Funny Things From Theatre Camp 2018 Act 1

While nothing will ever be as funny as the 2016 NUTS escapades of Willy Wonka, here are a few postcards for you.

   This camp was Anything Goes for ages 8-16. I know. I'll wait.
   Yes, Anything Goes for ages 8-16. I asked the producers about the sexism, the word "sex", cursing, misogyny and racism. I was told they were only worried about the potential "racism" in the Chinese bits. I am compliant, so I changed Chinese to Russian and left the rest.  I am not kidding, I do as I am told. I'm new to directing with this group, and I was told this group of kids were used to cussing, so the hells and damns were fine. I questioned the word "sex" as well as the sexual references and the response was "they're used to it". OK. As I stated previously, "I am very compliant". Nobody ever believes me due to the mohawk and double middle fingers,but in theatre I am compliant. I follow a script, the author's vision, the needs of the show...the end. I struggle when you cannot tell me, as my "boss", what it is you want me to do. So. If you say the above, I abide by the above to the letter. I will know my actors and adjust to their comfort, but other than that I am not going to think for myself in these instances, that gets me into nothing but trouble.

   So I rewrote Cole Porter as Russians instead of Chinese. Cole Porter:
 
                        Moonface
                 I was a missionary out in China.
                        Bishop
                 I worked in China for many years. Were you in Indo China?
                        Moonface
                 Ya that's it,you were  in indoor China and I was in outdoor China.

    OK, I love that joke, I hated losing it. I did my best:

                        Moonface
                 I was a missionary out in Russia.
                        Bishop
                 Russia? I was a missionary in Russia for years.
                        Moonface
                 I was more eastern...
                        Bishop
                 Oh! Czechoslovakia? Eastern Block?
                        Moonface
                 Ya, you were in an Eastern Block and I was in a cell block.

       It killed.

       That was all I did plus I changed "strip poker" to "a different poker" because a 12 and 14 year old boy were in a scene with a 10 and 7 year old girl. NOPE, not saying strip my friends, I will think for myself on that one.

       "Let's Misbehave" was explained like this: It's like when you want to spend time with someone so much that you go to the ice cream shop and you eat ice cream with them even though you are lactose intolerant and you know it'll make you sick.

        The things that went wrong on these shows....I have an entire other blog about the way this company is run, the challenges of the space, my love for my team, but today is just FUNNY/ANGRY postcards from the show.

        Apparently the words "prop check" are optional. So Moonface did not choose to place his prop shoes for the bit when he goes into the hall and returns with an armload of shoes. There were four performances. Night one: No Shoes placed, "Bonnie" gave him one of her character shoes off of her foot and then could not make her entrance because she was missing a shoe. Night two: no shoes placed, so he grabbed the tap shoes that were back stage. The choreographer and I enjoyed the thought that all of those cruising on the SS American leave their tap shoes out to be shined nightly. Night three: No shoes placed. He just entered with nothing. Night four: prop shoes! Chimps learn faster than 13 year old boys.

     The Purser, whose age I estimate as 8 or 9, forgot to set the tray for his scene. The Tray in which the Entire Scene Is About. The SM told me the next night the poor boy was in a full panic attack before he entered, he couldn't remember the word for "tray", he just kept miming it at her saying "I don't have my_____, I don't have my______" She just shrugged at him and said "Did you do your prop check?" at which point most kids would have burst into tears, but no. No, our Purser, trained thoroughly by Yours Truly, made his entrance and mimed the tray. Which the overheated (No A/C in this space is in the other blog) parents loved , because laughing makes you breathe and move and forget it's 100 degrees in this cinder block.

   ANGRY INTERLUDE. This was a 3 week camp. It was openly stated daily that we had 2 life threatening peanut allergies on the show. Kids were not to bring any peanut products for lunch, and they did not. When you move from your rehearsal space to the performance space, however, that apparently means that the previous rules do not apply. And So: On Saturday night, after walking through after two shows, I found Ritz peanut butter sandwich crackers on the floor. Ground into the carpet. Let's just say I have high school students who have never seen me that angry and I'm shocked they got into costume and continued after I burned them down. Because, dude, really? REALLY.

  One of the Billys--the show was double cast---is 5'9" at twelve.While getting into makeup, he picked up 40 pack of scrunchies and said "I bought these for my sister, she's always losing them. I kept ten and told her if she could not lose the other 30 I'd buy her more."
               "You kept ten?" I ask.
                He nods, smiling broadly.
                "Because....?"
                "I gotta make unicorn horns!" He demonstrated, grabbing a fist full of his bangs.
             
   Reno's Angels were 8-11. Cute as bugs, tap choreo knocked me out. But still, they're supposed to be "sexy".  One little Angel was to say "I'm just cursed with sex appeal" and she was clearly uncomfortable. She was double cast, and her double thought it was funny 'cause she was older. I told this little bug she could say something different, because she was not OK with saying "sex appeal" at 9. So we changed it to "I'm just cursed with naturally silky, long hair." She said that line for four days before we moved into the theatre, and then at every dress rehearsal. Then on opening night, she stepped forward and said "I'm just cursed with sex appeal."

   Why do I bother?
 
