Surprise.
Meanwhile in California…
A few weeks ago I got a call from a friend in LA about an opening for a Social Media Something-Or-Other position at a company he works with. Two phone interviews and a few screen-shares later, and here I am packing to move and start my new gig as Ruth Arnell: Something-Or-Other.
The company is located in Ontario, California, which, near as I can tell, is the West Coast’s answer to Cudahy. They’re just south of Rancho Cucamonga, which I learned last week is an actual place, and about 35 miles north-east of Disneyland.
Now — I haven’t looked into it too much yet, but I’m fairly certain their proximity to The Mouse obligates me to “work from Disneyland” at least once, while spending the entire day Tweeting about how hard it is to type with my fingers covered in churro sugar.
Ain’t even sorry.
Oh man. Now that I just announced my plans publicly I’m panicking that Something-Or-Other HQ is gonna call me up tomorrow and be like “Yeeeeah heeeeey. About packing for that move. Maybe… don’t bother?”
Luckily there’s not a whole awful lot for me to do with them remotely right now, so I figure I’m safe for the time being from them discovering what they’re in for and changing their minds.
Namely: Child sacrifice, Snoods, and Citrus Hulk.
And if they did change their minds and I stayed in Milwaukee, it’d just mean I’d get to keep on keepin’ on with all y’all fine folks around here, and that’d be alright by me too!
I don’t have much in the way of a long-term plan beyond:
I do know, however, that I shall miss my family and friends here in the Midwest just terribly, and that I am not above using guilt trips to coerce them into flying out for a visit. So you know – get ready for that. And bring cheese curds.
I’ll be traveling for most of June (stay tuned for Virginia Road Trip pics of my mom and Mimi cementing their spots as The Coolest People Ever!), but will return to the Milwaukee area on the 22nd (exhausted and probably broke). I don’t have a set date for when I’ll be moving, but I’m eager to dive into this new gig. All that to say: My remaining time in Wisconsin is probably somewhat limited.
Want to keep in touch while I’m away, or follow along with my travels? I’ll be blogging about everything from here as usual, as well as posting more frequent updates via Twitter and Instagram. I love reading all of your comments and replies so keep ‘em coming!!
In “Sexism is alive and well” news, I present you (under the grotesquely common mantra that “only thinness can be sexy, and sexiness is the trump card”) AskMen.com’s…
1: Take her to places where she has to wear a swimsuit…
…so she can question why she loves a manipulative jackass who wants to shame her publicly.
2: Leave “now” and “then” photos lying around…
…to humiliate her for no longer being what you originally were with her for, apparently: herself, minus the passage of time.
3: Schedule A Formal Date…
…so she can fret until then about the fact you’re using taking “a ton of pictures of the two of you” as a threat instead of a commemoration.
4: Ask her to wear an old dress…
…so she will feel ashamed when she no longer fits into clothes she wore before she birthed your ignorant spawn.
5: Playfully Grab Her Love Handles… [so] she recoils and feels embarrassment. Use this reaction to your advantage…
WHAT?! *fumes* Go sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done.
6: Improve Your Own Diet…
This one aaalmost worked up ’til “It might even be the only way of separating her from the fatty foods which have led to the current problem.” *arches eyebrow onto back of head* Seems to me the “current problem” is assholes who would follow these steps.
7: Serve Her Unsatisfactory Portions…
SDFSLFUWOEIFJSLDFKJSFLJSDFLJSDFS!!! Is she a child? Sir. Excuse me, sir: Are you dating a child? It HONEST TO GOD goes on to say “By making her ask for more food, you might succeed in SHAMING HER into an acknowledgment of her recent weight gain, and hopefully to instigate a conversation about what she’s going to do about it. If you feel as though you’re starving yourself in the process, remember you can always go back for more when she’s not looking.” I cannot even BEGIN to cover all the things that are so TOTALLY screwed up about that.
8: Set out on your own weight loss plan…
…later referred to as a “ploy,” and an apparently “tactful” one at that. Ploys and manipulation have no place in a relationship. I repeat: PLOYS AND MANIPULATION HAVE NO PLACE IN A RELATIONSHIP.
9: Sign her up for yoga under the pretence [sic] of “stress relief”…
…because the best way to show you care is to tell someone what to do, under the guise that it’ll be an enjoyable “spiritual cleanse,” while in reality “she may not realize that she’s being tricked into shedding a few pounds.”
