Not Every Day

Not even in L.A. is this a common occurence.

Sunday night/Monday morning. 2:17am.

I awaken to the sound of four, very drunk morons, loitering outside my bedroom window. One of these morons is barfing LOUDLY, while his friends say eloquent things like, "Fuck you!" "No, man, fuck you!"

I sigh, hoping they'll take Mr. Drunk-Off-His-Ass home to sleep it off.

A few minutes pass and the barfing noises increase in obnoxiousness and... violence, I suppose is a good word for it. Ick.

Finally, I lean out the window and yell, "Shut the hell up! Some of us have to sleep!"

The ass-munch leader of this band of merry men, looks up at me and says, "Sorry, whore."

I roll my eyes and go back to bed and apparently my admonition works, because 20 seconds later, they're gone.

It's not every day I get called a whore. Ali and I are still laughing about it.

Winnie the Pooh and Banshee Too

So, the runner lights have been broken at The Banshee for a year now. And what are "runner lights?" say the poor theatre-deprived plebs out there. Runner lights are the lights on the edge of the stairs that keep you from falling the 20,000 feet from the nosebleed seats to a horrid and bloody death at center stage. In our case, they save you from falling six inches and slightly bruising your ass. A few months ago, we had a general work call to fix a few of the more pathetic eyesores, one of which was the runners. We pulled out the old ones and decided the best way to fix them would be to take one of those long chain lights, drill a hole in the edge of each step, and thread it up, along the edge, down, up to the next step, and so on. With two chains we could fix them all.

Here's the catch. To thread them back up, we'd have to get under the stairs. Being that the Banshee is a converted tile store and not the Royal Albert Hall, it wasn't built with this kind of maintenance in mind. we decided to bang a hole in the box office, behind the fridge, and from there we could crawl underneath and get the job done. Our boys took great delight in smashing a suitable hole. Suitable for them, because there was no way in hell they could fit through it. With studs on two sides, an electrical outlet on one, and the floor on the last, it could only be made so big.

Now to find a spelunker and bribe them to make friends with the spiders. First was Mary, who (like a lunatic) volunteered. She got in up to her ass and got stuck. She wriggled back out and Sean and Andrew looked for their next victim. You could hear the wheels turning in their overly-enthusiastic minds. It should be someone who caves easily when we talk sweetly to her. Someone like... And their heads turned as one to look at me.

Swell. I kept envisioning Alfred Molina in Raiders of the Lost Ark with all those creepy-ass tarantulas crawling all over him. I kneel down, peer into the Pit of Despair and keep going. I can hear Mary and the boys saying encouraging things from behind, but all I can think about is how cool it is that my boobs are getting stuck. I give myself a drywall mammogram and manage to squeeze them through, but I too am stopped by my hips. (I prefer to say "hips" instead of "fat ass.") Naughty words echoed in my head at this point and probably escaped my lips too, but only my arachnid cohorts could hear me.

And so, I shift into reverse and find the hole to be even smaller going in this direction. And now my shirt is caught on the drywall... and now my bra is stuck on my shirt and the drywall... and I vaguely hear Mary shooing the guys out of the box office and closing the door, so I don't flash all of Magnolia Blvd.

And then it hits me how funny this whole thing is and I start to laugh. I'm stuck on my knees, halfway in a half-assed hole, boobs blowing in the wind, shirt in my armpits, plaster all over me, and a show to run in about an hour and a half. I can just picture the handy-dandy Burbank firemen cutting my topless self out of the wall. Still snorting with laughter, I finally manage to get out of the damned hole and get my girls back under wraps.

Covered in plaster and trying not to snicker, I attempt an evil glare at Sean and Andrew and fail miserably. They know I love this stuff.

Next is Josie's turn and she decides to go in backwards, because if my boobs barely fit, hers DEFINITELY won't. She actually makes it in all the way, but then remembers how claustrophobic she is. Oops. I took some pictures of her head sticking out the wall and Sean and Andrew looking on in concern. In deference to Jos, I won't post them.

After she calms down, she turns around only to find that there's nowhere to go. The studs are too close and there's no way in hell our genius plan will work.

And how did it turn out, you ask?

Well, I got all the plaster out of my hair, changed into a fantastic dress, and ran the show without incident, the hole is now covered by the fridge, I've got two boxes of chain lights in my booth, and the runner lights are still broken. I love the theatre!

Extra credit points to those of you who get the Winnie the Pooh reference in the title.

What I Learned on My Christmas Vacation

Don't wear a blue velvet track suit and leave the plastic sleeves on the handle of your purse. You look like a fool.

Bring something sharp with which to jab the asshole next to you, who kept his drink cup so he could spit tobacco juice into it every two seconds.

Deny yourself that chai from Starbucks, if only to spare yourself the humiliation and discomfort that come when you remove it from the seat pocket in front of you to give to the nice Southwest flight attendant for disposal and end up spilling your Coke onto your crotch. Or, if you must, wait until the second leg of the flight rather than the first.

Do your best not to hurl onto the happy, gibbering, smooching, cuddling couple that you wind up sitting next to. Ah, isn't it sweet, they fell asleep on each other. Where's my barf bag?

And these lessons were just in the airport and on the planes! What did you learn in Utah, Kati?

If you're going to wear your chartreuse muppet-skin hood to the grocery store, be prepared for people to stare at you and laugh. And by "people," I mean me and my mom.

Grand Marnier makes a damn fine Cosmopolitan.

My dad doesn't like risotto, because it's too "glutinous." Yeah, I don't get it either.

The second National Treasure was better than the first.

Toast racks kick ass.

Snow is fun, but only for short periods of time.

Two door cars suck.

Being 28 feels pretty much the same as being 27.

Happy New Year, all!

Since My Baby Left Me...

A Sky Mall catalogue arrived in the mail a few days ago. Why? I think I bought something from them, once upon a time. And on the cover was this picture...

I don't even know where to begin. First of all, CREEPY! Second of all... CREEPY! Doesn't it look like something that would eat you in your sleep? Eerie music fills the room as you open your eyes, to find it sitting on your chest, opening it's jaws and coming after your eyeballs.

Here's what they say about the "Alive Elvis Animatronic Robot." Notes in parentheses and italics are mine.

"Alive Elvis" is a lifelike and life-size bust of Elvis Presley. State-of-the-art technologies--multiple infrared vision sensors, stereo speakers, 10 precision motors with motion-capture facial animations, and 21st century materials--have been used by Wowwee to lovingly craft a robot that looks, feels (I'm sorry, WHAT?), sounds and moves like a real person (Shudder). Wowwee Alive Elvis is the first high-quality animatronic robot of any superstar ever designed for a fan's home or office.

The IR wireless remote control looks like the glittering microphone Elvis held in his '68 Comeback Special (Ha ha ha!). Experience "The King" in four modes: Press "Alive" and Elvis comes to life--checking you out and talking you up (Aaaaaaggghhh!!!); select "Monologue" and he'll share moments from his life and times (Ick.); pick "Song" to hear him sing eight of his biggest hits; or choose "Sing Along" to duet with Elvis, karaoke style (after jacking in your own microphone). What's more, you can plug in your iPod or other audio source to enjoy your own music in sync with Elvis. (Dude, you mean I can make him sing Broadway showtunes? Like, I don't know, "Memory" from Cats? SWEET!)

I can't imagine anyone who's sane paying $299.95 for this scary-ass piece of technology, but then I'm not an Elvis fan. Peanut butter and banana sandwich anyone?

This Will Make Anyone Happy!

I love it. I just can't stop smiling at this!

Morbid Curiosity at Its Weirdest

It may be sick. It may be twisted. I've watched it for two months now and a small part of me wonders what it would be like.

This coming Saturday is the last show of Loyal Women. We're going to have at least a little bit of fake tar left over. I'm contemplating being tarred.

I don't understand it. I can't explain it. But there it is. The urge, the curiosity, to see what it's like. I don't think I'd include the feathers. That's a bit much. (Isn't it bizarre where I choose to draw the line?)

I'm sure Amanda and McKerrin wouldn't pouring tar on two people that night instead of one. And I'd have to make sure that I took a change of clothes and something to wrap around my tar covered head.

I'm still wavering. We'll see what happens when Saturday actually rolls around.

MacGyver Lights

This weekend, I lived my own worst nightmare.

Friday night, I got to the theatre after a very long work day. I was one sleepy girl, but I had a Coke in my bag. Saved again by the pretty red can.

I turned on my dimmer check to make sure all my lights were functioning. They were. I turned them off again and went to mop up the water that had leaked through the roof during our rainstorm. I set my props. I diluted my tar. All was well.