   At the end of the show, the Deux Ex Machina is a telegram stating that Moonface Martin is completely harmless. Cue the Purser (yes, the same of "mime the tray" fame) to run on, waving the telegram to end the show. However,  he missed his entrance, and nobody had anything to say because everything revolves around the telegram and they're all 12, so they mumbled, and then he entered late. Closing night, my friends.
 
   It was double cast (company policy). So for one cast Sir Evelyn was a lovely but short boy who came to, about, Reno's boobs. (giggle: boobs). Lucky for us the ship had a set of stairs we could put him on whilst she was on the floor to alleviate some--but not all--of the awkward.

   When I was directing at LHS, we had a policy of putting your costumes in the  freezer if you did not hang them up as requested. There was no freezer at the space, so we just gave them to the SM. The result was terrifying, an Angel in full makeup and hair did not realize her costume was missing until 15 to curtain. A passenger couldn't find her costume and asked everyone where it was. We all said "Where did you leave it?" She said "I hung it up."
   She lies. She crumpled it in a ball, and myself, the choreographer and the SM  found it and decided to hide it.
   She started to cry, so the SM gave it up. When she got her costume, she threw it on the ground and ran out of the dressing room.
    Gosh I hope she returns to camp next year, she's gonna do great.


                CAMP!







                 
             

What the Letters F.H. mean to me. (Imma cuss, stop reading if that will upset you)

   When Jim and I moved to Texas, I had my first encounter with Fuck Heads--which is what I call "thieves". They are Fuck Heads. If you don't  like cussing, stop reading.
    We were moving from Colorado to Houston, and stopped in Arlington (between Dallas and Ft. Worth) for the night. We had everything we owned packed into a UHaul and my Honda Civic, which we were pulling behind the trailer. We took the cat and a gun and a change of clothes into the hotel with us. One day we were driving to Houston, full of hope and excitement, the next we were waiting for a cab in the hotel lobby to deliver us to the airport, because everything we owned had disappeared. Jim asked me in that moment "Do you want to just go back home?" He meant me, he had graduated from college and was moving to a job. I was just tagging along, hoping to transfer to UH and maybe a B. Dalton.
     Since I am writing this and we now have 2 children I clearly did not go home.
     The initial reaction of having something stolen is much like grief, I guess, but I was never in denial, I was very aware that it happened. I mean, I had no clothes. I had a cat, but nothing to wear on a  job search. We were moving  down with only my car since Jim was going to work at his cousin's car dealership and could drive demos. But now I did not have a car to go job searching. I had a cat, but I could not ride her into Houston.
     So there's a lot of that I don't want to explore right now, but I will say the cat lived with us the entire time we were in Houston, and for several years in Denver. Her name was Hobbes and she was a tortie and I loved her very much. The point is I had everything I owned in the world stolen when I was 21 years old. I believed the phrase "Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place". But it does.
     I had no issues with thieves whilst in Houston.  I had friends who were carjacked, or otherwise impacted, but I lived believing the Fuck Heads didn't see me, because I had already been struck. For God's Sake I lived at CSAW (The Commerce Street Artist's Warehouse), which is exactly as it sounds, in a pretty shady area without any issue other than the occasional gunshot outside.
     Then I came back home to Denver. Our teeny, tiny little house in Platt Park was brutally ravaged during the day. The house was on a corner lot, one block from Broadway, it was pretty brazen of the FH. They had to be watching to know I wasn't home, but also had to know we had a dog--a good sized, loud border collie. Here's what the Fuck Heads did at ten am on a weekday: They broke down my front door. Broke It Down. The hinges were ripped out of the frame. Kicked my dog. Stole our VCR, Jim's gun, my jewelry and generally ransacked our tiny 450 square foot home. Like we have treasure? It's a rental, and I'm an actor, what do you think we have?
    Not much before or after that (memory collapses) I had traded in my EXP ("Push, Pull or Drag", they said, and we did all three) on a convertible  Jeep Wrangler I named Pongo. I loved Pongo. We invested in some nice speakers to mount in the back since the music was faint with the top off.  I went to a rehearsal, and parked him right next to the theatre in the day light. There are businesses, a restaurant across the street, it's a busy area. NONETHELESS, when I left rehearsal I stumbled upon two guys with screwdrivers in the back of my Jeep. They were trying to steal the speakers. During the Day. With people looking right at them. I said "Hey, the hell, Fuck Head?" and one guy jumped toward me and said "We were trying to help." He ran past me and my fellow actor, both of us standing, stunned, in the bright sunlight. The second FH exited in  the opposite direction and disappeared. After that I refused to park at the theatre, and a fellow actor told me he had his car stolen from the parking lot on a Sunday afternoon during a matinee. Fuck Heads, like the Honey Badger, don't give a shit.
     I now live in a nice, suburban neighborhood.  Over the last few years we've had a few instances with kids walking up and down the street trying car doors, ringing doorbells. I am not sure if it's the fact that I'm on "Nextdoor",  that I'm old or that Fuck Heads are multiplying, but the car break ins up here have multiplied. Last night, Harper heard someone trying to get into the FJ in our driveway. It was 4.15 am. She is not sleeping well lately, so she went to the window and yelled "Can I help you?" and they ran off.
    It's one thing to try car doors as you are taking your loser constitutional down the street, it's another to walk up into someone's driveway.
    And so, Fuck Heads. I work very hard at more than one job to keep my family' s bills current. We are not rich, there is nothing that suggests we are. Might I suggest that you try getting a job, you loser piece of shit, instead of taking things that do not belong to you. My husband is from Texas, and Colorado has the Make My Day law. I promise we are not the only people in this neighborhood with those credentials. I have no interest in rehabilitating you, or excusing your behavior due to your home life or any other whiney ass psychobabble. You  Steal. You Know It's Wrong.You're A Fuck Head.

