Not to be confused with “diva”ticulitis

In last week’s blog, I discussed some of the issues involved in directing six women in a play at the Lake Benton Opera House. I wrapped it up with my Top Ten Comments You Don’t Want To Hear From Your Cast. As it turns out, after the ladies read my blog last week, I was told in no short order that I had to offer equal time this week. When they say “jump,” I dutifully utter the question, “how high?” Of course, most of you won’t get these inside jokes, but if it makes my divas feel better, they can write my blog this week. That being said, here—directly from the cast of “Delval Divas,” (opening October 2 at the Opera House) are the Top Fifteen Comments You Don’t Want To Hear From Your Director…
15. Apparently the root canal you had today also removed your funny bone?
14. Neurotic does NOT mean Angry!
13. No one in the audience wants to see your butt!
12. You can "act" like you are drinking wine, but I don't advise that you actually drink alcohol onstage.
11. Do not look at the person you are speaking to, regardless of what you were taught about good communication skills.
10. Could you totally change everything you have been doing so far and "act" neurotic? By the way...we open in one week!
9. It's Diverticulitis NOT Diverticulosis...there IS a difference!
8. Could you please do a better job of enunciating “statistically significant occurrence in the rise of malignant melanoma"?
7. I'm thinking it would be funny to give the "large" girl the part that involves exercising on stage instead of eating. Maybe NOW she'll get the hint.
6. Don't just sit there, get up and walk around, do something like you would at home.
5. Wear whatever you want but you don't have to wear jammies just because it's late at night.
4. No more prompting lines from the script, if you forget your lines, get yourself out of it.
3. Right there! That is the spot you ALWAYS MISS".
2. Don't pay any attention to the good lookin' fella in the sound booth. He's not eye candy, he has FEELINGS. (Submitted by the guy in the sound booth.)
And the number one Comment You Don’t Want To Hear From Your Director…
1. Sorry, the budget doesn't allow for another box of Kleenex, just use your sleeve.
I should mention that there are some comments they don’t want to hear from the director that they have yet to even know about. Here, I add the Top Three Comments We Haven’t Heard, Yet Still May Hear From Our Director…
3. Wait until you see what I wrote about you in the programs.
2. Yeah…Becky and Beth…I’m thinking about you two switching parts.
1. Whatever you do, DON’T look in the sound booth. He’s naked again.
***
For those of you in the Tyler area, the promotions committee will be providing a free family fun night on Saturday night (Sept. 26) at the fairgrounds (weather permitting). Free admission, free popcorn and free pop. The movie will start shortly after 8:00 PM. “The Soloist” starring Robert Downy Jr. and Jamie Foxx will be showing. Bring your own chair or blanket and probably a coat.

