It's cold outside and I know why. Xman is taking the kids overnight. Hell must officially be freezing over. I jest. It'll be good to have a night off. Now, I'm searching for someone to share a pint or two with. I'm working until 7:30pm ish. If I'm unsuccessful, I may just go home and do my taxes.
I have had two visits in the office this morning from staff I don't see much anymore. Both have said that I look better and more relaxed than ever. I embrace the compliments but wonder how crappy I have allowed myself to appear in the past.
A stranger is standing beside the stage. I wonder if he is considering leaping upon it to do a bit of on the spot performing -- thinking that he is completely alone and unobserved. That would be cool. Nope. He left. Stage fright I guess. I enjoy my voyeuristic vantage point a bit too much sometimes.
I have a meeting at 1pm with people from a group doing a 'fund raiser, variety, film, speaker, play, musical performance type thingie' on Easter Sunday. Here's hoping I can narrow them down a bit.
This morning I met with a fellow about the booth window. We have the funding for a new one. One that can open up completely. That will be good. Question now is how to do it. I have a feeling that the funding provided might not cover the actual costs. The way the fellow was talking I may as well have been asking for a dissolvable force field used in many an old Star Trek episode to detain prisoners. It'll be interesting to see what he can come up with.
I went down to the carp shop to see how the set build was going. The lumber is still there in neat piles wrapped in tape. The load in is on Sunday.
Tonight's concert is East Indian music. Should go seamlessly. We'll see. I'll help get the staff set up and the sound check running. Then I'll rush off to pick up the kids and bring them over to xman's and turn around and get back to the theatre.
My car is beginning to sound a wee bit like a single engine bush plane. Should I be concerned?
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Solitaire
I used to love playing cards. I'm sure I still do. I haven't, however, played in years. I played cribbage, war, crazy 8's and rummy with relish. I would also play a couple games with Finnish names that I know how to pronounce but haven't a clue how to spell. With a deck of cards in my hands I could be entertained for hours.
My dad used to tell me that his mother was very much against card playing. She believed that cards were linked with the devil. Yet, when I visited my grandmother in Finland -- I was ten years old at the time -- she revealed a deck of cards that were tucked away in a drawer in her sitting room. She handed them over to me and winked. This was the same woman who demanded I accompany her to Christmas Eve service but when she noticed that I was a bit figidity -- I had never gone to a service before and this one was all in the Finnish language -- she opened up her purse and slowly unwrapped a hard candy making sure to make more then her share of crinkly noises with the paper. She winked again as we both noticed others in the congregation turning around to give us the 'be quiet or else' stare and giggled along with me as we both popped candies into our mouths.
My grandmother had to be stern with my dad and his brothers. She was their mother. She raised them on her own after her husband had been stolen from her by the Stalinist's. She led her family out of occupied territory during the Second World War to the relative security of a new country -- Finland. She worked many different jobs to keep food on the table and clothes on their backs. I didn't know any of this when I met her. I only knew what my dad had said about her. When I finally stood before her for the first time my preconceived ideas disappeared almost immediately. This woman was a jokester filled with giggles seemingly always on the cusp of bubbling out of her. Her eyes were bright blue and sparkled with mischievous warmth. Most importantly, this woman was my grandmother. The hug she gave me when I first stepped into her apartment was one of the best I have ever had before or since. This was love unconditionally given. I felt grounded by her arms and her history. Centred. Whole.
Years later, I saw her again. This time, she was in a home. This time she didn't know me. Once again I had to juxtapose the image before me with preconceived notions held in my heart. She spent the entire visit dipping sugar cubes into coffee and sucking them into nothingness. This action was made all the more poignant when examined as a metaphor. Her eyes were still bright but instead of being warm they were cold and sharp. Distant. My grandmother was gone. Away.
My memories of her will remain with me for as long as I am. I hope to pass these on to my children so that they too may feel rooted in a history that reaches out beyond their immediate perception. Our histories are made up of so many collective and individual experiences: wonderful, enchanting, terrifying, heart breaking, ugly, beautiful . . . . Although the order of these experiences appears random I have to wonder if this is really the case. Maybe it just seems random because we are using a newly shuffled deck and are only dealt a few cards at a time. Is it up to us to make sense of it all or should we just concentrate on playing the game?
