NOT SMEAR, SCHMEAR

Sometimes, I forget how Jewish I can be. I've had many Jewish friends over the years and have picked up a few "isms". They're very descriptive words.

So Pam and I are walking the streets of New York and she says she's hungry.
I agree that I am too.
She asks what I might like to eat.
"Just a toasted bagel with a schmear cream cheese", I reply.
She stops walking. "Schmear ?!?!", she yodels across the Upper East Side. "Isn't that word reserved for PAP tests?"
"SCH-MEAR", she forces me to reply. "Not SMEAR".
The slight arch of her left eyebrow indicates that she's not quite ready to believe that it's a real word.

We continue our journey, making our way down to The Flatiron district looking for an Indian grocery I've read about, and a stop for lunch at Eataly. Halfway down the block from the subway station we have just exited, it happens. She stops dead, mouth agape in shock and awe. And there it is, in big bold letters, proving, without a doubt , that I know what I'm talking about.

**********************

My first week on Broadway ended in more of a whimper than a roar. On Friday, I started to feel a little throat tickle. By Saturday I was hacking up a lung like an asthmatic, coal-mining sea lion. By Sunday morning, my head somehow weighed twenty pounds more than usual, causing something known in medical circles as "falls down a lot". After an hour of drinking coffee and water and vainly trying to convince myself that my body just needed a little extra time to wake up, I had to face the facts. The fact that I'd coughed so long and so hard that I'd shredded my vocal cords. The fact that my energy was so low I could barely make it to the bathroom, let alone up and down Pride Rock a dozen times. The fact that regardless of my good intentions and well-ingrained old-country work ethic, there was no way I could give eighteen hundred people their $150 worth....twice, being a Sunday. So, after a further thirty minutes of arguing with myself, I made the call to Stage Management and pulled myself from the shows. They, having witnessed my physical state on Saturday, were not surprised.

On my return to the show tonight, everyone was very welcoming and genuinely happy to see me back, and I was more than a little relieved to learn that I had inadvertently joined a secret club. Several people told me their story of have to take a show or two off during their first week on Broadway. Just another indication of the sneaky nature of stress.....you can never really be sure what it's doing to you, especially when your body is producing adrenaline in volumes that would kill a normal 9 to 5 desk worker.

****************

The subway stop that I use to go to work spits me out into the world on 42nd Street, right in the heart of Times Square. The particular stairs that I most often use are where the big, fuzzy mascots frequently hang out. Mickey and Minnie are usually there. Sometimes Spongebob Squarepants, occasionally Hello Kitty, and always, for some reason, Elmo. I overheard this on my way to work tonight:
"Gurl, them things is weird. One time I'm down here some dirtyass Elmo aksed me fo' a dollah !"

I'M JUST A BROADWAY BABY

I have improvised my way through murder mysteries in every venue you could possibly imagine.

I have had paychecks bounce and watched, many times,  as jobs evaporated because theatres closed their bankrupted doors.

I have been wined and dined by aristocracy. 

I have dragged my tired ass out of bed at 6 a.m. to unload a van  and entertain a gymnasium full of children. Children !

I have lived through shows with non-existent air conditioning, suicide attempts and on-stage death.


I have performed the dramatic, the comedic, the tuneful, the tragic, the banal and the forgettable.

I have performed WITH the dramatic, the comedic, the tuneful, the tragic, the banal and the forgettable.

I have woken up not knowing the name of the place I'm in, not knowing the day of the week, knowing only that there is a show to be performed.

I have been dissed, pissed and missed.

I have laughed, cried, fought, mourned, celebrated, discovered and bonded with thousands of people in cast after cast after cast.

I've fought with myself, for myself, sung my own praises, doubted every instinct I ever had, almost given up on myself, drank away my failures and been revived and reborn in the addictive drug that is applause.

And now, as of yesterday, I've had my Broadway debut. I have lived that moment that teenagers around the planet are dreaming of right now as they sing musical scores into a hairbrush in their bedrooms.

 Opening cards & flowers

Faux Playbill constructed by Tim

The text, in red, says, "Life's not fair is it, bitch"

 
It was an amazing and wonderful experience to receive opening day best wishes from around the world. My inbox was crammed with messages from Singapore, Australia, France, Dubai, South Africa, New Zealand, Thailand, England, Canada and The U.S.

