I think I'm starting to have a mid-life crisis. As my 35th birthday approaches, I'm looking at what I've accomplished in life thus far and I'm thinking there's still something missing that I can't quite put my finger on. I'm not saying that what I already have is defective; all in all life's been good to me so far. (My Maserati goes 185; I lost my license now I can't drive...) There's just something intangible that is gnawing at me ever so subtly. It's not a lack of offspring; that'll happen in due course; so it's not really missing, just later.
*gnaw*
I can rule out writing as that intangible as well. Getting my poetry published is a nice thought, but it's not a critical must-do-before-it's-too-late task. Plus, this venture is essentially a self-published work (that thus far has a vast readership of me.) In a sense, this could be seen as working out at the gym for my mind - toning up my writers craft muscles a couple of times a week, trying new exercises. An author's aerobics: "Parse that sentence, conjugate that verb! Let's go people! Let's flex those ads! Jective! Verb! Jective! Verb!"
*gnaw*
Back in high school I was in the Tech Club (nerd!), where we would do the lights and sound for various school productions; plays, musicals, recitals and such. Some of my friends were in the Theatre Guild. I was able to, through them, participate a couple of times in plays and workshops. The small teasing taste of acting that I had has always stayed with me. I don't think as a teenager I had the self-confidence to pursue that avenue further; I would have likely given up from frustration.
Here it is now some sixteen years since I graduated grade 13 and that taste in my mouth has strengthened. I know who I am now and I am aware of what life is all about. That gnawing little bastard intangible is the acting bug, and I want to catch it full force. I don't mean Hollywood or Broadway or God forbid the CBC. (Just kidding, of course. The CBC is great, whenever it gets some pence, er, annual budget alloted by the government.) I'd be perfectly happy in a community theatre, tossing out a couple of plays a year.
I am going to see what there is available for an inexperienced schmuck like me. The worst that can happen is that I'm told I stink like a limberger-farting skunk and that I should never set foot on a stage again, lest I receive death threats.
I'd love to put on a production of Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead, by Tom Stoppard. Saw the movie adaptation of it, thought it was a rather dark. I'd do it much more farcical. It's a damn funny play. We studied it in Grade 13 English. My friend Andrew (a tall burly Scotsman) read the part of Rosencrantz and I (at the time a skinny twerp) read Guildenstern. We had the whole class and the teacher in stitches each day that we read from it. We stood at the front of the room and acted out the various scenes; we improvised some of the physical comedy; it was a hoot.
The feeling that I had when we were 'performing' the play - that's the gnawing little bastard.