Summer Postcards 2018 -Camp Week Two

Why are we doing Anything Goes?
Anything Goes by Cole Porter is a terrible wonderful show.

It has been rewritten at least twice, not including revivals, which brings the Trashing Total to under 10 but more than 4. Songs not written for this show are in the show,removed from the show, put back in the show. Characters are love interests- originally Reno had a thing for Billy-then they aren't, then someone else is the love interest,then a plot line got dropped-Sir Evie was originally a cad manipulating Hope into marrying him by telling her that her company was failing, but marrying him would save it.  Because she's a woman and too stupid to read a financial report? Characters' names change---OK, that's just Bonnie/Irma/Bonnie--but why? Sexist, misogynist, racist, classist. The book is a hodge podge of half baked storylines, the music is from other shows and frequently a song is just placed Because. It does not forward the plot, it is never referred to again--I give you "Let's Step Out"and "Heaven Hop". Just Because. And after all of that, people still cram the theatres to see what they believe to be Cole Porter's Best Show.  Why? Hint: it's the tap line, not the plot.It's the tap that makes it a Great Cole Porter Show.

It is, I suppose, if : It is being performed by adults who understand the content and it is being viewed by adults who understand the time period. For the same reason we do not remove the N word from Huck Finn,we should not change the Chinese jokes, or the sexist content, in Anything Goes. He wrote it in 1934 because some rich guy avoiding paying his debtors was living on a boat and wanted a show. That's it. The End. The original book included the ocean liner wrecking, but while they were writing a real shipping disaster occurred, and the morally questionable debt evader decided that, morally, it was not in good taste to wreck the SS American in his play. Women were sexy or wives, men were gangsters or businessmen and everyone aboard was white, even the sailors. If you're an adult you accept all of this as part of the time period.

I am not directing adults. I am directing kids from 10-16. I am  used to teaching history in theatre, so that's not a big deal. But explaining why a Chinese joke is racist but making fun of Russians is not...you got me. I just looked at the kid and said "Because Russians are also white." The kids seem OK with everything they've had explained to them,  were briefly sad I won't let them wield fake cigarettes and martini glasses but ultimately fine with it; they are more worried that they may have to hold hands or--worse---kiss someone on stage. But their parents  are the ones the kids' theatre company are worried about, I guess, which brings me back to my first question: Why are we doing Anything Goes?

Reno is told by her friend Billy to take Mr. Whitney to the bar and "make sure he has a good time."
Virtue is is "the easy kind".
Chastity is "just cursed with sex appeal" and told by Reno "She's not confessing, she's advertising."
Reno has "hot pants" for Sir Evie.
Evie and Reno wish to "misbehave".

Here is how I , kryssi martin, adult human on planet earth, handled the issues that arose with these lines.

Billy wants you to get Whitney drunk so he can easily avoid him on the ship. Ding.
You're a flirt, easy for the boys to talk to. Ding.
I dunno...I'm avoiding that one, she seems to think it's funny and her giggle is too cute. She's 10.
When you like someone you get a warm feeling all over. Ding.
It's like when you want to spend time with someone but your mom says you can't, so you hover after school and walk them home knowing you'll get in trouble. Or you go get ice cream because they are there but you are lactose intolerant and it will make you sick but you eat it anyway. You leave the class saying you're going to the bathroom, but instead you meet up with him/her at the library. Ding.

We are having a special "intimacy choreography" session on Monday to handle the kissing, which I could care less about happening in the show. I've blocked fake kisses and I've blocked them out or around them before, at this age why are you  pushing it? Especially when everyone is still sharing popsicles at snack time. I mean, they have a snack time. Do they need to kiss on stage?

The other director who did Legally Blonde and is working as our producer, and is therefore around and sometimes gives opinions and context, kept the kissing in for this age, and spent time with just the actors and threw the rest of the cast out. Which I do, too, when working on intimacy, but is it really that important in this show? Sometimes yes, sometimes you don't have any intentions in the scene if it doesn't end in a kiss, or the end of a song. But sometimes...sometimes it's Cole Porter and the music swells and you can easily fake it or block around it or change it to a hug and it's fine because the book has been trashed so many times the plot scarcely matters. But the producer/director is  half my age, and I wonder if there is something in a younger director that really feels like they need to push the kissing thing. Like I don't care about honoring the true meaning of the text by suggesting I may not push the kissing.

For those of you paying attention, you read paragraph one. Which text  are you concerned about honoring?

