tablesaw: "The Accurate Tablesaw" (Accurate)
So, one of my coworkers just tried to send out an e-mail. The settings for Outlook causes a spell-checker to run when a message is sent. This time, a misspelling of the word "inconvenience" was flagged. However, the coworker accidentally accepted the first suggestion, and the e-mail was sent before she could change it.

The message was sent out with the final sentence:
Thank you and I apologize in advance if this causes you any incontinence.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
"All Facilities Charges anal Bonded Fees . . ."
tablesaw: -- (Default)
Savage in Limbo goes up in fifteen hours. I won't be there, but the Whackedor will.

And I'm pissed.

I wasn't angry when the Whackedor went insane. I have better things to do than care about that. But the decisions the company has been making are beyond idiotic, and that pisses me off.

Apparently, the "understudy" for the Whackedor is unprepared and unwilling to take over. My friend, the one who's like family, the one who has been going through more hell than me since Sunday, has been informed that she can't step out because her "understudy" is unprepared and unwilling to take over.

So I'm sending in the board my resignation letter in a few hours. You might notice that I'm slightly miffed at them. Notes are appreciated.

Dear Sirs and Madams, )

(Update: Sent at 9:15 PST.)

Cooling

Jan. 28th, 2004 05:13 am
tablesaw: -- (Default)
It wasn't until an hour or so ago that I started to wind down from the altercation. Back at work, back in normal life, back reading a list of patent applications for typographical errors, I felt like the breath had finally been let out.

Although I've firmly and clearly extricated myself from the situation, the situation is not resolved, and my body and mind reflect it. I'm still spending the energy to stand my ground. More than that, I'm still trying to provide the cast and company with a model of strength and resolve that they seem to be fumbling for. My friend hasn't been able to sleep for two days. Another cast member has burst into tears on two separate occasions since Sunday's performance. One producer, who wasn't present on Sunday, is having to hold himself back from going to punch the Whackedor in the face. (Note the difference: this produce is able to show restraint even though he really wishes he didn't have to.)

I'm not pushing too hard, because I feel that there's too much personal bias on my part, but I'm trying to get them to do the right thing. In a normal theater setting, where the producers weren't cast members and the director wasn't in the lobby handing out programs, it would have been my call as the stage manager. In that world, the Whackedor would have gotten thrown out after five minutes, and the show would have gone on, probably with an address to the audience ambiguously explaining the last-minute change. I probably would have ended up on stage with a book in my hand.

Today, after the second production meeting where no decision was made, I brought my friend over because I was worried about her. She's been very affected by this on far more levels than I have. I love the company (and I should clarify that the Whackedor is not a member of the company, merely an actor hired to be in their show), and I'm always glad to help them out, but I have no problems walking away from a job under these circumstances. (And it is a job; Rwth and I are getting paid. It's not much, but it's more than the actors are getting, since they're mostly doing it for recognition and resume building.) For her, it's different. She's a founding member of the company, she's been handling finances for the past two years.

My friend feels she can't do the show with the Whackedor. Not only has she been deeply affected by somebody threatening someone she's known almost as family for over a decade, she's was also verbally abused by the Whackedor while she tried (somewhat inexpertly) to talk him down. She told the company that she was considering stepping down and was told that her understudy wouldn't be able to replace her. Apparently, she was horrible during understudy rehearsals, but since there was not going to be any planned night that my friend took off, they figured everything would be fine. So for the past three weeks, my friend (and I, for that matter) believed she had an understudy when, in fact, she didn't.

There's just a paralysis afflicting the group that's keeping decisions from being made. I think that many believe that the "easiest" thing to do would be for everyone (including me) to come back on Thursday and just deal for the next six performances. But that's not going to happen. It's not going to happen because I'd leave first. It's not going to happen because Rwth may leave too. It's not going to happen because my friend can't make eye contact with the Whackedor. It's not going to happen because my friends' husband who's been helping with concessions wants to get some friends and a few baseball bats and go after the Whackedor for threatening his beloved. And yet this seems "easier" than rehearsing a new understudy for anyone.

And it's Wednesday, and a final decision still hasn't been reached. These people seem to have no concept of time. It's certainly not going to be easy to rehearse an understudy if you don't make a decision until less than twenty-four hours till the next show.

