And The Rest

Usually, I can't think of what I could possibly write about.

(You: no, really?  You're down to descriptions of your grandmother's living room.)

Well, in my defense, I feel like a lot of what goes on in my day can't be blogged about -- with colleagues or students or people in the "[I hate the term] Industry."  (Except in the super-secret blog which I absolutely do not have, because if I did have it, you would certainly know about it, wouldn't you?)  And I also don't blog much about David, because he is perfect in every way.

But today, yes, something bloggable happened.

I know that somewhere on this blog I must have written about the continuing role that Gilligan's Island has played in my life.

(You: yes, this is about the level of depth we expect.  Continue.)

My friends in college had a true devotion to Gilligan's Island -- in our commedia dell'arte class, we had to present a little play, and we did a commedia version of a Gilligan's Island plot involving a coconut cream pie, a love potion, and possibly a head hunter.  I think I played Il Capitan/The Skipper in that, doubling as Il Dottore/The Professor.   It was such a hit (ah, drama school) that we tried to do the same thing in screen acting class the following year -- failing abysmally.  I am absolutely certain I've blogged about this, so suffice it to say, it sucked.  I also have the VHS but you can only see it if you come to our house and bring a bottle of Bailey's with you.  

We went to a New Year's party, the lot of us, as the castaways.  I donned my khakis and white shirt and made a coconut-and-wire prop to carry in my guise as the Professor.  Somewhere there's a snapshot of us -- one of the pictures that I love because I actually look good in it, and I'm not normally that photogenic.

Annnnnyway, this is a long prelude to saying:  the Professor left me a voicemail today.  My life is complete.  Due to David's machinations, he arranged for Russell Johnson to call me with a little congratulatory sort of message.  I'm actually glad I let the call go to voicemail (I was in a student rehearsal) because now I have it forever.  If I actually spoke to Russell Johnson, I might have swallowed my tongue.

It's a companion piece to the glossy 8x10 photo that I have of Mr. Johnson that is autographed to me, "who writes musical theater."  My stepfather used to work with a relative of Mr. Johnson's, and requested it for me.

Now I just need a lock of Russell Johnson's hair and my creepy collection will be complete.  Look for it in the secret room that has walls decoupaged in newspaper clippings, maps and diagrams.  Do a long slow pan across the walls as you try to stifle a look of horror.  What in God's name ... this explains so much ... !

No, seriously, my birthday is coming up.  Time to check on eBay for those Professor-related items.