Sunday Night…

I got grief from two people today for not posting over the past two days.

I have a good excuse…I promise.

Remember loud talking subletter.  She has been a pain in my ass all weekend.  She had a friend in from Columbus who was equally loud.  At one point it sounded like they were fighting they were talking so loudly.  On Friday night while I was typing my post at 4:30 a.m. they came in from drinking.  They didn’t even pretend to be quiet.  They were walking around in their heals, whooping and shouting.  I had to tell them at least three times to quieten down because Adam was asleep for them to finally pay attention.

On Saturday night I gave up my shift and had date night with Adam.  We got home around 12:30 and the two girls were sound asleep on the couch.  At some point you’d think they might have thought to move this to the bedroom.  I even tried being loud but that didn’t even rouse them.  I had no desire to be at my computer in the living room with them on the couch so I went to bed.

And then last night the lovely couple got home just as Adam was finishing making dinner.  We all said her hellos and we mentioned that they should watch Project Runway with us.  I’d been painting for four hours so I went to take a shower so we could plant ourselves at the coffee table watch Project Runway and chill for a while.  When I got out of the shower they’d taken our spots on the couch and were watching some TV show neither of us cared about and were talking so loudly that as soon as we finished dinner in the kitchen we went to bed.  Thus no post last night.

We’d planned once again to watch PR tonight but guess who’s on the couch…asleep again.  You guessed it.

I’m typing this very short post.

Then I’m going to stab her in the eye with a fork.

Then I’m going to go to bed with my boyfriend.

She leaves on Saturday…YIPPPPEEEE!!!!

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Friday Night at Work…

The following people suck tonight.

Canadians.

Indians.

Fat Irish Women.

Italians.

Spaniards.

Americans.

People from some unknown country that speaks Portuguese.

James.

They all suck ass.  All of them.

Especially the Portuguese speaking fucks!!!!

I feel better now.

I won 20 bucks tonight in a bet at work.  I waited on a guy and when he paid the bill I discovered that his last name was similar to mine.  I told him I thought his name was cool but that mine was cooler.  He told me there was no way.  I replied, “Wanna bet?”  To which he said, “I’ll bet you 20 bucks, but you have to let my friends decide who’s name is cooler.”  So I whipped out my credit card and showed it to his friends.  Without even thinking they told him that I’d won the bet.  He still didn’t believe me until i pulled out my license and showed that to him.  Then he took out a 20 dollar bill and handed it to me.  And to make it even better he tipped 20% on his 150 dollar tab.

You know who doesn’t suck tonight.  Jason from Oceanside, California.

California will be continued tomorrow.  I promise.  I’m about to fall asleep at my keyboard.

Enjoy your Saturday everyone.

California Continued…

Sorry if I misled some of you into thinking that Kara had not picked out her wedding dress.  All the choosing was done.  She had to have it fitted one more time and then cart if off to her apartment and hide it from her fiancee.  Did I mention that they were living in sin.  Shame.  Shame.

So it’s Sunday night and we are driving back to San Diego.  I’m sitting here trying to figure out what we did for dinner.  And for the life of me I can’t recall.  (I just remembered.  I took Adam to my favorite taco shack and got awesome burritos.) I do know that we stopped at Wal Mart around 11:00 p.m. or so to pick up the ingredients for the cakes.

Speaking of WalMart.  This should keep you entertained for a while.

People of Wal Mart. It’s totally safe for work, just make sure your mouth is empty when you click on it.  (Adam you’ll have to show the people in your office).

So we stop at Wal Mart in Oceanside, California.  Which is about three seconds from Camp Pendleton.  Home to about twelve million marines.  Adam has a friend who used to live in Oceanside who talked constantly of the Marines there.  Adam thought he was kidding about all the marines in the area.  We walked into Wal Mart and you couldn’t throw a dead cat without hitting one.  They were every where.  Each one hotter than the next.

Sorry I was distracted.

So we shopped, and gathered up our items and continued our trip to San Diego.  It was close to 1:00 a.m. when we got there.  We were both exhausted.  We put our stuff away and climbed into bed.

Two seconds later the alarm went off.

Up and at em.

We both grabbed showers and we were out the door.

Okay.

You know me and stories.  I get side tracked.

Did I tell you we bought a GPS?

Oh.

My.

God.

It was the best hundred bucks I’ve ever spent.

Ever.

