Spring Awakening

Bugs. Little ones—like dragonflies, only stunted by too much caffeine or something. And there are thousands of them. Everywhere. Surrounding the godforsaken hotel I was in like the 10th plague (if that particular plague were little mutant flies that seem to like pockets of light).

Before I explain that paragraph, I have a little blog business to take care of. Thinking of changing my posting name from Sony to Burton. I don't know if that's like some cardinal sin of in the blogosphere, but it's something I should have done a long time ago. Any thoughts on that? It's not completely random (it's actually something people have started calling me in other posts, etc. and a nickname I've had before—just not online) and I'm not gonna randomly be jumping to another name next week, like Crispin or Swift. No, just pondering the ramifications of changing my name within the blogosphere.

Anyway, onto the story about bugs, roadtrips, hot fudge cakes, and how the best and the worst of something can come through in just a weekend.

Mayflies. That's what those bugs were. A complete misnomer since they swarm upon Lake Erie in June. They were EVERYWHERE. You know that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom with all the bugs? Just like that. Only they all fly. And they hold onto everything like Super Glue. My car was covered in them the moment I parked at the hotel. And they crunched when you walked on them... which sometimes was unavoidable. To my credit, even when they were happily landing upon me like a giant walking tree, I did not scream like a man afraid of little flying bugs. I just cursed them loudly and in a manly way and knocked them the frak off.

This past Friday I once again ventured away from my hometown. And once again to the water I went. Not so much with the ocean this time, but the lake. One of the great ones. Actually, my journey was not to see the water, but to watch a lot of community theatre. Took the trip with Keaton and met up with Scooter and the Red Lady. I won't bore you with a play-by-play of the trip (WOW, now THAT was a bad pun). If you want the stream-of-consciousness version written on the road, you'll find a link to that post later on in this one. For now, I will post those brief snippets which I logged into notepad (as our hotel did not have free wi-fi and I chose not to submit to their overpriced rates to obtain it).

So first, a brief flashback to Friday, June 8:

So I'm traveling again—typing this from an uncomfortable bed with crappy pillows in a hotel whose night watchman is a woman who received the wrath of Keaton this evening when she couldn't find our reservation. That ever happen to you? You spontaneously decide to attend a conference and the conference chair emails you and tells you that she's reserved a room in your name at the local conference hotel and then your buddy (who's also going on the roadtrip) calls and confirms the reservation, so that when you arrive there is absolutely no record of your existence for a solid five minutes? Yeah... just like that.

Wasn't that fun? Margie, from the Our Guest Inn located in Port Clinton, Ohio, was none to pleasant with us once she and Keaton began to square off. Our reservation had been changed, but not by me nor my pal. Nope... just up and changed for no reason. Now remember that it was late, after a long workday, and we'd just driven well over two hours to get to this hotel—and our room wasn't there. Hmmm. Interesting (he says, mimicking Eddie Izzard). Immediately we became good cop/devil cop about the whole ordeal. Now, normally I would feel sympathy for someone in Margie's position. Innocently working the night shift when a couple of guests show up and their reservation is gone and they're not happy. And Keaton made it clear how he felt about this incredible negligence on the company's part (it was confirmed the day before and now, poof, it was gone). And I wanted to apologize for his stern tone... after all, it wasn't her fault right? So she says something like that, about calming down while she does something about the problem and Keaton answers with something like "well, just fix it" and this is where Margie lost my support.

I'm all for treating customer service people with the utmost respect. Most of the time, the people in these positions did nothing wrong, yet bear the brunt of anger and frustration that so many of us have experienced with certain products and services (there's a reason the cell phone companies pay those people well). But all in all, there is a very noticeable dip in customer service skills these days. That whole "the customer is always right" dogma is fading. What lost Margie my support was when she slammed down her pen, narrowed her eyes at Keaton across the counter and proclaimed loudly for the whole lobby to hear (the whole "lobby" being me and Keaton), "I'd like to fix you!"

It was like watching an actor break character on stage.

Her professionalism melted away in an instant. Even she seemed surprised by her outburst. Now I'm not saying the woman didn't have every right to think it. They were sparring and she was honestly doing what she could (though to be fair to both sides, her "story" about the reservation change varied—first she said she couldn't see when it was changed and only insisted that she didn't do it... but five minutes later when I asked her to get the manager on the phone, the only other person who had worked that day, she figured it out quite quickly... hmmm.... interesting). Really, it's not about the room. We got the room. The room was open and waiting and things were all good after about five minutes of drama. So I guess, what I'm saying it, whether you're the customer or the employee in a customer service position, don't succumb to arguing. It solves nothing. Simply accost them with logic and reasoning (this goes both ways), and always ask to speak with the person who's in charge (again, this goes both ways).

