Woke up yesterday morning, and The Ankle was worse.

I'm not certain why, it was much better the day before as long as I didn't move it, but yesterday it was really hard not to take a step in a way that made me go "ooch ooch ow ouch ooch ouch" like a bulldog with a kitten on his back, and I finally had to point my knee and toe inward in order to walk in any sort of pain-free manner, which made me look less as though I had a sprained ankle and more as though I had a degenerative bone disorder. Especially since my foot is ace bandage-free.

Man, I'll tell you, that walk from 9th Ave. to 8th looked longer than I had ever seen it. It was like that shot in Poltergeist where Jobeth Williams has to run down the hall to save her kids and the hallway just stretches out before her eyes. Like that. The goal just got farther away the more I walked towards it.

Yesterday was all about the Crush and the boy that I am Crushed on and Crushety Crush Crush Crush. Also Crush. First rehearsal tonight? Whatever. Finish up work before JournalCon? Yawn. Cute boy at seven o'clock? Now that's important. You've got to have your priorities straight.

I washed my hair, even though I only wash it every other day and I had done so the day before, and I wore what I think is a flattering shirt, but it may only be a comfortable shirt, which is an entirely different thing. After all that, I barely saw him all day, but being in the same building with him was frankly enough for me.

I kept The Raccoon in paroxysms of laughter by sending her "do you think he likes me?" emails all day. Because I am twelve years old. You see, he talks to me, he tells me stuff about his personal life, but I'm flashing on The Candyman (can you remember that far back?), whom I thought might like me because he would talk to me on the phone and tell me these really super-intimate things about his life and his past and his emotions, and you wouldn't just tell those to anybody, would you? Except that he would. He was an emotional slut, an intimacy slut, and I no longer trust those kinds of connections to mean anything special. But maybe they do, I don't know.

The Raccoon said, "Why don't you ask him?"
"Yeah, right."
"You want me to ask him?"
"God no, don't!"
"Then you'll never find out."
"I know."

And I do know. I should do something, I should try to make something happen, but I am not wired that way. Right now I'm just in the starry-eyed, sighing and staring into space, figuring out how his last name sounds with my name (frankly, awful) and is he Catholic and does he want kids part of the crush, don't rush me straight to the shattered, depressed, no-one will ever love me and I'll die alone part right away. Let me enjoy my daydreams before they have been disproved.

Yesterday was also my last day at work before JournalCon, which meant a rush of cleaning up my desk and getting things done and putting my Pile of Shame in a none-too-accessible place while I'm gone, like my apartment.

Anyway, I couldn't stay any later than 8p because of the first read-through of Orpheus Descending, though I managed to stretch it to 8.20p and took a taxi, somewhat surprisingly arriving only five minutes late, which is frankly hours early in me-time. I walked into this full apartment--there are sixteen of us including me and only two weren't there. Which is as good an indication as any that this is the charmed production that Cynthia and I keep accusing it of being--thirteen out of fifteen actors all able to make it on the same night when calls only went out three days before? And one of the two has the excuse that she is out of town? Unheard of!

I sat down, looked at them, and realized that I could not possibly come up anything intelligent and directorial to say to all of them, so I had them all introduce themselves, shocked the ones that know me by passing out contact sheets, and then we read the play.

And it's good. My God is it good. I knew there was a reason why I didn't want to go around reading it again before we started, it would have been a waste of time and energy, this is how I work, this is how I get inspired and get ideas and get to know the play, by hearing it in the air around me, by being surrounded by it. As they were reading, I wrote down notes of what I wanted to talk about when it was over, and they were good and intelligent and insightful. It's nice to know that I can trust my instincts and my process even on a show this big.

Cynthia is going to be perfect as Carol Cutrere, I'm not going to have to direct her at all, Omar is going to be perfect as Val and I am going to have to direct him, but I know exactly what I am going to have to do to get him were he needs to be, Kitty was cold reading the role of Vee and was doing it too fast and too matter-of-factly, but she has the role inside of her and it won't be difficult to have her do it right, Tony was reading in Ronnie's role of the sheriff and he was astoundingly good, it's almost too bad that he can't really do the role (he's black and the character is a casual racist), but it's good to know in the future what a strong dramatic actor he is.

The absolute rock-solid standout, though, was Jabe, my last minute Jabe, who, the moment he opened his mouth and spoke chills ran down my spine. You could feel the room twanging as every bit of attention was lasered onto him, and that is precisely what that role needs. He just needs to adjust his accent, as he was doing the mountain twang that doesn't belong in this show, but since it was perfect I have no doubt that he can do the softer drawl as well.

The only major actor that is going to need a lot of work is Lady, who was hobbling herself with a sort-of Italian accent. I know she can do the role, I have no doubts about the casting, once she lets go of the accent everything will be easier from there. I was sitting there listening to it, wondering what I should do. I have never seen the show, I have no idea how they usually do it, I was flipping through the script, looking for a stage direction that said that she had an accent or a line from one of the other actors commenting on her accent, anything, and then we got to the bit where she said that her parents came from Italy when she was no bigger than a monkey and I thought, that's it, I can do it.

When the reading was over and it was time for me to speak, first I told them that they couldn't do the Love Creek hillbilly accent for this one, and then I took the Italian away from Winni. She seemed startled, and Omar mentioned that it was always done with an Italian accent, but I was firm. It was an executive decision on my part, it is absolutely supported in the text, and Winni will be much better if she can concentrate on the emotion, not on learning an Italian accent that will never be perfect anyway. Besides, I have a Belgian mother but no accent, Omar came here as a kid and only spoke Spanish in is home and has no accent, Lady growing up in the South and sounding like she just came off the boat is ridiculous.

I have a feeling that coming to this show with a clean slate and no pre-conceived notions is a good thing.

I said to them that this show was about people who belong and people who don't, the people who do belong hate the people who don't, the people who don't belong recognize each other immediately, but they cannot save each other because the people who belong are so strong. The only one in between is Vee, who should not belong and feels the connection with the others who do not belong, but she is married to the sheriff so she belongs in spite of herself.

I also told them not to fear the language. The four major characters, Lady, Val, Vee and Carol all speak in very flowery sentences, and tell stories about memories as though they had just happened, and if they tried to work against the language and make it sound matter-of-fact, the show would be ruined. The language is pointing them in a direction and they must go with it. These are people who feel big emotions, have big memories, and everything must be done fully without being melodramatic and with being rooted in reality.

I think I sounded like I knew what I was talking about.

Afterwards, I was going to go home, but Omar and Cynthia and I stayed to have what we called a production meeting, but also was a discussion where we tried to teach Omar how to be the rock-solid sex animal God that he must be in the show without showing the audience that he is embarrassed.

"Just pretend that you are that confident, and you will look as though you really are. Can we not just skip the part this time where we both know where you need to go, but you resist going there because you are scared? It will be so much faster without that bit!"

He showed me the guitar he has, which I vetoed immediately. It was red! It had fancy designs on the pick guard! I need a guitar like Willie Nelson's, old and wood and beat up, not shiny.

We talked a lot about what we wanted to do with this Modern Classic wing. The possibilities are endless. And the best bit is that all three of us are really decisive and controlling, but in complimentary ways. It's quite astonishing how well we mesh as a production team.

Today's horoscope:
You find yourself concentrating on self-improvement themes today, but be wary of falling into excessive self-criticism.

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