I grew up spelling it "ER" not "RE." A theatER was where we went to watch movies, not films. Film was something you took to the drug store to get developed. Film was something that formed on my brother's overly large head on particularly dewy mornings. We went to the theatER to watch MOVIES. But, as I've become a sophisticated man-about-town, I realize that sometimes the word is theatRE. Classy. From now on, I plan on putting money in the parking metRE and, when it's cold, turning on the heatRE and, when asked by aliens, taking them to my leadRE. This isn't really about how to spell with style but, clearly, I've already broken my new year's resolution to NOT DIGRESS! And, for that, I apolgize to the readRE.

Thursday evening, my wife, Jessica, and I were treated to a night out on the town. A very nice couple (they love my wife and tolerate me) let us tag along to the New Theatre Restaurant to see Out Of Order starring Gary Sandy. I interviewed Mr. Sandy a couple of times over the years. He was as nice a guy as he appeared to be on WKRP in Cincinnati. And, yes, his hair is still a little too perfect. Well, we hadn't been to the New Theatre since about 2003 when I tried to play the part of Vince Fontaine in Grease. It was only a two-week deal for me and, based on the response from the audience and other cast-members, that was about 13 performances too long. Of course, in my mind, I was envisioning a whole new career on the stage. After my two weeks came to a close, I waited by the phone for all the other local theatres to call and ask me to be the salesman in Death of a Salesman or the iceman in The Iceman Cometh, which I'm pretty sure is about hockey or about a refrigerator repairman. The phone never rang. Why would it ring? Phones don't ring anymore. They beep like Bozo the Clown with an overactive horn. They chirp like a Yellow Finch who should really dip his beak in some de-caf. They play some classical piece that sounds like Mozart crossed with Alvin the Chipmunk. (Actually, I don't mind that last one too much as it is about as close to culture as I ever...evre...get.) Phones do everything but ring. At KMBC, when someone is about to do a station-wide page, the opening tones sound like something from Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. I always expect Larry Moore, dressed in full admiral regalia, to appear on the second floor overlook and holler "DIVE DIVE DIVE!" Anyway, nobody called me about being a stage star.

One other time I was there to throw out the "first pitch" to get a show called Diamonds going. The play was a musical revue about, you guessed it, baseball. Lots of talented local folks on the stage. Coincidentally, I think it was during the last baseball strike. It was an odd little production in some ways but it was the only time I've been asked to throw out the first pitch anywhere, anytime, so I loved it. To be honest, the throw didn't quite make the stage and a couple of the actors ended up flying into the front row trying to make the catch. Dramatic! The understudies bought us dessert.

No, the play didn't give me any renewed acting aspirations. It's hard enough acting like I know what I'm talking about doing the weather and, even in that case, I'll never be compared to Brando or Olivier or Scott. (Willard, not George C.) No, I'll just stick with the ups and downs of TV...the broadcasting teeter-totter. I mean teetRE-tottRE.