The Scottish Play

If any of you are familiar with a certain work of Shakespeare and the various and sundry myths and legends associated with the putting on of a production thereof, you will understand the following statement.

Given the number of disasters, and their magnitude, which have occurred since this play began, it is safe to say that we might as well be producing Macbeth. We really might. From the beginning days, way back when this play was still the Miracle Worker, some bad karma (I use the term very loosely, not intending any inappropriate religious or philosophical connotations whatever, but rather as a figure of speech amounting to 'jinx' and I intend no resemblance, real or imagined, to any character, event, place, or phenomenon currntly in existence in the world today) has been out to get us.

I'm sick of Midsummer Night's Dream. I want problems to stop happening and the stupid ass' head to quit giving me issues and falling apart, and I want the actors to chill, and I want the curtains to be up, and I want the theatre to be clean, and I want the costumes to fit, and I want the lights to work.

And I want Donna to please help me understand when to cue the lights, because she will certainly not be able to do it once the show is really underway and she is out in the audience. ARGH.