Read this first.
Wow.
When I first read this article, I thought, "Must be a typo," but I started thinking about it and realized that it has a positive and negative.
Start with the positive:
Congratulations to Ryan Seacrest. You are now being paid 15 million dollars a year just to host a 40 episode show in which you are really on about 22 minutes per hour. So let's do the math:
A two hour show means you're on for 44 minutes.
There are 40 episodes where we'll say 20 are only an hour. So...
20 x 22 = 440 minutes
20 x 44 = 880 minutes
---------------------------
Total screen time: 1,320 minutes
That's 22 hours a season.
You get 15 million dollars a year, which means you make:
681,818.18 per hour of work for the next three years.
That's amazing, considering that before American Idol you were pretty much only known for hosting things like Gladiators 2000 (think American Gladiators for kids...oh the Food Pyramid...sigh).
You are the American dream personified. In a short amount of time, you were in the right place at the right time and were smart enough to capitalize to become rich and famous. You are well on your way to becoming the next Dick Clark, so congratulations on that.
And you work incredibly hard. You're on this show, you have a radio show, and you produce a few things here and there (they aren't Shakespeare, but...whatever).
Now, the negative....
First, re-read the math above.
Where is the money coming from? Are we really giving a man who hosts a giant karaoke show the same amount of money that Tom Brady makes? (And that is a whole 'nother rant.)
Let's just hit the varying levels of this issue.
#1: Is he really the reason why people watch the show? If he was replaced, would the ratings really drop?
I have never really watched the show, but my understanding from those who do is that judges are who people care about, not the host. So what are the judges to be paid?
#2: How do you explain to the auto worker that's been laid off or the teacher who has been cut that there isn't enough money to keep them, but that some guy is getting almost $700,000 an hour to small talk with some people on a panel and comfort a person who has basically been told: you can't sing?
Which leads to another problem: We overvalue athletes and actors and such, and we undervalue the real hard working people. Yes, I'm a teacher, and I do put a portion of my check back in to the classroom. Last year alone I paid out $3,000 of my own money to make sure the kids had books and supplies. That's a good chunk of my yearly salary, folks.
Let me be clear: I'm not whining. I'm not saying, "Hey, poor me that some guy is getting 15 million to host a show, and I get paid considerably less to supposedly prepare the future of America."
But how do I keep arguing that education is SO necessary, when some guy makes more money than a lawyer, a doctor, a scientist, or most people with a PhD. The guy I would give that much money to? Neil Degrasse Tyson. "Who is that," might be your answer, and that would be the problem.
#3: Aren't we in a recession? Aren't we supposed to be hurting for money and everyone is supposed to be tightening their belts? Are we supposed to look at this story and say, "Wow, economy can't be that bad! Look at the money this guy is getting," while smiling?
I just don't understand how so much money can be given to one person. It's like Jim Carrey making $20 million for a film. One person is worth that much? A guy who can hit a ball is worth $25 million? Really?
Have we lost our priorities? Maybe we should just forget about trying to teach people to read and write. Scratch that. We need them to read the teleprompters. Maybe, however, we should just turn our schools into pageant preparation. Teach the students to read, smile, and talk clearly, and then move them into the world.
And that's the true negative of this. While Mr. Seacrest gets money that he probably deserved, the rest of us can only look and think, "Why not us?"
For the me the question is now, "Why am I doing what I'm doing?" We obviously care about money more than anything, right? I mean I can't pay my mortgage with the good work I do for the students.
"Here, Mr. Banker, are the grades my students earned this year. Amazingly good. Is that enough to let me keep my house? Huh?"
Of course what do I know? I get paid pretty well to apparently foist my opinion on children. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sid and Nancy
I grew up with my sister loving this movie, and she used to watch it over and over.
So, there's something about this movie and the people sending it up that just makes it incredibly funny to me.
Namaste.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Late Night Wandering
The other night I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk.
Two water pistols sitting out anticipating being used when the sun returns.
Hue
(Feel free to click on a picture to see it larger.)
Pause
Hue
The colors in the darkness that call out to you.
Gas Station
A bustling beacon.
Silhouette
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Unused Speech 2009
Members of the board, principals, fellow faculty members, and graduates: Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to speak here today. I am incredibly grateful to be allowed to be part of this tremendous moment for the graduates here today.
Let me begin by saying 35,063 hours. That's roughly 2,103,780 minutes. Or, to make it more salient: that's the amount of time the class of 2009 had a high school career.
That may seem like a long time, but when all is said and done... when the lights of your lives begin to dim, this will be but a moment. A flicker in the corner of your eye.
I have always found it fascinating that people will call high school the greatest period of their life.
That is an old, tired, and incorrect platitude, and you all know what a platitude is.... That's right, it's a platypus with an attitude. And if you've never seen that...well...you either weren't in or weren't paying attention in my class.
This will not be the best time of your life. The world is changing in fascinating ways. We have a new president who brings about a feeling of hope for so many. We have instant communication with each other across computers and cell phones.
(Pull out cell phone and check it)
Which means I now get texts from the graduates asking me to speak faster and get to the point. Thanks (fill in the blank).
We have economic uncertainty which can be your worst enemy or your best friend depending on how you approach it.
And yet through all of this, you will have memories, experiences, and moments that will make all of this fade into the back of your mind.
Now, I cannot guarantee there's nothing scary hiding underneath your bed, but I can say that you are not alone on this journey through life. You will always have your teachers here should you need us. Our job has been to prepare you for what lies ahead.
And I know you all heard that a lot over the last four years. Think about it: how many times did you ask, "What's the point of this?"
And how many times did you hear, "To prepare you," or "Because you need to know this," from your teachers?
So I give you one more thing to prepare for.
Regardless of what your teachers have taught you, you must be prepared to be surprised.
The best part of life is not knowing what will come next. It's the thrill of an unexpected and positive surprise. It's the power of overcoming a sudden and negative astonishment. And this is the real reason why your teachers have worked so hard with you: Because the future is never written. There may be no accidents, but there is also no way to know how every piece will play out. Even the best card counter gets surprised.
As you step out of HP and move into the jungle of the real world, I leave you with an explanation of one of my favorite riddles.
My students know this question very well, and they have often asked me to give them the answer, to which I always reply, "Wait until graduation." One student told me she was excited not just to be here to graduate but to also get the answer to the question that has been plaguing her for two years. So...
There's a duck in a bottle (no groaning). You may not break the bottle, and you may not harm or touch the duck. How do you get the duck out of the bottle?
Over the course of my life, I have heard two definitive answers that were backed by zen masters.
Answer #1: Because I am the man who put the duck in the bottle, only I can remove the duck. Thus, the answer is to do nothing.
While this answer makes sense, it also means that we have no real control over the situations of life. This also means that we ignore situations as we truly feel we have no ability to affect the outcome. A very cynical way of looking at things...so let's try #2.
Answer #2: Open the bottle, let the duck out, and close the bottle. I truly like this answer because of its simplicity. We often miss the simple ideas of childhood as we grow older. I can remember when I was in high school and a teacher asked my class, "How do you put a hippo in the refrigerator?" My class immediately launched into planning about changing the dynamics of the icebox, cutting up the hippo, and even inventing a shrink ray. And when he told us the answer of, "Open the door, put the hippo in, and close the door," I was not alone in thinking how I would pelt him with eggs later. Still, he was right. We ignore the simple because we are used to the complex. Rainer Maria Rilke, a writer I quite like said:
"If you will cling to Nature, to the simple in Nature, to the little things that hardly anyone sees, and that can so unexpectedly become big and beyond measuring; if you have this love of inconsiderable things and seek quite simply, as one who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier, more coherent and somehow more conciliatory for you..."
This quote helps illustrate the point of answer #2: The simpleness of things is often right when it isn't drowned in complexity.
However, I believe that there is a third answer. A better answer.
Answer #3: Whatever you would do. This may seem like a cop out on my part, but you have to develop your own answer. I asked a colleague of mine about this the other day.
"What would you do?" I asked.
"I would smash the bottle and free the duck," she exclaimed.
"But that violates the rules," I replied.
"Sometimes a situation calls for breaking the rules," she said. "That's why it's my answer."
She's not wrong. I often tell you that I cannot give you the answer because it is my answer and not yours. As you leave here, go out, and find your ways, you know as well as I do that while teachers, family, and friends will help you, YOU must develop your own answers to life's questions. Someone will not always be there to tell you the answer. If you come across the duck in the bottle, it's up to you to decide what to do. The duck might be as simple as what class to take, or as difficult as what to do with an aged parent. It's your choice to make... no one can make it for you, and you should never want them to.
I am proud to have spent the last four years with you, and I look forward to seeing the great ways that you will take on life head on and bend it to your will. Make your teachers, your families, and yourselves proud with your choices and your definitions. And while some will tell you it isn't, failure is an option, because it is from failure that success will be born. You cannot have one without the other, and it is in those failures that we learn to find our answers. Once again, as Rilke said:
"Live the questions now."
Good luck graduates.
Namaste.
Let me begin by saying 35,063 hours. That's roughly 2,103,780 minutes. Or, to make it more salient: that's the amount of time the class of 2009 had a high school career.
That may seem like a long time, but when all is said and done... when the lights of your lives begin to dim, this will be but a moment. A flicker in the corner of your eye.
I have always found it fascinating that people will call high school the greatest period of their life.
That is an old, tired, and incorrect platitude, and you all know what a platitude is.... That's right, it's a platypus with an attitude. And if you've never seen that...well...you either weren't in or weren't paying attention in my class.
This will not be the best time of your life. The world is changing in fascinating ways. We have a new president who brings about a feeling of hope for so many. We have instant communication with each other across computers and cell phones.
(Pull out cell phone and check it)
Which means I now get texts from the graduates asking me to speak faster and get to the point. Thanks (fill in the blank).
We have economic uncertainty which can be your worst enemy or your best friend depending on how you approach it.
And yet through all of this, you will have memories, experiences, and moments that will make all of this fade into the back of your mind.
Now, I cannot guarantee there's nothing scary hiding underneath your bed, but I can say that you are not alone on this journey through life. You will always have your teachers here should you need us. Our job has been to prepare you for what lies ahead.
And I know you all heard that a lot over the last four years. Think about it: how many times did you ask, "What's the point of this?"
And how many times did you hear, "To prepare you," or "Because you need to know this," from your teachers?
So I give you one more thing to prepare for.
Regardless of what your teachers have taught you, you must be prepared to be surprised.
The best part of life is not knowing what will come next. It's the thrill of an unexpected and positive surprise. It's the power of overcoming a sudden and negative astonishment. And this is the real reason why your teachers have worked so hard with you: Because the future is never written. There may be no accidents, but there is also no way to know how every piece will play out. Even the best card counter gets surprised.
As you step out of HP and move into the jungle of the real world, I leave you with an explanation of one of my favorite riddles.
My students know this question very well, and they have often asked me to give them the answer, to which I always reply, "Wait until graduation." One student told me she was excited not just to be here to graduate but to also get the answer to the question that has been plaguing her for two years. So...
There's a duck in a bottle (no groaning). You may not break the bottle, and you may not harm or touch the duck. How do you get the duck out of the bottle?
Over the course of my life, I have heard two definitive answers that were backed by zen masters.
Answer #1: Because I am the man who put the duck in the bottle, only I can remove the duck. Thus, the answer is to do nothing.
While this answer makes sense, it also means that we have no real control over the situations of life. This also means that we ignore situations as we truly feel we have no ability to affect the outcome. A very cynical way of looking at things...so let's try #2.
