Photo of the day: I found this on my computer while I was clicking around. It is signage in the front window of the WhiteFire Theatre. (Ventura Blvd. Sherman Oaks, CA) It was the only advertising for the original workshop run of The Two and Only in August of 2003. It was Jay Sandrich, our benefactor even back then, who gave us the money to buy it. Murphy Cross agreed to direct a children's play for the landlord to get the Theatre rent free. It still makes me smile to remember those days. There is nothing that can equal Pirate Theatre and Gonzo Production.  As I see the dates we ran almost as long as the London production. I kept that sign.  It means more to me than the Clayton/Collier poster from the Arts Theater... "of Death". 

Which brings me to a thought about signs. 

From the dictionary.  Sign - an object, quality or event whose presence or occurrence indicates the probable presence or occurrence of something else, regarded as evidence of what is happening or going to happen.  

So to paraphrase: a "sign" is only a symbol of something that is going to happen. (Cue: Rod Serling and the Twilight Zone theme music) I offer this for your consideration.

A couple of mornings ago I woke straight up out of bed at 4:30am with the realization I left my prized name plate on my dressing room door of the Arts Theatre (of Death!).  The theater seemed to be rushing us out as quickly as they could on Sunday evening, and I had a nagging sense I might accidentally forget something.  This is why I checked the stage and the inside of the dressing room several times, but I forgot to look on the outside of door. I had placed the name plate on that door the minute the dressing room was assigned to me.

Long term blog readers will remember this name plate from an incident at the Helen Hayes Theater during the Broadway run.  

http://hellandhayes.blogspot.com/2006/09/okay-let-me-start-by-saying-i-believe.html 

There was nothing to be done but accept the idea that it was gone.  After a few uneasy moments I went back to sleep trying to heed the advice of Eckhart Tolle and stop identifying myself with any sort of form.

Later that morning as I am having some coffee and checking my email I see a message from Julia my London version of Wiz.  Julia tells me the tech director at the theater "of Death" found my name plate on the dressing room door and wondered what to do with it. Julia went by the theater that afternoon and got it.   Her email was asking if I would like her to send it to me in the mail.  I was very excited and wrote her back immediately to tell her the long relationship I've had with that name tag and I would love to have it back.  The completely odd thing about this is, the California time stamp on Julia's email was 4:42 am.  

It was five days after leaving the theater and three days of being home before I realized suddenly out of a dead sleep in the early morning that I didn't pack my name plate.  A name plate I have carried with me in Bob's case for decades. (twenty-five years to be exact)  I also happened to remember this fact at the exact moment Julia was sending me a email message about it half way round the world. 

You tell me.

As you were,

Jay