Beckett Letters

Last night Barbara and I got to see one of our favorite playwrights, Edward Albee read Samuel Beckett.  I am so glad for Emory University.  And more specifically the wonderfully artistic people that they employ.  Brenda Bynum, a landmark of Atlanta theater, helped to organize a reading of Beckett's early letters from the recently published The Letters of Samuel Beckett, 1929 - 1940 by Cambridge University Press.  The reading is part of a celebration of Beckett that Emory is hosting for the next several weeks.

The evening took place in Glenn Memorial, the church that sits on Emory campus.  The readers were Brenda Bynum, Robert Shaw-Smith, Salman Rushdie and Edward Albee.   I am still reeling from getting to see such talent together on the stage.

Beckett's letters were very engaging.  He wrote of depression, loneliness, boredom as well as happiness and hope.  He bemoaned the lack of interest on the part of publishers in his early work.  His letters were very well written.  Verbose and poetic at times, crude and sarcastic at others.  A couple of stories stand out in my mind.  He wrote of sitting in the park one day while he was still unpublished and suffering from a lack of ideas.  He observed a small child with a rather severe looking Nanny with a stoney expression on her face and remarked that she reminded him of his Nanny of so long ago.  So much so that he wanted to go back in time and be coddled again by his own Nanny.

After his first novel was finally picked up, the publisher wanted Beckett to make some major cuts the the story.  About a third of the text.  He wrote a letter in which he was very bitter about it.  The next day he wrote second letter that posited another idea.  He wrote that the next Beckett novel would be written on rice paper and rolled into a scroll with perforation every five inches or so.  So that it would be ready to wipe the asses of the people who didn't appreciate his work.  Love it.

I was very impressed with Salman Rushdie's reading.  In his slight English accent I felt I could hear Beckett's own voice.  If not the proper accent, Irish, then the proper feeling and attitude.  

How cool to hear Albee read as well.  His voice carries such character.  He was a bit harder to follow.  His voice is rather crusty, and the echoing acoustics of the church were not helping.

There were many theater companies represented that night.  Theatre Emory, of course, but also The Atlanta Shakespeare Tavern, Theatre du Reve and others.

I will leave you with these thoughts.  As I listened to Beckett's letters being read it struck me just how many things have changed in this world.  We no longer communicate through letters.  Oh, sure, some of us do, but I'd say it's a relative few.  I have long bemoaned the systemic breaking down of the English language.  Words get changed, dumbed down, new words get added to our lexicon that maybe shouldn't.  "Blog", for example.  Oh, and how about "Webinar".  That one makes me want to throw breakable things from a tall building and scream.  Don't get me wrong.  The new technology that these words describe is awesome.  Every day I giddily look forward to the next scientific and technological advances, praying that they will not describe them with a stupid, made-up word.

Back to the letters.  Letters were once the only way to get a message to someone.  Then technology made it easier and faster. Now we sit down at a glowing screen and send someone a message and they can view it instantly.  Convenient?  Yes, indeed.  But technology is also making it easier for people to be even less expressive, at least in words.  Poetry is no longer a priority.  Proper English is no longer a priority.  Just look at the world of texting.  Mispellings and short-cuts all around.  I used to hate and avoid texting but now I'm a texting fool.  How easily we get lured into the fast-lane.  And how hard is it to slow back down and merge right.  

People used to communicate their feelings of love through the post.  Courting for long periods of time without even hearing the person's voice or seeing that person's face.  Can we even conceive of that now?  How many teen-agers would go for that scenario?  "Ok, there's this great guy in Wisconsin who you will just love... No, you cannot see him for a year.  However you will get to know him through his words of courtship in his letters."  "Sorry, Mom.  I didn't hear you.  I was texting Lydia."

Next time you need to communicate with someone slow down, merge right, and compose a letter, for Beckett's sake!

I feel as though a piece of my heart is missing.

My beautiful big tom cat Archer left us last night.