I may have projected that onto her now that I've written and re read it. She's really sweet with patience like I have seen only one other time at my other summer gig. There is a type out there that should be doing this, but they are outnumbered, unfortunately, by egos and control freaks.  There is some sort of struggle for control happening in this company, which is rooted in Boulder. We, Denver, are a satellite and the young director/producer is running between the two and dealing with both sides. Since I'm new, I have only once inadvertently gotten involved. All I was doing was solving the microphone issue by borrowing mikes from my school. Wow, that was a wasp's nest. This poor producer/director had to suffer the wrath in both cities, and did it without every raising her voice. In fact, she genuinely sees both sides, likes all of those involved and wants what's best for the kids. That's why she should be doing this. If your first question is not "What is best for the kids" you need to reconsider why you are here.

I have convinced myself that a younger director would have included cigarettes and glasses, and I'm too practical for that. I can't get committed high school kids to not break a glass on stage or keep track of their own, personal fake cigarette. I sure as hell don't have the energy to fuss at 40 preteens and teenagers because they can't keep track of their shit. The entire play becomes about "who took my cigarette?" and people going down sick because they used the wrong glass and I have to put up this show in three weeks. It's fine, you're fine, learn your lines and lyrics and choreo.

Speaking of the choreographer, 23 years old and fresh out of college with her degree in stage management, but she wants to be a math teacher. So Cool. Her choreo is too cute for color TV and she may be the one who finally makes me accept that I am too old for this. She's well trained, excited, has all the energy and patience balanced by snark and lack of ability or interest in dealing with the cast's personal emotional issues. It's like she came out of a factory that builds choreographers.

The music director has ten years on me, is a retired teacher gigging as a musician at dinner theatres, private lessons and doing this in the summer. So Cool.  The kids worship her, her side company takes groups of teenagers to New York, she's sassy and has no patience for your bullshit. She may be the one to make me finally accept that I am not too old for this.

So that's fun.

Summer Camp postcards 2018- Week One

Nothing will surpass the Summer of 16 Willy Wonka Wall of Nut Jokes. 6-8 year olds, dressed as squirrels, clutching Styrofoam nuts backstage, which they could not handle. Thus prompting the costumer and I to say a few choice words:
                               " Hold your nut in both hands like a precious jewel."
                               " No, your nut does not have a chocolate center, who told you that? Don't eat it."
                               "Both hands, people, we can't have nuts just rolling around everywhere."
                               " Just because your nut is broken does not mean you get to switch it for one of
                                              the littler kids' intact nut."
                                "Bring your nut to Miss Tricia, she has the hot glue gun, she'll fix it.
                                 Miss Tricia "This it not in my contract."
                                And of course, #2 was the Artistic Director's son, who not only bit into his nut, but got a chunk caught in his teeth that his mom had to remove. How embarrassing.

     This year, with a different  company (I have shirts now that say STAFF from three different companies), the kids are older  for Anything Goes, and the politics are different. In this case, the Denver company is a satellite of the Boulder company, and is treated as the red headed step child. For example: the Denver show cannot have mikes because they're being used in Boulder. For Oliver.  The spaces are similar in size, but based on type of show,  anyone with a brain will tell you if you had to choose, Oliver is the show that could live without mikes. Anything Goes, belted and tapped by 16 year olds, cannot. The music director is a veteran of this company whilst myself and the choreographer are new this year. We are beginning to see why this company struggles to keep people. The choreographer and musical director are working on all the Denver shows this summer,  the SM and I are the only ones who signed on for just one show. I've done the back to back summer show game, and I don't need the money as much as I need a break. These gigs are rough in the first place, if you're a teacher the other 9 months of the year...OY. God Bless my friends who do this all summer and then return to their own classrooms in August.
    The summer show choices seem a little off,and I'm new to this company so I'm always unsure of the age groups. I assumed Mulan  was the smaller kids, and Oliver and Anything Goes  were the olders. I was half right, I guess Mulan is older, I probably would have directed that one if I had known. I wanted nothing to do with Oliver, I don't love that show. So we're talking about the summer, and the choreographer says "Why are they doing Oliver? Oliver is not a children's show. Oliver has children in it." Well put, prompting the music director to ask "Why Anything Goes?I usually do text analysis with my students, but I'm not with this show. I don't want to explain 'molest'."
    
     At the first production meeting, which was held in Boulder, don't get me started---OK, a director, choreographer, set designer and stage manager all have to drive from Denver to Boulder to meet with ONE PERSON IN BOULDER. The ONE PERSON couldn't come to us? ANYWAY. At this meeting, I asked about the content of the show. It's not a "junior" version, its the whole show. It says "young performers edition" on the posters, but the scripts are intact "hell", "damn", "sex", "molest" and Chinese jokes. This is a camp for 10-16 year olds, I'm new, what's the policy? No, don't it's fine, I'm told, they can cuss. Okay...but...umm...sex.? "They don't really get it", I was told. They will if a good director explains it to them. BUT OK. So. The Chinese bit. How wound up are we about the Chinese jokes? "Ya...we should change that ...."  Leave the sex and sexism and cussing, that's fine but change the Chinese joke.
      To...what? Whom can we joke about these days and not be accused of racism?
      The production manager pauses. Hmmm.
      "How about Russian?" I perk up. "Eastern block, something vaguely Russian. That way we can still do the bit with the costume hiding Reno 'cause it's a babushka."
        Sure, they'll run it past the boss.
         Who is not present, even though we four were called to BOULDER for this meeting, where the office resides. It's fine.
         And thus,  we now have Russians instead of Chinese.
         At rehearsals, we have a kid who won't let it go. "I don't get it, why was it racist?" He doesn't like my explanation, as I'm making it up, and then wants to know why it's not racist to make fun of the Russians.
         And all I can think to say is "They're white, too."
         Scene.