Answer #2: Open the bottle, let the duck out, and close the bottle. I truly like this answer because of its simplicity. We often miss the simple ideas of childhood as we grow older. I can remember when I was in high school and a teacher asked my class, "How do you put a hippo in the refrigerator?" My class immediately launched into planning about changing the dynamics of the icebox, cutting up the hippo, and even inventing a shrink ray. And when he told us the answer of, "Open the door, put the hippo in, and close the door," I was not alone in thinking how I would pelt him with eggs later. Still, he was right. We ignore the simple because we are used to the complex. Rainer Maria Rilke, a writer I quite like said:
"If you will cling to Nature, to the simple in Nature, to the little things that hardly anyone sees, and that can so unexpectedly become big and beyond measuring; if you have this love of inconsiderable things and seek quite simply, as one who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier, more coherent and somehow more conciliatory for you..."
This quote helps illustrate the point of answer #2: The simpleness of things is often right when it isn't drowned in complexity.
However, I believe that there is a third answer. A better answer.
Answer #3: Whatever you would do. This may seem like a cop out on my part, but you have to develop your own answer. I asked a colleague of mine about this the other day.
"What would you do?" I asked.
"I would smash the bottle and free the duck," she exclaimed.
"But that violates the rules," I replied.
"Sometimes a situation calls for breaking the rules," she said. "That's why it's my answer."
She's not wrong. I often tell you that I cannot give you the answer because it is my answer and not yours. As you leave here, go out, and find your ways, you know as well as I do that while teachers, family, and friends will help you, YOU must develop your own answers to life's questions. Someone will not always be there to tell you the answer. If you come across the duck in the bottle, it's up to you to decide what to do. The duck might be as simple as what class to take, or as difficult as what to do with an aged parent. It's your choice to make... no one can make it for you, and you should never want them to.
I am proud to have spent the last four years with you, and I look forward to seeing the great ways that you will take on life head on and bend it to your will. Make your teachers, your families, and yourselves proud with your choices and your definitions. And while some will tell you it isn't, failure is an option, because it is from failure that success will be born. You cannot have one without the other, and it is in those failures that we learn to find our answers. Once again, as Rilke said:
"Live the questions now."
Good luck graduates.
Namaste.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Forced Passivity
I discovered another reason why I dislike my jury duty this past Thursday. As my case ran late, my wife asked me to pick up dinner. Her choice: Greek.
So I drove over to the Athens Cafe to pick up a Gyro and veggie platter (both recommended). The cafe is in a strip mall next to a Great Clips and near a Walgreens. It's also near Bill's Gun Shop...but that's neither here nor there. After I parked, I was walking up to the door, when I heard a woman scream, "Hey! Stop! THIEF!"
I looked to my right and here came a young, African-American male running at top speed down the side walk. In his hand was something I couldn't quite see, but it was obvious from the woman screaming and pointing at him that he had not paid for the item.
He was going to run right by me. I could have easily just thrown my weight at him, knocked him down, and stopped him.
But I didn't.
So...he ran right by me and bolted to the steps at the end of the mall and went out of sight. The woman stopped running well before then. I grabbed the door to enter into the Athens Cafe right as she got there. We made eye contact. She didn't say anything, but her look said it all: "You had the opportunity to help, you bastard, and you let him go."
As I sat and waited for my food to be prepared, the reasoning began to become clear. I hadn't stopped the guy because of everything I have seen during jury duty and because of my family.
The family aspect is the easiest. When I was single, it didn't matter to me if something happened. Now, I have people that I am responsible for. Now I have people who depend on me to be there, and I can't let them down.
But the other reason was jury duty and the stories of the crimes. So let's say I stop this guy...who's to say he isn't armed? Who's to say that he doesn't see me coming and just flat out beats the crap out of me? There wasn't anyone else out there other than the woman from Walgreens, and she wasn't going to save me if he went at me.
So I let a crime happen that maybe I could have stopped...and I feel guilty. My wife says I shouldn't as I was under no obligation to help anyone, but that's no consolation.
In the end this will only be a small moment of my life. I just hope it doesn't define me.
So I drove over to the Athens Cafe to pick up a Gyro and veggie platter (both recommended). The cafe is in a strip mall next to a Great Clips and near a Walgreens. It's also near Bill's Gun Shop...but that's neither here nor there. After I parked, I was walking up to the door, when I heard a woman scream, "Hey! Stop! THIEF!"
I looked to my right and here came a young, African-American male running at top speed down the side walk. In his hand was something I couldn't quite see, but it was obvious from the woman screaming and pointing at him that he had not paid for the item.
He was going to run right by me. I could have easily just thrown my weight at him, knocked him down, and stopped him.
But I didn't.
So...he ran right by me and bolted to the steps at the end of the mall and went out of sight. The woman stopped running well before then. I grabbed the door to enter into the Athens Cafe right as she got there. We made eye contact. She didn't say anything, but her look said it all: "You had the opportunity to help, you bastard, and you let him go."
As I sat and waited for my food to be prepared, the reasoning began to become clear. I hadn't stopped the guy because of everything I have seen during jury duty and because of my family.
The family aspect is the easiest. When I was single, it didn't matter to me if something happened. Now, I have people that I am responsible for. Now I have people who depend on me to be there, and I can't let them down.
But the other reason was jury duty and the stories of the crimes. So let's say I stop this guy...who's to say he isn't armed? Who's to say that he doesn't see me coming and just flat out beats the crap out of me? There wasn't anyone else out there other than the woman from Walgreens, and she wasn't going to save me if he went at me.
So I let a crime happen that maybe I could have stopped...and I feel guilty. My wife says I shouldn't as I was under no obligation to help anyone, but that's no consolation.
In the end this will only be a small moment of my life. I just hope it doesn't define me.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Hooked on a Feeling
For three (almost four) months, I have been part of the Hennepin County Grand Jury, and, for lack of a better term, I hate it.I really dislike using strong words to describe my life, but this is a time when I am comfortable with it. I hate being on this jury. The reasons are quite simple.
1. It takes me away from work.
This seems like it would be a good thing. Who doesn't want time away from their colleagues and responsibilities? Well, me. Every time I have to go to a day of jury duty, I have to write a lesson plan, lay out the work, and hope it gets done right. The added issue is that my students are so horrible to my subs, that they have all canceled on me. That's right, every one of my subs will not do any repeats for me. They hate my students that much. Of course the students say it has to do with not getting respect, but that's not the point. It's more work for me not to be there.
2. I'm having a hard time with the cases.
Ok, so at times I come off as being hard as stone. I told a kid the other day that he's not graduating because the work he was trying to turn in was over a month late and I wasn't accepting it anymore. That might be harsh, but some of the cases I've seen have been nasty. Understand, grand jury is homicides, and the lawyers must present their evidence. This means pictures, witnesses, and more. And while I can stomach a lot, there are just some cases that are hard to listen to.
Now, I'm no Twidiot ©(and yes, my term), so I won't be discussing the details of these cases. Hell, I seem to be one of the only members of the jury who doesn't read the local newspaper right now, turns off my cell phone while in the grand jury room, and is unwilling to discuss the cases in the elevator afterwards.
That being said it's difficult to watch and take notes at times.
Let me give you an example. Say there is a case where a man killed his child. He beat the child to death with the kid's favorite toy. The lawyers (and we only see the prosecution) will call in the medical examiner, who will put up pictures of the deceased and walk us through the damages and cause of death. This means seeing pictures of the child's body. This also means a dry voice talking about how a man can use X amount of physical pressure to crush a child's skull.
Next a detective or officer on the case will come in and tell us the police involvement of the case. If there is a witness to the crime, we will hear from that person. Inevitably one or more will cry and need a break.
And every witness will always start the same way. "State your name for the record and spell it," followed by, "What is your educational background for your position?"
It gets tedious, and it is draining to see the horror that we do to each other. Slit throats, killed babies, shooting each other, stabbing each other, running each other over with cars, smashing bottles, etc. It reinforces the idea that we are not intrinsically good.
3. People are not logical in groups.
This one is the hardest for me. I am a passionate person, but I have learned over time how to control my emotions and look at the facts. Over and over again, should you ever do jury duty, the lawyers will remind you that the case is always about the law. Not your feelings, not what your saw on a TV show or media outlet...the law. We are given copies of the law, and it is explained to us. This makes it all the more worse when fellow jurors begin an argument with a phrase that should not be in the jury room:
"I feel...."
When you start a sentence with that phrase, you are no longer objective. Feelings are not objective. If you wish to argue that, Plato, that's fine, but in my experience on this green and blue marble, feelings are always based on subjective ideals.
We are arguing the law. Is this person acting with premeditation as the law describes it? It is not how YOU think premeditation is, but the law. That's the key.
You only need 12 people to agree on a charge. Unlike a petit jury, it's majority rules. If 12 say go, then 11 say no, and the case goes on to a trial. Most of the time, we agree on the charges. I admit that the teacher in me does not allow for us to get off topic. However, I cannot always keep everyone focused... I'm not the foreperson.
Two weeks ago, we argued a murder charge. Three members disagreed with the assessment and hijacked the vote until they could be heard. I think in their minds, they truly had this noble idea of making an impassioned speech, a la Twelve Angry Men and changing our minds. And each of those three used the phrase that has no place in the room.
"I just feel," the first one said, " that this is too much. I mean it COULD have been an accident. Then we're being harsh."
"Look at the law," I responded. "Knowing...or unknowingly. Thus premeditation."
This fell on deaf ears. And in all honesty, I could have cared less how they felt. They were in the minority, but it bothers me that they could not come up with an argument stronger than, "I feel." The group would argue for fifteen more minutes. It was insane.
4. The building is depressing
I swear I see the same people waiting outside the court every week. I know that's impossible, but they always look the same. Everyone looks unhappy, and it is amazing that the offices manage to have so many windows and yet feel and look so dark. Still, you can taste the defeat and sadness that surrounds so many of the people. Armed guards are everywhere, and no one quite seems to have a sense of humor. I watched a little boy play with his mother, and he was able to do this trick with a car that he hadn't ever done before. His face lit up, and his mother was proud. The boy wasn't loud, and wasn't near anyone. Yet, a man at a bench at least thirty feet away yelled, "Hey, not so loud! What you did...no big deal." Thus, the man and the boy's mother began arguing, and the smile was gone from the boy's face. It's just depressing in there. It's not wonder everyone bolts for the outside. It's not for a cigarette; it's for sunshine, warmth, and the return of the feeling of love.
Don't get me wrong, there are some interesting aspects to this.
I've learned a lot about the court system and the need for thoroughness.
I've learned that WAY too many people think that CSI is 100% real. As one M.E. put it: They are so great because the writers know how the case ends already. We don't."
I've learned that courthouse has burned out lights all over that they will not replace. We offered to buy the necessary bulbs and were told no.
I also learned that the sad technology of my classroom is still better understood and taken care of then in the courtrooms there. In one courtroom is a sign that reads, "Ring bell for judge." In front of it is the kind of bell you would find for a bellhop. Forget giant chambers where judges yell at lawyers, this is ring for service justice. As for understanding, most of the time we the jury have to help the lawyers make their powerpoints and videos work.
I've learned that even in a courtroom people will ignore words and concentrate on looks. Maybe this is why the law is ignored....
I serve until mid-June, and I look forward to finishing my civic duty, but I am saddened by the fact that even in real life, people ignore the instructions and think with what THEY think is right instead of the law. It creates problems.
I hope, dear reader, that you are never called to grand jury duty (My wife never has been called for any kind...must change that), but if you are, I hope that your group is interesting and hard working.
Namaste.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Force at the Mound
Via ffffound
Unfortunately for Chewie, Vader doubled to left allowing Boba Fett to score easily. Luckily, Tarkin slowed down and was tagged out at the plate by Solo.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
How to Make the News Better....
Katie Couric sounds amazing when Auto-Tuned....
Enjoy.
So when is DeRusha going to do this? Or Marler weather?
Friday, April 24, 2009
The New Ironic Baby
So I haven't been posting because the new Ironic baby has appeared.Enjoy some pictures of Annaliese.
Born on Monday, April 20 at 2:01 PM (She waited until work was over).