So now let's visit the night of June 9th:

And it's another night. The fun of blogging offline is that it jumps through time like that guy in Quantum Leap. Sam. But the actor... wow... Scott... yes, Scott Bakula. Posting under the influence isn't as easy as one might think. And it's frakkin' cold in here. In my room. At the hotel. Wow... you notice that when I've been drinking I'll write shorter sentences? Run-ons are apparently the result of my sobriety. :) There's a party going on downstairs and I'm not there. Why? I don't know. I'm just not. I'm just... I'm just not in the mood. I will be. It's not even a party so much as people hanging out together. That's all it really is. And I miss some people back in Columbus. Looking forward to hanging out with them next Saturday night. Again, the people here are fun and cool. I just was suddenly overcome with the urge to be alone. To watch Fight Club. To not be... there. Ridiculous. I mean, really, it's just being odd. No reason I shouldn't be down there right now instead of watching Ed Norton kick the shit out of Jared Leto. My hair was that color once. The color Jared Leto wore in that movie. That bleached, fuck your hair up, blond. It was not a good look on me. He wears it better.

Well, I am suddenly sobering up and Fight Club has become not as entertaining. Maybe I will venture back to the party and see if there's anyone to hang with or if they've all wondered off and gone home. Who knows. Hard to say. Kind of just want to relax here, watch the rest of the movie and blog and then go to sleep. But that would be anti-social. Right? yeah... it would. It's funny. I love having parties. I surround myself with people. Love to be part of something. But sometimes, it's overwhelming. And no, I don't think I have Social Anxiety Disorder. I mean, so party planners... does it make sense that someone who can't be alone ever has a disorder that makes them anxious around people. Well, that would be almost cruel.

I wonder if I'll self-edit in the morning. If sobriety and a drive home will make me rethink the things I say when I type a little drunk.

By the by... Fight Club is a fantastic movie.

I didn't self-edit. That was 100% Burton unfiltered. Ah, see... I used it. The new name. Burton, unfiltered. Sounds like a memoir or a new brand of smokes. And I thought about my sudden fortress of solitude moment at the conference. I'm shy. No seriously. I'm shy. And have you noticed that I swear in blogs when drinking (instead of using more fun words like "frak"). My normal rat-pack wasn't there. At other theatre conferences there's this group of people I hang with. And they weren't there. And while Keaton was, he was talking to old friends and people he hadn't seen in a while. To him it was like a reunion. But I knew maybe four people and most of them went to bed early. And in those situations, I just become a watcher. Or I leave. That night I both left and watched. I did leave the room again. Wandered around and ended up by the pool and just watched the other people having their drinks and hanging out. Actually was just getting into conversation, not being shy, when Margie came outside and shut down the party. Oh Margie, you lose my reservation and then thwart my social growth. All in one weekend.

That was said with some dripping sarcasm, by the by. I have no problem with Margie. None what-so-ever. But a lot of people at the pool sure did.

I "blogged" again that night. But on paper. And on paper it will stay. It was under more influence and badly written and I'd post it, only I'm sure you all have lovely eyes and I wouldn't want you to have to gouge them out upon reading it. Yeah. That bad. I think at one point, in mid-sentence, I wrote: "Pearl Jam is in my head. Pretty, pretty lights." See? The whole thing was non-sequitur to a hideous degree.

And then it was over. Not the bad, drunken "blog", but the weekend. It was a good weekend. It was. I didn't even get to the hot fudge cake I slammed on. And I haven't posted the funny video that involves Keaton and the lake. Nor did I rave about some amazing theatre or vent about some of the really awful stuff I had to endure in that auditorium. Just didn't get to it last night as I wrapping up. I will say though, there is a Gilligan's Island: The Musical. Not even kidding.

Wrapped up a theatrical weekend the only way to do so. Crashed a wrap party (our theater's most recent show closed yesterday) and then had people over to watch the Tony's. And can I just say that the talent on that stage was frighteningly good (mostly). Didn't see the whole show, but I did catch the cast of "Spring Awakening" doing their number to "The Bitch of Living" and holy frak, it was awesome.