Did you know a machine could tell you where the closest McDonald’s was to your exact location.  And then tell you how to get there.

Did you know a machine could tell you where the closest Starbucks was to your location.  And then tell you how to get there.

It is awesome.  Absolutely fucking awesome.  We punched in an address and two seconds later we were on our way.  It told us how to get to the cake store.  The pants store.  Wal Mart.  The theater.  The wedding.  The hotel.

Adam nicknamed her Sissy after about two minutes in the car.  We both fell in love with Sissy.  In fact we feel a little bit guilty that she’s locked away in a box right now.  I also learned that my friend Todd calls his Velma.  Because she always navigated on Scooby Doo.  The parents of the groom call theirs Maggie.  Do you guys have GPS’s?  Does yours have a name?

Back to my story.

So we typed in our first address.

The cake store.

Adam brought much of what he needed with him.  Tools. etc.

There were things he forgot, things he couldn’t carry and things that just wouldn’t travel well.  Of course putting Adam in a cake store is dangerous.  It’s like feeding crack to an addict.  I finally had to take his hand and pull him from the store.  It didn’t help that the lady who ran the shop was amazing, helpful and sweet.

Then we were off to buy pants.  I needed a new pair of pants for the wedding.  Since it was in California, in the desert, outside, in the middle of the day, there was no way I was going to wear a suit.  So I bought a new pair of pants and we were at it again.

I feel like there were about ten things we did next but once again I don’t remember what they were.

I do know we stopped at Ralph’s.  San Diego’s grocery store.

We’d bought dry goods the night before.  Today we needed the stuff that would not have traveled well in the car.  So after what seemed like an eternity we were on our way home.

Whew.  And it’s only 2:00.  I’m exhausted.

So we get back to Todd’s where we are staying.  Adam gets everything out and ready to go in Todd’s virgin kitchen.  Todd has a brand spanking new kitchen with all new appliances and beautiful marble counter tops and he cooks less than I do.  He told Adam that he’d used his oven but Adam didn’t believe him.  As he opened it to check it out he exclaimed that it was the cleanest  oven he’d ever seen.

So Adam started baking and I headed back downtown.

I was doing the lighting for the wedding and so I’d arranged through a friend of mine to borrow some lights from a local theater.  I got there, ransacked the place and was on my way.  From there I went to Ikea to pick up some puck lights that could be hidden away behind a table ( which didn’t work, but was a good idea).  Next was the Old Globe Theater.  Adam wanted to see The First Wives Club musical while we were there.  We’d hoped a friend could get tickets for us but it didn’t work out.  So I decided I would surprise him with tickets.  What I didn’t know was that the box office was closed on Mondays, so I had to table that idea.  (His boss ended up surprising us with tickets so I’m glad that we waited.  I’ll come back to this story).

So I rushed back to Todd’s.

Adam was knee deep in cupcakes.  He’d baked a couple of batches, was mixing more and making frosting all at the same time.  His butter cream frosting is to die for.

He immediately put me to work.

He’d designed all the programs and menus for the wedding.  Earlier in the day (I forgot this part) we’d gone to Kinkos and used their paper cutter to cut all of them down to size.  He’d printed them all in NYC and we’d carried them with us.  NOW I had to use the tiniest little hole punch and punch holes in all 80 programs (six pages) and all 80 menus (two pages).  And then…I had to take the tiniest pieces of ribbon and thread it through the holes to tie everything together.  It took me about two seconds to realize I’d never be able to do this.  I could get the ribbon through the holes but I couldn’t tie the bow.  My fingers are too big and I don’t have the patience.

Adam was still in cupcake hell.  And he hadn’t even baked the cake yet.

And it was 9:00 and we hadn’t eaten in hours.

I called my favorite diner in town and placed an order.  While I was off to pick it up, Adam continued baking.

I could go on and on but we finally got to bed around 1:00 a.m. or so.  We were both exhausted.  All the cupcakes were baked.  The cake was baked.  Neither the cupcakes or the cake had been decorated.  The holes had been punched, but I’d only gotten about ten ribbons done.  And whether we liked it or not we had to go to bed.  We had to be up at 5:00 a.m the next morning to drive to LA and then on north to the wedding site.

I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

And remember.  It’s only day three and we have two more days of this.

Megamillions is 325 million on Friday with a cash payout of 205 million.  I’ll let you know if I win.