I'd just like them to start acting like producers, realize that there's nobody who'll make this decision for them, and tell everyone what they're going to do. I'd like to know whether or not I'm going to be able to sleep in on Thursday. More importantly, I'd like to be able to prepare if I'm going back. There're going to be a lot of people looking for me to set a tone if I come back, and if I'm going to rise to the occasion, I'll need some preparation.

Just pass the soap so I can wash my hands of it, already.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
At last check, the Whackedor is going to be performing on Thursday. Final decisions have not been made, and a lot of people just seem too paralyzed to think. I expect to hear more tonight/tomorrow morning.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
As I mentioned earlier, I was assaulted by one of the actors in the show I am (or possibly was) stage managing. Here's what happened . . .

When the producers rented this space, they agreed to a few very absurd provisions. The most annoying involves where we store our props and set dressing. When we are running the show, we have to keep our stuff backstage right, but when we're not, we have to keep it backstage left. So when we do the last show of the week, we have to move all of their stuff out of the way, so that we can move our stuff into its new home, then put their stuff back where our stuff used to be. All of which is lots of fun because, since the actors are generally out front networking (read "drinking wine and chatting with friends"), it's Rwth (my co-stage manager) and I who have to do most of the moving.

To streamline this process, Rwth and I decided to rearrange part of the back stage before the show, so that we wouldn't have to stay out for so long dealing with the movement. In the process, we apparently blocked part of the backstage area used by two male actors as a dressing room. I learned this when one of the two, (I shall call him "the Whackedor") complained about our positioning of a large table with several props on it. It blocked off the sofa they liked to use to relax (not ours, part of the theater's rotating set pieces), and made it difficult for them to reach a mirror. I explained to them why we had moved it where we had: we were going to be doing a lot moving after the show, and we we usually can't count on the actors to help, so we were doing as much before hand as possible. He asked if we could put it somewhere else, and I said that next time, I would think about it, but for now it was best to leave things as they are.

I should note that during this conversation, I said something I immediately regretted. I can't recall what it was, but I remember thinking that my voice and word choice had made the statement slightly more acidic than it should have been. It wasn't anything horribly bad, I didn't see (then) any noticeable effects, and I couldn't see a way to immediately backtrack to it, so I just moved on. In fact, that was my tone toward the entire conversation. I didn't really care to much about it. Everyone had been given a later call, so we didn't have much time to care about it, and there were plenty of other things I was going to have to do.

Now, the Whackedor is cold. Always. When we moved into the theater, we kept the heat on. We soon realized, though, that the only person complaining of it being too cold was him. Eventually, the director, Rwth and I agreed that we'd keep the heater on before the show in most cases, but we would turn it off before we let the house in. Between the hot lights and the large crowd we often got, there was plenty of heat for everyone else, and keeping the heater on occasionally made it sweltering.

At about five or ten minutes to house open, Rwth came into the office next to the booth and told me that she turned the heater off. She wanted me to make sure I double checked it, because the Whackedor had recently been turning it back on after she turned it off. I told her that I was going into the booth and that I'd keep my eye on it from there. If anyone tried to turn it on again, I'd tell them not to.

At about three minutes to house open, I was surprised to see the Whackedor leaning over the heater. I had expected that he might have earlier, but now, we were minutes away from letting in the audience, and he was minutes away from leaving the theater to wait in the office anyway. The booth had no god mike, so I opened the window and asked, "Are you turning on the heater?"

"Yeah, I'm turning on the heater."

"Can you turn it back off? We're about to open up the house."

"No, I'm not going to do that."

"Whackedor, you can't turn the heater on right now, we're letting the audience in in a few minutes. Turn off the heater."

"Hey, fuck you. I'm freezing up here, and I'm turning the heater on. So just fuck off, all right?"

At this point, I got pissed. If he wasn't going to turn off the heater, I'd go down the and turn it off myself. If I had to stand there for the next three minutes before Rwth returned to take him to the waiting area, so be it. But the climate control of the house was my responsibility, I was the stage manager, and I do not going to back down.

