Don't You Die On Me!

Wow, this update is looong overdue.

The curtains closed on Earnest weeks ago. I survived my audition for Oklahoma! and came out with another leading role as Laurey Williams. My precious little Geeb is playing Aunt Eller. Whitney, a childhood friend I've been lucky enough to have returned to my life is playing Gertie Cummins, along with a fabulous selection of players for the rest of the cast.

Wow, this post is lively, so far, isn't it? Damn, I'm tired. So tired. Rehearsals have been running until about 11:00 for the last two nights and there's no relief in sight. I just hope I don't actually fall asleep during "The Surrey with the Fringe on Top" or the Dream Ballet.

I suppose it isn't just rehearsals wearing me thin. Life has become a horse of a different color. Not that I'm one to complain about a good pony show, but--. O_o Never mind.

In the good news category, Edy has returned to his art. He's painting a mural for the lovely folks at Raycliff Manor, and it is looking great. I'm so proud.... *sniffles*

Enough of that weepy crap. *kicks an orphan* That's better.

Becki Gooch, my fabulous director from Earnest is starting her own theatre troupe called Dream Theatre. The outdoor stage is being built at Raycliff Manor as I type this. Don't check my facts on that last bit. I can't say for certain that the guys are actually driving nails at this exact moment. If I'm going to be a liar, I don't want to know. No sense in lying to you if I can't join in on the fun. I like surprises. Sue me.

Anyhoo, Becki has been kind enough to invite Whitney, my dear little Bobbit, and me to be members of the original cast of Dream Theatre in an original production called Dementia Faire. I'll be playing Absinthe. I'll save the rest of the details for later. Got to give you a reason to check back once in awhile. My hit counter appreciates your curiosity...so does my ego.

Umm...on what else shall I drone? Ooh, thanks to Earnest, I have a whole new batch of vict--friends, yeah, friends to stalk...yeah, stalk. Last weekend, I went shopping with Bobbit and her wonderful mother for Dementia Faire costume pieces. I enjoyed some Shake's frozen custard, homemade potato chips, and a trip to the park with Jon, Imma, and their wonderful boys. Then I went with Edy to Raycliff to check out his progress on the mural and got to spend a few minutes with Becki, Earl, Whitney, and Korey.

Oklahoma! is also giving me concern about the size of my backyard and crawlspace. I went to another park with Whitney and some of our cast mates after rehearsal on Friday and had a lovely time lying on a bridge, looking at the stars, talking about everything we should never discuss in public, and feeding ants with our expendable flesh. Good times.

Before I go, pop over to the WSPA website and sign this petition to ban the fur industry in Israel. Why do they need fur? They're too warm over there anyway. Taking fur from animals is just plain old bullying that should be punishable by bad things, like lighting offenders' nose hairs on fire. Yeah, that should do it. So sign the petition. Now. Sign it, or risk becoming a victim of a random, not-associated-with-Duh-Pesh-in-any-way minionosity. You don't want to be a victim of a minionosity. You'll look like the definition of squibbly.

I haven't been able to get this song out of my head since I signed on for Dementia Faire.

Today's quote goes out to everyone who is ready for 2010 to be finished. What a year it's been.

"If you're going through hell, keep going." ~Winston Churchill

Pesh's 50th Post Extravaganza!

Go on, get some confetti. I'll wait.

...

...

You ready? You didn't bother, did you? What kind of party will this be if no one is throwing confetti in the air, getting it in each other's eyes, drinks, keyboards, air passages...hair? This won't be a party at all. It will just be another blog post. It won't matter that this is my fiftieth post. It will make no difference in the fate of the universe. There will be one less rush of endorphins, one less ray of light to make an orphan smile. What? Didn't you know that? Every time someone chokes on confetti at a 50th blog post extravaganza, an orphan gets to smile. They're not allowed to otherwise. Some sort of union regulation....

Ah, fuck it.