        Boulder and Denver company do the same shows, so my feeling is that the Boulder people don't really get Denver yet, and that's why they wanted the change. Because in Denver people get the show was written in 1930 banana and it was cultural, just like the "N" word in Huck Finn. But Boulder people---who are all white, by the way, there is not a Boulder Chinese Council who are going to be offended by a dated comic poke at their funny hats and missing "r's"----Boulder will get upset. So since our show comes first, they chose to catch it now and see how it goes before they do it there. I rewrote the jokes so they are Eastern block, and translated "no pants" into Russian. It'll be fun, and much easier to take played by two small Caucasian girls, one of which is practically an albino.
       Now, what I would enjoy is a Denver Russian Council who will demand we cease production for mocking their babushkas, potatoes, borscht and language.
      However, nobody wished to address my concerns about the  sexist, patriarchal stereotypes, as we're all willing to just shrug at those and go "Well, it's the time period. God Bless Cole Porter." That's all fine as long as you do not mock a person of Chinese descent for their  English language imperfections or hat wear.
      And, as far as I know, they're keeping the murder in Oliver.

That Time My Husband Bought Me a Gun Safety Class

   Before we embark, my people, a few facts:
   *I am a teacher, that is true.
   *My politics are nobody's business, my students will also tell you that.
   *When said students "walked out" for gun safety, they asked me my opinion. I answered as I always do "My husband is a Texan."
    *I have, in my life, fired a gun one time. When Jim and I were dating, he tried to teach me to shoot while we were camping. I aimed at the creek, pulled the trigger, and promptly dropped the gun.
    * I tried to go to a shooting range back in November. The woman in the booth next to me had an assault rifle. I tried to focus on my target, she fired at her target, and I set my gun down and left the building. No muss, no fuss, I just left and waited in the car. The panic attack that ensued was like nothing I had felt before.
    * I am nobody's bitch, certainly not Anxiety's.
    *I'm still not telling you my politics on anything, just enjoy my story.

       Due to a suicide in 2010, I have a noose "trigger". I banned all ropes and nooses from the theatre, and the students were accommodating and kind without asking a lot of questions. This year, when we began The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, I knew it was my last chance to just get over it. I told the set designer to hang a noose over Judas. He quietly went about the task, checking in with me several times to make sure it was OK. I told him "I will not be a trigger's bitch.  Hang the thing."
     He did. The show was beautiful, and I swear it was partly because that noose was allowed.
    Trigger #1:0 , Kryssi:1.
     It felt fantastic to finally let go of that one fear, and I decided to take on the two that remain. I truly have only three triggers. I banished all of my fears this last school year, but triggers are different than fears. A noose could lock me up, I'd freeze and start to shake. What the hell? I was tired of it, and the opportunity to bust it myself was not going to present itself again.