Day One…California.

Fuck I’m tired.

Let me repeat that.

Fuck I’m tired.

Be right back.  Need more Diet Coke to stay awake long enough to write this (it should say something that I just typed rite).

This work crap is for the birds.  I’m too old for it.  I want to be able to sit at home, eat bon-bons and hang out with my boyfriend.  Is that too much for a girl to want.

I’d hoped that I would win the lottery this week.  MegaMillions was 275 million.  I didn’t win.  It’s estimated to be around 325 on Friday.  Perhaps that will be my lucky day.  I only play when it’s big.  And trust me it’s already been spent.  Of course Adam and I keep fighting about giving some of it away.  He thinks we should keep it all.  I think I should spread some of it around to some people/organizations that have helped us along the way.  I figure if you win 325 million you won’t miss the four or five million you give away.  Last time I wrote about the lottery I said I’d fly everyone who commented to NYC for a weekend of fun.  I’m suggesting that I do the same this time, rent out my restaurant and tell them I’ll only do it if the managers do the work.  Sounds good to me.  Then I really tell them what I think of them.

Speaking of work.  Tonight was my first shift in almost two weeks.  In the big scheme of things it was okay.  I sold a lot which was good because I only walked with 11%.  Of course as my friend Autumn said, my 11% is still 50% better than everyone else did.  That’s probably true, but I’d still like to have made more.  I do know that I’m exhausted.  The first day back after a two week break is tough.  I’m not used to running around like a crazy man, being nice to everyone, and pretending that I care.  It takes a lot out of you.

Okay.

Enough whining.

California?

California was awesome, and grueling, and fun, and stressful, and relaxing and exhausting.  All of those things.  Luckily not at the same time.

The official reason that Adam and I went to CA in the first place was for his best friend Kara’s wedding.  She and her boyfriend of six years were finally tying the knot.  In April when we were out west, we visited Kara and took a quick trip up to the wedding site.  The area is beautiful.  It’s in wine country just north of LA and is very peaceful and serene.  The wedding was held at an old inn in their garden with the reception held in the old coach house.  It was a perfect setting.  In April, Adam and I both gave Kara suggestions (that Adam made her take) about certain things.  We’ll come back to that.

As per the agreement, Adam’s gift to her was to bake the wedding cake.  Which consisted of a two layer top tier for the bride and groom, and 150 cupcakes for everyone else to eat.  He hasn’t downloaded the photos yet, but the idea was to create a tower out of the cupcakes and it would be topped by the two layer cake.  The flowers of choice for the wedding were hydrangeas.  And so in keeping with that idea, the wedding cake as well as all 150 cupcakes were topped with hydrangea flowers.  Made of sugar.

I was a little concerned when he agreed to do this.  But who am I?  And besides all I had to do was go along for the ride.  So for two weeks prior to our leaving Adam worked diligently to make 150+ hydrangea blooms.  That were hand painted in the colors of the wedding.  AND THEN…they had to be wrapped and carefully packed so that they could go in his carry on bag and hopefully get to LA in one piece or more than 150 pieces if you want to be exact.

And that was the easy part.  Once we were in LA the real work began.

Remember how I said that we gave Kara suggestions (orders) as to things that should be done for the wedding.  Adam’s idea of giving these suggestions to Kara was to tell her we would take care of them.  So.

We arrive in San Diego.  Luckily 45 minutes (10:30 p.m.) early so we were able to pick up the rental early.

Ran to my friend Todd’s house and went straight to bed.

Got up at 6:00 the next  morning (you know how I like mornings) and drove to LA.

In LA we ran to pick up Kara and the first stop was the flower market in LA.  If you’ve never been I highly recommend it.  It’s a huge warehouse where all the florist in LA go to buy their flowers.  It’s open to the public after a certain time.  We spent two hours going from stall to stall picking out flowers for the wedding.  Perhaps it’s a good time to tell you that Adam agreed to do the flowers.  We didn’t actually buy anything.  We just went through the market so that Adam could get an idea of what Kara wanted.

After that we began the long journey of driving Kara all over town to run errands.  To one store for lingerie, another store for shoes, another store for this, another store for that.  The most important of all was picking up the wedding dress.  We got there about three minutes before they closed.

Finally we went back to Kara’s, ran to grab food and hit the hay.