It came on so suddenly.  I was in the kitchen doing some dishes and I heard a deep moan from one of the cats.  I thought that our neighbor's orange tabby had dropped by for a visit.  The cats make the strangest noises defending their territory.  I went in the living room to see Archer lying on his side by the front door, panting and making that strange pining sound.  His breath was raspy.  Jane, one of the other females, must have thought that Archer was playing with them because she growled back and swatted at him.  Archer pulled himself away from her on his front legs, dragging his hind legs uselessly behind him.  Something was terribly wrong.  I shooed the other cats away and tried to get a closer look at my boy.  His hind legs just wouldn't work and he had lost control of his lower functions as well.  I felt totally helpless.  Barbara was in the room by then and called the emergency animal clinic.  They told us to bring him in as soon as possible.

The ride to the clinic was tense.  Archer's cries got more pained as his discomfort and fear deepened.  To make matters worse, I missed the exit and had to double back at the next one, extending our travel time by a few minutes.  A nurse had to come from the back to buzz us in the front door of the clinic.  We quickly passed off the carrier with a brief explanation and filled out paperwork allowing the vets to do whatever possible, pain meds, IV, etc.

After a long wait, which we later realized was just a few minutes, we were ushered into a side room to see the doctor.  The prognosis was grim.  He was in congestive heart failure and a blood clot had broken free from his heart and went to his legs, thus causing the paralyzation of his lower body.  He also had fluid in his lungs causing rasping and shortness of breath.  It turns out that he had heart disease and we never knew.  Never had a clue.  Archer was the most strong, active cat I'd ever owned.  The doc explained that there was very little to be done.  Yes, he could be treated but the chances of recovery were very slim.  Even if he stabilized there was a very good chance that another clot would hit him.  If he'd had just one or other of the problems facing him it may have been possible to seek treatment.  But both the heart attack and the blood clot left us one option.  That is one decision that I never want to have to make again.

Barbara and I were heartbroken at the news.  Archer was with us for six years.  Six years.  So very young.  Our friends Sharon and John brought him back from Hilton Head.  They found him in a parking lot mewling loudly and all alone.  He was terribly small and undernourished and his his ears were huge.  I really wanted to name him Edgar after the Bat Boy but Barbara refused.  We settled on Jonathan Archer of the starship Enterprise.  He was a varied mix of breeds.  A mutt, you would say if he was a dog.  Dark brown and grey stripes on his back with a startlingly white belly and paws.  His face had a splotch of white on one side of his nose giving him a distinct lopsided look which we never noticed unless seeing him in a mirror.  He was very active and playful.  When we pulled into the driveway he was always sitting in the window seat that faces the carport and would run into the hall to greet us as we came in by way of the office, reaching his fore paws up on the wall as if to make himself as tall as possible.  He loved to snuggle against my cheek.  And if I didn't pay enough attention to him he would head butt my face until I did.  He loved to be carried around on my shoulder.  I think I'll miss that the most.  He just couldn't get enough love from his daddy.

We stayed with Archer as the vet gave the injection.  Barbara told me what to expect as she had put down her cat Kimmer so many years ago.  I am so glad that we were there with him in those final moments.  We kissed him told him that we loved him and to look for Kimmer.

I am not sure what I expected my memories from that moment would be but I can tell you what they are.  The light slowly going out of his eyes.  The weight of his head in my hand.  Stillness.  Peace.

Archer has reached the path at the end of the clearing.  I will miss my big boy.

Illustrating My Childhood

Over Thanksgiving my sister and I traded children's books.  She hadn't seen Contrary Jenkins by Rebecca Caudill and GI Ayars in a while and I was interested in seeing her Mercer Mayer illustrated books.  We grew up reading some great books with some excellent illustrations.  Our imaginations were groomed on these gems.

Check out Me And My Flying Machine by Marianna and Mercer Mayer.  Fanciful, detailed images that send your imagination flying.  While The Horses Galloped to London is just amazing.  The detail is stunning.  You could take any page, frame it and hang it on the wall.  There's An Alligator Under My Bed is another.  Although his illustrations are not as detailed as his older work. 