I came into the theater and turned off the heater. Because the theater was small, the thermostat was located on the wall at about the line where the stage ended and the audience began. The stage was not raised, and so I was effectively on stage. The Whackedor turned to me and said, "What do you think you're doing." "I'm turning off the heater." Then the Whackedor begna to fully live up to the name I have here given him.

I can not remember the stream of invectives hurled at me. They weren't interesting at all, just verbal standins for the primal primate yell of anger that it was. There were several witty things that shot through my mind. The one I remember most clearly, in response to the Whackedor moving mere inches away from my face then screaming, "You'd better get out of my fucking face," was "I haven't moved an inch in the last sixty seconds please get out of my face." I didn't, partly because I knew it couldn't help, but mostly because I never got a chance to even say anything non snarky. After each harangue, I would start to say, calmly and quietly, "Whackedor, I am responsible for this theater." Each time, I managed to get as far as "resp." I said I don't back down, and I didn't. I wouldn't. I didn't feel the need to match his insane anger, but I didn't move an inch. Not when he started yelling at me. Not when he moved within an inch of my face, not when he threatened me.

In fact, I didn't move at all until he grabbed my shirt and shoved me backwards, still swearing at me.

There had been several actors on stage preparing for the show. I don't know specifically what they had been doing up to that point, but when the Whacked grabbed me, they immediately ran forward to hold him back. He didn't calm down. In fact, at this point, he began insulting the other cast members as well. As far as I can tell, he never calmed down. He claimed that I had disrespected him so much, between the backstage conversation and refusing to let him adjust the heater that he had no choice but to do what he did, what he was continuing to do. He threatened that if they tried to fire him, he'd refuse to go and that they'd need to call the police to haul him out.

Eventually, the director, who had been out front covering for the missing box office attendant, entered the room. At this point, seeing someone higher in the hierarchy than either myself or the actor, I relaxed and let him take the steps necessary for the situation. I didn't try to explain my side of what happened. The Whackedor seemed to want to say much more, and it seemed that any case I might want to make was better made letting him rant and threaten everyone in the room. I did say, softly, to the director and to a personal friend of mine in the cast who was also a producer, that I refused to work with him. And that if he continued to be on the cast, I would quit.

They considered cancelling the show, something they were loath to do because it was full house and a benefit performance to boot. They considered spot-replacing the Whackedor, something I think most of them were frankly afraid to do. Ultimately, they decided to go on with the show, so I informed the director and producer that I was leaving. I believe the director took my place with Rwth in the booth.


So that's why I was shaken up yesterday. I'm still a bit shaken up, but it's getting better. Last night, I had a momentary flashback to the episode. I remembered the Whackedor screaming face in front of mine; I remembered the adrenaline; I remembered grounding myself and steeling my face. But I had to laugh when I realized what had happened. I was watching The Bernie Mac Show, and Bernie Mac's girlfriend had angrily called him a whiny baby. The flashback had been triggered by thinking about how insecure, whiny, and self-centered the Whackedor is.

Yeah, I think I'll be okay.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
I just got assaulted by one of the actors at the show I'm stage managing.

I'll tell more later, but for now, I want to talk, not write. Feel free to call me, if you want to hear.

(Update at 6 p.m.: Feeling a bit better, although I have no idea when I'll be ready to sleep. Talked with several people, some related to the show, and am feeling not so freaked out. Thanks to all leaving messages and calling. I'll give the full scoop soon. For now, I'm going to eat some greasy comfort food and relax with [livejournal.com profile] wjukknibs.)
tablesaw: A young Shawn Spencer learns proper saw technique from his dad. (Cartoon)
I got up early today to finally meet up with [livejournal.com profile] farmersdaughter. In the process I got lost on my way to a movie theater again. Last time, I never found the theater and my dad went home feeling rejected until I could make it up to him by seeing Matrix: Revolutions. Thankfully, things worked out a bit better this time. Though I was late, so had she been, so we missed each other only by a few minutes. When she arrived, she frantically asked the ticket seller if he'd seen a tall guy in a trenchcoat. Of course, he wouldn't have (unless he was looking carefully at the frustrated car driving psast and sompletely failing to see the marquee.) Taking a risk, she went into the theater and grabbed a seat. When I arrived a few minutes later and frantically asked the ticket seller for a ticket, though, he asked, "Are you meeting a girl her?" Remembering the movie fiasco with my dad only weeks before, I braced myself for "Yeah, she left and told me to call you a flake." Instead, he helped me by trying to remember which aisle she had gone down. Further, [livejournal.com profile] farmersdaughter was able to identify my tall silhouette and flag me over to her seat. Thus, we watched The Secret Lives of Dentists.

