Tears from Hell

Today started innocently enough. The sun was shining despite the snow storm yesterday. I actually felt like we were close to the end. I said, "Gee, J, You know what today is? MONDAY. You know what that means? 3 days, 2 nights left." We both laughed. Things seemed ok. And then....While I was at wal mart returning an iron that was dirty when I bought it Friday (That didn't quite stop me from using it this weekend...)

Phone call #1.
J: Hello?
General Manager: Hi, um, so your Rain Curtain won't get here till Thursday, which means you won't get to see it. They know what to do, right?
J: But I won't have seen it....Sigh.

We got in the car and found a new and faster way to our warehouse. Biting back anger, J suggested that she fly back from Buffalo and if it was OK if I drove back alone (I have to be back home by 7 PM on Thursday.) Of course, it's OK but I felt sad that she had to stay an extra night by herself, though she has LD and P to keep her sane, I can't help but feel sad that at least we'd be tortured together if I were there.

We got to the space, and of course, my stitcher wasn't there and I had to pick up my dear dear friend and the wig designer, Bobo the hair monkey. As I was running out to the car to get him, Ms. Parole showed up with the Enemy, and I sent her in to J to get the notes (because THAT's J's job...to dole out costume notes to an ex-con who is an hour late to work because her BOSS couldn't get her there on time...) Anyway, Bobo the Hair Monkey's plane was only 25 minutes late, and I was glad to be sitting in the parking lot having nothing to do with the play.

I got him back to the space, where he ACTUALLY got the people he needed for fittings while I had to go have a meeting with the REAL Lort B theater in town about a show I'm designing there in February. (For twice as much money. With the same budget. And 1/25th of the costumes).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...Ms. Parole proceeded to tell the following very sad story. "My sister was murdered at 26 in Tennessee by a man she met at a truck stop. My baby brother blew his brains out when he got home from desert storm. My first baby boy died of SIDS and my mother told me it was my fault." J thought it was like Ms. Parole vomited her sorrow on her while she sat there thinking..."I have two parents who loved me and I'm a set designer." What do you say to all that? And now, you're here? How do we complain about that? Pain is so fucking relative. Perhaps that is what this experience is teaching us....

Despite that sad, sad story, the day was pretty monotonous and chill. I got lost on my way back to the warehouse trying to find a retarded shoe store and some hairspray and got back 2 hours late with VERY tasty tofu bbq. The stupid brother sewing machine I bought fought with J all day (Note to self: $78.99 sewing machines suck. They barely stitch velcro onto anything. And definitely don't stitch webbing.).

Then, after a trip to the bathroom, J was accosted by Douchemonkey IN the bathroom.
Douchemonkey: We need to talk somewhere private.
J: uh, uh, ok.
Douchemonkey: I need to talk to you about all the money you've been spending.
J: What?
Douchemonkey: All the money on the home depot card.
J: I don't have the home depot card so you need to include P on the convo.
They got P.
Douchemonkey: You spent too much money.
It all boiled down to this: Of the $898 spent on the Home Depot card, only $365 has been on Scenery, and the rest was on P's road kit, which was all approved.

Phone call # 53 (It was a slow day...)
J: (on voicemail). Producer, it's J. I just got scolded for spending money that I did not spend. Thank you.
The jist is that she didn't spend the money and all of it was approved. J has a childhood problem of being scolded for things she didn't do!!!

We had a decent run with wigs and costumes for the first time. It was kind of a miracle, and Bobo the Hair Monkey only was told by 3 actors how to do his job. One actress said, "I can't hear, it must be because I have hair!"

That was AWESOME. Better than the time an actress cried because I made more space in the hood of her costume and she cried because, to quote her, "YOU CAN SEE MY EARS!!!! YOU CAN SEEEEEEE MY EEEEEEEEEEEEEARS!!!"

After sitting through notes for the actors, we finally did some tech notes, and LD almost broke (after chauffeuring again all day.) They blamed him for something that wasn't his fault (BIG SHOCK). They'd said his equipment wouldn't be there until Wednesday, and then he said fine, and then both Mallet and Producer started to scold him because for some reason, someone said it all had to get there Tuesday and they started playing the blame game when LD said it was OK that his lighting package didn't get there until Wednesday. AGAIN, twisting words, twisting words.

OH--and the producers don't want to pay for a harness for an actress to climb a 14 foot telephone pole. CUZ THAT IS SMART.

Alas, at 11:37:
Phone call #72 (it really was a slow day.)

"I ACTUALLY SAW A MOMENT OF TRUE UNDERSTANDING ON MALLET'S FACE." LD said.... He gave LD 12 hours to hang, focus, and WRITE cues before actors are onstage for an audience. For the first time, Mallet said something useful, "I will get those lights for you tomorrow."

Today broke J. She burst into tears at the kitchen table in front of her computer. She and LD are where I was when I had the meltdown last week. She kept repeating that it IS SO against her nature to be so angry, so so angry (We're talking black belt in Karate here...). I reminded her that she has beyond paid her dues, and the people here seem to think that she (and all of us) need to pay our dues. That we're YOUNG designers (a quote from GM). I was told, "You're Young, you can handle it?" How many designers my age have a Broadway show, extensive regional credits, and a major opera under our belts? How many designers J's age have been an associate on 3 Broadway shows, extensive regional credits, and teach at one of the best theater schools in the country. Fuckers, fuckers fuckers. We have MASTER'S DEGREES!!!!! Our master's degree didn't come with a course entitled, "Working for Retards 101." Frankly, we'd have needed "Working for Retards 425". And from now on, we've decided we need to have a "Retarded Clause" in our contracts that lets us out if there is anything even moderately retarded pointed in our general direction. I'd like to use the retarded lifeline, I need to call a friend.
J: You have 60 seconds...let me ask you a question...
Me: "Yes J, there is a retarded clause, you can leave."
LD doesn't want a lifeline, he wants a mafioso connection.

My soul was killed long ago.
J's soul broke tonight.
LD's soul can't break, it just gets angry. He's gonna cry himself to sleep!!!

I'm going to poetically end this blog with lyrics that bring to mind this situation (with a few lyrics changed to fit our experience here at the MCPA)

"Tears from Hell" (kind of by EC)
Time can bring you down
Time can bend your knee
Time can break your heart
Have you begging please
GET ME OUT!!!!!

Beyond the door
There's peace I'm sure.
And I know there'll be no more...
Tears in Hell....

I must be strong, and carry on
Cause I know I don't belong
Here in Hell...

OR:
"All the little Whos in Whoville just want to drink poison" LD