The arrival of new episodes of Mad Men has revived a problem I consistently have with cable series. Generally, these programs have only about a dozen episodes per season. Once they are broadcast (side question: are cable shows actually broadcast, or are they instead... I don't know, cabled...?), the show disappears until the next season, usually about 10 months later.
Christina Hendricks sails through the office with luxurious smoothness. She claims the formfitting wardrobe is responsible for her unmistakable movement. As soon as she hit the airwaves, she was heralded as an example of the classic hourglass figure which disappeared with Twiggy, and never returned.
My addled, aging brain tends to forget the specifics of TV shows in that period of time, and the announcements of "Previously, on Breaking Bad..." really don't jog my memory enough. What's a fellow to do?
I certainly remember this controversial episode from last season's Mad Men. An important client demands to sleep with office manager Joan. The agency is near collapse; to save the day (and to become an actual partner in the firm), Joan prostitutes herself, a decision which I understand comes back to haunt her this year.
With Mad Men, I am currently taping the new season, but have not watched any of it.
In reviewing early episodes, I am again
struck by the work of Hendricks and John
Slattery, who stand out in a great cast. I
wrote about it here, before the 2nd season
aired.
Instead, I am reviewing the full series, from its first season, and when I'm done, I'll launch seamlessly into the new episodes. This routine works better sometimes than other times. I did the same thing with Downton Abbey, and of course, was bombarded with spoilers as the new season was being shown. So, by the grand finale, I already knew which major characters had died, and how. Downton seems to have generated much more social media buzz than Mad Men this year, so I haven't seen any spoilers just yet.
Mad Men creators admit that Christina was completely different from their original concept of Joan. They immediately started writing the character for Hendricks, even including her unusual talent: the accordion.
I'm just finishing season one of Mad Men, and I am once again falling in love with the work of Christina Hendricks. She turned 38 on Friday, and deserves to star in this week's Dance Party.
The clip below is from a concert staging of the musical Company, which is filled with TV stars who don't really belong on the musical stage (Jon Cryer and Stephen Colbert, of all people, are also featured in this thing).
This concert staging of Company, backed by the NY Philharmonic, was first broadcast to theatres. It has since been made available on DVD.
But we forgive a lot when Sondheim is involved, and this particular production was led by Neil Patrick Harris, who can do no wrong in these pages. The song below is one of the more well-known of the tunes from Company, though you'll never hear a recording star cover it.
Company's Bobby has a one-night stand with stewardess
April. Or is it June?
It's a perfect example of the way Sondheim's songs tell complete stories; like so many other of his compositions, it resembles a one-act play more than a showstopping standard. And while it's unlikely this tune will ever turn up on a pop star's latest offering, it surely shows up in musical theatre performance classes, as it offers the performers a great opportunity to display both acting and vocal talents. Christina Hendricks's vocal talents are not particularly strong here, but she gets points for effort. And the short scene preceding the song is wonderfully played. Happy Birthday!
This is the beginning of an occasional series of entries in which I recall my grad school experience of two decades ago. The idea for the sequence came from this recent entry, which I guess was a prologue of sorts, though I didn't mean it to be. Why should you care about any of this? Well, you probably don't, but I have been persuaded by my readers (both of them) that these stories may be entertaining to others. I am, it seems, writing a memoir, one chapter at a time...
Car travel is not my favorite, but I drove across the country TWICE in 1986. So when it was time to move to South Carolina 7 years later, I was ready for the massive tedium of a cross-country trip. Thankfully, somebody cared enough to welcome me, even if it was the Ramada Inn.
By the early 1990s, my life in Los Angeles was both settled and unsettling. I was pretty settled in my day to day life: I supported myself quite well as a waiter, a job I actually enjoyed.
The entrance to my last home in L.A.; I loved
my Silverlake apt. If I had remained in CA,
I'm sure I'd still be living there.
I was living in a huge apartment nestled in the hills of Silverlake. I had a large circle of close friends, some of whom dated back to my high school and college days, who kept my social life humming. And I was more than occasionally appearing onstage. But my life felt unsettled, too. The last three or so years of my life in L.A. had brought some soul searching, regarding both my living logistics, and the larger question of MY LIFE.
From my deck in Silverlake, I watched smoke rise on downtown L.A., as the Rodney King riots erupted. I wrote about that night here.
