And what a weekend it was...

Okay, it's been a few days. I know! It's been a few days! But you'll be happy to hear those days were not spent idly or without care... though they did end in a hangover...

It's the Return of Diablo II

Yep, after months of having that game off my computer, I've reloaded the old Lord of Destruction and am having a ball with it... well, as much a ball as one can have with a Lord of Destruction, at least. It's pretty much how I spent my Saturday. And, after all, I needed to rest, right?

We had a good show Saturday night. All weekend, we played to sold-out crowds... more on that later...

Party-time... Take One

After the show Saturday, Kerry had a party at her house. Kerry and her husband Chris are nice people... but a bit odd. Let's just say they float above the realm of reality like a balloon floats over a child's head. The string is all that keeps them here. And, since they're a couple, I say, "Good for them."

I was the first from the show to show up at the party. The people already there were in Kerry and Chris's circle of friends, and what an odd bunch they were. All in their thirties and forties, they all seemed very preoccupied with dressing in the latest styles, listening to the newest music, keeping current - NOT BEING OLD!!!!! I met this neurotic obsession with youth like a cold front (with patches of showers). Let's face it. I understand the meaning of my age. It took me this long to get here - I know I'm not 20. Though they couldn't see how silly they looked (nobody 45 should pretend they're still in high school - it's embarrassing), I was enjoying it. Oh, was I!

This fascination with staying young went up to and right over the edge of absurdity. In paying so much attention to what was important to a sixteen-year-old, they missed things like politics, philosophy, world-events - not one of them had children and all still seemed to need to rebel against their parents. Let's face it: the balance of their lives were fashion-dominant and wisdom-poor and I had outgrown that long ago. Along with that out-dated streak of rebellion these folk had, came the idea that you couldn't have a party without pot. (I'm talking ganja, weed, marijuana, grass... you know... funny cigarettes!) Now, my sense of propriety is skewed enough from years of depression and loneliness - you bet I smoked some, too! But there's some and there's some and everyone else seemed to leave some... actually, they didn't leave some anywhere - they smoked it all there! It was strange. It was panicked... It was desperation! After I took a couple of hits, I sat back with my beer (and lit up a Camel so, when someone tried to pass some my way, I could say, "I'm already smoking this.") and watched as these sad, middle-aged people tried desperately to recapture their youth.

And I'm just trying to recapture my early-30's...

It was pretty tame, really. I mean, beer and pot do not a den of iniquity make. I just felt sad for people whose lives were so empty they grabbed on to anything for reassurance lest they become transparent.

... I've been there.

Of the group, Kerry's the only one trying to really do anything. And you can see her looking at the others as though she were the only one to step outside of the cave. She is, forever, apart.

The laughs began when the next guests arrived. (Yep, about two hours after I got there.) The next guests were Bruce and Danya, also in the show. Bruce is an attorney and, once whispered word of this spread, there was a flurry of activity clearing away the ashtrays, unsmoked joint (just one of about ten that were originally rolled), roaches, etc., etc. Now, the funny thing is that Bruce is a patent attorney and no more involved with law enforcement that my cats are. (Though they've taught those toy mice a lesson!)

That made things more comfortable for me - as those who wanted to smoke some more went elsewhere and Bruce and I (the only two in the show with some background in theatre) were left to talk shop.

And, then, Tim arrived...

The next morning, Sunday, I awoke early. Tim from San Diego had called and said he'd visit, taking an early train and calling early once his train pulled in. Well, 8am turned to 9am and I started playing Diablo II. Tim called at around 11am. (To think! The sleep I missed!!!!)

He wanted to talk about my life, what had been going on with me. I told him, "The show. Work. Resting. Same old stuff." He was rather insistent... but the time came to go to the show.

They taped the show on Sunday and I had a pretty good performance. Tim says that, despite our British Bogart, it's a good show. I think he's crazy... or just, plain wrong!

(A little update on the show: Lisa still hasn't noticed that I exist... how many people does this surprise?!)

After the show, we went back to my place. First, we stopped off at Petsmart. Tim works at Petsmart and gets a discount... SO... well, we shopped. Tim was so nice. He loves the cats and bought them tons of treats and toys (such as the toy mice). It was all very generous of him. Then, he took me to Claim Jumper, even more generous of him! Thanks, Tim.

Of course, Rosa and I had been to that Claim Jumper many times (for those who might not know, Claim Jumper is a mid-scale restaurant, nice while not too nice for jeans, ya know?) and Tim seemed to want to hear about it.

Now, by this time, I was getting irritated. I knew how much I sounded like a broken record and was tired of sounding like one. So, I told him, "It's the same, old thing. I miss her desperately. What can I tell you?"

Party-time... Take Two

After we got back to my place - who wants to guess? - yep, Tim and I started drinking. It's what we do. We didn't drink much but I guess my combination of exhaustion and irritation got the best of me because I was hammered after two highballs and three martinis... which, I guess, would be a lot to anyone else. (Truth be told, Tim makes very strong drinks.) Tim kept wanting me to talk about Rosa and, after a while, I found out why. Tim, it seems, thinks I'm in some kind of denial - as if shutting up with make it go away. (I can hope.) He said, "You're not talking about it and if you don't talk about it, it just festers inside you." So, we talked. We talked about how I've been trying to replace meaning with being busy, joy with distraction, Rosa with cigarettes, booze, video games, and St.-Jons-Wort-balanced-sleep. Later, he said, "Either you're going to get back together with Rosa or you're going to kill yourself."

I answered, "I can't get back together with Rosa. She doesn't want me."

...

At some point, after a lot of tears, I passed out. Before I did, though, I sent Rosa and sappy and sad email, again telling her how much I love her. She didn't reply to the last email I sent her, so I'm not expecting her to reply to this one. The sad truth is, she'd moved on - to some place where she never wanted me to be.

The next morning... you wouldn't have wanted to have been there... hung over... badly... I got Tim to the train station by noon and went into work late.

I've since recovered... from the booze, at least.

More play news...

Last night, I heard from Andy (our "Producer"... right...) that we have a sold-out show. "Your show's a run-away hit," he said.

This is the second show I've been in that has been a "run-away hit" that also happened to SUCK. I've been thinking, "How does such a thing happen." I've come to this conclusion: there's no explaining it. Plenty of terrible movies become hits, plenty of no-talent hacks get best-sellers, plenty of bimbos get triple-platinum records. There's just no accounting for taste, people.

... oh well... some things just don't make sense.