The next morning we were up just as early.  At the end of the day, way later than we wanted we drove back to San Diego.  We did get to see Legally Blond on Sunday afternoon so that was a big plus.  See CA was awesome and grueling.  The show was amazing…ohmigod.

…This is as good a place to stop as any.

Tune in tomorrow for all the other things we got to do while we were in California.  On vacation.

PS.  We had a great time, it’s just fun to bitch and give Adam a hard time.

PSS.  This is a test run of the wedding cake.  It looked much different than this when it was all done, but you get the idea.

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All them leaves and flowers and crap are all sugar.  He’s pretty talented don’t you think?

Just in case your bored with nothing else to do today.

A Maddog Update.

It’s late so here’s a bit of an update.

I got yelled at tonight at work.  In front of the entire staff by the fucking kitchen manager.  I didn’t yell back.  Instead I came home, wrote a detailed email to the General Manager and told him the kitchen manager’s behavior needed to be discussed.  As I constantly say, “I won’t allow my mother to yell at me, I’m sure as fuck not going to allow you to yell at me.”  All of this because I needed an unbuttered, untoasted hamburger bun.  Go figure.

Guess who’s going on yet another trip with his most wonderful of wonderful boyfriend.  Your are correct.  It’s ME!!!

Adam and I are flying to San Diego tomorrow night.  We are flying out to attend the wedding of Adam’s best friend.  The wedding is on Wednesday.  We are going out early because Adam is baking the wedding cake.  We are staying till next Sunday so we can have some time, on the beach getting a tan.  I can hardly wait.

I’ll try and post as much as possible.  I’ll have access to the Internet at least while we are in San Diego.  Just don’t get concerned.

Have a great weekend everyone.

Stereotypes.

I’m going to stereotype some people for a moment.

Why is it impossible to speak with a southern (hick) accent and not sound stupid.  Perhaps I only think that way because most of my family speaks with said accent and I think most of them are stupid.  If it applies to me then it must apply to everyone.

When you wait tables it’s impossible to not become biased against certain groups of people.  I once heard a black comedian say if you don’t want a canoe to tip, paint it black.  I try not to think that way.  I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.  And for me it’s come down to two types of people that I hate waiting on.  It’s Indian’s and Southerners.  As my friend Supreet would day dot Indian, not feather Indian.  Her mother hates it when she says that.

And why do I hate waiting on these two groups of people?

First as a group  they don’t tip.  I’ve tried and tried and tried to give them better service.  Be friendlier.  Etc. Etc.  But at the end of the day it’s to no avail.

The southerners tend to be fat.  And drink Mt. Dew.   And want fifteen refills before you’ve ever put their food order in the computer.  When you  ask them how they want their burger cooked, they say “Done.”  They hate reading the menu which is why Delmar called me over tonight to yell at me for not asking him what sides he wanted with his extra well done New York Strip.  I then had to explain to him that I didn’t ask because it’s not a choice…it comes with broccoli and mashed potatoes.  That’s what the menu says.  And if this is such an issue then why didn’t you say so in the first place.  And please do not exhale as though you’ve been told your dog died when I tell you that we don’t have “Sweeeeet Teeeeee.”  If you wanted things to be like they are at home, you should have just stayed at home.  And don’t roll your eyes at me when I tell you we don’t have Coke (they are probably from Atlanta), I’m the king of all things Diet Coke.  And if I can drink Diet Pepsi anyone can.  And I really don’t care that you can get a whole case of Bud at home for 12 dollars and that 7.00 is too much to pay.  See the things at home comment from above.  We are the big city.  In fact we are the biggest city.  We are the city that people come to when they live in other cities.  That’s why you are here.  Sit back and enjoy the ride and if you are open to it you might just meet some nice interesting people.

As for the Indians.  They deserve to have something for free.  It doesn’t matter what but they deserve to have something for free.  Can’t you just give us one drink free.  Can’t you just give us a french fries for free.  So if this bar that you are not quite sure is on 46th street is not on 46th street we can come back here and have free drinks..  We’ve spent 50 dollars I think we should get one free drink.  Come on let us have the souvenir glass for free.  UGH.  UGH.  UGH.  I’ve never said this to a table but it’s coming…”Do you go to the Gap and ask for something free?  Do you go to Macy’s and ask for something free?  Then why the fuck do you think it’s okay to come to my business and ask for something free.  It’s a business.  We are here to make money.  If we gave everyone who spent 50 dollars a free drink we’d be out of business by the end of the year.  If you want food and drink for free there’s a homeless shelter right down the street.

