I'm in the lobby of the Arcadia Stage at The Arden Theatre Company, taking advantage of a little down time before we start our first technical rehearsal - it's what we showbiz folk call a "ten out of twelve." That means that we rehearse from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. with a two-hour dinner break in there somewhere - hence, we work 10 out of 12 hours. I can't speak for others, but I dread these things. Hell, I'm the one who's always complaining that 7½ hours is a long time to rehearse a 3-person play! Imagine how thrilled I'll be to do it for twelve.
I'm not entirely sure how I'm gonna make it through this. I feel like crap. I've got a raging sore throat, and enough gunk sitting in my chest to choke a horse, and to top it off, I barely slept last night. I woke up every 75 minutes like clockwork, and when I was sleeping, I had the most disturbing dreams with racist overtones. I kept finding myself in a park where I was being menaced by this heavy-set young black guy... actually, another detail just came back to me... I stepped away from my stuff in the dream, to get a drink of water or something, and came back to find him hosing down my belongings; and when I got upset about that, he threatened me, physically.
For some reason, the whole thing reminded me very clearly of an episode from when I was a little kid - I'm not exactly sure how old; maybe nine or ten? The details around the event have always been hazy, but being me, I remember the event itself with utter clarity, because it was bad. I often wonder if it's just me, or if everyone in the world tends to remember the bad things more clearly and more persistently than the good?
It had to be sometime in late April or early May, because I decided to go into the tract of woods across the street from our house to pick some flowers for my mom's May alter. Yeah, not just a budding homo, but a budding suck-up as well. Anyway, while I was out looking for flowers, I happened to be kneeling down, intent on my cultivation. I was so engrossed by the whole project that I didn't notice this little black kid who wasn't much older than me come up behind me. I don't remember what, if any, words were exchanged - I'm guessing something had to have provoked what came next; and God knows even then I was a bit of a smart-ass - but he just hauled off and started pounding on me. Though I don't have any recollection of anything happening to provoke the attack. Even now, nearly thirty years later, the feelings that surround that event - the panic, the anger, the desperation - still resonate. And I was feeling a lot of that during this dream. But mostly, I think, the anger.
Lots of that floating around these days. Understandably, I think. I still have issues with Gavan (as I'm sure he does with me - I'm nothing if not egalitarian), and the rehearsal process has been frustrating - especially feeling the pressure of having to have this script learned word-perfectly coupled with the feeling of having no time to actually do that. And poverty can spawn some anger, too, I'm here to tell you. Just you go and listen to Tracy Chapman's "Talkin' 'bout a Revolution".
Anyway, I think I'm gonna take a few moments to refill my teacup and get into rehearsal clothes. Maybe I'll have more to say later.
Well, a rather unprecedented thing happened today. Aaron, finding out I was sick, sent me home, reasoning that it was better for me to get sleep and rest now before the illness got out of hand than for me to get even more run down and end up missing actual performances next week. I have to give him a lot of credit, because I don't know that I've met many directors who would have had the foresight to suggest such a thing. The prevailing mindset in my business is "the show must go on." And that pretty much means you should come to rehearsal whether you feel like crap or not - you're supposed to be a trouper. And Aaron was smart in going out of his way to take me aside and convince me that I shouldn't put some bullshit happy face on and suffer through when I might actually be doing the show a lot less good by staying and working.
So I stayed for half the day to help get through the tech stuff for the first half of the show, which is intensely me-oriented, and came home at the dinner break. I stopped off at the Fresh Fields food store to get some stuff, and came home. I've had a little bit of a nap, and I'm planning on settling in with my script and getting some serious studying done.
David Ingram also gave me a recipe for what he considers a kick-ass cold remedy involving shaved ginger-root, lemon juice, honey and hot water. I'm trying to work up the stamina to go shred some ginger. It was the whole reason for going to the store - so I could buy those ingredients.
I'm not entirely sure how I'm gonna make it through this. I feel like crap. I've got a raging sore throat, and enough gunk sitting in my chest to choke a horse, and to top it off, I barely slept last night. I woke up every 75 minutes like clockwork, and when I was sleeping, I had the most disturbing dreams with racist overtones. I kept finding myself in a park where I was being menaced by this heavy-set young black guy... actually, another detail just came back to me... I stepped away from my stuff in the dream, to get a drink of water or something, and came back to find him hosing down my belongings; and when I got upset about that, he threatened me, physically.
For some reason, the whole thing reminded me very clearly of an episode from when I was a little kid - I'm not exactly sure how old; maybe nine or ten? The details around the event have always been hazy, but being me, I remember the event itself with utter clarity, because it was bad. I often wonder if it's just me, or if everyone in the world tends to remember the bad things more clearly and more persistently than the good?
It had to be sometime in late April or early May, because I decided to go into the tract of woods across the street from our house to pick some flowers for my mom's May alter. Yeah, not just a budding homo, but a budding suck-up as well. Anyway, while I was out looking for flowers, I happened to be kneeling down, intent on my cultivation. I was so engrossed by the whole project that I didn't notice this little black kid who wasn't much older than me come up behind me. I don't remember what, if any, words were exchanged - I'm guessing something had to have provoked what came next; and God knows even then I was a bit of a smart-ass - but he just hauled off and started pounding on me. Though I don't have any recollection of anything happening to provoke the attack. Even now, nearly thirty years later, the feelings that surround that event - the panic, the anger, the desperation - still resonate. And I was feeling a lot of that during this dream. But mostly, I think, the anger.
Lots of that floating around these days. Understandably, I think. I still have issues with Gavan (as I'm sure he does with me - I'm nothing if not egalitarian), and the rehearsal process has been frustrating - especially feeling the pressure of having to have this script learned word-perfectly coupled with the feeling of having no time to actually do that. And poverty can spawn some anger, too, I'm here to tell you. Just you go and listen to Tracy Chapman's "Talkin' 'bout a Revolution".
Anyway, I think I'm gonna take a few moments to refill my teacup and get into rehearsal clothes. Maybe I'll have more to say later.
Well, a rather unprecedented thing happened today. Aaron, finding out I was sick, sent me home, reasoning that it was better for me to get sleep and rest now before the illness got out of hand than for me to get even more run down and end up missing actual performances next week. I have to give him a lot of credit, because I don't know that I've met many directors who would have had the foresight to suggest such a thing. The prevailing mindset in my business is "the show must go on." And that pretty much means you should come to rehearsal whether you feel like crap or not - you're supposed to be a trouper. And Aaron was smart in going out of his way to take me aside and convince me that I shouldn't put some bullshit happy face on and suffer through when I might actually be doing the show a lot less good by staying and working.
So I stayed for half the day to help get through the tech stuff for the first half of the show, which is intensely me-oriented, and came home at the dinner break. I stopped off at the Fresh Fields food store to get some stuff, and came home. I've had a little bit of a nap, and I'm planning on settling in with my script and getting some serious studying done.
David Ingram also gave me a recipe for what he considers a kick-ass cold remedy involving shaved ginger-root, lemon juice, honey and hot water. I'm trying to work up the stamina to go shred some ginger. It was the whole reason for going to the store - so I could buy those ingredients.
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