10: Buy Her Clothes That Are Too Small… “Oh,” you might say, “I thought you were a size 8. Isn’t that what you were last summer?” The onus is now on her to do something about it.”
GET BEHIND ME SATAN!!!
Top 1 Response
So I was in a car accident last night.
Which is weird.
Oh Joy– your poor nose!
I was on my way to a housewarming party when- pointlessly detailed story short- the driver in front of me had to slam on her brakes. I wasn’t right up on her tail or anything, but the light had just turned green, leaving all the cars closer together than they’d be otherwise, so even though I slammed on my own brakes immediately I couldn’t avoid hitting her.
Doggonit…
Bye bye, $500 deductible.
My front end is crunched, but not too badly (I don’t think?) since I was only going about 15 mph. The car I hit was bigger and higher up than mine, so all it suffered were a few scuffs to the bumper. It’s going to come down as my fault, unfortunately, even though it was unavoidable in every sense of the word. And I have to say I’m pretty annoyed that the driver who caused the other girl to brake in the first place FLED THE SCENE WHEN THE ENTIRE THING WAS THEIR FAULT.
And oh my brrrrr was it cold outside! Because of the heavy traffic the other driver and I couldn’t sit in our cars while waiting for the cops to come- I was almost hit several times by vehicles zipping through the turn lane right behind me- so we had to stand in the snow while it was 0 degrees outside before the windchill! By the time they got there my fingers were so cold and hard that my phone wasn’t responding to my touch. I had to ask one of the police officers to tap my dad’s name on my screen so I could call home for a ride from the repair shop! BRRRRRR!!
Poor little car. You have been so good to me. I’m tired of seeing you on the backs of tow trucks. It ain’t right, little Joy. It ain’t right.
In conclusion: Drive safely, and if you do something stupid, please don’t flee the scene.
*****************
ETA: That minor crunch pictured above? Repair costs are estimated at $5,200. Never have I been so glad I have auto insurance! I also got a ticket for $114 and 3 points on my license (since someone must be blamed even though God knows it shouldn’t have been me). Fairy Godparents and Wish-Granting Genies: Apply Within…
ETA: The estimate has gone up closer to the tune of $6,000 (blessings upon you, AAA, for existing!!) and I won’t get my car back until at least next week. Yep. Two weeks for repairs on a low-speed impact. *smh*
Preferably from your other *other* cell phone.
Since my last regular post I have discovered, fallen in love with, and watched all seven and a half seasons of Supernatural. (And by “since” I mean “within the span of 11 days of extremely dedicated Netflixing.”)
I won’t get into the show too much here as my aforementioned love is deep, strong, and weird, but I will go on record as saying it has made it to my Top 5 Favorite Shows of All Time list.
In no particular order (because who can rank love?), the list is as follows:
1. Star Trek (TNG is my Trek, but I love ‘em all)
2. Doctor Who
3. Xena
4. Supernatural
5. Maude
Yes, compadres: It is fun enough to stand amongst giants.
Side note: Mom just took the dog outside, and I can’t tell which of them is barking.
In other news, as good as roofing has been to me, lately I’ve been looking to shuffle off this construction coil. To that end, last week I applied for two positions with the same company, both of which I would 1) be great at! and 2) have a blast doing. They’re the sort of gigs that would provide for plenty of photo ops and fun blog fodder, so any fingers you’d care to cross, prayers you’d care to send up, or candles you’d care to wish on on my behalf, feel free. I shall keep you posted should I receive any good news on that front.
In other other news– boy, a lot of other others ’round these parts today, eh?– I will be traveling to LA next week to stand in a dear friend’s wedding next Saturday. It will be my first time back in California since I left in 2006. So many new people to meet, so many old sushi places to visit; I hope I can fit the wedding in. And of course, an hour on the CW.com for next week’s episode of Supernatural…
Advertising: You’re doing it wrong.
So, so wrong.
(Incidentally, if your account has been disabled, Facebook explains why it may have happened and gives instructions on how to proceed on this page in the Help Center. You can also read a great write-up on the issue here on Mashable.)