And I understand why southerner’s don’t tip.  I’m a product of their educational system.  Do you know I never had a geography class?  I barely know where Canada is.  My senior English class was taught by a substitute teacher.  My biology teacher in high school had a nervous breakdown and never came back to school.  My 8th grade history teacher did nothing all year but do Big Bopper imitations.  My physics teacher I’m pretty sure was autistic and I’m pretty sure barely knew where he was.  My 8th grade science teacher did nothing but make gay jokes for the entire year.  It’s no wonder I put off coming out of the closet for so long.  My algebra teacher spent the entire year telling us about the pitfalls of having a car that wouldn’t reverse.  My high school Spanish teacher spoke Spanish with such a think souther accent I didn’t know till I got to college I didn’t know Buenos Dios wasn’t pronounced Buwaynose Deeeos.  I can continue, but I can hear all of you saying none of this is true.  And god knows I wish it weren’t.  But it is.  So when a southerner can’t figure out that 20% of 75.0o is not 6.00 I at least understand that it’s probably not their fault.  They are just the product of a bad educational system.

I don’t know much about the Indian Educational system.  I don’t have the energy to find out.  What I do know is a couple of weeks ago I waited on a table of four Indian girls who were out to celebrate their friends new job as an Investment banker.  It’s my guess she’s not going to do very well if she can’t tell the difference between 6% and 20%.  It’s just my guess.

And at the end of the day for both groups…I’m not your servant.  I’ll be happy to get you what you want.  But you are not the only table I’m waiting on.  Yes, the drink refills are free but I don’t think they expected you to have 30 of them when they implemented the policy.  Do not be rude to me.  Do not think I’m less than you because I’m a server.  I make a good living at my job.  I work hard.  I’m good at what I do.  Do not speak to me as though I’m stupid.  I have three college degrees.  I waited on a table one night and someone made a smart ass comment about  me just being a waiter.  They were trying to be funny.  They didn’t think it was so funny when I explained that I have three college degrees and I wait tables because I make a lot of money in a little amount of time and I only work when I want to work.  I explained to them that for the most part I only work 11 shifts a month and I make just as much as many of my friends in the city who work real jobs and I get to spend a lot more time doing the things I enjoy like spending time with my boyfriend.  So FUCK YOU!!!

Sorry I’m on this tangent tonight.  I had the misfortune of waiting on both groups of people tonight with the same experience.  I was treated like shit, I was ordered around and I was tipped poorly.

Nothing like waiting tables to make you stereotype people.

Gross.

You know you are in trouble when your first table of the evening promises not to be any trouble.  And then is nothing but trouble.  How many questions  can a person answer about the type of sodas we serve.  And I don’t care whether you order a beer or margarita.  I really don’t.  What I do care about is that I stood at your table and waited as you debated the subject with your wife.

And then the most disturbing part of the table.  It was a five top.  The parents and three children.  When I approached to take their order I ended up between the father and his daughter of about eight or nine.  And for the whole time I was there, the child was touching me.  She caressed my name tag.  She touched my flair.  She stroked my shirt.  And the whole time I was being more and more disturbed and no one seemed to notice.  The whole thing creeped me out.  It’s inappropriate for anyone to touch the waiter.  It’s especially inappropriate for your small child to touch the waiter.  I’m still grossed out by it.

I hope I don’t have nightmares.

Acting 101

“Take your fucking socks and shove them up your cunt!!!”

Told you I’d tell you this story.

So I get to my first rehearsal after returning to the city from Maine.  The rehearsal period for the show is short.  Two weeks in a rehearsal room, 10 hours of tech and we open.  Fast and furious.  We all knew this going in to the project.

So I arrive and I’m given a spot at the table…this time.  And it’s time for a run of the show.  Before it starts the director gives a little speech about honoring the space and the work being done in it.  I thought it was a little strange but I’d been thinking for  a while that he reeked of a director that had just graduated from State School University Theatre Directing 101.  It’s not that you don’t learn a lot in these schools but there are a lot of exercises that are performed and required that almost everyone who does theater for more than ten minutes thinks are stupid.  And yet every school in the country teaches these.  So he gives his little speech.  Rehearsal starts.

