Where's My Cup of Joe?

Apologies again, Dear Reader and Humble Blog, for an extended absence. It's a dual whammy from being very busy working and utterly stunned by the depth of stupid in the political world.

Truly does any comment actually need to be made about the idiocy on display daily from Republican candidates and office holders who have yet to strike the bottom in their relentless effort to grind all governing to a halt?

Either you know what's up or you've not paid attention and gone dogmatically drunk along with the delusions.

Here, from October last year, my views on the state o' politics

"And the talking is being done by notably unqualified candidates here in the ol' U.S. of A, the sort of talking that cliched tin-pot dictators might spew from tiny podiums and dressed in over-decorated, ill-fitting military uniforms.Such candidates as Trump, Cruz, Carson, Fiorina, Rubio, Bush, and even whole rosters of state GOP candidates are the folks doing such talking today. It's pretty awful to hear and see.
On the Left, Hilary Clinton, even if elected will instantly be tarred with the 'unconstitutional presidency', as these talkers have labeled President Obama. And that would extend the current Insta-Rage crowd's fervor to even more unacceptable and unsustainable behaviors.
And there's Bernie Sanders, who has, for his career, been neither a Republican or a Democrat ...a pretty good indication he's probably the smartest guy in this particular political room of Potentials."


Things haven't changed much, so why repeat myself ad nausueum? 

So there's that.


And yes, I have been busy in offline world creating imaginary worlds - directing and producing plays as Artistic Director for Morristown's Theatre Guild and as directing plays as Artistic Director at Lincoln Memorial University. I am beyond thankful to be so busy. The process of group collaborations for the shows I do is likely why I maintain a very positive outlook on our world today. See, people from all walks of life get together, work together and create something unique and special worth sharing.

Currently I'm helping produce a stage version of "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" as a schools program for some 1000-plus students and I am directing what I know will be an amazing version of "Alice In Wonderland" at LMU where Wonderland is of a Steampunk reality (or surreality) See, I am a very fortunate person to have such opportunities.

All that being said, I will step up the postings since politically the nation is in the grips of some dangerous folk and it seems more and more voices of reason are required.

I'm here for you - not to point out the obvious - to give volume to those voices.

Here, let me share this (and I encourage you to check out KnoxViews often) - it indicates how any voice other than one is being ignored in Tennessee.

"Tennessee Legislature  'Honored' as 'Most Conservative' at CPAC"

Also, read Tom Humphrey to stay up to speed on the Tennessee political landscape:

Marsha Blackburn as Trump's V.P.?

A Decade of Writing on the Web

I've been so busy I missed my own blog birthday - 10 years are done and I'm now on Year 11. Yay me.

Obviously The Regular Reader knows the posts here have been intermittent in the last year or so, but that's changing as a few new adventures are compelling me to become more prolific here. Details on that will follow very soon.

When I began this page, the Web was exploding with blogs, and many of those are now kaput. I am not kaput. That noisy proliferation has now turned into a far more vast cacophony of voices and images which get Tweeted and Pinterested and Instagrammed and Facebooked and far more names of platforms being created. I'm a long-form writer who abhors brevity. Except when I don't.

And still, our world is only just inside the doorway of what is possible with the Internet. If the Internet is the New Alphabet then we've only gotten 3 or 4 letters figured out. More is to be discovered and the new combinations possible are far too large to even imagine ... so far.

When I was a wee boy, knowing down in my bones that I wanted to be a writer, I think I saw a Writer as a process that ended with being a Good Writer Who Writes. Now these many years later, I see it's a process of creation that never ends.

What's been the best writing here? The most popular? 

The Google stats say "Dr. Evil Running Congress?" has been the most viewed post, with over 22,000 views is Most Popular, but that's likely because the image I used of Dr. Evil became a hot listing via image searches using Google. Also popular, pretty much all posts about Frightmare Manor, the haunted attraction located just down the street, have been huge hits on the Web. And they are getting ready to open up again for 2015.

I have various favorites, but here are two posts that I rank as my own best.

First, "Martian", a rumination on the planet Mars and the robots we've placed there. It's from the very first weeks of publishing, and I really like it. In fact, other than movies, I've probably written the most about my fascination with our universe, our solar system and how we do and do not explore it.

My next favorite is also from the early days, "Would You Like To Hear Some Stories?", a post prompted by my sister-in-law and the very real and astonishing experiences of her family during World War 2 and how the posting of those events led to the discovery after many decades of what happened to Katherine's mother's cousin, revealed in the comments of that post.

Happy Blog Birthday Number 9 plus Bonus Historical Event

This is post number 2, 281 of yer Cup of Joe, which first published August 3rd 2005. Stats show 6 people saw that initial posting. Since then, readers on every continent have visited here, either by accident or design. Millions have visited since 2005 and I thank all of you for that.

Constant readers here are used to the constantly shifting focus of my posts (I think they are used to it). I have always had an eye on political and cultural topics, however as both the Internet and myself have made our digital way, I've become slower to post and less eager to add my thoughts to the chaotic rantings and such one finds easily available. I've taken time off to ignore the digital world so that I could pay more attention to the actual physical plane, but the gravitational pull of all that is online is too strong to resist.

Perhaps, over the years I have angered some readers, amused some, challenged or depressed some, brought some measure of joys or sorrows. All of what one finds on this blog were at least items I considered worthwhile to share. Or at least odd notations on the events and experiences available on our wee planet.

I don't expect that to change. It might, but here on these pages I know I can present and provide my views and ponderings without meeting anyone else's measure of merit.

I am fond of the fact that I am alive and aging, but I know the Future belongs mostly to the young, who have no allegiances to Time or Age.

So. Here is a 13-year-old girl named Mo'Ne Davis, who can hurl a baseball at 70 mph (check out her blazing skills here) and her team, the Taney Dragons are heading to the Little League World Series this Friday as they face the Nashville team, the South Nashville LL at 3 pm eastern time, to be aired on ESPN. Her achievements will make a far greater impact on history than just about anything I do. Not many folks keep records, stats or stage playoff challenges for blog writers. I'm ok with that. If you are reading this, you too have just learned about Mo'ne and that was the point of my mention.

Oh, and keep reading, faithful followers. I'll keep writing.

Making A 'Wrinkle In Time'

My absence on this page is due to aliens, time-and-space travel, and even an evil brain. All are elements of Madeleine L'Engle's novel "A Wrinkle In Time", adapted for stage by John Glore, and the show I'm currently directing for the annual student production from Rose Center Summer Players.

The show runs for 5 performances only this week, starting Thursday night at 7 at Rose Center in Morristown.