Kid is a total fighter.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Art House Video Games
Ok, so Criterion (Find them here) is probably the preeminent company for DVD collections. What's so great is that the DVD cases are like little pieces of art. Example? Check out this box art for The Seventh Seal. The film is a masterpiece, and the box looks pretty damn cool too. Many collectors know and anticipate what films Criterion will release as well as what it will look like. So this begs the question: What would happen if Criterion did video games?
The answer? Check this out. These are awesome!
The best one, to me, is Grim Fandango. A film noir game, the box art captures the feel of it being like Casablanca but set in the land of the dead during the Day of the Dead.
Look through the site and enjoy.
Namaste.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Sunday, April 05, 2009
And Now...A Word from our Sponsor....
After all the heaviness, it's time for a short break to something more...fun.
Enjoy.
Namaste.
Perils of Student Theatre
Perhaps the hardest kind of theatre that exists is one run completely by students. Over the course of my many years of experience, I have had the fortune...misfortune...experience to work with student-run theatre. For the most part, it can go well, but it is an exercise in what the real theatre experience will be. Sure, these people may seem cool...and they may be your best friends, but under pressure, they will eat you faster than a dingo with a baby.
The first experience I ever had was while I was in high school. However, that one won't count as the school's theatre teacher gave a tremendous amount of help to the point of lending lights, sound equipment, and his time. No, proper student theatre has to have no outside help. So let's jump ahead.
My freshman year of college, the group AST (a helpful acronym that stands for All Student Theatre...oh how clever) put on a production of Macbeth (if you are in a theatre as you read this, say "The Scottish Play...do it for Sir Ian McKellan). Now, I worked on the show as a favor to my then girlfriend who was friends with everyone on the production and would sweet talk me into helping... this leads to...
Lesson one: Never work on a production without knowing all the parameters up front. If you haven't been on the show since day one, and they call you fix problems, it's going to be more taxing than you can imagine. These people take all their huge problems and dump it on the consultant. Then, if it doesn't work, it's your fault. Make sure you have an escape...just in case.
I'm in bed when the phone rings at midnight. Doesn't sound too bad, but I had been asleep since nine as I had a horrible cold. It's the show's lighting designer, and he needs my help. His name is Adam, and he's one of those guys who's always sure he's right. If he was on fire (important later), and he didn't think he was, he would burn to death to prove that you were wrong. Seriously.
"Buddy, I need you."
Ok, let me be clear here: I really dislike when people use terms of endearment that are fake. Chief, buddy, dude, brother, etc. Either use my name or tell me how you really feel. I have a colleague who calls me, "Buddy," and it makes me mad because she used to do it when she forgot my name.
"What do you need, Adam?" I reply coughing into the phone loudly. It's at this point I realize that I will need to wash out the puke bucket...but that's neither here nor there.
"I'm really stuck, Chief. Can you come down here and help me focus?"
"Where's your crew?" I ask, and try to start counting how many times the room has spun on me... 14.
"Left me in the lurch, Bro. Can you get down here and help me. I know it's what (My Ex's name) would want."
This is an unfair move...however, it is lesson two:
Lesson two: If you are desperate for help, blackmail, blackmail, blackmail. Use whatever resource you have. I once got a friend of mine to withhold sex to her boyfriend until he came and helped me. Cruel? Hell yeah. Necessary? Most definitely.
On the flipside, however, be prepared for it. If someone attempts to use your significant other, then you bargain using his or hers. And always collect favors in writing or recording. Seriously. I used to do it all the time, and I still have a stack of I.O.U's that I am using to get people to help me now.
I sighed into the phone. "Fine, Adam. I help you, and you owe me. No questions."
This is how you tell how desperate a person is. If they REALLY need you, then the no question bit is washed over. If they don't, then they will argue it.
"Just get down here. I need help. We'll talk details later."
I get down there to a version of Lighting Hell. A combination of late delivery, rain, and lack of man power has the show a full day behind. Adam is really desperate...and I can use that.
Ok, if you are doing a production and cannot get lights from a university, college, or local school, you will have to rent. Now, this is where you need to be nice to the school's (or space's) Tech Director. Get a name and number of who he/she would use. Make sure to mention how much money you have...less $500. Seriously. I watched a kid make this mistake my senior year of college. She pissed off the TD by talking to him like he was a kid (not a good idea with Rick), and then gave him the exact budget. He gave her the number of a guy that I knew jacked prices. She ended up paying $300 out of pocket. I would have said something, but she insulted me too, so I decided to let it go. Too bad for her.
Adam had gone to a guy that everyone knew was reliable 50% of the time. Sometimes he showed up with the lights, dimmer, and cables....Sometimes he didn't show or showed with only some of the equipment. On this night, he showed, but the guy wouldn't bring the equipment up from the bottom of the steps, and this was why Adam was panicking. The students had all ditched the set when it started raining, so Adam was left with himself, me, and one actor who was too drunk to know any better.
Lesson three: When desperate, you can take any warm body and use them, but be careful who you are taking as they may be:
Drunk
High
Stupid
Wrathful
Idiotic
Better than you
The actor, we'll call him Terry, was incredibly drunk. This was a given for most AST productions as the sets were outdoors in April, so staying warm was very hard. Many people drank or had sex to be warm. The sex was why I never wanted to clean the set...ever. Too many...well...you get the idea.
Anyway, Terry was wasted, and here was Adam asking him to carry a box of lights up the steps of the building so we could begin hanging in the rain. The very idea was insane, but I'd done worse.
Halfway up the steps, Terry started getting woozy and losing his balance.
Have you ever seen the scene in The Untouchables where the baby in the carriage rolls down the stairs? No? Ok, here. Yes, it's a rip-off of the scene from Battleship Potemkin..but..uh...ssshhhh.
So Terry is starting to fall, and he lets go of the box with the very expensive Source Four Revolutions in them. As the box starts to slip from his fingers, everything slows down. Adam begins to dive to save the box, while I just stare. Had it been my show, I might have cared more, but because I was doing a favor...meh.
Adam gets his fingers on the box, and it still gets away. So several thousand dollars worth of equipment goes spinning down the steps as Terry pukes on himself and Adam screams.
Lesson four: A great deal of student theatre is luck. So many things will go wrong that it will make your head spin. Actors will be idiotic, techies will be frustrating, and anything that can truly go wrong without incredibly meticulous planning will go wrong. However, occasionally something will spin your way.
For Adam, this was his lucky moment. Even though the box had plunged down all those steps, nothing was damaged. So, even though I was still dizzy, I helped Adam haul the box up while Terry continued to puke on himself while saying, "Aww...dude...(Hoorrk)...dude...no...," over and over.
As you'll recall from rule one, always have an out. When Adam began talking about working until the sun came up (and again, it was pouring rain), I pulled my out. "You get a little longer, but I have an exam tomorrow, and I need to both sleep and study. School first." A flimsy excuse, but enough of one. This was also because I knew he was going to try and get me to go up on the scaffolding.
Now, here's a helpful tip. Not a rule per say, but something to remember: fatigue + rain + heavy equipment + electricity = VERY, VERY bad idea. I knew Adam was going to ask me to go up and hang the lights on the three story tall scaffolding...and there was no way I was going up in the horizontal rain with several pounds of lights attached. That's just asking God, or Fate, or Time, or Space to throw you around. Years later I would be in Adam's position and almost kill myself leaping around the scaffolding, but on this night I wasn't stupid...or designing.
So after setting up some pipes, running some cable, and hanging a few lights, I was done. "I need sleep, Adam. I'm going home."
"Thanks, Chief," he said and my spine shivered. "I'll call you later to come back." This was not said as a question of if, but that I WOULD come back.
"We'll see. Bye."
A few days passed, and Adam got everything ready. The night the show opened, however, Adam would cause another problem.
During "The Scottish Play", there is a scene where three murderers appear and kill Banquo. The director decided that the lighting would mimic moonlight and that the actors would carry torches. Great...except the murderers were supposed to snuff the torches in order to symbolize Banquo's death (which everyone was seeing anyway...but I digress).
So Murderer #3 grabs the torch and tries to snuff it out with his cape...which hadn't been sprayed with fire retardant...and it catches on fire.
Being the techie that I am, and being that I am in the audience, I stand up immediately and go to put the guy out. Adam, who is also the stage manager and tech director for the show stops me (again, it's student theatre, so everyone has multiple positions. Being the lighting designer also means he knows the cues already).
"Don't touch him!" he shouts at me. "He can put it out himself."
The spreading flames say otherwise.
"Get out of the way," I say to Adam, and head backstage where I know the fire extinguisher is. (The guy they rented the lights from includes it with all of his rentals...isn't that a bad sign?) Adam keeps saying, "He doesn't need you to put him out."
At this point I don't care. I grab the extinguisher, run back out, and spray Murderer #3 down. He was grateful as the flames were actually starting to burn him.
Now this was not that bad. Sure, an actor was burned, but nothing crashed.
On a later production of City of Angels, the tech director didn't double check to make sure the flats were lashed. So, the play is rolling along, and they hit the big number: You're Nothing Without Me. Stine and Stone begin the song...and the flat behind Stine literally snaps and crushes him. Sadly it was the only time the audience enjoyed the show.
This leads to...
Lesson five: anything that can go wrong...will...and it will have fallout.
Yes, your show was a success...good for you. However, there was an immense amount of drama (no pun intended) leading up to your awesome opening.
Over the course of the years that I did student theatre, I had:
Directors at war with each other
Drunk or high crew members
Drunk, high, or horny actors
Angry weather gods
Annoyingly interested security and peace officers
Homeless folks trying to use the set as a home or urinal
And of all of those, the worst was always weather. If you can avoid doing it outside, you'll be much happier. During a very frustrating production of Much Ado About Nothing, I had to setup scaffolding and hang lights all in the quad. Ok, the first problem was that I had one helper, and while Donger (yes, like ding-dong...with er at the end) was a great help, he was also hyper-competitive. "Hey dude," he would always start with. "I bet I can carry two lights up to the top of the scaffolding faster than you AND get them hooked up first. Ready? Go!" Then he would run as fast as he could, grab the lights and sprint up the side of scaffolding. Was it helpful? At times, but not when he slammed some of the lights into the metal bars and caused damage.
So it was pretty much me. It was a rainy April when this show was being setup. It was also cold and windy. This meant that the three stories tall scaffolding would sway while I was on it.
Anyone who knows me as a professional in theatre knows that I am basically a monkey. I will hang off pipes, swing around with ladders, and basically throw my body across pipes and walls if it means getting the job done. This includes flying around and cheating death and injury while on unsecured (very much unbeknownst to me) scaffolding. Now, in case you are unaware, metal and water don't necessarily mix well. If you add heights then it's a recipe for disaster.
There I was on top of the scaffolding singing the Marriage of Figaro at the top of my lungs, when I slipped for the first time. The light was secure, and I had my trusty (no longer mine) crescent wrench tied to my wrist so it wouldn't hurt anyone or force me to go after it, but I slipped and had to grab on to the metal plank to not go anywhere.
In hindsight, this should have been my first inkling that this was a warning from God or Fate or Time or Space or the Theatre Gods or whatever runs this strange land we all inhabit. I would continue to work and would make an almost fatal mistake. With all the lights finally attached, I began to wire and focus. One light was extended out (it was a special for Beatrice), so I, being the macho idiot I once was, leaped over the scaffolding to swing into position to focus the light. It wasn't done to impress a lady, it wasn't done to cheat death, nor was it done to prove a point. I did it because I started leaping over the side during my Sophomore year. Never had a problem, until that moment.
Again, rain makes metal wet. Metal is then hard for skin to purchase on. Add heights and you begin to see the problem. My hand grabbed for the metal bar and slipped right off...while I was three stories up. I began to fall.
My first thought was, "Fuck. Who's going to feed my cats?" Why? Couldn't tell you.