My dad used to tell me that his mother was very much against card playing. She believed that cards were linked with the devil. Yet, when I visited my grandmother in Finland -- I was ten years old at the time -- she revealed a deck of cards that were tucked away in a drawer in her sitting room. She handed them over to me and winked. This was the same woman who demanded I accompany her to Christmas Eve service but when she noticed that I was a bit figidity -- I had never gone to a service before and this one was all in the Finnish language -- she opened up her purse and slowly unwrapped a hard candy making sure to make more then her share of crinkly noises with the paper. She winked again as we both noticed others in the congregation turning around to give us the 'be quiet or else' stare and giggled along with me as we both popped candies into our mouths.
My grandmother had to be stern with my dad and his brothers. She was their mother. She raised them on her own after her husband had been stolen from her by the Stalinist's. She led her family out of occupied territory during the Second World War to the relative security of a new country -- Finland. She worked many different jobs to keep food on the table and clothes on their backs. I didn't know any of this when I met her. I only knew what my dad had said about her. When I finally stood before her for the first time my preconceived ideas disappeared almost immediately. This woman was a jokester filled with giggles seemingly always on the cusp of bubbling out of her. Her eyes were bright blue and sparkled with mischievous warmth. Most importantly, this woman was my grandmother. The hug she gave me when I first stepped into her apartment was one of the best I have ever had before or since. This was love unconditionally given. I felt grounded by her arms and her history. Centred. Whole.
Years later, I saw her again. This time, she was in a home. This time she didn't know me. Once again I had to juxtapose the image before me with preconceived notions held in my heart. She spent the entire visit dipping sugar cubes into coffee and sucking them into nothingness. This action was made all the more poignant when examined as a metaphor. Her eyes were still bright but instead of being warm they were cold and sharp. Distant. My grandmother was gone. Away.
My memories of her will remain with me for as long as I am. I hope to pass these on to my children so that they too may feel rooted in a history that reaches out beyond their immediate perception. Our histories are made up of so many collective and individual experiences: wonderful, enchanting, terrifying, heart breaking, ugly, beautiful . . . . Although the order of these experiences appears random I have to wonder if this is really the case. Maybe it just seems random because we are using a newly shuffled deck and are only dealt a few cards at a time. Is it up to us to make sense of it all or should we just concentrate on playing the game?
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Silence of the Heart
I dunno. He was told. He was told that if he approached me with a cocky swagger. If he approached me with a cocky swagger and a know it all attitude. A cocky swagger, a know it all attitude and a penchant for pouting. He was told. He was told that I'd be less than helpful. Less than understanding. I'd probably slay him alive. Too true. Art be damned.
But, on the other hand. If he approached me with some humility. A willingness to learn. An understanding that he wasn't all that and then some. If he approached me and asked for guidance. Well, I'd bend over backwards to help. I'd make sure that his work looked good. That's my passion at play.
What happened? He chose the former. 'I'm the TD of this production,' said he. Ok. Good. I was hopeful. Having a TD for a show is a good thing. But wait. There was more. 'I'm also doing the set design.' Not out of the ordinary. Could be done. 'I'm also doing the lighting design.' My spirits began to flag. 'Here's the production schedule.' Great. He's also the PM.
Hmmm.... I read the schedule over. The times didn't correlate with bookings. This could be a problem. 'Well that's fine, we'll work around your schedule and that of your staff.' Really? Hmmmm... I asked him about the designs, the instrument lists, the wireless mic requirements, special effects, firearms and the like. After being met with a look closer to blank than one reflecting deep thought I then suggested that perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew. 'I know what I'm doing.' Ok.
After a week of not getting answers to questions I was asking he came to me and said: 'You know, I work 30 hours per week and I've been working on this show and these designs and I'm doing the best that I can. Unlike you I'm not getting paid to do this.' Ya. He went there. My response? 'Well, I work full time dealing with schedules, designs and inexperienced wannabes who want to play theatre with no real understanding of the work/time involved so that I can provide hot meals for my kids at night and I won't get paid any less if your show doesn't open. That being said, I'll need the designs by Sunday or you can use rehearsal blocks and our house plot.' Sheesh.
Hopefully things turn around. I'm optimistic really. He's young and green and has too much heart...but that's all about being young and green.
