Rambo

Once upon a time in Fall 2002, I stage-managed the musical Gypsy. In prep for it, I was in constant summertime contact with our director, who was flying in for rehearsals from New York City. Really nice lady, and I knew working with her would be great - which it was. Her only true request: Mama Rose needs a REAL dog. Getting a trained dog was out of the question for the amount of money we'd have to spend.
Stage managers aren't typically involved in prop purchases, but for this particular theater at this particular time, I figured I could tackle it. ...and is a live dog REALLY a prop??
Since the cast was set and I had been in contact with all of them anyway for various scheduling, costume fittings and other random reasons, I decided to e-mail them and my crew en masse to ask if anyone might have a small dog already, handy and up for the task. Responses were all similar: "I have a doberman," "I have a St. Bernard." Fantastic. Until: "I don't, my my next-door neighbor is affiliated with a shelter and I'm sure she can help you." ...and so, St. Francis Rescue, Inc., came into my life.
Theater administration decided it would be great to get a stray and have audience members meet the dog after the show, learn it's story, contribute to the rescue league and maybe raffle the dog off at the end to the people who could provide the best home.
St. Francis called me to say they had the perfect stray: Pomeranian, red, male, approximately one year old, blind in one eye from birth. The blindness meant he was "on sale," and I had already told the theater I'd fork out the fee to adopt the dog. He was found wandering the mean streets of Birmingham and we could go pick him up right away. "We," by the way...was me. Perfect! Cut and dried, right? Wrong.
St. Francis representatives had to do a house visit to inspect the home where the dog would live. I had to fill out umpteen pages of information: personal info, personal banking info, credit info, have I ever euthanized a pet, would I ever euthanize a pet, what circumstances would it take for me to euthanize a pet, would I ever abandon a pet, had I ever abandoned a pet, mother's maiden name, future plans if I died unexpectedly as to what would happen to this pet...you get the idea. I wish that human parents were required to fill out as much paperwork to adopt human babies. Truly.
I was given a polaroid photo (old school even then) of "Rambo," sitting happily on a sofa and was told that he was found wandering a laundromat parking lot in the heat of summer, all sad, and was currently living in a home with the laundromat manager, her small children, 17 other dogs and sleeping in a banana crate. How to break my heart into small pieces: tell me a story like that. Thankfully, my home passed muster and off I drove on Labor Day 2002 to get this dog.
I was greeted by a scary, cowboy-killer-smoking, 400-pound woman who informed me that, "Rambo don't take kindly to strangers," as I knelt down to meet him. He bounced up into my lap, licking my hands and face, not indicating in any way that I was someone to not take kindly to. He let me pick him up and he pretty much collapsed in my arms in a very contented way and nuzzled there. Break my heart into little tiny pieces some more, please. "Well, he seems to like you quite a lot! Congratulations, girl, you got you a new dog!!" Thanks, lady. I gave her a check for her vet (adopters pay the vet, who has already neutered and vaccinated them, gratis) and we were on our way. We stopped at the AL/GA border to get to know each other and he seemed like a very sweet, albeit skitterish, dog. Within a few hours: welcome to the stage - rehearsals, tech, previews, and run. What the heck did he sign up for??
He was not a fan of small children in any way, shape, or form. Baby June got nipped, but trust me, she deserved it. No blood drawn, just a warning snap. He was not a fan of the orchestra, bright lights, applause, or much else. He tolerated Mama Rose and the other folks who had to hold him onstage, but some nights didn't make it through the scenes he was supposed to be in. Our director and I thought he had been abused fairly severely, judging by his odd behavior. He had been placed in a bizarre situation, but still. He WAS a fan of the attention when people would meet him after show, and he had fun with the actors backstage. For the most part, he was happy astride my arm whilst carried around and otherwise happy being fed, walked, and left alone to sleep.
He got a photo and write-up in the AJC's Peach Buzz as the only actor in the show with his own dressing room, albeit a cage in the Managing Director's office.
Rambo had a "wrangler," one of the theater interns, who spoiled him rotten, and since he wasn't needed after Scene 4 or so, he spent each intermission and Act 2 with me in the booth. He followed me around everywhere I went, and does to this day. I try not to anthropomorphize, but I think that somehow he knows that he's leading a tremendously better life than he would have, had I not come along. I'm sure you've guessed by now: we didn't raffle him off - the rescue league put the kibosh on that from the get-go.
Nearly 7 years later, he's nearly blind in the other eye, can barely hear, and is generally a grumpy and mean old man. He still "loves" me, and is sweet to humans, as long as those humans don't smell like a vet's office. That said, I spent my lunch hour today taking him to the vet to board while I'm away. He is all teeth there; big red sticker on his file: "Will Bite!" ...and he ain't kiddin'. It was a long and painful check-in, poor fella.
So. Be good, Rambo. I'll be back before you know it.

Si Mi Adoras…

…Bobby Cox: you’ll let Matt Diaz play more often
…Matt Diaz: you’ll hit a home run
…Tim Curry: you’ll make a good movie
…Mom: you’ll quit calling me every day
…Mother Nature: you’ll give me another summer of no triple-digit temps
…The Office: you won’t jump the shark now that Jim & Pam are pregnant
…This Blog: you won’t spoil The Office season finale for everyone who didn’t see it yet (Oops!)

A little tip from me to you

...turns out that when one puts one's blog notes in DRAFT, when one posts one's draft, one's draft is back-dated to when one began the draft.

"Business School" (below) was supposed to be dated today. Alas, its suddenly July again. Time doesn't fly after all.