So my 'summer vacation' has been one filled with travelling through the Universe via Einstein-Rosen Bridges, discussions with the cast about science-fiction tropes and traits, about Time and paradoxes, about science, family, tesseracts, and this endless multi-verse strewn with stars which we all call home.

And, as this is tech and production week, ending with 5 performances, I likely won't have time to get back here until next week. 

If you wonder how one stages travelling via a Wormhole across hundreds of light years - well, you'll just have to come to see the show. We have a very talented cast of area students, ranging from 12 to 18 years of age who bring this show to life. 

The show runs Thursday, Friday and Saturday at 7 ppm, and two matinees, at 2 pm on Saturday and Sunday. Tickets are a mere $5 and can be purchased in advance by calling 423-581-4330.

Why I Stopped Blogging

Note I said stopped not quit in my Google Trend grabbing headline. I've been absent here because all work for some weeks was directing the play "Red Velvet Cake War" for the Morristown Theatre Guild.

Above is a pic of a scene of the three heroines, Gaynelle, Peaches and Jimmie Wyvette, caught by the law after digging up and stealing a time capsule from the courthouse lawn ... for a cake recipe inside. The show is pretty much all like that - somewhat crazy but mighty funny. It's a family reunion crammed with sharp jokes written  by the trio of Jones, Hope and Wooten.

Directing and designing a show pulls me seat from writing daily here, the Art goes on the stage. Yes, otherwise the Art goes here, the Art of Blogging. More on that later - more pics from the play, which runs for only 3 more performances on Nov 15 and 16 at 8 pm and Nov 17 at 2 pm at Rose Center in Morristown. Tickets: 423-586-9260.

Peaches, Newt and Dr. Dowdall wrestle with love and destiny.

Gaynelle, wearing her "Gospel Beehive Wig Number 603", and Peaches don't really like Cousin Purvis's crushing affection.

The cast us truly stellar too, not just saying that because it's my show but because they make it their show, stuffed with hilarious fun. They are:

Cee Cee Windham .... Carli Rick

Gaynelle Verdeen Bodeen ... Sherri Jacobs

LaMerle Verdeen Minshew ... Sharon Seals

Aubrey Verdeen ... Darryl Frith

Jimmie Wyvette Verdeen ... Keela Phillips

Peaches Verdeen Belrose ... Kellie Ward

Bitsy Hargis ... Mitzi Akins

Newt Blaylock ... Alex Michael

Deputy Grover Lout ... Doyle Whitmill

Elsa Dowdall ... Lisa Frith

Mama Doll Hargis .... Sue Wisniewski

Purvis Verdeen ... Doyle Whitmill

Recent Carson-Newman grad Jessica Whitmill is the stage manager, also one of the best I've worked with. 

As for the Art of Blogging? It is a solo performance. The Art of the Stage is defined by collaboration, that seemingly elusive quality in the world today. 

One of the things the cast and I talked about was the powerful influence of creating spontaneous laughter for two hours - audiences will not leave the show with answers to life's Big Questions, but they will leave Happy. Another quality that can change the world. Theatre is an ancient Art, a fundamental layer of Community and Civilization, 

Come see the show - we've had folks from Virginia to Las Vegas attend and roar with laughter. Do yourself a great favor and laugh for a couple of hours.

Unwired: The Final Installment of a Non-LiveBlog

This is the Third and final part of an experiment I made to live and work offline and write about my results via a sort of non LiveBlog.  (Part two is here.)

The final installment is below, and I must say that - unsurprisingly - the overall results are deeply boring and uninteresting to most everyone. The life of a writer is a fairly boring thing. I tend to work all alone, though I have often collaborated with a few folks. But mostly my time would be akin to watching paint dry. Thinking, scratching out notes and ideas, re-writing and re-writing again are dull events to observe. It's a far, far more exciting time within my brain of course, an electric-synaptic-orgy of thoughts and actions.

I wondered if my creation and eventual publication of a life lived offline would draw in readers. It has not. Not only am I a solo writer, I am a solo human - never been married, no girlfriend currently, so no spousal/near-spousal dramas or comedies to share; no children to tote from one life-affirming event to another; no financial chicanery or wizardry to recount; no daring recipes of dazzling foods to share (though I often do make a fine and tasty dish, plus there's always a fine cup of coffee close by); and as a solo writer, while I do have so many fascinating and intelligent friends, I don't always share such conversations here on this blog, though I often write about the results of my thoughts after such conversations.

Me

I do act, write, direct and produce several stage shows thru the year - and all those I shamelessly do self-promote here. And since a few (very few) have asked, this post includes a fairly recent picture of my very handsome, lovable self.

But I shall add today to this blog the final entry of my Three Part account of my Offline Experiment. Because, as any writer does, I hope what I write does get read. But in all honesty, the writing and the publishing tend to be most important to one lone person: Me.

Should you read, enjoy and share all 3 parts, dear reader, I thank you greatly. Now on with the show!!

PART 3

DAY EIGHT (continued)

11:38 a.m.

All the presentations of status, actions, events, stats, tweets, posts, results both googled and binged, all texting, messaging, and all the jabs of communication short and long … online I am aware these things will reach an audience of readers, whether one or ten or one thousand. Absent the Web, I’m back to the Old Ways of the Writer – what I’m saying and writing may never be seen by anyone.

So the basic foundation of writing is as it ever was: who is the writer writing for or to? Himself? Future generations which might find the scribbled notebooks (or in this case a reader who decides to search the memory of my lone computer)? The drive to make these sentences has been greatly fueled in the last eight to ten years by the reality that I can publish what I write on a global scale without being a lowly worker for a large or small publishing company, newspaper or any other media owner – I pay for my access to the web, write and publish as I wish, daily, weekly, hourly, and I publish whatever I wish. And I know what I write gets read (according to my stats counter) not only by readers in the U.S., but in Europe, Asia, South America – anywhere the Web exists.

And while it is true that without a publisher my earnings from my writing is limited, there still exists a large opportunity that a sizable paycheck will arrive in the future – a matter of my efforts to promote it, or perhaps someone else who decides to share it, or my skill or luck at saying something which snags the world’s imagination and wallets.

11:56 a.m.
Boop-bedoop-bah-bah … grrrrrrr.


8:20 p.m.

Televised coverage of the celeb arrivals for Oscars’ red carpet is deeply dull. Essentially, the actors and performers all parade past a crowd of mostly publicists, herded like cattle, yet politely, but the celebs seem to have little of note to say or do, aside from wearing clothes and jewelry. So few improve skills are displayed – even being interesting seems to escape them … though is the problem instead that today’s celebs don’t like this parade, even resent it?

