Taking a stand

I've been a season subscriber to the Ahmanson Theater for many, many years. Before that, for over ten years I had fourth-row center season seats at the late, great Shubert Theater in Century City. I tried on the Pantages for a few seasons, and I took a couple seasons of the Geffen for a spin when I lived in Santa Monica.

There's a phenomenon I've noticed increasingly over the years, and while it happens in New York too, it seems particularly native to Los Angeles. After every performance, regardless of whether it merits it or not, the audience rewards the cast with a standing ovation. Instead of standing because a play has been filled with brilliant performances that moved you, or were cast with the perfect actors to play the roles, sometimes it feels like standing ovations have become the theater equivalent of participation trophies.

Now you might think you're way ahead of me here—and God knows it doesn't take much—in thinking I'm against the practice. The fact is I'm not.

Here's the thing: I was a theater arts major, and no one appreciates the blood, sweat and tears that go into getting a production off the ground more than I do. And while I realize not every play and performance is worthy of a standing ovation, I believe every performer is.

Actors aren't responsible for the material they're given. Their job is to commit to it, and bring the characters to life as best they can. For all the talk about what an easy job it is, it's incredibly difficult, and they don't always succeed. Remember the last time you tried to convince someone of something?

Admittedly sometimes it's gotten to the point where it feels like the seats are spring loaded. It'd be easy to think doing it for every play across the board cheapens the currency of genuine appreciation for the craft. But the thing about actors is they know in real time if something is working or not. They sense the room tone, they hear the feedback and they see the faces looking back at them. Yet even when it's going south, they're giving it their all.

If I'm being honest, and really, where's the percentage in that, I've given standing ovations to more productions that didn't deserve it than I care to admit. I also tip more than I should for mediocre service at restaurants, clean up for the housekeeper and rinse dishes before I put them in the dishwasher. I may have deeper issues, but that's not the point.

The truth is when the curtain comes down and the cast comes out, I want them to know I appreciate the effort they've made in the name of entertaining me.

That's what I stand for.

Where's my parade?

I'm not gonna lie—I'm feeling a recognition shortage when it comes to appreciation for the many things I do for others. As you can imagine, being an only child makes this feeling of not being the center of the universe something I'm completely unfamiliar with.

Here's the most recent example of how I go out of my way to make life better for the people I love, as well as those around me.

Yesterday, I realized the family was double booked for Saturday night, August 12th. I know, right? We had tickets to both Straight No Chaser at the Greek Theater and to The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night Time at the Ahmanson Theater at the Music Center. A decision had to be made, and quickly.

Realizing immediately I couldn't change the concert date, but as an Ahmanson subscriber could exchange those tickets, I called the Music Center box office. I talked with Raphael, a subscriber concierge who spoke with a slightly affected accent and more than a hint of condescension in his voice.

Nevertheless, I persisted.

After finding some equal ground and achievable objectives we could agree on, Raphael then exchanged my four tickets for a week earlier, considerably better orchestra seats, much further up and dead center. Sure, he let me know it wasn't an even exchange and there was an additional fee required, but I didn't hesitate. I fired up the VISA card and paid it.

Giver, remember?

It wasn't easy or fun, took time out of my day and cost me money. But I did it for the same reason Walter White started his meth empire: for the family.

Maybe it's because I work in advertising, where recognition is a form of currency, awards are highly sought after (even if you don't go to Cannes to get them) and getting attention is the name of the game. Or maybe it's just being an only child and a glory hog.

Who's to say?

All I know is recognition or not, I'll keep going out of my way to take on the jobs that have to be done that no one else wants to do.

For example tonight, I'm setting the table for the family. Whether anyone notices or not.

Ugly sweater

I'm a cold weather kind of guy. Anything above seventy degrees, and I start sweating like I'm carrying a backpack filled with lead uphill through the rainforest.

I was in Austin this past weekend, visiting young Mr. Spielberg, and checking out how much return we're getting on that out-of-state tuition. We also had the pleasure of seeing my longtime friend and writer extraordinaire Cameron Day and his wife Debbie, and all going to watch Holland Taylor perform in ANN, which she's brought to the lucky theater goers of Austin for a few weeks.

When the show was over, we stepped out of the theater into the night, and it was just as exceptional as the days had been on this quick turnaround: low 70's, mild breeze, clear blue Texas skies. Since I wasn't going to be there long, I figured the weather would hold until I came home today.

Well, not so fast there Mr. Sweaty Face.

When I went outside this morning, it was ninety degrees and muggy. Really muggy. Steamy, salt-sweat in my eyes muggy. To add to the drenching, I had to carry not only my suitcase down two flights of Airbnb stairs, but also a large suitcase my son had packed up for me to bring home so he wouldn't have to do it in a couple weeks when summer break starts.

Always happy to help my boy, but by the time I got both of them downstairs I looked like I'd just stepped out from under a hot shower. I tried to wipe myself down, but that only lasted for a minute or two.

Wait, what's that? A gentle, cool breeze? Oh thank God. What?! What do you mean it's over?! Crap.

The topping on the cake was I was standing in front of the building, and my Lyft driver pulled up on the side street and waited for me there. So I had to take the two suitcases and drag (roll) them almost half a block to him. Alright, maybe it was a hundred yards. Ok, feet. But still, the end effect was the same. I was a walking puddle.

Having come from the mean streets of West L.A., north of Wilshire, I always loved going to cities that had what I like to call real seasons. Where the temperature changed, and you don't really know from one minute to the next what it'll be. To my point of view, that's the way nature intended it, not this continual perfect, dry weather year in and year out.

But after this morning in Austin, I've reconsidered my opinion and decided I love the predictable, pleasant, dry weather here just fine, and I'm never going to complain about the lack of seasons again.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some serious laundry to do.

Opening Night

Since the beginning of the year, both my kids have been in rehearsals for the annual production their school does as a fundraiser. It’s called Broadway Showcase, and they’ve been a part of the production for years.

I think it could also be called I didn’t think it was legal in this state to make kids work that hard.

In addition to their regular curriculum, they also have to go to rehearsals every day after school. At first, they got out at 9 p.m. But as it started getting closer to opening night, rehearsals let out at 10 p.m.

Then of course there was the President’s Day rehearsal which went on for about 10 hours. I’m sure show tunes are exactly how Washington and Lincoln wanted to be remembered.

There is also no cutting of the slack. When my kids drag their tired selves home at 10:30 or 11 from rehearsals, that’s when they have to open the books (iPad) and start on the hours of homework they’re still expected to turn in the next day.

But tonight and tomorrow night, it all pays off. The wife and I will be at the Theater for Performing Arts in La Mirada, watching our beautiful, talented kids sing and dance their hearts out to an appreciative, loving audience filled with classmates, parents and grandparents.

Safe to say it’s not a tough crowd. But they give it their all as if they were performing at the Majestic Theater on 53rd St.

History tells me that the second night will be better than the first because they’ll have gotten the nerves and the bugs out. And the second night is also closing night – it’s a short run. So there’s a looseness to the production that’s pretty entertaining.

Afterwards, they’ll have the wrap party. And then, while no one will be getting a Tony for their work, they’ll be getting something even more valuable when they get home.

Sleep.