Tuesday, February 27, 2007


The King is dead
The King is dead
Long live the King.

So, that was fun, and I got paid. At the end there I started to get a bit sick with this upper-respiratory thing. By then end of the final performance, I could hardly speak. It was a feat just making it through the show without breaking into pitch variances akin to pubescent boys. This becomes particularly worrisome when considering the fact that I have an audition Sunday night for Raleigh's Kennedy Theatre's Hot Summer Nights season. This is six shows I'm auditioning for at once! Well...one of them is precast...and I think two are musicals...but still, three shows at once! I desperately need my voice to be in speaking condition. Worrying about some kind of critical failure of the vocal chords, I hurried down to the Whole Foods to do some grocery shopping. This is a routine trip that I take each weekend, but this time, there was added purpose. I had to put to use the exhaustive knowledge of all things tea to dire use. I must contrive a concoction so therapeutic to the throat that I could sing Pavorotti by 5:30 -- that is, if I had the talent to sing Pavorotti (which I don't but if I did it would still be moot because I wasn't auditioning for the musicals...but with a voice like Pavi.....). I stood listening to the Norah on the iPod. It was a wet and dreary day and whenever that happens it's oversized sweaters and Norah Jones for me. I stared up at a whole wall of herbs and spices that actually stared back and said, "Yea, we're legal." This audacious exchange served to steel my resolve and charged me to action. Cardamom, cloves, black pepper, rosemary. Back to produce: lemon, and ginger root. I hurried home and in minutes I successfuly placed into the teapot a nice mound of shaved ginger, precisely ten caramom pods - split open - half a tablespoon of cloves and rosemary, and just a touch of fresh-ground black pepper. I proceeded to squeeze one slice of lemon into my teacup and plunked the extinguished rind and flesh into the teapot just in time to hear the kettle whistle. Five minutes later a delifer-iciousness teasane concoction of epic proportions was wilting half a tablespoon of honey from a silver spoon and filling my cup with its healing tastiness. The next fifteen minutes were pure rapture.

My throat felt great for the audition, but my condition has deteriorated since. I'm back on the upswing of the illness so I hope to be well by this weekend. That's when Tracie and I take a magical trip out to Asheville to stay at a little Bed and Breakfast. It's a late Valentine's since I had King Lear for the last two months.

I'm working my way through Poe's short stories right now and it's very fun. It was the complete works of Poe or the complete works of Oscar Wilde and I went with Poe. I'm just a depressing guy I guess.

Well, it's time for Nyquil. That stuff is sooooo tasty, especially when you're talking double dose.

1 comment:

Doyle said...

You monstrous tool, you're missing out on one of the greatest literary Irishmen to ever cross the planet. That is, of course, leaving out his incredibly interesting personal life, in which he seduced the son of the 9th Marquis of Queensbury (oh yes, those famous boxing rules), and then was sent to prison for it. Poe may be depressing and skilled, but Wilde is downright clever. I honestly believe that he wrote "Picture of Dorian Gray" well before he published it, and once you read it, you'll understand why. Seriously, after reading both, I'd have done Wilde, more variety, less laudahum.