 Gareth, the departing Scar, on his last day

Me, on my first day

PLAYBILL .COM

THEATERMANIA.COM

My new Young Simbas

Through strange rehearsal schedule, getting to learn the new stage space, getting to learn the new people and trying to put the details back into my performance, I had a small revelation. Really, at the heart of it, and without diminishing what this place is, at the end of the day, it's another show.
Yes, it's exciting. Yes,  it's gratifying to be here. Yes,  I'm proud. But being here, you realize that , though the venue is different, the people are the same. Different pond, same fish. This is Oz, and everyone wants to meet the Wizard.These people are no different than any that I've worked with over and over again, except that they are working in The Emerald City. How they got here, whether by dogged determination or simply by being in the right place at the right time is unimportant. They are the same gypsy story-tellers that inhabit every theatre on the planet. The people who knew, at some point in their lives, that they were different. The people who, night after night, leave their own lives behind and inhabit the lives of someone else in order to tell a story to everyone sitting out there in the dark. My people.

ARRIVING IN NEW YORK

In order to avoid flying on New Year's Day and starting work the next day (and also to give myself some time to see some shows) I arrived in New York City on Nov. 29th. This was actually "Plan B". Originally, I was going to fly on the 28th, but my visa approval only arrived in the Disney offices on the 27th, so it had to be FedEx'd to me on the 28th. Oddly enough, the 28th was also the day I finally secured myself an apartment, even though I'd been looking for one since October. Talk about things working out at the last minute. Though, from the beginning, I refused to be stressed by apartment hunting, adopting the attitude that everything would work out. And so it did.

I knew that which ever apartment I ended up getting probably wouldn't be available to me until Jan. 1, so I booked myself a room at the YMCA as a back-up plan. Knowing that I had a place to sleep and that I could cancel at any time provided a bit of security.

Now, at some point in history, I'm sure it probably was "...fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A....", but I think that train has left the station.....and derailed. At one point, it was probably also cheap to stay. That train is still running, barely, struggling to pull the weight of New York's prices. The YMCA is now co-ed, though bathrooms on each floor remain segregated. It is populated, particularly as New Year's Eve approaches, with young Asian and European couples, 'doing' a Times Square holiday on a budget. My single (that means NON-SHARE room) cost $105/nt, and it was the size of most modern apartment bathrooms.

This is what $105 buys you in NYC

(Bathroom down the hall)

Thankfully, it was only for 3 nights as I moved into my Upper East Side apartment on New Year's Day. Perhaps The Y was a good place to stay for a few days because it made my very small apartment look and feel like a well appointed palace by comparison.

And, no, in case you're wondering, I did NOT go to Times Square on New Year's Eve. The weather in New York was ridiculously warm which meant to me that there would be even more people than usual. Standing in a crowd of millions, on the pavement, for hours, waiting for them all to count together and then sing a song that they don't really understand is not my idea of a good time. No, I spent my evening in a tiny little bar in Greenwich Village called "Marie's Crisis" where the piano player offers nothing but show tunes and the whole bar sings along with every single song. Hilarious!

My rehearsal schedule has been pretty light so far, which isn't too surprising since it's not like the show is unfamiliar to me. My biggest challenge will be learning to work on a bigger stage with a bigger set.

(Riding Pride Rock as it rises out of the stage floor, telescoping itself up,

 is quite a trip  since Singapore's rock tracked on from the wings.) 

Over the week, I've gradually met more and more people, all of whom have been very open and welcoming.

First day of rehearsal

My new office

The performance schedule is a bit wonky because of the holidays, so my first performance is actually on a Monday, (the 16th) which is Martin Luther King Day, so it's a matinee!! Then, I will have the next day off. Odd.

I've gone out of my way to see as many shows as possible since it will be virtually impossible to see any once I start performing.
So far,the list looks like this:
FOLLIES (Sublime)
LION KING (3 times, but that's work)
SEMINAR (Brilliant writing. The whole cast was as good as Alan Rickman)
BILLY ELLIOT (Such heart. Loved it!)
SPIDERMAN (I saw the first preview a year ago. It's soul is gone now. Empty)
OTHER DESERT CITIES (Phenomenal acting. Judith Light and Stockard Channing WOW!)
LYSISTRATA JONES (Like an after-school special with a PG-13 rating. Yawn. Great music though)

I will probably have a little time next week to see some shows as well, though I may have to start selling blood, or other things, to pay for them.

