July 31, 2011: Much Ado About... Sprinklers, Darkness, and Lovemaking

07-31-11

I’ve had the pleasure of rehearsing Much Ado About Nothing for the last 4 weeks.  It’s been a pleasure for many reasons: I’m playing a villain, which is something I’ve never done before and may never get to do again; I’m vocal coaching the show, which is a new and challenging experience; and I’m working with a group of talented, dedicated, pleasant-spirited people.

As Portland’s Shakespeare in the Parks company, we play in a different park each weekend, but we’ve been rehearsing for the last week in the park where we opened this weekend.  Our playing space is at the bottom of a large staircase, which means we get to haul our set, costumes, and tent down and back up the stairs each day.  Although this is not an ideal situation, it’s actually not a big deal either, because everyone is so gracious about it.  We don’t complain about what a pain it is; instead, we make jokes about getting in shape.  We help each other out, everybody pitches in, and nobody leaves until everything is done.  These are not rules that had to be either named or enforced – it’s just what has happened since the beginning of tech week, and I’m proud to be part of such a generous group of people.

Despite our laudable work ethic, there were a few wrinkles in the week.  Monday was our first rehearsal in the park and our first time loading everything in, and we got started a little late.  Although we had gotten to the park at 6pm, we didn’t finish our run until about 9:30, by which time it was pitch black, and the park has very little lighting.  Our director decided it was unsafe for us to try to load out in the dark, so we waited for the producer to bring flashlights and lanterns.  We were maybe halfway done with the tear-down when the park sprinklers came on about 50 feet away from us on both sides.  This caused a bit of a panic, and we cleared the area with as much speed as is possible while carrying heavy equipment up stairs in the dark.  The sprinklers in our area came on as if on cue just as we moved the last items out of the way.

Our final dress rehearsal was Thursday night, and we were entertained by an amorous couple on the hillside no more than 20 feet from stage and in direct view of the people waiting backstage.  They were engaged in what can only be described as “heavy petting” lasting through most of Act I and Intermission.  When I came offstage after my first scene in Act II, I rounded the corner of the viewing area just in time to see the girl TAKE OFF HER SHORTS and… well, perhaps I’ve said too much already.  Their boldness made my jaw drop, and I wondered why they hadn’t chosen a more secluded area to consummate their evening.  They were on a hillside surrounded by well-trimmed grass and no bushes, and at this particular moment they actually had a pretty good spotlight created by a well-aimed patch of light from the setting sun shining through the branches of a tree at the bottom of the hill.  Surely they were aware that they were in the company of 16 thespians rehearsing a play, as well as various other park-dwellers in relative close proximity.  Did they think the brilliance of our performance would overshadow their lovemaking, drawing all eyes past their show and onto our stage?  That’s flattering, I suppose, but unrealistic.  While Benedick and Beatrice confessed their love with words onstage, Amorous Park Exhibitionists 1 and 2 gave us a real live physical love demonstration.

Ah, the wonders of Nature.

July 16, 2011: Words to the Wise

07-16-11

So, I was at a film shoot a few months ago during which one of the camera guys made an off-handed comment, during one of the breaks, that he hates people who blog: “I mean, really, YOUR LIFE IS NOT THAT INTERESTING!” – I think those were his exact words.

Being, in general, an even-tempered and non-confrontational person, I smiled, nodded, and declined to offer the argument that I blog, and this must therefore mean he hates ME.  I think this would have killed both the conversation and the good cheer of those involved in the filming.

But his comment has been festering in the back of my brain since then, and it makes me want to blog in an especially witty, creative and deeply meaningful fashion.  So in an attempt to make this entry more profound, I offer this moral in advance: “Observation is the Seed of Wisdom.”

Steve and I joined a gym last week.

It seemed like an appropriate decision, given my obsession with working out and the gym’s proximity to our apartment: Google maps says that from our front door to theirs, it is 0.6 miles by car or 0.3 miles by foot.  It’s less if I cut across my neighbor’s lawn and hop the wall around the gym parking lot.  I’m certain that if necessary, a carrier pigeon could deliver a message from me to my personal trainer in 45 seconds.  That is, of course, assuming I had paid the extra monthly fee to hire a personal trainer.

This brings me to my next point.  As part of the sales pitch to get us to become gym members, our sales associate offered me and Steve each a personal training session with the gym manager himself (we’ll call him Albert).  I remember thinking it odd that the gym manager would conduct these sessions – isn’t that why they pay a staff of personal trainers with varying hours and specialties (and, presumably, a lower paycheck)?

My question was answered when I showed up for mine two days later.  Albert and I were scheduled for an hour together, which seemed like kind of a lot of personal training, but I was up for the challenge.

The challenge turned out not to be related to muscle strength or flexibility, but to endurance of a sales presentation.

I spent the first 25 minutes of our session filling out a questionnaire about my health and fitness goals, and listening to Albert’s speech about the pillars of health and fitness, complete with a myriad of chicken-scratchy illustrations he provided on the back of my questionnaire as he spoke.

For about 15 minutes in the middle of our session, Albert led me to one end of the gym and had me do some pretty basic lunges, squats, and ab exercises.  He reminded me repeatedly that the session he was giving me was different from any other gym because it was tailored specifically to my personal needs.  I wanted to ask him how that was true, but he never really stopped talking.

The last 20 minutes of our session were back at Albert’s desk with a sheet of rates and an impressive list of reasons why I needed to sign up for a year of personal training RIGHT THEN.  Albert told me that during my workout he noticed that my lower back and upper body were very weak, that my right side was stronger than my left side, and that it was imperative that I work out with a trainer to avoid injury and ensure that I meet my fitness goals.

Let’s examine his observations a little more closely:

 1.   That my lower back and upper body were very weak.  Now, I don’t mean to brag – that really isn’t my point.  But I can do bicep curls with 20-pound weights, and I can do pull-ups without assistance.  So, I’m sorry Albert, but I’m inclined to disagree with that part of your assessment – and I also wonder how you felt you could determine the shape of my upper body by watching me do lunges.

  
2.    That my right side was stronger than my left side.  OK.  Maybe that’s true.  Don’t we all have a dominant side?  And I wonder if his sole basis for this conclusion was his observation, while I was filling out the detailed questionnaire, that I am right handed.

3.   That it is imperative that I work out with a trainer to avoid injury and ensure that I meet my fitness goals.  Well, Albert, if you had read my questionnaire, you would have noticed that I have been working out consistently for 15 years, that my only injury of note was a broken tailbone 6 months ago from falling on the ice, and that my fitness goal is to maintain my current level of fitness.

So, thanks Albert, but I think I’ll pass.

Meet your intention to your observation, your observation to your word, and your word to your action – and there, you will find… I don’t know, truth?  Fulfillment?  Connection?  Success?  Albert, I wish you these things, and the inspiration to develop a more useful personal training pitch.