Love Letters and Cheap Applause Lines- a guest post by CC

JM’s note: This was totally unsolicited but CC asked if he could do a guest post, and then he actually wrote it and sent it to me, and I may have cried a little bit when I read it and had to pretend I had just jabbed a mascara wand in my eye. It wasn’t intended as a Valentine’s Day post (I mostly hate that holiday) but it seemed appropriate that I post it today, to call out to that grimy, blackened, decaying romantic that lives in all of us. I don’t deserve his praise but what the hell, I’m leaving it in there.

Love Letters and Cheap Applause Lines by CC

Those of you that are lucky enough to know my wife JM in the actual world know- and those that are readers of this blog get a glimpse of what a lovely and exceptional woman she is. One of her favorite words is “badass” and believe me, she is. I thank god for every day she shares my life.

Don’t worry, this is not an obituary, she is fine. We are just both working two jobs at the moment, and she is too exhausted at the end of the day to write, so I am hijacking her site to give you all a story and an update.

We have all watched a comic, or a celebrity on television and heard them say something like “so I just got married” or “we just had our first baby” “I stopped drinking”…and the audience applauds and “WOOOO’s” obligatorily and the world dims a little for the effort. It is a cheap applause line, and I always find it a bit tacky. But I digress….

Hey, look. A puppy:

Last week was busy. Not in itself unusual around here, but at one point JM realized that there was a document that she needed THAT DAY (JM’s note: umm, it was my union card), so I found it, and after my production meetings were done I headed uptown to deliver it to her. I slipped into the theater, and sat in the back as the crew worked on loading in the show. I know many of them-it is a small community- but they were busy and I was content to sit in back, watch and wait for the end of the call to chat and catch up. JM was onstage wearing her favorite new black work boots and a white hard hat while they all moved the heavy main speaker arrays into position to rig and fly. This is the glamorous part of theater, folks.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was the department head on a tour of Aida for the Walt Disney Company, and AK, one of my dearest friends and at the time my assistant, was leaving the tour for greater glory. I needed to replace him quickly. In our world, for contractual reasons positions cannot go unfilled for long and everyone I knew and didn’t hate was working. I was at a loss and started asking for resumes online from people in the industry. Someone passed me JM’s name. We spoke on the phone, and she joined the tour in Kansas City. She did a terrific job learning the gig and –just as importantly- fitting in with the company.

Several months passed and we found ourselves taking the show into Los Angeles, the land of all things Disney Corporate, and for the show, A VERY BIG DEAL.

Slamming a million bucks worth of sound gear into and out of trucks week after week is hard work in the best of circumstances, but sometimes the theater gods conspire and scheme, and when they do, little good comes of it. We had a rough week.

The set didn’t fit through the loading doors.

The band didn’t fit in the pit.

Disney scheduled press events around and during the load in.

The choreographer arrived for a “brush up rehearsal” and spent the week making our lives……interesting.

We adapted, we persevered, and we made it to the opening night.

My last image of JM before that show started was of her in a black polo shirt and jeans and Doc Martens with her hair in a ponytail, holding a screw gun, ready to replace yet another piece of equipment that had chosen that moment to commit suicide, while I walked to the front of house to start the show.

What I came back to after the show was breathtaking. The jeans, polo and ponytail were gone and in their place were a midnight blue dress, heels and hair perfectly done. It was stunning. It was magic. It was like something out of a Disney movie. I was done for. The theater gods laughed.

All these years.

All these years, dozens of cities, thousands of shows, 10 or so new productions, 4 apartments, a couple lawsuits, five kids, a wedding, a house, 2 puppies, more midnight grocery runs than I can count, a few more shows. More than a little good has come of it.

The word “soul mate” is deadened by overuse. But damn is it true here. JM is my best friend and I am a better man for her love. The theater gods are still laughing, but I think it is because they are happy for us.

Now for the cheap applause lines:

#1? Started University

#2? Honor Roll

#3? Honor Roll

#4? Honor Roll

#5? Straight A’s

That’s right, folks, we got ourselves a house full of freaking geniuses. And puppies.

One and Done Sunday #13

Welcome to One and Done Sunday. One picture and five links that are worth your time.

Saturday night I finished up at my old show, at least until the summer. I’m officially down to one gig now and even though we’re about to go into the long days there, it’s good to not have a split focus anymore.

At home our Harry Potter Sunday series continues. Last week was pre-empted by the Super Bowl. #5 was bummed out about that, but I informed him that as his stepmother it was my moral obligation to force him to watch football. He changed alliances with every score until finally #2 said to him, “If this were an actual war, I’m pretty sure everybody would start shooting you right now!”

This week we’re on number four, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Before we got started, Casey ate the whipped cream off #5’s milkshake.

#5 drank it anyway.

I would have done the same thing.

There’s a scene in the movie where Harry is fighting a dragon and it breaks free and chases him to the roof of Hogwarts. There they land, Harry hanging on for dear life, trying to reach his broom while bits of roof break away underneath him, the dragon clawing towards him, bashing its tail and sending debris flying. At the climactic moment, #5 says, “They’re gonna have to reshingle that.”