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
4,329 films were submitted to the 2012 Cannes Film Festival. This blog had 15,000 views in 2012. If each view were a film, this blog would power 3 Film Festivals
Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming.
In the second level dream I was listening to a song that was prompting me to write my own song in my head. And wouldn’t you know it was just about the greatest stinkin’ song you could ever hope to hear?
When I woke back into my first level dream I was frantic over trying to remember the lyrics and the tune so I could write it all down before I forgot it. I’d make a mint off this lyrical gem, sure as shootin’. But alas: As the second level faded out, the song faded with it.
Shortly thereafter I woke from the first level dream, and all I have left is that the tune was about a boy and his dad, and that it rhymed.
Doggonit…
I went to a Christmas party the other night. Good folks, good food, good laughter, good gifts. Met a few new people- which I always enjoy- and had the following mind-bending conversation with one of them. See if you can spot the social inconsistency…
*********************
By way of introduction, something must have come up about how tall something or someone was, because this person proceeded to ask how tall I am.
Me: 5’5″.
Him: Really? No… ‘Cause I’m 6′, so let’s see…
He then faced me and raised his hand up to measure where the top of my head reached against his own height, then stopped.
Him: Whoa. I’m sorry. That was so stupid. Why did I even do that? You know how tall you are. Why did I have to try to prove it? *laughs* Sorry about that.
Me: *blink… blink… blink…*
THAT. JUST. HAPPENED.
I seriously can’t get over how cool that was of him. *high fives that guy*
ETA: I just read this conversation to my mother and, after a brief bout of speechlessness, she marveled “A man believed you when you said something you knew to be true about yourself? That’s incredible!” We shared a laugh over it, but it pains me that this should be noteworthy.
Thursday night I dreamed I went to an arcade.
Yeah. Me. At an arcade. Me and my total lack of ANY discernible inclination toward attack strategy, and even less obvious hand-eye coordination.
We can’t all be Felicia Day, folks. G’head and take a moment to mourn that fact, and then let’s move along.
Ready?
Okay.
Takes all kinds of game guts to make an arcade.
So Thursday night I dreamed I went to an arcade. I was wandering around by the older games in the back, a twenty dollar bill in my hand. I wanted to make sure there was something I really wanted to play before exchanging my cash for what would be a pretty heavy pile of quarters.
There weren’t many folks actually playing anything. Mostly the place was just one machine after another crammed into the space side-by-side at odd angles, creating passageways through the arcade. I kept thinking how this would probably be a pretty fun dream for, say, Wil Wheaton, and how it was a shame it was being wasted on the likes of me.
I turned to head out when I noticed an open door tucked in a back corner, and heard laughter coming through in short streams. I poked my head in, and saw the room was packed with rows of folding chairs filled with women watching something projected up on the wall. I want to say it was an episode of M*A*S*H. A few of the ladies saw me, said hi, and waved me over to an empty seat in the back so I could watch the show with them.
We laughed and chatted as the women introduced themselves to me. They were all dressed pretty casually, looking like they’d just left work at jobs where they don’t interact with the customers. One of the women threw an arm around the shoulders of the woman beside her, and I realized she wasn’t the only one doing so. I surveyed the room again, and saw that most of the women appeared to be there in couples.
In that dream kind of way you get where you just “know” what’s going on without anybody telling you, I realized all the gals around me were lesbians, and that this back room at the arcade was where they’d go to hang out and socialize after work. It was their place to unwind and share a few laughs away from the public eye before heading home. But something about it was– well it felt kind of secret, you know? Like they weren’t just hanging out so much as they were hiding out. I wondered if perhaps I wasn’t dreaming of the present day, but of some time in the past when this sort of secrecy would’ve been in all ways necessary.
Wondering if that was the case, I now felt really clumsy for intruding on their secret spot. Like– what the heck kind of right did I have to know where they’d found to chill out in private if it was, in fact, a secret room? The whole time they’d been totally cool to me- very friendly and welcoming- with not a hint of concern that someone had discovered their hiding place. As such I figured they must’ve just thought I was gay too since I knew about this place, not realizing I’d simply stumbled across it by accident. But I still felt bad for my unintentional intrusion, so I decided to head out. I said my goodbyes, was met by cheerful farewells, and ducked back into the arcade.
