Life is but a dream.

So I went to see the Kids in the Hall last night. That’s my little joke. I have been sharing the make-up room with the cast of Fever/Dream which is playing the Gordon Square. I work with these people, or have done, or I just met them. Most are well-younger than I am, except for the two really old guys.

An adaptation of Calderon’s Life Is A Dream, it’s a contemporary office comedy where the heir in the dungeon is the heir in the basement taking over for the king/corporate president in a series of nutty vignettes. Honestly, the story itself doesn’t amount to much, except it provided the opportunity for some of my favorite people to create remarkable characters that I was delighted to be in the same room with for two hours.

Nathan was just dynamite as a young turk who doesn’t have much turk in him. My beloved Annie was outrageous and sympathetic in a role my wife tells me is quite the tedious stock clown character in Calderon’s original. Faye presented some of the best work I have ever seen her do. What most excited me was the supporting characters, the kids who play “slacker” characters whose lives appear to have dead ends … except for all of the awesome choreography director Beth and her crew put into the segues between scenes …

… you know, I hate half-assed choreography to mask scene changes. It’s fucking awful, because it usually is awful, an after-thought to make a set change “entertaining.” Not here, this show is a big awesome dance party I was glad to be witness to. Point one to the hipsters.

Evolution

Seated in the Storefront Studio Theatre at CPT. IHT/ATYD opens here in what, four weeks? I am here to see Brett Keyser in the solo performance Darwinii. The family is out of town for roughly 36 hours so they can visit Toni's ailing grandmother. I take this freedom of responsibility to check out theater and later, to fold laundry.

Went to the bathroom. It is a little jarring. This bathroom. It is comfortable. I mean, it is warm. My earliest memories of this bathroom are cold, the coldest kind of bathroom. Cold toilet seat. Hateful thing, a cold toilet seat. As a performer I subjected myself to that seat numerous times, practicing for Junk Bonds, for Love In Pieces. Before CPT bought the building this was an appliance store called Giant Elephant or White Elephant or something. In the mid-to-late 90s it was a frigid rehearsal space, later an independent bookstore. Now it is a proper black box-type space. The Storefront. This is a keeper. This makes me happy.

I would be happier with beer. No beer for this show, just self-serve soda, water and candy. I neglected to have dinner. I trust that will sharpen my attention on the show.

I understand all 50 seats for Darwinii are sold tonight. The reviews have been very good. I'd see it even if they hadn't been, Brett is an immensely watchable performer. The show lasts 70 minutes, I am sure I could watch him sit still without speaking for three hours.

We begin rehearsals this weekend. I have a production meeting this Sunday morning. I go over lines in my head. I will be in this space. I open my mouth, running lines, in the car, and I am surprised by the sound of my voice. Less insecure, unsure. I told myself, and everyone else, that I play a character in I HATE THIS, but I was so much closer then. I sound authoritative, to myself. Expert. Deep-throated. Wizened. Is that a good thing?

I am 42. I was 32. Which do I play?

The show starts in five. I must put away my laptop. I am looking forward to this. All of this.