Back in November of 2004, I directed a production of All In the Timing by David Ives. Some of you may remember this play for its surprise ending on our closing night when I proposed to Jan in front of a sold out audience (ah, memories). Well, it’s just 575 days later and I feel like talking about it.

This is the poster that I designed for the run.
Beauty, isn’t she?

One of the six short pieces that made up that riotous evening of theatre was called Philip Glass Buys A Loaf Of Bread – a parodic musical vignette in trademark Glassian style, with the celebrated composer having a moment of existential crisis in a bakery.

Now, I make it a rule to only direct pieces that I have never seen produced before. I find this eliminates the urge to “borrow” from other productions and challenges the creative juices. I can usually read a script for the first time and just “see” it. Or “hear” it. Well, I must have been blind and deaf when I saw this script for the first time:

WTF?

I mean, what the heck are you supposed to do with that? There’s no music, no choreography, no rhythm, and no stage direction. I searched the internet for ideas but only found photos of other productions. No audio and no video. I guess this was a blessing in disguise because it forced us to create the whole thing ourselves. With the help of some very talented actors, I immersed myself in Philip Glass’ music until the script made sense. That took awhile. To this day, I still have not seen another production of this piece. I imagine every company has the same challenge and every production must come out completely different!

As a public service, I’ve decided to release a copy of our work into the wild. So for all of you who couldn’t make it to the theatre 575 days ago, here’s a recording of our final dress rehearsal of Philip Glass. Nobody commented on the short film I directed, so I’m just gonna put this new video right here in my blog to make it a little easier for you.

A couple weeks ago, I recorded some voices for a new computer game set to hit the market next year. It was a fun little role playing game where I got to play a couple soldiers – one angelic and one demonic. The job itself took under an hour to record and it was really fun!

Well, I just got a phone call from the recording studio where we did the work telling me that they had forgotten to record three lines of text and wanted me to come back in to finish the project. No problem. But then they asked me if I would be expecting to get paid for this extra work. Hmm… I wasn’t terribly surprised since this was a studio that was famous for “cutting corners” so I calmly explained to them that actors traditionally get paid for any and all work they get contracted to do – either retakes or new work. He started moaning about having to bill the clients again and how this would complicate things for the accounting department. Again, he asked me if I could just come in and record the lines for free. Was this guy for real? I informed him of the rules stipulated by the actors union and assured him that paying someone for doing work is not that strange. He asked how much I wanted to get paid and I told him I’d have to think about it and call him back.

Normally, calculating payment for retakes is a no-brainer. An actor gets paid for showing up and then for every “take” they record. He should have known this. He was probably hoping I would quote a lower price and he could cut some more corners. But we had actually been paid very well for this last job and I needed to consult with some constituents of mine before offering to do any work for free. People seemed to agree that, since we were paid so handsomely for the job in the first place, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I offered to do this little rectification pro bono. Just this once. But I still didn’t feel very comfortable being asked to do work without getting paid.

Edit: I’d like to thank everyone for the great advice… and you’re absolutely right. Unfortunately, I went in to the studio this afternoon and recorded the three lines for free. I can rationalize it till the cows come home: it only took 45 seconds; the numbers still added up at the end; I’m writing myself into their Good Book for the next big project. But the bottom line is that if anyone had asked me my advice on a similar situation, I would have told them the same thing you told me. Stick to your guns and demand what’s right. Thanks again.

Well, we just got back from our weekly maternity class… or prenatal class… or pregnancy class… or whatever. This week the non-pregnant partners were invited to attend the class – unlike last week when I was the only schlump there not retaining water. Don’t feel bad for me, though. I got to help collect the yoga mats at the end of the class!

Now don’t get me wrong: I think it’s great that they offer these classes. And they’re free! God bless socialized medicine. But Spain is such an ass-backwards country that it really boggles my mind sometimes. We watched a video in the class about childbirth. An educated guess can only lead me to believe that it was created in Holland sometime in the 1970’s and had an untrained South American actress dub the narration over the original droning Dutch. The VHS tape was so worn out in places from nonstop use over the past three decades that the sound kept cutting in and out – but that didn’t really bother me since they weren’t saying anything useful or interesting anyway! It was more “hippie artsy-fartsy” with images of loving couples staring into each others’ eyes while a pan flute accompanied the leaves blowing in the wind.

But what really got on my tits were the other couples in the class. Half of the people there talked or laughed throughout the entire video to the point where no one could hear anything the poor droning South American narrator was saying. The stand-up comedian sitting right behind us was the worst of the lot. He was apparently enamored with the sound of his own voice and felt the need to crack a (really bad) joke every seven seconds. It’s no wonder that Jan complains of her students’ lack of respect and short attention spans. Their parents are exactly the same! I would have said something to the bidding Jerry Seinfeld behind me (and possibly hit him) if I didn’t think it would distance Jan from the rest of the moms-of-tomorrow in her future classes. I just bit my tongue and tried to follow the tranquil Dutch landscapes and groovy haircuts on the TV in front of us.

Here’s a little video gem I thought I’d share with you. You see, way back in June of 2004, I directed my first (and to this date only) short film. It was called Charlie and the catchy summary of the film is as follows:

Charlie, a mute street entertainer, takes desperate measures not to lose the love and company of a young girl.

This was my first venture into the world of cinema… and it shows. The project didn’t really turn out how I had imagined for a plethora of reasons. But I learned a lot! And now, finally, I have uploaded the film onto our beloved World Wide Web for all to enjoy / critique / make fun of.

So if you’re interested and you’ve got 14 minutes to kill, click below and check it out. I’d love to hear your impressions.

