JC 2007

Two more days, two more performances. We sweated it a bit the last few days, but it's turning into an outstanding show. Catch it while you can, people...

And Happy 30th Birthday to The Duder, to Eric, to a good friend. My sincere apologies for not being able to spend it with you properly. We shall raise a glass to it soon, though.

Live! Tonight!

The Tragedy of Julius Caesar

Opens Tonight!

Ducking Out Early From The Party

I've spoken of my disappointment with Studio 60 a few times already, but there's this one moment from early in the season that really stuck in my head, really felt true.

Matthew Perry's character is one of the executive producers of the show, and he's also the head writer. There's some moment at the after-party, where they're discussing the show, and how it went. Matt frets about the bits that didn't work, and everyone agrees, they'll do better next week. Just relax, have a drink, enjoy yourself.

Matt, of course, can't relax and enjoy himself. All he'll do is think about how to write better sketches and funnier jokes and how to make this thing that he's in charge of better than it was before. He bites the inside of his cheek and starts walking away.

There's this moment, outside the studio, where he dashes to his car, and his eyes are darting this way and that, maybe watching out for cars, maybe making sure no one sees him leave. Who knows what he was supposed to be thinking of, because in my head, I know what he's thinking about: he's really thinking about the show. Skits and ideas running through that writer's head, already planning next week, unable to enjoy himself at the party for all the work that still needs to be done.

Because the only real enjoyment comes from the work, from the words and the writing and the only real thing he has in his life. The only thing he has where he's not the stranger, the outsider looking in, the only thing that makes him feel at home, the only thing that's really, truly, his.

He turns the key and drives off into the night, to once again crouch over the keyboard late into the night, trying to make that thing of his into something worthwhile.

A few pictures from the first rehearsals of The Tragedy of Julius Caesar

Brutus' final stab

Metellus' plea to Caesar

The Conspirators circle around Caesar's corpse

Portia's late-night discussion with Brutus

Two casts: one masculine, the other feminine. Men of power and the female interpretation of the same story. Blocked the assassination today, threw out some different ideas, had a great day. Hope the actors trust me with where I'm going with this story: Thom Yorke as the Soothsayer, the red thread of life, and the abstract, dreamlike quality of the sets and costumes.

The Tragedy of Julius Caesar performs on June 27th, 28th, 29th, and 30th at the Oswego East High School Performing Arts Center. More information can be found on the Limelight Theatre Company website, of which I am the humble webmaster.

File Under: Obscure References

Last night I created a drinking game for The Third Man.

Drink whenever the camera angle is tilted, rubble appears on screen, or any time that crazy old lady who wears a big-ass quilt over herself shows up. (Or, as Amanda describes it, "She's wearing a bed!"

Or just drink when a good scene comes on, and you'll get messed up but good.

Damn that's a good film.

June 6, 1944

To Remember.

Hey Brother!

I don't know how to explain this one.

So we had this party at the house the other night. Me and the roomie. Me and the roomie who are more than a little obsessed with Arrested Development. (Thank you again, Hal, for the DVDs. My life is forever changed.)

Being the theatre nerds that we are, we decided to have a party, with an AD theme: you had to come dressed as a character from the show.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: Jesus, that's lame. Don't you have better things to do with your time?

Yeah, of course. I could have been doing report cards or prepping Limelight stuff, but instead I decided to dress up as Buster Bluth for the night.


We had a GOB, a GOB's wife (in Flickr, the picture that is NOT mocking Abu Ghraib, I promise), a gay protestor, and a half-hearted Tobias.

And a severed hand statue.

You have to watch the show to understand that one. Or any of this bizarre, pretentious hipster cosplay event. Ridiculous, to be true.

But it was fun. Even if Cori didn't decorate the house with blue paint smudges and a bag in the freezer labeled "DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT."

If at this point you fear that I have lost my mind, you may just be correct.



That wasn't all I did this weekend. Friday night was date night. With Duder. And Mrs. Duder got to come along too.

Hadn't seen Eric and Erica in forever, so they got a babysitter and we had a nice meal together at the Roundhouse. Steak is good.

Sunday morning, another drive to the north side. Haul ass back west for a sparsely-attended fundraiser. Frustrating, frustrating, frustrating. So hard to get people to pay attention to anything anymore.

It's late, and I'm beat. Report cards still haven't been started. Tomorrow I say goodbye to a group of students that I am loathe to leave.

More on all of that later. And then to bed, and then to bed.