When I was doing my ethnomusicology stint, I read a wonderful article by a man who was studying drumming in Western Africa. He watched as a group of drummers played. He noticed that some of the drummers were doing incredibly complicated rhythms at fantastic speeds. He then noticed that the drum master was only occasionally hitting the drum. Every now and then a 'thuk' could be heard. The student went to the master and asked why it was that the other drummers were doing things that seemed so much more complicated but that he, the leader, was in control while only hitting the drum with an occasional 'thuk.' The response? The master gestured to the others. 'They over there are young. They have too much heart. They fill the world with sound. They play the sound. It's only when you get older that you have the ability to play the silence.'
This musical probably won't be filled with a whole lot of silence but there is potential for a great deal of heart.
That's ok too.
But, on the other hand. If he approached me with some humility. A willingness to learn. An understanding that he wasn't all that and then some. If he approached me and asked for guidance. Well, I'd bend over backwards to help. I'd make sure that his work looked good. That's my passion at play.
What happened? He chose the former. 'I'm the TD of this production,' said he. Ok. Good. I was hopeful. Having a TD for a show is a good thing. But wait. There was more. 'I'm also doing the set design.' Not out of the ordinary. Could be done. 'I'm also doing the lighting design.' My spirits began to flag. 'Here's the production schedule.' Great. He's also the PM.
Hmmm.... I read the schedule over. The times didn't correlate with bookings. This could be a problem. 'Well that's fine, we'll work around your schedule and that of your staff.' Really? Hmmmm... I asked him about the designs, the instrument lists, the wireless mic requirements, special effects, firearms and the like. After being met with a look closer to blank than one reflecting deep thought I then suggested that perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew. 'I know what I'm doing.' Ok.
After a week of not getting answers to questions I was asking he came to me and said: 'You know, I work 30 hours per week and I've been working on this show and these designs and I'm doing the best that I can. Unlike you I'm not getting paid to do this.' Ya. He went there. My response? 'Well, I work full time dealing with schedules, designs and inexperienced wannabes who want to play theatre with no real understanding of the work/time involved so that I can provide hot meals for my kids at night and I won't get paid any less if your show doesn't open. That being said, I'll need the designs by Sunday or you can use rehearsal blocks and our house plot.' Sheesh.
Hopefully things turn around. I'm optimistic really. He's young and green and has too much heart...but that's all about being young and green.
When I was doing my ethnomusicology stint, I read a wonderful article by a man who was studying drumming in Western Africa. He watched as a group of drummers played. He noticed that some of the drummers were doing incredibly complicated rhythms at fantastic speeds. He then noticed that the drum master was only occasionally hitting the drum. Every now and then a 'thuk' could be heard. The student went to the master and asked why it was that the other drummers were doing things that seemed so much more complicated but that he, the leader, was in control while only hitting the drum with an occasional 'thuk.' The response? The master gestured to the others. 'They over there are young. They have too much heart. They fill the world with sound. They play the sound. It's only when you get older that you have the ability to play the silence.'
This musical probably won't be filled with a whole lot of silence but there is potential for a great deal of heart.
That's ok too.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Gerund My Day
Hunting down production schedules kept locked away tighter than state secrets, watching folks unwilling to make the effort to get doors unlocked, witnessing other folk holding back on getting the right keys cut, brewing espresso, crossing a field and a snow mountain to get a key attached to a wooden stick, coming across gak inadvertently left behind, testing a video line and having it work 'latency free,' buying milk, getting info together for upcoming one night wonders, dealing with a cancellation, trying to get some time on the stage, meeting clients in the lobby, listening to Alison Krause, being out with the wee ones as they skated, sewing a new button on my favourite jeans, handing out hours like candy, making a dinner for three from one pork chop, doing laundry with a machine leaking its transmission, cleaning off 1/3 of my desk, trying to figure out how to juggle yet another weekend of kids and work, carrying the girl down a rickety set of stairs underneath a pizza place, sorting out the carp shop, wondering why every room I walked into at work was playing live feeds from the NHL trade day, making lunch for tomorrow, waking up running in the morning, burning incense, emailing, telephoning, skipping, singing, driving, yelling, caressing, scheduling, loving.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Bye and Bye
So I actually went out on a 'date' a couple months ago. I'm thinking about it now because I just finished a wonderful Aikido session--new bruises! what fun!--and the school's instructor stopped by to watch and when my class ended informed me that I would have my first examination at the end of March. I never really considered examinations as a possibility. I only go once a week but, I guess I'm improving. To be frank, I am mildly obsessed with it. What has this to do with the date? The person I went out with was in one of my classes. He asked me out for coffee and, after checking with my sitter, I said 'yes.'