Coming to a theater near you…

For the first time in many years, I’m looking forward to enjoying to the fullest my favorite season of the year. I’m beginning to become a bit impatient with the 80-degree temps that have followed us into mid-September, but I have plenty of time to wait.
Beginning back in 1997, each fall would coincide with the beginning of the school year, which meant lots of photo opportunities for the newspaper, but that also meant very few nights at home. During those years I was doing my best to cover boys and girls sports for different combinations of Lake Benton, Lincoln HI and RTR, so there was an opportunity to go to a game most nights. Mix that in with other school events as well as city council and school board meetings and it would seem I’d be home long enough to shower and sleep. It was fun while it lasted, but since I was run out of the newspaper business I’ve finally been looking forward to a fall and winter that affords me a bit more time to lollygag.
I still fill up my evenings about four months each year with Opera House obligations, but would be lost if I were ever forced to give that up. This fall I get a bonus in that I get to spend those evenings with my wife Kathy, who is part of the cast of “Delval Divas.”
The cast consists of six “divas,” and I get to spend about six weeks pretending to boss them around. Of course they allow me to feel like I’m in charge for the most part, but I really have no recourse if they decide not to take my direction. It’s not all that different from being married. I get to make the decisions they allow me to make.
Kathy Wilmes of Tyler plays the part of Stella Wild, a former Wall Street wizard; Teresa Schreurs of Tyler returns as Rosemary Adams, who single-handedly brought down several financial institutions; Becky Clipper of Tyler is back on our stage as Linda Robertson, who skimmed money from HMOs; Opera House veteran Sara Vogt of Tyler plays the part of Beth Ziegler, serving time for technology crimes; Beth Reams of Brookings, SD joins us as Sharon Watson, accused of murder; and Kim Wylie of Brookings, SD plays the prison guard, Lucille. Beth and Kim are appearing for the first time on our stage.
I always enjoy summer musicals probably in part because of the feeling of satisfaction when I complete something of such enormous proportions with my sanity intact. That is somewhat tempered by the fact that it is hard to say if any of us really know the state of our own sanity. That is probably better judged by those around me.
The fall play, however, is different in many ways. The most notable is a small cast lends itself to a camaraderie that you don’t get with a cast of 40. More often than not cast members remain friends for many years. Of course there is also less stress with no music or choreography to direct.
This play is relatively new compared to most we’ve done in the past. Four women are sent “up the river” for a variety of white collar crimes. The women are all chronically rich and by lining the warden’s pockets, as well as the prison guard, they end up living a very cushy existence at the Delaware Valley Correctional facility. Manicures, pedicures, massages, catered food, and satellite TV are some of the many perks these convicts have procured. Life is good until they learn that one of the four is being released and will be replaced by a woman accused of murder one. Come see the play. It is a hoot. Opening night is October 2 with shows on October 3, 4, 9, 10 and 11.
Until then, I’ll be enjoying the act of pretending I’m bossing around six women. That is, if they continue to allow me to pretend…
Top Ten Comments You Don’t Want To Hear From Your Cast…
10. “When do we get our first paychecks?”
9. “How about THIS Mr. Big Shot Director…I’ll look over my lines on page 23 when we get home tonight. As a matter of fact I can take care of that while you are out in the garage setting up your cot.”
8. “I’ll just come out and say it. My doctor says I have H1N1.”
7. “What? You want more emotion? Come here you Bob Fosse wannabe, we’ll give you more emotion.”
6. “Hey there Tubby, why is the candy dish always empty?”
5. “Yeah, we’ve been talking and we’ve decided we’re going to be using real alcohol on stage.”
4. “Whatever! Diverticulitis, Diverticulosis, what’s the difference?”
3. “Oh, by the way Mark, we voted on it and we’ve decided to let you go.”
2. “I hate my picture…you’ll just have to redo the posters, newsletters and advertising.”
And the Number One Comment You Don’t Want To Hear From Your Cast:1. “I’m sure I told you at tryouts that I wouldn’t be able to make opening night…”

