Stephen Quint and the ZOMBIE MIKADO

doing pirates

This cast is on for at least another 3 weeks. When it's off I promise that I will PROBABLY post more frequently. Although I don't know why I should. No one ever sends me money or even gift certificates.

I've done 3 Pirates of Penzance in the last couple of days, in Utica and Princeton, and have another one tomorrow night, in New Bedford, MA. I stuffed the cast into the sleeve of the Major-General jacket and kept my hand on the hilt of the sword and NOBODY WAS ANY THE WISER. Then later on, in the nightgown, we revised some of the "Sighing softly" choreography and had Samuel standing behind providing my lovely balletic arm gestures. There was a reception after one of the performances and the audience was astounded to learn I had a wrist-to-shoulder cast.

As usual when I get back from a NYGASP gig, I feel like I'm in a coma.

Here's that fractured humerus. I'll bet you think it's pretty funny.

H

THE PAIN!

You may be wondering about The Pain. THE PAIN, THE PAIN! Oh, woe is me! Alas, alack! Oh Will, oh Penny, oh, Robot! Well, the pain is not that bad, although I'm always aware there's something crunchy and gross above my elbow. It's more like discomfort than pain, and naturally it's only really bad when I'm trying to get to sleep. That's when I take the most recently prescribed painkiller, Percodan. Or is it Percoset? Oxycodon. Why is this drug such a big deal? In half an hour you notice that the pain is gone, but what else makes it worth forging prescriptions and stealing from old people? Maybe it's an abuse-worthy drug for people who don't have the fortitude to drink a couple of beers. Honestly, this drug is not worthy of its abuse. Gag down some vodka. Better for you in the long brain cell run, I'm sure. Anyway, it doesn't help you get to sleep, or doesn't help ME get to sleep, and me is what it's all about, at Zombie Mikado at least.

I won't bore you with the details -- THOUGH THERE'S NO REASON I SHOULDN'T -- of my sleep patterns, which have been terrible since I was a puling babe, and are even worse now that my colon is gone. That's right! COLON! INTESTINE! DUNG! FARTS! Take that, you delicate, whiny, G&S sissies! What, do you think Sullivan never had diarrhea? What do you think his music for The Grand Duke is? Bugger off! Anyway, yeah, I sleep really badly. I would be a genius if it wasn't for the fact that I'm so fuzzy all the time. And CURSE THE BIRDS! EVERY MORNING I'm awake before the birds start waking up. I hate that. Peter Hirsch understands. There's just so little chance of getting back to sleep if you're already awake to hear the birds doing their morning thing. A mockingbird has moved into the neighborhood and he's the first guy to greet the day, every day, loud, like Siegfried and Brunnhilde. You can't help paying attention because every morning he has something completely different to say! He repeats it for an hour, then you never hear it again. Next morning he has a whole new reason to wake up.

Anyway, yeah, pain's not that bad.

Here's a mockingbird.

damn arm

I don't suppose I have to tell you this -- you may have figured it out from the dearth of entries around here of late -- but typing one-handed is, for a person accustomed to using all his hands for typing, a real pain in the ass. I've not been doing much e-mailing either, if that's of any comfort to you hapless Zombie Mikado devotees. And when I do e-mail it's without capitals! In instant message-type shorthand! Horrible!

The only positive thing about having a broken arm is that it could have been both of them, or just my right. Or a leg or hip, god forbid. As it is, everything I do takes 4 times longer, except for typing, which takes 7 times. Pulling up pants... 4 times longer. Picking up something on floor... 4 times longer.  Just bending over can't be taken lightly, you have to stare at a thing for a few seconds, squat, grasp the object, and rise, being careful not to let your broken limb flop forward, which can cause wincing. Searching for things... 4 times longer. Tying shoes... alone? Impossible. Cutting food with knife... alone? Impossible. Any kind of manual double-tasking is impossible. Opening a door (refrigerator, bathroom) while you're holding a thing (filled ice cube tray, shovelful of cat poop)... impossible.

A couple of days ago I vacuumed this apartment for the first time since the accident (this is the beginning of my 4th week in a cast). Between the three cats who can barely be counted on to cover up their bowel movements and the three slovenly human females with whom I share this place much filth had accumulated. It was extremely mentally and physically therapeutic to do a job that was close to my usual two-handed standards, even if it took about TEN TIMES  longer than usual.

I'm still going to be doing some Pirates of Penzance for NYGASP. Fortunately the Major-General is an old guy who doesn't really have to move around much, and why shouldn't he have a broken arm? Old people are always breaking stuff. Or it could be gout, or the flaring up of an injury from the campaign in India, or Injah, as an old British fart might say. The suggestion that the Major-General has actually seen action doesn't really ring true, though. Anyway, I'm doing these shows, in the cast which I will be wearing for another 4 weeks, and it should be OK as long as I allow enough extra time to put everything on, and as long as we don't stupidly try to cover up the obvious fact that there's something wrong with my arm.

Be assured that this posting took FOREVER to type and was full of typos. Now how long before Doug and Eva show up with their usual insulting comments?

a picture, but less than a thousand words

Since I'm having to type with one hand (left arm broken and in cast), which vexes me sorely, I'll give you this picture of the poster Maine Opera Theatra used in the summer of '95 (?) for our production of Ruddigore. Click on it to make it bigger. That's me screaming in the front, and Kate Egan being carried by Tor Johnson. How many of the living dead can you identify? Be the one to name the most and win an imaginary prize. Artist was the great Del Bourree-Bach , who also sang Roderic in this, the final MOTHRA presentation (so far). Maybe someday I'll give you some details about the amazing colossal production, if I feel like it.