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.

Romeo & Juliet Gets The Treatment

It's 11:30 AM, and I'm in my office listening to a student audience scream with joy at the production of Romeo & Juliet they're watching above my head. As happy as I am that they like the show, one aspect of the production gnaws at me.
I don't always have a problem setting Shakespeare in a non-Elizabethan period. I've worked on some great shows that skipped men in tights for another look. A Victorian Love's Labors Lost and a Third World Banana Republic Julius Caesar are two that pop up in my mind as solid, well-executed pieces of theatre.
This time we've set R&J in a Verona that mimics modern day Miami. Bright colored buildings with palms and Spanish tiled roofs and cellphones and blackberries, and here's the rub, gentle reader. Cellphones and blackberries are my problem.
The story of Romeo & Juliet is fairly dependent on that old chestnut of a plot devise, the lost message. Romeo never gets the note telling him that Juliet is faking her suicide and it all falls apart from there. So in this production, do all the cell towers go down at once? Did Romeo forget to take a charger with him into exile, and there's not one Radio Shack in Mantua? I can't stop imagining Romeo walking around with his cellphone to his ear, repeating "canst thou hear me now" over and over (Verona Wireless - Its The Network.)
All in all, its still a well-acted, solidly staged production. The costumes, sets, props and lighting are all first rate, if I do say so myself. And later this season we're producing West Side Story. Maybe we'll set it in the future. I'm thinking Predator Tony falls for Alien Maria, and boy do the sparks fly.