No sooner do we move into a new apartment than we begin demolishing everything we get our hands on. Not on purpose, mind you. Out of sheer klutziness. (oh my god, I can’t believe my spell checker didn’t red-flag the word ‘klutziness’)

The banging and denting of walls during the construction of choice IKEA furniture was certainly excusable, but when Jan smashed a plate and a glass while cleaning out our old flat, we knew we were in store for something greater than ourselves. Granted, a slight shift towards forgetfulness and clumsiness often accompany a woman through pregnancy, but Jan is apparently looking to break some records here. And I’ve heard of sympathy pains before, but “sympathy clumsiness” is a new one to me.

Next came yesterday morning when I was awoken by the sound of Jan getting the pitcher of water from the fridge. Well, it was more like the sound of Jan grasping the pitcher of water and using it to knock out the top shelf of the fridge which, at that time, was the home for a jar of mayonnaise, a jar of strawberry jam, and a glass filled with olives (and olive juice). I then heard the ensuing expletives, a brief pause for breathing, and the lovely sound of shards of glass being swept across our new parquet floors.

Not to be outdone, I precariously placed one of our pretty little ceramic blue bowls a little too close to the edge of the shelf. Things must have been rough for the poor bowl lately because it leaped – with no help from me – onto the counter below taking out an innocent glass of gazpacho in the process.

We must have a pretty clumsy ghost in the new apartment as well because neither Jan nor I will admit to being the cause of the bottle of fabric softener taking a swan dive off of the washing machine only to crack its lid and spill its sticky, flowery scented contents all over the floor of the washing room.

So there you have it. Be very careful when visiting us at our new home. It’s been a veritable klutzfest around here lately! (OK, my spell check wouldn’t let me get away with ‘klutzfest’)

Boy-o-boy does it feel good to write this blog entry! It’s taken us a couple weeks, but by writing this blog entry – from the comfort of our new home – you can rest assured that we are finally moved in 100% to a full-functioning apartment.

water
electricity
gas
telephone
furniture
washing machine
food in the fridge
internet

I’ve wanted to write for such a long time now. So much has happened! But alas, without the internet connected intravenously to my body 24/7, I feel like Superman wearing Kryptonite footy pajamas after having only slept three hours the night before: useless. But I’m back, baby. And I’m ready to tell you about all the amazing things that have been happening in our lives these past few weeks. Exciting things such as:

• The shiny new apartment!
• Our adventures and hot dogs in IKEA!
• The arduous move from the old flat with the little South American boy!
• The kung-fu fighting in Jan’s belly!
• The last film I worked on!
• The next film I’ll be working on!
• Fancy new websites I’m creating!
• Our first maternity class!
• Not buying a new computer!
• My new Jerker!
• The World Cup follies!
• Even more fist shaking!

All this and more! So if you haven’t given up on me and there’s still someone out there reading this lonely blog, maybe I’ll present you with some witty anecdotes from our lives. It’s good to be back.

Countless seemed the number of tasks that needed to be achieved before we were able to finally sleep under our new roof. But the proverbial light at the end of the relocating tunnel is now dawning and soon we will be in the promised land. I promise.

I needed to have a special bank account prepared containing the equivalent of six month’s rent which will be deviously held just out of my reach for the duration of our stay in this new apartment. The bank said they would have it ready for when we got back from New York (just in time to sign the contract for the flat). They didn’t have it ready in time. I shook my fist at them and they had it done the next day.

The landlord promised me that the flat would be freshly painted when we returned from New York. It wasn’t. So I called and asked them to please do it soon – preferably before we moved in. They said it would be done on Friday. It wasn’t. So I shook my fist at them and it was done first thing Monday morning.

I telephonically shook my fist at all of the utility services on Friday. The water and electricity were turned on immediately. The gas needs a new technical piece attached the big metal thingy which some guy is doing tomorrow – we should then have hot water.

My current telephone company told me that it would be impossible to transport my current phone number to the new flat. So I shook my mighty fist at them – and they turned tail and ran away. So I contacted a different telephone company. Our new telephone line – along with a new phone number, ADSL, and digital television – should be arriving within the next couple weeks.

Jan and I spent a total of seven and a half hours in IKEA this past week (plus the many hours spent strategically planning at home) selecting the furnishings that will adorn our humble abode. Everyone at IKEA was very friendly and helpful and all of our cool new stuff (along with a brand new washing machine) should be delivered tomorrow. I shook my fist at them just for good measure.

Yesterday, Jan and I signed up with a new gym just around the corner from our new place. After carefully studying all of the available offers on at the moment and reading all of the fine print on the membership contract, I managed to get away with paying only 4.50 euros instead of the normal 98 euros for registration and the first month’s fees. The man who signed us up said that I had paid less than any other new member he had ever signed up. I think he works on commission – he shook his fist at me.

Today, Too Tall Dutch Ed came over to the new place to help me remove the absolutely unnecessary porcelain wash basin taking up most of the room in the “washing room” so we could have a washing machine installed. I say he helped me but he actually did 97% of the work. He thought it would be a two minute job, but it took over an hour, four broken cutters, six sliced fingers, one complaining neighbor, and 37 whacks with Juls’ red-handled wrench to get the s.o.b. out of there. After the dust has cleared and Ed stopped shaking from physical exertion, he proceeded to shake his bloody fist at the the resulting mound of rubble. Ed’s a very good friend.

After saying goodbye to Ed, I prepared for the imminent arrival of our furniture by dusting, scrubbing, scraping, sweeping and mopping the entire flat. Five hours later, I was too tired to shake my fist at anything.

Now all we have to do is pack our current belongings into the boxes I procured from the local supermarket in preparation for Friday’s big move and we should be sleeping in a new bed, under a new roof, and in a new part of town this weekend.