Charlton Heston Put A Vest On

(FYI,the title of this post is a line from a song by an '80's band named Stump. The song was called "Charlton Heston.")
If you noticed the picture to the right of this post, you could conclude that I'm a fan of the Planet of The Apes movies, especially the first one. What set that film latex-simian head and shoulders above the others was the great performance of Charlton Heston as time traveling astronaut Taylor. Even though I own a copy on DVD, I'll still stop and watch it whenever it pops up on late night cable.
Of course he did a couple other decent movies. Soylent Green, The Omega Man, The Ten Commandments, Ben-Hur, and over a hundred others during a seven decade career. I even liked his cameo in that wretched Marky-Mark remake of the aforementioned Planet of The Apes.
So one morning in the early '90s I came into work here at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival and was informed by my boss that a special event had been hastily scheduled for that evening and I'd need to work it. All I was told was that a big-wig friend of the theatre's benefactor, Mr. Wynton Blount, was going to speak to a group in the smaller of our two theatres. I parked myself in our green room at 6:30 and waited for Mr. Blount and his guest to arrive. At 7:00 on the nose two black SUVs pulled up on the lawn outside the stage door and a bunch of people in suits entered the building. The mob pushed their way into the room where I was trying to look officious, and then it happened. The mass of people (sorry) parted like the Red Sea and Mr. Blount and his friend walked up to me, and Mr. Blount said "Chuck, I'd like you to meet Clay Koontz. He keeps everything running around here." I shook both their hands and tried not to sound like a gushing idiot. We made some small talk while the audience took their seats, and I reminded Mr. Heston the name of the theatre's artistic director two or three times, because he said that years before he had to choose between remembering people's names or his lines.
He spoke to the audience for about 40 minutes, asking them to be supportive of our theatre and the arts in general. He performed Prospero's last speech from The Tempest (quite well) and some pieces from a play about Sherlock Holmes he was working on at the time, and then the black SUVs swept him away to a Republican fund-raiser at Mr. Blount's estate (hey, nobody's perfect.)
Everybody can close their eyes and hear his voice saying those iconic lines: "let my people go." or "Soylent Green is people." or "damn dirty apes." I feel fortunate that I can also remember his voice intoning those last words of Prospero, asking an audience for the blessing of their applause.

Enigmatisms

I changed the name of the blog. The old name just gnawed at me as self-centered. The new name isn't a sure bet either. I think the definition of enigmatism is "a vision problem related to over-analysis and/or an inability to accept anything at face value, however benign said thing seems." I have developed an enigmatism, and everything puzzles me.
I should also cop to a couple other bothersome and somewhat embarrassing ailments. The first is a sarcaneurism, which involves bleeding from the nose or tear ducts while being brutally sarcastic. The second is Situational Tourette's Syndrome, which comes over me in the face of extreme stupidity. Both of these usually occur at work.

Farewell Mr. Clarke

I was saddened this morning when my buddy Neal told me that Arthur C. Clarke had passed away. I was disappointed when Neal told me that the two people he had broken the news to before me had responded with "who's Arthur C. Clarke?" Damn kids today need to read a book once in awhile ( I'm turning into my dad.) At least they knew 2001: A Space Odyssey. My favorite is Rendezvous with Rama. What a great read, and what a great man. Writer, explorer, thinker. The world sure could use more humans like Mr. Clarke. Farewell.

The Speech

If you missed Barack Obama's speech yesterday, find it online and watch it or read the transcript. It is maybe the finest piece of oration since Obama's convention address four years ago. A thoughtful, nuanced examination of the issue of race in America that sought to explain the roots of the problem but avoided demonizing any side or offering any simplistic cure. As John Stewart pointed out on last night's Daily Show, he spoke to us like we were adults. That's different.

Back on Track

We opened The Count of Monte Cristo last week and I haven't been so happy about a show in a long time. A great adaptation of a classic performed by a talented cast in stunning costumes on a beautiful, well lit set, and it sounds great too. HOORAY! Even better is we're about to open another fine show. Over The Tavern is a cute coming-of-age Catholic comedy (sorry about all the c's in a row) that I think our audience will eat up.
Very few things cheer me up more than having a hand in the creation of good theatre. Its nice to know that for now, when that inevitable something or someone darkens my mood, I can sneak into the back of the theatre for either of these shows and just enjoy.

Superdelegate My A**

I have to say this whole superdelegate crap is starting to bug me. This is the first presidential race ever (for me anyway) that I don't feel like I have to settle for someone. I'm actually excited about a candidate (Obama - I know, kind of a man-crush) and he may get "Gored" at the convention by a bunch of party hacks who can ignore the last eleven months. Its not that I have any problem with Hillary Clinton (or John McCain, to be honest) because after the last eight years I'd vote for a double cheeseburger as long as its last name isn't Bush, but I'd hate to see the Democratic Party's nominee selected by a process so undemocratic. It's in their name, after all. I shouldn't be so surprised, though. Most of my life politicians have found a way to make me stay home on Election Day. That's just super.

Meditation Vertigo

For the past couple of months I've been unable to meditate. I know its the result of a staggering lack of discipline, but that knowledge doesn't seem to help me stay on the bench for any length of time. I used to settle into position with okay posture and better intent, and as I started watching the breath come in and the breath go out, random thoughts would pop up, and I would identify them as "just a thought" and watch them fall away. I could do that fairly well when it was a thought here or an image there, but my mind has upped the game on me. Now its thought on top of image on top of idea in a roiling swamp of to-do lists and movie clips and story ideas and I have to get up and turn on the television just to grab whatever narrative it provides like a lifeline. I even fell off of the bench once, in an episode of meditative vertigo.
Any meditator would read this whiny post and respond "buck up soldier, welcome to the club." I know the answer is be patient and keep sitting. I am curious if anyone else meditates with a bicycle helmet on, ready for the next fall.