On to even more exciting things! Well, I think they're at least worthy of wet pants. The Importance of Being Earnest opened Thursday night and is having a fantastic run. The audiences are rolling in their seats, which could be delightfully dangerous, as this is a dinner theatre, and laughing too hard after a meal might serve to present dinner as a sequel. Ew.

The crowds laugh at the jokes. They "ooh" at the cat fight between Cecily and Gwendolen a la "Oh, no she di'nt!" They "ooh" and "ah" at the set change when we go from a plain black curtain behind our phenomenal pipe organ to an elaborate garden with metal columns, mechanical gizmos and lights on the walls, and an airship that floats by throughout the second act. Seriously, even if the acting wasn't superb and the script hilarious, the set alone is worth buying a ticket to bask in its glory.

In addition to all these wonderful elements congealing to make this one of the most incredible projects in which I've ever had the privilege of participating, last night was particularly rewarding for me. My mother, aunt, and grandparents attended last night, and so did my favorite elevator repairman, Karl (who I love to torture with threats of doughnut-based elevator sabotage). My darling husband, my favorite brother-in-law, and our close friend, Asian Dave, volunteered their time as servers. So, I had many of my beloved family and friends present, which always generates warm fuzzies.

On top of having a great audience, I knocked my performance out of the park. My hubby, his brother, and Asian Dave said I stole the show. True or not, having those three think so does wonderful things for my confidence as an actress. I did notice, however, that all of my jokes got laughs. I love having to wait for the audience to settle its guffaws enough to deliver my next line. It's a rush, a hell of a rush.

One of the audience members, who sounded like someone who knows his theatre stuff (you know, one of those professor-type fellows), approached me during our post-show meet-and-greet, and told me that I had given the best performance he had ever seen of my role. He said it was exactly as crisp as it should be. It made me want to cry. Tears of joy, of course. I like sincere, educated-sounding compliments. They're quite lovely when they wrap around the heart and squeeze.

Dim the lights and cue the violins, Duh Pesh is about to all serious and stuff.

Becki, thank you so much for letting me be a part of this show. This experience has done amazing things for my confidence, my skills, and my collection of people I love to call friends. You're an incredible director, and I will forever jump at the chance to work with you again.

I love the theatre. Fuckin' A.

Oh! Last week was Bob's seventeenth birthday. So, if you've finally gotten off your ass to shred a valuable document into confetti, as you know you should have (cheap confetti has no place at this party, car titles be damned), then now would be a good time to send it skyward and commence the choking, and the spitting, and the crying, and the screaming. Lots of screaming. If you're not screaming, consider adding razorblades to the next batch. The spastic dodging will make you look like a one-dork party, and all the hot singles love joining a one-dork party.

And now for the most fucked up music video ever to grace my blog. It's weirder than "Rock Lobster". Not kidding. You love the song though. You know you do. Enjoy!

Quote!

"Success is getting what you want; happiness is wanting what you get." ~Author Unknown

Bonus material!

Here are some of the publicity spots floating around the webs for Earnest.

Tom Steere as Algernon
Globe/T. Rob Brown Tom Steere, as Algernon Moncrief, rests at a steam-powered piano Wednesday during a rehearsal for "The Importance of Being Earnest." Crew rescued an old piano and equipped it with steampunk-themed elements for use on the set. Globe/T. Rob Brown

The Joplin Globe Article - June 11, 2010



Link to KOAM video.

Aren't they fabulous? I love my cast mates. Ah, warm squibblies. ^_^

I Is So Excited!

^___^

My costume for act two has evolved from a vague idea to full-blown awesome. My skirt is under construction to convert from ankle-length to a short-in-front and long-in-back number. I have a red waist coat with black velvet "filigree" covering it. I get to wear fishnet wrist gloves and thigh-highs. I have a beautiful red and black satin breath-inhibiting corset. And the icing on this multi-tiered, pudding-filled cake? I will be wearing my stiletto heels. These are not just any stiletto heels, mind you. These are the very heels that I wore in my first ever lead role as Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors. This pleases me immensely. Immensely.

