Martial Law? Or just crazy?

There are cops directing traffic at every gas station in my part of Charlotte. Every one that is open, that is. The governor of NC made a request of everyone to do their best to conserve gasoline this week, until the pipelines that were damaged during Katrina can be operational again.

This announcement was not met with kind resignation. It's actually a little bit scary, when you drive around to get a burger. And yes, I did get in line and fill up when I read the announcement that Charlotte may see a gas shortage by the weekend. But it's a little scary to see flashing blue lights at the entrance to every convenience store. This feels a little like something out of a movie, and brings home a little bit how far-reaching the impact of this storm is going to be, when just a couple of days later my routine 10 hours away is affected.

This is one of those milestone events, where people of a certain age in 20 years will reminisce about how this storm affected their day-to-day life, no matter where they were. I feel like I've witnessed three of these events in my life - the Challenger explosion, the attacks on NY and DC in 2001, and now Katrina. I wouldn't mind a little delay before the next one.

I know - I'm lucky. I'm not one of the million or so people that used to live in a city that is now part swamp, part cesspool, part DMZ. But it's a little chilling to realize the connectivity that we all share.

First Blocking rehearsal down

So that's out of the way. Thank goodness. I hate blocking rehearsals. With a flaming, screaming passion. It's the BS that you go through so the actors have some idea where to go and what to say when they get there, that you have to do to get the stage pictures right, but it doesn't involve any real creativity. The actors are still really tied to the script because it's early in the process and they don't know their lines yet. They also are trying to figure out how to cross from point A to point B, so that's another impediment, so no real acting happens at this stage, and not a lot of real directing either. It's more laying the groundwork for future rehearsals.

And I'm always nervous before we get into blocking, especially with a piece as free-form as God's Country, because the blocking rehearsals are when you begin to see if the cast has bought into your vision, if they're going to go along for the ride or if they're going to fight you every step of the way. Not to mention I'm always nervous to see if I can actually herd that many cats into some semblance of order. We have 10 cast members in a 25' x 30' space, so it's fairly important that it be blocked well in order for the piece to flow correctly.

But tonight went well. We got the first half of act I blocked, and I was able to steer a couple of folks in some different directions with some of their character development, so I'm pretty happy with our progress. And we're still on schedule, so that always makes me happy. I think it's going to be a really good piece. It has all the political and hot-button topics that I enjoy exploring, and I have a cast full of people that are willing to put in the work to make it the best show possible, so that usually turns out pretty solid in the end.

Peace,

1st week of rehearsal down

So I've gotten the first week of rehearsals done for my next show, God's Country. It's a play by Steven Dietz about The Order, a group of racialist extremists who murdered Denver DJ Alan Berg in the mid-80s. It's a play ful of uncomfortable subject matter, with racism, anti-semitism and political upheaval, which is exactly the kind of theatre that I like, but it's going to be a challenge. I think I've got a pretty solid cast, but most of them I've never worked with before. Actually, 3 out of the 10 I've directed before, but it's been a long time since I've directed Tom O, and actually quite a while since I've directed Myk, but he's one of my best friends so I'm not sweating that. Also not sweating Uncle Phil, since he's become one of my closest friends over the past year or so.

But that still leaves a lot of folks that I'm pretty unfamiliar with. So far, most of them seem eager to work, but we've just gotten through reading the play and talking about it. Next week comes the blocking, which is always tough, and harder than usual in this show, which is very cinematic in nature, with lots of jumping from place to place, time to time and character to character. Reminds me of my fears starting out in Corpus Christi, and that turned out to be pretty fantastic.

I'll keep you posted.

Highlights

New Jason Mraz CD is pretty good, more mellow than his last, but good. New Nickel Creek is OK, a little slow for my taste.

My wife has decided that I need a beauty regime. Now let's face facts - I'm a 32-year old, 6' tall, 255 lb. guy with a goatee and somewhat spiky hair. I don't need a beauty regime, I need major infrastructure renovations! But she's my wife, and a costumer, so letting her do whatever she wants to me was part of the contract.

So today, there was a facial. Not that kind you fucking perv. The kind where you scrub the first 3 layers of skin off your face, and then slop blue goop on your face and let it dry while it burns the next 3 layers of skin off your face. The theory is it closes up pores. My theory is that it's sulfuric fucking acid! That shit hurts.

Then the manicure. Not bad, I watch DVDs, she plays with my fingernails. No polish. I'm not goth. Then she decides my hair needs highlights. Fascinating. Whatever, I'm under it, I can't see it. So she slaps some shit on my head and tells me to let it bake for a 1/2 hour. I ask if this means I need to stick my head in the oven. She's not amused. It looks a little lighter, but it's redder than she was shooting for. Which is interesting, because my hair is brown. The brown that comes from being REALLY blonde as a child. So now I have reddish-blonde highlights (I suppose that's the term) in my hair. And she's happy and will let me drink as much beer as I want and fart under the covers. Fair trade.