The actors warmed up. I went to turn on the pre-show lights and... it looked weird. Weird and dark. I asked Sean, "Does this look weird?" He agreed that it looked very weird. 2/3rds of my lights weren't on. Ten minutes from curtain and they just don't work.

The adrenaline started to kick in as I was furiously checking plugs, turning things off and back on again, swearing under my breath, trying to call our lighting designer, etc. I wasn't tired anymore.

Nothing worked.

Could we fake it? I'd be the one to do the faking and I wasn't completely convinced that I could pull it off, but as they say, "The show must go on." Particularly when you've got a jam-packed house. With every muscle in my body clenched, I took a deep breath and told Sean I was ready to go.

The audience was extremely friendly and fore-warned about out "technical difficulties" and the show started pretty well. Sean came into the booth and offered to run the work lights to fill in the lights we were missing. It wasn't great, but it wasn't god-awful either.

A couple of the actors didn't even know anything was wrong, but they're the ones that drink before the show. (I'm kidding. Kind of.)

The actors pulled off a truly fantastic performance and we all went out for a really big drink after the show.

Mary, our lighting designer, went in on Saturday to see if she could figure out what was wrong. No dice. She tweaked the few lights that were there and fixed a couple of things that were REALLY wrong. The work lights filled in for us again on Saturday night and our beyond-full house.

The electrician came in yesterday morning and Sean and Mary took a look at the whole thing. A transformer was unplugged. Yup, that's it. Unplugged. One plug.

Thank God it was that simple and all is back to normal.

After Friday's show, one of our patrons complimented me on my MacGyver lights. Hence the title of the post.

Tinfoil Trees

My dear Daddoo informed me that the tinfoil covered trees that I wrote about the other day, are covered in tinfoil to "keep the aliens away. Duh!"

Love you, Critter. :)

The Great... Entrance?

What's she doing? Why is Auntie Kati standing outside when she should be walking us?

That was Guinness and Jamie (Sean and Leslie's dogs) last Monday.

A little explanation. Sean and Leslie's front door is one of those that automatically locks as you pull it closed behind you. In my mind, it's a situation just BEGGING for you to lock yourself out. And that's just what I did.

I left for work, pulled the door closed and thought no more of it. I went about my day: a little work, lunch, got stuck in traffic, met with a temp agency, got stuck in traffic again, stopped at In & Out Burger for a well-deserved hamburger and Coke, and got back to the house only to realize that I didn't have the key.

I trundled around to the back door and sure enough, there they were, sitting two feet away on the dining room table, behind the firmly locked door.

Sigh.

Called Sean, hoping for a hidden key somewhere. Then remembered there's no cell reception where they are.

Called Andrew, thinking that if anyone had an extra key or knew where one was, it would be him. No dice.

Found the extra key for the garage. Not of much use, but at least the garage is heated and has chinchillas to amuse me. Extra key for the house? Non-existant.

Options... Well, there's the dog door. Nixed. Blocked by plywood as the dogs keep escaping onto the street. Plywood unmovable.

The bedroom window on the 2nd floor is open just a little ways above my head. Found a ladder in the garage. Still too far away. Don't want to break something. Like my head.

Kitchen window? Locked.

Other kitchen window? Not locked.... Hmm.... Filthy, but not locked.

And all this time, the dogs are throwing themselves against the doors because they're so happy to see me and want desperately to know why I'm not coming inside! I, on the other hand, desperately want them to have opposable thumbs, so they can throw the deadbolt.

And the cat? The cat is watching me from the bedroom window, also wondering what the hell's wrong with me. People are so weird!

But, back to the kitchen window. I find a saw in the garage. Useful because it's so thin. I can wedge it between the window and the frame and pry the window open. Hopefully...

Yes! Success! It's open 2 inches. Next, I find an axe kindof thing that I push in and use the handle for leverage to get it open further. Finally, I've got it open enough to get my body inside. My body that's all dressed up, because of my meeting with the temp agency. At least I wasn't wearing a skirt, but I was wearing a very nice pair of heels.

I get a foot up on the wall and a knee on top of the Culligan tank and two hands on the sill. I'll need to take a bath and do a load of laundry, but it'll be worth it. I've got a foot on the counter and my ass in the sink. The dogs are in the kitchen now, wagging their tails and looking ecstatic at having me inside again.

I called Sean and left him a message saying, "Nevermind! I'm inside. Crawled in a window. Might want to take care of that..."

When they got back, he let me know that they don't worry about it too much, as their dogs would kill and eat anybody who tried it. Thank God, they know and like me.

After my bath, curled up in my jammies, with both dogs on the couch with me, I praised myself for my problem solving skills. I'd really had to pee.

Deck the Halls....

I was debating about what to post on this post-holiday Monday.

First, I thought something about Thanksgiving itself would be apropos, but I can't seem to get excited about that.

I could post about the fact that we FINALLY had a full house for Loyal Women on Saturday night.

After all is said and done, though, I feel I have to post about a strange phenomenon that I witnessed at lunch today.

I was running errands and trying to still have time to grab food and I drove past a house with a guy putting up Christmas decorations. The weird part was the tree on the parking strip that was wrapped in tin foil.

And there was ANOTHER house two doors down that had the SAME THING!

Is there an explanation for this? Is it supposed to look like some surreal ice?

Not a very inspired post, I know, but I'm still recovering from the tryptophan-induced coma.

Gobble-icious

It's that wonderful time of year again! The time for homemade eggnog!

Wait, that's not what I meant to say... OK, maybe it is.

The time of year when we all want to hibernate has come. The time of excellent food, wine, and company. A time of tradition.

*Cue the Fiddler on the Roof music*

A part of me wishes that I was in Utah today, because today is the day that GF goes to the turkey farm to pick up the Thanksgiving turkey. (30 lbs this year, thank you very much.)

Apparently, the grandkids never grow out of the urge to accompany him. Granted, we all go through a phase of "This place SMELLS BAD! It smells like COW POO!!!" We all come back around, though. My cousins Christopher and Chance are going with him today and they're in their late teens. I'm sure my cousin Amanda (who just turned 21) would go with him too, if she weren't in school.

And you, yourself, Kati? Would you go?

In a heartbeat. And I might even let GF talk me into having a calf suck on my finger.

But, because I'm here, in balmy Los Angeles, I get my auntie's homemade eggnog. Such bliss, so much rum.

*Cue the Pirates of the Caribbean music*

I'll peel potatoes while I watch the Macy's parade. We'll watch the dog show while the turkey's cooking. We'll eat until we can eat no more. Then we'll wait awhile and have some pie.

Josh's Kentucky Pecan Pie... with dark chocolate and bourbon....

And Friday? Leftovers.

HAPPY GOBBLE DAY!!!

What the Hell?!

It's been a while since I had a post entitled this and after this morning, it's time for a new one.

It all began Sunday night after the show. I was going over to my friend Dan's house cause he has a kick-ass pub in his basement and it was time for a cast party. I was sitting at a red light and hear the sound of someone hocking up a loogie (anybody know how to spell that?). I looked over my shoulder in time to see some psycho SPITTING on my car!

What the hell?!?!?!?!

And this morning, as I was getting into my car I saw an eggshell stuck on the top. Yes, my cherubs, someone EGGED my fucking car!!!! It's all over my driver's side window and my rear-view mirror. And little pieces of shell thrown in for decoration...

What did my car ever do to you people?! Why did you feel the need to exercise your dumb-ass, juvenile tendencies on random automobiles?! What the hell is wrong with the world?!

Happy fucking Thanksgiving, you assholes.

Red is Fun!

What's so cool about red? Well...

It's the color of a Coke can and my Starbucks mug.

It's a cherry on the 4th of July.

It's a scarlet pimpernel and my tattoo.

Th garnets in the rings I wear everyday are red. "I'm Not Really a Waitress" is the best red fingernail polish in the world.

My pepper grinder is red, my lipstick is red, and today my dress is red.

The shattered Christmas ornaments in Loyal Women are red. We call them "mirth bombs."

Josie's cell phone is red. I'm a little jealous.

My mom had a beautiful red vase that the cat knocked off a shelf and broke.

Ladybugs are red, my hair is red, and my toenails are... well, my toenails are blue.

But, I have a red purse, a red scarf, and red gloves.

Red is bright, red is fun, red is everything we should want in our lives.

In the Shadow of the Moon

The space geeek in me is ALL atwitter over this! I can't believe I missed it when it was here... Damn it!

Of course it's Ron Howard. The man's a genius.

DVD, please?

Bathing the Chinchillas

Today on How L.A. is Different From Utah, we present - The Hostess Party.

In Utah, the hostess party is a rather demure affair. Scrap-booking, cooking paraphernalia, and yes, the ever-famous tupperware.

