The New Renaissance Man

Mood: Pensive
Units of Caffeine: 8

Wow. Has it honestly been over two years since I last wrote an entry in this thing? Not that I had a swarm of readers, but I am certain that anyone who visited this blog with any form of regularity has long since moved on to more active sites.

Time, as always has played a large role in my inactivity, but to be honest, I was also getting rather bored with writing about the petty issues of my life and seemingly endless rantings about theatre. I’ve also made a very conscious effort to limit my time sitting in front of a computer. For one, I practically spend all day in front of a computer at work. Why on earth would I want to spend more time in front of it at home? Another issue is that I found myself becoming so involved with virtual social networking that (ironically) I felt that I was losing touch with people. So, in lieu of virtual social networking, I’ve become more involved with actual social networking, visiting friends, going out for drinks, etc. What a concept!

As for writing – well, this (and my following entries) my still be petty to some, but I’ve once again felt the urge to write about what’s happening in my life. I’ve felt an odd pull over the past couple of years – the pull of actually becoming the responsible adult I feel that I should have become some 10+ years ago. But, really, when do we become “adults”? Is there a specific numerical age? Is it when some form of authority deems that we have enough reason to make important decisions like voting or drinking alcoholic beverages? Or is it when we begin to make major purchases like cars and houses? At 35, married, having a career, having bought a car and gone through the process of buying a house, selling said house, and buying another house; I feel that I should be a mature, responsible adult – I feel that I should have felt like this a long time ago. But I still feel like the fun, carefree, college-going person I was well over a decade ago. Although, over the past year or two, I’ve started feeling the pangs of adulthood with my job. Not to say that I’ve ever been non-caring about any job I’ve held, but my employment has become much more than simply a “job”. I’ve gone from simply coming into work, doing my job well, and coming home. I take on more responsibility. I work longer hours, thinking a lot about my goals, and have taken great steps toward my goal of running a theatre company. But the pull toward the “mature adult” got stronger when K and I finally stopped talking about having a kid and started taking action for one. (Well, I can’t really say “start taking action”. We’ve had many, many years of practice. One fine day we made the decision to simply "remove the goalie".)

I have to say, unprotected sex felt… weird. Yeah, I know, not the term one would expect. But up to that point, protected sex was the only sex I had ever experienced. Even after marriage, the time was never right to have a child. As, I have now learned, there is NEVER a right time to have a child – you have to just make up your mind that it’s going to happen and just take the plunge. But, back to the unprotected sex thing… All throughout high school and into college, I was lectured ad infinitum about how having a child would completely ruin my life. Along with the rhetorical question of “When do you become an adult?” I would also ask, “When is it suddenly ‘okay’ to have a kid?” I remember a point in my life where, like a flick of a switch, the opinions of my elders switched from “Having a child will effectively destroy my world” to “Having a child is the best and brightest thing that will ever happen to me.” So, when the hell did that happen? How and when exactly did the switch take place? It’s easy enough for a person to tell me one thing on Monday and completely change directions on Tuesday, but it’s a completely different thing to get my brain to switch this line of thinking. So, although the unprotected sex was some of the best sex I ever experienced, I had this strange feeling that I was doing something wrong – I was doing something I shouldn’t be doing… (which probably added to it being so great!)

Three months later, K found out that she was pregnant. And although I overcame my mental barriers to actually conceive a child, I still can't help but think, “Am I really ready to be a father?” Friends and family all tell me that I am, but how do I get to the point of feeling that I am ready to do this? I began reading parenting books for dads. As I soon found out, this was a horrible idea. Is there not an author in the world that believes there are men out there who understand and are willing to embrace the responsibilities of supporting their wives and raising their children? Every book I started reading seemed to believe that men are bumbling, irresponsible scums of the earth who would be inclined to punch their wives in the gut and leave their 2-week old infant alone in a bath tub with a hair dryer. One by one, I stopped reading every book I picked up because I would either get too angry or too depressed to continue. Granted there are guys out there who are not prepared for fatherhood, who are complete assholes and could use some schooling on the subject. (Just tune in to Lifetime and you’ll see a program about this very fact. That is, when they're not airing reruns of The Golden Girls.) But really, are those the types of guys who would willingly go out and read books on the subject of parenthood?