So I reached out again with my hands and feet and managed to pull myself in with my leg. It didn't break, but it caught me, I hit my back on the scaffolding, and my shin caught me in place by letting a pin that was holding the scaffolding together enter in. It was excruciating and embarrassing, but it wasn't the worst part. I would survive, patch up the leg (though I still have the scar to this day), and finish the job. I'd even keep singing.
And as soon as I finished, lesson five kicked in.
I had asked the crew to secure the scaffolding to the ground using ropes and stakes. We couldn't do anything to the brick of the quad as that might...you know...be permanent damage. So they were supposed to stake down one side and tie the other to a tree. One was done (the tree). That afternoon, several guys were playing football, and they somehow got too close to our scaffolding tie down and a bunch of them hit the rope. This forced the scaffolding to tip back. Add in a gust of wind and now a bunch of extra weight in the form of the lights and the structure begins to tip over. I was there when this occurred. It is the only time in my life where I loudly asked God or the universe or Murray, the little old man who lives in the Sun, to "HELP ME!!!"
Yes, I ran up to the scaffolding and started trying to pull it back. There was a rope still attached from when we raised it, and I grabbed it and leaned back...to no avail. The whole structure went over. For a few moments, I just looked at the desolation of the fallen metal. Nothing of the structure had broken, but two lights had...which was costly. This would be the last time the director of the show and I would actually speak as he was supposed to tie down the other line...but had forgotten because the actress playing Beatrice was wooing him.
In the end, I'm not against student theatre. Far from it. It's a wonderful experience.
Just remember:
1. Never work on a production without knowing all the parameters up front.
2. If you are desperate for help, blackmail, blackmail, blackmail.
3. When desperate, you can take any warm body and use them, but be careful who you are taking.
4. A great deal of student theatre is luck.
5. Anything that can go wrong...will...and it will have fallout.
Of course, there's one more rule to remember. It's not a hard and fast rule, but as a techie, I highly recommend it.
6. Never date any of the actors or directors involved with the production. Oh my, this is a sure fire way to end your relationship.
Of course what do I know? I did four years of it and didn't die. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
The first experience I ever had was while I was in high school. However, that one won't count as the school's theatre teacher gave a tremendous amount of help to the point of lending lights, sound equipment, and his time. No, proper student theatre has to have no outside help. So let's jump ahead.
My freshman year of college, the group AST (a helpful acronym that stands for All Student Theatre...oh how clever) put on a production of Macbeth (if you are in a theatre as you read this, say "The Scottish Play...do it for Sir Ian McKellan). Now, I worked on the show as a favor to my then girlfriend who was friends with everyone on the production and would sweet talk me into helping... this leads to...
Lesson one: Never work on a production without knowing all the parameters up front. If you haven't been on the show since day one, and they call you fix problems, it's going to be more taxing than you can imagine. These people take all their huge problems and dump it on the consultant. Then, if it doesn't work, it's your fault. Make sure you have an escape...just in case.
I'm in bed when the phone rings at midnight. Doesn't sound too bad, but I had been asleep since nine as I had a horrible cold. It's the show's lighting designer, and he needs my help. His name is Adam, and he's one of those guys who's always sure he's right. If he was on fire (important later), and he didn't think he was, he would burn to death to prove that you were wrong. Seriously.
"Buddy, I need you."
Ok, let me be clear here: I really dislike when people use terms of endearment that are fake. Chief, buddy, dude, brother, etc. Either use my name or tell me how you really feel. I have a colleague who calls me, "Buddy," and it makes me mad because she used to do it when she forgot my name.
"What do you need, Adam?" I reply coughing into the phone loudly. It's at this point I realize that I will need to wash out the puke bucket...but that's neither here nor there.
"I'm really stuck, Chief. Can you come down here and help me focus?"
"Where's your crew?" I ask, and try to start counting how many times the room has spun on me... 14.
"Left me in the lurch, Bro. Can you get down here and help me. I know it's what (My Ex's name) would want."
This is an unfair move...however, it is lesson two:
Lesson two: If you are desperate for help, blackmail, blackmail, blackmail. Use whatever resource you have. I once got a friend of mine to withhold sex to her boyfriend until he came and helped me. Cruel? Hell yeah. Necessary? Most definitely.
On the flipside, however, be prepared for it. If someone attempts to use your significant other, then you bargain using his or hers. And always collect favors in writing or recording. Seriously. I used to do it all the time, and I still have a stack of I.O.U's that I am using to get people to help me now.
I sighed into the phone. "Fine, Adam. I help you, and you owe me. No questions."
This is how you tell how desperate a person is. If they REALLY need you, then the no question bit is washed over. If they don't, then they will argue it.
"Just get down here. I need help. We'll talk details later."
I get down there to a version of Lighting Hell. A combination of late delivery, rain, and lack of man power has the show a full day behind. Adam is really desperate...and I can use that.
Ok, if you are doing a production and cannot get lights from a university, college, or local school, you will have to rent. Now, this is where you need to be nice to the school's (or space's) Tech Director. Get a name and number of who he/she would use. Make sure to mention how much money you have...less $500. Seriously. I watched a kid make this mistake my senior year of college. She pissed off the TD by talking to him like he was a kid (not a good idea with Rick), and then gave him the exact budget. He gave her the number of a guy that I knew jacked prices. She ended up paying $300 out of pocket. I would have said something, but she insulted me too, so I decided to let it go. Too bad for her.
Adam had gone to a guy that everyone knew was reliable 50% of the time. Sometimes he showed up with the lights, dimmer, and cables....Sometimes he didn't show or showed with only some of the equipment. On this night, he showed, but the guy wouldn't bring the equipment up from the bottom of the steps, and this was why Adam was panicking. The students had all ditched the set when it started raining, so Adam was left with himself, me, and one actor who was too drunk to know any better.
Lesson three: When desperate, you can take any warm body and use them, but be careful who you are taking as they may be:
Drunk
High
Stupid
Wrathful
Idiotic
Better than you
The actor, we'll call him Terry, was incredibly drunk. This was a given for most AST productions as the sets were outdoors in April, so staying warm was very hard. Many people drank or had sex to be warm. The sex was why I never wanted to clean the set...ever. Too many...well...you get the idea.
Anyway, Terry was wasted, and here was Adam asking him to carry a box of lights up the steps of the building so we could begin hanging in the rain. The very idea was insane, but I'd done worse.
Halfway up the steps, Terry started getting woozy and losing his balance.
Have you ever seen the scene in The Untouchables where the baby in the carriage rolls down the stairs? No? Ok, here. Yes, it's a rip-off of the scene from Battleship Potemkin..but..uh...ssshhhh.
So Terry is starting to fall, and he lets go of the box with the very expensive Source Four Revolutions in them. As the box starts to slip from his fingers, everything slows down. Adam begins to dive to save the box, while I just stare. Had it been my show, I might have cared more, but because I was doing a favor...meh.
Adam gets his fingers on the box, and it still gets away. So several thousand dollars worth of equipment goes spinning down the steps as Terry pukes on himself and Adam screams.
Lesson four: A great deal of student theatre is luck. So many things will go wrong that it will make your head spin. Actors will be idiotic, techies will be frustrating, and anything that can truly go wrong without incredibly meticulous planning will go wrong. However, occasionally something will spin your way.
For Adam, this was his lucky moment. Even though the box had plunged down all those steps, nothing was damaged. So, even though I was still dizzy, I helped Adam haul the box up while Terry continued to puke on himself while saying, "Aww...dude...(Hoorrk)...dude...no...," over and over.
As you'll recall from rule one, always have an out. When Adam began talking about working until the sun came up (and again, it was pouring rain), I pulled my out. "You get a little longer, but I have an exam tomorrow, and I need to both sleep and study. School first." A flimsy excuse, but enough of one. This was also because I knew he was going to try and get me to go up on the scaffolding.
Now, here's a helpful tip. Not a rule per say, but something to remember: fatigue + rain + heavy equipment + electricity = VERY, VERY bad idea. I knew Adam was going to ask me to go up and hang the lights on the three story tall scaffolding...and there was no way I was going up in the horizontal rain with several pounds of lights attached. That's just asking God, or Fate, or Time, or Space to throw you around. Years later I would be in Adam's position and almost kill myself leaping around the scaffolding, but on this night I wasn't stupid...or designing.
So after setting up some pipes, running some cable, and hanging a few lights, I was done. "I need sleep, Adam. I'm going home."
"Thanks, Chief," he said and my spine shivered. "I'll call you later to come back." This was not said as a question of if, but that I WOULD come back.
"We'll see. Bye."
A few days passed, and Adam got everything ready. The night the show opened, however, Adam would cause another problem.
During "The Scottish Play", there is a scene where three murderers appear and kill Banquo. The director decided that the lighting would mimic moonlight and that the actors would carry torches. Great...except the murderers were supposed to snuff the torches in order to symbolize Banquo's death (which everyone was seeing anyway...but I digress).
So Murderer #3 grabs the torch and tries to snuff it out with his cape...which hadn't been sprayed with fire retardant...and it catches on fire.
Being the techie that I am, and being that I am in the audience, I stand up immediately and go to put the guy out. Adam, who is also the stage manager and tech director for the show stops me (again, it's student theatre, so everyone has multiple positions. Being the lighting designer also means he knows the cues already).
"Don't touch him!" he shouts at me. "He can put it out himself."
The spreading flames say otherwise.
"Get out of the way," I say to Adam, and head backstage where I know the fire extinguisher is. (The guy they rented the lights from includes it with all of his rentals...isn't that a bad sign?) Adam keeps saying, "He doesn't need you to put him out."
At this point I don't care. I grab the extinguisher, run back out, and spray Murderer #3 down. He was grateful as the flames were actually starting to burn him.
Now this was not that bad. Sure, an actor was burned, but nothing crashed.
On a later production of City of Angels, the tech director didn't double check to make sure the flats were lashed. So, the play is rolling along, and they hit the big number: You're Nothing Without Me. Stine and Stone begin the song...and the flat behind Stine literally snaps and crushes him. Sadly it was the only time the audience enjoyed the show.
This leads to...
Lesson five: anything that can go wrong...will...and it will have fallout.
Yes, your show was a success...good for you. However, there was an immense amount of drama (no pun intended) leading up to your awesome opening.
Over the course of the years that I did student theatre, I had:
Directors at war with each other
Drunk or high crew members
Drunk, high, or horny actors
Angry weather gods
Annoyingly interested security and peace officers
Homeless folks trying to use the set as a home or urinal
And of all of those, the worst was always weather. If you can avoid doing it outside, you'll be much happier. During a very frustrating production of Much Ado About Nothing, I had to setup scaffolding and hang lights all in the quad. Ok, the first problem was that I had one helper, and while Donger (yes, like ding-dong...with er at the end) was a great help, he was also hyper-competitive. "Hey dude," he would always start with. "I bet I can carry two lights up to the top of the scaffolding faster than you AND get them hooked up first. Ready? Go!" Then he would run as fast as he could, grab the lights and sprint up the side of scaffolding. Was it helpful? At times, but not when he slammed some of the lights into the metal bars and caused damage.
So it was pretty much me. It was a rainy April when this show was being setup. It was also cold and windy. This meant that the three stories tall scaffolding would sway while I was on it.
Anyone who knows me as a professional in theatre knows that I am basically a monkey. I will hang off pipes, swing around with ladders, and basically throw my body across pipes and walls if it means getting the job done. This includes flying around and cheating death and injury while on unsecured (very much unbeknownst to me) scaffolding. Now, in case you are unaware, metal and water don't necessarily mix well. If you add heights then it's a recipe for disaster.
There I was on top of the scaffolding singing the Marriage of Figaro at the top of my lungs, when I slipped for the first time. The light was secure, and I had my trusty (no longer mine) crescent wrench tied to my wrist so it wouldn't hurt anyone or force me to go after it, but I slipped and had to grab on to the metal plank to not go anywhere.