9:15 p.m.

Producer Brian Grazer … how old is he, 60? Crazy scientist/spiky 1980’s pop star/anime hair looks odd on old people.

10:00 p.m.

Cirque du Soleil performs a showcase of … well, what was their show about? As the cast swings around the theater I keep thinking about how the producers of the Spiderman show on Broadway should have used them. I still think the backstage is the place to be these days.

So sad that Crystal doesn’t have Jack Nicholson to make jokes about this time around. He does Clooney jokes instead … but the mirth is oddly muffled.

11:30 p.m.

Let’s see – a French silent film comedy filmed in L.A., Meryl Streep as Margaret Thatcher, Woody Allen’s script, black actresses playing maids in the 1960s, a song by the Muppets, and efx/tech awards heaped upon Martin Scorcese … the show tonite seemed steeped in nostalgia.


DAY NINE

8:00 a.m.

I’m cranky and unhappy without the ability to seek and read news from the wide range of sources via the Web. There’s such a superficial gloss, an total lack of critical thinking and a loving embrace of the spin from PR men and women on television.

9:00 a.m.

This offline experiment is a drag so I am ending it. However, I will extend it through today so that I might prepare some closing remarks … which hopefully will contain some kind of notable conclusion. Hopefully. Right now, I’m lacking any wisdom here, other than I am suffering a debilitating addiction to the internet. Does that make me pitiable or do I have merely a ‘first world problem’?

I’ve cleared more than a week without it, approaching 10 days. What time period is needed to truly flush my system of digital cyber-toxins? A month? A year? Or is it like alcohol or drug addiction – meaning I am forever an addict forced to live one day at a time with the constant threat that the addiction will return with even the slightest usage, just one email is all it would take and boom! I’m over the edge of the abyss.

How long could you go without the online world, dear reader? An hour? A day? Do you dare even attempt it?

1:00 p.m.

Grim hours ahead as I cling to my experiment in spite of a raging urge to go online …

Perhaps what has been absent is more than just my ability to amuse, entertain or even educate myself via the Web … perhaps the removal of access is also the removal of my one constant avenue of self-expression in our modern world. No access means no voice for me about the world I inhabit? That’s a chilling thought …

DAY ELEVEN

I'm going back online tomorrow .... what have I learned, if anything, trying this offline experiment? That, dear reader, is a question I will have to ponder .... and yet I wonder most -- how long could you go with no online access??

Unwired: A Non-Liveblog of Life Outside Cyberspace

I decided to do an experiment and shut off the internet for a while, eventually going 12 days with no email, texting, no connection with The Web. I was curious what the changes would be since I've been connected to The Web for about 20 years. And I didn't tell anyone, just wasn't there .. there being here, on The Web. What were the results of the experiment?

I'm awake, up writing on and off The Web daily and early, a longtime habit. So I decided that instead of surfing and reading online, I would keep sort of a non-published Twiter feed to document the effects of being so disconnected. And then publish the results on The Web.

So here is Part One of a Three Part series of the non-liveblog:

DAY ONE

11:30 a.m.
Have marked the first 24 hours with no online usage.

What if I were to decide to never return to explore the world via online access? What if this non-connected landscape becomes preferable? Will I become an oddity of creation? Not being part of online discussions, comments, image sharing and info sharing, will I become a person unwelcome should I prefer to engage the world in the flesh, face to face? Will I be perceived as a danger, a threat even?

12:20 p.m.
Should I have told people I was going to do this? As those who undertake some solo journey to an isolated location, like that guy in that movie “127 Hours” who did not let people know he was taking on a risky task, he got stuck in some rocks and had to saw his arm off, so should I have alerted someone?
Or have I already chopped off an appendage by abandoning my internet post?

I hope I don’t start calling people on the phone for no real reason or decide to become a phone texter. Texting seems alien to me now – maybe I should decide now not to fill in the internet absence with pervasive texts … I am getting a little nervous.

2:18 p.m.
No one here in the house has started a meme today.

There have been, however, several snarky and witty comments made, but no one wrote them down or shared them with anyone outside of the house.

My neighbors have not come by to show me any photos of funny cats or cute kids.

4:30 p.m.
It occurs to me that this document is sort of like live-blogging an event which is not really live, nor is it really taking place. It’s a running commentary on what is not happening. Or, it’s a commentary on something which is really just happening to me. I am going to continue, though, since I have encountered much which is utterly useless and self-serving on the internet, so this project seems worthy of coverage and reporting. To me. For now.

 ....

DAY TWO

5:30 p.m.
This day has not been too bad. One glaring difference is the ability to obtain news and information, as mentioned before. Cable local and national news are offering an astonishingly narrow selection of stories. So much of what I am seeing reminds me of the old Punch and Judy puppet shows of hundreds of years ago – laughable figures beating each other up in an endless loop. (Note: While I know the old P and J shows began many years ago, I cannot provide the actual date they began to take place and spread since I don’t have access to vast archives of research offered by the internet to verify or correct my claims.)
---

DAY THREE

8:24 a.m.
I had thought initially that I might try this experiment for a month, now I’m thinking a week will be my limit.        

1:20 p.m.
Daylight is really bright.


 DAY FOUR

3:05 pm
I miss being able to look at funny pictures of whatever I want. So, here’s a picture from my hard drive – Charles Napier in “Star Trek”

DAY FIVE
7:48 a.m.
Oh man, this tiny dribble of information coming into the house via radio and television is ridiculously inadequate. It’s barely a notch above using the Pony Express to share news and information.

I can measure this weak and puny stream of information not by the bytes arriving by second, it is words per hour. And I know too there are some in the wide world who may just be pining for my perspectives which have been absent.

I have resisted urges to go to a friend’s house or library to sneak online for just a minute to check email messages. But my resolve is fading … I imagine it will take at least one week to kill such urges.


8:48 a.m.
A few weeks ago when web site operators wanted to make a global protest against internet piracy legislation, the web sites shut down for only 24 hours to make their point and kill the legislation. 24 hours. What would the response have been if, like me, they shut down for 5 times as long (120 hours and counting)?

9:15 a.m.
Have I been released from a digital cage or have I been caged in an analog world?

9:42 a.m.
This was a terrible idea.
....

That's the end of Part One, and when the other parts are published in the next few days, they will be linked here and here.

And a question for you, dear readers: How long would you be willing to go without The Web?