    Without really knowing he was doing it, Jim took on my next trigger, by purchasing me a gun safety and shooting class at our local shooting range. He did it primarily because he shoots, and he would like somebody to go to the range with, and I'm married to him so that makes me the natural choice since my personality has run off most of his friends.
    I spent today dreading the class, hoping it might get cancelled. Jim had gone to some trouble to sign me up for a women's only class taught by a female instructor, and he seemed excited about it. He packed up a .22 Ruger, ammo and noise canceling headphones into a tackle box marked "Zombie Ammunition". How could I not go, he was so excited to give me this gift.
    So I arrive at the training center, and stand in line behind seven other women, all over the age of 30. They were signed up for the class and choosing their weapons. I watched quietly, waiting my turn. Then the clerk (who turned out to be our instructor) looked at me she said "Are you here for the class?"
     "Yes," I replied too perkily. "And my husband packed me a gun," I held up the Zombie tackle box, much to the delight of my fellow classmates. Apparently I'm hilarious. Now, part of my issue these last two years has been wrestling with Who I Am.  I have always been a theatre kid, and for 14 years I taught theatre. Those two things no longer match, what I do and who I am are different, and that's thrown me for a loop. I have no idea who I am anymore, and if I don't know and I'm in an uncomfortable situation well...you don't know which personality is going to emerge. Tonight would prove that they are all present and accounted for, as the first into the spotlight was Quirky Kryssi with her funny Zombie tackle box.
      We adjourned to the classroom, where were sat for two hours and learned about guns, gun safety, stances and ammo. But first, unfortunately, there was a Get To Know You portion of the evening.
      God I hate these. I don't make my students do it, either, I think it's cheesy and I don't need you to tell me what I can see by your demeanor. Of the eight of us, I was last to speak. My companions were varying degrees of "I shoot for fun" to "I want to kill a mountain lion in my backyard" to "My husband taught me, I'm here to see if he did it right." Clearly, as someone who does not shoot for fun, or have any interest in shooting any animal, ever, I was out of my element. So Neurotic Kryssi chose to step into the light and speak.
       "My husband is from Texas.I'm having  a panic attack right now. I tried to go to a shooting range a few months ago, but someone next to me had an AR (all the women cringed and there was a general sense that those with AR's should not be at an indoor range), I kinda came apart. I'm here to face my fear."
      OK, so looking back at writing that, am I really just Neurotic Kryssi? Maybe the Real Kryssi is Neurotic Kryssi. That'd suck.
      Halfway through  the class we took a break, and the woman who had been seated next to me, the one who wanted to shoot the mountain lion in her backyard to keep it from getting her dogs, and who also had a revolver instead of a pistol, decided to start talking to me.
       "My husband is certified in DM*, and he is qualified to comfort you with a butterfly hug...."
       "What?"
       "I have acrophobia and I had to kiss a blarney stone, have you ever been there? It's really high and I had to look down and he grabbed me and now I don't have agoraphobia **."
        "What?"
        "He's coming in before they close, I can have him help you. He's qualified to butterfly hug."
       "I'm fine. I will do this on my own. And the last thing your husband wants to do is be the stranger who tries to bear hug me from behind at a shooting range." Bitch Kryssi, enter  stage right.
        "Oh..."
       "It's great that you're all better from your AgadarA Phobia and everything, that's awesome. I'm walking into the bathroom now."
       As I entered, a quiet woman watching me carefully whispered "I like your pants," like she was afraid I might punch her, or cry, both of which would have been magnificent choices, but I really had to pee so I just said "Thank you."
      Now that we've established three personalities, we are coming to the "get on your feet and do the thing" portion of the evening.
       It might be worth noting that I had no idea what Jim packed in the Zombie case. For all I knew it was a chicken salad sandwich. I just hoped some of the parts resembled those in the class power point.
       I opened the box to find a pair of pink noise canceling headphones, a package of bullets, a magazine and a purple .22 Ruger, items I can only identify because of the previously mentioned power point. Kudos to Instructor Cindy, she taught me something.
      I have never loaded a gun in my life. So I stood quietly staring at the pieces and contemplated bursting into tears.
     The instructor walked me through loading bullets into the magazine, which I was holding upside down and backwards. I had to wait for her assistance before loading it into the gun, which I was pretty sure I was also going to do backwards. The power point and class had instructed us to "slam" the magazine into the gun, which I did and promptly jammed the gun. I knew I did it right, because I have been watching Hicks teach Ripley how to replace a magazine at least twice a year for over twenty years, and he says to slam it in there. But this particular gun, either by design or operator, is  delicate. There is not a need to slam anything, you just push it in. I also did not load the barrel  right, you are to pull back and release the slidey thing, and I was pulling it back and pushing it forward. Which causes it to be a "dead battery", which is ridiculous as there are no batteries involved whatsoever. Once the instructor spent most of her time with me, it was time to ready, up,  squeeze the trigger--not pull, you are to squeeze. So I readied, I upped, I squeezed the trigger...and nothing happened. I set the, gun down to my left as instructed and waited patiently for my new friend Cindy,who realized I had not fired. "Is the safety off?" she asked, and I smiled pleasantly back at her, as Lenny smiles at George, because it was probably on, but I had no idea where it was located. I'm sure it was covered in the power point, but there was so much with the bullet has to face this way in the magazine, and the magazine goes this way, and hitchhike your thumb and finger off the trigger and dominant eye and I again considered bursting in to tears. She switched off the safety. Then she asked me if I was doing OK, which I realize now was due to the fact that I jumped every time someone fired and I may have looked like I was going to start bawling any minute.
     This is how it went every time we loaded and fired, for 45 minutes, minus the safety being on.
     I hit the head of my target instead of the chest only twice, and the numbers every time I fired. I even nailed the target right between the eyes.
     Move over, Neurotic Kryssi, Make My Day Kryssi has arrived.
     Trigger #2:0 Kryssi: 2
 



* I don't remember the initials, who cares.
**She said two types of 'phobia', only the first of which was actually a fear of heights.
***Also calling guns a trigger issue seems silly, but it is what it is.

