I'm ALIVE!!!

Well . . . it HAS been a while, hasn’t it? I just figured that my readers needed a few more weeks to comment, to find time to read my post . . . I know how difficult it can be to find time out of your busy lives to read my humble (but long) posts. But, alas, no one else commented! *sniff sniff*

But anyway . . . lots of stuff to talk about. First, I have to talk about what happened on Wednesday, August 9th, the day after my last post. You may recall my mention of Romeo and Juliet in that post . . . both my going the week before and that I was going again. And so I did.

This second time was a different cast, starring Michael and Megan as R and J. No offense meant to the previous cast, but I liked this one a lot better. I thought most of the leads were better, and of course all of the people who had been in the first cast were more comfortable with their roles (allowing them to act drunk more effectively).

It was also more enjoyable, because it was almost (as David put it) a tragicomedy, especially in the “wherefore art thou” scene. At one point Megan sacrificed believability for comedy, when the Nurse kept calling her in, and she walked back to the door and yelled, “Will you shut up?!” This was a bit jarring after hearing words like “wherefore,” but hey, it was funny.

And also, no mention of this play would be complete without a note about the brilliant performance turned in by Brandon as the apothecary. This is a fairly small, lackluster part, one that requires skill to make remarkable. This skill is what Brandon brought to the part, playing the entire scene as a Jack Sparrow impression, which made it the most fun scene in the play.

Best of all, the gunshot actually sounded a little bit like a gunshot, unlike the wimpy little pop that had come the previous week. Which made Megan’s death a bit more emotionally effective than Katrina’s had been.

This was also the second of three weeks of MTC (Musical Theater Camp) at Lifehouse. What this meant was that I spent all day on weekdays chasing around young children who found it necessary to deliberately drive me crazy. Well let me put this question to you older, more mature folks . . . is the idea, “don’t talk” really all that difficult to grasp?

Of course, young kids will be young kids . . . and so frustrating as it was, I forgave them (most of them, anyway). The REALLY aggravating part of it was the fact that I was the only male counselor out of 8 counselors. Which meant, of course, that when the 19 boys needed to get into costume, I was the only authority figure allowed in the dressing room. And for some reason, most of these 19 boys found the idea of whipping one another with shirts, hats, belts, pants, or really pretty much anything simply enthralling.

And, of course, the 7 girls couldn’t let me get away with being the only boy. So not only did I have to deal with 19 screaming, violent boys all by myself, I also had to deal with 7 teasing, cruel girls all by myself.
But on Wednesday, August 16th, these girls (and Didi) invited me to join them (and Adam, one of the counselors from the morning camp) in going to see Step Up, the Disney teen romance movie about dance. I went into expecting crap, but I actually enjoyed it quite a bit. It wasn’t a great movie, but the acting was pretty good, the dancing was pretty good, and it was pretty funny.

It also took a dark turn towards the end, allowing it to deal with fun issues like doing the best with the (crappy) cards you’re dealt in life.

You can read more about the way I reacted to the movie on my xanga. (As of now, Sunday September 3rd 2006, it’s the second entry.)

And then I think the next things of note are the camp shows . . . well I suppose I should first mention the morning camp’s dress rehearsal. Dimyana asked me to do the morning show so that she, “Bethanne, and Tina will all have partners.” Of course, it just wouldn’t be right to refuse such a high calling, so I agreed. Unfortunately, what this meant was that I had to be present at the morning dress rehearsal, meaning that I actually had to (*gasp*) get up on Thursday morning.

So I did . . . it was painful, but I did it. It really took me back . . . I almost grabbed my Driver’s Ed book and pen on the way out. Thankfully, I didn’t, because luckily, I wasn’t going to Driver’s Ed.

Unluckily, I was going to a place where I knew I’d have to deal with 39 screaming kids. 19 of whom were boys, inhabiting the boys’ dressing room. It wasn’t that bad, though, because Nick and Adam were also there and they were older.

But anyway, I was introduced to the kids formally and then somewhat less formally introduced to Lunden and Christopher, the two youngest boys and my official projects for the camp. Unfortunately, I had a rather bad first impression of Lunden . . . nearly immediately after I met him, he came through the side door of the theater yelling, “Sandy! Sandy! I dropped my hat in the toilet!!”

In the end, it turned out that he actually dropped his hat into the toilet BEFORE he flushed the toilet, as well . . . so Sandy was in a pretty darn bad mood for a few hours after that. And believe me . . . much as I love Sandy, when she’s mad, stay out of her way. Period.

Anyway, after that Lunden did very well. He knew his lines, knew when to say them, and just needed a little help knowing where to go in the dances (and praise the Lord that Amy knew, because I sure didn’t).