Foreground, John Gallagher Jr., left, and Jonathan Groff in "Spring Awakening," based on an 1891 play. From the New York Times review. Photo by Sara Krulwich.

Maybe helps that the music rocked. But what got me was that the whole cast had to be no older than college kids, maybe younger. At least that how they looked. Heck, even if they're twenty-somethings, they rock. And the power they put forth was incredible. Smokey said she's probably gonna buy that CD. I may have to steal—ahem—borrow it from her.

Then the night was winding down. And then... things got interesting. There's a word for it. And no, for those who have read my last play and recall that line, it was not that kind of interesting. Just... not how I expected the evening to end.

Deep breath. In good stuff. Out shit.

Now we're in real-time. It's Monday. June 11.

And today it's like I woke up from an amazing dream, one where I'd won the lottery, beat the villain, and went home with the Bond girl... hello, Ms. Galore. I know that's not the quote. But saying "Hello, Pussy", even with a Sean Connery-best-as-Bond accent could have been misconstrued by those not familiar with the movie Goldfinger, where the Bond girl's name really is Pussy Galore. And you thought my pun earlier was bad. So anyway, I awoke this morning and reality was harsh and cold. I wasn't rich. The bad guys are still out there... I don't know how to fight them. And the only pussycat in my bed this morning had four paws and a tail. For the record, I'm fine. Since I'm about to get all cryptic again and mention the word drama in a non-theatrical way, I'd thought I'd preface that with I'm fine. Just wanted to make a point.

I don't want to be at work. I wanted to sleep in. Wanted to hang out with Apollo. Wanted to visit Zubov at his work and have lunch with my friend who I never see anymore (and that sucks, 'cos I live with the guy). And hey, find time to hang with Kirby too. Wanted to work on stuff for the theater. Wanted to visit my folks. Wanted to be outside. It was SO NICE up at the lake and I spent most of the weekend in a high school auditorium watching shows. Again, some really good stuff in there (amid the dreck), but it was inside. And wow, some sun would have been nice. Feels like I took a vacation, but didn't vacation.

And now I'm tired.

And then there was drama which flared up out of nowhere. And no sleep was had. Well, enough to keep me on bingo fuel, but that's made for a rough afternoon. Still tackling the aftershocks of some stuff and it's just something no one needs to worry about. Hardly concerns me except that I'm concerned about it. That's what happens when you care. But now I'll speak of this no more on the blog. Learned long ago that what goes on a blog, stays on the blog. And that isn't a good thing like in Vegas.

So since I can't just leave my desk and blow off work, I'm gonna upload something and post my first ever video blog. Yep! While on the roadtrip, we tried out video blogging. I warn you, I have no public speaking skills and this won't be pretty. There's a reason I write my blog. But with all the upcoming work and busy and drama, I'm in the mood to think of fonder times. I mean, isn't that why we have them? Memories, I mean. Flashes of times when things were simple, easy, and fun. No agenda. No politics. No drama. Just fun. And thanks to digital cameras and video, we can share our memories with the world. And while some of the best are best kept private, this memory is one that I'm happy to share and it's better to be viewed than relived in the written form.

Now, before viewing, you need to remember that this was recorded after Keaton and I spent two days of watching theater, some of which was awesome; but there was some that made me wish for sweet oblivion (or a pen to the eye). Once you've wrapped up here, you should hop over to Hopelessly Lost for Keaton's account of the weekend.

As for now, in rewatching this video, I do wonder if the humor will be lost on those who didn't experience it. Kinda had to be there... that sort of thing. So how to put you in the right mind-set? Have you ever seen an awful production of "Summer and Smoke" where the lead actress might as well have been a poodle? Now watch that in your head at least five times. Okay, once the horror of that subsides, you can see why this moment, now recorded forever, was so completely great for a moment when, in the grand scheme of the universe, nothing really happened.

So... without anymore ado and further gilding the Lily... I give you my first video blog!

Enjoy it. I did.

If the video doesn't play, it just means You Tube is taking its sweet time. I wanted to get the whole post up since I won't be back online until late tonight, so bear with me and check back. It will be there soon.

If it's already working, then watch away.



Spontaneity, people. I'm always inspired by it. It's something I should employ more often. Though I didn't actually employ it here. After all someone had to hold the camera. So maybe next time...

And I'll just have to find a way to make it even more spontaneous.