On the other hand, my friend Andra is having a "Passion Party" tonight. Yup, a whole room full of chicks and gay guys examining the finer qualities of vibrators, edible underwear, and naughty dice.

To me, this is weird. I'm too private to sit around with people (ANY people) and debate the bullet vs. the jack rabbit.

Fortunately, I have other things on my plate, so I'm spared the merriment.

I'm house-sitting for my friends Sean and Leslie this weekend and I'm going to have dinner with them tonight to learn how to care for their guinea pig and Sean's two chinchillas. (The dogs and cat I'm familiar with.) Maybe I'll get to give them a dust bath.

Knowing the people who will be at Andra's "Passion Party," they'll undoubtedly think that "bathing the chinchillas" is a euphemism for something completely different.

The Miracle of Penzey's

I got home from work last night at 6:30, thanks to some rather bizarre traffic, and did I just stop at McDonald's for dinner and shove french fries into my mouth? No, sirree, I actually cooked! Not only did I cook, but I used a RECIPE and everything!

It was a recipe that I found in a Penzey's spice catalog about six months ago. I'd made it once before, but the weather has finally cooled off enough so I can cook it again.

Greek chicken and pasta. Simple, fairly quick, and really really good! Tomatoes, mushrooms, lemony herby goodness. And look at how pretty it is!



It also made a LOT of it, so I have it for a couple of days.

I even made it my own a little bit. It calls for chicken broth to deglaze the pan, but I used white wine and I used cremini mushrooms instead of button. (Wild girl!) And, craziest of all, it calls for thin spaghetti, but I used linguine. Woah, slow down there, Bessie!

So, here's a toast to tasty food on a Tuesday night and plenty of leftovers.

Five Freakin' Years! Part I

You've been living in L.A. for almost five years now, Kati. How do you feel?

I feel fantastic, Kati. In a way, it seems like I've been here for five minutes and, in another way, it feels like I've always been here.

Would you like to give us a re-cap of the best memories of the last five years?

I'd be glad to. These are in no particular order...

I saw U2 in concert.
I stage managed nine shows.
I fell off a ladder.
I killed my car and had to live without it for over six months.
I had a total of six roommates.
I've lived with two dogs, three cats, and two fish. And some hermit crabs. (Granted, at different times.)
I've had three jobs. (OK, one was only for a couple of weeks, but still...)
I've been to Disneyland approximately 20 times.
I've been to the beach twice.
I've seen a lot of theatre, including Red Noses, Angry Young Teenage Girl Gang, Wicked, Jersey Boys, Box 27, The Marvelous Wonderettes, Tango 'Til They're Sore, A Christmas O'Carol, Fighting Words, A Glorious Uncertainty, The Lepers of Baille Baste, The Beauty Queen of Leenane, Well of the Saints, The Shoe, a Sherlock Holmes play that I can't remember the name of, some witch play that just managed to piss me off, and others that haven't remained in my head at all.
I've had enough to eat and drink at Timmy Nolan's Irish pub that they automatically know that I want either a Bass or a gin & tonic made with Bombay Sapphire.
I discovered The Macaroni Grill, The White Stripes, Queen, Muse, U2, and Burke Williams.
And I figured out what I want my next tattoo to be.

I'll post more of these as I think of them over the next month and a half.

January 3rd marks the day.

And I'm Supposed to Be "The Organized One"

Last Saturday night when our fearless leaders were abandoning us to go and see a four hour production of Edwin Drood, Sean told me "Don't forget to remind the cast about Daylight Savings Time tomorrow...." I nodded and went back to stirring my lumpy tar.

Before our warm up, I did just that. "Don't forget that tomorrow is Daylight Savings Time! Set your clocks back an hour when you get home tonight. If you get here an hour early tomorrow and all the doors are locked, we'll all laugh at you."

So, Sunday morning, I get up, drink my tea, shower, get dressed, and look at my cell phone to see what time it is. After all, cell phones are linked into the all-powerful, all-knowing, satellite network of doom, right? Apparently, mine is the only one that isn't.

I got to the theatre, set my props, vacuumed up the feathers leftover from Saturday night, vacuumed the dressing rooms, vacuumed the house, and finally realized that it was five minutes to 1pm and NOBODY ELSE WAS THERE....

I thought, "Noooo.... I didn't." I trundled into the lobby and eyed the clock. 5 minutes to 1pm. I then thought to myself, "Well, the person who would have changed that clock would have been.... me. So, that means..."

When all else fails, call Mum. She picked up the phone and said, "What now?" (I'd been talking to her about ten minutes before that.) I said, "What time is it?" And she said, "Well, here it's five to 1, so there it's-"

"5 to noon." *Deep sigh* "I'm an idiot."

Luckily for me, there's a deck of cards and a comfy couch on stage. And I had a brand new box of Cheez-Its and an ice cold Coke in my bag. Not a bad way to kill an hour. It was much better for it to be an hour early than an hour late.

Sean took one look at me and said, "Did you forget?"

I said, "No, my cell phone just sucks."

And, yes, they did all laugh at me.

Will She Make It?!?!?!?

Once again, I find myself forced to reiterate that cable television is the spawn of satan, but also that it's miraculous and demonically tempting. This week's culprit?

Ninja Warrior.

Yes, you did read that correctly. Ninja Warrior is a show on G4. It's Japanese and is a cross between American Gladiator and... you know, I can't think of anything else, because it defies description. I'll do my best, though.

Now, my friend Mel turned me on to this... thing. (Although, she blames her boyfriend Dan, so I'm going to blame him too.) The episodes that she's seen are mostly guys. I got "lucky" and caught episodes of Women of Ninja Warrior, being a slew of scantily clad, Japanese, teenage girls running a floating obstacle course.

I have to say that I found the best part to be when they bit the big one, or did a face plant into a large, foam island. I'm not proud to admit this, but it's true. Hee hee. Yeah, it's still funny.

The commentator is pretty awesome too. Where else can you hear someone say something like, "Look at her! She should be rated NC-17!" and not get his balls kicked into this throat?

And may I just say that I always wear my pleather short shorts when I need to run across a Floating Bridge. Thank you.

More Nicknames

After yesterday's post, my dear Daddoo pointed out to me that I neglected to mention the more... whimsical nicknames I've had over the years.

For instance, he used to call me Twinkie. When I told him I wasn't overly fond of that one, he switched to Swinky. I told him, "No Twinkie or anything that rhymes with Twinkie."

My great grandmother, or Great Gram as she was known, always called me Ladybug.

My grandmother called me, and still does occasionally, Ducky Daddles.

I used to call my mom Piglet, but she decided that wasn't very appealing. She said she wanted to be called Possum. I pointed out that possums are mean and, let's face it, not very pretty. She said she pictured a baby possum. I agreed that this was acceptable.

I told her that if she was Possum, I wanted a cute nickname too. Mousling.

Then Daddy wanted one. Critter.

Yes, we're strange, but you have to admit that we're pretty damn cute.

Kate, Kati, or Katherine

When I was in kindergarten, there were four girls in my class and three of them were named Katie. Finally, there was one who spelled it Kati and I thought, "Hmm, a way to be different!" I think it was a couple of years after that I officially made the change from Katie to Kati.

It's always an interesting barometer of how much people love me to see when they finally figure out that I spell it differently. How observant ARE my friends? Some of them, very. Some of them, not so much.

I had a conversation with my friend Matt one day. He noticed that my auntie calls me Kate and I told him that virtually all of my family do. He thought this was very weird. He says I'm obviously a Kati and definitely not a Kate.

My new uncle, Josh called me Kate for a while, but then stopped. I'm not sure why. Now that he's my uncle, I think he should take it up again....

And then there are the few and far between people who call me Katherine. And the fewer who actually get away with it. My mom does, naturally. (She also calls me Annie, being that my middle name is Anne.) And my choir teacher I let call me Katherine, although she was pissed off when she finally found out that I go by Kati. "Why didn't you EVER TELL ME?" I told her my name IS Katherine and I respond to it just as well as I respond to Kati.

I also had a teacher once who insisted on calling me Kathy and it made me nuts. I have nothing against the name Kathy, but it's not mine.... He was a nut.

Most people who call me Katherine, it comes out sounding condescending. I don't know why. When I stage managed in college for the first time, my Assistant Stage Manager's name was also Kati. (What are the odds?) So, I went by Katherine. The second time, she was IN the show, so once again... Both directors made "Katherine" sound like a bad thing. Granted, I didn't really get along with either one of them, so maybe it's just the connotations in my head.

My auntie occasionally calls me Katherine, but it sounds fine when she says it. And I occasionally call her Stinky. Just thought I'd insert that in here.

Sean calls me Katherine now and again, but with him it seems to be more of a term of endearment. I call him General and he calls me Katherine.

