Sunday Morning Coming Down

The opening weekend of Oedipus is almost over. The last two nights have felt really good. The energy is really high. I am sore all over. It's a good kind of sore though. I think that we're doing justice to the play and to John's vision of the show. And I have to say again: it felt good. I'm nervous as hell before walking through those doors at the beginning but after that I just give in, let go, jump in. (Thinking back over other shows I realize that all my nerves happen right before a first entrance - then the butterflies get turned into energy.)

The trick was played on me again -- how does it happen? -- shouldn't I know better? -- how do you go from that 'we open next week' chaos, where problems are popping up like whack-a-mole to show ready machine-organism-tribe-cast? It's really amazing to me -- and it catches me off guard every time, every show. It's really fun to watch all the gears and bells and sprockets just...click away, like we've been doing it for years. Don't get me wrong - I always feel like things could be sharper, timing improved, whatever -- but -- I don't know -- every show seems to be this way (for me) -- it's just -- I'm just always pleased and proud and shocked and gleeful at how much things coalesce in the final days leading up to an audience. The pressure of people? Of asses in seat? Of paying customers? Who knows? I don't. If any of you out there have thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them. It might save me proto-ulcers for future shows.

Friday night there were a lot of people who came out and supported the show. Thank you. Amanda, John, Steve, Kim, Natalie, Eric, Tyler...

My Dad came down from Jacksonville yesterday morning. To help me with my car. It was suppose to be Mom and Dad - they were going to come see Oedipus as well. Mom stayed home. Called in sick, if you will. Sent Dad in her stead. Poor Dad, all alone on this fucked up journey to Thebes.

Dad and I had a great day. Worked on the car (a mysterious noise that came and went this week, like a ghost). Then drove out to Park Avenue to pick up an application for Fairy Tales, a children's bookstore -- Anna, our choreographer for Oedipus works there and she said this week would be a good time to pick one up. Then we went to O'boys, had some lunch, went to Borders (where I read The Episode III graphic novel and am now drooling over the new Star Wars movie)

Dad and I drove around town listening to Johnny Cash - it reminded me of when I was little and him and me and Amber would go 'scooter pooping' as he called it. What it amounted to was aimless driving, maybe to get ice cream, or see Uncle Lee, or tour some old forgotten area of Jacksonville -- always with Dad's laid back commentary and back stories -- 'this is where the old movie houses use to be -- The Imperial, The Empress, The Gem...The Florida Theatre is the only one still standing'...and he had snuck into them all....nine years old and outsmarting ushers left and right....sneaking into the dimly lit world to watch icons, cowboys, gods, and monsters flicker up there a million feet high...the way all his stories flicker away in my mind.

Dad gets it, in his own way. He may not be educated or have a vast knowledge of theatre or the arts -- but he gets it on a gut level. In his bones, in his voice, in the tiny rush he feels at telling a good joke or having a half circle of people in the palm of his hand at a family gathering, telling one one of his stories. One of the great legends of our family. The Geoghagan oral tradition, the thing that makes us immortal, untouchable, charmed. By blood I'm connected to stories as powerful and sacred to me as any told about Zeus or Odin or Brer Rabbit or Coyote or Christ. My Dad is a storyteller, so in his way, he can understand what drives me to want to be a part of all these stories I find myself in - Oedipus, Into The Woods, Noises Off, Rocky Horror. He understands it. And he approves. He enjoyed the show, thought everyone did a great job. We both agreed, it wouldn't have been Mom's cup of tea.

Dad was glad I gave him the Cliff Notes story of Oedipus before the show (which I did, not to insult him - but let's face it - a lot of these Greek plays were written, well, for ancient Greeks who knew all the myths and backstory - like Oedipus answering the Sphinx's Riddle - the way we all know what happened on our favorite TV shows last night - and I just wanted Dad to have a little map and a little dramatis personae).

He did say he hasn't see people that dirty since one of the Andrew Jackson/Robert E Lee High School football games of his youth. I told him I couldn't remember the last time I've eaten this much dirt.

I want to put some pictures up, eventually. But for now, check out the Empty Spaces website down there with my links. Click on that and then click on photo gallery and you can check out some nice pictures by the woman who took a lot of our Rocky pics.

This was on the cards that Kevin, our musical director, passed out to the cast:

Oedipus The King
Tragedy Is The Celebration Of Life
"The Real Tragedy In The World Is That There Are Too Many People In The World
To Love And Be Loved By, And Not Enough Time To Love And Be Loved By Them All."

During the last week of rehearsals, Kevin's friend's father passed away. The quote is from him.