So, having given up on the books specifically geared toward men, I just began reading the mothering books. K and I also recently got a subscription to Parenting. The magazine is informative enough; it brings up some great parenting issues and advice, encourages a strong family bond, but ironically seems to take the father out of the picture. In their latest issue, there are two pieces that involve dad: one is a short, quarter page Q&A piece of how Davis Guggenheim views parenthood, and the other is a 1-page article about a dad’s musings on fatherly advice. But all the remaining articles in the 108-page magazine are either about mom or how mom will take care of the child. And the majority of pictures: moms and babies. There are a handful of “dad & baby” pictures, but they are far and few between.

The mere fact that I am angered by these books and periodicals that either make dad out to be a major fuck-up, or (worse) take him out of the picture completely tells me that I am a responsible dad who cares for and loves his wife and future son very much. But publishers, authors, and marketing agencies take note: It’s 2011. Resist the urge to use mono-parenting phrases like “Choosy moms choose JIF,” or showing a 30-something year old woman in a hoody as the only adult in a SUV full of kids.

Today’s Renaissance Men are out there. And we’re not only interested in the arts and sciences, but parenthood as well.

Catching Up

Mood: Grey
Units of Caffeine: 2.5
Song: The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get - Morrissey

I think I'm just going to start scheduling time within my daily schedule to blog; otherwise, I'm just not going to do it for several months. Things at the theatre remain busy and stressful - and I am constantly asking myself questions like: "Why am I doing this?" and "Is this what I really want to do / how I want to live?" I never pursued theatre for money. Anyone who does this needs a severe kick in the ass with a reality check. Before working in the theatre, I was working as an office monkey: there was no real future, not a hell of a lot of responsibility, but it delivered a nice paycheck. But, as I said, I don't live to work - so, I continued to pursue my career in the theatre, and after a long ordeal of search, I found an entry-level position, and jumped at the offer, even though I had to take a siginificant pay cut from my last job. As long as I can afford to live and put a little into savings, I'm a happy guy. So, I do what every theatre nerd does: I work many hours a day and don't get a lot of money for it - but I love what I do. But lately, it's gotten very challenging.

My theatre hasn't been able to hold onto a managing director - the person to whom I directly report. I have been at this theatre for a little over a year, and have gone through four leadership transitions. With each new managing director, I go through my desires to grow within the institution and start working my way up the ropes. But when one leaves and another steps in, I'm back to square one. I've done this four times, and it's extremely aggravating. Everyone who has been hired within the theatre subsiquent to me has excelled and moved up - except me. I feel like I'm just getting a bunch of false starts. And whereas I feel that I have learned enough to write a textbook on how not to manage a theatre - my roles and responsibilities have not changed at all since I started the job.

As if this weren't enough - the theatre is not doing so well. Well... what theatre is doing well in this economy? But in light of decreased ticket sales and smaller contributions, the theatre is forced to but the budget by 18%. What this means is significant decreases across the board, including a 20% reduction in payroll, which either means a corresponding cut in pay or a 6 to 8-week furlough period. Like I said - I'm not in theatre for the money, but if/when this happens, my pay will no longer meet my single qualification of simply filling my everyday needs in order to live. I will either need to subsidize my pay with another job - or I can simply get another office monkey job and not be so stressed out all the time.

This is an extremely difficult conversation I am having with myself. The question, of course, is which one of these will leave me happier overall. I can't help but think that this is a lose-lose situation. On one hand, I will be working myself ragged for very little money, with the possibility of not being able to make ends meet. On the other, I will be sacraficing my career for something I won't care about.

Be Afraid

Mood: Pensive
Units of Caffeine: 6

SHREK, The Musical is in previews this week, and an audition announcement was just posted for Carl Sagen's, CONTACT, The Musical.

Nope, I'm not making this up, folks.