Gladys Bentley, an American blues singer during the Harlem Renaissance
As I walked toward the front door to leave, I came upon a family walking in — with speed, with purpose, with furious indignation. First came a husband and wife dressed in all black Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes, complete with hats and gloves. They were followed by their two teenage sons, also dressed all in black.
In another flash of dream-knowing I realized I was back a few decades, and that trouble was coming. I knew this family was heading back to the secret room to kick all those women out of it before exposing them publicly as lesbians, with the specific intention of getting them in trouble over it.
I looked at the mother. Studied her face real hard. African American, mid-40s, married, mother of two, and sad. I knew she was sad. I knew the only reason she knew about that hidden room was because it was full of her friends. Her family had no idea, but I knew. I knew her secret. I knew who she really was.
I tried to catch her eye as she passed. Like– what? What did I think I was going to do, you know? Was I going to figure out some kind of coded way to say “Stop!” Some way to say “You don’t have to do this?” Some hand signal, some whisper, some look that would say there was still time to not bust up movie night and get all those women kicked out and sent to jail?
But she would not look at me. She knew that I was on to her, so she kept her eyes up, up, up high over my head, the black feathers on her hat bouncing as she marched through the bells and the whistles and all the lights blinking on and off.
In response to “Your Jokes About Bloomberg’s Sign Language Interpreters Aren’t Funny” by Lilit Marcus (re: Lydia Callis‘ sign language interpretation for Mayor Bloomberg) on The Atlantic Wire:
I agree with a lot of what the author has to say in the above linked article, but one statement from it in particular really bothered me:
“I’ve always heard that sign language is “so beautiful,” but it’s an empty, meaningless compliment. To me, that means “I don’t care about sign language as a language, I just want it to amuse and entertain me.” It means “I’m making no attempt to understand what’s going on here, but it sure looks cool.”
I’m sorry that to Ms. Marcus it’s nothing more than an empty compliment, because in hearing it as such she is missing out on an opportunity to share a moment of appreciation with the person sharing it. A proactive educational gold mine has been closed off. That she further went on to conclude that anyone who finds ASL beautiful is looking to it for “amusement” was particularly baffling. In spite of the cringe-worthy nature of some of the commentary (we still have a long way to go there) she gives as her examples, I find I finished the article feeling like her comments were actually the more offensive.
And it just really ticked me right off.
Most hearing North Americans probably don’t see much ASL very often. Just like they don’t often hear Basque or see a person weave a basket. As a result, there is a newness, a specialness, and accordingly also a different-ness about these things for most folks. Not different-bad, just different-different.
And when most of us see something new we don’t always think to put on our Amateur Sociologist hat before opening our mouths. More than likely we’ll just experience that thing and then burst out with “Wow! That was really neat/ terrifying/ beautiful/ weird/ delicious!” If something is not yet a part of our everyday lives sometimes we almost can’t help but respond in a bigger way than we would to something like, say, hearing someone speak in our own accent, or watching someone wash a dish. It is something we are still being introduced to. As such it cannot be fully understood immediately (like any new language), and is likely to be taken in on a primarily sensory level. And if it “senses” positive, get ready to hear “Wow! That was really beautiful!”
I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first time many of the responders she quoted had ever seen such extended footage of someone using ASL. It’s still new to them, and it’s different from how they themselves communicate. We’ve worked so hard and so long to see people respond to differences with reactions other than fear, dismissal, or disgust. Now we see people responding with “It’s beautiful” and that’s no good either?!
Confession time: When I hear Korean I “[make] no attempt to understand what’s going on [there].” It’s so different from everything in my own language background and skill set that I can’t even separate the sound of one word from the next! So I know that, try as I might, I’m not going to hear anything in it that means anything to me just from hearing it in short spurts on rare occasions. But from what I’ve read about it I’m impressed by its history and complexity, and I also think it sounds kinda beautiful. I also think English sounds kinda beautiful. And Italian, and Guarani, and Spanish, Gaelic, Russian… String me up as the chief of sinners, I guess.
To dismiss these people calling ASL “beautiful” under the broad and ugly assumption that such a compliment masks disdain is just the kind of attitude we don’t need more of as we work together to create a world in which people appreciate the beauty and value in our differences. I get what the author is saying, but the section I quoted above sucker punched all the heart out of the piece for me, moving its indignance from “justified” to something more akin to “misplaced.” She has a point, but it’s at the end of a sword, and language- in all its forms- is beautiful enough not to need her brand of defense.