It was strange, when we filmed the teaser for The Whisperer in Darkness, he called me Katherine when I got there and then our Director of Photography, who only vaguely knew me, called me Katherine himself a few minutes later and it was weird to hear him doing it. He eventually picked up that I go by Kati to everyone else and switched over.

It's a very strange dynamic, I think, and as long as no one calls me "Kathy," we'll be fine.

If Only....

... I had five years of experience in QA. I could get a job testing Coca-Cola for it's quality.

I actually found that in a job listing last week. How perfect would I be for that?

And can you think of a better way to make sure that I'm so sick of it I'll never drink any ever again? I can't.

All Hallow's Eve

My Halloween was hugely uneventful this year. All of my friends got invited to fancy-schmancy costume parties, but I showed them! I went home and WATCHED A MOVIE BY MYSELF!!! Wait... damn... that sounded less pathetic in my head...

Anyway, I wasn't even going to dress up, but on the morning, I found my sparkly turquoise go-go dress in my suitcase and thought, "What the hell." Melissa took one look at me and said, "You need a wig!" I said, "I don't have a wig." She ran into her bedroom, whipped open her closet and brought down Marianne, which is her wig from Dockers. It's named Marianne after her character was perfect with my dress. Then she found some sunglasses for me and POOF, I was Ginger from Gilligan's Island.



We had a catered lunch at work which was so-so, a pumpkin carving contest which was pretty cool (crazy animators), and a costume contest which was awesome.

Cap it all off with pizza, beer, and Shaun of the Dead and you've got yourself a pretty decent Halloween (even if it was by me onesy). Robyn joined me for the very end of the movie, though, so I wasn't all alone. Ali bought LOADS of Dum-Dums in preparation for all the trick-or-treaters. I hadn't mentioned to her that we didn't have ANY last year. Sure enough, now we've got 300 Dum-Dums lurking around our apartment. Thankfully, I back at The Colonel's house now, so they won't tempt me.

An innocuous post for such a crazy holiday, but every day can't have falling apart sets and tar everywhere. What do you want from me? A Dum-dum, perhaps?

Opening Night!

Ah, Opening Night! The night when it finally comes together- lights, sound, costumes, audience, all of it. The press is there. You're hoping you don't screw something up. You're hoping that all the work will pay off and the critics will rave and you'll get good houses and make some money on this one, so you can do the next one....

Such pressure... Oi.

And to relieve the pressure, what do we do? Give awesome presents!

My auntie gave me a Christmas ornament that has my name and glittered holly painted on one side and Loyal Women and blood painted on the other side. (It's funny if you've seen the show and are a little bit twisted like we are.)

Sean and Leslie, our fearless leaders, gave us baby bottles full of whiskey that read "Rathcooler." (The neighborhood the show's set in is Rathcoole.)

And my dear friend Andrew, the one who's been making the fake tatts for us, gave us all Loyal Women tattoos!

Here's me with mine. Looks real, doesn't it?

And as an added present for me, he made a tattoo for himself. I wrote about Dan's "Brenda" tattoo, right. Well, Andrew took one and crossed her name out, and put the rest of the female characters on there and crossed their names out, and... well... just look.

He says it's because it's me that he really loves... Tee hee!

(I apologize for the crappy quality of that photo. I took it with my cell phone. The ONE night I leave my camera at home. Grr!)

So, here's to anothering opening of another show! Merde, baby!

The Colonel and I

*UPDATE!* Here's a picture of The Colonel and his squeaky chipmunk toy. (Yes, I know it looks like poo in this picture.) He even posed for me, the little diva, although it probably helped that Melissa was standing there cooing at him.

If I had a camera this past Saturday, I could have made a billion dollars from America's Funniest Home Videos.

My friend Mel is working very long hours on a movie shoot for the next couple of weeks. To keep her beloved pug, The Colonel, from dying of boredom, she asked me to come stay in her guest room, walk him, and be around for his general amusement.

Last Saturday, I packed my bag and went over to walk him before I had to go to the show. Mel had told me about a harness that The Colonel has to wear when he goes on a walk. I sat there, looking at the damned thing for about fifteen minutes. It was a strange contraption with a number of straps that didn't seem to go anywhere. And all the while I'm checking it out, the dog is leaping at my thighs, barking, because he knows what the harness means. W.A.L.K.

When I think I have it figured out, I sit down on the floor to put it on him. Let the hilarity commence. I get the loop for his head around his neck and he immediately shakes it off. I get it on again and he bites my hands. Now, I'm trying to hold that loop on, while I get the other two loops around his front legs, all while he's wiggling and squirming and gnawing on my fingers.

OK, it's on, it's tightened, the leash is attached. Now for the walk.

He's practically dragging me down the sidewalk. I'm yelling, "Slow down, damn it!" But, he's oblivious to anything except motorcycles and bicycles. Those are obviously evil and must be stopped. Who can stop them? Only The Colonel can. He launched himself at a bike that was pulling up beside us at a red light and scared the bejeezus out of me and the rider. Who knew that rubber and aluminum was the antichrist?

Walk finished, I tried to get him OUT of the harness. Imagine the previous, but in reverse. Luckily, gravity is kind of on my side for this part.

Among other things that are demonic and must die: shoelaces and plastic garbage bags.

Mayhem at The Banshee!

Wow! What a weekend! The show is open, we had three great shows, a whole bunch of critics, and one of the most insane theatre experiences I've ever had.

So, yesterday, I'm going about my business, setting the 50,000 props for the show. Filling the commode with fake pee and leaving the lid up, wrapping a box of chocolates, making toast, washing the tar pot - you know, usual prop stuff. I trail into the booth to find the barf box (don't ask) and find Sean swearing at the sound board. He had been trying to make the sound work in the lobby, which it hasn't done since Henry IV and it was only sheer luck that we got it to work then, and somehow managed to lose all sound instead. None sound, none music, anywhere.

He managed to get it working again, but then there was this weird feedback coming from the speakers and our sound levels were all wrong. Good to keep me on my toes, not so good to keep me from having a coronary. Crisis, mostly, averted. Whew!

Then during scene four, McKerrin slammed Dan up against the door on the set so she could french kiss him, and the door popped off it's hinges. Well, it tried valiantly to stay attached for a couple of minutes, but then failed and came off completely. I have to say, the actors were awesome at fitting it into the show. Altering lines, altering blocking. It was genius.

At intermission, the boys got it back on the trolley and all was well... Or so I thought.

Dan goes to attack Barry in scene 7, they fall onto the couch, and the leg collapses. I'm in the booth just shaking my head and snickering to myself. Because the situation has now passed pain the ass and crossed into comical.

Despite of all the chaos, it was a REALLY good performance. It brought them out of their heads and made it into a whole new creature. The audience was very complimentary (all eight of them) and hopefully the critic who was there will see past the mayhem to the cream underneath.

Only with live theatre, I'm tellin' you.

Finally...

... a show where my inner Anglophile can come out to play. A play where I can't be teased by the Irishmen for my Union Jack purse, wallet, and pin.

We're thinking the "Usual Banshee Crowd" will be shocked by the protestant-ness of this show, used (as they are) to our traditional Irish fare. Let alone, the mayhem that happens before their eyes.

We gave Dan a couple of tattoos for our final dress rehearsal last night and as we were pulling the paper off of his "FTP" or "Fuck the Pope" tattoo, he mentioned that his good catholic grandmother was undoubtedly rolling over in her grave. As his character's an ex-con, though, he needs a FTP tattoo. Or, so says his friend from Belfast who watched a rehearsal a few days ago to make sure we were doing things properly. He also has a UDA (That's Ulster Defense Association) shield on one bicep and a flaming heart with "Brenda" on the other. Nice. Especially since he strips down to his boxers (or a towel, depending on who wins the debate) you really get to admire his ink. The FTP stretches across the back of his shoulder blades. We're just hoping he doesn't lose the towel in front of his "mom" and the whole Banshee crowd.

Just another night at the Banshee!

Feathers, Feathers Everywhere!

So, I thought getting fake tar off the stage was a pain in the ass.

Add feathers to the mix? Sweet Jesus.

As soon as I'd thought I'd gotten all the tar last night, I'd try to pick up a wad of feathers and find a squishy puddle of tar underneath.

I tried sweeping them, but I believe a shopvac to hoover them all up is a stroke of genius. The loose ones anyway.

Of course, I can bitch and moan about the tar and the barf and the blood and the pee all I want, but Lisa is the one who has to drive home every night with tar and feathers oozing down her neck.

I told her I thought we should both get combat pay for this show. She actually apologized for dripping tar on the floor... She's so sweet.