The Miracle on #8

Okay, okay, okay, I get it…I promise to never again end a column with me in the hospital and no further explanation. I had several calls and emails asking for more info, in addition to a stern reprimand from Mom. I assure you all that if I had actually died, I would have included that in the column. Fortunately, however, I lived—I just didn’t want to give away the ending.
For those of you who used to read my newspaper column late in 2007 and early 2008, you received blow-by-blow descriptions of the surgical procedures and ensuing recovery. When we last left our soon-to-be-deposed editor’s health issues, he had received a skin graft that was about 90% successful. To this day, however, I’m still dealing with that final 10%.
Over the weekend, that final 10% was ground zero for an infection that was gradually turning my skin red and highly sensitive radiating up from the “issue” I still have on my abdomen. It continued to grow until I called the clinic on Monday and made an appointment for Tuesday afternoon to have it checked out by Dr. Snow.
Of course, as you learned last week, I had that little issue of participating in my first ever round of golf on Tuesday morning.
The weather was about perfect for me on Tuesday, with temps in the low 60s, as I whiffed my first three tee-off attempts from the ladies line on #1 at the Slayton Golf Course. What I would soon learn is that the other three in my group were nearly is bad as me, making the afternoon somewhat less painful.
We only kept track of the first nine strokes on each hole. I would finish the day several hours later having recorded “9” on seven of the nine holes we played.
We spent the next few hours defoliating trees, de-sodding fairways, filling creeks with balls and burying balls in sand traps. Somehow I began with a Top Flite ball on #1 and ended up with a Titleist on #9. We think it might have happened during the first water hazard incident. We sent a SWAT team (Lyrae) down the precipice to retrieve the ball lying in the mud that we thought was mine, when in reality mine may have been one of the 12 that were being slowly sucked downstream in the undertow.
With our motley group of hackers, it was always wise to keep your head up and ready to dive. You just really never knew which direction some of those loose cannons were headed.
Carts needed to be kept in the background also. Fortunately I had already de-boarded my cart the time it took that one attack from an incoming dimpled sphere.
As I mentioned, I had shot a “9” on seven of the holes. One of the holes I scored an 8, and through some sort of weird sports miracle, I shot par on the par 3 #8 hole.
After whacking my way through the first seven holes 20 feet at a time, I shot par on #8! Thinking that golf was finally starting to click with me, I swaggered up to the ladies teeing ground on #9, placed my ball on the tee, wiggled my backside for a second, addressed the ball (not sure exactly what that means), took a big backswing and with a mighty grunting swing…the ball traveled about three feet sideways. Somewhere around 10 or 11 strokes later, I put my ball in the cup.
The four+ hours we spent on the course were probably equal parts fun and frustration. Of course for those of us who bear the curse of unnatural plumpness, the game offers a few special challenges. The most glaring would be the fear that the cart is going to tip over on your side…before you even begin moving.
Then there is that apprehension that one of these times, you might not be able to pull yourself out of the sand trap and up that steep incline onto the green.
Oh, and then there is the reality that it takes a major expenditure of gumption just to try to touch your toes in front of your golf mates, and when you finally sink that putt, the ball ends up five inches BELOW your toes. I circumvented the problem with a combination of strategic positioning of my feet and proper crutch (putter) placement followed by a grand plié and half pirouette. I’m hoping there’s no video.
Turns out no humans or animals were injured during the debacle and I would guess I’ll be doing it again a year from now.
As I mentioned, my day also included a trip to the clinic. The infection that I first noticed two days before had brewed into quite a spectacle. Dr. Snow was concerned enough that he threw everything at it but the kitchen sink, with a threat that if it hadn’t improved by Wednesday, I would be spending the night at the THC Hilton. I ended up avoiding that scenario, and after a couple hours of stuff dripping into my veins and 10 days of horse pills I’m happy to say I’m slowly improving.
I always have some reservations when Dr. Snow starts putting stuff into my body. I have this irrational fear that he may have one of the nurses slip me a bag of his Republican serum and I’ll wake up to find myself making ludicrous accusations and speaking of pulling the plug on grandma. It didn’t help that I overheard him telling Kathy that if she notices over the course of the next week that I’m starting to lean a little bit to the right, that she should just ignore it. In my fitful dreams later that night, this comment was also accompanied by evil laughter and scary organ music…
I will be making a return visit to the clinic on Friday and hopefully the antibiotics will have done the trick. I’d hate to give the good doctor a chance to inflict another round of that mysterious cocktail he was pumping into my veins on Tuesday.
Years from now, I probably won’t remember much about the day.
For sure, however, the memories of The Miracle On #8 will never fade.

