How a Pot Boiler Writer’s Brain Works.

“Oh, hello didn’t see you standing there. I’m just taking a bit of a break. Excuse me for a second while I get this blasted thing afire. Nasty habit, quite determined to give it up… but you know?”

“I like to smoke when I’m not working. The old imagination gets lost in the clouds as it were. Helps to clear the mind.”

“Once I go back to my desk I have to see how long I can keep the coppers from figuring out that it’s dear, sweet Mrs.Finster who is slowly depopulating the neighborhood rather than dark, sulking Mr. Brudah.”

“Or I might have to conjure up a love scene in zero gravity. Plus, I will have to decide if it will be more sensual to play the whole thing for comedy.”

“And there’s a musical based on the mythology of the Inuit that I am intrigued with.”

“But at this very moment I am about to murder a flighty, impossible lyricist who has gotten underneath my skin like a bag of maggots. If I do carry out the deed I must take careful notes. This would be my first non-imaginative brush with murder. Mustn’t leave any obvious clues for the gendarmes.”

I jest, of course. I doubt if I could murder no matter how justified it might be. … On the other hand if she were felled by a tree that was struck by lightning? Or by the bolt itself I would not have crocodile tears rolling down my cheeks. …
Murder by crocodile? Now, there’s a jolly thought…”

“Well, back to the salt mines. Nice chatting. Please wipe your shoes on your way out.”

Picking Up Theodore John Steinkellner the Second : A Short Tale of the Mid Last Decade.

Around two ten or two fifteen in the afternoon I go to pick up my son, Teddy who is named after my father. Though, I am not positive that my father’s middle name was John. (My brother’s name is John Theodore so it seems logical.) I don’t investigate too thoroughly because I think Teddy would be disappointed if it weren’t true. He seems to have really taken to the “heft” of his name. What with “the Second” and all.

Before I pick T. up, I usually try to bring him something to eat. Costco pizza, cheeseburger and medium fries, or a meatball sandwich from Quiznos. (The first time I got him a turkey with mayo from there but tried meatball as a change and that seems to have stuck.)

On rare occasions I will get him a cheeseburger from Fatburgers if I am stopping downtown for some reason. (This is when we had a Fatburgers in Santa Barbara.)

Teddy is always very appreciative for whatever I show up with. It’s rare that I arrive with nothing. I do this because it seems like something I would have liked if my father were alive to do it for me when I was in high school. Actually, if he had been alive I doubt if he would have done this even if he had the time. Still, since Teddy is his namesake it kind of makes a connection.

The theater parking lot is jammed when I get there, so I wait out in front of the high school. Sometimes there is more of a delay than other times. I read and watch the kids getting picked up. A few of them look so much like their older siblings you feel as if you have become unstuck in time.

Teddy gets in the car. He relates odd bits of high school gossip. He never fails to correct me on some old school belief of mine. He is so fifteen. And then we drive home.

Untold Tales of Bill Steinkellner’s Hair

As life sometimes gets murkier my hair becomes clearer and clearer. Why now if the light was good you could probably read a newspaper through it. The following is a short compendium of my “crowning glory’s” vast accomplishments.

Once, a bag lady who was posted just outside the front door of Canter’s deli looked up from her stupor to comment “you have lovely hair”. (More life-challenged folks over the years would also go out of their way to comment. Is this the main thing they admire from life in the mainstream world?)

Long before I worked in tv, an actor who starred in a show that bore his name saw me in a liquor store and asked where I got my haircut. I found out later that that meant he was coming on to me. (I have always been way too naive. I’m like the lamb led to slaughter who says “Does anyone else smell blood or is it just me?”.)

I had really short hair from first grade until second year of Junior College. (In those days a haircut took about 73 seconds. They just ran the electric shaver over your head, smacked you with some talcum and that was it.) In my early twenties I let my hair get stupidly long. But pictures from then always make my kids laugh and so in the long run it was worth it.

Just a couple of years ago a kindergartener said to me “How did your hair get so white?”. (There’s a very long answer but none that a five year old would stand around for.)

The best thing about my white (technically clear since it has lost all of its pigment) hair is that I started greying in my late twenties. So, now I don’t have to worry about someone from the old days coming up to me with that “what the hell happened to you?” look on their faces that everyone else from the Boomer era gets.

To sum it up– I like my hair and my hair likes me. (Except on those days when it gets all cow licky.)