The Daily Grind

Mood: Stressed
Song: Boulevard of Broken Dreams – Green Day
Units of Caffeine: 0.5

Wow – so it seems that a few seasons have past by without a sniff of a blog. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder how I went through grad school: I took classes, worked full-time, got involved in theatre – (often tackling a few productions simultaneously), spent time with friends, and still had time for a home life. I barely have half of those things occurring in my life right now, and I feel like I have no time at all. What is it? As you get older someone mysteriously removes an hour or two from your day?

I’m beginning the think that the amount of stress one has in one’s life has something to do with this phenomenon. Although I love my job, it had presented stress and challenges that I have never before faced. And whereas I have been in some stressful situations while in grad school; there was always an end in sight, and these stressful times were equally balanced with times of calm. Oh yeah, I was always doing something, but not all of it was stressful. My current job in the theatre contains constant, daily stress – and it’s the worse stress of all: it’s completely unpredictable. There seems to be a plethora of fire to put out every day; and once you’ve put three fires out, five new ones appear from places you would least likely expect.

Somehow though, things continue to flow along: the theatre continues to operate. How this happens is simply beyond me. For you readers who are not familiar with theatre, there are times in which a production is in the last days of rehearsal and everything is going wrong. To everyone involved in the production, from the director to the actor to the light board operator, it looks like the production is going to be a train wreck; however, when the curtain goes up on opening night, everything works out fine. This doesn’t happen all the time, but it happens more often than you would think. I feel like I’m dealing with this kind of a scenario on a much larger scale. I am reminded of some dialogue from Shakespeare in Love, (which included an enormously underrated actor, Geoffrey Rush):

PHILIP HENSLOWE

Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.

HUGH FENNYMAN

So what do we do?

PHILIP HENSLOWE

Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.

HUGH FENNYMAN

How?

PHILIP HENSLOWE

I don’t know. It’s a mystery.

In addition to the daily work stress, K and I decided that 2008 was going to be the year we stepped back into the role of “homeowners”. So, this past Spring we began the process of looking for a house: we talked with a mortgage broker, figured out how much we could afford, got pre-approved for a loan, met with a Realtor, and headed out into the Emerald City looking for some new digs. I realize that there are people out there who absolutely love the mere idea of looking for a new place to live and thinking of the seemingly endless possibilities with home décor, landscaping, etc. K is one of these people. I, however, am not. The thought of spending a day driving around looking at houses is akin to sitting in a dentist’s chair for a day. I remember the search for our first house in Texas being a horrible experience for me. (If you ask K about it, she will have the exact opposite reaction.) And, in hindsight, Texas was easy. We probably spent only a week looking at houses before we put an offer on the house we bought. This was not the case in Seattle.

The search in Seattle was a lot tougher: there was a lot more to consider, there were a lot more properties, and the stakes were higher (i.e. the cost of real estate in Seattle is significantly more than in Texas.) In Texas, it felt like we could afford to get our cake and eat it, too: it was easy to find everything that we wanted in a house, and thus could afford to be picky with the properties we were looking at. In Seattle, we had to face certain questions, like:

• Should we get a larger place outside of the city, or should we get a smaller place in the city?
• Do we want a single-family house that would require some repair and/or renovation or do we want a town home or condo that would be turn-key but might have some homeowner’s fees?
• Should we sacrifice wanting a larger space if we find a small property in a great area?

With so many questions and so many properties, it took us a few months of looking before we found something that we felt comfortable putting an offer on. We found a nice town home with a LOT of light, a large kitchen, in a nice area and, although a little on the small side, it was damn near perfect. After a bit a price negotiating, we got the place, and we just closed today: this afternoon, we’ll have the keys.

So, now the house hunt is over, we have the great joy of moving. Oh, boy – can I tell you how much I just LOVE moving: NOT! The only joy I’m taking in it is the thought that I won’t have to do it again for a very long time. But, in the meantime, K and I are packing up boxes every night and every weekend for our move date on the 12^th

It’s funny: we took a vacation to Alaska just a tad over a month ago, but by the time all of this is over and we’re all moved in by the end of the month – I’m going to need another vacation, STAT!