And about three minutes into the rehearsal the director asks the assistant director to quietly give one of the female actors a note as she was standing in the wings to make her entrance.  The AD had taken about two steps when let’s call him David  (My friend the set designer says, “You can’t spell David without Diva.”)  stops rehearsal and begins to shout.  “I thought you just said to honor the rehearsal room and the work that is being done here.  I can’t work with these constant interruptions.  You MUST honor my process blah, blah, blah.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  Was he fucking for real?  I’ve worked with a lot of actor’s.  And most all of them are temperamental.  I get that.  It takes a lot of guts to go on stage in front of thousands of people and do what they do.  I respect that.  What I can’t do, is take them seriously when they start thinking that the show is about them.  I can’t take them seriously when they start to take themselves to seriously.  This guy is supposedly a fucking professional.  He’s been a member of Actor’s Equity since 1989 as his bio states.  (Who cares?  It means you did some stupid show in Peoria that happened to be Equity and you got in).  Is he really saying all of this?

And then I start having conversations about what I saw and it seems this was not the first time.  Nor was it the last.

He stopped rehearsal and threw a pen across the room because it was not the pen that he’d specified.

He refused to wear the shoes that were bought for him because they didn’t ground him.

He refused to wear the next pair of shoes that were bought for him because they pitched him forward.

He refused to wear the next pair of shoes that were  bought for him for some other asinine reason.

He refused to sit in the chair that was provided during rehearsal because it wasn’t the right kind of chair.

There were a series of light flashes that occurred during the show and he insisted that someone yell “FLASHING” before it happened each time.  We only stopped doing this the day we openened.

He plays a Russian and in one scene he drinks tea.  He insisted that he be given real tea, in a china cup to use.  He also researched what Russians put in their tea and then insisted that he be provided jam to be put in said tea.  All of this had to be served on a silver platter.  He also insisted that the cup of tea be covered with a doily offstage until it was served to him.

I was not there when this happened but it seems in the middle of one rehearsal he screamed so inappropriately at one of the interns that she ran crying from the room.

He refused to wear the first two watches that were given to him.

He insisted that his suit be tailored to fit him, even though there was no money to do so.

He refused to be in costume for rehearsal because he felt it would be too hot.

He refused to come on stage because he hadn’t received his proper ten minute call to places.

He refused to wear nylon socks.  He refused to let them static guard his socks.  He bitched because static electricity caused his suit pants to stick to his socks, which could have been alleviated, but…

I’d like to reiterate that the rehearsal process was two weeks plus 1.5 days of tech and then we opened.  The entire budget for costumes, lights, scenery and sound was 4,500 dollars.  This was NOT the big time.  This wasn’t even small time.  This was a summer theater festival.  I kept joking that even Patti Lapone would have been easier to work with.  I also said that until he had 12 Tony’s, an Emmy and four Oscars that he should probably check the attitude at the door.

At some point during all of this it seems the female actors had had enough.  They realized that he’d hijacked the rehearsal process and made it all about him.  One of them said, fuck it and did what she had to do and kept quiet about it.  The other one not so much.  This one is very much an up and coming actor and is cast in the lead in a famous revival next spring on Broadway.  At one point when she’d had enough she turned to him in the room and said, “So David.  What show are you in on Broadway?  What show have you ever been in on Broadway?  Should I mention that I’m going to play ________ in the spring?”  She’s a spitfire.  I also heard that at some point he said that something about feeling the moment with his vagina and the director finally had to ask him to leave the room because she was yelling so loudly.

Needless to say by the time we got to tech we’d all had enough.  I of course hadn’t had to deal with him at all…yet, but I was not about to put up with him.  My motto at the restaurant is “My mother doesn’t yell at me.  I’m sure as hell not going to let you yell at me.”  I say it to the managers and I’ve said it to a couple of guest.  I don’t get yelled at.  Let me repeat…I don’t get yelled at.  Are you reading this Adam?  So in a moment of advance planning I went to the producers and said the following, “I’m well aware of David’s behavior over the last two weeks.  I also know that he’s treated just about everyone he’s come in contact with like shit.  I’d also like you to know that I won’t tolerate it.  If he speaks to me in a tone that is in the slightest out of line or disrespectful, rehearsal will screech to a halt.  I will stop things and I’ll be as publicly disrespectful of him as he has been to me.  I also want you to know that we won’t start the process again until he has apologized to me in front of the entire team.  I want to make sure you don’t take this lightly.  I’m much to old to tolerate this type of infantile behavior.”  They listened and assured me that it would all be fine.  I told them I hoped they were right.