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This week’s picture demands an explanation.

When I first went on the road, I owned three pairs of shoes. None of them were cute. On my second tour I was CC’s assistant, and he was traveling eight pairs of shoes.

I gave him a lot of grief for that.

He, in turn, gave me an empty road box for my stuff. Suddenly, I had almost nine cubic feet of storage space to fill with things that I didn’t have to haul through the airport.

I found out I liked shoes.

I also found out that CC and I have very different styles.

honestly — Honestly, sometimes I wonder how we ever got together.

Recently I flipped out over the above Ariat boots on Zappos. Let’s just say CC was less than enthusiastic about them.

No, let’s repeat what he actually said to me: You are way too old for those boots.

I’m positive that what he meant was Those rock. You should totally buy them!

I did in fact buy them, because I was sure he wanted me to, and I always get at least three compliments every time I wear them. Usually in front of CC.

Which is awesome.

Also awesome is that he got me long-stemmed roses on Saturday for finishing up my gig and I was the only girl with flowers on the subway.

Now for your links. I gotta be honest, I didn’t read anything this week. So while Harry Potter was on I went to some places I can count on.

First, four artists. I hope to be bringing you more about one of them soon, but for now, check out their sites:

This chick does cool shizz with dead animals. No lie. Kimberly Witham.

Amazing color and shape. Love! Jay Gaskill.

I love all of this lady’s work, but her countryside photos really speak to my soul, being mostly shot in Indiana, where I grew up: Jolie Buchanan.

I work with this guy when he’s not off doing fabulous artistic projects: Davis Duffield.

Finally, because sometimes you just need to laugh your ass off about a homicidal monkey: The Bloggess- Would You Like to Buy a Monkey?

Happy Sunday.

On why #5 got a stopwatch for Christmas

We had an impromptu Black Friday party at my house with a bunch of people that I like but don’t see nearly often enough.

#5 was the youngest person there. As you might imagine, he hit a wall where he had a shitload of energy to burn off and no way to do it. The open spaces in our house were full of glassware and adults. Neither of those are on a little boy’s Top Ten list of Favorite Things, so I made a suggestion.

Me: You look like you need to run around the house. Outside.

He gave me a look that was half-smile and half-eye roll. He knew exactly what this was about, but he likes running. He thinks he’s fast.

Me: Whaddaya say?

#5: Will you time me?

I tried to find a solution that didn’t require my participation.

Me: I’ll time you by the clock on the stove.

#5: How would that even work?

Me, sighing: I’ll get my phone. I’m pretty sure it has a stopwatch on it.

I set up at the back door with the stop watch function up on my phone.

#5, poised and ready: How many times?

Me: How about three?

#5: Three?!?! How about two?

Me: Okay, two.

#5: Good. Okay.

Me: Ready, set. . . Go!

He is pretty fast. And god bless him, he doesn’t do anything half way. Except maybe eat vegetables. He’s not a half-assed kid, in spite of his stepmom.

He came around from the second lap and I hit stop.

Me: 38.4 seconds

#5, breathing hard: That’s two-point-two seconds over my record.

Me: What’s your record?

#5: Seventeen seconds.

Me, taking a minute to catch up to his math: Oh.

We switch to one lap. He gets closer each time but setting a new record eludes him. He brings me outside to verify his route, asks if certain shortcuts are permissible.

He keeps running.

I keep timing.

After about twenty minutes I tell him that I’m going in to spend time with our guests, because I never get to see them.

#5: Can I keep running?

Me: Of course.

#5: But how will I time myself? How will I know if I broke my record?

We look at each other. We look at my phone. This is the only way I’m going to get a semi-interrupted visit with my guests, including my mother, who lives far away. But handing my phone over to a nine-year old boy so he can time himself running laps outside around the house seems ill-advised.

#5: I promise I won’t drop it.

And he gave me that super-cute, hopeful little boy look and I handed my phone right over. Had I had my wallet and car keys on me, I would have given him those too, and all my chocolate.

I went inside and joined the rest of my family.

He kept at it. I didn’t exactly get uninterrupted time with our guests, but I got time with them. #5 kept coming in to tell us his times and to ask our opinions on potential new routes. He began timing himself running around different obstacles, going on other parts of our property. He asked if he could run around the house backwards but since there are stone steps involved, we nixed that idea. He brought me out again to show how fast he could run up and down the hill and he slipped and slid the whole way down on his butt.

He did not let go of the phone.

My phone has an order of operations that is based solely on how much it can annoy you by interrupting what you’re trying to do. Incoming texts, missed calls, what have you- it makes sure to show you the least important information first in a way that makes it so you can’t get back to what you were trying to do in the first place.

Apparently, the stop watch function is not immune to this.

#5, running into the living room, completely out of breath: Oh, man, I can’t believe it! I was about to break my record and guess what happened? Somebody texted you!!!!

This happened three times before he finally gave it up. He gave me my phone back and sat quietly playing games with his sisters the rest of the afternoon.

Because he was tired.

Which, after all, was the whole point.