We headed to the local Starbucks -- him in his car, me in mine -- and when we entered I started grooving off Bob Dylan's take on 'All Along the Watch Tower.' The fellow I was with immediately started to whinge and complain stating that Dylan had ruined the genre of folk music. 'I like him,' I said. 'Didn't he kind of open up the genre of folk music?' 'You too have been snowed by a mass marketing machine,' he replied. Then we sat down -- he paid for his and was a bit put out that I bought my own but I was thrilled that my magic car had had a couple dollars hidden deep in the ashtray which I thought was a sign that I should be self sufficient and get my own -- and he started to tell me about his life while I started to hum 'Lay Lady Lay.' He talked about his divorce. (I started to think that his ex wife and I would probably get along) His kids. (They weren't really living up to what he felt was their true potential) His schooling. (Sociology...need I say more? Along with philosophy, art history, linguistics...a true Renaissance Man) His personal philosophies/convictions. (I like independent thought. I am also not one to shy away from a good argument. I can indulge in mental masturbation with the best of them. A good argument, however, has to leave some room for dialogue).
It wasn't all about him though. To be fair, he did bring me into the conversation. It went kinda like this:
Him: Do you know what your problem is?
Me: I have so many I feel it quite unfair that you are determined to focus upon only one.
Him: You aren't relaxed enough. You weren't able to knock me down.
Me: Was I supposed to? I thought we were working on the mechanics of the technique. Besides, you act like a big rock. I'm not interested in forcing things.
Him: You should practice opening doors in a relaxed state.
Me: What?
Him: Use your wrists.
Me: Using my wrists to open doors will make me more relaxed?
Him: Try it.
Me: I think that I might just follow what the Senpai is showing us for now.
Him: You should really take advantage of what I can teach you. I have experience.
Me: I see.
Him: You are a guitarist? I love the guitar.
Me: Ok
Him: I bet I can ask you some questions about the guitar that you can't answer
Me: I have no doubt about that.
Him: I think you should know as much about your instrument as possible. How much do you play?
Me: I don't play very much at all anymore.
Him: If I could play I'd never stop.
Me: I guess you'll never know for sure eh?
An uncomfortable silence followed. I started humming 'Everybody Must Get Stoned' and checked the time.
Me: I've got to go. My sitter will be wanting to go home.
Him: Ok. See you next week.
Thus endeth my first post nuptial date. He showed up to class the next week and I did throw him and he ended up elbowing me in the face and stabbing my leg with one of his overgrown toenails. He has not since returned. The dojo is a happy place for me. I'll be ready for the exam. I wonder if I'm ready for another date?
We headed to the local Starbucks -- him in his car, me in mine -- and when we entered I started grooving off Bob Dylan's take on 'All Along the Watch Tower.' The fellow I was with immediately started to whinge and complain stating that Dylan had ruined the genre of folk music. 'I like him,' I said. 'Didn't he kind of open up the genre of folk music?' 'You too have been snowed by a mass marketing machine,' he replied. Then we sat down -- he paid for his and was a bit put out that I bought my own but I was thrilled that my magic car had had a couple dollars hidden deep in the ashtray which I thought was a sign that I should be self sufficient and get my own -- and he started to tell me about his life while I started to hum 'Lay Lady Lay.' He talked about his divorce. (I started to think that his ex wife and I would probably get along) His kids. (They weren't really living up to what he felt was their true potential) His schooling. (Sociology...need I say more? Along with philosophy, art history, linguistics...a true Renaissance Man) His personal philosophies/convictions. (I like independent thought. I am also not one to shy away from a good argument. I can indulge in mental masturbation with the best of them. A good argument, however, has to leave some room for dialogue).
It wasn't all about him though. To be fair, he did bring me into the conversation. It went kinda like this:
Him: Do you know what your problem is?
Me: I have so many I feel it quite unfair that you are determined to focus upon only one.
Him: You aren't relaxed enough. You weren't able to knock me down.
Me: Was I supposed to? I thought we were working on the mechanics of the technique. Besides, you act like a big rock. I'm not interested in forcing things.
Him: You should practice opening doors in a relaxed state.
Me: What?
Him: Use your wrists.