Tennessee Man Decides To Wear A Kilt For A Year

My friend Rick Baldwin is going to mark turning 50 by wearing a kilt for a year. And he's apparently decided to blog the experience and though he doesn't hit 50 until April next year, he's getting prepped for it. He writes:

"I admit I've never been much of a daredevil kind of guy. Skydiving and bungee jumping don't appeal to me. I don't have the finances to run out and buy a Lamborghini and I don't have the energy to get tanked and marry a 22 year old reality TV star in Vegas (hey, don't think they aren't lining up for the chance...). I prefer to celebrate in a more laid-back fashion. Still incorporate the danger of skydiving, the style of the Lamborghini and the romance and sexuality of the Vegas marriage. What else could capture all of these things better than wearing a kilt for an entire year? You knew I was going to say that, right? Well it's the title of the blog for haggis' sake!

Oh. One other confession. I've never owned or worn a kilt before. For many years I've wanted to own one but they always seemed so expensive and I never go to enough Celtic festivals or Renaissance Faires to make it worth it. The majority of my heritage is Scotch/Irish so I've always had the kilt on my list of things to purchase one day but always put it off. Recently I was making a mental list of things I would like to do after I turn 50 and I thought about wanting to buy a kilt. One thing led to another and I suddenly thought, "What if I commit to wearing a kilt every day of my 50th year?" Next thing I know, I did just that. I committed. In front of someone else even. I guess that means I gotta do it."

Rick is an artist in Chattanooga, has been doing editorial cartoons for years, and I recall back in college days, when we first met, he was making gobs of cash working in Gatlinburg doing airbrush t-shirts and such. He has a sense of humor which I often note as being ... well, he's never ordinary.

After reading about his plans for his 50th, I realized I had made no such grand plans to mark my 50th year. In truth, I do recall pondering that I was just happy to have made it so far. But did I miss some Golden Opportunity?

Probably. My dad used to tell me that when my boat finally came in I would probably be at the airport.

Is marking one's 50th year with some divergent behavior important? I have no answer for that. I do know that for me, I try and do things rather often which I have not done before. Such newness educates me, terrifies me, tasks me and generally pushes me to explore what it is possible (or perhaps impossible). (For instance, this week I'm finishing up a new play I've been writing, it's a Western, and it sure has me confused but I've always wanted to write one, so I am.)

So to honor that approach to life and to make sure Rick is going to keep his vow to wear a kilt, I thought I would bring his vow to your attention. Who knows, maybe his actions will encourage you, dear reader, to embrace some new thing in your life too.

Theatre Guild Opens Agatha Christie's Greatest Mystery on Friday

Here you go - your chance to both see and hear me as I promote my current theatrical project, all real life (sort of, the beard I'm sporting is for a character I'm playing in this production of Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" by the Morristown Theatre Guild, a show I am also directing. Which is to say I do not normally have a beard.)

This is the first time I have been on YouTube (and I think, the first time the Guild has a YouTube vid.) This was shot while I was doing some emcee work for the annual Mountain Makins festival in Morristown, and was shot for Morristown TV Today.

What I noticed in this promo for the show is that when I start talking about the plot for Christie's play - 10 people are stranded on an island estate and are being killed off one by one - is that I suddenly develop a case of Crazy Eyes. I must confess that it is quite likely that whenever I start talking about mysteries and murder plays and stories, my eyes will get all crazy. And my smile turns kinda creepy too. The video is below, but first, props to the cast. (Oh and I have tinkered a bit with the script, so that the show will have a different ending depending on which night you see it.)

This show has been fantastic fun to work on, a true ensemble cast of talented players who, like me, enjoy the screams and the chills that go with this show. So let me tell you some about them and their characters, who are all liars and have all been accused of murder as the story unfolds -- Eric McDowell and Tana McClain play Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, servants who have been hired to take care of the arriving guests. He is rather milk toasty and she is rather rude and their fate is not pleasant. John Carpenter plays the cavalier mercenary Phillip Lombard, and John and I have been friends for decades. We make jokes and references to pop culture so old, that Autumn Leming, who plays the young secretary Vera Claythorne, said at rehearsal recently, "Oh, you old people and your words!"

Newcomer to the Guild is Larry Glover, who plays the mostly dim-witted and devious Mr. Davis/William Blore, and he cracks jokes backstage constantly. Kylian Andrew has the choice role of the spoiled, preppy Anthony Marston (he's also the youngest member of the cast and I also directed him in a production of "Alice In Wonderland", where he performed a perfect Mad Hatter. In fact, Tana played the Red Queen and Autumn was Alice - they are a very talented young trio.)

Hobart Smith plays the addled and nearly ancient General MacKenzie, and he is always such fun to work with. He reminded me recently our first show together was when he played a sloppy drunk "children's story hour reader" for a fake live radio show titled "Laughing Buddha Holistic Radio Show" and his slurred reading of "Winnie The Pooh" was hilarious. Mitzi Price-Akins plays the ultra-conservativc Emily Brent, who is rather like a furious modern American conservative denouncing all things. She's a bona fide force of nature onstage.

Dale Stanton plays the high-strung and nervous Dr. Armstrong. Dale and I last worked together on "On Golden Pond" when he played Norman Thayer. He is sly and funny and works relentlessly as an actor. Doug Knight plays the boat captain, Narracott, and though it is a small part, he makes it most memorable and funny. And he agreed to do the show even though he is a newlywed of less than a month. I play the role of Sir Lawrence Wargrave (what a great name!), a judge who enjoys ordering everyone about. (typecasting?) Olivia Fee is the stage manager for this show.

And mention too must be made for my longtime friend David Horton, who is the technical director for the show, and is the most talented and creative man I know. He played the role of Lombard when the Guild last performed this play, back in 1983, and he has been a brilliant adviser on this show. He and I have worked together co-writing spooky plays and murder mysteries for many years. David travels the world and the U.S. as a professional entertainment consultant and he does astonishing things on a regular basis. Thanks, DH.

Performances for this show are Nov 11-20 at Rose Center, with Friday and Saturday shows at 8 pm, Sunday matinees at 2 pm. Also, a special opening night reception will be held just prior to the show at 7 pm on Friday Nov. 11 as the Guild presents their line-up of shows for the 2012 season (their 78th year) and to say thanks to everyone who attends and supports the Guild. Tickets are available online at lakewaytickets.com.

And now, here I am, unmasked and with a case of Crazy Eyes, talking about the show. I hope you, dear reader, can attend at least one performance.

This Is Post Number 2000

2000 entries seems notable, so I note it.

I had and have numerous items I'd like to include in this milestone, however I have some rather disconcerting medical woes at present and so good sentences are not easily obtained. Perhaps I am merely feeling the burdens of age and time, yet I despise not having the abilities I normally have - And rather than sit quiet, I decided to offer this humble post.

And I also write to express my endless thanks to all the readers from around the world who have stopped by at least once to explore a Cup of Joe. So thank you.