How to Graciously Accept Applause From Polite Smattering to Standing Ovation

“Please cease and desist with the chatter in the back row! And if you are going to smirk it would be polite to smirk to yourself. Just know that it just makes you look as if you have one foot in the loony bin as my dear Mother used to say.”

… “Fine, I’ll wait until it is still-born quiet in here. My sardines and cracker snack will be at room temperature one way or the other… Good.”

“Now, as to the Final Bow AKA The Most Important Moment in Show Business. The moment that separates The Star from the Wretch Who Comes in Weekly to Clean the Box Office Window.”

“Every final bow in every show from our show to the first Reenactment of the Wooly Mammoth Hunt is different. But they are all crucial.”

“You will take your cue from Father Christmas. He is in the center which makes for easy visual contact. And since this production is The Adventures of Father Christmas it also makes excellent thematic sense.”

“Furry Man and Lady Hoops if you are experiencing costume difficulties you may start your bow a micro second earlier than Father Christmas if needs be. Everyone else must bow exactly after Fagin… I mean Father Christmas has begun to bend. This bow should be as if an iron bar connected you all. If it helps imagine that you are an ear of corn being buttered in one of those new fangled rotisseries.”

“People in the back row, be mindful of the fans on sticks and feathered thingies. They can be highly distracting. If you aren’t in control of your costume the audience will be focused entirely on all the frou frou waving about and will miss 3/4 of the final bow.”

“And I think it bears repeating– don’t knock down any more scenery. Curtain in one hour. So, break your one, two, …sixteen… one hundred and four legs!”

Bill Steinkellner’s Bride Not Taken: A What If Story

So, I guess I could have married this girl if things had turned out differently … or if I had ever met her. The photo is from Xmas 1949. So, she would have been the older woman by more than a year. (We would have been that rare couple like Demi and Ashton. Oops, bad example.)

But if it was true love I don’t think we would have let it get in the way of our love. Though, I wouldn’t want to speak for her.

The age difference would be magnified by the fact that girls mature earlier. (Plus, I have never been noted for my maturity. A fact that doesn’t seem to be putting off those pesky folks from A.A.R.P. in the slightest.)

Sally (she looks like a Sally to me) seems healthy and steady on her feet considering her grip on the baby buggy. This illustrates her stability. How many pictures do you see where the buggy is overturned and the doll is balanced precariously balanced half in, half out of the carriage?

The buggy is spotless. Good home maker. And it’s a baby carriage so you know she wants kids which is paramount to me. (Heck, nowadays I wish you could run out to Trader Joe’s and just get a new one every so often.)

It’s a little weird how her sweater is buttoned at the top only. Most of it is just left wide open. Does this signal potential infidelity? Well, I’m not going to jump to conclusions. I’ll wait to see if the private investigator comes up with any compromising photos.

All in all I think I’d rather stick with Cheri, my pal of 34 (yikes) years.

The Hardest Job in America AKA Miss Snell’s Advice to First Year Teachers.

1) One child will arrive late every day except for Halloween.

2) One child will be dressed immaculately as if going to Sunday school. A second will look like a mud cake in the rain. The better groomed will score more highly on tests. But the “mud cake” if properly supervised may attain a clearer conduit to our “better angels”.

3) One of the students will consume an astounding variety of school supplies as a matter of course. Spend less time chastising and more time protecting this poor soul from the plight of the scapegoat and you will have an achey head but a peaceful heart.

4) It is impossible to engage all of those scattered minds all of the time. Teach what you love muchly and what is required by the school board sparingly.

5) Numbers only mean something to a paltry few. With the vast majority of the pupils you will just have to strap on your mukluks and mush their brains through the blizzard of mathematics.

6) Half of class will be sick more often than not. You will get sick at least three times. Don’t think you won’t. Teaching is a mighty ocean voyage. Only tough make it to the other side.

7) Give praise with a bucket and criticism with an eye dropper.

8) Be calm and patient on the outside and joyous on the inside and you will always end sunny side up.

Father’s Day 2005

Dads take out the regular garbage, the recycling and clean out the cat box. (This is the post-modern equivalent of hunting/gathering.)

If the guest bathroom door gets accidentally locked Dad comes to the rescue with a Phillip’s screw driver. (At first trying with a pen because he already had it in his hand and he doesn’t want to schlep all the way to the garage to get a tool more suited to the purpose.)

Dads can make kids laugh much more than Moms. Dads can also be a little scarier because they’ll take the funny part closer to the edge. Moms are always there to warn you about the edge and have saved many a child from landing on his head.

Dads are always good for a few bucks and a ride home no matter how late is and how tired he is.