Me: Using my wrists to open doors will make me more relaxed?
Him: Try it.
Me: I think that I might just follow what the Senpai is showing us for now.
Him: You should really take advantage of what I can teach you. I have experience.
Me: I see.
Him: You are a guitarist? I love the guitar.
Me: Ok
Him: I bet I can ask you some questions about the guitar that you can't answer
Me: I have no doubt about that.
Him: I think you should know as much about your instrument as possible. How much do you play?
Me: I don't play very much at all anymore.
Him: If I could play I'd never stop.
Me: I guess you'll never know for sure eh?
An uncomfortable silence followed. I started humming 'Everybody Must Get Stoned' and checked the time.
Me: I've got to go. My sitter will be wanting to go home.
Him: Ok. See you next week.
Thus endeth my first post nuptial date. He showed up to class the next week and I did throw him and he ended up elbowing me in the face and stabbing my leg with one of his overgrown toenails. He has not since returned. The dojo is a happy place for me. I'll be ready for the exam. I wonder if I'm ready for another date?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Crossroads
Ok. I am actually 38 years old -- not 12. I will consider last night to be a minor blip on the radar. This morning was rough. Too rough. I considered blowing my brother off and not meeting him at the airport but my sense of personal responsibility told my irresponsible self to suck it up and keep in mind that the airport had public bathrooms if I had the need to puke some more. We went out for lunch at a favourite pub of mine and I indulged in a chicken filled boxty (potato pancake). It stayed down. Thankfully. The kids were being their charming selves and my big brother is still my big brother. Me? I was the chirp :)
What did I figure out last night? I feel like I'm standing at a crossroads. I desperately want change but I don't want to risk losing what I have. One summer, when I was in university--I think I might have been doing co-op at DND around that time or I was living the good life on EI and taking night courses, it doesn't really matter I guess -- there was a man who could be found around the neighbourhood who would be dressed in a dark suit and would be holding a briefcase. Our neighbourhood had its share of those with particular forms of mental illness. There was the woman who walked around with her doll baby, there was the man who kept checking banisters to ensure that they were straight, there were the odd folks wishing all passers by to listen to Jesus and there was this man in the dark suit. This man would stand at intersections. For a while, he chose to take his daily stand at the intersection by our apartment. He would stand at the corner watching traffic pass him and, when traffic let up, or he was at intersections having crossing signals that changed from don't walk to walk, he would shift his position so that he was once again facing the static red hand. He would stand there for hours. He did this, as far as I know, all summer. During the summer his suit started to hang on him. He lost a great deal of weight. His skin, subject to the elements, became redder, more wrinkled and dry. I personally never saw him arrive at the corners nor did I ever witness him leave. I remember trying to write about him and how he seemed to stand at the corner of chance and choice. He was less a human being to me and more liken to an organic allegory.
After having my marriage fall apart I've been feeling more and more like I've been snoozing for the past 10 years. Yes, I had kids and have grown in my job and such but I feel that other facets of my life have been lying dormant. I think I'm ready to wake up. I'm just not too sure what road I should cross.
What did I figure out last night? I feel like I'm standing at a crossroads. I desperately want change but I don't want to risk losing what I have. One summer, when I was in university--I think I might have been doing co-op at DND around that time or I was living the good life on EI and taking night courses, it doesn't really matter I guess -- there was a man who could be found around the neighbourhood who would be dressed in a dark suit and would be holding a briefcase. Our neighbourhood had its share of those with particular forms of mental illness. There was the woman who walked around with her doll baby, there was the man who kept checking banisters to ensure that they were straight, there were the odd folks wishing all passers by to listen to Jesus and there was this man in the dark suit. This man would stand at intersections. For a while, he chose to take his daily stand at the intersection by our apartment. He would stand at the corner watching traffic pass him and, when traffic let up, or he was at intersections having crossing signals that changed from don't walk to walk, he would shift his position so that he was once again facing the static red hand. He would stand there for hours. He did this, as far as I know, all summer. During the summer his suit started to hang on him. He lost a great deal of weight. His skin, subject to the elements, became redder, more wrinkled and dry. I personally never saw him arrive at the corners nor did I ever witness him leave. I remember trying to write about him and how he seemed to stand at the corner of chance and choice. He was less a human being to me and more liken to an organic allegory.
