she told me that those two bucks paid for her dinner.

Friday's show went perfectly. No flubbed lines. I only wish the reporter sent to cover the show had come Friday instead of Thursday.

Better than CATS

Sorry to both my loyal fans out there, but the posts are gonna be sparce this week. Same thing goes for the fictional blog. I should've known better than to pick this week to introduce a major plot point on THAT storyline. No Worries, though. By Sunday night, I should have a whole palette load of posts for both blogs.

I'm working hard helping out at the Nightingale Theater running sound for On The Verge, starting this Thursday night. It's a great play, and I hope you can check it out.

What started out as a simple poster design has expanded into sound cues, title card presentation and house lights. Sounds simple, but it all has to be done in mind-numbing frequency and deadly accuracy. Can Fritschie make it? Tune in to find out.

I'll have a break in the schedule on Sunday, maybe then, I'll catch all you up on the happenin's in my life.

Diggin' on the Fritschter

I love my friends, but they are sneaky little shits sometimes. I was at Arnie's to see Cairde Na Gael play, hang out with my friends, drink some tasty alcohol...typical first and third Thursday. The other thursdays are the same, only without Cairde playing.

A good friend of a friend was sitting at the table with us. A woman I've known for a couple years now, but really haven't had a chance to get to know very well. The thing is, every time we're around each other, we always have shared these goofy, shy glances. At one point in the evening, I was getting up from the table to have a smoke out front at the same time she was pulling her cell phone out of her purse. Me being the goofy little bastard, I looked at her and held my thumb and pinky up to my head and mouthed the words "hey, call me" in a kidding fashion.

Lo and behold, I'm standing outside, and she actually calls me. Because of the music, I couldn't hear what she was saying and vice versa, so I rejoined her at the table. Once there, she and I start texting each other from across the table, and not only were we being totally indiscreet about it, we were joking about the fact that we were sending text messages from three feet away.

Anyway, about my sneaky-assed friends. Each one of them made their excuse to leave the two of us alone at the table. She and I chatted for a while, saying everything we could to keep from going "TEE-HEE-HEE!" It was cute as hell.

She was getting tired, so I walked her to her car. On the way out of the bar, every one of my friends gave me the "GO FOR IT!" look. But all we did was walk to her car, make some small talk and hugged good night.

This could turn out to be very interesting. My friends are cheering me on...according to them, she has a thing for the Fritschter. I've got a good feeling about it, by way of the fact that I'm scared completely shitless. In my experience, when I feel like I can rest on my laurels, that's when the shit hits the fan. Complete panic is the secret to my success.

FOCUS!

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in the back row of the Nightingale Theater, watching the rehearsal for On The Verge. My involvement in this play started and was supposed to end at the poster design. It has expanded into running a chapter title slide show, maybe running some sound cues, and now it looks like I may be running the lights as well.

The slide show is a learning process. I was afraid I would have to learn to use PowerPoint, which I've always thought of as completely evil. But instead, I'm gonna set it up in AppleWorks...which is still evil (by graphics standards, but it's made by Apple, so I guess that makes it alright.

This whole experience is exciting and frightening at the same time. Exciting because it's a challenge, the unknown. Frightening because it's gonna require a lot of focus on my part. A.D.D. has always been my worst enemy. Even now, I'm drifting off as I type.

I was diagnosed when I was eighteen, the summer after graduating high school. Had I been given Ritalin a couple years earlier, I might have qualified for a scholarship or two. Fortunately, I had some of my father's life insurance to get me through my trade school education. Strange how that worked out.

My condition, I was told, was borderline. The doctor gave us just two pills to start out. I was to take one after breakfast and see how well it worked. If it didn't I was told NOT to take the second pill, as it would create a paradox and rip a gaping hole in the space/time continuum...or that's what I had imagined would happen.

That morning, I had my bowl of cereal, and washed the pill down with my morning orange juice. It was the middle of summer, and I didn't have to work that day, so there wasn't much I had to fully focus my attention to. So, I watched TV. After my mom pointed out that I had made it all the way through Last Action Hero without making a sound, it was decided that the pill worked.

After lunch, I took the second pill and spent the afternoon quietly doodling in my mom's office, helping her out with her work when she needed me to. My God, she was practically in tears, as if this was the climactic scene in Larenzo's Oil.

I was cured, as long as the drugs lasted. I didn't need the pills every day; just when I needed to focus. As a result, I managed to make a six-month supply last about a year and a half. I only had two more refills up until I was about 22, when I weaned myself off of them and learned to focus on my tasks naturally. I had a few pills left, but I lost the bottle for a little over a year when I found them again. Just as a goof, I took a pill for old time's sake. I felt like I could see through time. No wonder this stuff is now a street drug.

I have found a substitute, if I need it: Mini-Thins, or any variant of uppers that can be found at the counter of every truck stop in the country. So, if you happen to see me eating a pecan log, you can reasonably be assured that I've got a bottle of pills in my pocket that Congress is rushing back to Washington to debate whether they should ban or not.

All this, just so I can get through an hour of work without going "Oooh! Something shiny!"

Grabbing some grub

I finally got caught up on my work today. It should be smooth sailing for the rest of the week.

At the supermarket checkout line in front of me was a lady buying food for her family with food stamps. Now, I sympathize with people who are down on their luck and need a little help from the state. Hell, I've been damn close several times in my life. However, everything in her cart was either sugar frosted, high fat, heavily processed, or completely devoid of natural ingredients. I just wanted to buy her some Flintstones vitamins, or at the very least tell her "Vegetables, sweetheart, vegetables!"

And then I went home and ate half of a large DeGiorno pizza and washed it down with a Wild Cherry Pepsi. The irony is palpable.

I'm a pretty girl part deux

I went for one more round as the ballerina Monday night at Arnie's for Halloween. Far less groping this time, mostly because I was apparently creeping out the folks not in costume.

One more thing about the costume. Not a good idea if you eat at Qdoba Mexican Grill for lunch that day. Wicked gas and an inflatable costume that is designed not to let air escape is NEVER a good combination. I made it through just fine...you just wouldn't have wanted to be in the car with me driving home.

As I said in the last post, all the movement in the costume is in the shoulders. This got harder and harder as the night went on, due to the sharp pain in my shoulder blades telling me I had pulled ever muscle in my upper back.

Thanks to the suit, I scored some kick-ass giveaway swag at the bar. I got a t-shirt, a football, a hat and won a folding camp chair in the costume contest. All I had to do was sacrifice my shame. But damn, did I look hot.

This morning, in addition to the pulled muscles, I had to deal with a hangover and a full workload. So many things i had to handle, and by the end of the day, I felt like I hardly got anything done. Tomorrow should be easier...fingers crossed.

Tonight, I went to watch the rehearsals for my friend George's play. She's having me run backstage duties: Slide show, sound cues, etc. It's weird being involved in this kind of stuff. I did plays in high school, but never had to work backstage. Once I got to college, where there wasn't any theatre, I channeled those tendencies into writing. Tonight I found myself watching the performances more as a writer than as a former actor. However, something tells me I might want to try out for a role in one of George's next plays.

Just what I need, an outlet. Hey, if it'll keep me from dressing up as a fat ballerina again...so be it.