Actors' Guild

Big Screen:

Walk the Line was released on video today. Filmed in Memphis, the movie utilized a few of my Nashville friends in minor speaking roles. When it opened, I went to the cinema with my dinner theatre co-worker Carter Thrower to applaud when he (as the sheriff) told Joaquin Phoenix (as Johnny Cash) that what he used to kept his shirts so nice was “just starch.” I was keeping an eye out for another friend, Jim Wright (who apparently did not make it past the editing room), when Carter pointed out Michael “Monte” Montgomery on screen. Although I’m fairly certain that Monte had lines during his small turn at a gift/tackle shop, he is not credited on IMDB. Jim, on the other hand, is. Go figure.

Walk the Line is one of the too-few Oscar nominated films I saw last year -- one that garnered acting nominations for both its leads: Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon.

Small Screen:

Now, of course, I don’t know Reese Witherspoon. Never met the woman. However, I do work for the same talent agency that launched her career -- which is kind of like saying “I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night,” but hey, whatever gets you through the promotional gigs where you have to wear a basketball on your head. The agency sent me out on a Toyota commercial in January for a super-minor non-speaking body-in-a-crowd role. Come the Daytona 500 about a week ago, I had the DVR at the ready. I rewound several times trying to pick myself out of the panning crowd, but all I could see was the $3,000 Toyota wasted on unnecessary extras. It seems the ad is specifically designed to be played during NASCAR events, but if you happen to catch a retired Darryl Waltrip speeding a Toyota Tundra pace truck to Victory Lane after being insulted by a small time driver… well, that’s the one that froze my toes into the wee hours of the morning.

Stage:

Boy Gets Girl opens next Friday and I do not feel nearly as prepared for it as I should at this point. However, I try to remind myself that, if this were the dinner theatre and we were opening nine days from today, we would have only been handed scripts five days ago and we would still have them in hand. However, as this is not the dinner theatre and we do not have the luxury of 6-hour rehearsals in the days we have remaining, the comparison falls a little short of comforting.

Maybe we should call in Reese Witherspoon.

And So It Goes...

With Finland's loss to Sweden in the Men's Ice Hockey Gold Medal game, Olympic All-Star Defenseman Kimmo Timonen will take a silver medal home to Nashville, where three bronze medalists will greet him. Olympic All-Star Forward Teemu Selanne will take a silver medal home to Anaheim, where gold medalist Samuel Pahlsson will greet him. And a total of five Red Wings will take Olympic gold home to Detroit, where bronze medalist Robert Lang will greet them. Like they care. After dominating the world under the Swedish flag, the Wings have to get back to the business of kicking around the NHL.

And it was ever thus.

Apolo Anton Ohno

Ohyes.

Saved by Vokoun

I was feeling homesick on Saturday. With the weekend free of rehearsals and my parents back in the land of Dixie, I had to figure out how to spend 3 full days off; alone. Friday was one thing; I manufactured a few errands and got myself out of the house. Saturday was harder; there were no more errands to run and I had long ago run out of things to clean in the apartment. So, I was scrounging for something to do.

When I came to California, I brought more than a few goodies with me. The trunk of my car was cram packed with recording equipment, piles of CD cases, and a couple of guitars. A traveling radio station, I could easily have been in contention for the “You Are So Nashville If…” Hall of Fame had I stayed in Nashville long enough for anyone to notice. I can’t even play the guitar, but I was traveling with two.

Well, now wait. I can sort of play the guitar. Or, more accurately, I could once sort of play the guitar. Before I threw myself into a 20-hour-a-day schedule of rotating radio and theatre shifts on either side of a very long commute, I was progressing quite nicely on the instrument. But during the years of that commute, unless you could convince me that the guitar was a bed, I wanted no part of it. After those years, well… that’s what I’m figuring out now. So I brought the guitars to San Diego.