After having my marriage fall apart I've been feeling more and more like I've been snoozing for the past 10 years. Yes, I had kids and have grown in my job and such but I feel that other facets of my life have been lying dormant. I think I'm ready to wake up. I'm just not too sure what road I should cross.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Ya I Was Drunk
It's totally time for me to be up for another nomination for mother of the year. It's a Saturday night at 8:20pm and I'm 3 or 4 sheets to the freaking wind. I just played a game of chess with the wee ones (I won but really...I'm not that drunk) and have put the kidlings to bed. For some reason I decided to have a glass of red wine with dinner. I haven't eaten anything else all day -- no reason, just not in the mood -- and I opened a bottle from my mom's shop. It was only a 1/2 litre but right after dinner my brother called and started speaking 'physics' to me. Really, do you blame me for opening another bottle as he discussed in detail the strategic quantum idiosyncratic something or another that has to do with neutrons but ends up spelling the word 'squid'? A true acronym.
So the kids are in bed now. I'm glad I learned to touch type. Grade 10 with Mrs. Robbins wasn't a complete loss. They are listening to a recording entitled 'Live Tracings/Empreinte Vivante' that a buddy and I made years ago. We got it into our heads to record the concerts of the UofO music department and create, market and sell a cd. It was a success. We got the visual arts folks in the building next door to create the name/cover for our work. Too bad the administration decided that this project would only be a one year event. M & I both received an A+ for our work along with a nice 'thanks but no thanks' letter. I am sooooooo missing stuff like that right now.
So my brother is coming into town briefly tomorrow. The kidlings and I will take him out for lunch before he is headed off to Chalk River to play at the nuclear power plant. (just a note...I'm making typos left, right and centre but am correcting as I go...I have a feeling that since I am actually drunk as I type this that I will have fewer actual errors when I publish it because of my self consciousness...let this be a lesson to corporate execs world wild...let your people drink! You'll end up with far fewer errors. Anyone who has had a mom will respond well to guilt).
Damn. There's a scratch in the disc. I wonder if my mom kept a copy?
I have done nothing today. I attempted to clean the living room. I ended up taking the kids for a long walk/run (ie. I walked and they ran). I tried to call a friend who I have considered my brother since I met him over 15 years ago and haven't been able to communicate with for over 3 years since his wife decided to hate me...honestly I really have no idea).
I guess, in essence, I am grasping at proverbial straws. While I long for comfort and complacency, this is not -- obviously--to be the case.
So the kids are in bed now. I'm glad I learned to touch type. Grade 10 with Mrs. Robbins wasn't a complete loss. They are listening to a recording entitled 'Live Tracings/Empreinte Vivante' that a buddy and I made years ago. We got it into our heads to record the concerts of the UofO music department and create, market and sell a cd. It was a success. We got the visual arts folks in the building next door to create the name/cover for our work. Too bad the administration decided that this project would only be a one year event. M & I both received an A+ for our work along with a nice 'thanks but no thanks' letter. I am sooooooo missing stuff like that right now.
So my brother is coming into town briefly tomorrow. The kidlings and I will take him out for lunch before he is headed off to Chalk River to play at the nuclear power plant. (just a note...I'm making typos left, right and centre but am correcting as I go...I have a feeling that since I am actually drunk as I type this that I will have fewer actual errors when I publish it because of my self consciousness...let this be a lesson to corporate execs world wild...let your people drink! You'll end up with far fewer errors. Anyone who has had a mom will respond well to guilt).
Damn. There's a scratch in the disc. I wonder if my mom kept a copy?
I have done nothing today. I attempted to clean the living room. I ended up taking the kids for a long walk/run (ie. I walked and they ran). I tried to call a friend who I have considered my brother since I met him over 15 years ago and haven't been able to communicate with for over 3 years since his wife decided to hate me...honestly I really have no idea).
I guess, in essence, I am grasping at proverbial straws. While I long for comfort and complacency, this is not -- obviously--to be the case.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Cheers
I went out for an after work drink tonight. It's been a long time but I really needed this one. It's been a long week...a long month...a long year. Strange though. I realized tonight what it feels like to have a curfew. I had a sitter looking after the kids today and I therefore couldn't stay out longer than 8:30pm. Work ended at 7pm ish so that only left room for a pint. I started thinking how nice it would have been to just turn to the waitress and ask for another and maybe a couple more after that.