Last week I attended First Call for Sunset Playhouse‘s upcoming production of Twelve Angry Men.
A Reader’s Guide to the Above Statement:
The man behind the curtain is one Mr. Matt Daniels, the same dude behind Sunset’s heart-cockle-warming production of Tuesdays With Morrie, and its spooky dram-rom-com Prelude To A Kiss. An actor, director, and teacher he is busy all over the darn place here in Milwaukee. Click those links to check him out! I got to see his Assistant Director, Katherine Duffy, as the lead in Sunset’s Sweet Charity this past summer and I mean to tell you that girl is an absolute riot. Her delivery, her timing– loved it! It’s exciting to see such a talented pair teaming up to work on this powerful drama.
It was great seeing a few familiar faces in the production team when I arrived. Since what I saw was a rehearsal I didn’t get to experience anything in the way of lighting, sound, or costumes, though I am very much looking forward to seeing what their respective designers have got cooked up for this one. Alan Piotrowicz’s and Jan Pritzl’s award winning lighting and sound design (respectively) in previous Sunset productions assure me the twinkly and tinkly details I missed last week are ones I can very much look forward to when I finally see the whole thing put together. And I didn’t know Jennifer Allen even did costume design, so that was really a special treat to see her listed in that role!
Exploring Koren Black and John Hemingway’s set before the First Call run.
The stage management team on the other hand… Oh where to begin?! Antoinette Stikl and Debi Mumford are rascals, and can only be described as mad as a couple of March hares, and probably flammable. They’ll lure you in with a hug hello, a few jokes, and boundless patience. But don’t be fooled! It’s all just part of their plan. And when I know what that plan is I’ll be sure to pass it along. Unless it’s just a plan to give hugs, tell jokes, and be patient, in which case: *points upward a few lines* You’re welcome. Also, props mistress Erica Ziino and I may or may not have become engaged, and planned out a road trip honeymoon, after First Call. I just hope fellow props mistress, Beth Bland, isn’t jealous. (We promise not to hit the road ’til after the show closes, Beth!)
The real draw for me on this show, though, is the cast. What a group this is. I could try to tell you how sorry I am that I can’t be up there acting alongside this group of lovely fellas, but you couldn’t believe how much I would mean it. What a fun group, this is. What a cast!
Foreman- Dustin J. Martin: Dustin and I go way back, and I’ve always known him mostly as a director. He introduced me to theatre proper, encouraged my love of acting, and taught me again and again the value of professionalism in every aspect of the craft; so of course whenever I get to see Mr. Director trod the boards it’s especially fun for me. One of the things that was particularly cool about seeing Dustin in this show was seeing him apply his own direction to himself. It was a bit like spending years listening to your parents describe how they used to hold you and rock you when you were a baby, and then finally getting to see them cradling some other child in their arms. You always believed their stories, but watching them live those stories is a different experience altogether. It adds so many adverbs to the tale that you never knew were missing.
Juror 2- Scott Jaeger: I knew Scott from his backstage work for show after show at Sunset, but it wasn’t until their production of The Underpants a few years back that dude finally auditioned to work on the lit side of the stage. Happily for all of us he seemed to enjoy the experience, because he has hit the stage several times since then, and frankly he’s just as charming on stage as he is off stage. There’s this pleasant, affable realism to his performance as Juror 2. It provides such a welcome island of contrast to some of the other jurors’ sound and fury, and I think that is exactly what this role requires.
Juror 3- Dan Esposito: It had been years since I’d last seen or read this show, so I forgot how abrasive this character is. This man’s noisome vitriol is that of a sad old man faced with the prospect that his anger at others is unfounded, his opinion unwanted, and his pain unmourned. Like all bullies he demands control and attention, yet deserves neither. For most of Dan’s scenes I found myself cringing at such a realistic portrayal of a heartless, broken man descending into uselessness, but at the end I cringed only that there are really people out there who could treat others this way. This is truly the saddest role in the show, and Dan does a remarkable job inhabiting it. I’d never seen him perform before, but I can absolutely see why he was cast here. Mr. Daniels has a clear eye.