Imma described my new look as very Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge!. Need I say how elated I was to hear that? I didn't think so.

Random tangent! This afternoon, as I was about to take my adorable panda mug to the break room to scour away the remnants of my PG Tips, my Security buddy, Travis, stepped around the door frame and nearly collided with me. We stopped to chuckle at the near miss. I grinned, held up my mug and informed him that I needed to wash my dirty panda. We laughed with great enthusiasm and decided that a dirty panda is something you can probably buy on a dark corner for ten bucks.

In addition to all this awesomeness, I got to make some creative contributions to my costume tonight. Becki was lamenting over our lack of a parasol, which I need for an exchange with Bob's lovely portrayal of Cecily. As Imma cinched away my will to live in the oh-so-sexy corset, the solution slammed into my head like a hooker taking a Dirty Panda. I remembered a relic of my youth tucked away in my garage. I took riding lessons as a girl...I mean, when I was young. I've always been a girl. Well, a female anyway. I think I'm generally considered a woman now. I own a riding crop. Who the hell needs a parasol when you have a fucking riding crop? I think I just might pee where I sit if I think about it much longer.

Let's add another layer of happy, shall we?

Another of my props is a lorgnette. Becki and Earl have constructed a very steam punk contraption out of toilet paper tubes and some wire. There are two thick wires that extend from the bottom then curve up to frame my face as I look through the tubes. I posed a possibility to Becki and Earl, and the response was delightful. I asked, "What if we actually mount the lorgnette to my arm?" Awesome. Now, my hands will be free for my purse, my flowers, and my riding crop. And it's extremely steam punk to have such mechanical wonders utilized so casually.

Dave is definitely going to have to burn this chair by the time I finish tonight's blog.

Let's throw some road flares on top of this cakegasm! Because candles will never do in glee of this magnitude.

Edy and I went to our favorite haunt, Taiwan Buffet II, to harass the lovely Carissia and enjoy some good ol' grub. Not grubs. That would be gross. I meant food. People food. Not food made of people. Food made for people. ...Moving on.

When we arrived, Mary, the owner's daughter quickly introduced us to the fish inhabiting a new aquarium next to the register. Edy gave a quick acknowledgment then moved on to the food. I stayed and learned all the little guys' names, making sure to pronounce them properly. I'd hate to insult my new hosts. They might blow bubbles at my food. Anyhoo, after learning the identities of the fish, one little fellow remained. When I asked what his name was, Mary cheerfully replaced, "I want you to name him!" Aaaw! The Pesh is loved! Publicly even! The name came to me instantly. It was too obvious not to blurt it out.



His name is Karl. Karl with a 'K'. He's got a stripe of fucking orange.

I hope he's at least half as amusing for the restaurant's customers as the man with a head like a fucking orange, Karl Pilkington, is for me.

That's it. Dave's chair is done for.

A sexy song!

"Ideals are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them you will reach your destiny." ~Carl Schurz, address, Faneuil Hall, Boston, 1859

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.

Bob's Bearded Iris

I love my cast mates. We're only on our fourth rehearsal, and we're already working in phallic euphemisms. I'm sure Oscar Wilde wouldn't mind.

It's back to Othello tomorrow. Got to get warmed up for our performance on Friday. Two of my bosses are attending, and I don't want to lose my job over their embarrassment for knowing me. Okay, maybe I wouldn't lose my job, but they might confiscate my stapler, and that would displease me.

Now for a tune from my childhood. I've never seen the video's opening sequence before tonight, and now I understand why. How did Keanu keep getting work? Good thing he did. Loved Constantine. (Aw, lookit, Geeb! A plug for the first night we met in the real world. Can you believe that was more than five years ago? February 18, 2005...the day will live forever in infamy. Move over March 15. [Lookit! Pesh made a brainy joke! Ouch! {This is in brackets only to add to the pile. Ta-daa!}]).

