The Joy of Corpsing

Pardon my absence. Our internet is experiencing technical difficulties. I'm writing this at a friend's house at the moment.

So let me take a moment to sum up my week thus far. Monday, I was flashed on the freeway on my way home, so I hit the offender with my SUV. Splattered his butt all over my windshield. It left a lovely green bioluminescent smear, as fireflies do. Grob rest his little corpse.

What?

What did you think I was talking about?

Moving on!

Um...Tuesday was canceled for lack of interest. At least, that is what the koalas told me to say.

Wednesday...happened. Methinks my days are becoming one big blur.

Thursday. Today? Yup! Today. I corpsed. I corpsed hard.

As I stood on stage next to my character's love interest, Jon, he warned me that he would be using his "stalker" face during our scene. I only asked that he not say anything about fava beans and a nice Chianti. He quickly supplied the line in one of the creepiest renditions I've ever heard then said, "Clarice," with an equally creepy approach. All I could think of was my buddy Dave's former cat. I'll leave that one for you to ponder. Because I'm a Pesh like that.

During another moment of hilarity, we encountered a bit of awkward blocking, and Jon supplied a bit of bawdy shtick to correct it. At one point, I sit next to Jon on a sofa. As I go to sit, I bend over to brush off the seat, and present my bum to him. Jon's improve for our community theatre production to be presented to legions of elderly patrons? An awkward crossing of his legs. A very awkward crossing of his legs.

Fast forward!

In another scene, Jack has just proposed to Gwyndolen, and while he is still kneeling, I sit on a stool in front of him. My mother charges in and demands that he stand. I admonish her and pull Jon back down to his knees, but our director is having us take things a bit further. I also pull his face into my lap. In our first attempt at this blocking, I grabbed him by the shoulder. He dropped to his knee then slammed his face in my lap. It was fantastically awkward, so we were already laughing. When he affirmed that he was uninjured with a face-full of my lap, we howled. Subsequently, my lines were barked out between brays. I was semi-worthless for the rest of the scene, and somehow, it pleased me.

Add to that a dirty, dirty note from the gal playing a servant delivered on a platter to my dear Bob that took forever and a day to read, and the night was officially a bonding experience for this cast. You should have heard the laughter when Fox, the servant, struggled to get through some curtains while carrying a huge stack of luggage then failed and landed on her bum in a pile of suitcases and hatboxes. What a fantastic rehearsal.

After rehearsal, Bob and I took a moment to ponder why the world decided that while women are desired with an hourglass figure through the ribs, waist, and hips, no one has mentioned that men are desired with an hourglass figure as well, in profile. And that thought calls for a song! Pay attention to the scene about the hat. Could they really not afford any fishing line? They're English. I know that island has a few fishing supplies lying around somewhere.

An end to the stupidity...for now.

"Drag your thoughts away from your troubles... by the ears, by the heels, or any other way you can manage it." ~Mark Twain

Ciao, Othello!

Well, the final performance of Othello ran today. The set is struck. The curtains are down. Well, not literally. The curtains are a pain to move, so they stay open all the time, but you know what I mean.

We ended the run with a great performance. I'm feeling particularly chuffed.

(Ooh! I just Googled "chuffed" to make sure I wasn't confusing it with something horrible and I came across this dandy site. Totally bookmarking that one.)

Ahem, back to being chuffed. I managed to start dropping tears when Othello murdered Desdemona. They always do that struggle so well. Karen's face turns red. The veins in her neck strain over her throat. It's brutal, powerful. By the time poor Emilia joined her lady, I had the tap totally open. Rowland handed me his emergency handkerchief that he's had in his pocket through every show in case of facial fluid emergencies that warrant absorption because a Kleenex would be a bit out of place. What a mistake that turned out to be. By the time we left the stage, the edges of his white handkerchief were smeared with black mascara. I hope it washes out.

After the show, we struck the set and painted the floor black. Poor Geeb. All her hard work was torn apart and painted over in a few brief hours. Oh well, now she can start over for The Importance of Being Earnest. And after that is all said and done, I will yet again have opportunity to publicly humiliate her with a gift buried in pink tissue paper. Yea!