One more dress rehearsal, one preview tomorrow, and then we'll be open and I'll only have to mop it up three nights a week instead of every night.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to put a call into Bissell.

Wednesday Quote

"O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire
Crouch for employment.
But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
Attest in little place a million;
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces work.
Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide on man,
And make imaginary puissance;
Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,
Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play."
-Henry V

Incredulity

I'm sorry. Are you really asking me to believe that load of crap? Because I happen to think that you're full of it and don't warrant my attention any longer.

I also think I need to pluck my eyebrows.

Technicalities

I lay in bed last night with cues frolicking in my head. We had our tech rehearsal yesterday for Loyal Women, so now there are lights and sound. When I first read it, I thought to myself what a breeze it would be to run. Dude, was I wrong!

Well to a certain extent. It’s just different than what I’ve become accustomed to. Usually, a cue falls on a certain line. A slow fade from full stage to focus on a certain person, something like that. Well, since this play all takes place in an apartment and is pretty realistic, they’re almost entirely visual. Like, someone flipping on a lamp or turning on the TV. It means they have to be very precise, or it looks really stupid.

“Stair light on, room light out as Brenda goes up the stairs, Pause. Stair lights out.”

That’s what I fell asleep to. That and, “Fade volume, pause, skip to next track, volume back up, switch speaker, PLAY.”

That would be the Pain in the Ass Cue. There’s always one. If you’re lucky, there are many. This one comes at the beginning of scene two, if you want to know, and I have to switch between the scene change music (“Joy to the World”) and the audio of the television AS FAST AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. Although, Sean did offer to meld them into one cue if need be. I was pretty good at it yesterday and will only get faster at it. As tricky cues go, though, this one’s pretty tame.

Remember that cue from Eclipsed? That one was brutal.

A little insight into the technical side of stage managing. And the artistic side? That’s where I get to feel out the perfect timing to fade the lights at the end of a scene, or how slowly to fade the music at the beginning. This is the part that I love most.

Read throughs? A snore. Blocking? Demonic. Line Notes? Sixth Circle of Hell. Dress rehearsals? Getting to the good stuff, finally. Opening? Too stressful, but fun for the partying afterwards. I like the part when I can run the show in my sleep and actually watch the dynamics of what’s playing out in front of me. When I can enjoy the tiny differences between performances. The way different audiences affect what’s happening in front of them. That’s the part that rocks and makes it all worth it.

Here's to number 11!

"The Whisperer in Darkness" Teaser!

Now, you can see the teaser that I helped film a few weeks ago for the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society! Check it out!



You can read my post about filming it here!

Notice how nice the rain falls? And how well the globe turns? And the lightning? The lightning is perfection!

Random Friday

Did you know that the word "bored" first appeared in Charles Dickens' Bleak House? The phrase "to be a bore" had been used before, but never "bored."

That part in Bleak House when the dude spontaneously combusted from drinking too much gin...? That was a trip. I'm just sayin'.

We had our first experiment with fake tar at rehearsal of Loyal Women last night. I have mentioned that someone gets tarred and feathered at the end of this play, right? OK, just checking. I'm sure Lisa is rueing the day that she accepted this damn role.

Our chemists here at Theatre Banshee made this absolutely evil concoction that looks freakishly like real tar, even if it doesn't smell like it. One of the ingredients is Hershey's syrup. Telling more would put my life in peril.

We dumped it on Lisa's head, finished the last scene and opened the door on the set to find her standing in a puddle of black, viscous goo half sobbing and half laughing. It's going to scare the bejeezus out of the audience, I can tell you that right now. And we don't even have feathers or lights or a finished set yet.

Cleaning it up is going to be a bitch. Do I get combat pay if I get fake tar on my kick-ass peacock blue halter dress?

I still find that I'm not overly comfortable with this play. I've gotten to the point where I can watch it without wanting to vomit, but I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of putting an audience through this emotional turmoil three nights a week. I feel like I should warn them beforehand.

BEWARE!!! This isn't a piece of fluff! Put on your armor, gird your loins and watch out for flying Christmas ornaments!

Hopefully we won't permanently damage anyone's psyche...

We open in a week! Hooray for tech rehearsal!

A Paradigm Shift

So, with my entire family here last weekend, I came to a realization. Someone would ask me how my job was and the best answer I came up with was a groan and to roll my eyes. Not a good thing.

My mom always told me I should find something I'd be willing to do for free and the paycheck would just be a bonus. A good goal, sure, but a little hard to actually find.

So, I've been brainstorming and e-mailing every one I've ever met and all of their friends. I've gotten some good feedback so far, I've updated my resume, have even sent it out to a couple of companies, and even have a temp agency that's more than willing to take me on while I'm waiting for my dream job to open up.

What makes me thrilled to get out of bed in the morning?

Well, my friend Dan works for the Center Theatre Group in downtown LA. They run the Ahmanson, the Mark Taper Forum and the Kirk Douglas theatre. He says they might have something opening up pretty soon and that would be ideal. Getting paid to work for people who create and nourish theatre would be very rewarding.

I wonder if they need a stage manager...

A Kirk, a Cape, and a Wedding

So, it's done! They're married! There's too much to tell all in one post, so I'll stick with the highlights.

The church was called the Wee Kirk O' the Heather, the officiant (Sean) was wearing a cape that was actually an inside out skirt, Andrew wore a superhero mask for his reading of Kahlil Gibran, the bagpiping gave me the shivers, both of the moms ended up wearing royal blue with no consultation beforehand, I stayed at the reception until 1am and tweaked my neck from dancing so much, my daddy danced with me, the food, Susan singing "Can You Read My Mind" and Brian with his Superman t-shirt, Josh telling me that now I have to call him "Uncle Josh," and how awesome all the bridesmaids looked in their hot black cocktail dresses. All in all, a pretty damn good weekend. (We'll ignore the car trouble that plagued everybody on Sunday.)

Susan sang this for the ceremony itself.

"Right as the rain
That falls from above
So real, so right is our love
It came like the spring
That breaks through the snow
I can't say what it may bring
I only know...
I only know...
It's right to believe
Whatever gave your eyes this glow
Whatever gave my heart this song
Can't be wrongIt's right as the rain
That falls from above
And fills the world
With the blue of our love
As rain must fall
And day must dawn
This love...
This love...
Must go on."

You Don't See This in L.A.

My dear mummy (who will be here tomorrow, by the way!) sent me these yesterday. (Thanks to her friend Dawn who took them...)

They made me feel nostalgic and a bit homesick. The leaves don't really change in L.A. Not like this anyway. And if they do change at all, it isn't until February.

I remember all the times I had to go trick-or-treating with a big-ass coat over my costume. Cleopatra in her parka wasn't quite the image I was hoping for.


And these? This is what mountains should look like. They call what we have in L.A. "mountains," but they're ever so wrong. Those are "hills." I believe these shots were taken in Sardine canyon, just outside of my home town. Now, none of these mountains can compare to Ben Lomond. Ben, as we affectionately call him, rests to the north of my home town and keeps an eye on us all. He looks ever so handsome when it snows on him. He was always the view out of my bedroom window growing up and he still brings me a sense of peace when I go home.

I'll have to take a picture of him, the next time I'm there. Or maybe I can ask mum to take one for me.

So, here's to leaf-peeping and Ben Lomond.

An Electric Performance

Monday night during rehearsal, there was a disturbance in the Force.

My auntie was on stage, acting her heart out and all of a sudden, there was a weird humming, the lights went all wonky, and you could feel the electricity in the air. It lasted for less than ten seconds and everything returned to normal.

Apparently, there was a white light in the lobby, a blue light coming under the door, and a whole cast of freaked out people.

Barry said it was caused by a mylar balloon caught in the powerlines outside. I said it was aliens coming to take us back to the mother ship.

Whatever it was, I'd like for it to never happen again.

Briefly Descending From Themyscira

My fellow Amazons and I threw a bridal shower bash for my auntie this past weekend. She and twenty of her best chiquita friends descended from Themyscira for a Wonder Woman inspired afternoon tea.

Yes, it's a little off-kilter to have a Wonder Woman tea party for a woman who's in her early forties, but we're off-kilter babes.

With our pots of Earl Grey and Constant Comment, our lemon poppyseed scones, our goat cheese and watercress sandwiches, and our best party dresses, we were a house of estrogen. Melissa even invented a new cocktail in honor of the occasion. The "Blushing Bride" was a glass of champagne with a dash of rose essence and exceedingly tasty.

The blushing bride, herself, received a whole slew of cool gifts. Including a panty/camisole set that look like Wonder Woman's outfit. And some Super Girl Underoos. Really.

