A Blog About Theatre

For the last eight months I have been writing Notes From The Future and posting it episodically within this blog, because this is currently the only blog I have to my name. Obviously there's a bit of a conflict between the name of this blog (Rinky-Dink, Adventures In American Theatre) and Notes From The Future, which is a story about what happens to love when earthquakes, monsters and time travel get in the way. Or maybe it's a story about a couple of idiots who clearly chose the wrong path. And maybe I'm writing about Veronica and myself with unflinching clarity, or maybe I'm making myself far more attractive in print than I actually am. I'll never tell. What I will say is that I've hit a bump in the road.

Perhaps 'pothole' is the better word. Either way, the three of you who read regularly will have noticed by now that I have pulled over. The engine is off – in fact, it's cool to the touch. There's still gas in the tank, oil and water unmixed in their appropriate receptacles. But I am on my back under the car, staring at the complexities I've created and very, very aware that a) certain inconsistencies are about to trip everything up and, b) I will begin directing The Three Musketeers in late February. It's kind of like when I know I need to be up early in the morning and I therefore cannot sleep: I know I need to keep working and finish this damned thing (I even have notes on what comes next and how to end it), but it would appear that I have something-or-othered, and as a result I am thoroughly somethinged.

Part of it is health-related, and I won't bore you with details, but that's distracting. The other part is having to work at home. I don't know how people do it. The only time I can get work done is late at night, but working late at night = sleeping all day, which fucks my sleep schedule. It's 11:06 pm as of this moment, and I have to complete, edit, and post this blog within the next hour or fuck up the deliciously normal sleep cycle I've finally managed to regain after New Year's. I would love to drive up to Solano College every day and write in the Adjunct Faculty Office. But 120 miles round trip with gas prices what they are and things and such and pennywhistles among sandpipers, o the unmitigated profligacy of it all.

Another issue I'm having is with Blogger/Blogspot itself. While it has undergone some changes that are definite improvements, it seems that none of you can easily comment, no matter what I do to the settings. Not gonna lie: I totally love comments. That's why I practically beg for comments every time I post a link to my blog on Google+, Facebook, Twitter, etc. I recently met someone who is so obsessed with NFTF that she has read it in its entirety – twice! Never a word from her, alas, and she's just the person whose comments I'd love to have. Imagine my frustration when everyone tells me they try to comment, but the blog won't let them. Or it's prohibitively difficult. (I am assuming a high level of intelligence among you, dear readers, because I've noticed that smart people like my writing. Which of course means you're all geniuses. Would you care to celebrate this revelation with bonbons au gingembre? Join me in the escritoire!) There are several other venues I am currently considering and my current favorite is WordPress. It's a poor artist who blames the tools, but let's be clear: words are my tools, websites are the galleries in which I currently display my work.

Now, when I started this blog, I was thinking that I would use it to catalog my pithily unrepentant observations about theatre as it currently stands and as I've experienced it in the SF Bay Area and other regions here in the Western United States. Some of my stuff is just that. Oliver in Idaho, a series originally written from the trenches of the exact production described, was first shared via the blogs on MySpace. But MySpace is now the weed-choked, crack-vialed lot several blocks away where they shoot various scenes for The Wire, because the world, to quote Roland of Gilead, has moved on. O alas, it has indeed.

So, why haven't I continued to write directly about my experiences since 2006? Simple: I chickened out, took a job working for my Dad, and promptly fell of the face of the earth. After that, every show I did felt like a blessing that I couldn't endanger. Were I to write candidly about a poorly-written original musical, for example, there was a danger that the librettist, lyricist or producer might get wind of it. And since none of them had any idea that the show was poorly-writ, blah blah and etcetera. Instead, I concocted fictionalized versions of the productions in which I was involved. I had fun writing them, and when I go back and re-read, I am always a little saddened that they've never gotten much attention. I think parents must feel this way when they have awkward kids. “I love you, honey. And you are pretty. You are. You just … need to not be ugly any more.”

Recently, however, I had a chance to discuss my blog at some length with a couple of people. One was my brother-in-law, first initial J, who feels that I spend too much time writing about street names in early episodes. Fair enough. I don't know how much that thought will affect the eventual form the blog takes, but I appreciate the feedback. And if that is his only critique, I'll take it! My sister Hillary, on the other hand, wants me to cut every single reference to theatre. She probably only told me this because she had had some cocktails at our older brother's 50^th birthday party, and I truly do appreciate the response.

Because it got me thinking: am I writing too much about theatre within NFTF? I think she may be right: I might be a little heavy-handed with the Carol Channing references and Nathan Lane inflections. But I justified it, each and every time, with a glance at the title of the blog: Rinky-Dink, Adventures in American Theatre. I thought to myself (quasi-consciously), “Ah, this gemlike little quatrain about Sondheim vs. Styne is just the thing to justify this blog about time travel being published under a theatrical label. This will satisfy the theatre junkies who are so avidly – yet SILENTLY – reading my blog! Perhaps this will draw them into the light of day? Perhaps – dare I hope?! – just perhaps my cogent observations about the current state of affairs in mediocre regional theatre will be just the thing to get people commenting!”

Nope.

So I'm laying here under my blog, with hot inspiration dripping on my face and the smell of burned potential strong in my nostrils, and I'm thinking. My need to write about Theatre must be fulfilled. My youngest sister is so bored with my writings about theatre that she skips – actually skips – whole sections of it whenever I lean in that direction. What to do? Socket wrench? Shot of whiskey? Both? I'll take three, thanks, and then stare at the page some more. Meanwhile, I may just have to create a new, separate blog, somewhere else. Transfer NFTF over there, and maintain Blogger as the home of Rinky-Dink, as that association seems cemented in both the spiritual and the literal senses.

It's four minutes after Midnight. This blog is unfinished. Notes From The Future have yet to arrive. I am bracing myself for three comments followed by thunderous silence. Thus my writing career mimics almost exactly the shape of my theatrical career. Lesson learned:

Location, location, location.