Treasure Island opened this past Monday. However, it will be almost a full week from opening night before I will be able to perform. During the rehearsal I sprained my ankle while running through my sword fight. Then a couple days later, thinking it had healed enough to give the sword fight another go, I injured it again. I ended up going to the doctor, getting x-rays, and now I have been wearing a boot for the past 5 days.
A guy at works thinks it’s very cool that I can use the line, “I got hurt in a sword fight.” He thinks the ladies would dig it, if I were in the market for the ladies.
This past rehearsal period has made me feel anything but cool and suave. Even without the ankle injury, I would come home sore and aching. A two hour round trip and a small yet demanding role meant I was spending more time in my car than on stage and the time on stage was beating me up. It got to the point that hated going to rehearsal. It wasn’t fun. The returns just weren’t equaling my input. And rehearsals are usually one of my favorite things about being in a show.
Now the show is open and here I sit, nursing a bum ankle and the returns still aren’t here.
One positive to come from the ankle injury is I was able to attend the first rehearsal of the next show I am in. Utahoma at the Off Broadway Theatre in Salt Lake City. And I have to say, I had more fun in that one rehearsal than all of the Treasure Island rehearsals. Now, to be fair, Utahoma is a completely different type of show and the venue is also completely different. It’s like comparing apples and oranges. Also, Treasure Island is a great show. The actors and set are incredible and if you have a chance to go see it, you will not be disappointed. It’s just…
Well, it’s just that when I was feeling like theatre was getting to a point where the sacrifice might not be worth it anymore, I spent a couple of hours with very funny friends and I am excited again.
I know in some circles what I am about to say is the equivalent of saying, “I hate Jesus,” but I just gotta say it.
I hate LeBron James.
Earlier this week, we saw some of the greatest men to ever play the game voted into the Hall of Fame. Jerry Sloan, David Robinson, John Stockton and Michael Jordan. You know what, King James? I have never seen any of these greats throw powder up into the air in a stupid pre-game ritual. I have never seen any of them do stupid picture poses before every game or perform ridiculous, choreographed handshakes.
As long as James keeps doing this stupid, punk-a crap, he will never be on the same level as these NBA greats, no matter what his skill.
We have started a new chore system here at the homestead. The kids’ chores are written on index cards and placed in little pouches.
One of Buddha’s chores is to dust his room. The description on the card reads, “Use a rag and Pledge to dust all surfaces.” When Buddha first looked at the card he started laughing. When asked why he was laughing, Buddha raised his right hand and said, “I pledge to dust all surfaces.”
He thought it was very funny we were asking him to promise to dust all surfaces.
Posts here have been few and far between, and what has been posted has been lacking. I think one problem is my blog simply lacks focus on a particular topic. When it first began, it was the perfect place to vent my frustrations about the morons I would encounter while working at the airport. I don’t work there any more. I have little to no frustrations with work now. So, the stories I used to tell, the ones that people would always tell me they loved are gone.
As I thought about this, for one fleeting second a thought floated across my brain and it was horrific. I almost wished I was back at the airport just for the stories. My heart skipped a beat. How could I possibly think something like that, even for a second?
“What the hell?” my head asked itself. Yeah, I have conversations with myself. Two voices going at it in my head. One of them swears a lot. Okay, they both do. Does this mean I’m nuts? Probably not, but wishing I was back at the airport just so my blog would be funny again doesn’t help the argument.
“What the hell?” Voice One asked again. Voice Two had no answer. What could it say? It was like standing on the precipice of the Grand Canyon and thinking for a split second what it would be like to jump… or push the old lady over. How would she bounce? I digress.
Both are crazy thoughts, though. Crazy. Returning to the Hell Hole just for some funny bits is crazy, right? Of course, after reading this you are probably thinking, “Well, maybe it would be worth it.”
Overheard from a 30-something man. Of course I use the term “man” loosely.
“I love Cabbage Patch Dolls. I think they are a very creative toy.”
First of all, kudos to the dude who feels comfortable to admit something like this in public.
Second, a creative toy? It’s a doll. A doll with a birth certificate, grant you, but a doll nonetheless. All the birth certificate does is name the doll for you, thus robbing you of any creativity you could have used by naming the doll yourself.