Christopher was another story. I could tell immediately that he was a trouble child. He had a bit of a problem sitting still, and he didn’t know when to say his lines (although he did know them). He wasn’t a bad child, he just needed some help paying attention. Thankfully, Nick was helping me take care of him.

The afternoon dress rehearsal went fine, as well, nothing of note to report.

Then came the morning show. It turned out that (horror of horrors) Nick was at Disneyland, so he couldn’t make it to the show. Which meant that I had Christopher and Lunden all by myself.

This was a problem, because I really didn’t know where Christopher was supposed to be. I knew Lunden’s stuff for the most part, but it’s hard to learn three parts in one day . . . since I didn’t know Christopher’s stuff of his part, I didn’t prompt him. Amy was supposed to anyway, but I didn’t know that and neither one of us could get Christopher to follow us anyway.

As a result, he got horrendously mad at me. “I’m not talking to you. I hate you. I lost my line because you didn’t prompt me. I’m NOT doing this again.” To which I almost tersely replied, “well, if you’d been in the right spot, or had actually listened to Amy or me, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.” Thankfully, I stopped myself. As it was, all I said was, “well, you weren’t in your spot . . .” and left it at that.

The second show was all better, and it was all good. The winner of the ticket-selling contest also had the best answer I’ve ever heard to Wayne’s question (“Is there a secret to your success?”): “Yeah . . . a great mom.”

And, best of all, after the second show, when all the kids had gone home, Didi FED us. That’s right. World-famous Didi bread and world-famous Didi Potato Salad. It was really, really good . . . especially after a hard day’s dealing with Christopher.

The afternoon show also went well . . . There was a problem with the sound effects people (my group of royals-turned-pirates backstage), but it was quickly and completely worked out. Yay windmaker.

After both shows came the wonderfully entertaining task of cleaning up. I was given the job of striking the set, along with several other people. At first, I reveled in it, seeing all safety pins and ripping them out with unrivalled passion and fervor. Then, however, I encountered the horrible truth of how the mystery banner had stayed up: staples. Horror of freakin’ horrors. I rushed to get a screwdriver to rip them out of their home in the styrofoam rocks. I retrieved a screwdriver from the random-but-useful box in the rehearsal hall and proceeded to brutally slaughter them. It was not pretty.

As I was joyfully ripping down the banner, something terrible caught my ear: the tortured scream of a damsel in distress. Something to the general effect of: “Dang, I can’t reach the top of the netting from here . . .” It was Dimyana, trying to take the rigging off of the treehouse. She tried going up the back ladder, but she was too afraid. So I heroically stepped in and climbed the ladder into my old house, memories of last summer cascading through my mind like a kayak down a snowy mountain. Screwdriver in hand, I banished all thoughts of chucking it through the window/door at Dimyana (the temptation was great, but the danger was even greater) and took it mercilessly to the staples in the wall holding up the netting. Amy attacked it similarly from the other side and we had it down in no time, to the glorious sound of thunderous cheering (Dimyana going “yaaay!!”).

And, approximately 42 boxes, 35 bags, 54 baskets, and 17 random items later, I climbed into Dad’s car and went home.

In the weeks that followed, I found myself doing a lot of crashing (despite my recent training in Driver’s Ed) and even more vegging (despite my preference of meat). Also quite a bit of loafing around (despite my aversion to getting dressed up unless a coat is involved).

All in all, exciting times. The next interesting thing happened . . . I guess it was two weekends ago? Or was it one? I can’t remember . . . I actually feel that there was something else first, but I can’t remember . . .

In any case, one Friday night my parents were going to Brian’s Big Birthday Bash in Beaumont (Wayne has taught me well), so I had nothing to do and no one at home that night. I happened to glance at an orange piece of paper on my floor a few days earlier while contemplating what to do, and I noticed something very important. The sentence was run-on and horrendously awkward. But soon I got over it and looked at the orange paper, and happened to notice that Friday was none other than opening night for Arsenic and Old Lace at Rialto Community Players, starring (sort of) none other than our very own David Y. *last name deleted for privacy purposes* as Dr. Herman Einstein.

“Hey!” I said, hit with inspiration like a train hitting a penny on the rail at 95 MPH and flying off the side of a cliff and exploding, killing all aboard. “I could get the gang together and go see it!”

I suggested this to David (or maybe he suggested it to me . . . I can’t remember), and we agreed it was a good idea. So I began by calling Rachel, who said that she was going to a going-away party for “Charlie.”

Next on my list was Moe. She was getting over a cold, and it showed in her voice. “I have plans,” she croaked.