I'd show you a picture of the bouquet that Josie made out of all the ribbon and a paper plate, but I left my camera's memory card at work. Had the camera, but no card. (Did you guys know that you're not supposed to cut the ribbons off the packages at a bridal shower? Apparently, it "severs the marriage." Who comes up with this stuff?!)

I promise not to forget my camera card on Friday for the pre-wedding dinner or on Saturday for the festivities themselves. Of course, the four people who read this blog will actually be there and see everything for themselves. :)

*Note to all the people who aren't geeks out there: Themyscira is the island where all the Amazons live and that Wonder Woman came from.

Temptation, Thy Name is Cable!

Recently, Ali and I were lamenting over our crap TV connection, lack of DSL, and the uselessness of our landline. (Not to self: Call AT&T and cancel the landline.) Now, we have entered the twentieth century (God only knows how long it will take is to enter the twenty-first) and got cable and DSL together.

Now, I have only enjoyed cable for the brief year and a half that I lived with my beloved auntie. Other than that, I've NEVER had cable. I've had six channels and movies and been, mostly, happy about it.

But now that I have gillions of channels at my beck and call... the crap I find myself watching is astounding. Although, a Saturday of watching cooking shows on the Food Network was lovely. And I was FINALLY able to watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report on MY OWN TV!!!

The fact that I got sucked into watching The Fugitive, Dirty Dancing and Rent all in one weekend is a little embarassing, but not as embarassing as the amount of Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith that I watched in spanish last week. (Sorry, Mr. Lucas, but it's better that way.)

I'm still trying to determine what channel MTV is on, so I can watch Jackass.

What's happening to me?!

Friday Quote!

"We have a saying: If you go to Atlanta, the first question people ask you is, 'What's your business?' In Macon they ask, 'Where do you go to church?' In Augusta they ask your grandmother's maiden name. But in Savannah the first question people ask you is 'What would you like to drink?'"
-Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

A randomly chosen quote from my collection. Have a good weekend!

Wedding Shoes

These are my shoes for my auntie's wedding. I wore them for a day to break them in. How many blisters did I end up with? None. They passed the test with flying colors!

Ignore the hideous power strip that lives under my desk. :)

And imagine a better pedicure. With bright red toenails, of course, to go with my black halter dress. As my friend Josie would say, "Rowr!"

Saturday Morning Tea

I was preparing my Saturday-morning, thank-God-I-got-to-sleep-in tea this past Saturday and I turned around from putting my bread in the toaster oven. I found the sun shining through my kitchen window onto my sugar bowl, (organic sugar from Trader Joe's). The way the light caught the handle of the spoon, the play of the shadows across the counter, caught my eye as few other things can after that much sleep.

The Meeting of the Clans

As I mentioned a while back, my dear auntie is getting married soon. In fact, two weeks from this past Saturday. What am I most excited about? The tasty food, the drinking, the joining of two people I adore? Well, yeah... those things too, but I'm most excited about the meeting of my two worlds.

My Utah half has the familia. My Angeleno half has my auntie and Theatre Banshee. They've always been kept apart. Not by choice, but by chance. Occasionally, my parents or grandparents will come to visit, but with the impending nuptials comes my entire family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, and grandparents - all of them. And virtually all of my theatre company will be there too.Even better is that the reception is at the theatre! Everyone I love most in the universe will be under the roof of the building I love most in the universe.

I'm afraid my heart might explode at the idea of having them all together, let alone the actual event itself. It might only be for two days, but for a brief, shining moment, I'll have the best of both worlds all in one room.

Friday Quote!

"If I were a brave man, a bold man, a knight sure in the saddle, I would pursue you through the deepest penumbra of the palace of the Louvre, until you yielded to my vehement advance - which is a thought so abject, not to say treasonable, that I think on it only once or twice per diem."
-Power

Loyal Woman? You bet I am!

What's new with Theatre Banshee, Kati? We want to hear all about your latest and greatest stage managing exploits!

Well, OK.

We're in our second week of rehearsal for a play called Loyal Women by Gary Mitchell. It's about a woman living in Belfast and her local branch of the UDA (which is the opposite of the IRA). Brenda's trying to get out of the UDA, but the current leader is retiring and wants Brenda to take her place. She's living with her soon-to-be-ex-husband's mother, her teenage daughter and her infant grandaughter. Dear old mother-in-law is bedridden and not always coherent. Dear daughter is a typical teenage mother and has no desire to take care of her baby. Brenda's husband has recently gotten out of jail after a sixteen year sentence for murdering a man, but it turns out that mom was the murderer and hubby took the fall to protect the daughter. AW! And it's Christmas.

There are definitely some funny parts in this play, but all in all, it's not very happy. There are a number of scuffles on stage, including two women beating the crap out of each other. And at the end, in a blissful expression of the joy of family and holiday, they tar and feather a woman.

Good times.

The first time I read this play, I had this gut-deep visceral aversion to it and wasn't sure I'd be able to finish reading it at all. I determined that living in this world for six weeks of rehearsal and six weeks of shows would be tantamount to torture. I expressed my opinions at our company meeting and told my comrades that if it was chosen, I WOULD NOT stage manage it. I was very emphatic and shocked a number of people. My mom was so proud.

So, how long did I last? Did it take them years and years of cojoling and bribing to turn me around? Pssh, how little you know them.

It took them eight days. Yeah, I'm that strong. Eight freakin' days. My auntie pleaded and tried to use the concept of "blood" to talk me into it. I was still determined to hold out against her. So, what did it? Sean, our director, cornered me and asked what it would take to get me to do it. I thought, "Damn it!" I knew that if he asked, I was a goner. He also told me that he had the same reaction I did, when he first read it, and that he was going to do his best to bring out the twisted humor of it and make it a more enjoyable experience. It's a good thing I trust him as much as I do.

I thought about it thoroughly before I caved, though. I wanted to make damn sure that I really was happy with my decision. I remembered that I'd wanted to take a break for Power, but changed my mind on that one too. And I was SO happy to be involved in it. I also came up with a plan to make sure the craziness of Loyal Women didn't drag me down with it.

My apartment has been spotlessly clean for about a month and I can't even begin to tell you how it feels to come home to such a pleasant environment. I've been doing my best to only eat tasty stuff that's really good for me too. And lots of happy food, like salmon. (Thank God for Trader Joe's!) I've been working out with my Auntie. (Good for the body and the spirit.)

And I realized why it effected me so profoundly. When I read a story, I get sucked into it- hook, line, and sinker. I become the characters, I fall in love with them, I live the story, I feel the world. When it's something like, I don't know, Harry Potter or The DaVinci Code, that's one thing. When someone is TARRED AND FEATHERED?!?! I'm going to take that pretty hard. So, every time we get to that part, I just have to step back from it momentarily and remind myself that it's illusion.

I'm also working with a brilliant and loving bunch, who are well aware of the effect it's having on them too. We keep checking in with each other, making sure everyone's coping. It'll be hard work, but I'm sure well worth it. From what I've seen already, we've got something amazing on our hands here.

*A little tangent*: Banshee has finally gotten a nomination for an Ovation Award! It's taken us 12 years, but Matt Foyer was nominated for his role as Nicholas Fouquet in Power! You rock, Matty!

Mr. Pullman Has Me in His Power

So, I've been reading The Golden Compass, at the urging of my dear Auntie and I find myself fascinated. I've read so many books over the years, it takes quite a bit to catch my eye. This has done it, though.

Imagine a world with armored polar bears, a mysterious particle known as Dust, a consul of witches, and a little girl completely unaware of her own important destiny. I'm ensorcelled. One of the coolest things about this world, is that a person goes everywhere with an outward manifestation of their soul. Something called a daemon. It's always of the opposite sex, can only get so far from you, and constantly changes forms when you're a child. Once you cross into adulthood, it settles into one form that echoes your personality.

In my exploration of the website today, I found my daemon. At first, I was slightly offended at the idea, but the more I think on it, the more I like it.

Byakhee and Mi-Goh and Shoggoths, Oh My!

This past Saturday was meant to be a day of laundry and cleaning. As my one real day off during the week, I had it all set to take care of all the little things that had been piling up since the previous Saturday. Did that happen? No. Why not, you ask? Because my boys needed help.

My dear friends Sean and Andrew are the founders of the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society. H.P. Who? H.P. Lovecraft was a novelist during the 1920's. He wrote horror stories with strange mythical beasts, most of whom are trying to enslave humankind forever.

A few years ago, they made an award-winning movie called The Call of Cthulhu. Cthulhu being a creature that's half octopus, half ape. And there are wings in there too, just for good measure. Well, the boys have started filming the teaser for their next venture, a film based on the short story "The Whisperer in Darkness." Good title, right? They're trying to have it ready for the H.P. Lovecraft film festival which is held in Portland every October.