Tonight, as we discussed some of our game plan with our new director, Bob asked Becki what kind of music we will use for Earnest. She said it will be steam punk, of course. One of the bands she has in mind is Abney Park. I have to say, I like them. You should give them a listen too. This show is going to be incredible. How I am lucky enough to be involved, I'll never understand.

Tonight's quote isn't as strong as I prefer them to be, but after reading it, how the heck could I not use it?

"If an optimist had his left arm chewed off by an alligator, he might say, in a pleasant and hopeful voice, "Well, this isn't too bad. I don't have my left arm anymore, but at least nobody will ever ask me whether I am right-handed or left-handed," but most of us would say something more along the lines of "Aaaaah! My arm! My arm!"" ~Lemony Snicket

I'm reminded of a conversation I had with Bob and Rowland tonight. Our lines mention Desdemona's mother (we had Brabantia, not Branbantio in this production) dying of a broken heart. For reasons I never question, I could not help picturing poor little Carole lying in a mangle heap at the bottom of a tall staircase with inspectors standing over her, shaking their heads.

"She's dead."

"Yup."

"What do you think caused it?"

"Well, judging from the height of the stairs and the unnatural angle of her neck, I'd say she broke her heart."

Good Grob I'm weird. Just the way I like it.

Night of the Pesh

Talk about a total turnaround. I didn't drop any lines tonight. Thank Grob. And to ice that cake, I managed tears. Real tears. No, I didn't cut myself on the aforementioned icing.

I sat there watching Othello strangling Desdemona, and the usual frog crept into my throat and made my eyes water. And then, Iago stabbed Emilia. The audience gasped. Emilia fell. As she bade her tearful farewell to life, I wept for her. I wept for the innocent servant that so unwittingly ushered her mistress to her fate, and died to bring the tragedy to justice. The first tear slipped slowly down my cheek, gathered at my jaw, then fell away, right into my cleavage. What little I have. The second tear fell to my jaw as well, but it mostly served to help smear my makeup later.

Edy finally got to meet Bob and Tom. He even mused about how he should have helped out with painting the set. I will continue to nudge him toward helping with Earnest.

Last night, Edy and I watched a few episodes of The Office. One episode rendered our brains useless with the application of a little tune from The Muppet Show. To my great amusement, Edy admitted to me that during one of Othello's rants about Desdemona's missing handkerchief, the only thing he could think was, "The handkerchief! (ba dee bedebe) The handkerchief! (ba debe dee) The handkerchief! (ba dee bedebe badebe badebe dee dee de-de de-de-de)"

Oddly enough, he thought the same thing when Desdemona shouted, "I'm not a whore!"

That's my man.

I suppose one could say I like the unique ones.

And if you haven't made enough trips to YouTube for the night, here's a link to a song.

And now for a thought. I know, right?

"You must have control of the authorship of your own destiny. The pen that writes your life story must be held in your own hand." ~Irene C. Kassorla

Bloglet!

Rehearsal ran extra late tonight, so I will cover tonight's topics in the form of a list.

1. Geeb is making incredible progress on painting the set and Paxton has dubbed her a life saver. Not the candy, but I haven't seen any non-scripted brushes with death in this production, so maybe he did mean the candy.

2. Tom has perfected his smug victory face in the final scenes of scripted brushes with death. He's such a good villain. He has his turtle genes/jeans? to thank. I think the proper term is jeans. 'Levi' can be rearranged as 'evil,' and I don't think it's a coincidence.

3. Bob had on one of the cutest dresses I've seen in a long time. I miss my size two figure, though I suspect hers is closer to zero.

4. Bird-watching pumpkin cake. 'Twas yum.

5. Helicopters. Take some time to ponder this one.

6. Flanimals. I've converted at least three new fans. Joooinn uuuusss....

7. Ummm...Ricky Gervais. Duh.

Another song that doubles as a quote.

Good night!