Chicago

 I teach at a high school in Littleton, Colorado. It is not a high school in Littleton in which there was a shooting. I have to tell people that all the time when I travel.
  "Where do you teach?"
   "Littleton, Colorado."
    They freeze, afraid to ask but dying to know. Depending on how annoyed I am I will wait several seconds. "There are several high schools and two districts in Littleton. It's not like there are only the two high schools that everyone knows. I teach at one of the several." I'm only six years into my teaching career, and I suspect I won't make it six more. It's turned ugly, principals behave like Brian Dennehey in Silverado--which is a simile I use on a regular basis, and people think I'm older because of it. Didn't everyone's dad love Silverado and make them watch it once a year? When I use that allusion, I imagine that all teachers are Kevin Kline, torn between survival and doing the right thing. Beyond that, I don't know that the comparison makes sense, although I've met a few theatre teachers who are Kevin Costner, "Jake", just trying to have fun and have the nerve to be surprised when they end up in trouble. AP's are Jeff Goldblum, playing both sides....OK, I guess I could make this work, turns out I have thought about this.
     Sometimes I just want to talk to another educator without having the conversation turn to gun laws and school lock downs. I just want to relax and talk about literature, new books, the ridiculousness of a literature approval procedure and where is good to eat in the city we are visiting.
      This week it is  Chicago. Our training coincided with the gathering of post secondary teachers, some of which work at community colleges. My new best friend is teaching at a CC in Kansas City. She has two kids under the age of five and her husband is an electrician. She and I have been planning our future city adventures once we're done with our respective meetings tonight. I'm waiting for her at the hotel bar.
      There is a new work opening at Steppenwolf this weekend, I'm dying to go. I read the description online and it is described as an "international farce". I'm a sucker for new work, and I usually attend theatres alone. However my new friend did theatre in high school and loved it and she wants to see the show. I have discovered that without fail, if you mention theatre at an educational training event, everyone will tell you they took theatre in high school and loved it. None of these people went into theatre, nor to they teach theatre, but they all took a class and loved it.
     The bartender knows me from my previous post class evenings and sets a bottle of Fat Tire in front of me. You know you aren't in Colorado any more when there are no local brews on the tap.  She asks what I'm up to tonight.
      "We're going to Steppenwolf," I say, not expecting her to really care.
      "Doppleganger? It opens tonight, you got tickets to opening night?"
      "I bought them online two months ago, I knew I'd be here." I had purchased two, as is my habit, always hopeful I will meet a fellow thespian.
       "John Malkovich still stays here when he's in town," the bartender ventures. I crease my brow at her, as she can't be old enough to bartend, let alone know the history of Steppenwolf. She laughs at my expression "I know, but I'm a Chicago native, and my mom's a theatre teacher. So I probably know more about Steppenwolf than most." She pauses and leans on the bar "Did you make it to Second City?"
        I shake my head. "I only have tonight free, unfortunately, I had to choose between the two."
       "Come back and do Second City. You won't be sorry."
       "Are you in school...or an actor....?" I step lightly as it's rude to assume a bartender is anything besides a bartender, and God Knows I've offended many in my life by asking what else they do. Except in New York. In New York if you ask your waiter what else they do, they give you a resume. She just seems to light up at the topic, as opposed to standard bartender chatty knowledge.
        "I go to CIA, I'm a painter. But I do improv classes too and I love the whole scene. This town is always alive with art stuff, you know? The weather keeps a lot of people away, but those of us who stay, man, we're hard core. We know each other, we support each other. Is it like that in Denver? I've never been there."
        "If Chicago is where art comes to grow and thrive, Denver is where it goes to die."
        "Damn. Harsh."
        I shrug. "The truth hurts. The theatre teachers in my district all train their kids to leave Colorado. After this visit, I'm going to encourage them to come here. It vibrates here. There's theatre everywhere, and you people support it. I see everything from Steppenwolf's original plays, to the previews for the musical Pretty Woman, to small hole in the walls, storefronts and Second City. And it's all packed."
        "It's not like this there?"
         I shake my head and drink my beer. "Pot and craft beer do well. We do have a couple of college kids who thought to combine, they do Shakespare in a pub."
         "We have that here, but it's not craft beer, clearly. Just small pubs willing to have theatre happen. I've done two of those, they're so much fun. They don't pay us, but we drink for free. Makes for an interesting production."
         My new best friend arrives and plops on the stool next to me. "Do I have time for a drink before we go down?"
            I look at my phone for the time, "Yep. Wanna uber over?"
            "Cab's cheaper," the bartender chimes in."Not by much, but still."
            My friend orders her beer. "God that was a waste of my time."
           "Which class was today?"
           "It was the last one, so we had to do group exercises creating a poster explaining all that we covered, blah blah blah...."
            "I hate that shit. Stop pulling the same crap we pull on kids on us. We're teachers for a reason, I have no interest in doing group work." We clink glasses in agreement.
            "So what are we seeing? Someone asked me during class today, I couldn't remember the title."
           "Doppelganger. It's an 'international  farce' according to the website. 'Dwight' from The Office is in it."
           "Oh, cool, I'll know an actor! I love that, I love seeing someone I've seen on TV on stage. We don't get that in Kansas."
           "We don't get it in Denver, either."
           "Does he live here?"
           "Who?" I ask
           "Dwight."
            "His name is Rainn Wilson."
            "He must live here if he's doing the show, right?"
            I shrug, "Maybe. It's an original piece, so I assume he's been here workshopping for a while."
            "If it's opening and original, doesn't that mean they can still change the script?"
            I nod, but the bartender answers. "Yep, that's part of what is so exciting. You're seeing a show before it's been finalized! Is there a talkback after?"
            "Yes, it was listed on the website."
            "Then you get to give your input on the show. There will probably be several people with yellow pads taking notes as well, that's the creative team. I have a friend doing that tonight. She's on audience reactions, tracking where the laughs and groans are."
            "You sound like you'd like to see it."
            "They sold out fast the first two weekends, my friend is getting me in later."
            I look at my friend "Do you want to stay after?"
            "Let's see how good the show is. I do not want to stay if it sucks, what will I say?"
            "Fair," I finish my beer as she swallows the last of hers. "Cabs are lined up outside, there will be alcohol at the theatre. Ready?"
             My new best friend's phone rings. She holds up her finger for me to wait.
             "Her husband is struggling," I say to the bartender. "They're going to die without her I think. Kids have high fevers or won't go to bed or ran away or Timmy fell down a well or something.Good thing she's going back tomorrow."
             The bartender smiles "You have kids?"
             "God no."
              "Me either, they're the worst."
              "Right? Every horror movie or action movie, ever, it's the dumb ass kids that ruin everything."
             My new best friend waves at me to follow her to the cab. I hope she ends the conversation before curtain.
             The bartender smiles and shrugs as we move toward the cab, my  new best friend still on her phone.
             We are about to get into the cab when my new best  friend stops cold. "Ok, look, I'll call, maybe I can get on stand by."
              I wave off the cab and turn back to the bar, my new annoying friend trailing behind, waving her arms and rolling her eyes. She looks at me "I'm sorry, I need to try and go back sooner, I have to call the airport."
             "Did Timmy fall down a well?" I ask, because I know she isn't listening. I was right, she's on the elevator redialing the airport. I wave lamely "'kay, 'bye."
             I turn to get a cab for myself, and then at the last minute I return to the bar. The bartender had said earlier that she was filling in for the after convention rush, but it has quieted down considerably.
            "Hey, can you get off?" I ask, trying not to sound creepy. "I mean, my friend bailed and I have that extra ticket----" before I can finish, she has ripped off her apron and is around the bar. "Cool! Let's go!"
             And that is the story of how I met my New new best friend, my real best friend.
                                                                                                                                                                     