Okay, Okay

I haven't blogged in a while.... and I have SO much to say. All I can say right now is "stay tuned." I will be back shortly.

Johnny Depp Is Not a Baritone

So why the hell was he cast as Sweeney Todd?

I just listened to a little clip of My Friends, and he sounds like a 15 year old. I like Johnny Depp; I love Tim Burton; and I ADORE Sweeney Todd, but I'm not so sure I'm going to like this interpretation.

Going Solo

Mood: Relaxed
What's on: Food Network Challenge - Halloween Cake
Units of Caffeine: 8

This past week has been a whirlwind of activity. I haven’t had much of a life in the past ten days or so, nor have I seen much of K.

I sing with a group in Seattle, and we just had a concert this past weekend, which means that this past week was chock full of lengthy dress rehearsals. (This, of course is on top of my already busy schedule at the theatre.) K is busy rehearsing for a musical she is in, and almost every day this past week, I would come home at some ungodly hour, not too long before or after K came home, and we would both be any combination of: hungry, tired, exhausted, and/or emotional. A couple of the days that sucked were when all of those things would happen at once. Ugh!

So, Friday morning rolls around and I wake up with a killer headache and an extremely raw throat. I called in to work, if only for the morning – after a few mugs of herbal lemon tea and a couple doses of Advil. By about 12:30, my throat wasn’t any better, but my head was okay, so I thought I was ready to face the world, (in a very silent kind of way.) I was really beginning to worry that I wouldn’t be able to sing in the concert. I am not one to throw in the towel, and I didn’t want to cause any undue panic, so I planned to wait until later in the afternoon to make my decision and call the director, if I had to. So, I went into work with a bag of Halls, whispered a slightly painful “Good Morning” to my supervisor, and started about my day’s business.

About an hour or so and several mugs of herbal tea later, the pain in my throat dulled from a raw, scratchy feeling to just a closed, tight feeling. I thought that the worst was over. I figured that, if I just “faked” some of the music and didn’t push it, I would be okay for the concert. But, around 2:30 in the afternoon, I got a phone call for the director telling me that the group’s resident tenor soloist was very sick and completely lost his voice. The director asked me to do one of his solos. This is where I really began to panic. You see, it would be one thing if the music were somewhat familiar, like “Panis Angelicus” or “Bist du Bei Mir” or some other commonly known tenor solo. (This isn’t to say that it would be a stress-free situation if this were the case.) However, the music we were performing was a) know well known, b) difficult, both rhythmically and musically, and c) in Irish. And yes, keep in mind that my throat was still not in perfect shape. Above all else, the language was the biggest problem. Some of the lyrics of the solo included the following:

Ó’s óró mo bháidín
Ó’s óró mo churachín ó

Fira na farraige, fira na moina
Hin barra bin ó hin bó
Fira na talamha, fira na feirme
Hin barra bin ó hin bó

Crochfa mé seolta is gabhfa mé siar
Hin barra bin ó hin bó
‘S óró mo churachín ó
Hin barra bin ó hin bó ar í ó

Major kudos to those who can read that sans difficulty. Irish doesn’t sound a whole lot like it looks. Example: the word “siar” is pronounced, “sheer”. Learning this song is further complicated by the fact that it is sung as almost a quick patter.

My supervisor overheard my conversation and, when I got off the phone, she said, “You need to go home right now and start working on this!” I think this is one of the perks of working for a performing arts organization: they completely understand situations like this. So, I went home and just started working my ass off: learning notes, learning rhythms, and most importantly, learning the language.

About five hours later, I was singing the solo in front of an audience of about 500 people, and I somehow made it all work. I can’t say that it sounded as good as the tenor soloist I replaced, but it did not sound like I only worked on it for a few hours. Huzzah! The soloist was not feeling any better on the second night of the performance, so I performed it on the second night as well. I guess the only thing I had a problem with is that the director did not acknowledge that I was a replacement for the soloist listed in the program on either night of the performance. Perhaps it’s my ego, but I don’t quite understand why this piece of information wasn’t noted. Oh well, it’s done; I got my solo; and now I have (a little) more free time on my hands.