It was becoming devilishly aggravating to live in the City of Angels. In addition to the crowds everywhere and the inescapable traffic, the weather became increasingly chaotic, with large stretches of unbearable heat followed by huge downpours and resulting mudslides.
My family home in the San Fernando Valley, which was hit with a freak snow storm a few years before I left. Snow covered cactus was just one indication of the mood swings Mother Nature was inflicting on Southern California.
I was used to the earthquakes, of course, but I started to question my circumstances the day I drove past a street corner in the San Fernando Valley. It was pouring rain, and my car plowed through a huge drainage puddle which was simultaneously flooded and on fire. In addition, the family with whom I had moved to CA 20 years earlier was now all gone.
I lived in our family home, at the north end of the San Fernando Valley, for most of my time in CA. The "sold" sign out front ignited lots of emotion. A decade earlier, my mother had died here, and in 1990, my father retired and moved back to my hometown of Atlanta. My sister also relocated to the east coast, so all my relatives were now thousands of miles away.
Though I could see 40 coming down the pike at me, the career which I had hoped to have was not getting much closer. I did a bit of self-questioning. It appeared that my current life, that of a waiter who did shows at night, had turned my vocation into my hobby. I had always seen myself as an actor on regional theater stages, but I was not going to achieve that goal keeping to my current track. I realized I needed more intensive training, which meant a Master of Fine Arts in Acting.
I earned my BA in Theatre from Cal State University, Northridge, It was a generalized program which did not prepare me for a professional career. The school did do some things very well, including this statue with the college's initials. No matter from which angle you viewed it, it still read CSUN.
I started to look at graduate programs around the country, but with very specific criteria. I was not going to uproot my very fine life unless I found a program which had certain things. First and foremost, I wanted a program which had strong ties to a professional regional theatre. That's an aspect of MFAs which is pretty common these days, but 20 years ago, those programs were relatively rare.
USC's relationship with The Shakespeare Theatre in DC
was the primary reason I pursued a degree there.
Secondly, I wanted a program which afforded me the chance to actually teach on campus while I was studying. Thirdly, I wanted a program which was production-heavy. There are a lot of three-year MFA degrees out there where, in the first year, you don't go near a stage; you spend your time only in the classroom. Even in your second year, you may perform in laboratory productions directed by fellow students, but it's only in your third year of study that you actually set foot on a main stage. That kind of program was not for me; I knew I would get much more out of an advanced degree if I was to be applying my classroom work onstage immediately.
The University of South Carolina fit all my criteria, but by the time I had hunted them down (remember, this was before the Internet made it easy to research such things), I had missed the deadline to apply for the University Resident Theatre Auditions (commonly known as the URTAs) which the gang from USC would be attending in CA.
My Silverlake kitchen was abuzz, as old friends prepped
our last dinner together before my departure.
I left town a week later. This was the last,
and most emotional, of a whole series of
farewell events. I spent the summer of '93
saying goodbye to my life in LA.
I wrote a personal letter to the theatre dept at USC, wondering if it was possible to be seen after hours while they were in LA, and they agreed. So, I auditioned for the USC MFA program in the hotel room of their representative, the head of their graduate acting program. The experience of performing my two very theatrical audition pieces in such close quarters was not one I'd like to repeat. I think I pinned the guy's ears against the wall. To his credit, he gave me a chance to redeem myself. "Do you have anything...um...um...else?" Thankfully, I understood exactly what he meant: he wanted to know how I handled Truth And Beauty (you know, that weepy stuff). I pulled out a monologue I had worked on years earlier, in my acting workshop.
I studied privately with Bobbi Holtzman for a decade, give or take, after graduation from CSUN. I wrote about her influence on me here. The workshop gang surprised me with a farewell party, which turned out to be only one in a wonderful string of such events during the summer of '93.
After learning that I had indeed been accepted into USC's MFA program, I arranged a summer visit to my father in Atlanta. During that visit, I borrowed his car and drove to Columbia for the weekend, on the hunt for the accommodations which would house me for the next two years. I also did some exploring of the USC campus.
In my determination to attend grad school, I drove to
San Francisco to audition for several schools.
I totalled my car on the way. My friend Judy was with me;
we both could have died as my car jumped the median and
careened across oncoming traffic on Interstate 5. I was fiddling with the radio.
