My good friend Nicole has enlisted me for an interesting project. She is launching a new website in St. Louis, and as part of her promotion, is providing content to the website for the all-new Kevin Kline Theater Awards in the same city. And she has kindly procured my services to create profiles of various nominees for said awards for the launch.
This is a fun and exciting project. However, I live in mortal terror of interviewing people until I have at least /some/ idea of their background, accomplishments, etc. So before I contact any of them, I do a little online research.
As I am doing so for the thrice-nominated Michael Hamilton of Stages St. Louis, what should I find but a page in which he is quoted touting a pair of casting directors. Which is perfectly fine, except that I know one of said directors -- and in fact, sold one of my first published articles based on a long interview with her.
And thus, the world grows just a bit teenier.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #44: The part where the Dalys brush off their best silver
Dear friends, Eamon and I hosted ... a dinner party. I feel so very grown-up just saying it. We've hosted dinner parties in the past, but it always transports me back to the early '60s, when highballs ruled the wood-panelled den and rumaki danced trippingly on the tongue.
Dinner parties at the Dalys are quite the event, since my husband, as is well known, has a flair for the dramatic. I suggested we serve lasagne. I was scorned. Quail it would be. Quail cooked on small cans of pineapple juice, akin to miniature beer can chickens. Accompanied with a homemade pineapple-infused sauce and tri-color couscous. And of course, as a flourish, a towering and impressive pineapple-infused centerpiece. At least I set the table.
And where, you might ask, are the pictures of the dessert I so lovingly crafted from a kit purchased at William Sonoma -- the molten chocolate peppermint cake, artfully garnished with vanilla ice cream, crushed peppermint candy, chocolate wafers and fresh mint leaves??? Oddly, that didn't make into the camera phone. Funny that.
Dinner parties at the Dalys are quite the event, since my husband, as is well known, has a flair for the dramatic. I suggested we serve lasagne. I was scorned. Quail it would be. Quail cooked on small cans of pineapple juice, akin to miniature beer can chickens. Accompanied with a homemade pineapple-infused sauce and tri-color couscous. And of course, as a flourish, a towering and impressive pineapple-infused centerpiece. At least I set the table.
And where, you might ask, are the pictures of the dessert I so lovingly crafted from a kit purchased at William Sonoma -- the molten chocolate peppermint cake, artfully garnished with vanilla ice cream, crushed peppermint candy, chocolate wafers and fresh mint leaves??? Oddly, that didn't make into the camera phone. Funny that.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #43: The part where I am provided with an invaluable resource for Shakespearean directors
Ms. Freilich, my dear friend, provided me with a link to this incredibly helpful compendium of tips for directors staging Shakespeare. Would that all such directors would make recourse to it.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #42: The part where Eamon is threatened by a rival for the fair lady's hand
So after an afternoon of drafting copy for a brochure for a travel tour of the Old West, I decide to join my young friend, Jack, for some afternoon frolicks. Now 4 1/2 years old, Jack is fond of digging, and my yard is in such a state of disarray, it offers many a spot of bald dirt for his excavation pleasure.
As our brief respite draws to a close (it was quite chilly, and his mom and I agreed it was time to call it quits), Jack asks why I had come outside. I explain that I saw them out playing, so I came out to join him because I like him. He asks could I come out to play every day. I explain that I would come out any day that I could.
So then he asks: Does Eamon tell me when I could come out to play?
An interesting question. I explained that no, I come out all on my own. His mother adds that Eamon doesn't make decisions for me, and I don't make decisions for Eamon.
I suspect young Jack has identified a bearded stumbling block in the way of his romancing of his fair neighbor.
As our brief respite draws to a close (it was quite chilly, and his mom and I agreed it was time to call it quits), Jack asks why I had come outside. I explain that I saw them out playing, so I came out to join him because I like him. He asks could I come out to play every day. I explain that I would come out any day that I could.
So then he asks: Does Eamon tell me when I could come out to play?
An interesting question. I explained that no, I come out all on my own. His mother adds that Eamon doesn't make decisions for me, and I don't make decisions for Eamon.
I suspect young Jack has identified a bearded stumbling block in the way of his romancing of his fair neighbor.
Crazy Crap Item #41: The part where I stumble into Asian hell
OK, so I'm doing research on the 1967 Julie Andrews movie Thoroughly Modern Millie in preparation to write a review of the stage version of same. For those of you who don't know, both the movie and stage version include a bizarre, uneasy, racist subplot about a white slavery kidnapping ring run by immigrants from Hong Kong. I am not kidding.
Anyhoo, I go to my favorite website of all time, IMDB, to refresh my memory of the cast, and what do I find?
Jack Soo .... Oriental #1
Pat Morita .... Oriental #2
Wow. All I can say is Wow.
Anyhoo, I go to my favorite website of all time, IMDB, to refresh my memory of the cast, and what do I find?
