I had hours left to kill at LAX before my 11:15 (10:30 boarding) flight to Chicago, the dreaded red-eye.
I would love the red-eye if I could actually sleep on the plane, or, more accurately, in those seats. The shoulders are all wrong. The back support is all wrong, and don’t get me started on the leg-room. But give me a comfortable seat, and I’d be flying at night all the time, saving those daylight hours for daylight, awake things.
We arrived in Chicago after 5a.m. local time, and so I had plenty of time before my 7:15 flight to Madison. I made it to my gate and again had McDonald’s food, this time a breakfast burrito meal (also hashbrowns and orange juice included). My eyes were heavy, and they stayed that way to Madison; it was a short trip but I nodded off once or twice.
Instead of looking and waiting for the bus, I said “screw it” (under my breath, mind you, gentle reader) and just hopped in the Union Cab at the front of the line and shot the breeze with the driver as he returned me to Jenifer St.
A shower and change of clothes later I was re-packed and on a bus to campus. Cindy sent me a nasty-gram about the “obscene” workload. I cried no tears for her “plight.” I finished the quiz I began for my students yesterday and went to teach. I first gave the quiz, and then we heard presentations from Emma, Mallory, Sara, and Melissa, and the first was great, and the second was quite good. The last two suffered predictable issues. We only got through 4 rather than 5, but we’ll make it through things.
I stayed in the office a while in the afternoon but then made it to the Union for a burger and chocolate milk … I was dragging it then, exhausted, the flights and lack of sleep having caught up with me. I moved to the Lakefront for wireless and a prettier environment, and as the hour approached 5p.m. (our rehearsal at 5:30) I got myself a frappuccino and bottle of chocolate milk and headed, slowly, toward the theater. Along the way I ran into Darin, who plans on being at the Lakefront more this week, so perhaps I’ll run into him again soon.
Rehearsal itself started a bit “late” insofar as it took more than an hour, after costumes were discussed, before we got around to doing the run-through. Kris and I mostly hit our lighting and sound cues, though on my part part of that was guessing and intuition … not certainty.
My first scene went well but was a bit rushed; my second I “missed” — I hadn’t heard the prior scene end!
But all in all it looks to be a great production and things are coming together.
Di gave me a ride home and I was pleasantly surprised to find chilled bottles of Klarbrunn in the fridge. I finally got around to cleaning my sink.
Trust me; I’ve never let it be that dirty for that long before. Until now. But now: spotless.
And I’m back to working my way through my pop and rock mp3s and ogg files — back to the Reverend Horton Heat, whom I first heard on my way to GLAC in the spring of 1998 with Joe and other linguists. When several years later he performed at the Orpheum I got tickets and attended and was pleasantly surprised. The Reverend has a great stage presence, though it’s such a show that you doubt the sincerity. Split-Lip Rayfield opened that night, and was joined by Nashville Pussy on the first half of the ticket. While in Berlin I completed my complete-enough collection of the Reverend’s works. Dallas psychobilly/rockabilly at its best, but not everyone’s cup of tea. My tastes, though, are … eclectic. Esoteric. Occasionally exotic.
