10 thoughts on ““Two Dead Drunks – That’s Not A Rooster-Crow!” Tanka 2038

    • That sounds good: what play? Do you cross-play-dress again? Two writers – an assumption: is he author, director, actor or any combination of the three – under the same roof: must mean many doors – or at least seems such to me. Break a leg!

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      • Yes, this is THAT play. My husband wrote this play and last year a theatre co were to put it on in Verdant Works. I was busy with two books coming out, meeting all sorts of deadlines so I wasn’t paying much attention to all the shit he was getting from this woman who ran this company One of these only partly qualified kinds who plainly thought she was running the Royal Shakespeare Company. Anyway a stand off ensued in which she threatened to walk and take the co with her. it was a stand off she was sure she would win. Alas, little did she know that many years ago we ran a theatre company. So despite the fact that I had not directed for 24 years, acted either and in the Mr’s case it was even longer and we didn’t have a full cast till three weeks before, we put the play out there. This was a rerun this year but with a lot of changes cos I had more time to think about it as opposed to directing scenes when I hadn’t yet got round to reading the next one. Also we had a few cast changes, also not everyone wanted to do certain parts they’d had last year, and obvi different people bring a diff perspective. So yeah, we both appeared in it and I directed it. This week has been brain frying to say the least.

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      • That all sounds delightful fun – chaos theory meets Stanislavsky(sp?). My last time On The Boards I directed – and co-starred – in Zoo Story which I had committed to mem’ry the night before and, foolish I, had insisted I take the longer part which my co-star had down pat. And vain, I took off my gloasses – fresnel lights refract to the point of distract in my unhumble 20/600 opinion, si the little crib sheets – and the pig-print dialog on a hidden lectern which I so artfully placed in the shielded path as I strode and fretted, was useless to blnd I (Eye?). In an earlier effort – The Gingham Dog – I found myself crying – when I was supposed to be so moved – and all I could do was shush the creature hopping up and down on my left shoulder shouting and shoving a victorious fist into the air “Yes! Yes! Yes” he screached. “Way to waterworks!” My costar saved me so many times during that month-long run. My reward: the still when the curtain came down and then back up as the audience(s) grasped that, no, the mixed-race pair were not going to remain together and, no, nothing really, had been resolved. Then the applause began. An honest reaction from a stunned set of heads and shoulders still dimly seen even from downstage. I envy you and Mr. the fun of winging it and the obvious joy in which you both relish a return. And, Fried Brain is serious food for players, no?

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  1. I thin Fried Brain sounds wonderful. Of course here in Dudnee we would call it Fred Brain…surreal eh? Because here in Dundee we have a unique way of speaking that has since been recognized as separate from Scots. Now I love the sounds of your exploits and there is nowt better than winging it through things. All part of the fun I feel. xxx

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  2. Fred Brain? Hmmm. The Freds I’ve run into – both figurative and literal – already had been scrambled, so no stretch there (and, yes, I yet have come off my judgementalish mien since I found it hanging about that unused corner of medulla oblongatta last dive through The Anatomy/Physiology sections during elementary school daze(s) when teacher perforce expected repetitions of the letter Q in longhand. But both Freds and I latched onto the cursive numeral “2” for Q and outargued teach who was stuck on a pair of six-ish and nine-like birds which I said took too long – and besides looked with alarm at the then-poor lowercase “u” without flourish or finesse. “Will have to assay “The Fred” Brain in something poetical in situ, as it were, vernacularily so to scribble. Niece Number Twice is at Cambridge bouncing about en route to her PiledHigher(and)Deeper degree with a side order of Master Library Science whose patroness perches near Lands End (or is my geography askew? somewhere in the wilds of Cornwall – or is it Wales? I will have to pitch Fred Brain to her for etiological research to Dundee, as she does have a taint of Scots to go with her spuds and Teutonic hemoglobin…not to mention Askhanazi for a regular American Polyglot (also known as ‘Merukan Mongrel. Thanks, Shehanne, you have opened several doors through which I shall traipse, bestirring I am sure many an askance and often bewildered glance well laced with proper portions of opprobrium. You have made more than just my day: methinks a week if not a month of mischief and mayhem (and from its original mistyping, “mayHam” as well).

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    • Any place which does not end its “tag” with “ite,” or “inian” is so entitled to its own way to confuse itself – and the fortuitously caught mere speaker of English who wanders warned-not within its bounds – the more obfuscation the better for us all! I mean, would you rather have some out-of-towner perch itself on your favorite stool for an afternoon’s suppage just because directions came easy? I thought not? Since we no longer are allowed to corral the creatures – I used to type disposes of, but that smacked of too much in terms of “what caliber?” I becloud the issue nowadays – lying by dialect is my last best choice. There is a proper study: find words which would make “Dundonian” blush by comparison. Fortunately I have a mail-game of chess in progress and thus will not have the time this half-century. I encountered a curious harangue by a Cambridge-doctored midievalist who posits “Doctor,” or at least the abbreviation thereof raises sex-hackles amongst us male dogs who bark before think. Really? I just bristle when I hear someone so referring to themselves without benefit of hemostat or stethoscope; otherwise, append a simple PhD at the end and let that suffice. Sometimes I do sign myself in – during correspondence, especially of a military nature – J Kirk Richards/Sergeant of Marines. And, yes, it is ego. Did you know a British infantry regiment at Headquarters, United States Marine Corps annually exchange the message “And Saint Andrew,” once yearly based on a shared experience at the Peking Legation during The Boxer Rebellion? Another quest: find any such similar shopworn but heartfelt exchanges between persons, organizations, institutions or any other such outfits, military or no. (Must consider starting a second game of snail-mail chess: email goes by too quickly for proper procrastination, donchathunk?)

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