Another great artist to look out for is Hilary Knight of Eloise fame.  I didn't really discover Eloise until later in life.  The book that I grew up loving is The Animal Garden.  I still have it. It is tattered and falling apart but still has all the pages and has that great "old book" smell.  Written by Ogden Nash and includes a great character that has haunted me since childhood, Abidan, who resembles a dandylion.

I couldn't leave this without mentioning Richard Scarry.  At my sister's house I sat there and just starred at a couple of his books.  I love the full-page illustrations of a street scene with oodles of things happening all at once.  Just want to jump in there and join them.  Cats in suits, Lowly Worm!  Love it!

New York, New York, it's a heck of a town!

Friday, November 7

Our plane to New York was set to depart at ten-ten AM.  Airtran personnel got on the horn and announced that our flight was cancelled.  Not postponed, not late, cancelled.  They put us all on a new flight set to leave at twelve-thirty.  Apparently New York was having some weather problems so several flights were postponed. 

So, we waited. 

I like the airport.  There is no place like it for a people-watcher like me.  I'm a natural observer.  Ogler, some might say.  It's a great way to picking up mannerisms, ticks and other physical oddities that may come in useful in a performance.  I have stolen from many a stranger in airports, shopping malls, MARTA.

Today I was particularly interested in a short, slim, grey-haired man in a black suit with wide pin stripes.  He was tan, expensive haircut, good shoes and in his left ear he sported at least five diamond studs, glittering in the glow of the phosphorescent lighting.  He was alternately talking loudly on his cell phone and plugging it in to recharge.  His New York accent was thick as pea soup.  I listened as a young African-American girl struck up a conversation with him about the city.  Her first trip to Manhattan.  She soaked up his advice about how to avoid the gypsy cabs at the airport, what restaurants in which to dine and the like.

Then, there was Airtran back on the loudspeaker.  We were being pushed back again.  Two-fifteen was to be our new departure time.  Ugh.  We were instructed to form a single file line to get our tickets updated.  After ten minutes or so we arrived at the front of the line only to be told by Mr. Agent that he was shutting down his computer and we were all to follow him to a different kiosk!  Much grumbling ensued from the restless patrons around us.  Mr. Agent told us to remain in the same order as the queue but some eager flyers tried to use the confusion to cut ahead.  Barbara wasn't having it.

"Stay in the original order!" she projected in her best teaching voice.  The eager beavers sheepishly fell in line behind us, thank you very much.

I couldn't stop grinning.  She asked me later if she sounded bitchy.  I responded that she sounded like my wife.  So, with our Airtran piper in the lead, we scuttled our way down the hall some fifty feet to another kiosk.  After a brief interchange our new tickets were in hand.

Waiting again.  People watching can only get you so far.  I tried to nap.  Wasn't happening.  Too excited about getting there, so I read Our Inner Ape by Frans de Waal.

Finally we were in the sky.  We made up some time in the air and arrived at LaGuardia around four-thirty.

The weather in the city was just lovely.  Overcast but not raining, temperature was in the mid-sixties.  We just couldn't wait to get out and about in the big city.

...to be continued.

You Learn Something New Everyday

At least I try to.  Sometimes it just happens.  

I had a flat tire recently.  I had just seen Steve Yockey's play, Bellwether read at Actor's Express and returned to my car to find the rear right tire sagging.  Not completely flat, but definitely not right.  In pulling into the parking space earlier I noticed that I had run over a plate, and there were broken pieces strewn behind my car.  I cleaned up the glass as best I could with my bare hands, not wanting anyone else to suffer the same fate.  I replaced the flat tire with the spare with the help of the board president of Actor's Express.  Nice coincidence and even nicer guy.  Careful inspection of the tire lead me to find that the glass plate wasn't the cause of my tire problem.  A tiny nail was firmly planted in a small spot in the treads.  I thanked Bruce and went on my way.

I took my Honda to the dealer and they patched the tire for a very modest fee.