The summer season of plays was underway, and I snagged a ticket to their evening offering, which I barely remember. I was to become friends with most of the cast of the show, though I did not know it then, so I am embarrassed to admit I don't even recall which play it was. I think it had a nun in it. Anyway, I bought my ticket in the afternoon, and struck up a conversation with the box office gal, who became the first person I met at USC (her name was Carol, and she turned out to be a roommate of one of my future classmates).
The first person I met at USC, before classes even began, was
Carol (center). She remained an acquaintance, but the gals
flanking her became my very close friends. Stay tuned for
stories.
When I mentioned that I was one of the new MFA acting students joining the program next month, Carol grabbed me by the arm and immediately ushered me over to the costume shop. This was my first indication that each class of graduate actors was eagerly anticipated, as they were to be performing leading roles on campus for the next two years.
Carol, who worked part time in the costume shop, knew that the designer there would be anxious to snag my measurements for their files. I did not know at the time that I had already been cast in the first show of the season, which was to begin rehearsal before classes started. All I knew was that I was holding up my arms and spreading my legs for costumer Lisa and her measuring tape.
Another farewell event, this one in a restaurant in Studio City. There are several college buddies here, plus a couple of guys I had done shows with in L.A., and of course, my good friend Judy, on the far right.
Yet another "Farewell Evening" was engineered by a mere acquaintance. Lan and his partner (I don't remember the partner's name, but that's him above, looking appropriately manic) were regular customers at my restaurant, and we struck up a casual friendship. He owned several cocktail lounges in L.A., and was the only person I ever knew who actually owned a limo (as well as a house in the Hollywood Hills and a condo at the beach). He insisted on taking me out on the town for a farewell, and I was not going to turn down such an offer. We cris-crossed Hollywood and the Valley, traveling from one hotspot to the next in luxurious style.
A month or so later, in August of 1993, I packed up my Honda hatchback and said goodbye to Los Angeles.
Though not visible in this pic, you could see the famous Hollywood sign from my deck. I loved being so close to the center of things, but also felt taunted a bit, by this symbol of Fame and Fortune. Los Angeles is a company town, and that company is The Movies. And TV. Neither of which seemed to have a place for me.
I drove cross country in four and a half days (it was my third such cross country drive, so I knew the terrain), and pulled into the dirt road which led to my new home around midday on the fifth day.
Richard was in USC's directing program, and
became a good friend. It was he who nicknamed
my Columbia digs, pictured below.
I had barely emerged from my car before a 10 year old boy approached me, holding a cat. "Are you Scott?", he asked in a thick southern accent. "Um...yes," I answered, unsure where this was going. He excitedly reported "we've been waitin' fer you furever! This is yur cat!" This kid, I was soon to learn, lived up the road, in the rundown house with the abandoned toilet in the front yard. I didn't see him much during my two years living in Columbia, SC; my refusal to take ownership of the cat may have had something to do with that.
I lived for two years on the right side of this duplex; according to Google Earth, this is what it currently looks like. Don't be fooled by the pristine look of the place these days. When I lived here, it defined the term "ramshackle." But I loved sitting on the front porch, which is where I was seated the first time I had guests over to visit. My new buddy Richard remarked I looked like Uncle Joe from Petticoat Junction. The name stuck: my digs became known as the Shady Rest.
I had arrived several days before my furniture, so I set up my camping chair in the empty living room, unrolled my sleeping bag in the empty bedroom, and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. This new chapter of my life was no longer hypothetical, I had really upended my entire life. I was anxious and nervous about it all. I hadn't been in a classroom in 17 years, I had never used a computer, and I had left behind everything and everyone I knew and loved, only to enter this world where I knew only three people: the faculty member who recruited me, the box office gal who sold me a ticket to a summer show with a nun, and the pre-teen cracker from up the street who tried to give me a stray cat. Was it any wonder I spent that first night nursing a migraine?
Go here for Part 2 of my Gamecock Diaries, in which I meet some great comrades, endure some Chekhovian distress with my first show, and face the challenge of graduate school academics with only a typewriter.
The day Lucy died, Carol received delivery of a
flower bouquet for her birthday, from Lucy.
On the heels of a very busy week for your Dance Master (yours truly), let's enjoy a goofy little number from an old variety special. Our stars share much in common, not the least of which is last Friday's date. Carol Burnett turned a whopping 80 years old, and on the same date in 1989, Lucille Ball died at the age of 78. If anybody was near a television any time during the 60s and 70s, they could not escape these two redheaded firecrackers. Would you want to?
