I've been quite busy with Write Act Rep over the past few months. First as Robin Starveling in our production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, and now as director of Juana. Monday night I read "Helter Skelter" as Charles Manson in our "Dead Beat Poets" fundraiser (sadly, there is no video of this. Hopefully someone snapped some pix!)
I entered into one of those stereotypical "dark moods" that artists have on Sunday. It was after watching Broadway: The Golden Age (a fantastic documentary) as I realized that I am living a far way from New York in the 1950s. The day-in, day-out grind of trying to piece together a career while doing such things as "paying bills" and "sleeping" just kind of collapsed on me. It was a horrible, deep glumness not unlike my "everlasting no" period in college. Only of shorter duration and with less angst.
Tuesday night I took a nice, long walk to the Metro station. I had to catch the Red Line up to Hollywood for a Juana rehearsal. As I neared the station, it hit me: I'm exactly where I want to be right now. I'm in Hollywood, directing a play in a building that Cecil B. DeMille built. And a play with puppets! I was so elated, I took a picture:
They've built an ugly shopping/condo complex around this station. Drab as can be, it looks a little bit like a Jawa transporter from the street. This streamers on the interior stand out in bold contrast, a ragged assortment of colors strung through the air.
On the Metro itself, I found myself surrounded by people conversing, people reading (Gladwell's "The Tipping Point", "Stranger in a Strange Land", a book on musical notation,) people really going somewhere. It's corny, but I filled with happiness. I forget sometimes that I'm not the only person trying to make a better life for himself. Rather, I am joined in this pursuit by people of all shapes and sizes, all colors, all ideologies.
Juana rehearsal went extraordinarily well. The whole show is blocked, and now comes the fun part: breathing life into this monstrosity.
I'll probably be as bad a blogger as ever as the weeks progress, but I'll try to drop in from time to time to tell you how it's going. I joke about the "fourteen people" who read this blog, but I know you're out there, and I know that you read this because you want to know how I'm doing. And I appreciate your care and concern more than you know.