The movie was, strange. And neither of us saw the very beginning, so we're not sure how strange it was. I believe it was very strange. Indeed, I would go so far as to call it bizarre. But those first few minutes? Who knows. They could prove my interpretation wholly wrong.

After the movie, we headed to Canter's for a good 9:30 p.m. deli breakfast. There was also a great deal of conversation until I had to go to work. Nothing particularly noteworthy about the conversation, other than that it was fun and easy.

So, in summary, I had a great time, [livejournal.com profile] farmersdaughter is an interesting and amazing woman, and I hope we can do it again.

Two weeks.

Jul. 6th, 2002 06:56 am
tablesaw: -- (Default)
It's been two weeks since I switched my journal to friends-only. Two weeks where the first thing on my journal page is a request to contact me. Two weeks that someone hasn't.

When I get home, I'm going to retroactively de-friends-only-ize my journal, with a longer explanation. Till then, some shorter notes.

The deadline for the August Enigma is soon. In fact, tomorrow, so I need to buckle down and get some stuff in. I already completed one, a collaboration with [livejournal.com profile] tahnan. I've got one I need to revise and two I need to finish. So, the cavalcade of clerihew is a bit postponed. But in keeping with my NPL bent:

[livejournal.com profile] davidglasser's
One of the harassers
Asking me to mete
Out hints for a flat complete.

[livejournal.com profile] saxikath
Makes up math
Problems about cattle traders
For second-graders.

The Fourth of July with [livejournal.com profile] wjukknibs and company was a lot of fun. It makes me wish I were going to Vegas with lots of people I'd like to spend more time with. Actually, no. It makes me wish that all of those people had decided to go somewhere more interesting.

Speaking of going places interesting, I need to start planning for travel again. My cousin is getting married this fall in Portland, which makes me wonder if I should also try to swing up to Seattle. Then again, [livejournal.com profile] veek might send me psychic bombs of death vibes if I don't visit Boston/Providence. And [livejournal.com profile] wjukknibs is going to be going to Vegas again. (At least, I assume he is. He always seems to be.) Choices, choices, choices.

It was tough sleeping yesterday. I had to take a very active role in my dreams. I was aware, on a very basic level, that the only reason I was asleep was because I had a light mask on my face and was dreaming. If the dream ended, I knew I would immediately return to consciousness and be unable to get back to sleep. So I had to constantly think of new and interesting places to take my dream, to be sure that I got enough sleep.

MonNYTX: 6:30. Made some mistakes, and also nearly dropped my lunch on the floor. MonLATX: 5. TueNYTX: 4:30. TueLATX: 6:15. Who the hell is 24A? WedNYTX: 6.Under the circumstances, the clue for 52D is fantastic. WedLATX: 8:15. 54D? ThuNYTX: 20. Bleah. ThuLATX: 6:30. FriNYTX: 11:30. FriLATX 7.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
Happy Fourth!

[livejournal.com profile] wjukknibs and many friends will be over today, possibly arriving before I even wake up. Scary. Consequently, I must sleep early, making me unable to write more clerihews for a bit. Or write anything more consequential. But on the plus side, I don't have to work tonight, so I should gain some extra time there.

SunNYTX: 30. Three mistakes. SunLATX: 13:30.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
I can't get them out of my head!!!!

[livejournal.com profile] huskyscotsman
Is no yachtsman,
Just a Celt,
Burly, not svelte.

[livejournal.com profile] bambii
Isn't Namby-pamby. I
Think she's a florist, or
Perhaps a Bookish Forest Whore.

About inky:
I think he
Muds with an obscene
Bad Machine.

Kiz
Is
Bossy
With her Aussie.