Burnett and Ball are both considered trailblazers in the world of television. Carol proved a woman was capable of headlining a weekly variety series. Lucy created a characterization so indelible, it could survive countless co-star and premise changes.
Carol broke some molds with her long-running variety show, as one of the first females to host one.
Burnett's first Emmy in 1962. She has personally won 4.
Her variety show won 25.
She had lots of experience with the genre, having won an Emmy for her regular appearances on the Gary Moore Show, and another for her concert special at Carnegie Hall, opposite Julie Andrews.
Ball's Emmy count also numbers 4.
Her various shows have won even more.
Lucy, meanwhile, was already a TV titan in the 60s, and continued to mine the comic potential of the character she had created in the 50s in I Love Lucy. Her sitcom morphed several times, but always contained the same slapstick style which suited Ball best. (Lucy, by the way, had her own Dance Party several years ago, a clip from her film career which preceded her TV stardom).
Lucy's third TV incarnation (or was it fourth?), Here's Lucy, again featured occasional appearances by Carol. The two stars traded guest shots on each other's shows throughout the years, a display of great friendship and generosity. You cannot find two male stars of the period doing the same.
The clip below has a bit of historical significance, particularly for Burnett. Through much of the 60s, she headlined a series of variety specials, and was a regular guest star on the sitcoms of the period (including Lucy's, which at the time was called The Lucy Show. She also appeared more than once on her pal Jim Nabors's sitcom, a clip of which appeared on this Dance Party a while ago when Jim surprised nobody by marrying a man). This special was called Carol +2, and costarred Lucy and Zero Mostel.
The success of this special ignited talk of a weekly showcase for Burnett's talents.
The ratings for Carol +2 were particularly impressive, and Burnett's mentor Ball offered her a sitcom, to be produced by Desilu, the studio which Lucy had acquired after her divorce from Desi. Carol was not interested in a sitcom situation, but soon landed in the genre which fit her talents best, vaudeville.
The Carol Burnett Show spoofed famous films, annoying commercials, and soap operas. It was a true variety show; our gal sang, danced, took pratfalls, and ad libbed with the audience. Happy 80th, Carol!
Enjoy this week's Dance Party, which is certainly not the best illustration of either woman's talents, but interestingly, it introduces one of Burnett's best loved characters, the charwoman. Who knew she had a name?
Is it depressing to learn that Tim Curry is approaching 70? Well, I guess we're ALL approaching 70, but Tim is pretty darn close, and got closer Friday, when he turned 67.
This guy's approaching 70 now? Time to do the Time Warp.
I can't claim that Tim Curry is a particular favorite of mine, but I surely admire his tenacity. He's had a pretty long career on stage and on film, and has no intention of retiring any time soon.
I imagine at some point in the future, the Tim Curry/Bernadette Peters/Carol Burnett version of "Easy Street" will show up on the Dance Party. It's clearly a favorite show tune of mine, having appeared here with the great Dorothy Loudon, and here with the great Alan Cumming. But the truth is, just about everything in this film version of Annie fails, including this number. So this version will have to wait.
Within the past year, Tim's become attached to a new Eric Idle musical called What About Dick, which had a highly publicized concert reading in Los Angeles. Tim, of course, has history with Idle, as he headlined the original Broadway and London productions of Spamalot.
As Spamalot's King Arthur, Tim (center) earned a Tony nomination. His costar Hank Azaria (far left) was also nominated; they both lost the award to Norbert Leo Butz in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Always look on the bright side of life!
Curry's previous Broadway appearances include a fascinating one, at least to me. The film version of Amadeus is a masterful example of stage-to-screen adaptation, and the performances in it can't be beat. I simply cannot see anyone else but Tom Hulce in the role of Mozart, but astonishingly, Tim Curry originated the role on Broadway.
Curry as Broadway's Amadeus, opposite Ian McKellan.
I'd give a lot to have seen that performance, which was nominated for a Tony (Tim lost the award to his costar Ian McKellan, playing Salieri. In an instance of history repeating itself, when the film was released, Hulce playing Mozart lost his Oscar to the actor playing his Salieri, F. Murray Abraham).
When My Favorite Year became a musical,
Curry took Peter O'Toole's role, modeled
on Sid Caesar. Another Tony nod and then loss followed, this one to Brent Carver in Kiss of the Spider Woman.