I called Seth next. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. And rang rang. Then it clicked and I heard a familiar voice saying, “You have reached the Martins! Leave a message and—“ and I hung up, forlorn.

There were several other people on my list, but one by one they were all eliminated with similar problems or just the impossibility of coming before I even called them (such as Preston having a show the same night).

It was thus in a state of complete despair, frustration and pessimism that I reached the final name on my list. Looking cruelly at the (imaginary) list, I saw the name “Megan.” I punched the send button on my phone. It rang. And rang. And rang. And rang.

And then, suddenly, apparently out of nowhere, an extremely cheerful and shockingly loud voice cried out, “HI!! You’ve reached Megan!!! Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!!” After the initial moment of excitement (because “HI!!” would not be a terribly strange way for Megan to actually answer her phone), I slumped again and muttered a message about going to David’s play and call me back.

After this I sent a text message indicated my complete and utter failure to David. He responded, suggesting that since there were still forty-five minutes until 3:30 (when Megan started dance), I should bombard Megan with calls until she either picked up or it reached 3:30.

I called her roughly 7 times, all with the same result, and gave up, snarling.

The rest of the day passed without incident, and then at around 8:00 I thought to myself, “Y’know, it’s 8:00. Megan’s had plenty of time to call me back.” So I called her again. “Hi Mark,” said a slightly less exuberant voice. “Can I call you back in like two minutes?” At this point I actually laughed out loud, more out of frustration than mirth, simply because everything seemed to be going so positively miserably that day. “Sure,” I said, and hung up.

Seven minutes later (yes, I was bored enough that I actually counted the minutes to see how close she was to two), my phone rang again.

Me: “Okay, so I called you like seven times earlier, did you notice?”
Megan: “Yeah . . . it was during dance class, and my phone kept going off . . .”

There was more, but that’s sufficient for the purposes of this blog. So naturally I felt pretty darn bad about that . . . but not half as bad as I did (being the fallen man I am) after this next comment:

Megan: “Yeah . . . it’s more likely I won’t be able to make it than that I will be. What time is it? I’m assuming it’s around seven . . .”
Me: “The show’s at 8, yeah . . .”
Megan: “Okay, yeah, I won’t be able to come . . .”

At this point I very nearly just melted into the floor. Even though none of you will have any idea what this means, I felt like Dustin in Gaston after Jeff and Jen dropped . . . sliding slowly to the floor and spreading my limbs as if to say, “take me now, Lord!”

So yes . . . that was a wonderfully frustrating day. And to top it all off, the next day the RCP phones were all messed up, so I couldn’t even reserve a ticket for myself and had to buy one at the door.

Oy . . . the only thing that went right out of the whole fiasco was that the Christisons were going (separate from me) and were willing to give me a ride.

The show itself was very good . . . everyone (except the poor minister, bless his soul) was very good . . . David of course was great, and the guy who played Jonathon (another Lifehouse guy) was very twitchy, which made me happy.

And of course it would take a lot of bad acting to make Arsenic and Old Lace unenjoyable, And . . . really, it’s been a few weeks, and I can’t remember most of what I wanted to say about it . . .

But what I DO remember is that community theaters don’t, contrary to popular belief, have money coming out of their ears. So if someone, say, crashes into a door carrying luggage and, say, totally destroys the window on the door, it’s expensive.

It’s also somewhat illusion-ruining if that same person later rips the opposite window off of the hinge and pulls off the curtain, revealing a wall where the cemetery should be . . .

It also ruins the illusion somewhat when that SAME person is referred to as being 5’6” . . .

But anyway, if nothing else, I DID take away from that glorious performance the incredible observation: “Ve’re going to Pyaaaaaanamaaaa!!”

Anyway, yes. The only other interesting thing that’s happened happened yesterday . . . David had been reigning down my neck all week to randomly show up at Smiley library to spice up the long days of study that he and Megan were putting in there. On Saturday, since I had nothing better to do, I finally complied and went.

I saw them, greeted them, and promptly went to the children’s section to search for William Steig to read while there. Unfortunately, they only had Abel’s Island, Dominic, and The Real Thief, two of which I own and all three of which I’ve already read.

After that failure, I went an immensely more mature route and picked up The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul by Mr. Douglas Adams. I got about three pages into it, total.

So we were sitting there for a while . . . probably about an hour. David I were reading (sort of . . . and you can tell who the intellectual in our group was: there’s me reading Douglas Adams, and there’s David reading Plato), and Megan was alternating researching the Jesuits, writing about the Jesuits, railing about the Jesuits, and randomly shaking her computer’s monitor (presumably, to beat the research and writing into submission). We were all conversing off and on, as well. Somewhere along the way, I must’ve said something about having nothing to do with my life, and he gestured and Megan and told me to go bowling. Megan kind of chuckled, so I figured it was one of their countless inside jokes sprung from a week of overexposure (my motto for the day was “not gonna ask”), so I just rolled my eyes and said “again, not gonna ask.” Megan responded with, “no, really.” Which confused me, because no one bothered to explain.