[livejournal.com profile] swisscheesed
Sneezed
And started to twitch in
Hell's Kitchen.

[livejournal.com profile] luxnightmare
Fights the good fight where
Sexuality
Is pushed beyond the realm of banality.

[livejournal.com profile] nothings
Writes about the things
That appeal to code wranglers
Like quantum entanglers.

SatNYTX: 21:07. SatLATX: 23:11. I'm behind, obviously.

Claire Two!

Jul. 2nd, 2002 09:16 am
tablesaw: -- (Default)
Yesterday, during an online chat with members of the National Puzzlers League, I got much kudos for one of my puzzle verses. As a result, I'm still in the poetry-writing frame of mind.

I've got some stuff backed up. My uncle's wedding and maybe some musings on Minority Report. And I intend to declassify my journal with an explanation within the week.

For [livejournal.com profile] storme
Husky Scotsmen are the smoochie norm.
She wouldn't have a tryst with
A Welshman in Aberystwyth.

Prounouncing [livejournal.com profile] zrblm
Poses a prblm
So Herculean
I'll just bug him by calling him Julian.

[livejournal.com profile] emshort,
While nibbling Roquefort,
Chiseled peripeteia
Into Galatea.

The great and all-powerful overlord of evil named [livejournal.com profile] sargent
Cares less for metals auric and argent
Than for betes noires
And grimoires.

The work of [livejournal.com profile] pbmath
Might provoke the wrath
Of the voodoo-magical loa
Who protects the theory of Galois.

[livejournal.com profile] cruciverbalist
Is a hyperbolist
When speaking of well-postured enchanters
At Cantor's.

Claire who?

Jul. 1st, 2002 06:38 am
tablesaw: -- (Default)
It's been another busy weekend, what with my uncle's wedding the other day. But I'm not yet in the mood to write about it. But something critical that happened the other day involved something I'm going to write about now, my current obsession for writing light verse. I wrote some limericks earlier, now I'm moving on to clerihews based on my friends-list.

[livejournal.com profile] tablesaw
Writes verse so twisted it would make stabiles haw.
He wrote these lines in the hopes some hapless weblogger'll
Appreciate his doggerel.

[livejournal.com profile] moominmolly
Would hate to push a broom in Mali.
She'd rather read the entrails of a lamb
In Amsterdam.

Hyper-writer [livejournal.com profile] veek
Will always find what she does seek.
She prefers to study interrelated curios, so
She reads Orlando Furioso.

Unashamed San Diegan [livejournal.com profile] fauxpas
Sometimes has ideas as far-out as Europa,
A stunning intellectual
with crushes decidedly nonsexual.

The thoughts of Aisling
Wonder if she should try shilling
Wares to pay her way to see her babe,
Gabe.

Milo Pragmatic,
An anti-natural-logarithm fanatic,
Could claim glyphic thrift
But not the Fifth.

[livejournal.com profile] wjukknibs
Enjoys eating duck ribs
But hates to be heckled or plounced
(Assuming that's how [livejournal.com profile] wjukknibs is pronounced).

[livejournal.com profile] liza31337
Hopes to see heaven
Not some hell with a demon who inveigles
With the promise of brimstone-toasted bagels.

[livejournal.com profile] kissaki already got one, but here's a special bonus.

Severus Snape
Prefers perfection to a jape.
To ensure his creations were in the vessels they oughtter,
He became a Potions Master/Potter.

Undoubtedly, there will be more to come.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
I bought pants today, fancy pants, for a wedding. Looking at myself in the mirror, putting on pants, I really understood what it means to be Big.

Not big meaning "grown-up," big as in, well, Big.

In high school, I was 6'3" tall. I weighed about 130 lbs. That was about the same weight I was three years earlier and five inches shorter. I was skinny in high school. Beanpole skinny. Skin-and-bones skinny. Ichabod Crane skinny. By the time I'd graduated I managed to gain about five pounds. I always wore a coat. My coats usually enhanced my tallness, while cloaking my skinniness. My four years at college gained me another fifteen pounds. Each little bit made me that much more excited, but I was still very, very skinny. So I always thought of myself as tall, not big. Guys shorter than I could be big, they filled their frames and looked like they were rooted in the ground. I always felt like a strong wind could pick me up and blow me away.