Juror 4- Michael Chobanoff: I first met Michael in December of 2006 when we performed in Sunset comedy Jake’s Women together. Of every actor I’ve ever worked with, Michael seems to jump most consistently from comedy to drama, comedy to drama, comedy to drama. If I had my druthers I’d stick to thoughtfully chuckle-inducing pieces time after time, but this guy just really owns his own comfort with walking both sides of the fence. There is a strong, grounded air to his performance in this show, balanced with the kind of approachable reason Juror 4 cannot do without.
Juror 5- Jared Kuehn: What else can I say? I like this guy. He’s sweet, he doesn’t upstage, he doesn’t steal laugh lines, he’s memorized on time, his choices are clear and believable, and here on this stage of larger than life personalities his low-on-the-totem-pole character holds his own in every one of his scenes. We’ve only worked together once so far (Sunset’s 6 Degrees of Separation last season), but I hope to do so again. I just really like this guy.
Juror 6- John Roberts: I first saw John in Sunset’s Social Security a couple of years ago and oh! Oh! I died! Every time he appeared on stage I sat up in my seat, not wanting to miss a single twitch or sigh. This role here was quite a departure from that one. John brought a thoughtful intelligence to his portrayal of Juror 6, layering him in a detached toughness as a guard against all the poverty and hard work he’s lived through so far. He’s no threat until he threatens – - and I like that, because that is life.
Juror 7- Matthew J. Patten: I’ve been saying it for years and I’ll say it again: This guy is my favorite character actor both to work with, and to watch on stage. He has a tremendous gift for making real people interesting, and interesting people real. He also has a preference for comedies so I was initially surprised he was trying out for this show, but now that I’ve seen what he had in mind for Juror 7 I can’t picture anyone else in that role. Dude knows what he’s doing, doesn’t mug, doesn’t upstage, doesn’t horn in on other people’s time to shine, and makes memorable moments out of lines and activity that could easily have been missed entirely. Plus he walks and chews gum at the same time repeatedly throughout the show, so, you know, hats off to that.
Juror 8- Randall T. Anderson: I trust any stage that has this guy on it. This role must ground the entire piece, must set it in motion, keep it rolling, and catch it on its final descent. You don’t have to like Juror 8- though that helps- but you do have to believe him, and Randall gives the audience the opportunity to do both. I’ve watched this actor shine in comedies, dramas, and musicals, and from the other side of a shared microphone with Radio WHT (much to my own delight). He is ever the gentleman, ever the professional, and ever The Guy you want on your team to keep things afloat with you when the waters get choppy, and to enjoy the ride with you when the waters are smooth.
Juror 9- Doug Smedbron: He’s a sweetheart, Doug is. And somewhere out of all that he pulled up real force, a real “growl” for Juror 9. When he speaks he is standing even when he is sitting down, with a portrayal that commands respect from the other jurors in the room. I found his speech after his first “not guilty” vote particularly compelling.
Juror 10- Gene Schuldt: Juror 10 is a despicable, racist, loud-mouthed jerk. Gene, on the other hand, is an amiable, open-hearted, loud-mouthed actor, fight choreographer, Chicagoan, and professional Santa Claus. Hearing 10′s ugly words in Gene’s voice, and seeing 10′s quaking rage on Gene’s face was unsettling to say the least. As an audience member I felt sick hearing 10′s racism boil down farther and farther into a general “fear of otherness,” and as a friend I had to keep fighting the impulse to interrupt Gene’s rant to tell him he should be ashamed of himself! Good thing I remembered it was all just an act before jumping up and ruining the show. ;)
Juror 11- Ralph Frattura: Ralph’s was the only name on the cast list I didn’t know. I’d never met the guy, never seen him perform, but I figured if he was up there with the rest of these lugs then he must be the right man for the job. And wouldn’t you know it: He was. His behavior was real, his choices made sense, and– God love him for this– his accent was neither hokey nor inconsistent. I don’t attend shows like this one to see cartoons, to see caricatures. I attend them to see what Ralph did in his portrayal of Juror 11: He created a man with a unique perspective which he supported fully and which I bought entirely. Thanks Ralph.