Oooh! It's thundery outside! Not that it's ever thundery inside--except when my dear husband has indigestion. My poor husband.

Random quote! Go!

"People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them." ~G.B. Shaw, Mrs. Warren's Profession, 1893

Edit: Ricky Gervais. That is all.

Blocking Round Two

We blocked another scene and a half-ish tonight. Tomorrow, Cecily-Bob and I will block our throw down over who is marrying Ernest. It should be great fun. If not, I'll plant a few koalas and head for the border. Better head north though. Poor Bob, if she goes with me, they'll throw her in a crate to be mailed to the Philippines if they catch her in Arizona. Of course, the flashing neon sign on top of the car pointing at her from five different angles that reads "ASIAN" won't help her case.

And since I'm tired and staring down the possible barrel of a full night's sleep, it's time for a song. (Edit: Apparently, this video is rated TV PG. Bob, don't try watch this on a TV or you'll have to get parental guidance. And be careful, the video itself is worse than that joke.) I love this tune for all the obvious girlie reasons. It also played on the radio while I was stuck behind a wannabe driver going forty-five ALL THE WAY down HH on my way to rehearsal. Joy!

Tonight's quote was chosen in response to some thorns of jealousy that seem to be penetrating the garden of my life. I hope these thorns wither soon and let friendships old and new take full blossom in their stead.

Ooh, the Pesh is deep. What's that smell?

"Jealousy is simply and clearly the fear that you do not have value. Jealousy scans for evidence to prove the point - that others will be preferred and rewarded more than you. There is only one alternative - self-value. If you cannot love yourself, you will not believe that you are loved. You will always think it's a mistake or luck. Take your eyes off others and turn the scanner within. Find the seeds of your jealousy, clear the old voices and experiences. Put all the energy into building your personal and emotional security. Then you will be the one others envy, and you can remember the pain and reach out to them." ~Jennifer James

Just Call Me Fairfax, Gwendolen Fairfax.

That's right, folks. Mission #2 accomplished. As of tonight, I have added another role to my resume, that of Miss Gwendolen Fairfax, the would be fiancee of John 'Jack' 'Ernest' Worthing, in the Stone's Throw Dinner Theatre production of The Importance of Being Ernest.

^_______^

The main reason I auditioned for Othello was to get my stage legs back under me before auditioning for Ernest. I cannot thank Paxton enough for including me in his show, and the same goes for Becki and Bill for casting me in theirs. Thank you all from the cockles of my heart and other pieces of it too.

The fact that I landed a major role is the icing on the cake, but the diabetes-inducing flowers that stain your teeth blue are working with Bob and Tom again! Bob is playing a major role as the lovely Cecily Cardew. Tom will be wooing a lady of his own as Dr. Frederick Chasuble. Watch out world, Bob, Tom, and Pesh ride again! I wonder if Becki knows what she's in for.... She must. She even invited my most favorite chew toy, Geeb, to paint the set.

I love this troupe.

Everyone should start placing bets now on how many bald patches Bob and I will acquire in this production. We will only have three and a half weeks to rehearse, and I can't wait!

In other fantabulous news that warrants a complimentary ear-fuddling, the Geeb is celebrating the release of her first novel tomorrow!

Yea! And the crowd goes wild! Right before they run away to read their dirty novels in private! Woohoo!

That's right folks, pick up your e-copy of My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute at Samhain Publishing. I know I will. I'd better see you in line. Elbows will be nibbled should you fail in this mission. You won't like it when I nibble your elbows. I drool. And I nibble at an angle that will make said drool run into your armpit. Just buy the book and save us all some moisture.

On a final note of good news, tornadoes didn't eat the theatre tonight!

I'd say this was a good day.

Watch out, Ricky, I'm one toe closer to kicking down the doors of your casting calls.

In honor of Geeb's finest hour to date, I present a song.

And for the purists, a less silly version.

Cue the brainy stuff!

"Don't aim for success if you want it; just do what you love and believe in, and it will come naturally." ~David Frost

Edit: My cat just tried to eat my hair. Just thought you should know. There will be a test over the matter.

