The Chronicles Of Jessica

Here's a link to the article....

I've been too busy actually getting the show open to write much, but here's an interesting article (not a review) about the show. If you scroll down a little you can see a picture. I'm the one in the middle holding the boom mic. I hate props.

Last night was the official opening so if we get a good notice I'll post it! If someone is a doody-head and writes mean things about our show then, um, not so much. For my next blog I'm introducing a new feature - The Chronicles Mailbag! Reader Rene asks: "Jessica - what is life like now that you're back in the theatre?" I'll have the answer for you in my next installment, Rene; try to contain your suspense.

Reader Rene asks, "Jessica - tell us about what is life like back in the theatre!!!?"

Well, Rene, I have to say that life in the theatre in DC could not possibly be more different than life at the Blackfriar's Playhouse. Apart from the fact that we get up and do a play on a stage in front of an audience, there are virtually no similarities.

I'd say the main difference is the play itself. With Shakespeare, you don't get much in the way of rewrites, seeing as the playwright has been dead for some time. On this project, the writer was there with us for most of the process, and she was revising or editing out portions of the play the entire time. So it was a good idea not to get too attached to any particular line or scene one day because you might end up mourning it by the next afternoon. Also if you mess it up she would tend to, like, notice. So there's that.

Another change is that in other theatres besides the Blackfriars, they tend to have lights and sound and pre-recorded music and other technical aspects. This play is partially about making a documentary so there's also video projection, some of which is actually being shot live while we're on stage. This meant that we had almost two solid weeks of what actors will lovingly recognize as "tech", time for actors to stand around on stage under the lights and enter the scene, and re-enter the scene, and do stuff, and do the stuff over, and then start cracking jokes while we're supposed to be standing there silently and getting chastised by the stage manager. (I excel at that last one.)

The audiences seem like they are enjoying the show, for the most part, but since they're sitting in the dark it's hard to say for sure. We got a kind of so-so notice in the Post yesterday; they didn't love it but they didn't hate it.

And of course this job is, by American Shakespeare Center standards, incredibly short. I started rehearsals October 2nd and I will be completely finished with the whole shebang by December 2nd. Two months! Two months in Staunton is nothing; I would barely have any red wine stains on my clothes at such an early juncture. So I'm already having to try and figure out what to do after this gig is over, which will conveniently coincide with (drumroll please) our next move! I move once a year now because it's so much fun! Actually we found a convenient place on Capitol Hill that I think is going to be perfect for us, much quieter and hopefully without the people-breaking-into-the-building thing.

Thanks for your question, Rene! And keep the queries coming, readers. I have some household tips if those interest anyone.

Tomorrow I'm getting started on changing my last name. My plan is to keep Dunton for professional/actor purposes and with the union, and take Fidalgo as my married name so that Paul and I can present a unified front in case we ever get audited or anything. The red tape involved should keep me tied up until well past the New Year, so Merry Christmas in advance.

There's kind of a learning curve that comes with this being married, I'm finding. I went yesterday to pick out a shirt for Paul to wear with this suit because he has this work function tonight that he has to dress up for, and between work and class he didn't really have time to go. Now you would think Paul has some experience dressing himself but actually, not so much. He knows what kind of jeans fit him and which brand of cotton tee tends to chafe but apart from that, nothing. And the world of men's clothing is a complete mystery to me, although I'm finding that it actually makes a lot of sense compared to the way they size womens clothes.

I went to the shirt department and I was pretty sure that Paul wore a 16, though I didn't know what sixteen referred to. I don't know what my size refers to either. I know the number gets bigger in proportion to how much fried chicken I ingest, but I don't know that the size number has any relationship to any specific measurement on my bod. But there were these other numbers after the 16; 32/33, 34/35 and so on. I thought maybe those were the pesky European sizes they print on clothes sometimes. I can't even begin to wrap my mind around those. If I ever found myself naked in Europe, I would be so screwed. (Heh!)

I called Paul on the cell phone and he didn't know what those numbers were either. Given the fact that there is no such thing as a saleslady in stores anymore, and I had no access to the internet, I had to ask this guy browsing around in menswear if he knew what those numbers referred to. I didn't know if this was really versed in men's fashions or not; he was wearing one of those black leather Harley Davidson jackets and he had a white handlebar mustache which kind of said "casual male" as opposed to GQ. But, I figure motorcycle guys have to get dressed up once in a while, right? They probably have functions of some kind, honoring the guy who drove the motorcycle the fastest or the guy who broke the most bones or something.

Anyway he told me that those mysterious digits refer to the sleeve length. This didn't really help me either, because I don't know how long Paul's arms are. I tried figuring it out by applying some practical theory (like, when he hugs me his arms seem to go all the way around my chest with some overlap, and I wear a 36C bra....) but that didn't get me too far. Then I remembered this friend I used to have who carried this little laminated card in her wallet with all of her husband's sizes on it for when she went out shopping. She never had to call him up to ask him, it was all just printed on that card. That card really seemed to me to be the epitome of adult wifehood. I remembered thinking that once I got married I would employ a similar method and that it would really confer on me the sort of partner status that I'd always been looking for. I think the fact that it was laminated was what really impressed me, actually. There's such a finality to lamination, it's very definitive. Anyway they ended up getting divorced so I guess you never can tell. Maybe they should have laminated the marriage certificate.

Well I made a wild stab at the sleeve length and everything turned out okay. I'm thinking maybe I should pick up some kind of style manual or something so I can figure out more of these things in advance. I admit to a certain amount of trepidation; I mean it took me this long just to figure out how to dress my own damn self, Paul could be looking like he's wearing his Dad's clothes as a Halloween costume for years before I get a bead on this.

And if anyone knows what's up with cuff links, please advise.