I have always fancied myself a tinkerer.  Not a mechanic, for that would entail more time, but I have been known to change my own oil.  One thing I always have done is check my tire pressure regularly.  Reduces the chance of flats and improper wear, as well as improved gas mileage.  Since the flat I have been meaning to check all four tires to make sure that they are all at the correct pressure.  QT is the best, because they offer free air.  I have stopped many times over the last several weeks, at many different times throughout the day, and have been surprised at the lines at the 'free air' station.  One or two cars at least.  Once I even had some jerk pull in front of me to cut in line!  What was going on?  All of a sudden, people are taking an interest in the well being of their cars.  Over the years I have rarely had to wait to fill my tires.  

Then it dawned on me.  Barack Obama.  He has spoken about how we can improve gas mileage by properly inflating our tires.  Talk radio has spent much time on the topic.  Now, I try very hard to keep my political views to myself.  They are often quite unpopular among my friends and family.  Theatre friends specifically.  How do you keep your fiercely political friends when a simple disagreement sets off a diatribe of misplaced hate?  It is really hard to appear to agree with everyone all of the time.  And I fear that even the mention of his name will bring a maelstrom of unwanted political comments into my blogosphere personal space.  No politics, please!  But, I push on.  I must.  My thought for the day is this;  If Barack Obama can inspire the people of the United States to check and fill their tires on a regular basis, then who's to say he can't inspire the nation to so much more?

I now fear being ostracized from my own family based on that comment alone.  Oh, well.  Such is the danger of lifting the veil on one's own personal politics.  As I said, I don't like to talk about it.  However, if you want an idea of what I think of the current state of politics you can check out Penn Jillette's podcast on iTunes.  Crackle: Penn Says.  

Another Film Audition (sans agent)

Just came back from another film audition.  I just love that I've gotten so many auditions without having an agent.  This one is a new, short-form series that will be on the web.  Turner production, two minute episodes.  Webisodes, in the parlance of our times.  Some of these latest additions to the English language are rather silly, I would say.  Webisode, blog, etc.

I read the part of a waiter who hits on the lead character in the show.  Two lines.  Hey, gotta start somewhere, right?  I was nervous on the first take and forgot part of the second line.  Took a few moments (felt like an hour) to get the second half of the line back into the front of my brain.  Second take was much better thanks to good direction.  The director and the casting agent laughed.  That's good.  I think.

I'm still pretty new to the film side of things but there is one thing I know for sure.  A director that will take the time to direct you in an audition is a blessing.  Glen is one of those directors.  I always walk out feeling like I've learned something new about the business.  Love him!

Moon Gazing

Barbara called me this afternoon on her way from work to the theater.  She told me that the moon was full and huge on the horizon.  I thanked her for the info, she knows how I love to star gaze, and went back to my current project of organizing files in the office.

Later tonight I stepped outside to check it out.  It is that time of year where I remember what I like about living in Georgia.  The days are moderate and the nights are cool, but not cold.  Cool enough to keep the bugs away, at least.  In Atlanta that is a blessing.  Ah, fall.

I looked up.  There it was, glowing white just above the trees.  It certainly did appear huge in the cloudless autumn sky.  My, was it bright!  The ambient light was casting crisp shadows on the front porch and yard.  The view all around was just lovely and haunting, like a landscape in a black and white film.

I went back inside after a few minutes to get my telescope to take a closer look.  After a few brief moments of remembering how to use the thing, I managed to get the moon into focus.  I had to remove my glasses to get my eye right up on the eyepiece for the best view.  The moon filled the full circle of my vision.  I noticed that it was just past being full as one edge was slightly rough, the shadow beginning its slow journey across the surface.  Every ripple, every crater was beautifully detailed in white and myriad shades of grey before my eager eye.  I could even make out the spread pattern of each impact, stretching out from the craters, indicating from which direction each meteor must have hit.  I don't recall ever seeing it so very clearly.

As I watched a small shadow passed over the moon.  A satellite!  During the next several minutes I saw five others cross the sky between me and the moon.  Some of them appeared to be at different distances from us and one was quite a bit larger.  I could even make out details of it's shape in it's dark silhouette.

And so I stared until my eyesight began to blur and I could feel the creatures of the night  getting closer and louder, forcing me back to the safety of the indoors.

~Googie