Jack Soo .... Oriental #1
Pat Morita .... Oriental #2
Wow. All I can say is Wow.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #40: The part where Eamon is caught in the act
Tonight, the last part of Olympic ice dancing is being broadcast, and of course, I'm so there. Eamon drifts in and out, going upstairs to watch 24, coming back to read on the couch beside me.
During the skate of American couple, Belben and Agosto, I happen to notice that Eamon's only pretending to read his comic book. That's right, he's watching skating.
His assessment? "He needs more 'zazz,'" he says of the male skater.
During the skate of American couple, Belben and Agosto, I happen to notice that Eamon's only pretending to read his comic book. That's right, he's watching skating.
His assessment? "He needs more 'zazz,'" he says of the male skater.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #39: The part where I mourn in advance the untimely death of my husband
I've been on a health kick lately. Thanks to Weight Watchers, I've lost 9 lbs. since the start of the year. (15 to go. Ugh.) I went to a wellness workshop to help my tummy feel better, and picked up a diet/lifestyle plan to improve my gut help. And I've been working out 5 times per week. So my health is on the way to stellar.
Eamon? Not so much.
Just as there is a conservation of sleep in the Daly household (we've found that only one of us can get a good night's rest at a time), there seems to be conservation of health. As I power back more and more fresh veggies, Eamon has pioneered a way to mainline Kraft mac 'n' cheese directly into his veins.
His lunch yesterday? Behold.
I'm troubled, but I think I've figured it out. I'm 8 years older than him, and as is well-known, women tend to live longer than men. Clearly, he's just trying to time it out so we die at the same time.
Now that's love.
Eamon? Not so much.
Just as there is a conservation of sleep in the Daly household (we've found that only one of us can get a good night's rest at a time), there seems to be conservation of health. As I power back more and more fresh veggies, Eamon has pioneered a way to mainline Kraft mac 'n' cheese directly into his veins.
His lunch yesterday? Behold.
I'm troubled, but I think I've figured it out. I'm 8 years older than him, and as is well-known, women tend to live longer than men. Clearly, he's just trying to time it out so we die at the same time.
Now that's love.
Crazy Crap Item #38: The part where I wax pithy
In my capacity as theater critic, I'm subjected to some good productions, and many, many very bad productions. Last night, sadly, I was witness to the latter. In case it ever comes up in daily conversations, please know: It is not a good idea to stage an obscure 16th-century play in a fieldhouse of a public park. It's doubly a not-good idea to people the cast with thespians who, apparently, have never undertaken a classical role before. Or maybe never acted before. It's hard to tell.
Anyhoo, during this ordeal, I noted something that caused some friends to say I should enshrine my wisdom on this point for all time. Here goes:
The number of times cast members ooze about "this amazingly talented group of people" in their program bios is inversely proportionate to the actual amount of talent on stage.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Anyhoo, during this ordeal, I noted something that caused some friends to say I should enshrine my wisdom on this point for all time. Here goes:
The number of times cast members ooze about "this amazingly talented group of people" in their program bios is inversely proportionate to the actual amount of talent on stage.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #37: The part where the other guy outdoes himself
OK, so pairs long program. The last pair is from China, and they're planning a throw quad salcow. Yeah, QUAD. That's huge. And, alas, they munch it. The woman takes an awful, knee-crunching fall. But she gets up, they start over and they finish -- which is pretty spectactular. And they win silver.
But really, did the announcer need to say, of the female skater, "Who could believe someone so slight could have a heart as big as a skating rink"?
No, he really didn't need to say that.
But really, did the announcer need to say, of the female skater, "Who could believe someone so slight could have a heart as big as a skating rink"?
No, he really didn't need to say that.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #36: The part where Dick outdoes himself
Still watching Olympic pairs skating. Dick Button is still waxing insane. So far:
-- He mentions that a Polish husband-and-wife skating team train at an ice complex in the wife's hometown. Auschwitz. But, Dick assures us, even though we have certain associations with it, now it's just a plain old town. Quoth Eamon: Hmmm. The holocaust mentioned at the Olympics. That's a first.
-- Also about the Polish couple: "They're sort of like the people you want to move next door. They won't put pitbulls in the back yard. And they're the kind of people you want to invite for dinner, and they won't spill wine on the table."
Way to babble, Dick.
-- He mentions that a Polish husband-and-wife skating team train at an ice complex in the wife's hometown. Auschwitz. But, Dick assures us, even though we have certain associations with it, now it's just a plain old town. Quoth Eamon: Hmmm. The holocaust mentioned at the Olympics. That's a first.
-- Also about the Polish couple: "They're sort of like the people you want to move next door. They won't put pitbulls in the back yard. And they're the kind of people you want to invite for dinner, and they won't spill wine on the table."
Way to babble, Dick.
Crazy Crap Item #35: The part where I begin to track the insanity at Turino
First off, can I say that I only recently that "Torino" and that place with the shroud were the same. So I'm not so bright.