Having a ball, thanks

I’ve had an eventful few days since we last talked. I’m not sure why I have more than my share of those, but it keeps life interesting and gives you poor entertainment-starved folks something to read about. It also affords you the opportunity to comparatively feel better about how your own life is shuffling along.
My latest round of hard-to-believe weirdness began on Saturday. I sang at a wedding in the afternoon (congratulations Cathy and Adam Feste). The only thing weird there was singing a Bon Jovi song in Danebod Lutheran Church. A Bon Jovi song just can’t be sung in, say, a Michael Buble voice. It has to be sung in a rock and roll voice. Have you ever been in a very noisy room and you are talking really loud to the next person and everything suddenly falls silent except you, who continues to scream for a few seconds? It kinda feels like that. Only this one lasted for four minutes and 12 seconds.
This isn’t quite so traumatic if you can actually sing like Bon Jovi. I can’t.
I got through it, however, and everyone who accidentally made eye contact with me told me I did a nice job.
On Saturday evening we followed the wedding procession to the Hadley Community Center. Kathy and I were in charge of getting the Cathy and Adam video set up and projected on the wall for the guests to see after dinner was served. It came off with nary a hitch and then the event shifted to the dance portion. At this point Kathy and I were in charge of staying awake until the end of the night to transport a couple of the slightly chemically altered participants back to Tyler. Suddenly, about an hour into the dance I got extremely tired…I mean more than my usual perpetual grogginess…and started shivering uncontrollably. We would have to go back 25-30 years for me to think of the last time I was shivering uncontrollably, and that involved a stalled car and 20-below wind chill. With the dance ending at midnight, I figured I could just suck it up and get through. By midnight I was begging and pleading for the night to end, when the D.J. excitedly announced he had been “persuaded” to PLAY ANOTHER HALF HOUR!!!
With the help of a short stint in the car snoozing with the heater blasting, I got through the night. I might take a second to note here that I had been home doing nothing for most of the previous 50 or so Saturdays and I felt fine. Just dumb luck, I guess.
I finally found myself in bed sometime after 2:00 AM. I never would have guessed how difficult it would ultimately be to drag myself back out. I slept nearly non-stop until 6:00 AM on Monday. I did take about a four-hour break where I sat up and dozed Sunday evening. Along with the chills and sleepiness, I was experiencing dizziness, headaches, nausea and growing evidence of a sinus infection. The same symptoms I get when I hear Sarah Palin speak. Monday morning I still had a tough time dragging myself out of bed to get ready to work.
And actually, it was more than just work. Tacked on to the end of the day was a company Summer Fun event. I was going bowling…for the first time in 25 years, and the last time was a disaster.
Each year the company I work for, enXco, gives the employees a day in the summer to go out and enjoy some fun with their co-workers and just generally give you a chance to get away from the usual grind. The group I work with was given a choice of bowling or golf. I, being one of the office rats, was afforded the luxury of attending both the Monday night bowling outing, and the Tuesday morning golf outing. Um…OK…I was told there was no choice, I HAD to go. Hazing, maybe.
Three times since I started at enXco back in March I have been told I would participate in some sort of activity that I at one time would have told you I would never do over the course of my life. Flying was first, then came bowling and golfing. Bungee jumping comes up and I swear, I’m out of there. A man should have to endure only so much happiness in his life…and mine is already filled with marriage.
So I drug myself to work and for another eight hours fought whatever sleeping bug I caught over the weekend. By 4:30 when we were heading to the bowling alley, I was actually starting to feel somewhat human, and figured I might actually live through the experience.
We started the evening with the most amazing baked potato bar that my palette had ever experienced. Imagine a big steamy potato topped with burger and onions and melted cheese and ham and sour cream and shredded cheddar and did I mention burger? It was delicious. The problem was that I hadn’t eaten hardly anything since early Saturday evening, and I didn’t dare unleash the barrage that I craved on my sickness-ravaged insides. But what I had was delectable.
Unfortunately, it seems like every time a guy ends up at a bowling outing, the activities eventually end up being all about bowling.
There were 10 of us bowling and we bowled three…er…rounds(?) over the course of the evening. The first round was “regular” bowling. I found that I have some genetic predisposition to release the ball with enough spin that no matter where the ball starts in the lane, it ends up in the left hand gutter. I’m sure there are those of you who would mutter that I’ve always kind of gravitated to the left. In bowling, however, that can be detrimental. Try as I might, I never shaved more than two or three pins off the left side of the…er…“triangle o’ pins”(?) I bowled in the low 50s.
My gloom and frustration, though, dissipated in “round” two. We moved from regular bowling to sort of variety bowling. Each frame we rotated from regular hand to opposite hand to granny style forwards to granny style backwards. Suddenly the pins were exploding off my ball. Somehow I managed to pull off the third highest score. I was just happy I got through the whole backwards granny thing with out getting my ball wedged between my thighs.
I should have polished my nails on my chest and strolled out the front door at that point. Round three was back to regular bowling. I was back to a 56.
The night ended with some very nice gifts from the company and all-in-all, a pleasant surprise…even without my 8” ViewSonic Digital Photo Frame with SwifTouch Touch-Frame Technology and my 12” Pilsner Minnesota Twins Freezer Glass.
Monday night, I knew, was the easy hurdle. The next day the bar would be lifted. I had NEVER played a round(?) of golf. I had never even stood on a green.
Next week: At 9:30 AM I was standing on the first…er…“tee-off place” at the Slayton Golf Course. At 5:30 I was lying in the Tyler hospital with an I.V. draining into my arm.