Five Weird Gifs

Happy Friday!

Five Things you forget about doing a show

There are always little details that get lost in the hustle and bustle of a show. These are things I forget until they happen: and if you’re in theater, you may forget too.

• 5. Vanishing Bobby Pins
  
  
  My dragon costume has two lovely horn/hat things that are stuck to my head with an assortment of pins each night. And each night, my carefully gathered pins vanish into the ether between shows. Either they fall out of the hats, or far more likely, other actors snatch them. Lord knows I have.
  
  
  How bad is inter-cast pin theft? I’ve NEVER brought a bobby pin in eighteen years.
  
  
  4. Backstage Funk
  
  
  The stage is hot. Lights blaze overhead, costumes trap the heat, singing and dancing cast members sweat and glisten.
  
  
  Backstage you have double the costumes, double the body heat, and usually half the space.
  
  
  As I write this I sit baking in my Witch costume. Even with the hat, onstage is far cooler than this. Alas, I don’t go back on for seven more scenes. Off to the drinking fountain!
  
  
  3. Don’t Eat That!
  
  
  You don’t eat in costume. Cardinal rule of theater. You spill something, poof, instant emergency. So food is kept out, and drinks are limited to water. In theory.
  
  
  Acting burns calories. Singing and dancing under those hot lights wears you out quick. Soda and coffee give you a energy, even if it’s terrible fro your voice. Sometimes there’s no time to eat until you’re here. So we eat, drink, and are merry in costume. Right now I’m inches away from glazed doughnut holes, and luscious caramel chocolate espresso cupcakes, provided by one of our more talented cast members. I’ve had two so far.
  
  
  We do keep some things out: pasta is frowned on, as is ketchup and anything else with dripping red sauce. Garlic and other strong-smelling stuff is tabooish. Other than that, open wide.
  
  
  2. Energy Fluctuations
  
  
  The nervous energy can and does dissipate quickly. On Thursday and Friday I was bustling everywhere. By tonight (Saturday) I’m sitting back, watching the monitor, and writing. I slept in and did work around the house today, but not enough to set me back this far.
  
  
  It’s not just me. The rest of the cast is low-key backstage. We’re conserving out energy for trotting the boards. It’s worked fine: the audience is amazing tonight, and we’re getting more than enough feedback to pick us up, if needed.
  
  
  Tomorrow is a matinees, so the energy will come back. Afterwards we’ll all be dragging, but it’s Sunday night, so who gives a rat’s ass?
  
  
  1. New Things
  
  
  There’s always something new. A few moments ago I saw my husband, who plays the whole show on his knees with fake legs to simulate shortness, do his ‘kneeling’ to propose bit. It was a stitch. The rest of the cast is congratulating him, and rightfully so. We’d never seen it before. New shit is always appreciated, especially after watching the same show for three months.
  
  
  Does this mean go off the rails, add lib, and fuck shit up? No. Just watch a performance carefully. If it’s any good, you’ll always see something new. The crowd changes what we do from day to day, in hundreds of small ways. Timing, energy, mood: it’s fluid. And tonight, it was rocking.
  
  P.S. We got a standing ovation. First one at Fenton. Hooray!

The Sound of Silence

Yesterday, Robin Williams hung himself.

I was at my brother in law's house. Bahamute, Gizmo, and Grizz (names protected, but nobody's innocent) were playing Pathfinder (D&D). I was derping around online and decided to check my email.

Some images may be edited.

I saw Williams face and the headline. Robin Williams was Bahamute's favorite comedian, after George Carlin. How the hell was I going to break this news?

I could feign ignorance. The Daily show was a repeat, no danger of him seeing it there. The men were engaged with the game. Nobody would know except me.

No. Best it were done quickly.

"Oh...Oh no."

Bahamute knows that tone. "Honey?"

"It's...Robin Williams."

"What?"

I steeled myself. "Robin Williams, age 63, was found dead."

There was a moment of silence.

"What?"

"They think it was suicide. He was only 63." I'm already looking for other information, but it's mere minutes old. "Honey, I'm so sorry."

Grizz gets up and collects brandy and shot glasses. "I think a toast is appropriate. Godspeed Robin."

We clink and drink. The brandy numbs my tongue. I hug and kiss Bahamute. Thank God we're with family. Grizz and Gizmo are our favorite couple. We have a weekly date night. If anyone can take his mind off this, it'll be the three of us.

The game begins again. I post and reblog pictures and look for information. The men are laughing and playing.

Night at the Museum 3 is out in December. I think it's William's last complete movie. Guess I won't wait for the DVD after all.

It's a shitty story, and I'm sorry there's no punchline. This is the best I have.

Michael Brown: just the facts

These are the facts, as they stand. I don't need to explain to you the cries of racism and anti-police that are coming from both sides: anyone alive for the Trayvon Martin shooting will know what they are like. But for those who barely have time to skim the news, I've compiled a dossier.

Michael Brown was fatally shot by police on August 9th. The facts are sparse, but Brown's friend, who witnessed the shooting, says that he had his hands up, attempting to surrender. The officer claims that Brown was fleeing after stealing candy, and then attacked him near a vehicle.

The friend claims the police officer shot Brown, and when he was down shot him again. There are also reports of the body laying in the street for 4+ hours, uncovered.