Today, two years out of college, I still stand 6'3", but I weigh 215 lbs. Most of it isn't muscle, but there are changes all over my body. My chest and gut are convex, not concave. I can feel myself connect with the ground when I jump. It may not be the perfect body, but having weight, having mass, is something I've wanted for a long, long time. And I like it.

It's weird to look at myself in the mirror and see that I'm Big. If I had more practice, I could probably Intimidate people with my mere presence. It makes me feel a bit more normal, more able to relate to certain things. Feeling clothes around one's body, rather than having them hanging off and tightly belted. Noticing one's belling expand after a large meal. And my face looks nice and round, like it doesn't need a goatee to fill it out.

On the other hand, I am worried. I enjoy being big, but common opinion seems to be against it. I worry that I may let myself get too Big. But more importantly, I worry about what has brought me to my Bigness. In high school and college, I was constantly walking to and fro burning off more energy than I could deal with. I also had a depression building up nervous energy that I would walk off all of the time. But now, not only does my job have me sitting all day, but my long commute and odd hours tend to keep me indoors or using limited motion. So while I used to rely on my general business I try to exercise daily, but it often gets pushed to the wayside by scheduling mishaps, and if I break a rhythm for two days or more, I find it hard to remind myself to start up again.

But I don't want to lose weight, I don't want to be thin again. I've done that, and I like being Big better. But I do want to be healthy, something I'm not all that used to doing.

Till then, I'm going to go to my uncle's wedding with my Big body in my Big clothes and just be Big. Yeah.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
An odd meme has been going around among [livejournal.com profile] kissaki and her slashfic friends about Goth haiku. This is fun so far as it goes, but joke haiku is for wussies.

Now here are some limericks lyrical
About subjects dark and vampirical
They may involve Magick,
But they aren't too tragic.
In fact, they are rather satirical.

A young Anne Rice fan was ecstatic
And watched TV in the west attic
Because a friend told her
An antenna holder
Would help the girl to get "Lestatic".

The Vampyres rejected a Goth
Who'd draped herself all in black cloth.
She was built like a wisp,
But she had a bad lisp.
She left saying, "Hey, it's your loth."

The Potter-slash Goths are much worse, see.
They always use words that sound curse-y.
They hate Sleater-Kinney
And cloned little Ginny
To listen to "Sisters of Percy."


Maybe I'll try some Goth clerihew next.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
I've seen this misspelling quite a few places and on several different LJs. The word is:

froufrou

Sometimes it's frou frou or frou-frou, depending on the dictionary, but not frufru or froofroo.

It's not a surprising word to misspell. It's heard more than it's seen, and it has an onomatopoeic quality that makes people believe that it's a baby word or some such thing that wouldn't be in a dictionary. And yet, it's over one hundred thirty years old.

So now you know, and knowing is half the battle.

FriNYTX: 13. Grrr, 58A. FriLATX: 8:30.
tablesaw: -- (Default)
On beyond "Tablesaw is"...

"Tablesaw isn't" happy because he doesn't have any friends, and his parents are worried about the many nightmares he's been having that are always about vampires.

"Tablesaw has" been toying with facial expressions in his line of farm animals.

"Tablesaw hasn't" found any proof that Carla is carrying Danny's baby.

"Tablesaw can" teach you the tricks of the bass fishing sport.

"Tablesaw can't" beat all 11 members of the Moldovan national football team at tennis.

"Tablesaw will" razzle and dazzle you with his flashy arrangements that are crowd pleasers!

"Tablesaw won't" get caught drinking in school again after facing the Principles Paddle!

Anheuser-Busch reminds you to meme responsibly.

ThuNYTX: 12. ThuLATX: 8:15.

Aw.

Jun. 26th, 2002 09:12 pm
tablesaw: -- (Default)
From [livejournal.com profile] ifmud:

ParserGirl says (to TableSaw), "Saw this table"
TableSaw asks (of ParserGirl), "Which table?"
ParserGirl says (to TableSaw), "The Table of My Heart"

Profile

tablesaw: -- (Default)
Tablesaw Tablesawsen

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