Business School Can't Teach you Everything

So I'm driving down Moreland Avenue in Atlanta at 2pm on a Friday. It's 91 degrees with 40% humidity. There's a good amount of traffic headed to I-20, and I'm in a long line of cars waiting at the light. I notice this scraggly-lookin' dude walking inbetween cars with a plastic bag full of bottled water. He's selling them to drivers-by for $1.00 apiece. I know this because not only was I offered one (I didn't bite), but he's screaming his product and price at us SO LOUDLY that no one could help but hear him.

For the amount of time he's spending in the hot sun, on asphault, carrying a heavy bag, yelling, surrounded by exhaust from running vehicles, sweating his tuckus off ... seriously, is this a good business plan?? I mean, even if he's selling drugs that I can't see because I'm not a savvy drive-by drug buyer (though he's causing such a ruckus it's doubtful...he's drawing way too much attention), that STILL doesn't seem like a great way to spend one's summer afernoon.

False Comparison

I received an e-mail from a friend. I responded, and need to share:

From: Pedestrian in Motion
Sent: Thursday, July 23, 2009 9:34 AM
Subject: It's about time

Friends: Remember how many people didn’t truly begin to pay attention to AIDS until Rock Hudson – someone famous – died of it. Sadly I believe the same is true for cellphone use while driving. Until someone famous is tragically hurt or killed by a driver paying more attention to his toys than the road, it will receive limited attention. And now with the advent of texting, even less attention is being paid to the road. Here’s the latest on the damage that can be done. I’ve told y’all before and I’ll say it again—please do not call me while on the road. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/23/opinion/23thu3.html?ref=opinion&pagewanted=print

From: AntiBlogger
Sent: Friday, July 24, 2009 11:43 AM
Subject: RE: It's about time

Hey, I’ve thought about this a full day before responding to make sure that I wasn’t having a knee-jerk reaction. Turns out, I wasn’t, so here goes:
I fully agree with you that cell phones in general (talking or texting) are distractions and I look forward to the day when their use is abolished in all 50 states and not just a handful of them.
Famous people, though apparently not famous enough, have suffered serious injury and death thanks to cell phone use. Most notably: supermodel Niki Taylor (serious injury) and most recently Josh Hancock of the St. Louis Cardinals (death). How many stories have we heard lately about bus and train conductors texting? Idiots, all.
That said, what really struck a nerve with me was your opening salvo.
The AIDS epidemic cannot and must not be minimized and compared to driving while distracted. There is no apples-to-apples comparison about it, whatsoever. Yes, Rock Hudson and others (Ryan White, Arthur Ashe, Anthony Perkins, Magic Johnson to name a few) bring a ton of attention, and that’s a good thing. It is not the same thing, I don’t care how you package and present it.
I am certain you meant absolutely no ill by your comparison, but I rabidly disagree with the comparison. You are my friend and I value your opinions and I enjoy our heart-to-hearts and get-togethers and hope to for many years to come. I simply couldn’t let this pass and needed to tell you how I feel. You know I’m not a boat-rocker, but I had to speak up.

Amusement

There's an amusement that a co-worker and I have shared for literally years now. I'm certain this game, or something like it, is played globally in one form or another by those of us who have an inner 7th-grade boy. We call it simply, "Fake Titles," and it involves taking a real movie title and altering it to invent a potential porn or fetish movie title. I certainly won't share the good 'n juicy ones here...that's just not cool...but trust me, we've got an excellent list going.

Some write themselves, of course, as legit flicks:

Above the Rim
Big
Die Hard
Easy Rider
Failure to Launch
Fire Down Below
Shooter
Snake Island
...etc.

A small sample of my not-too-graphic favorites we've managed to muster:

An Inconvenient Itch
Bend Over Like Beckham
Crotchless Panties Hidden Dragon
Cuckold School
Engorge of the Jungle
Lake Flaccid
Little Shop of Whores
My Big Fat Greek Wetting
Remember the Trojans

Funny thing is, I'm pretty sure some of these altered titles are actual movie titles somewhere in the world and I just don't care to subscribe to the right web sites to find out.

Please, please, begin your own list, you fellow filthy-minded fools. Trust me, it can be a daily giggle fest.

Share the Road??

I used to work for a cycling enthusiast. For six years I felt compelled to quench my absolute loathe and disgust for cyclists. That particular enthusiast hasn’t been my boss now for over a year, so I think it’s safe to let the bile seep out.

Who. The hell. Do you think you are, cyclists?? I see you on your sweet bike, in your sweet outfit that cost umpteen hundreds of dollars. I see you ahead of me, very much in my lane, in fact, you’re in the middle of it. Awesome. This is me, passing you, in my car. The car licensed to drive on the road, in an appropriate lane, in a safe manner. I obey the rules of the road, albeit on occasion I fail to follow the speed limit. Trust me, I’m a careful driver, and I see you. I’ve passed you now, and you’re in my rear-view mirror. Stay back there.

Wait. Don’t stay back there. Go to a park. Go to a cycling trail. You know, the kinds of trails crafted especially for you. There’s Stone Mountain Park. There’s the Silver Comet. That’s just two. There are many more, and I can even tell you how to get there. Why in god’s name must you ride on the same road as cars? There’s exhaust, there’s traffic lights, there’s all sorts of hazards, let alone…you. What’s fun in any way about behaving like a car when you can’t go anywhere near as fast as a car, and every car on the road HATES you? Get out of my way. Thank you.