In hindsight, this should have been my first inkling that this was a warning from God or Fate or Time or Space or the Theatre Gods or whatever runs this strange land we all inhabit. I would continue to work and would make an almost fatal mistake. With all the lights finally attached, I began to wire and focus. One light was extended out (it was a special for Beatrice), so I, being the macho idiot I once was, leaped over the scaffolding to swing into position to focus the light. It wasn't done to impress a lady, it wasn't done to cheat death, nor was it done to prove a point. I did it because I started leaping over the side during my Sophomore year. Never had a problem, until that moment.
Again, rain makes metal wet. Metal is then hard for skin to purchase on. Add heights and you begin to see the problem. My hand grabbed for the metal bar and slipped right off...while I was three stories up. I began to fall.
My first thought was, "Fuck. Who's going to feed my cats?" Why? Couldn't tell you.
So I reached out again with my hands and feet and managed to pull myself in with my leg. It didn't break, but it caught me, I hit my back on the scaffolding, and my shin caught me in place by letting a pin that was holding the scaffolding together enter in. It was excruciating and embarrassing, but it wasn't the worst part. I would survive, patch up the leg (though I still have the scar to this day), and finish the job. I'd even keep singing.
And as soon as I finished, lesson five kicked in.
I had asked the crew to secure the scaffolding to the ground using ropes and stakes. We couldn't do anything to the brick of the quad as that might...you know...be permanent damage. So they were supposed to stake down one side and tie the other to a tree. One was done (the tree). That afternoon, several guys were playing football, and they somehow got too close to our scaffolding tie down and a bunch of them hit the rope. This forced the scaffolding to tip back. Add in a gust of wind and now a bunch of extra weight in the form of the lights and the structure begins to tip over. I was there when this occurred. It is the only time in my life where I loudly asked God or the universe or Murray, the little old man who lives in the Sun, to "HELP ME!!!"
Yes, I ran up to the scaffolding and started trying to pull it back. There was a rope still attached from when we raised it, and I grabbed it and leaned back...to no avail. The whole structure went over. For a few moments, I just looked at the desolation of the fallen metal. Nothing of the structure had broken, but two lights had...which was costly. This would be the last time the director of the show and I would actually speak as he was supposed to tie down the other line...but had forgotten because the actress playing Beatrice was wooing him.
In the end, I'm not against student theatre. Far from it. It's a wonderful experience.
Just remember:
1. Never work on a production without knowing all the parameters up front.
2. If you are desperate for help, blackmail, blackmail, blackmail.
3. When desperate, you can take any warm body and use them, but be careful who you are taking.
4. A great deal of student theatre is luck.
5. Anything that can go wrong...will...and it will have fallout.
Of course, there's one more rule to remember. It's not a hard and fast rule, but as a techie, I highly recommend it.
6. Never date any of the actors or directors involved with the production. Oh my, this is a sure fire way to end your relationship.
Of course what do I know? I did four years of it and didn't die. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Choose Your Own Zombie
Remember those old Choose Your Own Adventure books?Well, here's a movie where you get to help a group of people survive a zombie horde.
That's right: Interactive Movie.
So click on the link and enjoy.
http://survivetheoutbreak.com/
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Director...or Neurotic
Your result for The Director Who Films Your Life Test...
Woody Allen
Your film will be 64% romantic, 39% comedy, 22% complex plot, and a $ 27 million budget.
Be prepared to have your life story shot entirely in New York City -- though lately Woody's been loving shooting in London. Also, your music soundtrack is all jazz from before 1949. Filmography: Annie Hall, Manhattan, Stardust Memories, Everyone Says I Love You, Match Point, Scoop, etc. Woody has released one film per year consistently for the past 35 years. For the past 15 years he's been trying to make films like his older, funnier ones, just like characters in his Stardust Memories film suggest throughout. Scarlett Johansson will star.
Take The Director Who Films Your Life Test at HelloQuizzy
I have...no response to this. It's...uh...yeah.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Words are Loaded Pistols
"Man is fully responsible for his nature and his choices. "He was right.
"I confused things with their names: that is belief."
It is other people.
"It is only in our decisions that we are important."
Namaste.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Jury's Prudent
I have jury duty.To clarify, I have grand jury duty.
A few weeks ago I received my summons for jury duty. This is the third time in my life I will have appeared at a court house for jury duty. Unfortunately, this will be the first time I will actually have to sit.
The first time was after I left the east coast and headed to St. Louis. I was called back even though I was in college. I explained to the judge that I was in school in St. Louis and no longer lived on the east coast. Done. I was excused.
The second time was while I was in college. I was called to jury duty in St. Louis. This was a little more difficult to get out of. It was a petit jury so we could be dismissed, which was the idea. I was working a show and didn't want to lose the time to my civic duty. So I called my mother and asked what to do.
"It's simple," she explained. "Be extreme in your answers. Don't lie, but make it clear that whatever they ask is something you're passionate about. You don't like drunk drivers, be vehement."
My girlfriend at the time tried to add her two cents as well. "Show them how smart you are. No one wants a smart juror. They want a juror that can easily be swayed."
I went to the courthouse and sat. Thankfully, I brought my homework with me, but my fellow jurors were annoyed with me as I took up a good chunk of floor to do my light plot drafting. Soon I was called in and asked my opinion on defrauding people.
"Have you ever taken a person's money?" I was asked.
"No, sir," I replied. "That would be horribly wrong. Any person who does that was obviously never loved by their mother." That was my version of extreme. What I liked was that the defense attorney's head cocked over like a puppy's. He almost couldn't believe that the man sitting before him would say those words.
I was almost immediately dismissed.
Now this third time is different. The state of Minnesota is quite unique. They convene a grand jury every Thursday and ask its members to sit for four months. The jury consists of 23 people, one foreperson, two associate forepeople, and eight alternates. They need at least sixteen people to vote, so the twenty three is just in case someone cannot make it due to dire circumstances. And unlike other states, you cannot get dismissed from doing your duty...not without a doctor's note that covers the whole period. Taking a business trip? Go ahead, see you in a week. I was unaware of this when I got called. Again, a petit jury is where they have a jury of twelve people who decide if the defendant is guilty or not guilty. That was NOT what I was being called to. No, the Hennepin County Grand Jury is to decide if there is enough evidence to send a case to trial. There is no excusing. It's also all homicides. "Prepare for blood," we were told.
When the summons came, I immediately thought of my mother: extremes. Get out of it.
I filled out the questionnaire that came with it. I had never had to fill out a survey for jury duty before. It asked questions about my educational background, my job, and my spouse. It was strange.
As the date drew closer, I even tried to be positive. It's a day off, I told myself, you can take grading and get ahead. Might meet some interesting people too. Not even close.
I arrived early and took my seat outside the courtroom. The clerk came and took our names like an attendance sheet (Yes, I looked at it like a teacher). Once we were all checked in, we were given binders with instructions and took a seat in the courtroom.
After a quick introduction, the clerk said there would be one piece of business. "We need to get a foreperson, so I will read three names at random and take those people to meet with the judge." She read the names. I was second. Off to the upper floors to meet the judge.
Here's the catch, however. The names weren't random. When I checked in, I was able to read the list the clerk had. It was not in alphabetical order. At the top were three names (mine was second) that had stars next to them. These three names were the ones she read. As I went upstairs with the two other people, we began introducing ourselves to each other and discussing our backgrounds. Turned out all three of us had Masters degrees or higher, did jobs that required working with groups of people, and had put all of that on the questionnaire. There was nothing random about this. The judge interviewed all three of us and asked if we could handle a group, had any reservations, etc. In the end, I became an associate foreperson. This was due to my asking a question during the interview. This meant I had to be the foreperson if something happened to the woman chosen for the task. No way out now.
After being sworn in, we went to the grand jury room where we met the prosecutor and had the whole thing explained out. No longer would we be addressed by our names. No we would be numbers. We were also told to not read the newspaper or watch the news (Sorry, Keith) as this could sway our opinions.
What struck me, however, was not that we had these rules. I understand that. No, what got me was a few things that the clerk said to us.
1. 'The building," she explained, "does not have Wi-Fi. We still use dial-up."
Someone asked, "Do you mean you just plug in?"
"No," she replied, "I mean dial-up. It's slow. That's why justice takes so long around here."
2. Juror pay is ten dollars for the day. Not per hour, per day. Ten dollars won't even cover the cost of parking down in Minneapolis all day, but that's neither here nor there. Still, it makes sense, then, why so many people want to get out of jury duty. In this economy, who can afford to lose 1/5 if their paycheck? You want to do your civic duty, but that's a great deal of money to give up.
3. The building, it was explained to us, shuts down on Wednesdays as a cost saving measure. This means that the office won't be open for questions, problems, or explanations. Ok, so there's no justice on Wednesdays. So that's going to make it easier for everyone and makes sense? Really? Ok then.
This will be an interesting experience. I will talk about what I can (outside of the cases), but Thursday will be the first day and the first problem: Parent/Teacher conferences are this Thursday, and I am expected to be at jury duty. So..sorry parents. I can't talk to you about your failing child, because I'm going to be looking at whether a guy shot his baby in the face by accident or maliciously (not a real case...not contempt of court here).
Of course what do I know? I'm just the schmuck who may send you off to a trial. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Being Dr. John (Right Place, Wrong Time)
A former student of mine told me today that she has a job. Halfway through her first year in college and the department head has taken a shine to her. Luck of the draw...or being in the right place at the right time. For me, however, my career in theatre started by being in the right place at the wrong time.
Dream fingers....
I started out college as a Psychology major. The plan was to become a psychologist and help people. I'll just say that my family helped me make that decision. However, my first class I was placed in was a seminar class for freshmen that was an English/Theatre hybrid. I was the only "Techie" in the class. This was evident by the actor nature of the other students.
Actors are a different bunch. There's a great line from Mel Brooks' The Producers where Max is talking about actors with Leo. The accountant says, "Actors are not animals! They're human beings!" to which Max replies, "They are? You ever eaten with one?"
It's a great line...and it's true. Actors are a very different breed. They hold themselves differently, they talk differently, and they move differently. In all my years with actors, this has always been true. Seriously, just have a meal with a few...it's an experience.
So here I am sitting in a room with a bunch of actor-wannabes (many with inflated egos) when the head of the tech department walks in.
"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "Does anyone here have any experience stage managing."
Now, had I been smart, I would have said nothing. However, my brain was not as...sharp...as it is now.
Being that I was in the right place (but it must have been the wrong time) I raised my hand, and said, "I did stage management in high school."
This was not a lie. While I was in high school, I had run some shows, but not in the manner that they wanted. They wanted a guy who had run auditions, planned production meetings, and run tight shows. I had done mostly some of that, but not all, and my school did not have a strong theatre program. It was one guy who pretty much had lost his mind in the 70's.
Still, I raised my hand and said it was me. And I was whisked away faster than the President after someone yells," GUN!" She took me to the basement of building, which, look a good tech setup was dark, warm, and smelled like burning flesh and dust. The room I went to would be the tech head's office. It was a small cubicle at the back of the costume shop. You couldn't see the wall, because it was covered in drawings, and besides a too old computer, there was an old coffee pot that was green with mold. To this day, I shudder to think of how she could drink coffee out of it. I never saw her make any, and I never saw her drink any.
"So," she says, "We're doing The Importance of Being Earnest. We have a brand new director and no stage manager. Auditions are tomorrow. Can you make a meeting this afternoon."
The shock of the fact that I had my first college job was sinking in. I had only been in classes for ten minutes when I was working on my first show. To make matters worse, my brain would stop spinning for a minute for me to hear the tech director say:
"...And they may not listen to you. I mean...after all...we've NEVER had a freshman stage manager do the first show. That being said, you can't get overwhelmed or you'll be killed. Either by Shanna or Rick."