But back to birthday boy Tim Curry. He has apparently developed a bit of a following for his performance as Pennywise the Clown in the TV miniseries , Stephen King's It, a performance I did not see, as I can't stand horror films.
Pennywise the Clown
But let's face it. No matter the bulk of Tim Curry's work since then, he will always be inexorably connected to the Rocky Horror phenomenon.
A more bizarre sex symbol cannot be
imagined, but Curry's Frank attracted
both men and women. Hide the children.
This bizarre mix of sci-fi, horror, and rock-and-roll was put on film in 1975, and was a resounding flop. Then some young hotshot at Fox Studio suggested that the movie be released on college campuses, to be shown at midnight. A cult classic was born.
Recognize anyone? That's Patrick Stewart, before his Star Trek days, playing opposite Rocky Horror's original Magenta, Patricia Quinn. A few years after supplying those animated lips which open The Rocky Horror Picture Show, she made another splash on TV, as I,Claudius's villainous sister Livilla.
The Rocky Horror Picture Show is unofficially acknowledged to hold the record for the longest running film ever, as it's still technically in its initial release to the art houses which still hold midnight showings.
The original Roxy stage cast in L.A. featured a Rocky (far left) who was more surfer dude than muscle boy, and a Brad (center, in a lab coat) who was more preppy than nerdy. It was the unexpected smash of the year in Los Angeles, and played to sell-out crowds for nine months. The show finally closed, to release Tim Curry for the film version and for the Broadway debut, both of which flopped.
The participatory aspect of The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a phenomenon of its own, and has been featured in pop culture for decades.
Perks of Being a Wallflower, released just last year, has only the latest in a long line of sequences in various films and TV shows which featured a visit to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror. The original Fame features such a sequence way back in 1980, and The Drew Carey Show devoted part of an episode to recreating the Time Warp dance number. Glee devoted a full episode to Rocky Horror, with all the students taking roles in the cult hit. They released a soundtrack of that particular episode, which debuted on the charts at #6.
But Rocky Horror did not begin with the midnight showings of the film. It began in London in 1973, in a tiny 60 seat upstairs theatre, and the cast included most of the actors who would recreate their performances for the film two years later. The offbeat show was a smash, and moved twice to larger theaters (actually, to converted movie houses) before closing after almost 3000 performances. Tim Curry had long gone by then, as Hollywood beckoned.
The Roxy was not a theatre, but a nightclub/concert
venue. For RH, tables were set up, and a ramp bisected
the audience, allowing actors to enter from the rear.
In 1974, The Rocky Horror Show, with Tim Curry as its secret weapon, traveled to Los Angeles for its American stage premiere at the Roxy on the Sunset Strip in West Hollywood, CA. And I was there.
At Riverwood High in Atlanta, my buddy Donna, along with my buddy Robert and myself, were the three musketeers. This picture was taken en route to a costume party; two years later, I had moved to L.A., and Donna came for a visit. When Cass Elliot unexpectedly died during her trip, we had to do something wild and rock-and-rollish to honor her offbeat life. We drove down to the Sunset Strip to see Hollywood's latest underground hit, a raw and raunchy Rocky Horror Show.
The Roxy Theatre really wasn't one. A makeshift stage popped up at one end of the small room, and tables were set up for the audience to sit and drink. There was no wing space, the actors made their entrances down a ramp which stretched from the back of the room to the stage. We looked UP to see the action.
When Trixie the Usherette appeared to announce
the "Science Fiction Double Feature," in clown
makeup and fishnets, I suspected this musical
was not going to resemble my recent high school
production of Hello, Dolly.
I had an immediate affection for the nerdy Narrator (who became the Criminologist in the film). This was, in fact, the only actor in the piece I recognized, from his numerous TV appearances.
Graham Jarvis narrated Rocky Horror at the
Roxy. He would later go on to play a leading
role in the soap spoof Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman.
He was an absolute scream, and his performance placed the role of the Narrator on my Bucket List, before we even called it that. Even at age 19, I knew that one day, I'd love to play it. But even my affection for the dry delivery of a one-liner was overshadowed by the electric entrance of Tim Curry as Frank N. Furter. That entrance, from the film version, is this week's Dance Party, and it's plenty powerful in the movie. But it does not compare to the star's live entrance at the Roxy.