So, I spent the day "gripping," which is a fancy term for doing whatever needs to be done. I taped tin foil over the windows to black out the light, I went to get lunch from El Pollo Loco, I turned n the "rain" on and off, flickered lights to emulate lightning, and mopped up the "rain" when it leaked all over the floor. I meant to be there for a few hours, but finally went home at 11:30pm, after a 14 hour day. Only for these guys would I sacrifice my Saturday.

And boy were they glad to see me. They really needed an extra set of hands.

So, keep an eye out for their new trailer and hoardes of malevolent Byakhee. I have to go do my laundry.

A New Title

I'm now officially known as the "strange manager" instead of the "stage manager," due to a typing brain-fart in an e-mail.

I actually kind of like it.

Fact: Clowns Eat People

I hate clowns. No, I mean I HATE clowns.

I think it might go back to that trip to the haunted house when I was 13. My "friends" had talked me into it and I was less than thrilled at the prospect of paying someone to scare the crap out of me. Anyway, there was a clown inside this haunted house. He was a big dude. Although, considering how small I was when I was 13, he may have been a munchkin, but he looked enormous to me. He had a baseball bat and was slamming it into the floor right next to my feet. I was trying to act non-chalant and not scared and failing miserably. (There was also a guy with a big-ass snake around his neck. Perhaps all of my phobias sprout from that one night...)

Then, again maybe my hatred of clowns comes from "The Cupcake Incident." That was in elementary and it was someone's birthday. There were clown cupcakes that had twice as much lard frosting as they did cake. I thought to myself, in my youthful naivete, "Forget the cake! Eat ALL the frosting!" And I did. And suffered the consequences an hour later.

I was thinking of clowns last night because there's a play that has rented out our theatre. Their set is a bar and one of the focal points is a pinball machine. A "fun under the big top" pinball machine. I arrived early for rehearsal (as usual) and was setting up chairs for our read-through. And the clowns on the pinball machine were ogling me, debating whether they should roast me on a spit or fillet me and saute me with garlic.

I mean, look at these clowns! They look like the type, don't they?!

Especially this one!!! With the teeth and the scary eyes.... *Shudder*

I can only imagine how terrifying it would be when it's all lit up and making circus noises. Thank God their show closes this weekend. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make a molotov cocktail for them and their stupid little car.

I'm a Pretty Open-Minded Girl, but...

...even this is pushing it.

The dude who lives in the apartment below mine (which used to be filled with fairly charming children and their cool parents) has taken to surfing the net for porn first thing in the morning. And Saturday night. (Somebody needs a date.)

My alarm this morning, which is usually peaceful piano music from the soundtrack to Pride & Prejudice, was over-run by a woman moaning and begging for more and a large quantity of bowm-chicka-bowm-bowm music.

Sigh.

I e-mailed the management company today to find out what the proper protocol is for this sort of thing. They suggested a nicely worded letter as the first course of action.

I can think of a couple choice letters and where Mr. Frisky can shove them. I'd be happy to help.

Monday Quote!

"What do you think?"
"Well, I wouldn't argue that it was a no-holds-barred, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride. But, there is no way you can perpetrate that amount of carnage and mayhem and not incur a considerable amount of paperwork."
-Hot Fuzz

Don't You Hate it When...

... you finish the book you're reading at lunch, have to go run auditions tonight, so you need something to read and, to avoid situations just like this, you keep an emergency back-up stash of books in your desk and...

What do you mean it's just me?

Damn it.

Wednesday Quote

"I've already wasted my whole life. I want to tell you with my last breath that I have always loved you. I would rather be a ghost, drifting by your side as a condemned soul, than enter heaven without you. Because of your love, I will never be a lonely spirit."
-Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

A Panic Attack of Stage Managerial Proportions

I have a plethora of stage managing stories and have heard many, many more. This one takes the cake, I think. It's one that you wouldn't want to have as a nightmare and really wouldn't want to live through. But, I did.

It was a Friday night during Power. There's a man that teaches classes in the space a few times during the week, including Friday morning. He has a "special" light that he turns on himself for the classes. Usually, I'm the first one into the building and have to turn all the lights on. On this particular, fateful day, may auntie had been cleaning so the lights were already on when I got there. I thought nothing of it and went about getting ready for the show.

After the curtain speech, I hit the mouse button to cue the blackout. But, it didn't go to black, because Gene's light was still on! And it was plugged into an outlet DOWN BY THE STAGE!

Somewhere in my head was the idea that it was also somehow plugged in in the booth. So, I start unplugging things. This may have been a good idea, but wasn't. I ended up unplugging my computer that controls the lights. So, by this time, the actors are playing out the first scene in Gene's light and I can't turn on any others for them, because I, as I said, unplugged the computer.

Sigh.

By this time, Leslie has come into the booth to ask me what the hell's going on and I've grumbled out something about Gene's light as I'm furiously plugging things back in.

She says she'll go unplug it, but realizes she can't until my computer has booted back up, because then the actors would be in the pitch dark.

FINALLY, the computer is back up and running and I bring up a light cue for the end of the scene. Do I bring up the right one? Of course not! In my anxiety to get SOME light, ANY light back on, I've brought up the wrong damned cue.

As the scene comes to an end, I kick it over to the proper scene change lights and Leslie rushes down to unplug Gene's special.

And Kati spends the next three hours bringing her breathing back to normal and wiping the sweat stains off of every surface in the booth.

You can bet every penny you own that I checked that light every night after that.

And will until I die. Sheesh.

Would the Children's Television Workshop Approve?

Last weekend, as part of the Labor Day festivities, I went to see some Shakespeare in the park with my favorite cohorts. Every summer at Barnsdall park, they do three shows "in rep," as they call it. This summer it was Richard II, Macbeth and A Midsummer Night's Dream. We saw Midsummer.

Now, I went in with mighty-high expectations! After all, I had seen my auntie YEARS before in a park production of Midsummer. (She had actually performed in the same park!) She had played Puck and was miraculous. I have to say, her costume wasn't nearly as cool as this guy's though.

Let me see if I can describe it accurately. First, he was wearing shorts made of Elmo skin. Then he had bands of Elmo skin around each wrist and each ankle. Black tennis shoes almost finished off the ensemble, but the piece de resistance was the big silver nipple ring in his left nipple. (God, I love L.A.)

At the sight of him (and Oberon in his matching muppet skin cape and black jeans), I thought fleetingly of the wee bottle of pinot grigio that was still in my picnic bag. I soon changed my mind, though. For despite the uber simple set consisting of three walls and two aluminum ladders, and the woman playing Hermia who would have made the perfect spokeswoman for Prozac, I found myself having a fantastic time.

The place was jam-packed as it was their last show and the audience was beside themselves. The best part? It was FREE!!! Can you believe it? They did have buckets out for donations at the end and I dutifully put in my ten bucks, but still anything free in this day and age is pretty impressive.

So, here's to them, for convincing a skeptic and for the skill with which they skinned those muppets.

Awwwwww!

I can't stand how cute this is!

Tasty Peachy Goodness

Now that I have my camera with me, I can show you the gorgeousness that was my contribution to Chick Day!

I found the recipe on Epicurious.com and thought it sounded perfect. After all, this is the exact time of year for fresh peaches.

Peaches and raspberries in spiced white wine. There was also a version for red wine, but I preffered the lightness of the white with the peaches.

And I still made it in my kitchen when it was 105 degrees outside. Insanity.

You can see how good it looks, but I wish you could have smelled it. Something must have happened chemically, because all those good things together smelled even better than you can imagine.

I even ran out of sugar and had to use half brown sugar. Do you think it hurt it? No way! Hell, it may have made it better. And I ended up, completely by mistake, with two different kinds of peaches. Also, probably improved it!

Clever Ideas? Anybody?

So, I'm wanting to post something very clever and witty today. Something that will make you all laugh and fall out of your chairs in mirth.

I would be glad to do that, but I've got nothing. Bupkiss. Nada.

I thought about a post about how freaking hot it's been here, but listening to someone else bitch and maon is never very much fun.

I thought about a Happy Anniversary blog to celebrate our first year in our theatre.

I thought about the night during Power when a light was left on and chaos ensued.

I thought about the merriment of my Labor Day weekend, including the peaches and raspberries with spiced wine that I made for our Girl Day yesterday. (That'll probably come later this week when I have my camera with me. It was a thing of beauty and I took pictures.)

I even thought about the latest Harry Potter book and my many favorite bits.

Nothing's inspiring me, though.

Blah.

You Call This Archaeology?

OK, I found this post through a link on Annejelynn's blog. The post is actually on Fuzzball's blog and made me laugh so hard I think I wet myself a little. Just check it out, please.

