Sunday, February 27, 2011
Winging It in Pictures
It was great fun and I am exhausted. Winging It, my wedding-gone-awry story was brought to life by an outstanding cast. Despite being packed in elbow-to-elbow, our audiences laughed long and hard and loved the story, the players, and the beauty of seeing a show in a wonderfully restored historic home. Today I share the pictures; stay tuned for the insiders look at the effort and heart that everyone puts into pulling together an original show and making it a success. Part II to follow!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Two Too Awesome
We packed 'em in at Winging It last night. Tonight we close the show and we are still turning people away at the door. That's a good thing, both if you are a playwright hoping for an audience for your work and if you are raising money for a good cause, which in this case is our local historical society here in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin.
We seem to have a following of sorts. Last night's audience was full of old friends, neighbors, work associates, and people we only see every two years because they wouldn't miss one of the Hysterical Society Player's biennial shows.
Last night was special because my sons came to watch Katz do his shtick as only Katz can do. And they came to see what I do, too, what I have been doing invisibly pretty much since they were born. Writing plays is a lot different than writing a book or writing for a newspaper or magazine. A play only exists when it is performed. Of course, you can read a play, but that is an experience that falls far short of its intention. Unless a play is performed, it dies.
I've been writing plays since Ben, my oldest, was two and I was pregnant with Josh. Despite the twice yearly royalty checks that arrived in the mail, they had a hard time seeing any pay off in the work I do. For years, plays I wrote were produced infrequently in our area, or if they were produced in town, they were not age appropriate for my children.
Now they're grown with lives and careers of their own. When they came last night, they got to see me a little differently. As the children of Katz, a man many people consider the funniest person they know, I have a sense of humor that is completely below their radar; translated that means Dad is hilarious and Mom is not. Watching my play, they got to see that I am funny in my own right. On top of that, I also was proud that they got to see my bawdy side! I can do blue humor and I can do it well, and I love to see their surprise at the very idea.
But last night was a two way street. As they watched their father and me at our creative best, I watched them as the outstanding young men they have become. They've established careers and broadened their thinking; they even spent time protesting in Madison this week over Governor Walker's attempts to end collective bargaining, an issue that directly impacts Ben. Always they are firm in their beliefs yet civil in sharing their opinions with those who might not agree. Several people who have known my kids since they were little shared their observations with me: How like their father Josh is, how poised and articulate he can be. They also tell me how easily Ben shows his kind heart, charm and earnestness, and how both boys have turned in to such fine young men.
The boys spent a good part of the night hugging and talking with the parents of their high school friends and the neighbors whose kids they played with and whose houses they visited on Halloween. Ben was so happy to see them and to have the opportunity to introduce them to Kim, the lovely young lady who has touched his heart and filled his life of late. I said to Ben how fortunate it was that he came the same night so many people he knew were there, and I could tell he was moved.
"Mom," he said, "these are the people who shaped my life!"
I know it was my work, my words, my casting that packed the house last night. But having Ben and Josh there, having them laugh at the right time, seeing their pleasure in my work, and then seeing them reconnect with the history of their lives was so rewarding it made the spotlight just that much brighter.
Lots of hard work and good fun, our share of mistakes, and a ton of love went into raising our children, but just like with a play, you make your adjustments, you tweak your directions, you enter stage right instead of stage left, and in the end it all comes together. At the final curtain call, Katz and I are left with a successful production and two awesome kids. Lucky us!
We seem to have a following of sorts. Last night's audience was full of old friends, neighbors, work associates, and people we only see every two years because they wouldn't miss one of the Hysterical Society Player's biennial shows.
Last night was special because my sons came to watch Katz do his shtick as only Katz can do. And they came to see what I do, too, what I have been doing invisibly pretty much since they were born. Writing plays is a lot different than writing a book or writing for a newspaper or magazine. A play only exists when it is performed. Of course, you can read a play, but that is an experience that falls far short of its intention. Unless a play is performed, it dies.
I've been writing plays since Ben, my oldest, was two and I was pregnant with Josh. Despite the twice yearly royalty checks that arrived in the mail, they had a hard time seeing any pay off in the work I do. For years, plays I wrote were produced infrequently in our area, or if they were produced in town, they were not age appropriate for my children.
Now they're grown with lives and careers of their own. When they came last night, they got to see me a little differently. As the children of Katz, a man many people consider the funniest person they know, I have a sense of humor that is completely below their radar; translated that means Dad is hilarious and Mom is not. Watching my play, they got to see that I am funny in my own right. On top of that, I also was proud that they got to see my bawdy side! I can do blue humor and I can do it well, and I love to see their surprise at the very idea.