Like I said, fuck it, I'm under it, the rest of you bastards have to look at it.

Peace

My South

This is the poem that is featured in the new book "My South" and on the DVD.

My South has a chip on its shoulder.
My South doesn’t care how you did it up North.

My South does NOT talk funny! And no, we will not say “dawg” again just for your amusement!

My South is TIRED of y’all tryin’ to sound Southern on TV, making jokes about Rednecks and still comin’ down here every year cloggin’ up our beaches and mountains.

My South gave you William Faulkner, Pat Conroy, Tennessee Williams AND Thomas Wolfe. Whattayou got?

My South invented NASCAR and you wish you did. My South is Dale Earnhardt #3 and #8. My south is Tobacco Road and Football Friday nights. My South is Dean Smith, Hank Aaron and WOOOOO! Ric Flair.

My South is Hank Williams 1, 2 AND 3. Toby Keith AND the Dixie Chicks. OutKast AND Earl Scruggs. My South is Stevie Ray Vaughan, Waylon Jennings and By God Johnny Cash will NEVER Die as long as I’m still wearing black.

My South has attitude and a long memory. My South has learned from her mistakes. My South gave you George Wallace AND Dr. King, and my South still has that dream.

My South is my daddy getting’ up at 5 o’clock every morning, climbin’ into a log truck and workin’ like a dog past dark every night. At 75 years old. My South is still calling her “Mama” after all these years and not thinkin’ nothing about it. My South is homemade peach ice cream, cookin’ a pig for Fourth of July, cake walks at square dances and a mountain of casseroles after my brother’s funeral, because my South takes care of her own.

My South is freeways AND Dirt roads. Pig pickin’s AND gourmet cuisine. Merlefest AND Spoleto. My South revels in our contradictions and is never, EVER short on style.

My name is John Givens Hartness from Bullock Creek South Carolina and this is My South.

Coolness

There's a lot of backstory here, but it boils down to the coolest surprise I've gotten all year, so hang with me.

Once upon a time I get an email from Anne, another theatre person in town. It tells me about this spoken word contest that Turner South TV Network is doing, called Speak out for My South. Come up with a 2-3 minute piece about what the south means to you, present it at The Evening Muse, and if you're one of the 12 finalists, you get $100.

Sounded cool, so I wrote something up.

I made the finals. And the producers loved me! So I got them to schedule me to go last on the night of the finals, because I was in a performance that night. So I rushed ass over to Spirit Square, performed my piece, and was NOT the night's winner. So no additional $500 for me. Oh well, it was taped for TV and that was cool. Maybe I'd see myself.

Then it went into rotation during the Braves games. Pretty heavy rotation. My mom saw it, my dad saw it, it was pretty cool. They decided that I hadn't completely wasted my college education, after all. If any of you saw those spots, I was the fat guy with the goatee wearing a Johnny Cash T-Shirt.

So a couple months after that I get an email from someone saying they're with Turner South, and that they want me to go to New York to perform my poem. All expenses paid, with a small per diem. I'm always game for a trip to NYC, then the dates clicked, and I asked "is this a Republican thing?"

Yes. It was a party thrown by a Congressman from Mississippi whose name escapes me now, except for Skip, which I'm sure is no help. His wife was tired of people in DC asking if she wore shoes when she was at home in Miss., so she decided to throw a big Southern party in NYC for the Republican convention.

Now I'm unaffiliated, but NOT a G.W. fan, so I was a little leery, but decided a free trip to NY was doing my part to topple the regime by taking their money. So I went. When I got there, Pat from Turner told me that since one or two of the poets had issues with performing for the Man, they were going to give us a stipend in addition to our per diem. Even better.

Well, GW didn't show, just as well, but Trent Lott was there, and a bunch of guys with earpieces and a pile of muscle and bulges under their arms, so I guess there were a bunch of governmental types. I did my thing, got my check, and flew home. $750 to the better. I wouldn't have gotten that much if I'd won.

So on to today, not quite a year later, the whole rock star thing being forgotten, and Turner South sends me a package. It's a book, called My South, culled from poems from all the participants from all over the south last year. I thought "cool" but didn't really expect much, because Turner is now sending me cool My South stuff whenever they make it, but I started to flip through it.

They published my poem. This is an advance copy of a real book that real people who have never heard of me can buy on Amazon and my words are in it. And that is so totally the fulfillment of a lifelong dream of mine, to be a published writer. Although I guess technically blogging counts, but not until someone reads it.