Before I left Nashville I tried – good lord, I tried – to restring a guitar which had lost a bronze soldier to an aggressive visitor who, reminding me that “Samick” was not the title of guitar-shaped sculpture, gave it a workout. However, neither is “Kelly” the name of a girl who knows how to change guitar strings. Many more bronze soldiers were lost before the guitar was left for weeks… months… a year… (more)… looking for all the world like it expected a visit from the Tooth Fairy. The maim-free Alvarez stayed safely in its case. Until Saturday. But the years have not been kind to my memory and soon I turned my attention to other goodies that have been waiting for my attention.

Like my home studio.

Now, before you assume that I’m attempting to make home recordings plunking out Mary Had a Little Lamb, allow me to correct. This isn’t a music studio. This studio is for voiceover projects.

I pulled out the appropriate cords and cables, the mixing board, the mic, and the new audio interface… only to discover that I was a cable shy of completing the setup. Another missing string.

Generally, one buys studio cables and guitar strings in the same place, but though I know where that place would be in Nashville, I didn’t have that information in San Diego. Fortunately, one of my cast mates did. I asked for recommendations via e-mail and got several. I stopped short of asking that he recommend a shop that wouldn’t laugh me out of the place if I asked them to apply the strings for me. For that, I’ll call ahead.

But not knowing where to look reminded me….

I was feeling homesick Saturday. And despite several attempts, I couldn’t successfully distract myself. But then, out of nowhere, an announcer shouted “saved by Vokoun!” and I heard three Czechoslovakian names that made me feel right at home.


A Russian attempt at goal against the Czech Republic men’s hockey team was thwarted by goalie Tomas Vokoun. Vokoun: goalie for the Nashville Predators. Because goalie helmets are fitted, Vokoun was wearing his Predators helmet on Olympic ice, and in representing his country, he was joined by Nashville teammates Marek Zidlicky and Martin Erat. Three Olympic bronze medals will be heading home to Nashville.


One more to go. Another medal, either silver or gold, will be headed toward Nashville as well. And if Finland beats Sweden on Sunday, there’ll be no living with Kimmo Timonen.

Saved by Vokoun, indeed. I feel much better now.

Happy President's Day

I have decided – this very moment – that President’s Day is my favorite February holiday. Not quite a week after the stress of that other holiday, the gods give us a gift: a day away from all those goofy people in love.

Hey, I’m not bitter. My card is in the mail. You know, because with all the snow out here in the desert, the postmen have had a hard time getting through.

But anyway.

I shipped the folks back to Tennessee yesterday and have a nice, quiet day off all to myself in San Diego. What to do, what to do: a matter to be decided after my morning dose of The West Wing on Bravo. Yep, after my morning dose of… right after my… hey! Where’s my West Wing!?! Where Toby and Josh should be butting heads over policy, Chloe and Santino are butting heads over polyester. Or, more likely, chiffon. Instead of The West Wing, Bravo is airing a Project Runway marathon.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like Project Runway. But on the whole, isn’t Bravo’s REGULAR schedule a Project Runway marathon?

But more to the point, I just want to spend five minutes in the head of Bravo’s Program Director. “Let’s see. President’s Day, President’s Day. People will be home, watching. We’ve got to wow ‘em. We’ve got to change the line-up. I know! Let’s run that fashion show that’s on every five minutes anyway! That’s it! I mean, they can’t possibly be interested in The West Wing today. All that government stuff. Press Secretaries and Chiefs of Staff? No way. Not on President’s Day. I want fresh, new, gay! Gimme Project Runway!”

If only I ruled the world…. Hey! Maybe I should run for President.

Or not.

Nine Out of Ten Quail Disagree

Last Saturday, our Vice President peppered his companion with birdshot while quail hunting on a Texas ranch, putting him in an exclusive league of attorney-popping Veeps which, until now, included only Aaron Burr.  While the 78-year-old target – er, victim – recovers, his fellow hunters and the owner of the Texas ranch where the accident occurred assure us that such is the nature of quail hunting: the occasional peppering “goes with the turf.”  In fact, while they’re swapping “Yup, I been peppered myself” stories over a few cold beers, injured lawyer Harry Whittington is suffering “silent” heart attacks due to the littering of little pellets in and around the organ.  But, you know… such is the nature of the safest sport in the country.  You heard me.  Hunting is, we are reminded, the safest sport in the country.  (No one polled the quail).  So safe, in fact, that accidents like this one are common enough that no charges are filed in relation to them.  Save the one that might come from failing to add the $7 upland game stamp to your hunting license.  You might get a citation in the mail for that.  Otherwise, you’re covered.  Pepper your companion away!  