But last night was a two way street. As they watched their father and me at our creative best, I watched them as the outstanding young men they have become. They've established careers and broadened their thinking; they even spent time protesting in Madison this week over Governor Walker's attempts to end collective bargaining, an issue that directly impacts Ben. Always they are firm in their beliefs yet civil in sharing their opinions with those who might not agree. Several people who have known my kids since they were little shared their observations with me: How like their father Josh is, how poised and articulate he can be. They also tell me how easily Ben shows his kind heart, charm and earnestness, and how both boys have turned in to such fine young men.
The boys spent a good part of the night hugging and talking with the parents of their high school friends and the neighbors whose kids they played with and whose houses they visited on Halloween. Ben was so happy to see them and to have the opportunity to introduce them to Kim, the lovely young lady who has touched his heart and filled his life of late. I said to Ben how fortunate it was that he came the same night so many people he knew were there, and I could tell he was moved.
"Mom," he said, "these are the people who shaped my life!"
I know it was my work, my words, my casting that packed the house last night. But having Ben and Josh there, having them laugh at the right time, seeing their pleasure in my work, and then seeing them reconnect with the history of their lives was so rewarding it made the spotlight just that much brighter.
Lots of hard work and good fun, our share of mistakes, and a ton of love went into raising our children, but just like with a play, you make your adjustments, you tweak your directions, you enter stage right instead of stage left, and in the end it all comes together. At the final curtain call, Katz and I are left with a successful production and two awesome kids. Lucky us!
Monday, February 21, 2011
Pain
I'm in a bit of pain these days.
I'm going on a year of blogging--a project I started for the purpose of keeping me honest when it came to writing my mystery novel--and I've got no novel to show for my efforts.
I seem to be dealing with some aging issues that include carpal tunnel syndrome, arthritis in my neck, back, and hands, a pinched nerve, and muscular pain in my upper arms that is a result of trying to use my computer too much for work and writing.
I've got some psychological pain from worrying about 1) keeping my job status when I can't work because of the pain, 2) the state of the State of Wisconsin (state union members in the family include a sister, a brother, and my son--and if you don't know what's going on with Wisconsin unions and our governor you are obviously not keeping up with the news!), and 3) a husband who is working too hard and coming home too stressed from an employer that is in no hurry to hire someone to take over one of the two jobs he is doing.
Oh, and did I mention that I tripped over my own two feet, launched myself into the side of my friend Linda's car head first, blackened my eye, and gave myself a dandy case of whiplash and a bum elbow all one week before my play opened for a two week run?
So, I'm existing on pain pills, going through testing procedures to assess the damage of injury and age, not writing or reading because I can't work through the pain sufficiently to concentrate, missing out on my daily workout at the Y and my beloved Yoga classes, not sleeping well because laying down is painful, and generally leading a pretty diminished and boring life.
The upside is that the play is going well (I'll share photos and reviews for my next post), everybody is being super supportive, my job doesn't appear to be in jeopardy, I'm not dying, and I like to think maybe my body is healing a little bit everyday.
The photo at the top was taken opening night of the show--8 days post the pedestrian hits car episode, while the one below was 24 hours post collision. Let me take this moment to thank my dearly departed mother for giving me the genes of good skin and fast healing. I got through opening night on adrenaline and Vicodan, and having just enough of a black eye to make people feel a little sorry for me while not ruining my opening night "glamour" look was a blessing. Face it (pun intended!): When you've been through a week like I had, you take all the blessings you can get.
Amen!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Super Bowl Party-less
I don't need to tell you the Green Bay Packers are going to the big dance this weekend. That's because everybody in the world already knows.
It's going to be wild. As we speak, fans are tinting Dallas green and gold, the local paper is talking nothing but football, football, football, and bar owners statewide are seeing dollar signs as they get ready for the beer to flow. Everybody in Wisconsin and beyond is party-planning for a day of eating, drinking, and game watching. Our sons will be with their friends, cheering on their beloved team and having a festive time. Even my sister Kathy, who lives in New York and has broken bread with the likes of famous writer E.L.Doctorow more times than she's watched a Green Bay Packer game (she even had dinner with Arthur Miller once . . . OMG!), is going to a Super Bowl Party (for the first time in her life) and dragging her poor Spanish born non-football watching husband with her.
Katz and I? We'll be home alone.
To Katz, the game is sacrosanct. It is to be watched with laser vision. Katz is one of those guys who has been a Packer fan, win or lose, for his entire life. He came from a family that didn't watch football, yet for as long as he can remember, even when they stunk (and they did!) he was in front of the TV watching every down.Going to the Super Bowl is the icing on the cake for all Packer backers, but for Katz, it's a religious experience. He's as devoted and knowledgeable as they come. He married me, I like to think, because he loved me, but having a father with season tickets to the Packer games didn't hurt.