Ah, Direction!

Paxton was unable to join us for rehearsal tonight, so he left us in Raven Micale's capable hands. Talk about a change. Paxton sees the production as a collaboration of artists. For the most part, he leaves us to our own interpretations of the script. He lets us ad lib and edit as we generally see fit. Raven is totally hands on. She seeks the motivations behind the characters and dunks the actors' heads in buckets of emotion. Paxton is fantastically relaxed in his approach, which makes working with him very easy. Raven has a vision and makes sure every actor's brush complements and flows with all the other strokes coming into play.

As an actress newly returned to the stage after a decade-long hiatus, I have to say I prefer Raven's approach. Her direction and insight have swept away a lot of the doubt and second-guessing I tend to do when left to my own devices. She made suggestions that I never would have thought of and they just feel right. The lines and emotions are more comfortable and it radiates through the production. I find myself clinging to such guidance as I find and strengthen my stage legs.

Raven reminds me a lot of one of my most influential mentors, a coworker named Patty. Patty was blunt, honest, and one of the most deeply caring women I've ever known. She could force feed you the most jagged nuggets of truth in a way that not only made them go down, but also grew sweeter after the bitter shells melted.

Raven also told me she thinks I have talent, which means so much coming from someone who has been in the biz for years. The frog that crept into my throat at those words also clung to the observation she made that has been told to me many times throughout my life, I need to trust myself. It's true. My confidence is crap. It's getting better. I can join a new group of people like I've always known them, but I still require constant validation of my own ideas. I hope joining this troupe has set me on the road to correcting that detrimental flaw.

This entry is sorely lacking my usual dosage of fruit.

Mangoes.

Meh, that's only marginally better.

Ooh! Bob's going to prom tomorrow night! Remember, Bob, keep your knees together! Wow, that sounded dirty. Really, I only meant that she should keep her knees together when she's dancing. Vertically. On the dance floor. With chaperones. Not with chaperones. Dancing vertically with chaperones watching. Wait. Crap. Bob is going to dance alone with her knees together while the chaperones watch.

Oi.

Bob, if you must go to prom, make sure the chaperones at least give you tips. I mean money! Not advice! If the chaperones are going to watch, they should at least pay, not tell you what to do. This is all going very badly.

Bob, just have fun, and dance with your legs crossed and your Everlast securely locked. (All joking aside, Bob's a dear and would never do anything to jeopardize her future for something so silly as a boy and hormones, or else Duh Pesh will pinch her ankles.)

Song!

Wisdom!

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." ~Attributed to Howard Thurman

Butt Crabs!

Crustaceous Assus, commonly known as butt crabs, will migrate south in the summer when the hair on the host's palms becomes so thick and warm that it becomes inhabitable.

Ah, the smell of fresh cut grass, sun tea on the porch, kids playing on the freeway, body crabs making their great migrations, it is definitely summer.

Rehearsal went well, per usual. I think I nailed the bit with my gloves. It's a waste, because it will never happen that way again. Such is the law of my luck. Maybe I'll get the timing down, but I'll probably slap one glove on the table and knock over everyone's drinks on opening night. Hey, a gal's got to have a goal, right?

...

...

I've run out of crap to prattle on about tonight, so let's get to a tune! Tonight's selection comes from one of Bob's song spasms. I thought the band was Squirrel Nut Zippers, but I stand corrected in learning that this song was actually performed by Cherry Poppin' Daddies. Their name pleases me too, but since I can't let the Squirrel Nut Zippers go by without a link, enjoy a bonus track!

Aw, look who decided to come home...quote!

"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I hope he wasn't talking about gastropods.

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!