If you have found some value in one or ten or a hundred of the 2000 posts offered here, I am flattered and  grateful. I know I have at least another 2000 to share, and likely much more.

However today is for healing up, resting and giving thanks.

I'll be in touch.

Rotten Foot; or My Own Health Care Meltdown

I have a good excuse for not having created new posts at my normal rate.

I have what could best be termed a metabolic derangement.

I've altered and adjusted my dietary intake to affect some change - with little success. One doctor tells me I have a hereditary predisposition for the condition, so I'm stuck with the problem. The problem - a fiercely painful problem called gout - was long referred to as a "rich man's disease" or a "king's disease" or the product of "indolence" - none of which apply to me (okay, maybe I am a little bit indolent, as I most often spend my hours at a desk and keyboard). Historians tell me that such luminaries as Alexander the Great and Isaac Newton suffered this problem.

It first dug into my hide last February, I woke up thinking I had broken my ankle during my sleep or something. (A true sign of aging, indeed - waking up having injured myself in my sleep.) I actually had to get a dang cane and hobble into the doctor, who promptly said "Oh, it's gout" and gave me a few prescriptions, which did scale it back to a more normal Joe kind of day pretty quickly. But it keeps coming back. It sort of feels like someone is pounding on my feet with a ball-peen hammer repeatedly.

History, again, reveals that it was Ben Franklin who, suffering the condition, obtained a a medicine made from the autumn crocus, aka, meadow saffron, called Colchicine. The same medicine was prescribed for me. However, the medicine was banned last fall by the FDA, as it had never undergone the standard testing procedures modern medicines must undergo. It was also only 6 dollars a for a month's supply.

A new drug, Uloric, is being promoted instead, and it costs about 200 dollars for a month's supply.

Thanks. Like I can afford that.

Now let's get even more confused.

One doctor claims that the FDA only banned the sale of injectable Colchicine. An article in the Oak Ridger by Dr. William Culbert Jr says the drug has been approved by the FDA, but fails to note the massive change in prices, up to $5 per pill.

What I have learned is that since Colchicine was "grandfathered" by the FDA since it had been used for centuries before there was an FDA, that allowed for a company called URL Pharma to step up in 2009 and pay for the FDA testing and for a new patent on Colchicine, now called Colcrys. The result of their actions forced all other makers of generic Colchicine to halt all sales. It's buy their product or nothing. Their product also costs about $300 for a month's supply.

URL Pharma was quick to eliminate even a discussion by doctors about the change from generic to a very expensive medication. "Shake-down letters" - that's what some physicians called the communications from URL Pharma. "Liability" replied URL Pharma.

Which all leaves me without medicine, as that price tag is too large. I'll have to try and get on a "patient assistance program". Which I am loathe to do.

And, frustrated, in pain, and more than a little confused, it's been tough to sit down and write something for my blog. And so here I am, offering instead far more personal information than I really wanted to provide. Who wants to read about my health problems? (And I am most grateful this is the only medical woe I have, as millions of others have far more horrifying conditions and limited treatment tales.)

Like millions and millions of Americans, I am left with a simple conclusion - doctors don't operate our health care system, but pharmaceutical companies and insurance companies run it instead.

I suppose I should be happy I don't need a prescription to use a cane ..... yet.

A Brief History of My Coffee Cup

I was reaching for my favorite coffee cup this morning when my half-asleep hands fumbled and the cup fell to the floor and broke into two halves, as if someone had sawed the darn thing right down the middle.

I really did like that coffee cup. It was a gift from my mother some years ago, with a hand-made fired clay look to it, all gnarled and dark brown and it had the word "Chickamauga" on it, and an image of some cannons and a stack of cannonballs. Best of all, it was the right size for the amount of coffee I wanted. Too many cups are barely thimbles for containing coffee, and some are like small buckets which hold too much. This one was "just right".

The name Chickamauga was most familiar to me - both my parents were from the Chattanooga area, and many summer days were spent at the TVA-created Nickajack and Chickamauga lakes with relatives, and often we would watch the operations of the massive river lock at the Nickajack Dam. The night-time operations were completely fascinating feats to witness.

Chickamauga also lends its name to a brutal, bloody Civil War with casualties second only to the battle of Gettysburg. Many of those youthful summers also brought chances to tour the Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park which were created by acts of the Congress beginning back in 1890 to preserve the site of the deadly warfare - tens of thousands killed, injured and missing.

I'm not one of the Men of the South who act as some historical custodian of that war. But living in East Tennessee, one cannot escape awareness - on any casual summer day one could easily probe the landscape and find bullets or buttons or other remnants of the soldiers who roamed here with great purpose in mind, and there are also those grim, grey historical markers dotting the landscape wherever one travels here. I do have a more sympathetic affiliation, as I know the words Chickamauga and Nickajack were names of the Cherokee. I was always told our family had some distant genetic ties to those native Americans, so in my youthful imaginings, the untamed and wise way of those people seemed far more appealing than tattered and torn soldiers dying by the thousands.

I also read a most stunning short story growing up titled "Chickamauga" by Ambrose Bierce. It remains a vivid, powerful tale of a young boy out playing one day who gets lost amid the battle of Chickamauga. The story scared the bejesus out of me and it still has to power to conjure the most powerful emotions. You can read the tale here, and it won't take long to read but it will take your breath away.

But today, my favorite coffee cup, which had a word that held some imaginations for me, that cup is in two pieces. Searching for another to use today instead, I had to settle for a cup with a Santa picture on it and a handle shaped like a candy cane. I feel utterly ridiculous using it, even if it is seasonably appropriate.

So as I sip from my Santa cup (no dignity there), I decided to noodle about the Internet and see if I could find what definition the word Chickamauga had for the Cherokee. Apparently, there is no consensus, and much confusion. WikiPedia says at one time, folks thought it meant River of Death:

"In popular histories, it is often said that Chickamauga is a Cherokee word meaning "river of death".^[12] Peter Cozzens, who has written arguably the most definitive book on the battle, This Terrible Sound, wrote that this is the "loose translation".^[13] Glenn Tucker presents the translations of "stagnant water" (from the "lower Cherokee tongue"), "good country" (from the Chickasaw) and, "river of death" (dialect of the "upcountry Cherokee"). Tucker claims that the "river of death" came by its name not from early warfare, but from the location that the Cherokee contracted smallpox.^[14] James Mooney, in Myths of the Cherokee, wrote that Chickamauga is the more common spelling for Tsïkäma'gï, a name that has "lost any meaning in Cherokee and appears to be of foreign origin."^[15]

Another collection of Tennessee tales offers the following:

"CHICKAMAUGA: The name of two creeks in Hamilton county, entering Tennessee river from opposite sides a few miles above Chattanooga. A creek of the same name is one of the head-streams of Chattahoochee river, in White county, Georgia. The Cherokee pronounce, it Tsïkäma'gï, applying the name in Tennessee to the territory about the mouth of the southern, or principal, stream, where they formerly had a town, from which they removed in 1782. They state, however, that it is not a Cherokee word and has no meaning in their language. Filson, in 1793, erroneously states that it is from the Cherokee language and signifies "Boiling pot," referring to a dangerous whirlpool in the river near by, and later writers have improved upon this by translating it to mean "Whirlpool." The error arises from confounding this place with The Suck, a whirlpool in Tennessee river 15 miles farther down and known to the Cherokee as Ûñtiguhï', "Pot in the water" (see number 63, "Ûñtsaiyï', the Gambler"). On account of the hard fighting in the neighborhood during the Civil war, the stream was sometimes called, poetically, "The River of Death," the term being frequently given as a translation of the Indian word. It has been suggested that the name is derived from an Algonquian word referring to a fishing or fish-spearing place, in which case it may have originated with the Shawano, who formerly occupied middle Tennessee, and some of whom at a later period resided jointly with the Cherokee in the settlements along this part of the river. If not Shawano it is probably from the Creek or Chickasaw.

Concerning "Chickamauga gulch," a canyon on the northern stream of that name, a newspaper writer gives the following so-called legend, which it is hardly necessary to say is not genuine:

The Cherokees were a tribe singularly rich in tradition, and of course so wild, gloomy, and remarkable a spot was not without its legend. The descendants of the expatriated semi-barbarians believe to this day that in ages gone a great serpent made its den in the gulch, and that yearly he demanded of the red men ten of their most beautiful maidens as a sacrificial offering. Fearful of extermination, the demand was always complied with by the tribe, amid weeping and wailing by the women. On the day before the tribute was due the serpent announced its presence by a demoniacal hiss, and the next morning the fair ones who had been chosen to save the tribe were taken to the summit of a cliff and left to be swallowed by the scaly Moloch."

Yes, that last bit sounds like a crazy white man invention to cast harsh cruelties on the Cherokee.

And yes, you may be wondering why I would exert my efforts today to write about a broken cup. I simply really liked it, it was my companion as I wrote - and now it is gone. I'm not going to try and SuperGlue the pieces together, because a paranoid portion of my mind would always assume I was drinking some globs of glue with my coffee. So farewell to my favorite coffee cup. It once held the deep, dark marks of thousands of servings of coffee like geologic strata, etched with a name whose true meaning has been lost in time, and a name which holds many meanings.

For now, it's me and the Santa cup.

Some Secrets of Frightmare Manor

This is another in a continuing series of posts this month as I write about being a performer in the immensely popular Frightmare Manor here in East Tennessee and I'm telling some of the secrets and the behind-the-scenes events at the Manor. (UPDATE - go here to learn about Frightmare Manor 2011!)

I've been one of those creepy fans horror movies and books and stories for as long as I can remember. And I've been a part of haunted houses and shows, and even put on a few of those myself, also for as long as I can remember. And I have a few insights which I'm happy to share - but just a few, since some secrets must be kept. But feel free to ask questions in the comments section below.

Here's one thing I do know - once a person or a group go into a haunted attraction, like Frightmare Manor, just walking thru the dark, creaky house sets the heart to pounding and the imagination tells us this darkness is home to an Un-nameable Horror, concealing those things which always are with us, buried just below the senses. But you know it's there. So when something - a shape, a cold hand, a voice - starts moving out of the dark and toward you, the un-named becomes real.

So what scares you most?

It's not to hard to thing of some very real fears humans have - we live in a time of economic uncertainty, a time of terrorist warnings, and being fearful of strangers and worries about 'secure' schools and borders and homes seem to surround the nation.

But that's not the type of fear or scares I mean. And even if you can't identify that thing which frightens you, we at Frightmare know ... and know how to make it come to life.

Here's some background on what it takes to be one of the insiders at Frightmare - I was one of over 300 applicants for acting jobs. And honestly, some of the folks I met during the application process were plenty scary already. And we all love our jobs - which is bad news for you!

Chris and his hard-working crew have taken almost a year to take an old house and the surrounding woods and other locations and transform it all into a nasty stew of scary, creepy, crawly things. Several performers arrived with their own costumes and masks and other ideas too. One of my favorites is this wee lad who haunts a room full of discarded and dirty toys. That boy is mighty freaky.

From my location, I can tell when a new group is moving thru the Manor because I hear the screams. The howls and pure girly screams (from men, women and children) are always louder than anything else, even though there are many strange sounds filling the Manor already. Then there's the trail thru the woods outside. But more on that later.

Frightmare also offers a money-back event - if you can endure the intense and spectral special scares, you'll get your money back. What is the challenge? Well, I'm sworn to secrecy on that, and really only a few people know exactly what happens during the challenge. The best answer I can give you is that you'll have to sign a waiver first, you must endure it all alone and you'll have to eat something, drink something and do something ... none of it simple or easy. On opening night this past Friday, some 40 brave souls signed up for the challenge ... only one succeeded and got their money back.

Heh heh.

We know what scares you, even if you don't.

We're open again this Friday and Saturday night from 7 p.m til midnight - you can get tickets right now at the main website. If you dare.

A Month of Fear at Frightmare Manor

UPDATE: Find out about Frightmare Manor 2011 here!!

Here in East Tennessee, there is already a chill in the air. October always brings a month of madness and mirth and your Cup of Joe Powell is marking Halloween 2010 with a special insiders view of fears and frights and all things creepy and spooky.

I've taken a job for the month to terrify (even more than usual) all souls brave enough to experience Frightmare Manor in Talbott, TN. This haunted attraction opens tonite and should you have the courage to venture into the dark, I'll be there.

This annual event provides several different attractions and offers an experience you won't forget. So I'll be posting often this month on what it's like to work in a place meant to make you scream and shiver. Myself and some 60 other folks from East TN will emerge from of the shadows, shuffling towards you - it might be some undead thing, or some deranged madman, or something even worse.

As we Frightmare Folk say - this is like Christmas for Crazy People. Last year, crowds of people lined up until one or two in the morning to take this freaky ride. This year, I'm onboard - which means just when you think you might make it through ... something wrong is going to happen.

I won't say just where or when you might encounter me - but I can tell you that all your senses will be assaulted, there will be chainsaws, splattered nastiness all over, a graveyard, some undead children, and much more.