In fact, as safe as this sport is, it’s rather a lucky coincidence that on the odd day that Whittington was shot, foolishly getting between game birds and a firearm, he was in the company of the one man who travels with his own entourage of medical personnel.  I mean, if you’re not going to announce your presence on the hunting field to the very people you traveled there with, you couldn’t ask for better luck than that.

Through the Air With the Greatest of Ease

When my mother bought our tickets to see Quidam at the Del Mar Fairgrounds, she was concerned that I would not enjoy the show. Having seen it, I am now concerned that alien brain-eaters have been snacking on my mother's cognitive powers.

In a weekend already made spectacular by the opening ceremonies of the twentieth Olympic Winter Games on NBC, Quidam presented all the more eye candy in first rate technical execution and world class physical execution built around a simple and wordless plot. Expertly lit, scored, and choreographed, the acrobatics and pantomime were presented in a perfect concert of sport and theatre. What's not to like? There's even popcorn and candy!

If you get the chance to go to the circus... do. And if that circus happens to have a French name with "Soleil" anywhere in it -- and someone else is buying the tickets -- be prepared to use your best "Thank you, Easter Bunny. Bwak, bwak!" voice.

Lights! Camera! Publicity Shots!

A friend once told me that he thought drama was my stong suit. It was an odd thing for him to say, I thought, since he'd never seen me in a drama. In fact, since I'd never been in a drama, the hint that it was my forte seemed little more than a slap at my comedic abilities. He insisted otherwise, but not until I'd taken home the statue for Best Actress... in a Comedy... in a county the size of Connecticut.... did I make my peace with the comment.

Now, in Boy Gets Girl, I hope to prove him right, after all.

The cast met on Tuesday for photos. The one above will grace the program cover and flyers. The rest are perhaps intended only for online viewing. Take a gander, won't you?

Variations on a Meme

There are a number of blogs that I read every day. Or, more accurately, there are a number of blogs that I have bookmarked to flip quickly though every day looking for fresh material. My friends and family have been woefully lax in updating their pages of late, which has left me to rely more heavily on the few extraneous bloggers I’ve taken to reading for my daily dose of … daily doses. Within a week of each other, two of those bloggers wrote similar posts.

The meme floating around last week was vaguely similar to those recurring “know your friends” e-surveys that surface at least once a year: self-serving for the author and yet somehow intriguing to the reader. And, because the only other material I seem to have lately involves publicly lambasting my visiting mother – a delicate task that will require time for precise crafting – I’ll just go with the flow and stick to the easy stuff for now.

Here are my lists of 5 things:

5 Places I’ve lived:
Wayne, Michigan
Tullahoma…
Manchester…
Murfreesboro…
… and Nashville, Tennessee.

5 Places I’ve visited:
New York, New York: I saw Phantom of the Opera, Steel Magnolias, Lend Me a Tenor (Philip Bosco) and Rumors (Ron Liebman, Jessica Walter, Christine Baranski, Joyce Van Patten) when they were still relatively new plays in the Broadway vicinity and went to the Hard Rock Café at the height of the T-shirt craze.
Miami and surrounding areas, Florida: One trip to buy fiberglass car parts, one miserable trip to Panama City Beach, and a visit to St. Petersburg to see the brilliant performance of Nashville’s own Brian Webb Russell in the two-man show Stones in His Pockets at American Stage.
Scottsdale, Arizona: a national convention of the Golden Key National Honor Society, for which I was my college’s Vice President of Public Relations, at the 5-Diamond Princess Resort.
Seattle, Washington: Went for whales and rain, but got salmon and drizzle.
San Diego, California: Went to visit the folks, stayed to do the shows.

