Bums Rush Aftermath

The photographer who took our production shots made up
posters to be put up around the school. The official posters
had a black & white photo of four or five of the cast,
myself included, with the rest of the informational copy you
see here. Then he offered to make individual souvenir posters
for each of the cast memebers, and used my image
as an example. Pretty cool, no?

Back in high school I was heavily involved in theatre. I was more of a techie, then, about equal to the actor I was also, until I realized that I knew nothing about any real tech stuff, and what I did know I wasn’t really any good at. But no matter how I served on a show, the constant with each one was the withdrawal I experienced when it was over.

I’m sure it doesn’t matter which field you may be in; put together a group of people, each with a different task in an effort toward one important — at least to the group — goal, and a kinship will form. Hours each day, together, constantly honing the project from its tangled beginnings into the well-executed show/product/process/whatever you want it to be.

And then you’re done.

I remember weeks of boredom as a teenager, home on the regular school bus instead of the late activities bus; hours yet until dinner instead of a cold plate waiting for me when I got home; unfamiliar TV shows getting in the way between me and the shows I wanted to watch, all after a play — it mattered not whether it was a full length play, or a one-act, or a musical — had seen its final curtain.

And this past season, having jumped into theatre with both feet once again, doing three shows back-to-back in a span of six months, I expected that same withdrawal.

Perhaps it was an effect of being part of three different casts, or of three divergent shows; perhaps it was the effect of being exhausted after half a year of 12- to 14-hour taxi shifts followed by three- to four-hour rehearsals followed by three-hour nights of sleep, but when we took our final bows for Bleacher Bums, I experienced none of the dread of the quiet hours ahead of me. I was ready for a break!

And I thought it would eventually find me. I even scribbled some notes down, a muscle-memory exercise in post-show withdrawal, ready to convey my feelings of loneliness, of anxiety, of loss in my next far·ra·go post. But they never came.

Instead, I’ve been busier than ever in the taxi (nothing over which to get excited...my records show that May of last year boomed, too, just in time for June to bust), even stretching my days to 15 and 16 hours sometimes to squeeze in one more fare. I’ve been working through my Netflix queue. I’ve been taking in plays that some of my friends are in. In the evening the day this post was first drafted (I'm blogging again!!), I went out to see not one, but two bands that friends are playing in, at two different bars!

I have my life back!

But don’t get the wrong idea from the prior sentence. I thoroughly enjoy acting, and thoroughly enjoyed the plays I was involved with since September of 2010. This is just a clear indication that I need to find the niche into which to fall that gets me paid to perform, and paid enough that I can spend my days eating, sleeping, watching movies and interacting with friends and family between the hours spent working under the lights.

The same goes alternately for writing. And for freelance video work.

Perchance to dream.



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