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The Play
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Theatre
- Hits: 800
Off to see a play. By which I mean "A Play, A Play, What Could Be More Boring Than a PLAY!!", read in the voice of Homer Simpson.
Now, community theatre, the best of intentions, the What, this play, a suspense/horror? In the vein of Agatha Christie supposedly. And the Who - well, local community thespians, all of whom turn in a fine job; this town is filled with talent, the Where - at the theatre, of course, the When, showtimes as advertised, but what eludes me is the "Why". I mean, suspenseful it is not, not at all, and looking up the play, it's not locally written, it's not particularly good, it seems to be a staple of the "dinner theatre" crowd, which is an artform that constantly eludes me. Mindless entertainment, of the ilk you might find on any TV set, done live in front of you, suspenseful not in the least, and I'm perplexed as to why it was written (to fill seats in empty theatres, presumably, but - no other reason??), and why it was chosen (and a good time was had by all...or maybe it demanded no royalties?), and were I a little less considerate I would have taken the lead of the people next to me and vanished during the intermission. There's the real mystery, where did they go? And why were they here? Why am I here? Maybe that's the point of it, to bring me to an existential crisis...
Anyways, short of burning the script and starting completely over - and shooting the playwright - I was at a loss as to how to improve it when it occurred to me that it could be greatly improved with a little - a lot - of "Audience Participation". By which I mean perhaps the audience could be involved, prompted, to give loud gasps of shock-horror-surprise - at all the right moments, prime them, and then, really, maybe then a good time could have been had by all.
Otherwise I was just watching the thespians having a great time while I myself felt that any reaction would have been so over the top - act surprised, gasp? Clearly your faking this Mr. Boyle, you should have seen that coming a mile away - you did, in fact, didn't you?
Anyways, all about supporting the local community theatre, but maybe we have to get them some better scripts...
Nick 2
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 688
...and in a curious synchronicity I discover that another Nick, whom I worked with a few years ago at the D&D, has passed away. He was a nice guy, classic laid back local hippy/waiter, and I am starting to realize that I've known more people to pass away out here than anywhere else. Which is partly a function of aging, partly of being a little better connected to the community. Still, the reaper awaits and it's time too move forward with other projects...
Mark
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 634
Rather inspired by Murakami's "First Person Singular" and so I'll take the time to tell you about Mark.
Now Mark was an odd one, I met him via a friend who I squatted with briefly. Tall - 6'3" or 6'4", with a long black braided ponytail that hung to his waist, square chin, dark swart features, clothing to match, fashionable trench coat and knee-high leather boots.
I'm 21 and in London and to go for a walk with Mark was to be the wingman - and I'm not particularly used to being the second fiddle, but it was apparent as the ladies visibly swooned when we passed that it wasn't over me.
If you imagined the best version of Heathcliff from "Wuthering Heights", or the "hot" English Seducer in a Penny Dreadful, it would be Mark.
Mark was Australian, from somewhere small town in the bush, he didn't like to talk about his family or his childhood. He didn't like or get along with his father. He worked as a waiter in "Le Pelican" down in the West End. Fancy. His interests were largely occult, he claimed to be in constant communion with the dead, and so we had a few lively conversations around what that must have been like, first impressions in London and all, especially considering how the dead so outnumber the living.
A curious thing, he had married - on paper, for immigration reasons - this friend from Australia with dual citizenship. She had a young child - 2 or 3, not his. I think her name was Leona. And they lived together - as man and wife in most regards, except for the most intimate, which he passed on because he was currently involved with Kate Bush. It was an Astral Relationship, they never met in person, but at night when they were dreaming...well, spicy, spicy. It would stay on the Astral Plane because she didn't want to mess up her successful recording career with rumors and everything.
They lived with me for a time, in the squat, it got pretty tiresome, Mark & his Wizardry, the child, an undisciplined mess, and his wife constantly on the prowl for some sort of satisfaction...
After he moved out I didn't hear of him for a few years, then word came he was working as a model, in such and such avant-garde film, he was dating so-and-so supermodel.
I never doubted it, he was a larger than life figure, and his dating - I suspect, as with a lot of larger-than-life people, was sexless, he, despite his superstar good looks seemed oblivious to that aspect of his being...
I'd be curious to know where he is now...
Nick
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 649
When I was 21 I lived in a squat in London. During that time I had a few roommates, not because I'm social but because an untenanted squat can quickly become somebody else's squat. So it makes sense to have roommates, especially those that are home when you aren't.
One of the more memorable ones was Nick. He was a properly middle class Englishman, from some village outside of London. Nick worked at Harrods in London, one of London's posher tourist attractions.
Now Nick, nothing to look at, really, a florid and spotty complexion, thinning blonde hair, but a ladies man after a sort. He had stories, like the time at Christmas Mass when he took the vicars daughter into the cemetery and squired her. Or another time when he went out with his manager at Harrods, got so drunk that when they went back to her place she gave him her bed and slept on the sofa. And he was so hammered that he tells me he remembers, very distinctly getting up in the night, going to the sofa and pissing all over her.
She never brought it up. Mind you, they never went on another date.
Now Nick, when I met him, he'd worked at Harrods for a couple of years. He was sort of a Jack of All Departments, he'd get assigned to one department, maybe linen or furniture or Men's Clothes or ties, and often it wouldn't be that busy so they'd send him off to another department. And Nick would just come home. Back to Camden Town. As soon as they transferred him he was off, he'd grab his lunch and come home.
The next day, if anyone asked (and it was rare that anyone ever did) he would simply put himself in the department opposite the inquisitor. It was that easy. "No, I was in furniture, but I got transferred to..." and that was the end of it.
Snow days, in London a half inch of snow meant you'd get double time if you made it into work, transit being out and all, he'd take it off and then the next day clock himself in for it, say he'd worked in another department.
It helped that Nick was pretty easy going, a very likeable sort of guy. And a spiffy dresser, Harrods didn't pay THAT good, but it gave him a discount on the higher end clothing.
In the end it was his very likeability that proved his downfall. They ended up making him manager of the "Paul Smith" shop in Harrods, a small raise but a role that required him to visibly do his full eight hours a day.
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