Shanna was the director. She had graduated from Wash U, but returned to direct as a favor. She was actually very calm about the situation. She had four weeks to get the show ready. Rick, however, would hate me from the moment I stepped into the first production meeting. He sat down, looked around the room, and zeroed in on me. "Are you a freshman? Is this guy a fucking freshman," he would ask, then he would laugh. "We're fucked," he finished. This was his supreme confidence in my ability after knowing me for twenty seconds.
He and I would have a contemptuous relationship for the next four years.
The show went well. We were fortunate to have a good cast, and an able crew. Because I could actually run the show, the department decided to consider letting freshmen take more important positions earlier. In fact, of the the eight shows put on that year, six had freshman stage managers.
And because I had taken a position so early, I was able to turn that into thirty-two productions (not including films) before I left college.
All because I was in the right place at the wrong time.
So the moral here is simple:
If opportunity is knocking, open the door. Even if you feel tremendous fear, open that door.
And do whatever you can to look good. If they need a person to work lighting, and you have put a light up on the pipe and plugged it in...go..show them. Learn. Never stop learning.
Of course what do I know? I'm the guy who licked a live wire. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Dream fingers....
I started out college as a Psychology major. The plan was to become a psychologist and help people. I'll just say that my family helped me make that decision. However, my first class I was placed in was a seminar class for freshmen that was an English/Theatre hybrid. I was the only "Techie" in the class. This was evident by the actor nature of the other students.
Actors are a different bunch. There's a great line from Mel Brooks' The Producers where Max is talking about actors with Leo. The accountant says, "Actors are not animals! They're human beings!" to which Max replies, "They are? You ever eaten with one?"
It's a great line...and it's true. Actors are a very different breed. They hold themselves differently, they talk differently, and they move differently. In all my years with actors, this has always been true. Seriously, just have a meal with a few...it's an experience.
So here I am sitting in a room with a bunch of actor-wannabes (many with inflated egos) when the head of the tech department walks in.
"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "Does anyone here have any experience stage managing."
Now, had I been smart, I would have said nothing. However, my brain was not as...sharp...as it is now.
Being that I was in the right place (but it must have been the wrong time) I raised my hand, and said, "I did stage management in high school."
This was not a lie. While I was in high school, I had run some shows, but not in the manner that they wanted. They wanted a guy who had run auditions, planned production meetings, and run tight shows. I had done mostly some of that, but not all, and my school did not have a strong theatre program. It was one guy who pretty much had lost his mind in the 70's.
Still, I raised my hand and said it was me. And I was whisked away faster than the President after someone yells," GUN!" She took me to the basement of building, which, look a good tech setup was dark, warm, and smelled like burning flesh and dust. The room I went to would be the tech head's office. It was a small cubicle at the back of the costume shop. You couldn't see the wall, because it was covered in drawings, and besides a too old computer, there was an old coffee pot that was green with mold. To this day, I shudder to think of how she could drink coffee out of it. I never saw her make any, and I never saw her drink any.
"So," she says, "We're doing The Importance of Being Earnest. We have a brand new director and no stage manager. Auditions are tomorrow. Can you make a meeting this afternoon."
The shock of the fact that I had my first college job was sinking in. I had only been in classes for ten minutes when I was working on my first show. To make matters worse, my brain would stop spinning for a minute for me to hear the tech director say:
"...And they may not listen to you. I mean...after all...we've NEVER had a freshman stage manager do the first show. That being said, you can't get overwhelmed or you'll be killed. Either by Shanna or Rick."
Shanna was the director. She had graduated from Wash U, but returned to direct as a favor. She was actually very calm about the situation. She had four weeks to get the show ready. Rick, however, would hate me from the moment I stepped into the first production meeting. He sat down, looked around the room, and zeroed in on me. "Are you a freshman? Is this guy a fucking freshman," he would ask, then he would laugh. "We're fucked," he finished. This was his supreme confidence in my ability after knowing me for twenty seconds.
He and I would have a contemptuous relationship for the next four years.
The show went well. We were fortunate to have a good cast, and an able crew. Because I could actually run the show, the department decided to consider letting freshmen take more important positions earlier. In fact, of the the eight shows put on that year, six had freshman stage managers.
And because I had taken a position so early, I was able to turn that into thirty-two productions (not including films) before I left college.
All because I was in the right place at the wrong time.
So the moral here is simple:
If opportunity is knocking, open the door. Even if you feel tremendous fear, open that door.
And do whatever you can to look good. If they need a person to work lighting, and you have put a light up on the pipe and plugged it in...go..show them. Learn. Never stop learning.
Of course what do I know? I'm the guy who licked a live wire. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Need a Favor
Occasionally, in theatre, you will have to do a favor for someone. It could be because of an emergency, it could be because you owe someone, or it could be because you want something. In my time in theatre, I have managed to experience all three.
----------------------------------------
Emergency:
During my junior year at Washington University in St. Louis (Go Bears!), the students were given an amazing experience: they re-wrote Alice in Wonderland and created a new version of the play as a multimedia musical. It was amazing. I really wanted to work that show as the stage manager, but because of backstage politics, I was put on the dance show instead. It was my punishment for a previous problem on a show that I did not...handle well. Not the point.
Alice was running at the same time as Wash U's major concert for the student: WILD. This was an imperfect acronym. WILD meant Walk In, Lay Down, as in walk in, lay down, and listen to some great music (Outkast, They Might Be Giants, etc.). However, WIFD was more appropriate (Walk In, Fall Down). Actually, it should have been Walk In, Find a Person, Screw In the Bushes, Get Wasted, Puke, Rock, and Wake Up Somewhere, but WIFPSIBGWPRWUS is not a good acronym. Thus...WILD.
I will admit that I used to drink...a great deal. WILD was the perfect place because you could get drinks off other people with a smile. The key is to find the drunkest people first, and act like you were given permission from someone else. Have a few handy names.
"Oh yeah...Clarissa said it was cool."
"You know, Clarissssssa. Sssweeet. Go ahad (Misspelling unpurpose for pronunciation)."
I had been at WILD for a few hours when I decided to go home. It was raining, and I was without a place to hide from the cold shower. As I walked through the theatre building, the stage manager for Alice came running up to me.
"Oh my God..Oh my God...." He was panted.
"Yes, my son?" I replied, thus beginning the pattern where people would tell me I'm a blasphemer.
"Dude. I really need your help," he said wild with panic.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"My fly operator is wasted! The guy can't even stand. There's NO way he can run the system. I need you."
I look at the stage manager (his name is Dan), and he's trembling. This is his first really big show, and he doesn't want to blow it. I would end up saving his ass twice more as I would have to break into his car (don't ask), and then help him save face when he basically had sex with a gal in front of everyone on the stove at my house.
Three times...I would become this man's patron saint. Ha.
Now remember, I'm inebriated too. This is my retort.
"Doesn't matter," he says. "Even drunk, you're can run it, and you know it! Please!"
And at this, he gets on his knees.
"I'm on my knees," he tells me in case I have been struck blind. "PLEASE!! HELP ME!!! This is an emergency!"
Maybe it was his begging, maybe it was the fact that he was on his knees, or maybe it was that a lot of the cast was watching, but I agreed.
The fly system in the main theatre at Wash U. is not complicated. It's a very small walkway with a ton of ropes. The first thing I did was bring the drunk crew member up to the second floor. The door to the fly system is always locked, so you have to go into the theatre, climb up a rickety ladder, and then step on the walkway and go to the end to open the door. This is what I did, then I put DJ (I have no idea to this day what his name is, so I call him Drunk John or DJ) in a chair near the ropes I knew I wouldn't be touching. He wanted to go home, but I told him no. I also got him a bucket to puke in.
The show was uneventful, and I did my job as best as I could. No mistakes, but one slightly slow pull on a pipe. They had lost the gloves, so I was pulling with my bare hands on coarse rope. Hurt like Hell. Probably helped that I was buzzed.
And it worked out for the best. I ended up making a bunch of good impressions to the department and got better shows for it. Thus, helping in an emergency can be a good for your reputation.
--------------------------------------------------------
Owing Someone:
As rare as the total eclipse of the sun, I will owe someone a favor. This was the case during my Sophomore year of college. I owed one of my classmates favor because she helped me when my heart was broken. She was the only one, and I told her I would do anything for her to pay her back. "My solemn vow I give you." Yes, I was a nerd. Shut up.
So, the end of the year comes up, and she decides to direct a show. All in the Timing. It's not a bad show, and she's doing it with kids at the local Jewish Center. So, I'm sitting in my apartment trying to figure out what I did to get myself dumped (I took it really hard) when the phone rings.
"I really need your help," the familiar voice says over the phone.
"I'm busy," I lie in reply. I want to mope.
"You owe me," she says. "I kept you alive. You said anything."
It dawns on me that I did say that. "What do you need," I ask and start looking for pants.
I'm directing Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and I need the set painted. We don't have anyone to work on it as the parents are all busy now. Get your paint clothes on, and get down here!"
She gives me the address, and I take off.
It's ok to owe a favor, but make sure to have limits to it. Once I arrived, I started out painting. For four hours, I painted flats to look like an Eyptian landscape. Luckily it had been stenciled, so it was almost paint by numbers.
As I finished the flats, the next request was made.
"Soooooo. Now that you finished that...I REALLY need some props made. And you do owe me."
Here's a tip for those of you who are cashing in a favor on someone. If you want that person to do more, don't lord the favor over them. It doesn't make that person work harder or better...it just pisses most of us off.
The next six hours (SIX HOURS!!!!) would occur in a loop.
1. "You owe me," she would say.
2. She would ask me to work on something.
3. I'd finish it.
4. She'd thank me...
5. Then ask me to do the next task...
6. And I would balk.
Then the cycle would repeat.
In an ironic twist, she would up owing me her life as I kept her from falling off a balcony with a broken railing. Instead of plunging twenty-two stories to her death, she got to instead land safely on top of me while I fell through a glass table. That's caring...I guess.
Now, when it's not an emergency, and it's not a payback, you do something for the final reason:
------------------------------------------------
Desire:
Sometimes, you do a favor because you want something. It can be as simple as a ride home. It can be as devious as wanting to hurt someone. It can be as cheesy as trying to get to know someone.
During my Junior year (the same year as Alice) I worked on a production of Company. I was the sound engineer which meant I had to program the microphones as well as all the sound effects. Easy task. The show was in our black box, which meant that instead of personal mics, there were mics surrounding the eventual stage, and I just had to balance the feeds. I really didn't want to work on this production, but the stage manager asked me to work on it as a favor.
I thought long and hard about this. She was (and still is probably) a girl, but I didn't want to work on a show where all I was doing was stupid sound effects and microphones. That was until I met the gal who would be running the sound board.
Yes, Virginia, I succumbed to a base desire. I did the favor for the stage manager solely so I could meet and work with the sound board operator. I had been single for a year and decided that was long enough.
It would totally backfire on me, by the way. The board op was beautiful, intelligent, and nice to me...so she could meet my friend Aaron, who she had seen me talking to.
They would date. I would be single until the beginning of my Senior year.
Still, I would at least get to make a gal laugh, which was enough...I guess.
So in the end, favors become a form of currency in theatre. Just make sure that the balance is always in your favor. Because if it isn't, you will get tired of the phone ringing. I have seen it happen.
And learn to wield the strongest word very carefully.
That word?
No.
Namaste.
----------------------------------------
Emergency:
During my junior year at Washington University in St. Louis (Go Bears!), the students were given an amazing experience: they re-wrote Alice in Wonderland and created a new version of the play as a multimedia musical. It was amazing. I really wanted to work that show as the stage manager, but because of backstage politics, I was put on the dance show instead. It was my punishment for a previous problem on a show that I did not...handle well. Not the point.