Here's a commercial to make you curious:




And here's the main website where you can learn more and get tickets.

And you are invited to join us.

We know what scares you.

I will be happy to answer any questions you might have about this dark and dreadful event ... yes, any question.
Frightmare Manor is open Oct 1, 2, 8, 9, 15, 16, 21, 22, 23, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31 and Nov. 5 and 6.

My Time As A Hunter; or, The Days I Carried A Gun

Pardon me if I get a bit jumpy reading headlines like "Saturday Is Free Hunting Day" in Tennessee. No permits or such are needed, and it sort of conjures visions of some unwise folks shooting up the countryside. And the headline is not really accurate either.

This day, meant to encourage hunting, coincides with the beginning of squirrel hunting season, so it's okay to shoot (excuse me, 'hunt") squirrels and a few other critters according to the TWRA:

"In addition to squirrels, those species that have a year-round season will be open as well. The year-round species are armadillo, beaver, coyote, English sparrow, groundhog, nutria, pigeon, starling, and striped skunk."

Way back when I was a young teen, I did plenty of fishing and a small amount of hunting with a friend of our family, a fellow who was in his late 20s, and we had such great times and he was a very smart fellow, teaching me much about how to fish and how to hunt. We only hunted squirrels a few times, and we went frog-gigging many times. I remember one of those nights when I was out much of the night with my friend and I was carrying this plastic bag which was soon holding about 10 pounds (or so it seemed) of frog bodies. I was wearing this white t-shirt, and when I came back home my mom nearly fainted at the sight of me. Seems there was a leak in the bag and I was coated and spattered in frog blood. I thought it was pretty funny, but my mom, not so much.

My friend's wife cooked up a fantastically tasty platter of frog legs after our adventures, and I tried not to think about the frog carnage we created.

Our adventures hunting were a bit ... different. He taught me about how to always be safe while hunting, how to carry and shoot a shotgun (I got the smallish .410, but I have never thought of any shotgun as a "small" weapon.) I recall a few days of practice and such prior to going out, again, proof that my friend was a most wise and conscientious person.

Anyway, my friend said he knew some prime places to hunt and soon we were in some gorgeous woods nearby on a mild and sunny day in early Fall in middle Tennessee. It was so quiet, other than various woodland kinds of sounds, and such a beautiful spot he had found. We separated, maybe 30 yards apart, and he advised to just sit quiet for a bit and the squirrels would soon be all around us. ("Good thing I'm armed" I thought and laughed to myself, "because, you know ... squirrels ...")

I heard my friend firing his shotgun a few times, but I still saw no critters at all. I did as instructed though, simply sitting and waiting. Pretty soon, I noticed a squirrel, maybe 20 feet or so away on the side of a large tree trunk. My heart began to race and I closed the breech quickly and quietly and took a careful aim ... and that wee critter did this crazy squirrely twist and hanging off the side of the trunk turned it's head right toward me. It did a full-on, warm-hearted, Disney-cute pose and looked me dead in the eye as I sighted him with the gun.

But that pose it took stopped me cold. It was too dang cute. Blink, blink went the eyes, the tail swished a little wave at me and I could not have shot that critter no matter what. Would have been like shooting some kid's teddy bear.

It was not like I had (or have) some rare fondness for squirrels. It's just that it was watching me in this weird friendly way.

Ah well, I lowered the gun, the squirrel vanished, and I went back to watching the woods, hoping no one had seen me blow my chance to be a hunter.

Maybe half an hour or so later, my friend walked up and asked how it was going and I totally lied and said I had not seen any. He said the spot seemed to be kind of vacant and we would go to another. Soon, we were strolling back to his truck, both of us had the breeches open, though we still had ammo in the guns.

Suddenly this squirrel was racing over some branches above our heads and the noise made us both jump a bit, and in a nanosecond the breeches were closed and I fired. Sadly I had not calculated the distance between my gun and the critter -- a distance I realized afterward was pretty short -- maybe two feet between the squirrel and the end of my barrel. Yes, I pretty much atomized that squirrel. There were no parts or pieces, it was just ... gone.

"I think you got him," my friend said in that ultra-dry way of talking I love in Tennessee. He finally cracked a smile and I quite shaking and laughed too. He kept up the dry humor all the rest of the way back to the truck. By the day's end, he had bagged the limit and I never fired another shot.

His wife cooked up a mess of squirrel to eat and I remember thinking how nasty it tasted, and I was glad I did not depend on squirrel meat for sustenance. We went hunting a few more times, but as I never shot at anything again, we soon returned to fishing, something I was much better at doing. He and I have remained friends over the years and we always share many laughs and smiles at our adventures.

I did learn so much from him over the years, but one of the things I learned best was that I was a Hiker and not a Hunter.

Starting Year 6 of Your Cup of Joe Powell

Five years ago today I started this humble but lovable blog, posting three times that day, which I seldom do these days. My final post that day noted that studies at that time indicated 15,000 web logs were being launched daily. That number has likely fallen too. (Though one poorly designed page I found claims some 35,000 blogs are created each hour as of 2009 but I doubt that.)

The goals from day one remain as the Cup of Joe Powell Guidelines -- writing about news, writing about politics, writing about writing and all of the arts, exploring the Internet, and one more goal: push Joe Powell's views and ideas into the global marketplace. The Internet has allowed me to move far beyond annoying people in my community, and I annoy globally today.

I take much pleasure in the fact that as the years have rolled past, many of the most popular posts I've created have been about movies and entertainment and music. I have a deep passion for movies which has now been shared with almost every nation on the planet. Thanks for visiting and come back often!

I've also been greatly supported by many news outlets, other bloggers and writers, and others who quite often share what I write here and I thank them too. And thanks to each and every reader!!

And I'm pretty confident that today, if you click on any random collection in my Archive list, you'll find a heap of stories worth reading and re-reading, tales which will inform and amuse and capture your imagination.

On to Year 6 and Beyond. And Happy Birthday to Cup of Joe Powell!!

BONUS GIFT: While I remain mostly opposed to offering current images of myself, here's one someone posted to Facebook from sometime in the early 1990s, taken backstage at the Morristown Theatre Guild as I was about to play the role of a 1960s hippie director named Ralph in the play "Butterflies Are Free." I look nothing like this person at all. Nice mustache, too. Enjoy!!

More Thoughts From The 100 Acre Wood

As I mentioned, I've been wandering about the classic world of Winnie The Pooh and his friends this summer as I'm directing a stage version of the Pooh stories for the 19th annual Rose Center Summer Players program - which runs for three performances only July 30, 31 and Aug 1. And you are invited to attend our show!!