Dads are also good for making tuna salad sandwiches, writing tardy excuses, running out for Opening Night flowers, putting on Neo-sporin, going to Starbucks, and teaching high school improv workshops.

Dads are available 24/7 to shoot hoops (actually rebound for whoever is shooting), throw around the ol’ plush football or read your new play or short story even if more than anything else they would like to remain horizontal for awhile longer.

On Father’s Day, Dads don’t need a big production. Just a funny card and a hug. (They really don’t think they deserve more than that since half of the time they are more of the problem than the solution — the “Big Kid” syndrome so popular in sit-coms for over 60 years.)

Dads are kind of lousy at singing lullabies. But it is pretty darn sweet to see them try.

Fun with Emma

This was life with Emma when she was eleven.

Miniature golf is a first date for many people. It’s cheap. You can talk. It’s not too demanding. But it is never more fun than it is with Emma. She’s competitive but kind. She laughs easily and often. She puts a lot into it and gets a lot out of it. I would rather play with her than a whole foursome of Tigers. (She did get annoyed that I lost our free complimentary round of golf ticket. But she’s too young to know the real fact of life– no one goes miniature golfing twice in one day.)

Watching her all rolled up like a burrito watching just about anything on tv. (Could someone explain “Fairly Odd Parents” to me?)

Dropping her off at school for Chorus an hour before everyone else goes to school. Always a brilliant exit. And often the thought bubble over my head –“Who will she be today”?

Looking at her making herself off-balance by choice. Kooky as hell but what does it mean, psychologically. Must be something great because she is the healthiest person I ever met.

Listening to her belt out a song as easy as pie and as joyful as a Disney heroine.

Being hugged by her after not seeing her for awhile. (Don’t take my word for it just ask anyone who has had the experience.)

Today she’s off to Disneyland with the Class of 2012. Which is kind of redundant since everywhere she goes is Disneyland.

Team Steinkellner Gets Into the Cradle of Independence for Free. (If You Don’t Count Air Fare)

We see the room where the Declaration of Independence was born. A simple room with such grand results. The Federal Tour Guide with a brutal Philly accent is a real tough guy. I loved him He should be on Law and Order rather than those Hollywood pretty boys.

On the walk to the Philadelphia Mint Emma takes a header but recovers after a few minutes. I would have needed smelling salts and a full body cast. Most definitely, I would be in wheel chair for the rest of the trip. A guy can dream can’t he?

Lots of fun at the Mint. See billions of pennies in huge vats. You remember pennies. Everyone spends all day trying to get rid of them, refuse to pick up a stray one so the government in its wisdom can make six billion more to go add to the ones people are trying to ditch. Crazy.

Still it is the one place in America that we still make something. If they ever outsource that to India we are in deep crap.

Lunch was at the rehabbed house from colonial times. Chicken and mashed taters. The apple cobbler (used to hide the fruit that was going bad in the old days) was too sweet. I scraped off most of it and ate the apples. Lunch here will be the happiest part of the day. The second it is over it is time to slog a million more hours on the bus.

Team Steinkellner (And Dozens of Acquaintances) Visit Monticello

Further Adventures on a really long field trip

Lunch at the Miche. (Pronounced Mickey) Fried chicken, stewed tomatoes (yum) and cold green beans (they did warn us), cornbread biscuits and peach cobbler. (Double yum.) This after a three hour bus trip was greatly appreciated. Though we did have to line up and wait for bus #1 to get served first. Sheesh, they take bus #2 so literally.

By all rights this trip should be called Bus Ride with occasional hints of monuments and tours as time permits.

During one of the room spiels at Monticello I watch as Sage and Jenna look at themselves in a mirror for an incredibly long time. (This is my favorite moment of the day. I think Andy Warhol would have agreed.)

Hear the three things on Jefferson’s tombstone – none of them being that he was President– again.

Hear about Jefferson and Adams dying on the same 4th of July for the fifth time.

Words of the day “the Necessary” and “the privy”. They mean the same thing.

Mr. Johnson and Nick throw the football around in the parking lot. Rivers, Maiya and Sophia chase after throws they miss. (Can’t figure out if this is Gurl power or same old, same old.)

Other bus drivers sit in lawn chairs near the parking lot waiting for their groups to show up. It doesn’t look comfy. It just looks weird.

Can’t get bathroom door (across from my seat on the back of the bus) to shut during the three hour trip. (Sigh.)

My favorite thing is the machinations of the Rube Goldberg coke machine. (I think Jefferson would have appreciated it, too.)