And so tech started.  And the first few hours were fine.  He was difficult to everyone else but not to me.  Of course during this time I realized something.  It seems the only people he yelled and screamed at were girls.  I had a penis so I was pretty safe to say that I was not going to be yelled at.  There was only one time where I thought he was going to say something to me.  I wasn’t aware of it as my friends were but it seems you could see him thinking as to how to handle the situation.  My costume designer friend I was told later, was saying aloud, “Say something, go ahead, say something, say something, go ahead say something.  Let someone finally put you in your place.”  He did not and rehearsal continued.

We got through tech and the show opened.

And you know all of his antics might have been forgiven if he were good.  But he was BAD.  REALLY BAD.  You could see him acting.  With a CAPITAL “A”.  He was creating art.  It was all about the “ART”.  And he blew.  The afternoon before we opened  we were doing a fight call (it’s a quick review of the fight sequences, that are rehearsed to keep everyone safe), when the future Broadway actress came up to me and said, “This is going to take at least 35 minutes.  Because David will make it all about him and need to rehearse and rehearse.”  We conversed a little more and I mentioned that I hated that I could see him acting.  And she replied, “You should never see someone act.  It should be casual and easy.  I should be able to perform my scene with a martini in one hand, a cigarette in the other hand and never, ever sweat.  It’s not that easy of course but it should “seem” that easy.

So it’s closing afternoon.  And my friend the costume designer arrives at the theatre to discover that the laundry has been done but not everything is quite dry yet.  At this point it’s really not her problem.  Just like me, she opens the show and moves on to the next project.  She is made aware of the problem and goes back stage to see if she can help.  She discovers that David’s socks are not dry and so she approaches him to offer a solution and without even taking a moment to acknowledge her,  he screams, “You can take your fucking socks and stick them up your cunt.”  At this point I would have punched him.  I might have gotten arrested but I seriously think I might have punched him.  The CD took a breath and walked out of the room.  It took about five seconds for word to get around about what had happened.

I don’t think anything was ever said to him.  I do know that I was asked for an email documenting what I witnessed.  The information was being compiled to be sent to Actor’s Equity (since 1989) and to his agent.

The theater community is quite small.  And it’s not segregated between the big time and the small time.  Everyone knows everyone.  And unless you are Patti Lapone, don’t assume that your behavior isn’t going to follow you.  I know several people that can’t understand why they don’t work more when in fact it’s because they are difficult to work with.  I suppose it’s the same in most industries.

On a fun note.  The intern the he yelled at and made cry.  She was responsible for cleaning his tea cup and setting it for each show.  For the closing performance she washed his cup out in the toilet before filling it with his tea and placing it on the prop table.

Always, always be careful who you yell at.

A New Step.

It’s official.

Adam and I are moving in together.

I kind of already announced this.

So it’s not like it’s a big surprise.

The reason it’s news today is that we just finished painting our bedroom and moving the furniture around to make room for my stuff.  I plan on officially being moved in by the second week of October.

So today we painted.  The bedroom color is a beautiful tannish green.

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There’s more green in the paint than we’d originally thought but that’s actually okay since our original color swatches were all on the green side.  It’s a very adult color and is rich with all of the dark wood furniture that fills the room.  And since I am a lighting designer you know the color mixes well with the warm amber tones of incandescent lighting.

I was giddy as a school girl all day.  In fact I think I annoyed Adam a bit.  He was in work mode and I just wanted to take in the day in all it’s importance.  Adam is a bit of a neat freak.  He likes his things exactly where they are supposed to go.  So when I started moving things around today to clear the room for painting etc. I think he panicked a little.  He quickly settled into things though and was more excited than me when we had put the last of the things away and stood back to look at our work.  I have told him that the chaos is only going to get worse.  I don’t know anyway to move and unpack without things being unsettled for a couple of weeks.  I will just have to distract him with other activities so he doesn’t notice the mess.

I do have to say that I can hardly wait till I can call Inwood my home…for real.

Maddog in the Back of the Bus!!!

I’m a day late.

Sorry.

My friend Kim is applying for a teaching job and needed extensive help getting her materials together, so I spent two + hours last night after I got home from work proofing and helping her out.  It was help Kim or post.  I hope you guys don’t mind that I helped Kim.