Alice was running at the same time as Wash U's major concert for the student: WILD. This was an imperfect acronym. WILD meant Walk In, Lay Down, as in walk in, lay down, and listen to some great music (Outkast, They Might Be Giants, etc.). However, WIFD was more appropriate (Walk In, Fall Down). Actually, it should have been Walk In, Find a Person, Screw In the Bushes, Get Wasted, Puke, Rock, and Wake Up Somewhere, but WIFPSIBGWPRWUS is not a good acronym. Thus...WILD.
I will admit that I used to drink...a great deal. WILD was the perfect place because you could get drinks off other people with a smile. The key is to find the drunkest people first, and act like you were given permission from someone else. Have a few handy names.
"Oh yeah...Clarissa said it was cool."
"You know, Clarissssssa. Sssweeet. Go ahad (Misspelling unpurpose for pronunciation)."
I had been at WILD for a few hours when I decided to go home. It was raining, and I was without a place to hide from the cold shower. As I walked through the theatre building, the stage manager for Alice came running up to me.
"Oh my God..Oh my God...." He was panted.
"Yes, my son?" I replied, thus beginning the pattern where people would tell me I'm a blasphemer.
"Dude. I really need your help," he said wild with panic.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"My fly operator is wasted! The guy can't even stand. There's NO way he can run the system. I need you."
I look at the stage manager (his name is Dan), and he's trembling. This is his first really big show, and he doesn't want to blow it. I would end up saving his ass twice more as I would have to break into his car (don't ask), and then help him save face when he basically had sex with a gal in front of everyone on the stove at my house.
Three times...I would become this man's patron saint. Ha.
Now remember, I'm inebriated too. This is my retort.
"Doesn't matter," he says. "Even drunk, you're can run it, and you know it! Please!"
And at this, he gets on his knees.
"I'm on my knees," he tells me in case I have been struck blind. "PLEASE!! HELP ME!!! This is an emergency!"
Maybe it was his begging, maybe it was the fact that he was on his knees, or maybe it was that a lot of the cast was watching, but I agreed.
The fly system in the main theatre at Wash U. is not complicated. It's a very small walkway with a ton of ropes. The first thing I did was bring the drunk crew member up to the second floor. The door to the fly system is always locked, so you have to go into the theatre, climb up a rickety ladder, and then step on the walkway and go to the end to open the door. This is what I did, then I put DJ (I have no idea to this day what his name is, so I call him Drunk John or DJ) in a chair near the ropes I knew I wouldn't be touching. He wanted to go home, but I told him no. I also got him a bucket to puke in.
The show was uneventful, and I did my job as best as I could. No mistakes, but one slightly slow pull on a pipe. They had lost the gloves, so I was pulling with my bare hands on coarse rope. Hurt like Hell. Probably helped that I was buzzed.
And it worked out for the best. I ended up making a bunch of good impressions to the department and got better shows for it. Thus, helping in an emergency can be a good for your reputation.
--------------------------------------------------------
Owing Someone:
As rare as the total eclipse of the sun, I will owe someone a favor. This was the case during my Sophomore year of college. I owed one of my classmates favor because she helped me when my heart was broken. She was the only one, and I told her I would do anything for her to pay her back. "My solemn vow I give you." Yes, I was a nerd. Shut up.
So, the end of the year comes up, and she decides to direct a show. All in the Timing. It's not a bad show, and she's doing it with kids at the local Jewish Center. So, I'm sitting in my apartment trying to figure out what I did to get myself dumped (I took it really hard) when the phone rings.
"I really need your help," the familiar voice says over the phone.
"I'm busy," I lie in reply. I want to mope.
"You owe me," she says. "I kept you alive. You said anything."
It dawns on me that I did say that. "What do you need," I ask and start looking for pants.
I'm directing Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and I need the set painted. We don't have anyone to work on it as the parents are all busy now. Get your paint clothes on, and get down here!"
She gives me the address, and I take off.
It's ok to owe a favor, but make sure to have limits to it. Once I arrived, I started out painting. For four hours, I painted flats to look like an Eyptian landscape. Luckily it had been stenciled, so it was almost paint by numbers.
As I finished the flats, the next request was made.
"Soooooo. Now that you finished that...I REALLY need some props made. And you do owe me."
Here's a tip for those of you who are cashing in a favor on someone. If you want that person to do more, don't lord the favor over them. It doesn't make that person work harder or better...it just pisses most of us off.
The next six hours (SIX HOURS!!!!) would occur in a loop.
1. "You owe me," she would say.
2. She would ask me to work on something.
3. I'd finish it.
4. She'd thank me...
5. Then ask me to do the next task...
6. And I would balk.
Then the cycle would repeat.
In an ironic twist, she would up owing me her life as I kept her from falling off a balcony with a broken railing. Instead of plunging twenty-two stories to her death, she got to instead land safely on top of me while I fell through a glass table. That's caring...I guess.
Now, when it's not an emergency, and it's not a payback, you do something for the final reason:
------------------------------------------------
Desire:
Sometimes, you do a favor because you want something. It can be as simple as a ride home. It can be as devious as wanting to hurt someone. It can be as cheesy as trying to get to know someone.
During my Junior year (the same year as Alice) I worked on a production of Company. I was the sound engineer which meant I had to program the microphones as well as all the sound effects. Easy task. The show was in our black box, which meant that instead of personal mics, there were mics surrounding the eventual stage, and I just had to balance the feeds. I really didn't want to work on this production, but the stage manager asked me to work on it as a favor.
I thought long and hard about this. She was (and still is probably) a girl, but I didn't want to work on a show where all I was doing was stupid sound effects and microphones. That was until I met the gal who would be running the sound board.
Yes, Virginia, I succumbed to a base desire. I did the favor for the stage manager solely so I could meet and work with the sound board operator. I had been single for a year and decided that was long enough.
It would totally backfire on me, by the way. The board op was beautiful, intelligent, and nice to me...so she could meet my friend Aaron, who she had seen me talking to.
They would date. I would be single until the beginning of my Senior year.
Still, I would at least get to make a gal laugh, which was enough...I guess.
So in the end, favors become a form of currency in theatre. Just make sure that the balance is always in your favor. Because if it isn't, you will get tired of the phone ringing. I have seen it happen.
And learn to wield the strongest word very carefully.
That word?
No.
Namaste.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
But Sir...The Show?
Sometimes when you do theatre, there are directors who have such outlandish ideas of how a show should run that you, as a tech person, start looking for the nearest window out of which to jump. Over the course of my many years in theatre, I have bumped into a few of these directors, and no matter how much logic you use, it won't matter.
During my freshman year of college, I worked on an artist-in residence play called The Girl from Clare. It wasn't a bad play; it just didn't work. The playwright had created a story that was so specific that the audience needed to know everything about divorce referendum and abortion laws in Ireland in the 1980's. The director, the crew, and even the actors had no idea what she was talking about most of the time. In one funny moment, the director turned to her and asked, "Hey, ummm...what did you mean here? What's this line about?"
After some careful consideration, during which she looked at her notes and the script, the playwright looked up and said, "I have no fuckin' clue what I meant.... Just...just have her read the line how she thinks it should be read."
Unfortunately the girl would be forced to give the line seven different reads before the playwright would be ok with it. There's nothing worse, as an actor, than finding a character...and being forced to change that vision to fit everything the playwright sees. It breaks down the creative process. The playwright, however, was not the only problem.
The director, who actually was quite brilliant when he had good material, recognized this script was inferior, and he panicked. The opening of the play called for man to be seen in silhouette and be given a lap dance, while a girl and her boyfriend moved from making out to sex on a couch that did not face the audience. Now, the playwright wanted the scene to drip sex appeal, so the director tried very hard to make it that way. The girl giving the lap dance was moved to skimpier and skimpier outfits. In the end she had to buy (though she was re-imbursed) her own lingerie. As for the couple, it went from the simple ("Ok, so you should kind of go up and down like, you know, you're having sex. You can leave your shirt on.") to the incredibly (and unnecessarily) complicated ("All right, you need to count to 15, then slowly remove your shirt from the left sleeve first. Now, Aaron...as she does that, you should moan slightly as thought you like it, but not too much. You're the man, so make sure you act it. Now, Saskia, once the shirt is off, you should bend over Aaron and slide your left hand back. No one will see it, but it will help the scene look good.")
We spent a week of the six week production on the opening five minutes. All because the director had to have it perfect. The entire scene was done to the tune of Sinead O'Connor's version of I Am Stretched On Your Grave. I'll give it a few minutes while you listen to the song....
I Am Stretched On Your Grave - Sinéad OConnor
So, here we are during load in (or Hell Week as most Techies call it) when the director comes up with a brand new idea: what if we create a platform in the back just for the lap dance?
The idea was that the girl was us and on the ground, but the dad, who is getting the lap dance, is those in power lording it over us.
The tech director took the words out of my mouth before I could say them:
"What the fuck are you thinking?"
Unfortunately, after forty minutes of debate, the director used some piece of blackmail on the TD to get his way. So we built a platform for the girl to dance on. This led to the next problem.
When they choreographed the lap dance, the girl, Andrea, was on the floor, so she had all this space to work with, but because we were in the black box, and because the platform was so last minute on an already done set, her "dance floor" was shrunk to a 4' x 6' platform that she was sharing with a man on a chair. Suffice to say, I knew something bad was going to happen, so I made one of my crew members stand underneath them so that if she fell, someone would catch her. This is how Andrea met her now husband. Catch a falling girl a few times, and she swoons. Just a tip for the fellas out there...or the ladies as it were.
The stress of the show and the playwright would cause the director to get even more involved as the play got closer to opening. At one point, he asked the actress playing the mother to do her lines a specific way and then gave her blocking. She felt that the line reading now contradicted the blocking. Now, again, he was a great director...when he wasn't stressed. He leapt out of the audience, ran onto the stage, moved the actress on to the couch, asked for her coat, and then did the scene as her. To the tech people, there was no difference. Even the playwright was overheard saying, "What the hell was that?" To the director, however, there was a huge difference. It didn't matter that he totally pissed off and alienated his actress or that he freaked out the other actors. No, he just berated her as he did the scene as her.
The show was a colossal failure. The audience did not understand it, and the director, who wrote a page and a half director's notes for the program, would take the microphone during the post play Q&A and say, "I have no clue what this play is really about, and I don't care. All I know is that I tried...and it's over. Hopefully you liked it, but if you didn't, the playwright is right there."
I hid in the back during the Q&A. That's what a good techie does. The worst part, however, was that even though the fabric set had been treated, a cigarette found the one patch that wasn't and burned a hole during the show. It smelled terrible. We even had audience members leave.
So what's the moral here? What's the theme? Good ole number 4?
Well, the idea is that you will, as a stage manager, as a lighting designer, or even as a crew member, run into directors, playwrights, or tech directors that lose a grasp on the situation. You can try to talk to them about it, but this just makes you a target most of the time. I learned very quickly which directors I would get along with and which ones I would not. I did work with this director again, and it was a great show. He didn't panic, because he knew the material. So if you're the tech person remember the following:
1. If the director is panicking or falling apart, do not step in unless asked. You don't want to become the whipping post.
2. Find out the director's and TD's comfort foods (preferably candy). Keep these handy as it will diffuse situations.
3. Don't argue. If you have to bite your tongue until it bleeds, don't argue. Only when it looks like you will hit overtime, and you have a big commitment the next day...that's when you talk. Even then, don't yell. Just talk.
4. If the director is just bat-shit crazy, get the TD to be on your side. If the TD is bat-shit crazy...well...you're fucked.
5. Very important: Know your director ahead of time and then decide if this is really the show for you. It helps. Seriously. If the director or the show looks bad...run. There will be others.
Namaste.
During my freshman year of college, I worked on an artist-in residence play called The Girl from Clare. It wasn't a bad play; it just didn't work. The playwright had created a story that was so specific that the audience needed to know everything about divorce referendum and abortion laws in Ireland in the 1980's. The director, the crew, and even the actors had no idea what she was talking about most of the time. In one funny moment, the director turned to her and asked, "Hey, ummm...what did you mean here? What's this line about?"