Juror 12- Spencer Mather: This guy… Let me tell ya’ something: This guy is all right. I am so glad he and his wife decided to get involved at Sunset a few years back, and that they both loved it enough to keep on coming back. There’s not much they haven’t been a part of there, from working in the office to acting in shows to serving on the board. Watching Spencer is great, working with Spencer is great, talking shop with Spencer is great. But I digress. *ahem* Watching Juror 12 is great, working with Juror 12 sounds great, and talking shop with Juror 12 is also probably pretty darn great. Spencer’s 12 is easy-going but distracted, and while he cares enough about the case to have opinions about it, the ad man in him seems intent on going with whichever vote sells to the biggest audience of his 11 peers. When he finally took a stand I cheered inside because this was a guy I couldn’t help but like, so I wanted to see him on the right side of justice.
The show previews this Thursday, October 25, at 7:30 pm. Show dates, times, and ticket* prices are all available by clicking here to view the production’s page on the Playhouse website. From there you can also get the goods on other upcoming Sunset fare, like next week’s 3 Cheers for the Red, White, and Blue Musical Mainstage show, or their mainstage Christmas production of A Christmas Story.
If you make it out to Twelve Angry Men at Sunset Playhouse I’d love to hear what you thought in the comments below. Until then, happy theatre-ing!
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*A quick note before you buy your tickets: Due to the nature of the set- trying to fit twelve grown men around a long table, the bottom of which is four feet up in the air on a stage- visibility is poor in the first four rows or so of the center and side sections. So don’t you go reading this post and then buying tickets in those rows, now. Not after I took the trouble to warn ya’! ;)
Like the “box” built into the wall.
Last night I dreamed I was with friends in an indoor public place- a restaurant or a mall, maybe- filled with the half-height walls those sorts of places use to create the perimeter of a food court, or to divide one dining section from another. The walls were deep, and made of a light-colored wood.
One of the walls had a decorative box built into the top at the end, a bit like the newel post pictured here, and about 9 inches square. The side of the square facing me had been replaced with a piece of thick plexiglass so I could see the box was filled almost to the top with water, and that a gray and white goldfish and a champagne colored gerbil were swimming inside.
The gerbil was treading water desperately, trying so hard to keep its nose in the inch or so of air at the top of the box. I started pounding on the plexiglass screwed to the face of the box, trying to break it to release this sad little creature before it drowned.
(It just occurred to me that I gave no thought to what might become of the fish were I to succeed in breaking through the plexiglass.)
I looked around and saw no one with me seemed bothered that someone had doomed this fish by shutting it into a “bowl” where the water could never be aerated, nor that this gerbil was even more precariously trapped and was clearly on the verge of drowning.
So why wasn’t anyone else upset? Why weren’t they helping? Why weren’t they even looking?
I remembered I had a mini multipurpose tool in my bag, with a small screwdriver folded into it alongside its picks and files and blades. I knew the screwdriver’s tip was too small a size to remove screws as large as the ones holding the plexiglass in place, and began praying for help as I ran to the people around me, begging them to get involved as I searched for wherever I had left my bag.
I felt so alone, and realized I was scared. And no matter what I said, or however urgently I said it, everyone I met replied with silence. Frustrated, accusatory silence.
I found my bag, but when I pulled out the multipurpose tool I saw the screwdriver was now larger than it had been before. I ran to the box and franticly attacked the screws. As they came out they cracked and split the glass, letting the water rush out onto the floor.
(I never did see the fish again. Perhaps it was just there in the beginning to help me understand the purpose of the box?)
I caught the soaking wet gerbil as it fell and laid it on top of the the low wall to catch its breath while I took my bag back to wherever I had grabbed it from. When I returned to the animal it appeared to be in worse shape than when I had left it only moments before, and none of the people standing around had stepped in to try to help it.
“What’s wrong with you?” I yelled at them. “It’s dying! Why didn’t any of you do something to help him while I was away?!”
More silence as shoulders were shrugged and backs were turned.
I scooped the little fellow up and cupped him in my hands, stroking his head and face with my fingertip and blowing warm air across his fur to dry him off. He opened his eyes and began moving around a bit. I was so happy that he was alive and recovering, and so angry that no one had done anything to help us. I didn’t know any more about what to do than any of them did, you know? They should’ve done something.
Why didn’t they do something?
Writer, geek, feminist, Christian, actress, Whovian, Locutus of Blog, and full supporter of the United Federation of Planets.
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