I'd end up flirting with a cute graphic artist type who would be so wowed by my cheeky personality that he would suggest we go mountain climbing together and I'd say 'sure' and that I'd pack a snack to carry along and we would stay on the mountain top until sunrise and wipe the dew from our self satisfied smiles as we surveyed the poetic landscape of our lives . . . but then I'd remember that I still had laundry in the dryer that I was too tired to deal with the night before along with several piles not yet washed, that Shark Bait our resident Platy fish needed the algae cleaned from his tank, that the cats needed feeding and their box would need to be shoveled out, the children needed to be tucked in, that the house was in a tip, that the bird feeder I had started to build in the basement wasn't going to finish itself, that I needed to get up early to bring the kids to swimming class, I still had notes to rewrite for a negotiating meeting I co chaired last Wednesday, my son's favourite pants needed to be sewed with my fine franken'stiching ability, that although I now had two days off from work in front of me I would still probably run out of time . . . so . . . I would take a raincheck and promise myself another drink another time.
When I was growing up, I never had a curfew. My mom's rationale was that since most of my friends did have curfews I wouldn't need one since I wouldn't really have a reason to stay out once my friends had to go home. It was logical and pretty much right on the money. In my later teens when I started working tech at the theatre, my mom's rationale was that as long as I was with theatre people, I would be safe. Not so logical there mom but, once again, pretty much right on. No harm befell me.
Now, I find it mildly amusing that the curfew I had so successfully avoided having to adhere to in the past has come up and bitten me in the ass. But the Guiness was good and there is something to the saying that one should leave while one still wants a bit more. Makes for better memories I think. And fantasies.
I'd end up flirting with a cute graphic artist type who would be so wowed by my cheeky personality that he would suggest we go mountain climbing together and I'd say 'sure' and that I'd pack a snack to carry along and we would stay on the mountain top until sunrise and wipe the dew from our self satisfied smiles as we surveyed the poetic landscape of our lives . . . but then I'd remember that I still had laundry in the dryer that I was too tired to deal with the night before along with several piles not yet washed, that Shark Bait our resident Platy fish needed the algae cleaned from his tank, that the cats needed feeding and their box would need to be shoveled out, the children needed to be tucked in, that the house was in a tip, that the bird feeder I had started to build in the basement wasn't going to finish itself, that I needed to get up early to bring the kids to swimming class, I still had notes to rewrite for a negotiating meeting I co chaired last Wednesday, my son's favourite pants needed to be sewed with my fine franken'stiching ability, that although I now had two days off from work in front of me I would still probably run out of time . . . so . . . I would take a raincheck and promise myself another drink another time.
When I was growing up, I never had a curfew. My mom's rationale was that since most of my friends did have curfews I wouldn't need one since I wouldn't really have a reason to stay out once my friends had to go home. It was logical and pretty much right on the money. In my later teens when I started working tech at the theatre, my mom's rationale was that as long as I was with theatre people, I would be safe. Not so logical there mom but, once again, pretty much right on. No harm befell me.
Now, I find it mildly amusing that the curfew I had so successfully avoided having to adhere to in the past has come up and bitten me in the ass. But the Guiness was good and there is something to the saying that one should leave while one still wants a bit more. Makes for better memories I think. And fantasies.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Not a Review
I really love Hamlet. I have had the recent privilege of working on a production of Hamlet in my theatre. This production has made me think about the play in new ways while forcing me to examine what it is about the play that I love. Simply put, I love the characters in Hamlet. While some performances have depicted the people of Elsinore as caricatures and archetypes (is Freud to blame?) I have always felt that the characters in the play had more depth. More frailty. More reality.
The tragedy is set within the parameters of various narrative dichotomies -- love vs. lust, ambition vs. greed, murder vs. suicide, madness vs. sanity, youth vs. age, natural vs. supernatural, and the list goes on. It is easy to play upon these obvious dualisms yet, what I found more satisfying with this production is that the characters are never reduced to them. The characters are never more or less than human. Plural. Like you or I.
The set for this particular production is simple -- my favourite type -- and evocative. Moving doors open and close scenes. That scenes are cut isn't an issue because we, the audience, are provided with glimpses into, not just the action, but into the characters themselves as the doors are moved, spun opened and closed across the stage. Bridging space and time. While we are directed to look through one door we intuitively know that action is occuring behind another yet are never in any way left behind.