Just before I left for Maine I was invited to an “off the record” reading of the play I just designed.  I say off the record because an official rehearsal couldn’t be called because it violated equity guidelines.  In fact mysteriously the director was “sick” that night and couldn’t attend.  For the reading the cast, production team, stage managers, and producers all gathered in a small theater in town to hear the play read aloud.

This in itself was an interesting event.

When the creative team etc. is gathered to a reading essentially everyone is gathered around a very big table or series of table.  There is usually not much of place of prominence and if there is it’s for the director.  Basically everyone gathered should feel as much a part of the process as the next.

So on the day of our reading, my friend the set designer and I show up about two or three minutes before we are supposed to be there.  There really is no reason to be there early.  You show up, everyone is introduced and then the play is read.  So we arrive and discover that the table is full.  There is space for everyone but the two of us.  It becomes very clear very quickly that no accommodations are going to be made for us.  So we pull up a bench and sit.  The costume designer thinking we all should be together joins us.  She’s perched on a stool with no back that’s too tall for her.  We are perched on a bench that you can’t lean back on because there is a piece of wood that cuts through your back.  Neither the bench or the stool is padded.  And the icing on the cake.  The two twenty something unpaid interns have prime seats, at the head of the table.  The two unpaid, producers are next to them.  The people who are going to be designing the show have seats in the back of the bus.  Hmmm.

And the reading started.

The play is one act.  When it was performed for an audience it was less than 90 minutes.  On the day of the reading it was 2.5 hours long.  I’ve never witness such acting before in my life.  There were pauses to make room for other pauses.  There was drama where no one knew there would be.  There was an intensity the likes of which no one has ever seen before.  I had no doubt that by the end of our process both of the men in our show would have best actor Tony’s, Emmy’s and Oscars all for the same performance.  It was insane.  Say the fucking line.  Don’t pause to hear yourself breathe.  The fucking director isn’t even there, so you are only impressing yourself.  The rest of us are just bored and keep looking at our watches wishing that we were back across the street drinking beer.  Just say it already.

And for all the acting by the men, the women were awesome.  They clearly had a feel for the characters they were playing, but they were not Norma Desmond, ready for her close up.  After twelve hours the final page was turned and we were done.

I was annoyed beyond belief.  My ass was sore.  My back hurt.  My knees ached from balancing a notebook on my lap for way too long.  I was also annoyed that at no time did anyone offer us a place at the table or apologize for it.  I’m too old to sit in the back of the bus.  I’m also too old to be so blatantly disregarded.  So the designers left the rehearsal read-thru and headed for the subway.  It became clear that we’d all brought something different away from the reading.  I was annoyed about the table.  The costume designer was annoyed with the actor that kept pausing and then laughing at his own jokes in the play.  And just for the record, there are no jokes in the play.  It’s about as serious as a play about terrorism could be.  And the scenery designer was worried that the director had no idea how much time it was going to take to make these men realize that they play was not about them.

We parted on the subway platform.

I came home (and by home I mean to Adam’s) and as I’m prone to do, cranked out a letter to the stage manager and producers.  I was not as delicate as I should have been.  Luckily, Adam wouldn’t let me hit send until he’d massaged the email a little bit.

The email:

Producers,

It was wonderful to finally hear the play aloud.  I think the script that has been given to us will lend itself to a wonderful and exciting production.

However, I was disappointed that dramaturgy materials, chairs, and space at the table were not provided to the designers tonight.  I hope the next time the designers are called to a rehearsal, the same considerations will be given to them as are provided to the rest of the company.

I’m looking forward to starting rehearsals next week.

Have a great weekend,

Maddog

I’m probably lucky that Adam kept me from hitting send.  I think I probably wrote something to the effect that it was totally fucked, tell the interns to get up from the fucking table and if this is the way we are going to be treated then fuck you.  Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit.  Well actually a  lot.

Within an hour of sending the email I got an apologetic response.  They were very kind and offered their sincerest apologies.  I’d gotten my message across and been nice all at the same time.

Two days later I left for Maine.

Did my show.

I arrived back on Monday night.

On Tuesday I got up early and headed down to rehearsal.

And it took about three minutes to know that some people need more coddling than others.

Okay I sort of didn’t get to the sock up the cunt, but you know me.  I like to tell a good story.