But I am an avid figure skating fan, so of course, I'm on board for any Olympic figure skating mayhem they can bring my way. And naturally, the best part of Olympic figure skating is the utterly absurd commentary. I mean, even during the quasi-sanity of a non-Olympic year, figure skating commentary is fairly absurd. But you light that torch, and suddenly everyone behind a microphone goes entirely INSANE.
To whit, I sit here watching the short program for pairs skating, and Inoue and Baldwin make Olympic history with the first ever throw triple axel. Good for them, I say. But apparently, 'good for them' is not nearly colorful enough for color commentary.
"That was delicious," utters the aptly named Dick Button.
"That throw was like butter," quips Sandra Bezic.
Lordy.
But I am an avid figure skating fan, so of course, I'm on board for any Olympic figure skating mayhem they can bring my way. And naturally, the best part of Olympic figure skating is the utterly absurd commentary. I mean, even during the quasi-sanity of a non-Olympic year, figure skating commentary is fairly absurd. But you light that torch, and suddenly everyone behind a microphone goes entirely INSANE.
To whit, I sit here watching the short program for pairs skating, and Inoue and Baldwin make Olympic history with the first ever throw triple axel. Good for them, I say. But apparently, 'good for them' is not nearly colorful enough for color commentary.
"That was delicious," utters the aptly named Dick Button.
"That throw was like butter," quips Sandra Bezic.
Lordy.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #34: The part where I weep for the next generation
Recently, Eamon and I attended a birthday party for a one-year-old. She is the second daughter of Eamon's cousin. Since we had missed her big sister's birthday party in November (she turned 4), we figured we ought to bring a gift for her as well.
So off we go to Toys R Us, for a bit of shopping. As we browse, I come across some dress-up costumes for kids. I recall that the last time I saw the four-year-old, she was obsessed with dressing up her Barbies, and dressing me in her doll clothes. I wore many a baby bonnet that day. So I'm thinking, hey, costume, good idea. And I take a closer look.
Well, my young ones, here's how it breaks down, according to the toy manufacturer. Score one for enforced gender roles!
So off we go to Toys R Us, for a bit of shopping. As we browse, I come across some dress-up costumes for kids. I recall that the last time I saw the four-year-old, she was obsessed with dressing up her Barbies, and dressing me in her doll clothes. I wore many a baby bonnet that day. So I'm thinking, hey, costume, good idea. And I take a closer look.
Well, my young ones, here's how it breaks down, according to the toy manufacturer. Score one for enforced gender roles!
Friday, February 03, 2006
Crazy Crap Item #33: The part where I feel like Gypsy Rose Lee
As part of my quest to lose 20 pounds and sustain a healthier lifestyle, I've been working out. Yes, I know. It's certainly not like me. I don't run unless someone's chasing me.
My weapon of choice is livingroom aerobics. See, I don't like to leave the house. And I hate running on treadmills and the like. Livingroom aerobics, aided by perky blond women in spandex on my TV, seems to do the trick. Plus, there's much to mock.
This morning, I came downstairs to prepare my livingroom gym, and lo and behold, there was Eamon sleeping the couch. He was out late at a fundraiser for Windy City Rollers, and didn't want to wake me when he came in. Thus, the couch-sleeping.
I ask if he minds if I work out, and he says he prefers I did. So I change into my workout clothes, get a glass of water, return to my makeshift gym only to find he's still there, on the couch.
"Oh, I thought you'd be moving."
"Do you want me to?"
"No, I don't care."
It seems that watching me workout in the morning, in front of a tv screen, with my back to him, is his own personal version of smut and eggs.
As I shake my thing, I glance back, and see that he's fiddling with his cell phone, which is not unusual. I turn back to the TV, only to hear an ominous click and whirr.
Yes, that was the camera in his cell phone. My gyrating buttocks are now captured for all posterity.
Fantastic.
My weapon of choice is livingroom aerobics. See, I don't like to leave the house. And I hate running on treadmills and the like. Livingroom aerobics, aided by perky blond women in spandex on my TV, seems to do the trick. Plus, there's much to mock.
This morning, I came downstairs to prepare my livingroom gym, and lo and behold, there was Eamon sleeping the couch. He was out late at a fundraiser for Windy City Rollers, and didn't want to wake me when he came in. Thus, the couch-sleeping.
I ask if he minds if I work out, and he says he prefers I did. So I change into my workout clothes, get a glass of water, return to my makeshift gym only to find he's still there, on the couch.
"Oh, I thought you'd be moving."
"Do you want me to?"
"No, I don't care."
It seems that watching me workout in the morning, in front of a tv screen, with my back to him, is his own personal version of smut and eggs.
As I shake my thing, I glance back, and see that he's fiddling with his cell phone, which is not unusual. I turn back to the TV, only to hear an ominous click and whirr.
Yes, that was the camera in his cell phone. My gyrating buttocks are now captured for all posterity.
Fantastic.
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