Open Letter

Dear Guy Who Lives Across the Hall:

Funny thing, I wasn’t aware I was living in some sort of dormitory. I thought this was an apartment building. As such, perhaps it’s not that great an idea to just leave your door hanging wide open while you’re slumped on your futon watching TV. And if you have to have the door open, how about turning that TV volume down? An also, if you have to have the door open, how about cleaning up that fetid pigsty in which you live? And on that note, if you have to have the door open, then I’m going to be royally pissed at you for the rancid body odor wafting out and filling the hallway.

In conclusion, you would appear to be one of the most disgusting persons I’ve ever seen and/or smelled. So please, keep your crappiness to yourself.

Thanks,
Me

Opening Weekend

I just got back upstairs from moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer, so now it’s an hour of the waiting game. Le sigh.

Opening weekend went very well. We had around 45 people in the audience on Saturday, and a stellar ~75 on both Friday and today. It was very weird finishing the matinee performance today and walking out into sunlight. T-minus three more weeks until I can cut off this hair and bleach what’s left — it’s at that unmanageable point where I loathe it fiercely and can’t do much with it.

Everyone in the show seems to be having a good time, and I enjoy most of them. The notable exceptions are The Guy Who Doesn’t Know How To Whisper and The Chick Who Makes Gross Mouth Sounds. Little miss grossmouth likes to eat at her dressing area with her mouth open, and she also does this nauseating warm-up where she … um … I guess she’s stretching out her entire mouth by running her tongue around the outside of her teeth. I don’t know what that’s supposed to do, but the noises it makes are revolting.

Every time someone does something weird, I just sigh, “actors.” Honestly, I don’t think of myself as an actor. Strangely, the ones who require the most “quiet time” and “warmup” and such are the worst performers. The rest of us can go out on stage and deliver our lines in a believable fashion, then go back to the dressing room and read or chat.

Over opening weekend I made it through most of Stephen King’s On Writing. There’s a lot of good stuff in there about writing technique, as well as a fascinating memoir of King’s life. And there’s a section near the end about his near-fatal accident (if you don’t know, he was hit by a van while walking alongside a road — the driver of the van was “distracted by his dog” and veered off the road straight into King) that had me in tears.

And regarding accidents, here’s the Scott report. The doctors say the problem isn’t a pinched nerve — it’s a nearly fused nerve. Simply put, our nerves are like bicycle brake cables: a sheath on the outside, the nerve on the inside, moving in the sheath. Since his arm stayed still for a few days, and since his body was in superhealing mode, the nerves in his arm started to fuse to the sheath. Hopefully there’s no permanent damage, but the doctor said there was an outside possibility that he’ll have a numb spot on his hand forever. The numbness is getting less by the day, and I’m hopeful that the nerve problems will heal up nicely. Scott is growing quite the fetching lump on his shoulder — the “fibrous mass” that is forming around the healing bone. His shoulder is still yellow with bruising, and it looks like he’s been colored with a highlighter. Overall it’s slow and steady improvement.

Now I’m going to enjoy my night off. Probably play a little poker.