HOME

Almost 11 months, and several 12-hour flights later.

Things change when one is absent...but some things are constant...

 

And now, along with a mountain of 'life administration', it's time to get ready for Christmas.
'

NUKU'ALOFA, TONGATAPU, TONGA

 Tonga is exactly the kind of place you've seen in every South Seas Island vacation brochure. 

(Correctly pronounced with a soft 'g', as in schlonga or chaise longa) It is the kind of unspoiled, undeveloped island paradise that tickles our fantasies of tropical get-aways on the darkest days of our bleak mid-winter. The warm sun, the warm water, and the warm smile of the people.

The kind of place where kids run out to the road as you drive by on your scooter and yell out, "Bye Bye", or they climb a palm tree for you to get you a fresh coconut. The kind of place where, within minutes, you'll be having a converstation with a local and they'll treat you like a long lost friend. The people are so friendly that James Cook called Tonga 'the friendly islands'. It's a name that stuck and still holds true. Tell a Tongan your name once, and they'll remember it and use it from that point on. The girls in the coffee shop I frequented daily would always yell out when I arrived, "Malo e lelei Patrick, how are you today?" or, "Patrick in the house!" Where there are Tongans, there is laughter and smiles.

Tonga is miles of this...

...and miles of this

 Tonga:
-is one nation of one hundred and seventy-six islnads
-is the same latitude as Rio di Janero
-has the most PhD's per capita in the world
-has one of the worlds' highest literacy rates
-is the last existing Polynesian Kingdom. It's royal lineage can be traced back to 950 A.D.
-is home to The Ha'amonga a Maui triathalon on Tongatapu, which has been running continuously for about 800 years.
-sits on the International Dateline, so is the first nation to see the sun every morning
-has some of the deepest oceans in the world
-has the oldest constitution in the world (1875) and has never been colonised (though clearly the missionaries spun their web at some point 'cause it's a veeeery christian country) 

 

 

Tongan one-stop-shopping viewed from my veranda.

Fresh fruit and veggeies in foreground

Catch of the day across the road

Driving yourself anywhere on the island of Tongatapu is an adventure.
1)  When driving in town, all intersections are uncontrolled. It is expected that the drivers on the bigger, busier road (be it north/south or east/west) have the right of way. It's up to you to decide if you are on the busier road or not.
2)  Tongans are not always particulalry detailed when giving directions. When looking for the pharmacy, I was told, "Just there. Up the road", which actually turned out to be two streets over and up the back alley behind the office supply store.
3)  Though there are island maps available, they are wildly out of scale. Pretty to look at, but out of scale. I've put almost 300 kms on my little scooter in four days.

4)  The roads on the map have names, but the actual roads have no signs, except for a few right in town, so you have to guess which road you're actually on.
5)  Here's where it really gets interesting, the maps do not differentiate between major, paved roads, smaller, secondary roads, or parallel dirt tracks leading off through a coconut grove. Many times, I've come around a corner to be faced with a narrow road, so full of potholes that it looks like it's been under mortar fire (and the holes are sometimes so big they could swallow the scooter whole) and I've thought to myself, "This can't actually be the road I'm supposed to be on". It alway is. 

 A Tongan 'must see'

The 'road' leading to it

6)  And just to add to the fun, the "must see" sights that are marked on the map, are not necessarily marked by any signs on the road. (Tourism not being very developed here) Through trial and error and a whole lot of following my nose, I did manage to find my way to most of the things I wanted to see, but a few remain a hidden mystery.

Case in point:
I wanted to see something on the map marked as "Flying Fox Sanctuary". (Flying Fox is a pretty name for a Fruit Bat). After driving around for a while, stumbling onto some other sites that I wasn't particularly interested in, I stopped for a refreshment at an out-of-the-way beach 'resort'. I asked the bartender for help.

Me: I'm trying to find the Flying Fox Sanctuary but I think it's back down the road, right?
Her: You passed it. It's back down the road. In Kolovai.
Me: That's what the map says, but I couldn't see anything. Is there a sign?
Her: Oh no. There's no sign.
Me: No sign?
Her: Oh no.
Me: So.....
Her: It's just a big tree where they all hang out.
Me: (Dripping sarcasm) So if I go back down the road to Kolovai and look for a big tree full of bats, I've found the Flying Fox Sanctuary?
Her: (Unsure about the sarcasm) Do you want another beer?

