THAT'S MISTER SQUEAKY TO YOU

I teach theatre to kids. Have for many years now. When I first got to Denver, I was a starving artist, a playwright and actor who had lived in many a small apartment in NYC. Suddenly, I was getting married, living in an actual house, and my responsibilities changed. I needed to get a job. In New York, I had waited tables and made enough money doing that to stay afloat and do my thing. But in Denver, the job market was a bit different. I did some temp work, catering, and so on. And somehow, I started teaching children's theatre. First at a little place up in Boulder. I had no real plan, so I just talked to the kids like they were people. And that seemed to work. We did shows like Aesop's Fables, and The Arabian Nights, mostly from smaller theatre publishers who specialized in young people's theatre. The scripts were for the most part awful. So we would do what we could to fix them. And they turned out pretty good. 

On my very first day, it was raining. We met in a school gym, and the floors were wood, which made my shoes squeak. One of the kids asked me if she could call me Mister Squeaky Shoes. I said sure. By the next week, the "shoes" part of the name had vanished, but I was Mr. Squeaky. And my career as a theatre teacher began in earnest. 

That was over ten years ago. I've worked at many a theatre, all over Denver. And I now even teach adults. They're are not quite as fun as kids, but I do enjoy it. One of my jobs is with StageDoor Theatre, up in Conifer, which is a little mountain town about an hour from where I live. I got hired to replace a beloved teacher who had left for greener pastures. Our first show was How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying. It was for their high school program. We had a limited budget, way more girls than boys for a show that had way more male roles than female, and at least half the cast was looking at me askance, wondering if I could possibly replace their former teacher. Somehow, we pulled it off, and so began my ongoing relationship with StageDoor. 

The theatre is small, but mighty. There is a love of theatre there that is genuine and intense. I love it. 

This past year, we were about to open Sweeney Todd when the shut down happened. Like, we were going into tech week, and suddenly, the show was gone. And it was going to be fantastic. The cast was into it. I was into it. Things were clicking, and everyone was reaching new heights. Losing that show hurt. And one day, I really hope we can do it. We shall see. The theatre had to close all its shows, for almost an entire year. Which hurt, both artistically and economically. 

Finally, we are back, and about to open a show I wrote called Gleeful. It's about a high school show choir, and may remind people of a certain tv show. To quote Mick Jagger, the show is a gas, gas, gas. 

Just being able to do theatre at all is a gift.

And we want to do more. But money is tight, so I suggested the theatre do a GoFundMe. They said fine, as long as you run it. 

So I did. My song for you all today is a video I made from footage of Monday's rehearsal. The song is Candles. The show is Gleeful. The theatre is StageDoor. Hope to see you there. And if you can, please kick in a few bucks, and then share the page. It's good karma.

Groovy vs. Cruel

And now it's April. How did that happen? Isn't it still 2019? And 1976? And 2001? I have come unhinged in time, and I kind of dig it. Whatever year it is, I do like the weather. Blue skies. Flowers in bloom. And everyone I see on the street seems happy. At ease. Not freaking out quite like before.

And when I say before, I think we all know instantly what I mean. Back in the panic zone. When we all felt like we were in a dream, knew it was a dream, but couldn't figure out how to wake ourselves up. The time of endless bad jokes about toilet paper hoarding. When everyone was watching The Tiger King. I wonder if that will hold up in future years? I read a lot. Listened to a lot of music. Tons, really. Took up cooking in an instant pot. (if you ever want some of the best Mac-n-Cheese made with chorizo and gouda, come on by)

But here we are in April, once described as the cruelest month. I think it's the grooviest month. I think I shall strive to do all those things I've been meaning to do since before. Write more. Hug more. Return calls more. Live more. And live well. I have a great capacity to procrastinate. And it's one of those things that, once started, is hard to stop. Like, if I have to make a call to the dentist, I either have to do it first thing in the morning, or it ain't happening. And then, weeks later, when my wife asks me if I called the dentist, I sigh, remember I should have done that, and the cycle then repeats. 

No doubt, I will do that some more. But hopefully not quite so much as before. 

And if I do, I am going to give myself a break.

I have discovered that's important too. Giving people a break. Last night, at one of the many rehearsals I have going on, the cast was acting kind of nuts. Attention span was zero. Talking out of turn at an all time high. And everyone seemed to have forgotten every bit of blocking, singing, and choreography. I felt like yelling. Almost did. Then something weird happened. I took a breath, reminded myself we have all been through a lot, and started asking nicely if everyone could get it together. I had to ask several times, but soon, the whole cast was on stage, getting things done, working hard, and even laughing. 

It was awesome. 

So that's April. No long cruel. Totally groovy.

Here's the song "It's Not My Fault I'm Happy" by Passion Pit. Enjoy. And be Groovy.