Mother's Day 2018

  The week before Mother's Day is Teacher Appreciation week, so you could say we teacher moms are spoiled. You could also say we're exhausted, and if we are trying the keto diet, we are grumpy that everything in the teacher's lounge this week is bread based.
   Every year a teacher or two will have their kids write a thank you note to one of their teachers this week.  Since these are my actual, last moments as the theatre teacher and possibly my last weeks at LHS ( but the kids don't know that), I think I received more notes this year than in past years. Or that's hyperbole because I'm all Emotionally Unstable and such. Also these bifocals suck. I wore those gradual bifocals that transition for three years and they were never quite right. I would still remove my glasses to read, there was no such thing as a "sweet spot" from which I could comfortably read. I bitched about it for three years, and Harper decided she'd had enough and bullied me into going to a different eye doctor. The prescription this time seems to be better, but the transition lenses are $150 more than the lined lenses, and with job stuff in the air, we need to save money. So I opted for the lined biofocals, how much different can they be?
   Well...my lang arts kids think I'm both drunk and old, because I can't find the proper distance that will work for the computer, so reading their google.doc essays and entering their grades has become a circus act entitled "Watch The Crazy Old Lady Try To Navigate Basic Technology". I have to hold my glasses with one hand at the proper distance while navigating infinite campus with the other. The movement makes me dizzy and disoriented, so in addition to my regular issues with tracking the stupid teeny tiny boxes in IC and forgetting names because I can't remember to take the Ginko that helps memory, and the remaining effects of a major concussion three years ago when I wrecked  my motorcycle and gave my already addled little grey cells serious damage causing headaches and light sensitivity and don't tell me concussions aren't real ...what was I saying?
 
   My first thirty minutes of Mother's Day this year began with Genoa calling me from Durango where she is house/dog/child sitting for her former prof who is in NYC. The dachshund of the house was pooing blood and G was, of course, freaking out. She called me in a panic after calling the emergency vet line, her former prof and another prof in Durango who did not answer the phone.

    "Mom, I'm freaking out. She pooped straight blood and is hiding under the couch. I tried to get her and she bit me."
     "Okay, that sucks."

  This is the kind of stellar help my children receive from me, which earns me such high accolades on Mother's Day. Based on this short snapshot, you can only imagine how successful I am as a teacher.
  So when I do receive a note of thanks, I am a bit confused, as the above exchange is pretty much how I handle things at school:

  Lang Arts "Can I turn it in late?"     
                    "Nope."

  Theatre     "I don't know my lines."
                   "That sucks."

  These are the responses that have managed to not earn me any titles, such as Mother Of The Year or Teacher Of The Year. Yet I have the nerve to be incensed with I am not thrown a parade, unable to get to my office due to the bushels of roses left in my path or flown to New York for a week of Just Theatre by my loving and rich family.

   Instead, the massive dog that supposedly belongs to G but is here and not in Durango is sighing deeply on the floor, his breath expelled at my foot like the steam from a train smokestack because he is beyond bored. Marty is jumping everywhere and refusing to go outside because he will not pee in the rain, a quirk of his that is not cute. Indie is upside down on the couch, awaiting his morning gnawing from Zippy, who is instead bored and sighing. The day does not begin until someone says "Zippy, drop it" which also means "Stop chewing on Indie". No other humans are up, and the cats all came in, scarfed their food and fell asleep. Gatos Diablos are not very active when it's rainy. So,  I'm alone in the living room, trying to type with one hand because you know, bifocals, but occasionally able to adjust to the end of my nose so I can actually type, drinking coffee and choosing to spend this day avoiding the rest of my life, which is waiting for me tomorrow, crouched at the edge of my addled concussion brain and shattered heart like the clawed spider monster from A Quiet Place.

    It's fine, I'm find, stop looking at me I'm fine.