I never did find the 'sanctuary'. I did, however, on my way back into town, miles down the road from the actual, supposed 'sanctuary', look up into the sky to see a huge flock of winged shapes circling above me. The shapes were so big I thought they were ravens or some kind of sea eagle. Fruit bats. Hundreds of them. Big, mothah-fuckin' bats, all screeching like banshees. Almost as big as some of the spiders I saw.

If and when you do arrive at a "must see" site,  there are no ticket booths, no guides, no explanatory signs. Sometimes a pig rooting around, or perhaps the odd local selling carvings or weaving, or just sitting in the shade eating,  but generally, the sites I went to were deserted.

On my last night, sitting in a seafood place down the road from my hotel, gazing at the open ocean, watching the barefoot kids climb palm trees for coconuts, the live band struck up a meloncholic, Hawaiian guitar rendition of "White Christmas". Surreal, but fittingly appropriate to the pace of island life...

Malo, Tonga. Malo.

VERY HIGH IN AUCKLAND

Things I did in Auckland:

-Saw a production of Moliere's Tartuffe. Most outrageous, over the top adaptation EVER! (Imagine it with a kiwi accent!)

-Drank delicious New Zealand wine and ate spectacular New Zealand cheese.

-Saw a beautiful, elegant production of The Pitmen Painters, by Lee Hall who wrote the screenplay for Billy Elliot. Not only is the play hilarious, but it contains some of the best discussion about the purpose of art and who gets to decide what's good and what isn't that I've ever heard.

-Met up with Paul, a Brit friend of Kiwi Tim's, who used to live in Singapore. Got roaringly drunk.

-Met Santa

-Saw Wim Wenders tribute film to choreographer Pina Bausch.....in 3D!

-Helped "Occupy Auckland"

-Jumped off of a ridiculously high building.

Feel the fear and do it anyway...

WINDED IN WELLINGTON

Wellington has hills.

And wind. Hills and wind. OMG, the wind. I guess that's why they call it Windy Wellington.

The sunny spring weather would be lovely and warm, if it weren't for the wind. And the rain. Because of the not-so-welcoming weather, I did a lot of indoor activities. Fortunately, the city has some excellent museums, art galleries, restaurants and bars. 

(And please take note, governments,....the museums are FREE !!!)

The Te Papa National Museum is one of the best I've ever seen. Six floors of amazing, intriguing, hands-on exhibits housed in a stunning new building on the waterfront. You can even go down to the basement and get a close-up look at their Quake Breaker system, the pads that the building glides on during a quake.

The fourth floor is devoted to the history and culture of the Maori people and I spent most of my time there. I was blown away by Maori creation stories and their ideas of divinity and the supreme being. The symbol below is a representation of what they call Tekore - 

the place where all things began, where all things are beginning, where all things end, are ending. It is the great, unknowable void, the ultimate, unanswerable question. For the Maori, it IS The Supreme Being, so unknowable that one needn't waste one's time trying to figure it out but rather focus on Mother Earth and Father Sky. I love this idea. No wonder New Zealand has such a powerful green movement.

I did manage to take advantage of a sunny (though windy) afternoon, by taking the cable car up the hillside for some stunning (though windy) views of Wellington harbour and surrounding neighborhoods.

I was struck by the fact that many of the stories in the museums were personal accounts of historical events, a couple of them involving animals that became icons of the city. There was a dolphin at the turn of the century that would welcome every single ship into the harbour by performing acrobatics alongside it. For twenty years or so, people came just to be welcomed by the dolphin. I also found the story of Paddy, below, very bittersweet.You'll have to clic the pic to enlarge and read.

I wonder, would this happen in 2011?

In an effort to stay indoors, and see as much theatre as possible, I went to a sort-of-a-performance-art-thing called "Wakeless". The advertising promised a mutli-media escape from the every day world. *sigh*. Alas, what I got was part improv, part comedy, part mask tragedy, part performance art, part clown show, part wank-fest that mostly just left me bored and wishing I could sneak out for a pee. I'll admit that I had a few good laughs, but so did the soldiers in the trenches of WWI.