After some careful consideration, during which she looked at her notes and the script, the playwright looked up and said, "I have no fuckin' clue what I meant.... Just...just have her read the line how she thinks it should be read."
Unfortunately the girl would be forced to give the line seven different reads before the playwright would be ok with it. There's nothing worse, as an actor, than finding a character...and being forced to change that vision to fit everything the playwright sees. It breaks down the creative process. The playwright, however, was not the only problem.
The director, who actually was quite brilliant when he had good material, recognized this script was inferior, and he panicked. The opening of the play called for man to be seen in silhouette and be given a lap dance, while a girl and her boyfriend moved from making out to sex on a couch that did not face the audience. Now, the playwright wanted the scene to drip sex appeal, so the director tried very hard to make it that way. The girl giving the lap dance was moved to skimpier and skimpier outfits. In the end she had to buy (though she was re-imbursed) her own lingerie. As for the couple, it went from the simple ("Ok, so you should kind of go up and down like, you know, you're having sex. You can leave your shirt on.") to the incredibly (and unnecessarily) complicated ("All right, you need to count to 15, then slowly remove your shirt from the left sleeve first. Now, Aaron...as she does that, you should moan slightly as thought you like it, but not too much. You're the man, so make sure you act it. Now, Saskia, once the shirt is off, you should bend over Aaron and slide your left hand back. No one will see it, but it will help the scene look good.")
We spent a week of the six week production on the opening five minutes. All because the director had to have it perfect. The entire scene was done to the tune of Sinead O'Connor's version of I Am Stretched On Your Grave. I'll give it a few minutes while you listen to the song....
I Am Stretched On Your Grave - Sinéad OConnor
So, here we are during load in (or Hell Week as most Techies call it) when the director comes up with a brand new idea: what if we create a platform in the back just for the lap dance?
The idea was that the girl was us and on the ground, but the dad, who is getting the lap dance, is those in power lording it over us.
The tech director took the words out of my mouth before I could say them:
"What the fuck are you thinking?"
Unfortunately, after forty minutes of debate, the director used some piece of blackmail on the TD to get his way. So we built a platform for the girl to dance on. This led to the next problem.
When they choreographed the lap dance, the girl, Andrea, was on the floor, so she had all this space to work with, but because we were in the black box, and because the platform was so last minute on an already done set, her "dance floor" was shrunk to a 4' x 6' platform that she was sharing with a man on a chair. Suffice to say, I knew something bad was going to happen, so I made one of my crew members stand underneath them so that if she fell, someone would catch her. This is how Andrea met her now husband. Catch a falling girl a few times, and she swoons. Just a tip for the fellas out there...or the ladies as it were.
The stress of the show and the playwright would cause the director to get even more involved as the play got closer to opening. At one point, he asked the actress playing the mother to do her lines a specific way and then gave her blocking. She felt that the line reading now contradicted the blocking. Now, again, he was a great director...when he wasn't stressed. He leapt out of the audience, ran onto the stage, moved the actress on to the couch, asked for her coat, and then did the scene as her. To the tech people, there was no difference. Even the playwright was overheard saying, "What the hell was that?" To the director, however, there was a huge difference. It didn't matter that he totally pissed off and alienated his actress or that he freaked out the other actors. No, he just berated her as he did the scene as her.
The show was a colossal failure. The audience did not understand it, and the director, who wrote a page and a half director's notes for the program, would take the microphone during the post play Q&A and say, "I have no clue what this play is really about, and I don't care. All I know is that I tried...and it's over. Hopefully you liked it, but if you didn't, the playwright is right there."
I hid in the back during the Q&A. That's what a good techie does. The worst part, however, was that even though the fabric set had been treated, a cigarette found the one patch that wasn't and burned a hole during the show. It smelled terrible. We even had audience members leave.
So what's the moral here? What's the theme? Good ole number 4?
Well, the idea is that you will, as a stage manager, as a lighting designer, or even as a crew member, run into directors, playwrights, or tech directors that lose a grasp on the situation. You can try to talk to them about it, but this just makes you a target most of the time. I learned very quickly which directors I would get along with and which ones I would not. I did work with this director again, and it was a great show. He didn't panic, because he knew the material. So if you're the tech person remember the following:
1. If the director is panicking or falling apart, do not step in unless asked. You don't want to become the whipping post.
2. Find out the director's and TD's comfort foods (preferably candy). Keep these handy as it will diffuse situations.
3. Don't argue. If you have to bite your tongue until it bleeds, don't argue. Only when it looks like you will hit overtime, and you have a big commitment the next day...that's when you talk. Even then, don't yell. Just talk.
4. If the director is just bat-shit crazy, get the TD to be on your side. If the TD is bat-shit crazy...well...you're fucked.
5. Very important: Know your director ahead of time and then decide if this is really the show for you. It helps. Seriously. If the director or the show looks bad...run. There will be others.
Namaste.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
No More Vigilantes
If you aren't excited for this film...you're a Communist. Yup, a Communist.
Easily one of the greatest comic novels in history.
Enjoy.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Ring-a-Ding.
The danger of passion is that the more you put into it, the more it takes out of you. In a way, it falls in line with the Beatles. "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." Well, the passion you give is the equal to the amount of life sucked out of you.
If people want to say teaching is easy, that's fine. This tells me one of two things:
1. They have never taught...ever. Or,
2. They are not a very good teacher.
This job takes passion. An amazing amount of passion. Today, I am bloody, bruised, and beaten. I truly feel like the boxer in the corner and tomorrow is the next round.
I teach five classes. Four freshmen and one senior.
All of my freshmen have started The Odyssey. This was always one of my favorite stories, and I teach the same thing four times in a row. It makes it really hard to keep it fresh, but I try to have the same energy, the same heart, on every part. If period 2 gets a funny movement, or voice, or an explanation that works, the other three get it in the exact same manner.
The hardest part, however, is my senior class. It's at the end of the day, and they just want to leave. Today I poured my heart out into e.e. cummings's poem: "somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond". Out of my 38 students, four talked. Four. The rest just stared at me or talked to each other.
And herein lies the problem of teaching: It's just too easy to personalize everything.
Kid didn't do well? It's my fault. Sure he didn't study or do the homework, but what did I do so he wouldn't do it?
That is the most dangerous part of it.
Don't get me wrong, I like my students a great deal. But I hear these kids talk about how great my class is and how much they learn, and I look back over what I saw and say, "How?"
So if you're thinking of teaching, and you're reading this, here's my advice: don't personalize. You are not there to save these kids. You're trying to get them to learn. You MUST remember that it's a partnership. To paraphrase Sir Paul, "In the end, the education you get is equal to the amount you are willing to put in." If they don't want to learn, no matter how hard you push, or prod, or try...you cannot make them.
But I'm pugnacious (hot word), so I wipe off the blood, wait for the bell, and get back to it. Tomorrow is supposedly a new day, Scarlett.
Namaste.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Some Days
Some days I get home from work and this is how I feel.The hardest part of being a teacher is the part that no one ever tells you about when preparing for it: the personal investment.
You will put your heart and soul in to the students you work with. And sometimes, you get beaten down. Sometimes you have to forget who you used to be to get them through it.
And sometimes, you have to go the tough guy route.
I just need a little more energy. Just a little longer.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
1/20/09
Feeling Good - Nina Simone
Yeah, I like Nina Simone.
And this seemed like the right day to post this.
Namaste.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Silencing It
I don't answer my phone off a great deal lately.
It seems counter-intuitive, but the silence is wonderful.
However, it makes me a hypocrite.
Let me begin by saying that hypocrisy is the greatest luxury that mankind was ever given. We can decide not to do something...then rant and rave at people who also don't.
Do as I say, not as I do. That is born from this.
My mother and father got cell phones around the same time their children did. They left their phones off most of the time. Often we would ask our parents, "What's the point of having a cell phone if you leave it off all the time? How can you be reached?"
Our wise parents would look at us and say, "Why do you need to always be reached?"
At the time I thought my parents were nuts, but the idea makes complete sense to me now.
I carry a cell phone with me at almost all times. This is because I might be needed for emergencies. I used to get angry when my wife would just look at her phone or our home phone and not answer it.
"How can you do that? What if it's a problem?" I would ask.
"If it's a number I don't know," she responded, "then I don't answer."
Now, this is the part where Hypocrisy rears its head. My wife won't answer if it's a number she doesn't know. So, she changes jobs and gets a new number. As such, she starts calling her friends and old co-workers to give them her new number.
What happens?
No one answers.
Why?
Because they don't know the number.
So what does she do?
She gets angry and asks me, "Why is no one picking up when I call?"
I love the irony.
Before you judge, however, realize that you, dear reader, probably do the same thing. You look at the Caller ID and say to yourself, "Who is this? Some charity? I'm not picking up." Or, you screen your calls. Don't lie. If you have a cell phone, you look at the screen and think about it before answering.
But most people, in this incredibly connected world, don't turn answer their phones. I never used to be that way.
If a charity called, I picked it up and said, "Sure," or, "No thanks."
If it was a survey, same thing.
If the cell phone rang, I picked it up.
Lately, however, it's been getting hard to do it.
I'm busy. We all are. With work, with family, so it's getting harder to answer the phone. I don't get a ton of time to be with my son, so if the phone rings, then I lose that time.
It's not that I don't want to talk to people. And I know that people need me at times, but it's so easy to just...not pick up.
So, dear reader, think about that the next time you call someone and they don't answer: is it that they aren't home, is it that they don't want to talk to you, or is it that they are busy and screening?
Of course what do I know? I can't get anyone on the phone. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
It seems counter-intuitive, but the silence is wonderful.
However, it makes me a hypocrite.
Let me begin by saying that hypocrisy is the greatest luxury that mankind was ever given. We can decide not to do something...then rant and rave at people who also don't.
Do as I say, not as I do. That is born from this.
My mother and father got cell phones around the same time their children did. They left their phones off most of the time. Often we would ask our parents, "What's the point of having a cell phone if you leave it off all the time? How can you be reached?"
Our wise parents would look at us and say, "Why do you need to always be reached?"
At the time I thought my parents were nuts, but the idea makes complete sense to me now.
I carry a cell phone with me at almost all times. This is because I might be needed for emergencies. I used to get angry when my wife would just look at her phone or our home phone and not answer it.
"How can you do that? What if it's a problem?" I would ask.
"If it's a number I don't know," she responded, "then I don't answer."
Now, this is the part where Hypocrisy rears its head. My wife won't answer if it's a number she doesn't know. So, she changes jobs and gets a new number. As such, she starts calling her friends and old co-workers to give them her new number.
What happens?
No one answers.
Why?
Because they don't know the number.
So what does she do?
She gets angry and asks me, "Why is no one picking up when I call?"
I love the irony.
Before you judge, however, realize that you, dear reader, probably do the same thing. You look at the Caller ID and say to yourself, "Who is this? Some charity? I'm not picking up." Or, you screen your calls. Don't lie. If you have a cell phone, you look at the screen and think about it before answering.
But most people, in this incredibly connected world, don't turn answer their phones. I never used to be that way.
If a charity called, I picked it up and said, "Sure," or, "No thanks."
If it was a survey, same thing.
If the cell phone rang, I picked it up.
Lately, however, it's been getting hard to do it.
I'm busy. We all are. With work, with family, so it's getting harder to answer the phone. I don't get a ton of time to be with my son, so if the phone rings, then I lose that time.
It's not that I don't want to talk to people. And I know that people need me at times, but it's so easy to just...not pick up.
So, dear reader, think about that the next time you call someone and they don't answer: is it that they aren't home, is it that they don't want to talk to you, or is it that they are busy and screening?
Of course what do I know? I can't get anyone on the phone. I could be wrong.
Namaste.
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