Actors, Directors, and Props*—Oh my!

Oh, dear Reader!

What I mean to say—to truly cry out wholeheartedly!—is that at long last (has it been over a half-dozen days since last I wrote?) I have assembled the theatrical troupe which will perform The Concert in twenty-three days hence.

The stately Timothy Chan will perform the character “Wayne.” Mandy Decker (né Blevins, of the Elkton Blevins) and I have worked with this young man in previous productions of the Urban Youth Theater, giving me full confidence that Messr. Chan will fulfill this role with vim, vigor, and authentic slackerdom. I look forward to it longingly.

Next, the impeccable Giselle D’Souza will grace the stage as “Marissa.” Adhering to social etiquette, I deigned for Mandy to engage the initial communiqué with Miss Giselle. Impossible to believe, I am not above the rigid bounds of proper decorum—even in pursuit of an actor! But with communication established, my pleasurable acquaintance imparted her heady desire to carry my prose heavenward, and bestow her talents upon Marissa and her foul-mouthed charms.

And fresh from her Grand Tour of the Continent, Mary Geerlof, reprising her role as “Director.” If you, Reader, were by chance lucky enough to be in Town to catch a mere glimpse of the world premier of King of the Mountain, you should consider yourself truly blessed by Providence. Who would have thought a velocipede standing alone with rider for an hour’s time would be truly soul-rousing theatre? Mary Geerlof, for one. Under her incomparable direction, "Max" rode to the top of that daunting Alpine summit, taking our breath away with each agonized pedal-stroke. May she so craftily handle my script again, albeit three-fourths shorter and three-times dumber.

And there you have it, Reader. Though my network be small, and my time short, there are people out there eager pledge to themselves and make something of this crazy little show.

Yours truly,

T. Dekkes

*Well, actually, converting my stolen twenty-year-old red milk crate/trashcan into a milk crate/prop really took no effort, but I needed to mention it for the Wizard of Oz allusion. Do you see what I’m getting at? Never mind. And sorry for the pseudo-Victorian nonsense, this is what happens when I write late at night, by candlelight, overlooking a fog-tinged moor.