5 Places I want to visit:
London, England. (God meant me to be born there, I think, but forgot to send my folks.)
Rome, Italy
Florence, Italy
Athens, Greece
Barcelona, Spain

5 Jobs I’ve had:
My first job was as a Phone Girl/Delivery Driver for Domino’s Pizza. I kept that job for years, working my way into management even while I was also a radio personality/News Director on WDFZ, but finally abandoned it when I took a second on-air position at WHAL.
After college, I was Divisional Assistant for the 17 Middle Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia stores in the Raven Division of Heilig-Meyers’ Furniture. In charge of store audits, reports, publications, and Customer Relations, I hated the job so much that I quit after exactly one year and temporarily returned to both Domino’s and WDFZ until I landed drive-time radio shifts on WFTZ, with duties as the Programming and PR Director, which I finally had to sacrifice for health insurance at Chaffin’s Barn Dinner Theatre, where I was the Resident Stage Manager (much to the chagrin of my acting career) for several years until they stopped providing said insurance. (Oops, that's six.)

5 Movies I Could Watch Over and Over:
Crimes & Misdemeanors
Moonstruck
L.A. Story
About a Boy
The Mirror Has Two Faces

5 Television Shows I Watch:
The West Wing: in current run, on Bravo, and on DVD. Sorkin seasons preferred.
Project Runway: God help me, I'm hooked on bizarre costuming challenges. What? Okay, YOU call it fashion.
Medium: As my mother likes to say: it's well done, which is rare.
Boston Legal: thank goodness, it's BACK! Though its absence, sadly, did lead me to...
Grey's Anatomy: There's not a thing I should like about this show, but I don't turn it off.

5 Bad Habits:
Obsessive intolerance of people who fail to be considerate, neat, responsible, or quiet.
Saving every program, postcard, ticket stub, or score card I’ve ever held – and buying the T-shirt, keychain, or shot glass to go with it.
Saving the miscellaneous papers my programs, postcards, ticket stubs, and score cards found themselves lost in – including every bill, receipt, and cancelled check from the last 15 years.
In fact, I think the only piece of paper I've ever missed is the dance card I keep shredding for relationships with men who are still carrying theirs.
Wait, I think I wrote a fifth bad habit on piece of paper that's... here somewhere....

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Refining my major emphasis to force my college graduation to coincide with the end of a lease I shared with my one-time fiancée – who was not only unfaithful but also so very couth as to buy the engagement ring on my credit.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Rehearsing the award-winning The Odd Couple (female version) in San Diego.

There are, I’m sure you can imagine, many more list categories. I’ll save those for a later date, if necessary, and in the meantime tag those of you who need a theme – or meme – for your own pages this week.

Don’t make me do this again….

Uncle

It started with dreams.  Usually, I don’t remember mine, but during my first few nights in San Diego I couldn’t forget them: vivid, terrible, saddening.  But if my restless nights were uncomfortable, my irritable days were doubly so, complete with the kind of overreactions to anger and frustration that would earn me an honorary seat at the Soprano family table.  I recognized the long-forgotten pattern and rifled through old stores of anti-depressants well past their expiration date hoping for relief.  

Then came the noise.  They weren’t new, the sounds that disturbed my morning sleep, but I hadn’t been sleeping well enough in days before to be disturbed by them.  The early alarm that woke me from my first pleasant dream urged friends to join its morning greeting of the sun: engines roared, a large truck sounded its reverse, the telephone rang, and Son of Jiggy cranked up the bass line downstairs.  

A light dawned.

I thought I’d shaken my arch-nemesis in Arizona, but I should have known the wily Murphy would not be so easily eluded.  Until I learned his motive, the best I could hope for was to stay one step ahead of him.  

I bought earplugs.

I woke this morning from a sleep free of disturbing dreams.  I woke on my own schedule, sans outside insistence.  Rested and alert, I celebrated my victory over Murphy with a silent cheer.  My head bobbed right.  My body weaved left.  My neck screamed.

Now, if you would care to talk to me, please stand a bit to starboard, will you?  

And bring a treat for Murphy.