The reflection and refraction of the mirrors break up the stage and act to unify it. At one point the light reflected off two mirrors appeared to show the reflection spilling out onto Hamlet himself as if Hamlet's own reflection was now made real. His essence exposed. We in the audience were also reflected in the mirrors. What was going on on the stage could have been happening to any one of us. Indeed, it was.
I have more thoughts on this. More thoughts yet to be thought I'm sure. I love the feeling I get after witnessing/being party to something larger than it's parts. This is why I love what I do. This is why I love art. This is why I love Hamlet.
The tragedy is set within the parameters of various narrative dichotomies -- love vs. lust, ambition vs. greed, murder vs. suicide, madness vs. sanity, youth vs. age, natural vs. supernatural, and the list goes on. It is easy to play upon these obvious dualisms yet, what I found more satisfying with this production is that the characters are never reduced to them. The characters are never more or less than human. Plural. Like you or I.
The set for this particular production is simple -- my favourite type -- and evocative. Moving doors open and close scenes. That scenes are cut isn't an issue because we, the audience, are provided with glimpses into, not just the action, but into the characters themselves as the doors are moved, spun opened and closed across the stage. Bridging space and time. While we are directed to look through one door we intuitively know that action is occuring behind another yet are never in any way left behind.
The reflection and refraction of the mirrors break up the stage and act to unify it. At one point the light reflected off two mirrors appeared to show the reflection spilling out onto Hamlet himself as if Hamlet's own reflection was now made real. His essence exposed. We in the audience were also reflected in the mirrors. What was going on on the stage could have been happening to any one of us. Indeed, it was.
I have more thoughts on this. More thoughts yet to be thought I'm sure. I love the feeling I get after witnessing/being party to something larger than it's parts. This is why I love what I do. This is why I love art. This is why I love Hamlet.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
In Case of ... Please Break Glass
The view outside of my living room window late this afternoon depicted a scene that could have come straight out of a snow globe after having been gently shaken and set down. It was gorgeous. Large fluffy flakes floated to the ground. An insulating silence enveloped my home and I felt the comfort of the scene reaching out to blanket me. Cover me.
Although peaceful, the scene didn't mirror what I felt inside and I rebeled against it. I felt alienated from the beauty. My living room window was a barrier instead of a way in. I felt agitated as if I had been the one shaken up and set down forced to watch beauty from afar. Art was happening beyond the glass and I was merely a witness but not party to it. I wanted more.
I want more.
I had a sleepness night yesterday. I was wired. I had called a hang & focus and for the entire evening I had not been able to reach my groove. My rhythm was off. I was making silly errors. I was hyper and anxious. I was trying too hard. When I got home, I couldn't turn my brain off. I hate nights like those. My bed felt foreign. For the first time in a long time I felt lonely. Not only lonely in the sense that I am currently physically alone but lonely in an artistic and emotional sense.
I've been living day to day and making do. I've been surviving. I've been doing more than just scraping by but to be honest, I haven't been fully involved. I've been hibernating. Stagnating. The past couple days I've been feeling that I have been just a witness for too long. It's time to be a participant once again. I'm just not entirely sure how to go about it. All I know is that I shouldn't be pressing the snooze button for very much longer or I risk becoming permanently incased in glass.
Although peaceful, the scene didn't mirror what I felt inside and I rebeled against it. I felt alienated from the beauty. My living room window was a barrier instead of a way in. I felt agitated as if I had been the one shaken up and set down forced to watch beauty from afar. Art was happening beyond the glass and I was merely a witness but not party to it. I wanted more.
I want more.
I had a sleepness night yesterday. I was wired. I had called a hang & focus and for the entire evening I had not been able to reach my groove. My rhythm was off. I was making silly errors. I was hyper and anxious. I was trying too hard. When I got home, I couldn't turn my brain off. I hate nights like those. My bed felt foreign. For the first time in a long time I felt lonely. Not only lonely in the sense that I am currently physically alone but lonely in an artistic and emotional sense.
I've been living day to day and making do. I've been surviving. I've been doing more than just scraping by but to be honest, I haven't been fully involved. I've been hibernating. Stagnating. The past couple days I've been feeling that I have been just a witness for too long. It's time to be a participant once again. I'm just not entirely sure how to go about it. All I know is that I shouldn't be pressing the snooze button for very much longer or I risk becoming permanently incased in glass.
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