Molly Van Geeb

Tonight was our first night off book. What a night. We started off well, then someone missed a line and it all went to hell. Who kicked off the fuck-around, you ask? Why, who else? Duh Pesh Mode! Duh Pesh Mode strikes swift and deep. There are no survivors. If someone tells you about the destruction and carnage caused by Duh Pesh Mode, slap him. He's a damned liar. If he'd been there, he'd be dead. If he continues to insist his story is factual, kill him quickly. He's a zombie. Go ahead. Check. I'll wait.

...

...

He was reaching for your head when you looked, wasn't he? See why you should always keep blunt objects handy? You never know when you're going to have to smack the bitch out of a damned, lying zombie who only thinks he was cool enough to survive an encounter with Duh Pesh Mode.

Ew.

Make sure you leave a koala next to that mess.

Speaking of messes, Geeb finally got to work on the set tonight! Yea! Villagers rejoice!

I said rejoice, dammit!

That's better.

The backdrop is looking fantastic. It's all mountainy and hilly and bluey.... ^__^

She really is justified in calling herself a painter. I'll have to be sure to find a way to set it all on fire tomorrow.

I was going to be lazy and just post a link to this song because Ricky linked to a Simple Minds song that I'd never heard before on his blog tonight. I thought, hmm, they have a song I'm familiar with, what the hell was it? So, I found it, and what do you know? It's the main tune from The Breakfast Club, the only Molly Ringwald movie I've ever really seen. Poor Bob was near smacking me tonight for my lack of Molly Ringwald movie viewing. It's a wonder I can call myself a child of the eighties with such a gap in my pop culture experience. The sad thing is, Bob wasn't even thought of until the nineties. And lo, this entry has come full circle...jerk. ^__^

Quote!

"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hand Crabs

Got to work with my gloves for the first time tonight. I'm typing with a spoon held between my thumb and first knuckle and enjoying how little it is hindering my typing. Geeb and I should switch to a constant diet of frosting. That way, we won't have to stop writing for something so trivial as eating. Asses be damned. It was nice finally getting to practice with my gloves, as I don't think I can sell my horrible OJ joke without them. Liked those transitions, didn't you? Don't lie. If you lie I'll nibble your elbows.

So Bob and Rowland joined me on stage, and the raunchy jokes ensued. I had a bottle of water on the table, so they started complaining about the rotten service in our little cafe. I explained that they had to know how to sweet talk the waiter and that they should always wear gloves when doing so or risk a nasty case of hand crabs.

You're probably wondering how I still have a role in this production. Me too. I figure it's just a matter of time. Just like death, taxes, and Bob ripping out her eyelashes. She's really going to hamper her criminal career with all that mascara on her fingers. Her fingerprints will be everywhere. Maybe she should start leaving koalas at every scene. The bit to which I'm referring starts at 0:30. Given the time, you should really watch the entire show. It's brilliant. Lookit. I've even pointed you to the first part. You should know, I love Ricky Gervais. That's important information. Important enough to have tattooed on your chin. Be sure to spell it right: Pesh loves Ricky Gervais. I hope you have a strong chin, or that's going to be really crammed on there. You should have it done twice. One normal and one in reverse, so not only can you inform others of this influential fact, but also so you can remind yourself of it every time you look in the mirror. Your days will be better for it. I hear reading it aloud while brushing your teeth will boost your metabolism too.

^___^

Song!

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^ Bubbles. Lobsterese translation (because I'm kind to my readers who are ignorant of such a prevalent language, even if they do need to read a frickin' book):

"Hi, you've reached Jimmy, if you can dream it, you can do it!"
~Jimmy MacElroy, Blades of Glory

Weirdness...I know, right?

Rehearsal was fun tonight. Rowland and I ran our lines once through then proceeded to help with props, set stuff, and distracting the rest of the cast with conversations about phone etiquette. Sweet little Bob was kind enough to read with Tom, who has miles of monologues to tackle. I, of course, was no help.

My wall clock died at work, so I designed a Kult Pilkington clock in my CafePress shop. I originally had just numbers around the face, but Edy, the artist decided there should be other symbols included. I'm still not sold on it. I rather enjoyed having the numbers in completely random order with a '14' thrown in for good measure. It seems my husband and I don't meet in the middle when it comes to artistic endeavors.