AND there's a DVD included with the book featuring 15 performances of the My South Speaks stuff, and I'm on it!!!! I stuck it in the Xbox to see, thinking "no way," but hoping, and then got disappointed when I wasn't in the first set of 5. Or the second. And then I got to the third, and not only am I there, I'm the closer! I get the spot of honor as the last performance on the disc, the thing that people are left with if they watch the whole thing. BADASS. I flipped through very briefly to see if the other folks that performed in NYC with me (there were 4 other poets, although I kept telling them I am not a poet) on there, but didn't see anything.

So not only has my poem (partial) been published in a book that can be sold all over the country, but my whole performance is on the DVD that comes with it, not just the 30 seconds they ran on TV. It means even more to me because the part that they published is the ending, where I talk about my dad.

I'll post the poem tomorrow, need to find an electronic copy.

Quote of the day

There are pigs in the orchestra pit. I'm going back to the hotel.

I love my new Project Manager, he's got good stories.

Rant-omage

I already have a blog. Why do I need another one? Well, that one's a poker blog, part of a large network of poker blogs, and my attempt to track becoming better (I hope) at the craze that has become poker. But I still need a place to vent random shite, and blog random shite. I find it therapeautic (sp?), and I'm all in favor of some therapy lately.

SOOOOOO. What's on my mind?

Basically what's on my mind is Off-Tryon. Off-Tryon Theatre Company is my theatre company. I pretty much mean that literally, since I was a co-founder of the company five years ago, I'm the managing director, and I've put my life on hold essentially for five years to run this company. So now I'm not sure that I have the energy to keep it going.

Five years is a long time in the life of a struggling theatre group, and trust me, we've struggled. There have been times in the evolution of this company that I've started at every loud truck noise coming down my street, just sure that it was a tow truck coming to repo my car. I've been sent to collections for my mortgage, almost defaulted on my student loans, dropped out of grad school because I couldn't afford to go to school and run a theatre (financially or mentally), and had huge fights with my wife about why the fuck we continue to do it.

But then we hit one out of the park, and we remember why we do it. We've done some incredible theatre, some stuff I'm really proud of. Our production of Corpus Christi is still my favorite experience in 16 years of theatre. Our production of Never the Sinner was named Best Drama by the local arts paper, and our production of Sylvia was named Best Comedy by a jury of our peers in the Metrolina Theatre Association. There are actors getting paid work and better roles because we took a chance on them when they were unknowns. There's a decent, if struggling, independent theatre scene in Charlotte that didn't exist to this degree when we started up, and there are now more warehouse theatres than used to exist.

So I know we've done some good. But it hasn't gotten any easier. If anything, it's gotten harder. As I've gotten more responsibility at work I've had less time to spend during the workday on Off-Tryon business, so some things like publicity don't get done in as timely a fashion, and we can't get any consistent volunteer help to work on these things. And we don't have the cash to pay for someone to do them. And without publicity, there are no asses in seats. Which means no revenue, which means no money for publicity. Vicious cycle. And now we've closed down our own facility and moved in with another group of a similar type, which is working out fairly well so far, except now there's two groups' shite in a building that can't really hold one group's shite. But we've cut overhead by about 35-40% by sharing space, which is the only way both companies have survived this long.

And now I'm trying to cast the show to kick off our 2005-2006 season, which is a great lineup. We start with God's Country, a play about the white supremacist group The Order. Then we do Glenn's new play Intimate E-pistles, which Julie is directing. Then we do The Maids and My Sister in this House as a double bill. Then Six Characters in Search of an Author and close with The Shape of Things. That is, if we can cast the first show!

I need 11 actors and a kid. So far, I've had about 6 people that I've offered parts to have scheduling conflicts, two read the play and hated it, one got injured and can't do the show, and ONE, and actor that I've cast in a bunch of things over the years, accepted the part (reluctantly, although he never expressed that reluctanct to me) and then dropped out when he was offered a leading role in a different show. So I'm discouraged by the trouble in casting, and feel actually really betrayed by this other actor for taking the part and dropping out. I certainly would have understod if I'd known he was interested in the other show, but without any notice to drop out, I was furious. Now I'm just hurt.

I really start to wonder - is it me? Is it our company? I don't know what the reputation of the company is with actors, but we don't have critics constantly blowing sunshine up our bungholes like some other folks in town do. Our stuff is sometimes hit or miss, but any independent theatre is going to be! So I'm workng on casting the show, but damn, this shit of working all the time on shows gets old. Especially when you feel like you're expected to work on all the shows, and make sure that they're all great, but if it's one of your shows, you feel left out in the wind, twisting.

I'm just ranting, I think. I'm at least 65% sure that I'm not yet ready to walk away. But some things have to change, because I'm burned out. I don't have another five years like this in me.

Untitles

The title of this blog comes from the song Verdi Cries by 10,000 maniacs. My friends Rebecca and Susie used to sing this to me, Jay and Steven as we would traipse around campus and the cemetery right off campus back in our college daze. Let's see what comes of it.