Other than Curry, Meat Loaf was the only
Roxy cast member to recreate his role
for the film. And he played
only the suicidal Eddie; on stage, he
doubled as Dr. Scott. The moment in
Act II, when the proper professor strips
off his blanket to reveal fishnets and
heels, remains burned in my memory.
As I said, the stage was a makeshift one, so there was no elevator or wingspace or anything. Instead, Curry made his entrance from behind the audience. To the driving beat of his first number, he strode down the ramp, which was raised above eye level of the audience. Tim must be 6'4" at least, and parading around in his garish high heels, he towered over the audience. You didn't look at him, you looked UP at him. And you couldn't look away.
Let's face it: the climax of the play was meant to result in one. This group grope sequence was the most sensual moment I have ever witnessed on stage. It was powerfully provocative, and personally unsettling. But I guess the overall message of The Rocky Horror Show is clear enough: Don't dream it, be it.
Curry spent a lot of years running away from his phenomenal success in Rocky Horror, but, as stars who inadvertently create iconic characters usually do, he has reconciled himself to the fact that his participation in the cult classic will be the headline of his obituary. No one needs to be told, I imagine, that the clip below features the very young Susan Sarandon and Barry Bostwick, not that you pay much attention to them once Tim Curry explodes onto the screen. So let's enjoy one of the most unusual star entrances in the history of musical film:
Longstreet Theatre at the University of South Carolina
A few months ago, I had the pleasure of spending an evening with my grad school professor and friend, Jim Patterson. We've done a pretty good job of keeping in touch with each other since my graduation 16 years ago. In the intervening years, he retired from his position at the University of South Carolina, and has spent his time traveling and writing theatre text books.
Jim Patterson
He and his partner come to New York several times a year to see the new shows, and this time, they had made the trip from South Carolina specifically to see Streisand's Return To Brooklyn concert. We had cocktails and dip at my New York Branch, then walked around the corner to Restaurant Row to one of their favorite NY eateries for a fine Italian meal.
It is always fun to spend time with Jim, as he is a stimulating conversationalist. He holds a special place in my memory of my graduate school days, as he directed me many times during the period (three times on campus, and once soon after my graduation) and also served as the chair of my MFA Advisory Committee.
Jim occupies his retirement years by
writing theatre text books.
This group of three faculty members was in charge of overseeing my progress toward my degree, meeting at least once a semester to examine my growth as an actor and theatrical scholar.
Oddly, now that I think of it, I was in charge of choosing my own committee, which seems quite illogical. Back then, first year MFA candidates arrived on campus and were immediately required to choose their three-member committee, though we knew absolutely nothing about any of the faculty members. I think they've since changed that routine. Ah, USC, how eccentrically you were run...!
I lucked out with my three advisers.
Roseanna shared the other half of the duplex I rented while at
USC. She knew after 10 minutes that I would get along with
Jim Patterson. She was correct.
I received sage advice about picking my committee from my next door neighbor in Columbia, who was herself in the third year of her MFA in costume design. She suggested I choose one faculty member with whom I was currently in class, and one member who was in a different discipline.
My movement teacher sat on
my committee too. She lived
up to her name: Melody.
That turned out to be great advice. I invited the head of the costume design department to join my committee, and she was delighted, as she rarely had the opportunity to sit on an actor's committee.
Lisa welcomed the chance to advise one
of the program's acting candidates.
I also took my neighbor's advice regarding the chair of my committee; she recommended Jim Patterson, recognizing that we both had similar tastes and should get on well. She was absolutely right. When I approached Jim, whom I had only just met, he immediately accepted. At the same time, he was casting his upcoming production of The Importance of Being Earnest, and unbeknownst to me, he already had me in mind to play Algernon.
Jim's production of The Importance of Being Earnest
was the highlight of my first year at USC. More on
that experience later.
Wow, I am surprised that these memories are coming back so vividly. My dinner with Jim must have unlocked them. I'm now thinking that this post will be the first of a series (similar to one I wrote a while ago regarding my experience with Waiver Theatre in Los Angeles, you can reach that series of entries here). I sometimes think I may be writing my memoirs, bit by bit and out of order, in these pages; if that is so, then my time at the University of South Carolina must take a prominent place.
I bet I'll have some time to regurgitate my memories from grad school in the next weeks, as it appears I'll be (ahem) between engagements for a while. We'll call this Episode One of the series entitled My Gamecock Diaries. Stay tuned for the next installment.
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