New subject! Watch your step, these topic jumps can be more painful than getting hit by a train. Trust me.

Since my return to the theatre, something has shaken loose in my creative mind. I've started plotting a new novel. Perhaps this will be the story that satisfies Kiriannah (my stage-hog muse of many years), and she will finally leave me alone. I have pages of notes with detail plot outlines that actually form a cohesive storyline. All I have left to do now is tie up one loose end and flesh out the love story, which will probably introduce more loose ends, but I don't mind. The great thing about this project is that it's snapping together like a radioactive Lego monster blasting its way through my writer's constipation. Writer's constipation is much worse than writer's block. I'd rather have no idea at all than several that just won't congeal into something usable. No amount of laxatives helps either. You just spend your day on the seat straining, sweating, screaming for death. At last I have found a cure. Theatre! It goes down smooth and comes out the same way! Buy it now! Not sold in stores, but if you knock on the Geeb's door about eight in the morning, she may have something for you. It'll at least knock your shit loose.

Time to celebrate! My beloved Ricky Gervais is already slated to host next year's Golden Globes ceremony. The awards aren't until January, and they've already booked him. In-fucking-credible. It's achievements like this that have set him so high in my regard.

Time for tuneage! This is one of my favorites. ^_^

I found tonight's quote in an old file tucked away on my flash drive.

"To succeed you have to believe in something with such a passion that it becomes a reality." ~Anita Roddick

Edit: Kick ass! I've never seen more than a clip or two of the video for tonight's song, so I'm greatly pleased to find that it's frickin' weird. I love it when a non-existent plan comes together.

Love Letters For Bob

Tonight's blog goes out to Bob and her woes. She's sixteen and wading through all the dire muck that comes with that age. Her heart is in bloom and venturing into the grand world where all the other hearts frolic, fuse, collide, and brutally stab each other. She'll make it through though. She's super smart, and as soon as her heart catches up with what her brain is already figuring out, she'll be invincible until she consciously chooses to be otherwise. Until then, she'll have to endure the crap that young hearts like to drag themselves through on the quest for that happily ever after that is seldom found and more often fleeting.

Rehearsal was interesting tonight. Our Desdemona had another obligation, so a fellow theatre goofball named JJ, Jayjay, Jay-J, ummm, whatever. So, a fellow theatre goofball filled the fair lady's shoes with disturbing effect. I never thought I'd see a Desdemona scratch her nards and pantomime eating something from her nose, but I'm getting used to such oddities in my corner of the universe. I'll just blame the Geeb.

Anyhoo, to further warp our evening, Paxton got pulled aside to work out some lighting details, so Bob threw herself into the role. Can't say I'd follow her into battle, but she certainly put Iago in his place.

There's nothing like a night of gender-swapping to keep everyone in good humor.

We'll definitely have to get Iago to show off some moobies on Wednesday to keep things awkward. I'll send him some cupcakes tomorrow to help him pack a few more pounds into them. He's really not properly overweight to display a worthy set of moobies. It would be an embarrassment.

Well, now that this blog has achieved sufficient weirdness for one evening, I'll move on to the song that began playing just as Bob and I left the theatre tonight. I'd say it's appropriate.

Bonus track! This one played immediately after the song above. I'm placing a wager that the Geeb will not leave this song playing long enough for it to load. Hell, she may not even open it. Maybe she will. Maybe she'll think the Pesh is jacking with her and will post the link to something truly bad ass. Or maybe she won't. Dost thou dare to click?

Wisdom! (The Pesh does not guarantee that the following wisdom comes from saner minds than hers. Apply with caution. Do not get in eyes. If eyes do come in contact with wisdom, remove them with a spoon. It will hurt less.)

"There'll be two dates on your tombstone,
And all your friends will read 'em,
But all that's gonna matter is that little dash between 'em...."
~Kevin Welch

Morbid, yes? ^_^