In the end, it was in reference to Megan’s little sister’s fifth birthday party, which was at Empire Bowl, and at which Megan didn’t want to be alone in her age group. David couldn’t go because he had no money, and therefore wouldn’t be able to pay for himself. And, since Autumn (the afore-mentioned little sister) hadn’t invited him, that would’ve been bad. I, of course, was simply ROLLING in the dough, so I was told to go.

In the end, of course, all three of us went, and I paid for David (for the most part, he paid about half of it). The three of us played a game all our own, which was documented by David and Megan with David’s fancy-shmancy expensive camera. Most of the pictures seem to be of me, because Megan generally made David delete the pictures of her, and only started taking pictures so that she could get pictures of him as revenge. I didn’t really care, so David just kept snappin’ photos of me, and then complaining that it was always the same (perhaps because I’m actually consistent in how I bowl . . .?).

Before playing, we had all made sure that the others knew how much we sucked. Megan said, “You guys have to understand that I’m a really crappy bowler.” I responded with, “I seriously doubt you’re worse than me.” David finished things off with, “I haven’t bowled in a decade.” In the end, the scores proved us right. David won with a 78, I came in second with 72, and Megan lost with fifty-something.

After that we went back over to where the little ones were, and hung out over there for a while . . . just talking and generally getting in the way. Or at least, I was getting in the way, Megan and David seemed to be doing just fine staying out of it. And not only was I in the way, but once again it was apparent that I just have a bad effect on little girls naturally . . . they always either try to attack me or ignore me completely. Megan introduced David and I to an adorable little girl, and David said a few things to her which she responded to. I then asked her something (can’t remember what . . . something basic like “what’s your favorite color”), and she kind of stared at me for a minute, then looked away and refused to look at me again for the rest of the day. Let me tell you, that is a freakin’ DEPRESSING thing. Megan told me that I should be surprised, because that’s basically what she does (either try to kill me or completely ignore me), but it’s different because she’s not in the “young and innocent” age group where you expect them to just kind of accept everything as being inherently good . . . I mean, people like Megan I can understand, because they’re aware that I’m evil to the core, but little kids . . . especially little kids I’ve never met . . . *sigh*

Anyway, after that we went and sat up in the snack area and talked for a while about dirt and worms (the “cake”) and spoons and other such things . . . then we got out of the way for the actual kids to enjoy it, but we got to eat it. After that we were just sitting around hanging out for the rest of the time . . . Megan took it upon herself to completely destroy the tablecloth if possible, and used every method available short of setting it on fire (and she came pretty close to doing that, but her stepdad took the lighter away). But to make up for not setting the table cloth on fire, she destroyed her spoon with her teeth and set it and a fork on fire.

And then, to finish things off, as Megan and her family were leaving, she decided to put the leftover Dirt’n’Worms to good use. So she made up a big plate of it and set it in front of David, who removed his glasses and had at it, face first. Face only, actually. Megan got several pictures of that, I think, I got one. After he had had his fill (or, rather, we had had our fill of watching him), she pushed the plate over to me, but I (being the boring person that I am) declined. Partially to save myself humiliation, partially because there weren’t any napkins left.

And that was basically my day yesterday. My day today basically consisted of church and messing around on the computer, and writing this.

So there you go. You’ve got an update out before school starts, which will be on Tuesday. *sob sob* Hopefully I’ll get another one out next Sunday about tomorrow (Labor Day) and the first week of school.

So until then, this is the ever-illustrious Darth Harbison, signing off.

Comments:
AJ: If I recall correctly, I said “ROFLOLSCAMCS,” which means “Rolling On the Floor Laughing Out Loud Spitting Coffee At My Computer Screen.” Picked that one up from Sarah. I’d imagine you’re right about Juliet. Something will probably be up on So_Thoughtful in the next few days . . . I have a couple of ideas. “What the, I was expecting—“ “Some kind of celebrity??”

Stephen: Um . . . I feel like an idiot, but what does TZ stand for?

Megan: Heh, you’ll have to forgive me for that. You should’ve seen what I did to Beth when the blog was first starting . . . not intentional, but she got quite upset . . . anyway, option number two picked, was that good enough? And you’re gonna have to send me that paper when it’s done.

(Final Count: Pages: 8, Words: 4139)