Rusty

I am so excited for Thursday night.
It's the first rehearsal for a reading of "My Dog Saw Me Naked" (March 9th, sponsored by Northwest Playwrights Alliance at Seattle Rep.)
I have to restrain myself from putting on a gingham frock and skipping about the room shrieking "Company's comin'! Company's comin'!"
An added bonus is that the rehearsal is here, which means our lazy maid will have to switch off those Belgian soap operas and actually clean the apartment.
I've been feeling a little cleaved lately. I'm becoming two people: the domestic guy and the man-about-town once or twice a month playwright. I miss being one person.
I was talking to a friend over the weekend who said she was going through the same thing. This weird divide between too many never-get-out-of-pajama days and absolutely in her element time at the theater.
It leaves me feeling not always so strong. And when I'm not feeling strong, I can get petty.
Yesterday, for example. Got an email about the reading basically say, "Hey, the reading isn't going to be in the Leo K (One of the Rep's smaller spaces)They're using the space during the day and aren't sure what shape it'll be in. The reading will be in the Leo K rehearsal room. Please tell audience to enter through the side door."
Nothing to get upset about. For goodness sake isn't a Rep priority. And for that matter, the reading isn't magically better for having been at the Rep. Listing it on my resume will never cause one of my scripts to float to the top of a pile. The Rep is being totally magnanimous about offering space. It's exactly the sort of thing big theaters should be doing. The room they provide will be perfectly fine for a reading. The Rep is a busy place.
But. But nobody likes being reminded how far down the list they are.
For just a moment the cranky, petulant eight year old in me (let's call him Rusty) came out in full force. He screwed up his freckly face and whined, "Like what? A broom closet?"
I sigh, "It won't be a broom closet. It might be smaller, but this particular script might actually benefit from a more intimate space. And come on, it's not like throngs of people come out on a Tuesday night to catch a play reading."
"Are there gonna be people coming through with bus tubs full of dishes? Dirty dishes?"
"Rusty, this is a theater, not a diner."
"Are we gonna have to be out by a certain time? Like, are they gonna flash the lights on us?"
"Rusty! It's not a long piece. We'll be out by nine."
Rusty can be hard to placate, at least with reason and common sense.
"Rus, buddy, how about we make it a game?"
"A game? What kinda game?"
"Let's say that the last time the NPA had a reading at the Rep, some of the people involved got drunk --"
"Like Uncle Freddy get's drunk?"
Uncle Freddy? "Uh, Sure Rusty, just like Uncle Freddy. And they did some damage."
"Like they trashed the place?"
"Yeah, like soccer hooligans. And the Rep banned future NPA readings. And what we're doing is snaking in. A guerrilla reading. Not Gorilla like the ape but --"
"I know what guerrilla means."
"Sorry. Most eight-year-olds don't."
"Heh heh. We'll show them! Top secret reading! Yeah!"
The irony of Rusty getting all upset is that he can't even go to the reading. He's eight and "My Dog Saw Me Naked" has a couple of very dirty sections.
Gotta go wake up the maid. Ciao.