My parents are in town.
Indeed, my parents have dropped in from the Bay Area to see the shows I recently dramaturged. I think I finally have them trained: come for the big 'uns, even if I'm not on stage. I remember the hazy outline of a conversation we had back when I was an undergrad. It went a little something like, "Oh, maybe we'll come up to see you acting in something someday somewhere sometime not right now what is this dramaturgy thing and how long will this phase last are you still listening please say no." The previous sentence is, of course, best read in one breath, spanning an octave or two with a fairly extreme diminuendo.
I'm not doing these two justice here. They're a fairly decent set of parents who do ridiculously cute things like walk down the street holding hands after 40 years of marriage. Though I am expecting a "Get a new job" lecture from Dad within the next 48 hours. I've been trying on authentic responses to this forthcoming tirade in the mirror since I dropped them of the the B&B around the corner. If only I could muster a more pathetic plea. "I'm trying!" Maybe one where I can get all the vowels including y into some double luxe tripthong sound. "I'm trauyoing."
It's only been a few hours, but I am already entertained. I prepared a short list of the evening's highlights:
- Mama Crow calls the MAX the Maxi Train, which makes me think of a giant sanitary napkin on rails.
- Dad already mistakenly called me by my sister's name three times, and our dead cat's name once.
- Mama Crow totally ruined my crush on Tim Gunn by telling me, "I can see why you like him. He looks kinda like your dad."
Here's a photo set for comparison. I like to imagine that Tim is about to say something like, "Mike. The hibachi hunchback isn't wearable, but it captures the set-in-bone travail of l'ouvrier. Still, you're going to have to resolve the Teva's and perma-socks. You've got some work to do. Carry on!"