“I’m calling Victorian Cut-out Theatre ‘Historical Satire’. That is a genre that we may have invented.”
I don’t know how to take compliments, I never have. This is a trait that makes me awkward to deal with and one that I am trying to sand the rough edges off of. People want you to say ‘thank you’, not stammer and stare at your shoes. I’m good with people most of the time. Five years of acting training has made me able to fake charm exceedingly well, except when something I really hold dear is at stake, then I crack.
I haven’t posted here in a while because I’ve been busy actually doing things, and that beats me writing about all of the stuff I’m going to be doing, doesn’t it?
It has seven years since I was at a drive in. In 2007 I was there with my ex-girlfriend (now wife) to watch the inexplicable pairing of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End and The Invisible. We stayed through both screenings because, according to my wife, “we paid for both of them.” Looking back, we probably could have skipped The Invisible, the story of a ghost-girl attempting to help people solve her (almost?) murder. We probably could have also skipped Pirates 3 now that I think about it. I wonder what was playing on the other screen.
I spent the majority of the weekend taking care of a smaller version of myself like some sort of adorable paradox. I don’t remember being quite so obstinate, but then again I don’t remember much from that time in my life except for getting dunked under water during a swimming lesson when I was two. Regardless, the front end of the weekend was loaded with bathing, and strollering, and playing. His current favorite game is to squeal and charge at our cats, his chubby hands slapping the ground to show dominance. Yesterday, however, was spent finishing…well, “finishing” an episode of VCoT.
These past two weekends have seen my family and I trying fruitlessly to stay cool while temperatures reach a hellish scale. Our house has no air conditioning so we have been running window fans at night like primitives. I realize that my neck of the woods has thus far remained in the double digits and therefore I should have very little to complain about. However, since my people are “snow and rain people”, the high nineties are about as hot as we can irritably handle before we completely lose our shit and wither up like Christopher Lee at the end of Horror of Dracula.
It is sweltering in our house (we have no air conditioning) so our methods of staying cool have revolved around ceiling fans, two window shakers, and wishing it were October. Seriously, it feels like the setting to a Tennessee Williams play around here; excellent mint julep weather though. The night before last, I was treated to an anthology of nightmares, and last night a knot wedged its way next to my right shoulder blade, so sleeping has been a bit difficult. The dull ache is still there. Throbbing.
I think our 50s Invasion Cookout was a success. I’m told people were having fun, anyway. Hosting is always a weird endeavor since my main effort for at least two hours was devoted to making sure everyone was getting fed. Despite nature and technology we did screen The Blob, or part of it before every guest left. In truth, I didn’t expect us to finish the film. Drive-Ins traditionally start at sunset, and you have your car to keep the weather and insects out.
My correspondence has become a bit sparser these days and for that I apologize. But in all honesty I’ve really had nothing new to show you all. I’m still tinkering away on VCoT episodes, writing new projects, and having a minor crisis of faith. But since this blog is meant to inform you of the fun stuff that I have been working on and not incomplete works or my own mental anguish, I’ve not had a lot to say. I’m still working, even though you may not yet gaze upon the fruit of my toils.
I was sitting five feet away from voice actors Rob Paulsen and Maurice LaMarche of Pinky and the Brain in the lobby of the Hyatt Regency Denver when my son’s diaper failed. He was sitting on my lap at the time. If that’s not a metaphor for the convergence of childhood and adulthood, I don’t know what is. It couldn’t have been more perfect if it was an anxiety dream, which is exactly what it felt like. That was just one of many adventures I had at the Denver Comicon this year. Rob Paulsen is a lovely human, being by the way.