I'd like to invite my sister Mary, whom Katz is very fond of, to watch the game with us. Despite a long-lived resentment towards the team (which got more undivided attention on Sundays from our beloved, over-worked physician father then any of his nine children could get in a week), she's come to feel at least a bit of that sense of ownership towards the team that comes along with being a Wisconsinite. But even having Mary over presents an insurmountable problem for Katz.
It's not like he wouldn't tell her to be quiet if she talked at the wrong time (which during a Packer game is just about anytime, and during a Super Bowl includes the commercials, so we're talking a non-conversational three to four hours)--he would definitely stop her from talking. It's not that he wouldn't yell at her if she--God forbid--got up and walked in front of the TV, because heaven knows he'd find the appropriate words to make her scamper faster than a frightened rabbit on amphetamines.
Katz has phenomenal language skills, an instinctive sense of humor, and enough good will built up to handle all of these hypothetical situations. Alas, what he can't control, what he has no ability to turn off or tone down, is his profanity. It is irreverent, x-rated, constant, loud, and heartfelt. Being in the room with Katz during a Super Bowl when the Packers are playing would be like being in a room with a shaken bottle of champagne and a loose cork; sooner or later, all hell is going to break loose and no one within 30 feet will be safe.
So, our Packer gear is laid out waiting to be donned, we've got a few tasty treats on the menu, and the good beer is on tap. I'm going to be watching the Packers play with nothing but some Johnsonville dippers and a couch cushion between me and a ranting, raving, leaping, swearing football maniac. No Margaritas or tables laden with goodies for me; no womanly chit-chat or male bonding to entertain me. Today, it's me, the guy who still makes my world spin, and the home team at the Super Bowl.
Curses!
It's going to be wild. As we speak, fans are tinting Dallas green and gold, the local paper is talking nothing but football, football, football, and bar owners statewide are seeing dollar signs as they get ready for the beer to flow. Everybody in Wisconsin and beyond is party-planning for a day of eating, drinking, and game watching. Our sons will be with their friends, cheering on their beloved team and having a festive time. Even my sister Kathy, who lives in New York and has broken bread with the likes of famous writer E.L.Doctorow more times than she's watched a Green Bay Packer game (she even had dinner with Arthur Miller once . . . OMG!), is going to a Super Bowl Party (for the first time in her life) and dragging her poor Spanish born non-football watching husband with her.
Katz and I? We'll be home alone.
To Katz, the game is sacrosanct. It is to be watched with laser vision. Katz is one of those guys who has been a Packer fan, win or lose, for his entire life. He came from a family that didn't watch football, yet for as long as he can remember, even when they stunk (and they did!) he was in front of the TV watching every down.Going to the Super Bowl is the icing on the cake for all Packer backers, but for Katz, it's a religious experience. He's as devoted and knowledgeable as they come. He married me, I like to think, because he loved me, but having a father with season tickets to the Packer games didn't hurt.
I'd like to invite my sister Mary, whom Katz is very fond of, to watch the game with us. Despite a long-lived resentment towards the team (which got more undivided attention on Sundays from our beloved, over-worked physician father then any of his nine children could get in a week), she's come to feel at least a bit of that sense of ownership towards the team that comes along with being a Wisconsinite. But even having Mary over presents an insurmountable problem for Katz.
It's not like he wouldn't tell her to be quiet if she talked at the wrong time (which during a Packer game is just about anytime, and during a Super Bowl includes the commercials, so we're talking a non-conversational three to four hours)--he would definitely stop her from talking. It's not that he wouldn't yell at her if she--God forbid--got up and walked in front of the TV, because heaven knows he'd find the appropriate words to make her scamper faster than a frightened rabbit on amphetamines.
Katz has phenomenal language skills, an instinctive sense of humor, and enough good will built up to handle all of these hypothetical situations. Alas, what he can't control, what he has no ability to turn off or tone down, is his profanity. It is irreverent, x-rated, constant, loud, and heartfelt. Being in the room with Katz during a Super Bowl when the Packers are playing would be like being in a room with a shaken bottle of champagne and a loose cork; sooner or later, all hell is going to break loose and no one within 30 feet will be safe.
So, our Packer gear is laid out waiting to be donned, we've got a few tasty treats on the menu, and the good beer is on tap. I'm going to be watching the Packers play with nothing but some Johnsonville dippers and a couch cushion between me and a ranting, raving, leaping, swearing football maniac. No Margaritas or tables laden with goodies for me; no womanly chit-chat or male bonding to entertain me. Today, it's me, the guy who still makes my world spin, and the home team at the Super Bowl.
Curses!
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