The Country Wife, Dental Surgery, and Running in the Dark

These two things that are only proximate because I experienced them within a 18-hour span; despite the easy opportunity to take a swing at restoration comedy, I can happily say that the CSC's production of The Country Wife was very good.

The dental surgery went well too -- and, now I KNOW that I would rather sit through three hours of Wycherly than have my gums cut open. I suspected as much, but you don't really know until you get to juxtapose the experiences this closely.

Now, for those of you out there in blogreaderworld who aren't familiar with the theatre of the English Restoration, here's what you need to know: Sex, Gullibility, Ruffles, and Asides. A-MAY-Zing costumes at this production -- they have a team of illegal immigrant seamsters locked away somewhere, thats the only explanation, or to put it another way, I found myself, in Ellicot City, wondering why these characters didn't have a change of clothes for the second act. BECAUSE I BELIEVED THESE WERE THEIR CLOTHES. The costumes are just exactly that crazy good. Other tech elements varied from topnotch (set, sound, props) to unoffensive (lighting, stagemanagement).

The acting was also strong, with (almost all of) the main characters having both a firm grasp of their characters and the appropriate pace for the material. Sadly, Mr. Pinchwife seemed to be in a different play, perhaps one by Pinter, where pauses are intended to be thought provoking. Here, the thoughts provoked began with "Does he know his lines?" progressed through "No, he's just a really, really self-indulgent actor," landed regularly on "Louder, Faster, Funnier!" and ended on "Does he think there is some psychological realism going on here in this play? 'Cause there aint." The titular Country-(Mrs. Pinch)Wife was generally spot on, though her dialect occasionally slipped perilously close to a cockney -- I kept thinking she was going to sing "Just you wait, 'Enry 'Iggins, just you wait!"

Directorally there were some neat choices, including intricate fan work for the ladies and a courtly dance near the end of act 1 that helped clarify relationships onstage - useful particularly for those who haven't read the play, as there are quite a few people to keep track of. Three hours is a loooong time to sustain comedy, but generally speaking the cast is up to the task. I do wonder what was up with Mr. Horner taking off his wig in the second act -- that was a bit of business that seemed like it might be going somewhere, but never landed. Oh, and the off-stage sex was, you have to see it for yourself.

Playing for I think two weeks, at the Howard County Center, 8510 High Ridge Road, Ellicott City MD 21043. Just five mins off I 29 N -- google maps does the trick.

I had the penultimate dental surgery today -- guess how long I put it off? Six friggin months. I could have had this done back in August, but there was always a good reason not to do it. I want to attach a picture, but for the sake of my squeamish readers (hi mom!) I shan't. It IS cool, though. They cut open the gums, and screwed a new cap onto the posts they implanted back in november of '07. Next step, in three weeks or so, is to get the actual caps/bridge whatever the dentist decides will best fill the gap. And then this decades-long sojurn with dentistry will be at an end, of sorts. I have an entirely reasonable fear of dentists, and if I don't have to get into a chair again until 2025 I would be totally down with that.

Finally, running in the dark. Last week, coach B suggested that we run on a new trail in MD, one he ran previously with Dr. Whispers. He had to drop someone off at the airport in the afternoon, so at the end of a beautiful, sunny Sunday, we hit the trail. It was 5 pm, 50 degrees, and I was running 18 miles. The first problem i discovered is that, despite the lovely weather of the day, the snow and ice from last week's storm hadn't yet melted on all of the trail -- particularly the shady bits. Ok, I thought, this isn't great, bad traction and I am slowing down, but no real worries.

The next problem I encountered between mile 5 and 6 -- a puddle, ten feet long and 3 inches deep, of snowmelt that covered the entire trail. Now, this was about an hour into the run, and guess what is happening at 6 pm on Sunday in DC in January? That's right, it was getting pretty dark. So, I misjudged the depth and extent of the puddle, and now my feet were soaked. Grrrr. Fine. I thought they would dry out as I ran. They would have, too . . . if that had been the last puddle.

Around mile nine I come upon the Mormon Tabernacle (not that one, the one here in DC) and the trail comes to a road, with a little post that says "finish" Now, I know the trail goes all the way to the DC line, 'cause B told me so. But he's a good 30 minutes ahead of me at this point, so I try to figure out where the trail goes. There's a dirt-bike trail, that's not right. I run up the hill next to the temple, but the trail turns into sidewalks, and I know THATs not right, its not even going south. Finally, just when I have almost resigned myself to running through the puddles in a series of out-and-backs to rack up the full 18 miles, I find the trail again, 120 yards down the road. It is now pitch black, I can't see the mile markers (which were the whole point of running on this trail) and I'm halfway done.

The next stretch of the trail is actually pretty good - no puddles, not much snow - and I can see that this would be a really nice run, IF I could see more than a foot in front of my face. I am finally getting near the turnaround point, and who do I see running back to me but B!

"This sucks." he says. Thanks for the news, B.
"How far to the turnaround?"
"Less than a mile, but don't go down there -- its all underwater." Charming.

So, I turn around and head back. Soon, B has outpaced me (he stubbornly continues to run 1 minute per mile faster than me, despite my getting faster every week. Bastard) and I am back running alone in the dark. I'm prepared for the ice, which is now re-freezing as the temperature drops below 32; I'm prepared for - resigned to - the puddles, which now have neat coats of wafer-thin ice over them, so you really can't see them; what I am not prepared for are the deer. Seriously -- where the hell did all the deer come from? I ran within 5 feet of half a dozen deer, and saw a dozen more, and heard who knows how many more. They didn't have the good sense to run away from me, either -- just looked up and wondered what the hell my problem was. Something I imagine many of you are wondering as well . . .

Final indignity? 2:45 mins after we began, I turn the corner and see the basketball court where we left the car. Hooray? Nope. B is gone -- no car in the lot! I suspect he went back downtrail to try to find me, and that is in fact what happened, but it was ten minutes before he came back -- ten long minutes with soaking wet feet, in the now sub-zero weather, with no phone, id, money, or nothin.

Now, writing all that, it seems like a choice slice of hell; but really, it . . . no, it was a pretty choice slice of hell, truth be told. But now that it is a week in the past, I can see that it probably wasn't the worst thing that could have happened -- I was frickin miserable in the last quarter of the run, but you know what? I fully expect to be miserable in the last quarter of the Marathon in March -- its just a long damn way to run, yeah? So, now I know that I can run, even when I am miserable, and it isn't going to kill me. I was talking to B about how the racing is way more mental than I expected when I started running. He agreed, and observed that "You can't reduce competition to sheer physical fitness; people who train fast don't always perform that way in a race. A lot of it is mental toughness on the course, to run your race and not someone else's."

And that's what I am doing here -- running my own race. Chapter two of the dissertation is in the tank -- and its pretty damn good, though there are some holes I need to fill by a visit to NYC's performing arts library archives. I've lost 25 pounds since November, and hope to race at 150, which I haven't weighed since I was in high school. M is learning to lead West Coast Swing, which makes her tremendously happy, and she's good at it, which makes it fun to follow her when we go dancing. So -- despite the tough times, things are good.

Brother's birthday is tomorrow -- Happy Bday, G!