We know a few things for certain:

• Brown was unarmed.
• He was shot 35 feet away from the vehicle that he supposedly attacked the officer in. The officer has not given explanation to why that is. "He said he was declining to disclose certain details because he didn't want to "prejudice" the case." says CNN.
• There have been vigils, riots, and police in action in Ferguson Missouri, where this happened.

Here are some tweets/photos about the incident and the aftermath:

Bail and a legal fund has been established for those arrested during the protest/vigil/riots.

These are the bare bones facts. I hope it helps explain the what, when, where, how, and who of the situation.

I have yet to address the why.

Reflections on ogre achievers

It’s almost ten. We’re knee-deep into our penultimate dress rehearsal for Shrek. Tomorrow I start my new position, 9-5 at the central hub for our funeral homes. I’m nervous.

I spent the first week of the month there, so I’m passing familiar with the location of everything, the accelerated duties (mostly the same as my own, just a lot more), and the maniacal whims of the location manager, AKA the head honcho. My office shares a wall with his. Goodbye slow days where I can blog and edit my manuscript. Hello 4 day work week!

The head honcho says he wants me to stay at 30 hours, 9-5 four days a week. I’m trying to parlay this into having Friday off: with the show starting Thursday I need any time off I can finagle. I may not be able to this week, being a ‘new’ member of the team. Maybe he’ll want to train me. Maybe he’ll want me to take Mondays off instead. I hope not: Mondays are his day off. If I work when I want, I’ll only have three days a week with him.

I don’t like change, but I feel better about this one than most. I think it’ll eventually lead into me working 9-5 5 days a week: a real full time job! One that I pay taxes on, and get overtime for (God willing), and health insurance! I’ll finally have a real, adult job that I got all by myself. No owners that are Dad’s old cronies, no getting paid under the table, nothing. A real, legal full time job.

Stability. That’s what I want out of life. Financial stability. Job stability. Enough money to move into an apartment with Bahamute. Stop living with my Mother. Save for the future. Think about (a  few years down the line!) having kids.

This could be the first step.

I’m a hard worker, especially when I’m watched. Everyone complimented my work the week I was at White Lake: even the head honcho who called me on the mistakes I made (fair enough) and gave me shit for not knowing things (not fair in the least, but not special to me). This will be good for my productivity to say the least. Not that I won’t tote Tyrion and a book with me. I’ve been burned too many times in the past. Even on the busiest of days there are periods of nothingness.

In a song and a half it’s back onstage, then ending notes, then home, shower, lay out clothes and pack show necessities for tomorrow. Dinner on the road. Wet hair in the bed. Angry cat stepping on my face because she’s getting less than the required amount of cuddling. Life.

Tonight I’ll sleep next to my husband, aching and mentally exhausted. Tomorrow will be worse, and if Friday is a workday it’ll be a nightmare. But soon I’ll settle into my new routine. Soon. Just not soon enough.

Slenderman Stabbing: Update

My long-time readers will remember my past posts about Creepypasta, the Slenderman Stabbing and the expected fallout. There's new information that the press isn't making as public. The shine is off the apple.

First of all, one of the stabbers has been ruled unfit to stand trial. This was expected from the moment the story was reported. The insanity runs deeper than even I suspected. In addition to trying to kill to impress Slenderman, the girl believes in Unicorns and communicates with Lord Voldermort. Of course that's crazy: Voldermort died in the 90s.

The court is giving her one year to become competent, with therapy. The other girl has yet to be evaluated.

In more positive news, the victim went home from the hospital a week after the stabbing, got a purple heart anonymously, and an ongoing GoFundMe fundraiser has raised almost 60k for her.

And what about the fallout for horror aficionados, like myself? The Creepypasta website went down for a while, out of respect. The person who runs the site got death threats. Not even the creator of the original photos: just the person running the site they were hosted on. There is an age calculator on the site now, to screen out the honest young.

The original photo manipulations, by Victor Surge.

There have been other crimes tenuously linked to Slenderman, but no big media bombshells. Nothing they can latch on to and decry us weirdos who read Stephen King and watch Freddy Krueger. We on the margins of society who turn out for the annual installments of SAW or Paranormal Activity on Halloween. So the story has died.

I've often told the story of being approached by a woman with christian tracts outside of the library because I'd borrowed a copy of The Exorcist. My husband gives me weird looks when I wax philosophic on the art of Don't Hug Me I'm Scared. I'm used to the stigma attached to horror.

None of these little things bother me. The horror fan stigma has been around since the inception of the art. People were mocked for reading penny dreadfuls like Varney the Vampier, even as it reached best-seller status. It's something I'm used to. But I don't have to like it. I don't have to sit back while artists get death threats because sociopaths latch on to their work instead of religion or poltical dogma.

I have a blog and a loud voice. Shouting at the theater about Slenderman may get me some attention, but it won't win me any fans. So I'll stand on my digital pulpit and shout my normalcy.

No. Not my normalcy. My assertion that normalcy doesn't matter. Art matters. Freedom to enjoy the art matters.

Fuck anyone who thinks I'm a psychotic freakshow because I watch American Horror Story. If I am a psychopath, just hope I'm influenced by something as mild as Stephen King. The psychopaths devoted to religion and politics are far scarier.