5/8 - Slap Happy Hale

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Monday, May 08, 2006
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So I got a couple nights of rest yesterday and today. We had long
play practices on Wednesday and Thursday of last week and didn’t
home until 11PM either nights, so I decided not to attempt doing
an issue. I could have, but it wouldn’t have made any sense. (Not
that most of my writing makes sense anyway...) Friday’s and
Saturday’s practices were just as long. Things are starting to
come together. I think I got my lines down pretty good, and I’m
working on the facial expressions, and the acting part. Not to
mention the costume changes and where I have to be and when.

There’s a professional theater not far from where we are. It’s
called the Hale Centre Theatre. It’s a theater in the round, and
they do some pretty cool plays. Anyway, son #2 wants to go there
for some acting lessons. On Saturday I was teasing him about the
lessons, saying, “Are you sure you want to go?” “Are you REALLY
sure you want to go?” “C’mon, I think you’re just saying that.” I
think I teased him a little much, because he finally yelled at me,
“YES, I WANT TO GO TO HALE!” This turned a few heads and raised a
few eyebrows. He had to do some quick back peddling, while
laughing at himself.

The director said that all of our characters are coming along
well, but that she wanted us to push them as far as possible. She
said she would tell us if we’re going over the top. Well, I’m
supposed to be the mean Nazi guy, and at one point I tell Frau
Schmidt, “BE QUIET!” So at practice on Saturday, I decided to
raise my hand to her while I yelled my command.



So I finally got my one and only note from the director during
notes after the practice; “Herr Zeller, in your scene with Frau
Schmidt, don’t raise your hand. It looks like you’re going to hit
her...” I knew it was going too far, but I was just fishing for
some feedback. (grin)

For those of you who get this as email...
Enjoy today’s Jokes!
Marty

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"The first thing I did after being hired as the director of
learning technology at a high school was to change the sign
outside my door -- the one that had my name followed by the
acronym D.O.L.T."


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A Stanford Medical research group advertised for participants in a
study of obsessive-compulsive disorder. They were looking for
therapy clients who had been diagnosed with this disorder. The
response was gratifying; they got 300 responses the day after the
ad came out. All from the same person.

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At the prestigious university I attend, there is a clear hierarchy
that outlines how long one was to wait for a class to begin if the
professor were absent. A full professor rated fifteen minutes.
An associate only ten. A mere instructor was expected to be on
time, if not early. This system worked only one way, however;
and students were afforded no such grace. It was to be expected,
therefore, that one professor, the foremost authority in his field
by his own admission, would register distinct annoyance when the
student, just out of military service, was late for class for the
third morning running. "Tell me," the professor began, "exactly
what did they say in the Army when you sauntered in late like
this?" "Well," mused the unperturbed young man... "first they
saluted, then they asked, 'How are you this morning, sir?'"