Do you think Indiana Jones ever thinks about this stuff when he's ransacking tombs?

Oh, What a Night!

Last Friday, I got to go TO the theatre, instead of going and making it! I have to say, it was pretty damn nice.

I went to see Jersey Boys at the Ahmanson Theatre in downtown LA. I sucked up my, "Ew, downtown!" issues and hopped in my car.

Fearing the Friday evening traffic would be a nightmare, I ended up being an hour and a half early for an 8pm curtain. What are you gonna do?

Fortunately, I had saved my leftover Subway sandwich from lunch and knew the pavilion outside the theatre would be a nice place to hang out for a while and people watch.

My favorite was the dad in his jeans and blazer with his maybe 7 year old daughter in tow. She was in her little black dress, Angeleno black flip-flops and, hand-in-hand with dad, was ready for a night at the theatre. (Miss you, Daddy!)

I ate my spicy Italian sandwich and drank my vitamin water. (No Coke for me!) I called my mommy and inquired after her recently root-canaled tooth. I lamented over the fact that I couldn't find my damned opera glasses. (Stop laughing.) I admired the fountain and tried to figure out the sculpture atop it. Anybody?

I can tell that you're wondering, "Was she all ALONE?!" And the answer is, "Yes!" My friends showed no interest in seeing Jersey Boys, so I told them they could all go to hell and went all by me onesy, savvy?

I finally wandered inside and found my seat. Sweet mother of Everest! You need oxygen masks up here! Now, I was really pissed that I hadn't found my opera glasses. (I said, stop laughing, you bastards!) Fortunately, they were renting them in the lobby. For $5 and my driver's license, I could see the sequins on their tuxedo lapels. Sweet.

A man and his wife came to sit next to me. As he ogled my boobs, he said I needed to get some new friends. He also insisted on singing along all through the show and, can I just say, he did NOT sound like Frankie Valli!

The show itself was miraculous! The audience loved every second of it and I thought they would spontaneously combust after hearing Christopher Kale Jones (Frankie Valli) sing "Can't Take My Eyes Off You." And I was with them every step of the way. It didn't matter that I wasn't alive in the heyday of the Four Seasons. Two and a half hours flew by and I didn't want it to end.

The best part? Watching those four guys and seeing the joy on their faces. They love doing this show so much. Even after the months and months of doing eight shows a week. Now that's awesome!

I drove home singing "Big Girls Don't Cry" and bouncing in my seat. Too bad they leave after Thursday...

"Vivaldi thought of it first."
"Some guy stole our name?! I'll talk to him!"
-Jersey Boys

Frankly, I'm Stunned!

HowManyOfMe.com

There are 6 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

That was with the first name Katherine! With the first name "Kati," I get that NO ONE has that name! Does that mean I don't exist?

It also says that more than 99.9% of the people named Kati are female. I'm just wondering about the .01% that are guys... I suppose that weirder stuff has happened.

Me and SPF

Being that it hasn't rained in Burbank in about eight months now, I've been dwelling on the sun. Both, literally and figuratively. I was thinking about the Irish fair I went to about a year ago. It was blistering hot in Anaheim and we were outside all day, admiring the sheep dogs, drooling over the jewelry, marvelling at the step dancers' wigs, and contemplating buying t-shirts that said, "Feck off."

In anticipation of the heat, I wore a light peasant shirt. Long sleeved to keep the sun off my arms. I smeared myself with SPF 5,000. Face, neck, ears, decollotage, and even my hands.

We got home that night, I took off my shirt and bra, glanced in the mirror, said "Damn!" and went to find Robyn.

I had a line of white cutting through the salmon pink on my back. My bra had protected me, but I had sunburnt THROUGH my damned shirt. THROUGH IT!!!

Robyn confirmed that I was indeed burnt and I grumbled my way into the bathroom to find the aloe vera.

I've now reached a whole new level of paranoia. Apparently, I can only leave the house while wearing lead clothing.

I'm going to go look up rain dances on Google now.

A Decade's Worth

Yesterday, the metaphorical curtain came down on my tenth show that I've stage managed. I'm ridiculously pleased with myself over it too.

So, here's a look back at all ten.

1. An Orchesis modern dance concert in college. A landmark because it was the first. They picked me for this one, because I was dancer for so long and claimed to know how their minds work. This is usually true, except for the crazy woman who directed this concert. She called me a dip-shit in a production meeting and was the first director to make me cry. I'm amazed that this was a good enough experience that I agreed to do...

2. Our Country's Good. Also for my stage managing class in college, but not for credit. Their SM fell through and I agreed to do it out of the goodness of my heart. Mum always told me to make my living in life by doing something that I'd be happy to do for free. An excellent play about a convict colony in Australia that decides to put on a play. Irony. I love it. Directed by a slightly more stable woman who only made my cry once, instead of multiple times.

3. The pieces that came before are really only important because they led to this one. What the Butler Saw was my first show in LA and my first show for Banshee. A British farce by Joe Orton about a pychiatrist who's unhappy in his marriage and tries to seduce his new secretary. Through a series of hysterical circumstances, almost the entire cast ends up in their underwear. And note that Sean, the director, didn't make me cry once. Nor has he since.

Favorite quote: "Your actions today would get the Archbishop of Canterbury declared non compos."
"I'm not the Archbishop of Canterbury!"
"No, that will come at a later stage of your illness."

4. The Man from Clare is a beautiful play by John B. Keane. One of the few Irish plays that actually has a happy ending. Aging football player has to face the facts and give way to the young buck who's trying to replace him. Falls in love with local homely girl and enchants her family. One of my favorites. I thought I was OK with this one closing until I got in my car to drive home and sobbed all the way. I look forward to doing another of his plays next spring.

Favorite quote: "Thank God for all things wet!"

5. The Hunt for Red Willie was an interesting experience. It didn't bring in the crowds that we needed/wanted it to. Also a farce about poitin makers (that's Irish moonshine, by the way) running about the countryside and a mask with a bizarre influence over those who wear it. We were all glad to see this one close. And yet, we still talk to audience members who say it was their favorite.

6. Mine Eyes Hath Seen has been my favorite out of all the shows I've done. A compilation of journal entries and letters from the Civil War. Amazing because of all the people who came out afterwards saying, "I had no idea!" Gives you a whole new perspective on the people who fought, why they fought, and how they survived (or didn't) during the war. I was very sad to see this one go and started crying even before curtain call started.

Favorite quote: "... gladly would I wash out with my tears, every little stain upon your happiness."

*There was another show that I started to stage manage in this gap, but it was such a hellish experience that I prefer to just ignore the fact that it happened at all. It involved a sociopath director, sobbing, big-ass snakes, too much caffeine, more sobbing, a blatant diregard for equity rules, a ladder, me falling off said ladder, a chiropractor, even more sobbing, a call to my aunt in North Carolina, a resignation 2 days before we opened, a number of hideous reviews, and much rejoicing at being back in the arms of Banshee. I'll leave it at that.*

7. Eclipsed was an intense play about the unwed mothers in the Magdalene laundries in Ireland. The story of a few of them and how they came to be where they are. And their fondness for Elvis. Remember what I said about Irish plays and happy endings...? There was a lot of drinking during this one.

Favorite quote: "The keys, sister! Give us the keys!"

8. Next came Dockers by Martin Lynch. A tale of dock workers in Northern Ireland and their fight against a corrupt union. Ditto about the happy ending. This one was a milestone because it was the first show in our own theatre.

Favorite quote: "Whatever you like now, Sarah. It's all the same to me."

9. Another milestone! First Shakespeare. Henry IV, Part 1 was a pile of fun and very daunting with a cast of 18 and a broadsword battle with 16! And on a stage that's the size of a postage stamp.

Favorite quote: "Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of madeira and a cold capon's leg?"

And, last but not least...

10. Power by Nick Dear. Louis XIV and all that jazz. Nicholas Fouquet and his machinations. Building Versailles, imprisonment, adultery, fashion, more adultery, and of course apricots. McKerrin was a great director and, also, didn't make me cry. To think that I was going to take a break for this show... Pssh! I'm OK with this one ending because I really need to clean my apartment and go to the grocery store.

Favorite quote: "As for the clergy, they will suffer for their idiotic celibacy."

(Why is it that now while I write this, I can't remember the best quotes...? Maybe I'll have to go back and check my scripts for better ones.)

What comes next, you ask? If I tell you now, then I won't have anything to blog about in the next months. You'll have to keep reading... Just know that it took coercion, bribery, and much cajoling to talk me into the next one. It's a real upper! Ooh, you can feel the sarcasm oozing through the screen, can't you? My loins are girded, so to speak. And not in a fun way.

God, I love live theatre!