(yes, there is real life outside the binary coded creations the Internet offers ... who knew?)

And of course it has been a very long time for my old self since I first found and read the stories of A.A. Milne. And then, as now, I keep encountering some of the very thoughtful and downright Zen attitudes of all those creatures in the 100 Acre Wood.

Here are a few quotes from the Pooh stories worth remembering:

-- some conversations between Pooh and Piglet:

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"

"What's for breakfast? said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"

"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.

Pooh nodded thoughtfully.

"It's the same thing," he said.
-----

"Lots of people talk to animals," said Pooh.
"Not that many listen though."
"That's the problem."
-----

"If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.”
-----

"It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"
-----

"Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is go where they can find you.”
-----

--And some thoughts from Eeyore (don't discount him as a a pessimist):

"It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.
"So it is."
"And freezing."
"Is it?"
"Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately."

-----

"I'm not saying there won't be an Accident now, mind you. They're funny things, Accidents. You never have them till you're having them."

In Which I Recreate the 100 Acre Wood in Morristown

What has your humble narrator been busy working on the last month or so? I've been working on the 19th Annual Rose Center Summer Players production of "Winnie The Pooh", which runs for three (count 'em, three) performances only July 30, 31 and Aug 1 in Morristown, at Rose Center's Pater Hall. (call 423-581-4330 for ticket information)

This is my third year as director for an immensely talented group of area students, grades 6 to 12, who do more than just audition for a role in the play - they help create costumes, sets, makeup, even develop ad sales for the programs. And, once again, the cast's fierce commitment in all those areas makes for a most wonderful production. It's a very energetic and imaginative process for both myself and the cast and a great way to spend a summer! And the Rose Center, the arts and cultural heart of Morristown, cannot be praised enough for their tireless devotion to supporting the arts and arts education in our community.

And, as before, I consider myself to be most fortunate to have been asked to serve as director for these shows. Last year, we worked on creating a gigantic moving peach and an octopus attack for "James and the Giant Peach", and before that, the fantastical world of "Alice In Wonderland." I selected Milne's story this year for a kinder, gentler world of children and wonder and discovery. True, some of the cast laughingly wondered if the gloomy Eeyore was a "suicidal donkey", which highlights how all the Pooh characters are really more than meet the eye.

In fact, since the Summer of 2010 has woes aplenty in the real world just stacking up, it will be a most welcome change to come visit us in the relaxing and only slightly chaotic 100 Acre Wood. You are invited!

I'll do my best to have some pics up and other details soon, as the July 31 opening is drawing closer.

"I Hate Hamlet" Opens In Morristown

Tonight is the opening of the stage production "I Hate Hamlet" for the Morristown Theatre Guild, a very funny comedy about love, life, art, commerce, television, fame, ghosts, Shakespeare and what happens when actors do not wear pants -- and it has been my great pleasure to direct this first production of the Guild's 76th season.

Performances are Friday and Saturday at 8 pm and Sunday at 2 pm this weekend and next weekend at the Rose Center in Prater Hall. And you can order tickets and make reservations here. And there are a couple of things which make this production a real first ... keep reading to learn more.

Here are a few images from Thursday night's dress rehearsal taken by Roger Fleenor

The ghost of John Barrymore listens in as his history is told

Barrymore woos a long-forgotten girlfriend from his past.

Here is a first - this production is the first time I've had to direct while being semi-silenced by some laryngitis, which hit me hard over the last weekend and has made me all wispy-voiced this week. But this cast is so strong and have been eager to collaborate on the production, that the problem has mostly been one of frustration for me. I likes to talk. I likes to talk a lot.

But now the time has come for me to slip into the background and let the players and the play stand on their own -- and truly, they do far more than just stand - they are going to rock your world.

Hamlet, John Barrymore and Me

Posting here has been sporadic and may continue for a bit as a new task now underway is consuming much of my admittedly often distracted energy and time.

The task? I'm neck-deep in directing the comedy "I Hate Hamlet" by Paul Rudnick for the Morristown Theatre Guild as the first show of their 76th season. I have been most fortunate to work with this group of very talented volunteers for many years and this is a show I have been aching to direct some time.

The show opens for six performances only on March 5-7 and the following weekend, March 12-14 at Perk Prater Hall at Rose Center in Morristown and you can order tickets and make reservations right now at the Morristown Theatre Guild website or at Lakeway Tickets.

The show is a machine-gun blast of rapid-fire laughs, one of the funniest scripts I've ever read. The story centers on a famous TV actor named Andrew who is attempting to play the role of Hamlet in New York City, the Holy Grail for actors. However, he's totally terrified and his real estate agent is eager to get him into a very unusual apartment -- a vast space which was once the home of the legendary actor John Barrymore.

On a whim, Andrew and his friends hold a seance to contact Barrymore. And before Andrew can race back to Hollywood and television fame, the ghost of Barrymore does arrive with a single goal: to help Andrew perform one of the most demanding and challenging roles ever written. Still, Andrew refuses until Barrymore also admits that he can help Andrew resolve another problem which is haunting him -- the successful romancing of his girlfriend Deirdre.

Ah, but performing Shakespeare is never simple or easy. As Rudnick writes it, Shakespeare is like "algebra on stage". And just what the heck is a "fardle" anyway??

As Andrew ponders the challenge of creating capital-A "Art", his producer friend Gary from Hollywood reminds him that one does not "do" Art, one "buys" Art with cash earned from doing cheesy TV shows and commercials.

And of course the one thing tougher than Shakespeare is Love.

So it seems that John Barrymore is in fact the coach he truly needs.

For me, digging into the world and the words of Shakespeare and Barrymore is immensely rewarding. I've been a Barrymore fan for some years but I moved from being just a fan to being truly impressed by the man after I saw Barrymore's version of "Moby Dick". In his version of the story, Barrymore plays Captain Ahab, but he is not some demented figure chasing the white whale. He's a lovable scamp who not only kills the whale but returns home by the end to marry his sweetheart.

And yet, for all the history of this actor and the challenge of Hamlet, the play "I Hate Hamlet" never gets bogged down - the laughs and the comedy play fast and furious and the show is great fun for the actors and the audience as well.

The cast:
Robbie Poteete - Andrew
Gislea Eikey - Felicia
Autumn Leming - Deirdre
Kay Flockhart - Lillian
Logan Propst - Gary
John Carpenter - John Barrymore

So ... the work is keeping me very busy and posting is likely to continue to be hit and miss. And you, dear readers, are most cordially invited to attend the show. I'll have some pictures to show off soon (I hope). For now, an image of Barrymore from his 1922 performance as Hamlet. And as Barrymore once said:

"A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams."