It is almost 12:30 a.m. by the time Michael and I finish dealing with my lost luggage and emerge from the security area to find his waiting parents. By the time they drop us in our driveway, it is almost 2:00. Of course, in our bodies it is California time, 11:00 p.m.
Our cats greet us as only cats can do: "Oh-hi-it's-you-I-need-to-go-outside-now." (Though the next morning I wake up with both of them napping happily between my knees). Since I have no luggage, there is no unpacking for me to do. We shuffle around the house, poke through the stack of mail, rummage for food & liquor and try to re-familiarize ourselves with the place. I remark to Michael that I feel like an adult returning to my childhood home, a place that is familiar and full of my possessions, but not a place where I feel like I belong anymore.
We are both in that strange place of being tired but not ready to sleep. Our bodies and brains are in shock because we have suddenly dropped out of hyper-speed to a full stop. We are suspended. Lost. Bored. Excited. Happy. Sad.
The next morning, like animals marking their territory, we begin to reassert ourselves on the place. Me cleaning and reorganizing inside, Michael digging and weeding outside. My luggage arrives, intact, late in the afternoon and the long process of sorting through the 'stuff' begins.
THINGS I WILL NOT MISS ABOUT BEING ON THE ROAD:
Riding the bus every day. Hotel rooms. Bad coffee. Trying to find a decent restaurant. Not knowing where we are. Crappy, old theatres.Doing the show, doing the show, doing the show.
THINGS I WILL MISS ABOUT BEING ON THE ROAD:
Riding the bus every day. Hotel rooms. Local coffee shops. Stumbling on a great restaurant. Not knowing where we are. Amazing old theatres. Doing the show, doing the show, doing the show.
Though I have a long list of things that will need to be attended to over the next week or so, I suspect that the rest of today, and probably much of tomorrow, will be spent rummaging through the house, trying to remember where I left my life.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN TEMECULA, CA
We are performing at a Casino/Resort in a facility that, while pretty to look at, and fairly new, wasn't built to have Broadway shows. It was created to host the myriad of has-been rock bands who's posters adorn our dressing room walls. Styx. Lynryd Skynyrd. Foreigner. What this means is that the dressing rooms are large and lavish and built for rock 'n' roll partying but the wing space on the stage can barely contain all the set pieces for the show.
The audiences are not large and because the theatre is barely half full for our shows, they tend to be quiet and somewhat......hmmmm, how do I say this diplomatically...........dull as yesterday's dog food? Our energies are running high since this is our final venue, but no matter what we do, we can't seem to convince the audiences to come out and play with us. By the final performance on Saturday night, we have given up on the audience completely and are doing the show for our own entertainment. We have, for months, played to gigantic crowds that have leapt to their feet screaming enthusiastically. It is this memory that we hold on to as we take our final bow for a scattered group of people who seem more interested in getting to their cars than SITTING through our curtain call.
After the show, there is drinking. It is 5:30 a.m. before Michael finally crawls into bed. (Oh, and speaking of 'BED"....don't ever, EVER stay at an Extended Stay America. We've stayed at two now and they were both on high on the crap scale. This one in Temecula is the most uncomfortable bed and the worst pillows of the entire tour. By the second day, I can barely move from the pain in my neck).
In the morning, there are hung-over faces stumbling onto the bus. There are also some that simply refuse to give in to the hang over and just keep drinking (but I'm not mentioning any names ...jjc).
May I rant about United Airlines for a moment? Our reservations are always made in groups of four. I am always booked with Brian, Steve and Heather. Because Brian and Steve opted to try stand-by and leave early in the morning, when Heather and I try to check in the reservation system says that we have already gone with Brian and Steve. The desk attendants have no idea how to fix this so our check in is long and painful. Also, if a tall person (say our Howard who is 6'6") wants an extra 3 inches of leg room by asking to sit in an exit row, they now have to pay $54.00. Isn't that a discriminatory policy? AND, some boneheaded executive has decided that cash is no longer acceptable on an airplane. So not only does one have to pay hugely inflated prices for dusty bagels and doll-house sized cans of tuna, it's credit cards only. What kind of a ridiculous fucking idea is that? And isn't it illegal to refuse to accept legal tender?
OH..... AND......because my reservation was a fuck up, my luggage didn't arrive at Pearson. Neither did Heather's. By the end of 10 hours of travelling, I was not interested in listening to the UA rep. as he pointed to his computer screen explaining where my luggage was last seen. I snapped, "Why are you telling me where it was sent instead of telling me when and how you're going to get it here?" What ever happened to the 'service' in the Service Industry?
Fitting, somehow, that our last travel day would be one of the most trying.
The audiences are not large and because the theatre is barely half full for our shows, they tend to be quiet and somewhat......hmmmm, how do I say this diplomatically...........dull as yesterday's dog food? Our energies are running high since this is our final venue, but no matter what we do, we can't seem to convince the audiences to come out and play with us. By the final performance on Saturday night, we have given up on the audience completely and are doing the show for our own entertainment. We have, for months, played to gigantic crowds that have leapt to their feet screaming enthusiastically. It is this memory that we hold on to as we take our final bow for a scattered group of people who seem more interested in getting to their cars than SITTING through our curtain call.
After the show, there is drinking. It is 5:30 a.m. before Michael finally crawls into bed. (Oh, and speaking of 'BED"....don't ever, EVER stay at an Extended Stay America. We've stayed at two now and they were both on high on the crap scale. This one in Temecula is the most uncomfortable bed and the worst pillows of the entire tour. By the second day, I can barely move from the pain in my neck).
In the morning, there are hung-over faces stumbling onto the bus. There are also some that simply refuse to give in to the hang over and just keep drinking (but I'm not mentioning any names ...jjc).
May I rant about United Airlines for a moment? Our reservations are always made in groups of four. I am always booked with Brian, Steve and Heather. Because Brian and Steve opted to try stand-by and leave early in the morning, when Heather and I try to check in the reservation system says that we have already gone with Brian and Steve. The desk attendants have no idea how to fix this so our check in is long and painful. Also, if a tall person (say our Howard who is 6'6") wants an extra 3 inches of leg room by asking to sit in an exit row, they now have to pay $54.00. Isn't that a discriminatory policy? AND, some boneheaded executive has decided that cash is no longer acceptable on an airplane. So not only does one have to pay hugely inflated prices for dusty bagels and doll-house sized cans of tuna, it's credit cards only. What kind of a ridiculous fucking idea is that? And isn't it illegal to refuse to accept legal tender?
OH..... AND......because my reservation was a fuck up, my luggage didn't arrive at Pearson. Neither did Heather's. By the end of 10 hours of travelling, I was not interested in listening to the UA rep. as he pointed to his computer screen explaining where my luggage was last seen. I snapped, "Why are you telling me where it was sent instead of telling me when and how you're going to get it here?" What ever happened to the 'service' in the Service Industry?
Fitting, somehow, that our last travel day would be one of the most trying.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN MESA, AZ
Our two shows in Mesa pass without incident. The theatre is another multi-million dollar palace of the arts that defies description. We are in the largest of four venues in this stunning and beautifully landscaped performing arts center.
As we have the afternoon free on the day of our second show, Michael and I, out of all the possible options for wasting a day in Phoenix, decide to take in the Chihuly exhibit at the Phoenix Desert Botanical Gardens. We couldn't have loved it more. Aside from the mind-boggling Chihuly glass art set into the stunning desert landscape, the gardens are amazing....and gigantic. We walk for over three hours in the searing, 100+ degree, desert heat. I'll let the attached photos say the rest.
President Obama's commencement address at ASU means that we have to leave extra early for our show on the second night since there are security-motivated road closures all over Tempe/Mesa. As we drive past the airport, we can't help but notice Air Force One parked prominently on the airfield.
We are back in California for our final 3 performances. I am happy to have escaped the oppressive heat of the Arizona desert. Standing outside on a cloudless Arizona day is like standing on a hot stove with someone pressing a larger than life, heated anvil down on your head. Here in Temecula, the sun is shining, but not at a temperature that melts glass, the breeze is blowing but it is gentle, not like a blast furnace, and there is a softness in the air as opposed to breathing in the tiny particles of desert that buff the inside of your nostrils. I've got that 'California feeling' again, and look forward to feeling it until we fly home on Sunday.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN PHOENIX, AZ (PART 2)
The cast spends the week in Phoenix making the most of everything the city has to offer, even though the heat is kicking us all in the ass. Often times, when I ask if something is within walking distance, the locals will reply, "Sure, you could walk that, it's not too hot today." Around here, 'not too hot' means 104 degrees....clear, cloudless sky, no breeze. I have never taken advantage of a hotel swimming pool so often in my life. I've learned to take advantage of the outdoor seating that offers a ring of cooling misters, small nozzles that create a curtain of fine spray that keeps the area around you cooler.
The audiences in Phoenix gradually improve through the week. They're a funny lot. They really love their live theatre here and, on the whole, are fairly entertainment educated, so they can be choosy about what they laugh at. We also discover that timing here is a little slower. Through the week we learn that letting everything land and sink in for one extra beat makes a huge difference. Strange. By Saturday, we know how to play them and are relieved to find that we're still funny (after the silence of Thousand Oaks and our first few Phoenix crowds).
A full 8 show week (that means wrapping up by doing a marathon 5-show weekend!) in mind-numbing heat, leaves everyone more than ready for a day off. Michael and I make plans to join Duff who has a friend with a ranch and horses in Tombstone. We are invited to stay the night as it is a 3+ hour drive. Sadly, we have to cancel because Michael has to do a load-in to our new venue at 7 a.m. on Tuesday morning. You see, we are now moving the show to Mesa, which is only 20 miles away, so we're not moving hotels, just venues. It's kind of a pain in the ass and we are very disappointed to miss out on riding in the desert. Michael and I make the best of our disappointment by buying him some fabulous clothes at Macy's, going to see the new Star Trek (it's fantastic), enjoying sunset cocktails at the revolving restaurant atop The Hyatt, and dining at the local Thai place which serves up some of the best tasting Thai cuisine I have tasted anywhere in the world (including Thailand).
As we are mere days from coming to the end of the tour, everyone is starting to talk of home, getting back to their lives and their next jobs. In talking with K.K., I admit that home feels like a slightly foreign concept to me at the moment. "What is this 'home' you speak of? What do I do there?" For so long, home has been just another hotel room in another strange city in a country that I am bouncing around in like a rogue racquetball. A strange existence, to be sure. It's no wonder they call us 'gypsies'.
The audiences in Phoenix gradually improve through the week. They're a funny lot. They really love their live theatre here and, on the whole, are fairly entertainment educated, so they can be choosy about what they laugh at. We also discover that timing here is a little slower. Through the week we learn that letting everything land and sink in for one extra beat makes a huge difference. Strange. By Saturday, we know how to play them and are relieved to find that we're still funny (after the silence of Thousand Oaks and our first few Phoenix crowds).
A full 8 show week (that means wrapping up by doing a marathon 5-show weekend!) in mind-numbing heat, leaves everyone more than ready for a day off. Michael and I make plans to join Duff who has a friend with a ranch and horses in Tombstone. We are invited to stay the night as it is a 3+ hour drive. Sadly, we have to cancel because Michael has to do a load-in to our new venue at 7 a.m. on Tuesday morning. You see, we are now moving the show to Mesa, which is only 20 miles away, so we're not moving hotels, just venues. It's kind of a pain in the ass and we are very disappointed to miss out on riding in the desert. Michael and I make the best of our disappointment by buying him some fabulous clothes at Macy's, going to see the new Star Trek (it's fantastic), enjoying sunset cocktails at the revolving restaurant atop The Hyatt, and dining at the local Thai place which serves up some of the best tasting Thai cuisine I have tasted anywhere in the world (including Thailand).
As we are mere days from coming to the end of the tour, everyone is starting to talk of home, getting back to their lives and their next jobs. In talking with K.K., I admit that home feels like a slightly foreign concept to me at the moment. "What is this 'home' you speak of? What do I do there?" For so long, home has been just another hotel room in another strange city in a country that I am bouncing around in like a rogue racquetball. A strange existence, to be sure. It's no wonder they call us 'gypsies'.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN PHOENIX, AZ
I forgot to mention in my Thousand Oaks entry that Falcucci hurt his back mid-way through the run and had to have Duff cover some of his track, including carrying Stephen Patterson in the hotel scene. This sounds plausible on paper until you remember that the smallest guy in the company(5' 5", 150 lbs) has to lift and carry the biggest guy in the company(5' 10" 190 lbs) up four stairs and down four more on the other side. It was hilarious to watch. Poor Duff could barely make it. He did it for a few shows and then suggested that we find another solution before he became crippled.
Our Phoenix hotel, Hotel San Carlos, is something of a local landmark. Built in the twenties and inhabited by many famous people through the decades, notably Marilyn Monroe and Mae West who often played the theatre we're in. The hotel is now a trendy boutique place with a sassy lobby bar and restaurant. Unfortunately, our arrival is a disaster. The crabby old ladies behind the desk do not have our keys ready and are completely uninterested in being hurried or told what to do by Tyler. Then we find out that some of the rooms are not ready. Yelling ensues. Managers are called.
Very little about the hotel has changed since it was built. Because of it's age, the rooms are very small, a bit of an issue for Michael and I sharing since we'll be here for 10 days. In our room, the bathroom floor is, for some reason, 6 inches higher than the bedroom area, requiring you to step up on entry. Again, because of the age of the place, there are no counters in the bathroom and the tub/shower is tiny. The crew, who have already spent one night here are pretty unhappy with how thin the walls are. Michael says he was actually kept awake by the snorer in the next room. (Michael, who can sleep through a war). Long story short, people are unhappy, a meeting is held before the show, it is announced that we will move. The next day we check into a beautiful Wyndham Hotel which is one block away. Everyone is much happier and there is much, much more space.
During our first show in the stunning Orpheum Theater, I pull a classic. I miss an entrance. It is the apron scene near the end of Act 1 where Brian and I sneak to the center of the stage behind our rolling palm trees. For this performance, however, there is only one palm tree rolling to center stage because I am in the upstage crossover thinking, for some reason, that we've already done the palm tree scene and I'm waiting for Heather to start singing. Eventually, reality hits me in the head and with a start I exclaim, "Oh crap! I'm not there!". I race to the stage where I find Brian standing, lonely, forlorn and little bored behind his palm tree. What I don't realize is that my mic is on, so the entire audience has heard my exclamation. Later, the crew tells me that since this is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, there must be some kind of planetary alignment happening and they're all buying lottery tickets.
Oh, and did I mention that it's 100 degrees here?!?!?
Our Phoenix hotel, Hotel San Carlos, is something of a local landmark. Built in the twenties and inhabited by many famous people through the decades, notably Marilyn Monroe and Mae West who often played the theatre we're in. The hotel is now a trendy boutique place with a sassy lobby bar and restaurant. Unfortunately, our arrival is a disaster. The crabby old ladies behind the desk do not have our keys ready and are completely uninterested in being hurried or told what to do by Tyler. Then we find out that some of the rooms are not ready. Yelling ensues. Managers are called.
Very little about the hotel has changed since it was built. Because of it's age, the rooms are very small, a bit of an issue for Michael and I sharing since we'll be here for 10 days. In our room, the bathroom floor is, for some reason, 6 inches higher than the bedroom area, requiring you to step up on entry. Again, because of the age of the place, there are no counters in the bathroom and the tub/shower is tiny. The crew, who have already spent one night here are pretty unhappy with how thin the walls are. Michael says he was actually kept awake by the snorer in the next room. (Michael, who can sleep through a war). Long story short, people are unhappy, a meeting is held before the show, it is announced that we will move. The next day we check into a beautiful Wyndham Hotel which is one block away. Everyone is much happier and there is much, much more space.
During our first show in the stunning Orpheum Theater, I pull a classic. I miss an entrance. It is the apron scene near the end of Act 1 where Brian and I sneak to the center of the stage behind our rolling palm trees. For this performance, however, there is only one palm tree rolling to center stage because I am in the upstage crossover thinking, for some reason, that we've already done the palm tree scene and I'm waiting for Heather to start singing. Eventually, reality hits me in the head and with a start I exclaim, "Oh crap! I'm not there!". I race to the stage where I find Brian standing, lonely, forlorn and little bored behind his palm tree. What I don't realize is that my mic is on, so the entire audience has heard my exclamation. Later, the crew tells me that since this is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, there must be some kind of planetary alignment happening and they're all buying lottery tickets.
Oh, and did I mention that it's 100 degrees here?!?!?
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN THOUSAND OAKS, CA
The company makes the most of our long stay here in Thousand Oaks. We are so close to everything. The hotel is surrounded by restaurants, shopping malls, movie theatres and a fantastic Whole Foods grocery.
A car rental can get you to pretty much any part of L.A. that you want in under an hour. The girls are driving downtown to take yoga and dance classes almost every day.
Michael and I spend a day driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. We have the most expensive breakfast in history at a chi-chi place in Malibu, but everything is organic this and farm-fresh that. We walk the beach at Point Dume and watch a sea lion surf the waves. We walk the Santa Monica pier and surrounding shopping area. While Michael is off taking a picture of something, I have the quintessential L.A. moment. I am standing in Palisades Park, people watching. Out of the glare of the sunshine, an angelic figure floats toward me. I can make out a beautiful young man (16-20...it's so hard for me to tell anymore). His skin is flawless, his teeth are perfect, his tight, white t-shirt reveals his model-perfect torso. He truly is gliding toward me because he is on a skate board, his long, golden-blond hair trailing in the breeze behind him. He is an Abercrombie & Fitch cover come to life. I am, of course, staring. As he passes me, he glances over the top of his Ray Bans and in the briefest milli-second, in a single flicker of a perfect blue eye, I am scanned, judged, packaged and dispensed with as he glides off through the crowd. Beautiful and cold. So L.A. We drive home through the mountains on a wind-y little road that takes us from the Pacific Coast Highway through the canyons to Thousand Oaks with breath-taking views of mountain mansions and farms all the way.
The next day, we have the second oh-so-Los Angeles experience....and earthquake. Just a tiny one, by L.A. standards. A mere 4.4. I was sitting in the hotel room and actually thought that the noise was being made by the noisy person above me. I was almost ready to pound on the ceiling when I realized what it was. Because I was on the ground floor, it was all a little less dramatic than for those on floors 3 and 4 where drawers slid open and pictures went askew.
We all enjoy the theatre in Thousand Oaks, but the audiences are consistently quiet and withdrawn. They don't like sex jokes and are completely uninterested in toilet humour which, unfortunately, is a large part of the show. Several of the cast's L.A. friends reassure us that this is a typical response for Thousand Oaks which tends to be an older, reserved, monied crowd. We are are pleased to hear that we have not suddenly lost our ability to entertain, but are disappointed that we don't get much in the way of feedback from the crowds. Our weekend wind-up in Thousand Oaks is one of those marathon 5-shows-in-48-hours nightmares, and comes at the end of 14 straight days without a day off. A little unbridled enthusiasm would be most welcome. Alas, it does not materialise and we do our best to crawl, valiantly, to the finish line.
Everyone is looking forward to a day off. I plan to spend the day in West Hollywood with Duff. Michael, sadly, has to leave for Phoenix with the crew so can't come out to play with us. I reserve a convertible but when I arrive at Enterprise, they are sorry to tell me that they can't fulfill my reservation. I make them give me a fully loaded, brand new BMW for the same price. Duff almost squeals when I pick him up on Santa Monica Blvd. We shop Melrose, we drive through Beverly Hills and all over WeHo, we eat, we drink and we shop some more. The sun shines. Life is good.
A car rental can get you to pretty much any part of L.A. that you want in under an hour. The girls are driving downtown to take yoga and dance classes almost every day.
Michael and I spend a day driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. We have the most expensive breakfast in history at a chi-chi place in Malibu, but everything is organic this and farm-fresh that. We walk the beach at Point Dume and watch a sea lion surf the waves. We walk the Santa Monica pier and surrounding shopping area. While Michael is off taking a picture of something, I have the quintessential L.A. moment. I am standing in Palisades Park, people watching. Out of the glare of the sunshine, an angelic figure floats toward me. I can make out a beautiful young man (16-20...it's so hard for me to tell anymore). His skin is flawless, his teeth are perfect, his tight, white t-shirt reveals his model-perfect torso. He truly is gliding toward me because he is on a skate board, his long, golden-blond hair trailing in the breeze behind him. He is an Abercrombie & Fitch cover come to life. I am, of course, staring. As he passes me, he glances over the top of his Ray Bans and in the briefest milli-second, in a single flicker of a perfect blue eye, I am scanned, judged, packaged and dispensed with as he glides off through the crowd. Beautiful and cold. So L.A. We drive home through the mountains on a wind-y little road that takes us from the Pacific Coast Highway through the canyons to Thousand Oaks with breath-taking views of mountain mansions and farms all the way.
The next day, we have the second oh-so-Los Angeles experience....and earthquake. Just a tiny one, by L.A. standards. A mere 4.4. I was sitting in the hotel room and actually thought that the noise was being made by the noisy person above me. I was almost ready to pound on the ceiling when I realized what it was. Because I was on the ground floor, it was all a little less dramatic than for those on floors 3 and 4 where drawers slid open and pictures went askew.
We all enjoy the theatre in Thousand Oaks, but the audiences are consistently quiet and withdrawn. They don't like sex jokes and are completely uninterested in toilet humour which, unfortunately, is a large part of the show. Several of the cast's L.A. friends reassure us that this is a typical response for Thousand Oaks which tends to be an older, reserved, monied crowd. We are are pleased to hear that we have not suddenly lost our ability to entertain, but are disappointed that we don't get much in the way of feedback from the crowds. Our weekend wind-up in Thousand Oaks is one of those marathon 5-shows-in-48-hours nightmares, and comes at the end of 14 straight days without a day off. A little unbridled enthusiasm would be most welcome. Alas, it does not materialise and we do our best to crawl, valiantly, to the finish line.
Everyone is looking forward to a day off. I plan to spend the day in West Hollywood with Duff. Michael, sadly, has to leave for Phoenix with the crew so can't come out to play with us. I reserve a convertible but when I arrive at Enterprise, they are sorry to tell me that they can't fulfill my reservation. I make them give me a fully loaded, brand new BMW for the same price. Duff almost squeals when I pick him up on Santa Monica Blvd. We shop Melrose, we drive through Beverly Hills and all over WeHo, we eat, we drink and we shop some more. The sun shines. Life is good.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN BAKERSFIELD,CA
You know how sometimes, for no good reason that you can remember, you get totally the wrong idea about a person or place before you've even seen them? I had that idea about Bakersfield. For some reason I thought it was a dusty, broken down hovel of a town. Imagine my surprise as we drive into a bustling, lush, verdant and tidy little city. The Four Points Sheraton also contributes to the feel of the place. The decor makes me feel like I've walked into the catalogue. Everything stark white and ice blue and very spartan, punctuated by tiny splashes of powerful colour. The bathroom is so sparse and white that I need sunglasses. IkeaSooooo Scandinavian.
The theatre is bizarre. It's a strange hybrid of arena and theatre space, designed more for a Madonna concert than a Broadway musical. The stage is vast, you could play football in the orchestra pit, the house is vast, and the possible right-to-left spread of the audience could give an actor whiplash. Also, unlike other arena-type spaces we've played, this one does not have the usual raised, temporary stage. Instead, we are playing on plywood panels laid down over concrete. (A first in my checkered career). Much quieter for rolling sets, not so good for dancers. Once again, we are lifted out of the odd, and not always comfortable surroundings, by an audience that plays along and loves the show. We celebrate having played our last arena AND our last one-night-stand! It's back through the Tejon pass, through all the farms, orchards and vineyards to Los Angeles where we will play Thousand Oaks for a week.
The theatre is bizarre. It's a strange hybrid of arena and theatre space, designed more for a Madonna concert than a Broadway musical. The stage is vast, you could play football in the orchestra pit, the house is vast, and the possible right-to-left spread of the audience could give an actor whiplash. Also, unlike other arena-type spaces we've played, this one does not have the usual raised, temporary stage. Instead, we are playing on plywood panels laid down over concrete. (A first in my checkered career). Much quieter for rolling sets, not so good for dancers. Once again, we are lifted out of the odd, and not always comfortable surroundings, by an audience that plays along and loves the show. We celebrate having played our last arena AND our last one-night-stand! It's back through the Tejon pass, through all the farms, orchards and vineyards to Los Angeles where we will play Thousand Oaks for a week.
Monday, April 27, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CERRITOS, CA
I gotta say, I really, really like California. I've been here before, several times, and I've always enjoyed myself, but spending so much time here now, I realize that it just feels good here. I guess that's why the population of the state is 38 million.
Most of us enjoy a day of thrills at Six Flags, which is really nothing but a park for coaster junkies. My voice is hamburger from screaming all day. The new X2 coaster, first of it's kind in the world, is RIDICULOUS!!! I think I actually saw my life flash before my eyes. What makes this ride unique is the fact that they've put the seats out in space beside the track instead of above or below it. ...And the fact that seats rotate. You make the initial climb to the top going backwards but then your seat suddenly pitches forward so that you plummet toward the earth in your first gut-wrenching drop FACE DOWN! I think I liked it, but I was too terrified to be sure. The string of profanity pouring out of my mouth during the ride prompted the guy next to me, at the end of the ride, to lean over and calmly ask, "First time?"
The final ride of the day was Goliath that I rode with Mike Donald. Because there's no up-side down sequences, the ride doesn't have an over the shoulder harness, just a lap bar. The initial climb is stupid.....twenty stories! Mike and I are in the second seat of the first car. As we are about to go over the top into the almost-straight-down descent, the random girls in front of us turn around and say, in unison, with saucer-eyes, "Guys, seriously?". Then there is only screaming.
After our last two hotels, the Marriott in Norwalk (not the virus place, that was Ohio) feels like the fuckin' Ritz-Carlton and we are very glad to arrive. Time begins to change our opinion though....
-I am given a key package that says "Greves/Brown on it. I go to the room and assume that Michael hasn't had time to check in yet. I call Michael and he says, "Um...don't you see my stuff all over the room?" It seems they have given each of us a room, even though we are sharing. I also find out later that no one can find me (us) because we are apparently listed as a person named Greves Brown.
-The lounge, which looks beautiful, doesn't ever seem to be open when we are around, even closing at 10:30 on a Friday & Saturday night. It's not open at all on the Sunday because the bartender phoned in sick and no one covered the shift.
-The restaurant which, again, looks nice, has appalling service. Michael has to eat his breakfast as someone is vacuuming around him.
-Room service is always, always busy. Anyone who tries to reach them over and over again eventually gives up and calls the front desk to have their order walked over to the room service phone.
-On returning after our show on Saturday night, none of our room keys will work and we all have to stand in a line-up at the front desk to have them re-programed while Tyler yells at the desk clerks.
-Oh, and for some reason, there is only one, yes one, lonely lounge chair by the pool. Weird.
But the rooms are clean, the beds are comfortable and no one seems to care how late you stay in the jacuzzi (as those who stayed in it until 4 a.m. getting drunk and naked will tell you).
The Cerritos Center for Performing Arts is amazing. Stunning design, brilliant in it's execution, and mind-boggling in terms of the different configurations it can assume. It's worth a visit to the site to see this outstanding example of architecture. (The library that is part of the same civic complex is also amazing, containing a gigantic aquarium at it's center. Here is a video of the library and the theatre as it re-configures itself.) One of our truck drivers tells me that the local crew at this theatre is such a well oiled machine that they have our two trucks unloaded in 26 minutes!!!
The audiences, over the course of our 4 shows here, never really get rolling. They remain quite reserved and quiet across the board, though the blame for their silence during our Saturday matinee lies squarely on us as the pace of the show is slower than Bush doing calculus. I will miss my beautiful dressing room that had it's own private balcony where I could sit and read in the California sunshine.
Most of us enjoy a day of thrills at Six Flags, which is really nothing but a park for coaster junkies. My voice is hamburger from screaming all day. The new X2 coaster, first of it's kind in the world, is RIDICULOUS!!! I think I actually saw my life flash before my eyes. What makes this ride unique is the fact that they've put the seats out in space beside the track instead of above or below it. ...And the fact that seats rotate. You make the initial climb to the top going backwards but then your seat suddenly pitches forward so that you plummet toward the earth in your first gut-wrenching drop FACE DOWN! I think I liked it, but I was too terrified to be sure. The string of profanity pouring out of my mouth during the ride prompted the guy next to me, at the end of the ride, to lean over and calmly ask, "First time?"
The final ride of the day was Goliath that I rode with Mike Donald. Because there's no up-side down sequences, the ride doesn't have an over the shoulder harness, just a lap bar. The initial climb is stupid.....twenty stories! Mike and I are in the second seat of the first car. As we are about to go over the top into the almost-straight-down descent, the random girls in front of us turn around and say, in unison, with saucer-eyes, "Guys, seriously?". Then there is only screaming.
After our last two hotels, the Marriott in Norwalk (not the virus place, that was Ohio) feels like the fuckin' Ritz-Carlton and we are very glad to arrive. Time begins to change our opinion though....
-I am given a key package that says "Greves/Brown on it. I go to the room and assume that Michael hasn't had time to check in yet. I call Michael and he says, "Um...don't you see my stuff all over the room?" It seems they have given each of us a room, even though we are sharing. I also find out later that no one can find me (us) because we are apparently listed as a person named Greves Brown.
-The lounge, which looks beautiful, doesn't ever seem to be open when we are around, even closing at 10:30 on a Friday & Saturday night. It's not open at all on the Sunday because the bartender phoned in sick and no one covered the shift.
-The restaurant which, again, looks nice, has appalling service. Michael has to eat his breakfast as someone is vacuuming around him.
-Room service is always, always busy. Anyone who tries to reach them over and over again eventually gives up and calls the front desk to have their order walked over to the room service phone.
-On returning after our show on Saturday night, none of our room keys will work and we all have to stand in a line-up at the front desk to have them re-programed while Tyler yells at the desk clerks.
-Oh, and for some reason, there is only one, yes one, lonely lounge chair by the pool. Weird.
But the rooms are clean, the beds are comfortable and no one seems to care how late you stay in the jacuzzi (as those who stayed in it until 4 a.m. getting drunk and naked will tell you).
The Cerritos Center for Performing Arts is amazing. Stunning design, brilliant in it's execution, and mind-boggling in terms of the different configurations it can assume. It's worth a visit to the site to see this outstanding example of architecture. (The library that is part of the same civic complex is also amazing, containing a gigantic aquarium at it's center. Here is a video of the library and the theatre as it re-configures itself.) One of our truck drivers tells me that the local crew at this theatre is such a well oiled machine that they have our two trucks unloaded in 26 minutes!!!
The audiences, over the course of our 4 shows here, never really get rolling. They remain quite reserved and quiet across the board, though the blame for their silence during our Saturday matinee lies squarely on us as the pace of the show is slower than Bush doing calculus. I will miss my beautiful dressing room that had it's own private balcony where I could sit and read in the California sunshine.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN VALENCIA, CA
We are spending a day off here in beautiful Valencia, home of Six Flags Magic Mountain, where we will be for most of the day, hurling our guts out and trying to withstand the g-forces on their collection of mammoth roller coasters.
Heather wrote a song which she sang to us on the long bus ride yesterday. Though most of the jokes are 'insider', I thought it was worth publishing it for y'all.
Heather's Tour Song
Starbucks and Subways
Wal-Mart, Ruby Tuesdays
That's how we spend our days
OUr life on the road
Eight-thirty for Nine, nine-thirty for ten
We load up His Majesty and hit the road again
With slippers on our feets
In our sweet pimped-out bus seats
I wonder what movie Jess picked for today
I wonder where our lunch stop will be
It better come quickly cause I have to pee
There's only one toilet and it's a long line
Gotta get to the Walgreens to buy my purse wine
Pei-Wei, Panerra
Don't forget Cracker Barrell
That's how we spend our days
Our life on the road
We've bussed 'cross the country
My butts getting lumpy
And Tyler's "nawt happy"
What state are we in?
I'm feeling the jet lag
Get Christy a barf bag
Oh fuck! I just dropped my PSP again
Days off for sightseeing the beach or the zoo
Just bought cowboy boots
Ladies unpack your 'cutes'
In the VIP section we party with class
Especially when our girl gets voted BEST ASS
"Continental" - Conti for short
Don't care if I'm fatter, I love waffle batter
I can stock up my snack bar
They saw me, Abort
Oh Denny's and IHOP
Grilled cheese at the truck stop
That's how we spend our days
Our life on the road
We arrived at five-thirty
You've only one hour
for a shit and a shower
Before the bus call
I wonder what sets will be cut for doay
And the dressing rooms are a good half-mile away
Pauls' calling the show from his personal bathroom
But YES! I just heard that there's snacks in the Greenroom
Oooooh Starbucks and Subways
That's how we spend our days
We've seen every season
From mountian to ocean
A cast like no other
We've laughed all the hours
'Cause that's what it's like for
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
Heather wrote a song which she sang to us on the long bus ride yesterday. Though most of the jokes are 'insider', I thought it was worth publishing it for y'all.
Heather's Tour Song
Starbucks and Subways
Wal-Mart, Ruby Tuesdays
That's how we spend our days
OUr life on the road
Eight-thirty for Nine, nine-thirty for ten
We load up His Majesty and hit the road again
With slippers on our feets
In our sweet pimped-out bus seats
I wonder what movie Jess picked for today
I wonder where our lunch stop will be
It better come quickly cause I have to pee
There's only one toilet and it's a long line
Gotta get to the Walgreens to buy my purse wine
Pei-Wei, Panerra
Don't forget Cracker Barrell
That's how we spend our days
Our life on the road
We've bussed 'cross the country
My butts getting lumpy
And Tyler's "nawt happy"
What state are we in?
I'm feeling the jet lag
Get Christy a barf bag
Oh fuck! I just dropped my PSP again
Days off for sightseeing the beach or the zoo
Just bought cowboy boots
Ladies unpack your 'cutes'
In the VIP section we party with class
Especially when our girl gets voted BEST ASS
"Continental" - Conti for short
Don't care if I'm fatter, I love waffle batter
I can stock up my snack bar
They saw me, Abort
Oh Denny's and IHOP
Grilled cheese at the truck stop
That's how we spend our days
Our life on the road
We arrived at five-thirty
You've only one hour
for a shit and a shower
Before the bus call
I wonder what sets will be cut for doay
And the dressing rooms are a good half-mile away
Pauls' calling the show from his personal bathroom
But YES! I just heard that there's snacks in the Greenroom
Oooooh Starbucks and Subways
That's how we spend our days
We've seen every season
From mountian to ocean
A cast like no other
We've laughed all the hours
'Cause that's what it's like for
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN REDDING, CA
The drive to the very northernmost part of California is an eye opener. We drive for hours and hours through more orchards and vineyards than I have ever seen. Mile after mile after mile of neatly organized rows of trees and vines, all watered by a major aqueduct that snakes it's way through the valley.It is agriculture on a grand scale.
The location of our hotel in Redding is not quite so panoramic. (I discover later that Duff's family has told him to pass along to us not to walk anywhere in Redding at night, and that our hotel is on "meth row".) We are staying at the hotel that all of us love to hate, The Quality Inn. It's a brilliant stroke of marketing to call this chain "Quality", but I am sure that no one who works for the chain could define or even spell the word. The slack-jawed heifers behind the desk at this particular hell-hole are especially stupid.
At Check In:
Tyler:
This is Patrick Brown, he's sharing with Michael Greves who has already checked in, so could you just give us another key to whatever room Michael is in.
Stupid Brunette Girl Behind the Desk:
(Looking at the cast list)Brown? Greves? Michael?
Stupid Pink-haired Girl Behind the Desk:
(stares blankly through little piggy eyes)
Tyler:
Michael isn't on that list, he's on the crew. They've already checked in.
Brunette:
(Still staring at the cast list)
(Time passes)
He's not on this list
Tyler:
No. That's the cast list. Michael is on the crew.
Pink Hair:
(Still staring)
Brunette:
I'll have to find that other list.
(time passes)
Tyler:
All right. Could you? Please?
Pinkie:
(Stares)
Me:
Um.....couldn't you just look him up in the computer?
(Both desk idiots now look at me as though I've just spoken Greek)
Dumb Brunette eventually discovers what room Michael is in and asks Pinkie to make a new key. To my astonishment, Pinkie breaks her statue-like stance to make me a key, though she does not move off of her stool.
The theatre is another space that shouldn't be hosting us, but is. It is actually the Convention Center, and has arena-style seating, no orchestra pit, and dressing rooms that used to be offices and are up several flights of stairs. The audience seems very far away, but they are loud laughers, thankfully, and respond enthusiastically throughout the show.
On the local crew is a very, VERY handsome young man with dark hair, dark eyes, just enough five o'clock shadow, and a smile that could make Hitler blush. All the women and gay men are aflutter over this guy, and he is much discussed and flirted with. In the girl's dressing room, they discuss the dirty things they'd like to do with him. Several times, in her most lecherous, hillbilly voice, K.K. says, "He's yummy. I'd like to poke him." It's only at the end of the night that one of the dressers, who has been in the room with the girls all night, says to the girls, "Is he the one wearing a t-shirt that says, STAFF?". The girls affirm this to be true. The dresser says, "Oh, that's my son."
During one of my final scenes in the show, I fall apart like I have not fallen apart on stage for years and years. I am about to make a rather purposeful entrance that helps lead us to the big plot-surprise of the show, where I announce that, "The Jackal has been captured". Just as I step on to the stage, my suit jacket catches on a piece of scenery which is being stored in the wing I am entering from. Because I am moving quickly and with purpose, from the audience's point of view, it looks as though I am being yanked back into the wings by an invisible hand. They do not hear the tearing of my suit fabric as my jacket pocket is almost ripped off. Nor do they hear Stephen, Cooch and Chad, waiting to enter directly behind me, burst out laughing. I try to ignore them as best as I can, and make my entrance. The problem is that the whole series of events has just struck me as being so hilarious, that I can't speak. I can barely keep control of my face, scrunching it in a bizarre parody of seriousness as I make my way to where I should stand. On a normal night, Brian, who is already on stage, would unlatch the briefcase he is holding and prepare to open it, but would be stopped by my entrance. On this night, because I have not yet spoken, he is finding new and interesting excuses to NOT open the briefcase because his character cannot, yet, know what is inside. Eventually, I manage to squeak out my line, and Stephen, Cooch and Chad make their entrance. Stephen is a mess and as I catch the odd glimpse of his twisted, pained, laugh-suppressing face, and hear the odd squeak in his voice, my own attempts at recovery are thwarted. The crew, now aware that something is up, has gathered in the wings to watch the carnage. The orchestra, also aware that things are not as they should be, is grinning up at us like lunatic mimes. I, thankfully, have no lines for a few minutes and manage to gain a little control by staring at the floor as I listen to Stephen struggle through a few lines of song. We are both doing our best to avoid eye contact, convinced that any control we have gained will dissolve if we face each other. Eventually, somehow, over what seems like eternity but is, in fact, about 3 minutes, we manage to make it to the end of the scene and, without further incident.
Later, in the dressing rooms, Stephen thanks me for a memory that will stay with him for a very long time (and a theatre war story that'll be dragged out in many a post-show bar).
The location of our hotel in Redding is not quite so panoramic. (I discover later that Duff's family has told him to pass along to us not to walk anywhere in Redding at night, and that our hotel is on "meth row".) We are staying at the hotel that all of us love to hate, The Quality Inn. It's a brilliant stroke of marketing to call this chain "Quality", but I am sure that no one who works for the chain could define or even spell the word. The slack-jawed heifers behind the desk at this particular hell-hole are especially stupid.
At Check In:
Tyler:
This is Patrick Brown, he's sharing with Michael Greves who has already checked in, so could you just give us another key to whatever room Michael is in.
Stupid Brunette Girl Behind the Desk:
(Looking at the cast list)Brown? Greves? Michael?
Stupid Pink-haired Girl Behind the Desk:
(stares blankly through little piggy eyes)
Tyler:
Michael isn't on that list, he's on the crew. They've already checked in.
Brunette:
(Still staring at the cast list)
(Time passes)
He's not on this list
Tyler:
No. That's the cast list. Michael is on the crew.
Pink Hair:
(Still staring)
Brunette:
I'll have to find that other list.
(time passes)
Tyler:
All right. Could you? Please?
Pinkie:
(Stares)
Me:
Um.....couldn't you just look him up in the computer?
(Both desk idiots now look at me as though I've just spoken Greek)
Dumb Brunette eventually discovers what room Michael is in and asks Pinkie to make a new key. To my astonishment, Pinkie breaks her statue-like stance to make me a key, though she does not move off of her stool.
The theatre is another space that shouldn't be hosting us, but is. It is actually the Convention Center, and has arena-style seating, no orchestra pit, and dressing rooms that used to be offices and are up several flights of stairs. The audience seems very far away, but they are loud laughers, thankfully, and respond enthusiastically throughout the show.
On the local crew is a very, VERY handsome young man with dark hair, dark eyes, just enough five o'clock shadow, and a smile that could make Hitler blush. All the women and gay men are aflutter over this guy, and he is much discussed and flirted with. In the girl's dressing room, they discuss the dirty things they'd like to do with him. Several times, in her most lecherous, hillbilly voice, K.K. says, "He's yummy. I'd like to poke him." It's only at the end of the night that one of the dressers, who has been in the room with the girls all night, says to the girls, "Is he the one wearing a t-shirt that says, STAFF?". The girls affirm this to be true. The dresser says, "Oh, that's my son."
During one of my final scenes in the show, I fall apart like I have not fallen apart on stage for years and years. I am about to make a rather purposeful entrance that helps lead us to the big plot-surprise of the show, where I announce that, "The Jackal has been captured". Just as I step on to the stage, my suit jacket catches on a piece of scenery which is being stored in the wing I am entering from. Because I am moving quickly and with purpose, from the audience's point of view, it looks as though I am being yanked back into the wings by an invisible hand. They do not hear the tearing of my suit fabric as my jacket pocket is almost ripped off. Nor do they hear Stephen, Cooch and Chad, waiting to enter directly behind me, burst out laughing. I try to ignore them as best as I can, and make my entrance. The problem is that the whole series of events has just struck me as being so hilarious, that I can't speak. I can barely keep control of my face, scrunching it in a bizarre parody of seriousness as I make my way to where I should stand. On a normal night, Brian, who is already on stage, would unlatch the briefcase he is holding and prepare to open it, but would be stopped by my entrance. On this night, because I have not yet spoken, he is finding new and interesting excuses to NOT open the briefcase because his character cannot, yet, know what is inside. Eventually, I manage to squeak out my line, and Stephen, Cooch and Chad make their entrance. Stephen is a mess and as I catch the odd glimpse of his twisted, pained, laugh-suppressing face, and hear the odd squeak in his voice, my own attempts at recovery are thwarted. The crew, now aware that something is up, has gathered in the wings to watch the carnage. The orchestra, also aware that things are not as they should be, is grinning up at us like lunatic mimes. I, thankfully, have no lines for a few minutes and manage to gain a little control by staring at the floor as I listen to Stephen struggle through a few lines of song. We are both doing our best to avoid eye contact, convinced that any control we have gained will dissolve if we face each other. Eventually, somehow, over what seems like eternity but is, in fact, about 3 minutes, we manage to make it to the end of the scene and, without further incident.
Later, in the dressing rooms, Stephen thanks me for a memory that will stay with him for a very long time (and a theatre war story that'll be dragged out in many a post-show bar).
Monday, April 20, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN SAN BERNARDINO, CA
...and dirty and rotten it is. We were warned that San B. was not the most hospitable of cities, but we weren't prepared for just how.....well, ...sketchy the city is. We are staying at a Hilton, with a pool, which is a good thing because the weather is scorching hot and there is virtually nothing to do here. The drive from the hotel to the theatre reveals a Bail Bonds office in every block, some of them advertising that they have an office conveniently located directly across from the jail. We are warned not to walk alone in the vicinity of the theatre at night, or around the hotel for that matter. (One of the "Oliver" cast was robbed at gunpoint not too far from our Hilton). There is a grocery store across the street from the theatre (where the boys witness an altercation that comes close to a knife fight one afternoon). I discover that they carry liquor, but I also discover that the security procedures needed to actually get it into my hands are not unlike trying to open a Swiss bank account. Duff visits the mall near the theatre (another place we are warned not to go) and says it's like the set of a horror movie, with most stores closed or closing, the whole place dominated by a dis-used, old merry-go-round. Oh, and did I mention that San Bernardino holds the dubious distinction of being where McDonald's started? Ray Croc's very first hamburger stand was right here.
The theatre is another one of those old vaudeville houses with a proscenium arch right out of The Muppet Show. There's even premium gold boxes at the edge of the balcony for Statler and Waldorf. But this also means that, once again, we've cut many pieces of the show, not as bad as an arena show, but still a pain. Also a pain is the fact that the wing space is so small that one is constantly bumping into someone trying to maneuver around the set pieces. The local crew has gotten very comfortable working the space though, so much so that they have forgotten how close they are to us when we're doing a scene on stage, so we are treated to their full-voice conversations the entire time. (They are, in fact, so loud that our bass player tells me that our mics were actually picking up their voices and broadcasting them directly into his headphones.)
The unseasonable heat is pushing the A/C capacity of the old building to the limit. Well, depending where you are. On the side of the stage that my dressing room is on, our little rabbit-warren of closet-sized rooms is sweltering. On the other side of the stage, the ensemble girls are so cold they have to keep a window open to let some heat in. We are not alone in suffering the heat. Every performance, I can see the waving of stark, white programs out in the darkness. The scene that K.K. and I do in our extra-plush terry-towel bath robes is a particular treat. A bit like putting on a parka to work in the garden in August....in Niagara.
The first night audience is absolutely rabid. (They do a lot of hooting in San B.) We could have walked onto the stage and carved a notch in a stick of wood and they would have screamed and applauded like asylum inmates. We play most of the shows to very full crowds, except for Sunday night. Mike Donald remarks that if all the Sunday night people had come for the matinee, we could have had a full house. Though it isn't really quite that small a crowd (700) it feels like it, especially when we are staggering under the heat. We are happy to finish up.
The morning is an easy start since we don't roll until 10. Cast and crew are milling about, drinking coffee, eating bagels, enjoying the California sun. We have a full day of driving to the cute little city of Sacramento, where we will spend the night. Then on further north (almost to Oregon) to Redding, CA for our next performance.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN BOZEMAN, MT
And we're back after a whirlwind week that could have been relaxing, but I suspect not. Though a change IS as good as a rest.
Michael and I waken at the crack of crow's piss on Monday morning to catch our flight to Vegas. The payoff is that we are checking into our hotel (The Luxor) by 11 a.m. The rumours about the long lines at The Luxor's front desk are true, but service otherwise is very, very good. Our room, as luck would have it, is ready, and we stagger into our 21st floor suite, complete with hot tub overlooking the mountains. Sadly, Vega has so much to offer that we will never get around to the hot tub.
Vegas is delicious and much changed since my last visit. I drag Michael, mercilessly, up and down the strip, indulging in every possible excess (it is Vegas after all). "La Reve" at The Wynn, "Believe" at The Luxor(See note below), "Ka" at The MGM, the roller coaster at New York, New York, cocktails and caviar at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant at Paris, shopping at Venice and Bellagio (ask Michael about his new Prada bathing suit), manicures at The Mirage, tasting menu at Emeril's (ho-hum) restaurant in MGM, and more martinis and slot machines than I can remember.
As we have another crack-of-crow's-piss flight to Calgary, the decision to stay up until all hours drinking and playing slots is probably ill advised, but what happens in Vegas only follows you as a hang over. We arrive in Calgary late on Thursday afternoon and are whisked away to the wilds of Airdrie for home some home-cooked deliciousness and calm. The next two days are a blur of visiting. Friday is egg-colouring day at the homestead, but I manage to drink my way through the throngs of attending children, some of whom, I'm told, are relatives. Friday night is our visit with a throng of rarely seen but cherished friends at our favourite Mexican restaurant, followed by a quick trip to StageWest where we catch the second act of "Boeing Boeing" (would someone please stop Marty Fishman from making good actors look bad?!?!) and a visit with more amazing friends who are still in the biz. Saturday is the big family Easter dinner which is lavish, delicious and entertaining but over-populated by children.
Sunday is another rising-sun-departure as we are being driven to Bozeman by my sainted Father and Step-Mother. The drive is a 9-hour blur of reading, napping and mountain views.
Bozeman is another arena-trying-to-be-a-theatre show. Have I mentioned how much I hate playing arenas? Again, most of the major set pieces and drops are cut. Again, we are yelling to be heard over the roar of set pieces rolling around on the hollow stage. And also, again, the audience is capacity and crazy-happy. It seems that no matter how bitter we are, we can't help but bring happiness to the people. We are now faced with two days off in Bozeman. Have I mentioned that I'm over Montana? Two days off here is a bit like two days off in your basement. Two days off in your car. Two days off in your bathroom. You probably could find something to do, but it will only entertain you for a few desperate moments. It's a bit like waiting in purgatory before we have to get up at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning so that we can fly to California.
*Note re: Criss Angel
Everyone, well, lots of people, are trashing this show. While I admit that it has some problems, most of which could be cured by a good writer and some major clean up on the transitions, it is a great night of thrills. I was enthralled and entertianed. Most of the furor seems to come from the content of the show which is very dark, macabre and twisted. I will say this......we saw "La Reve", which is the hot new ticket in Vegas that everyone is wiggling about. It was pretty, sometimes breath-taking, and a stunning use of technology. When all is said and done though, I felt empty, left with nothing, unchanged by the show. The Criss Angel show took risks, sometimes failing miserably, but at least it thrilled me, challenged me and left me lots to think about.
Michael and I waken at the crack of crow's piss on Monday morning to catch our flight to Vegas. The payoff is that we are checking into our hotel (The Luxor) by 11 a.m. The rumours about the long lines at The Luxor's front desk are true, but service otherwise is very, very good. Our room, as luck would have it, is ready, and we stagger into our 21st floor suite, complete with hot tub overlooking the mountains. Sadly, Vega has so much to offer that we will never get around to the hot tub.
Vegas is delicious and much changed since my last visit. I drag Michael, mercilessly, up and down the strip, indulging in every possible excess (it is Vegas after all). "La Reve" at The Wynn, "Believe" at The Luxor(See note below), "Ka" at The MGM, the roller coaster at New York, New York, cocktails and caviar at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant at Paris, shopping at Venice and Bellagio (ask Michael about his new Prada bathing suit), manicures at The Mirage, tasting menu at Emeril's (ho-hum) restaurant in MGM, and more martinis and slot machines than I can remember.
As we have another crack-of-crow's-piss flight to Calgary, the decision to stay up until all hours drinking and playing slots is probably ill advised, but what happens in Vegas only follows you as a hang over. We arrive in Calgary late on Thursday afternoon and are whisked away to the wilds of Airdrie for home some home-cooked deliciousness and calm. The next two days are a blur of visiting. Friday is egg-colouring day at the homestead, but I manage to drink my way through the throngs of attending children, some of whom, I'm told, are relatives. Friday night is our visit with a throng of rarely seen but cherished friends at our favourite Mexican restaurant, followed by a quick trip to StageWest where we catch the second act of "Boeing Boeing" (would someone please stop Marty Fishman from making good actors look bad?!?!) and a visit with more amazing friends who are still in the biz. Saturday is the big family Easter dinner which is lavish, delicious and entertaining but over-populated by children.
Sunday is another rising-sun-departure as we are being driven to Bozeman by my sainted Father and Step-Mother. The drive is a 9-hour blur of reading, napping and mountain views.
Bozeman is another arena-trying-to-be-a-theatre show. Have I mentioned how much I hate playing arenas? Again, most of the major set pieces and drops are cut. Again, we are yelling to be heard over the roar of set pieces rolling around on the hollow stage. And also, again, the audience is capacity and crazy-happy. It seems that no matter how bitter we are, we can't help but bring happiness to the people. We are now faced with two days off in Bozeman. Have I mentioned that I'm over Montana? Two days off here is a bit like two days off in your basement. Two days off in your car. Two days off in your bathroom. You probably could find something to do, but it will only entertain you for a few desperate moments. It's a bit like waiting in purgatory before we have to get up at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning so that we can fly to California.
*Note re: Criss Angel
Everyone, well, lots of people, are trashing this show. While I admit that it has some problems, most of which could be cured by a good writer and some major clean up on the transitions, it is a great night of thrills. I was enthralled and entertianed. Most of the furor seems to come from the content of the show which is very dark, macabre and twisted. I will say this......we saw "La Reve", which is the hot new ticket in Vegas that everyone is wiggling about. It was pretty, sometimes breath-taking, and a stunning use of technology. When all is said and done though, I felt empty, left with nothing, unchanged by the show. The Criss Angel show took risks, sometimes failing miserably, but at least it thrilled me, challenged me and left me lots to think about.
Monday, April 06, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN RENO
People who can't afford to shop at Holt Renfrew, shop at The Bay. People who can't afford foiegras, buy Spam. People who can't afford Las Vegas go to Reno. Not only are we inundated with far too many brush cuts in sweat pants, 56D cups in sweat shirts, and polyester pant suits topped with lavender rinse, we are staying at Circus Circus.
Now, we've stayed at a lot of hotels on this tour. Some spectacular, some that make you want to peel your skin off and mail it back to yourself. In my personal opinion, this is the worst hotel ever. It's past it's day and starting to look it, the service is deplorable (but that seems to be the case everywhere in Reno), the housekeeping is not very good (I discover M&M's on my floor and Sarah finds the previous guest"s toiletry bag still hanging in her bathroom), and the long walk to the rooms in the Sky Tower is complicated by several sets of stairs that one needs to negotiate with one's luggage! Add to all of that the fact that the place is CRAWLING with children and you have my own personal kind of hell.
As I leave my room one day, there are 3 children, all under 5 years old, playing in the hallway....not an adult in sight. (Probably in the casino trying to win the money for this month's payment on the trailer home). I scowl at the urchins sufficiently enough to send them back to their rooms...or at least out of my sight. We find out that most of the children are here for a wrestling tournament. Twenty-two-hundred, twelve-year old boys have converged on Reno. (Why me? What next, locusts?)
The six elevators in our tower are miserably inadequate to service a full hotel. Often, you have to let 2 or 3 cars go before you can squeeze in to one, and this, after waiting several minutes for each car. Steve tells me that he eventually gave up one morning and walked down 20 flights of stairs with a long line of people who were doing the same.
Downtown Reno itself is looking pretty sad. A world apart from it's richer, sassier sister, Vegas. Everything is dusty, empty, closed or closing, and vagabonds, loonies and unsavories accent the streets. Everywhere we go, we find that service seems to be a lost art. We are studiously ignored for as long as possible, then grudgingly serviced. In a way I can see how it got this way because I'm pretty sure nobody makes much of a tip from Bucky Ballcap and Bertha Bingohall. At The Sienna, Reno's supposed "boutique hotel", I finally get the world's most watery martini from the careless bartener, and then have to pay $11.00 for it. I do have to add an exception here, though, and say that the food and the service at Mel's Diner are great. Perhaps that's why they've been there since 1947.
The theatre is very nice and supports a full season of Broadway shows and it's own Philharmonic series. We play 5 shows, all of them very well attended with vocal, responsive crowds. This is good news for me since I am still feeling like crap and need all the support I can get. The illness has turned into a wet, lung-rattling chest cough that makes me sound like an alcoholic, asthmatic smoker. Try singing and dancing a romantic duet through that!
Somehow, in spite of it all, I make it through. Through the impossibly overpopulated hotel. Through a manic five-shows-in-three-days. Through a whirlwind of visiting family, producers, possible producers and a host of sundry "somebodies" and hangers-on. Through phlegm, low oxygen, petty bickering questionable acting choices, I make it to the Easter hiatus. And that means that Michael and I get to spend a week of play-time together. First in Vegas, then in Calgary. Yee-haw. I hope my lungs can take it.
Now, we've stayed at a lot of hotels on this tour. Some spectacular, some that make you want to peel your skin off and mail it back to yourself. In my personal opinion, this is the worst hotel ever. It's past it's day and starting to look it, the service is deplorable (but that seems to be the case everywhere in Reno), the housekeeping is not very good (I discover M&M's on my floor and Sarah finds the previous guest"s toiletry bag still hanging in her bathroom), and the long walk to the rooms in the Sky Tower is complicated by several sets of stairs that one needs to negotiate with one's luggage! Add to all of that the fact that the place is CRAWLING with children and you have my own personal kind of hell.
As I leave my room one day, there are 3 children, all under 5 years old, playing in the hallway....not an adult in sight. (Probably in the casino trying to win the money for this month's payment on the trailer home). I scowl at the urchins sufficiently enough to send them back to their rooms...or at least out of my sight. We find out that most of the children are here for a wrestling tournament. Twenty-two-hundred, twelve-year old boys have converged on Reno. (Why me? What next, locusts?)
The six elevators in our tower are miserably inadequate to service a full hotel. Often, you have to let 2 or 3 cars go before you can squeeze in to one, and this, after waiting several minutes for each car. Steve tells me that he eventually gave up one morning and walked down 20 flights of stairs with a long line of people who were doing the same.
Downtown Reno itself is looking pretty sad. A world apart from it's richer, sassier sister, Vegas. Everything is dusty, empty, closed or closing, and vagabonds, loonies and unsavories accent the streets. Everywhere we go, we find that service seems to be a lost art. We are studiously ignored for as long as possible, then grudgingly serviced. In a way I can see how it got this way because I'm pretty sure nobody makes much of a tip from Bucky Ballcap and Bertha Bingohall. At The Sienna, Reno's supposed "boutique hotel", I finally get the world's most watery martini from the careless bartener, and then have to pay $11.00 for it. I do have to add an exception here, though, and say that the food and the service at Mel's Diner are great. Perhaps that's why they've been there since 1947.
The theatre is very nice and supports a full season of Broadway shows and it's own Philharmonic series. We play 5 shows, all of them very well attended with vocal, responsive crowds. This is good news for me since I am still feeling like crap and need all the support I can get. The illness has turned into a wet, lung-rattling chest cough that makes me sound like an alcoholic, asthmatic smoker. Try singing and dancing a romantic duet through that!
Somehow, in spite of it all, I make it through. Through the impossibly overpopulated hotel. Through a manic five-shows-in-three-days. Through a whirlwind of visiting family, producers, possible producers and a host of sundry "somebodies" and hangers-on. Through phlegm, low oxygen, petty bickering questionable acting choices, I make it to the Easter hiatus. And that means that Michael and I get to spend a week of play-time together. First in Vegas, then in Calgary. Yee-haw. I hope my lungs can take it.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN GREAT FALLS, MT
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
I rest as much as possible on the bus and say as little as possible (imagine me resisting the impulse to speak) in order to preserve my voice. When we arrive in Great Falls, I take a brisk walk to see how quickly my energy level drops. I have a peculiar sensation in my mouth and it takes me a while to realize that I'm back in the prairie and I can taste the dust where ever I go. The walk goes well, my energy seems fine and my voice is about 80% restored so I decide to do the show.
We're in yet another weird-ass venue that requires a list of cuts from our sets and backdrops. It's been so long since we've done the full show that we're all having trouble remembering what it looks like. By the middle of Act 1, I am soaking wet and am relieved to hear that the rest of the cast is too. I don't have a fever, the theatre is simply the temperature of molten lava. It's a good, solid show and a great crowd and my voice manages to make it through to the end. Sadly, even though it is Jeffrey's birthday, I feel that it would be really irresponsible of me to go out and drink with the cast. So I go to bed.....
....and bed seems to be where I'll be spending my day off here in Great Falls. Ah....Mah.....Gahw! Being stuck downtown is not unlike being banished to the unfinished basement that your Grandparents refer to as the 'rec room'. I mean, I'm pretty good at entertaining myself but there is NOTHING here, and what there is carries an air of dusty, last chance desperation. Not to mention the assortment of broken down people who have the same last chance air. I hold a door open for an old man with a cane. Instead of thanking me, he hits me up for change. I tell him he gets money or politeness, not both. (Note to self: Buy a couple of hits of acid in order to stay entertained during 2 days off in Bozeman, MT!!!!).
The most interesting thing I've come across here is the classic 50's cafe down the street. This is no kitchy retro-diner, this is the real thing, complete with counter stools, juke boxes in the booths and hoodlums ordering cheese burger deluxe. The reason the place is so interesting though is because it has one of the grumpiest waitresses I've ever seen. She is such a sour-puss that she doesn't even raise her eyes from her pad when she speaks to someone. All I can think is, "Honey, I know you're a hundred and four years old, but you can't hold me responsible for that". She is, in fact, so miserable, and giving everyone (including the cook) such a hard time that I am wildly entertained.
I rest as much as possible on the bus and say as little as possible (imagine me resisting the impulse to speak) in order to preserve my voice. When we arrive in Great Falls, I take a brisk walk to see how quickly my energy level drops. I have a peculiar sensation in my mouth and it takes me a while to realize that I'm back in the prairie and I can taste the dust where ever I go. The walk goes well, my energy seems fine and my voice is about 80% restored so I decide to do the show.
We're in yet another weird-ass venue that requires a list of cuts from our sets and backdrops. It's been so long since we've done the full show that we're all having trouble remembering what it looks like. By the middle of Act 1, I am soaking wet and am relieved to hear that the rest of the cast is too. I don't have a fever, the theatre is simply the temperature of molten lava. It's a good, solid show and a great crowd and my voice manages to make it through to the end. Sadly, even though it is Jeffrey's birthday, I feel that it would be really irresponsible of me to go out and drink with the cast. So I go to bed.....
....and bed seems to be where I'll be spending my day off here in Great Falls. Ah....Mah.....Gahw! Being stuck downtown is not unlike being banished to the unfinished basement that your Grandparents refer to as the 'rec room'. I mean, I'm pretty good at entertaining myself but there is NOTHING here, and what there is carries an air of dusty, last chance desperation. Not to mention the assortment of broken down people who have the same last chance air. I hold a door open for an old man with a cane. Instead of thanking me, he hits me up for change. I tell him he gets money or politeness, not both. (Note to self: Buy a couple of hits of acid in order to stay entertained during 2 days off in Bozeman, MT!!!!).
The most interesting thing I've come across here is the classic 50's cafe down the street. This is no kitchy retro-diner, this is the real thing, complete with counter stools, juke boxes in the booths and hoodlums ordering cheese burger deluxe. The reason the place is so interesting though is because it has one of the grumpiest waitresses I've ever seen. She is such a sour-puss that she doesn't even raise her eyes from her pad when she speaks to someone. All I can think is, "Honey, I know you're a hundred and four years old, but you can't hold me responsible for that". She is, in fact, so miserable, and giving everyone (including the cook) such a hard time that I am wildly entertained.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN BILLINGS, MT
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
I wake in the middle of the night in my hotel room in Casper. I have the feeling that I am being murdered in my sleep. Someone is driving a knife into my throat. Actually, it turns out to be not a someone, but a something that has invaded my right tonsil and made me feel like I'm swallowing glass. I sleep very little and get up the next morning sounding like James Earl Jones after a night of boozing. I notify stage management that all is not well and put Duff on alert that he may be going on in Billings.
The day doesn't bring much improvement. At our mid-morning rest stop, I wander into the convenience store and am so dizzy I have to hold onto the counter to keep from falling over. By the time we get to Billings I am exhausted, even though I've been lying down for the whole trip. After lying on the hotel room bed for awhile, pounding oil of oregano and trying to find my voice, I make the decision to step out of the show for the night. It is only the second time in over 25 years that I have missed a show and it feels strange. I know I have made the right decision though when walking five blocks to the pharmacy. By the time I make it there, I am so tired that I have to rest before attempting the walk back to the hotel. I feel like an old man.
It's strange to hear all the kids leaving the hotel to do the show while I lay in bed. I decide to go find some soup for dinner since the hotel has no room service. Another short walk and I am once again depleted, but seated in a cozy, trendy restaurant. Their soup of the day is scallops and snow peas in a spicy Asian broth. It is an astoundingly delicious creation. As well, the heat relaxes and warms me and the spice makes my throat feel better. As I finish the soup, I realize that it's eight o'clock. The show has been happening for thirty minutes already. It is very weird to be sitting in a restaurant while my road family is at work. I feel like I'm truant.
I lie in bed, waiting to hear the cast coming back from the theatre. I am desperate to find out how it went. All reports are glowing. Duff did what we all knew he could/would. Duff thanks me for the gift - allowing him to get on stage at least once after understudying so many parts for so long. Everyone carries him off to buy him drinks, I carry myself back to bed.
I wake in the middle of the night in my hotel room in Casper. I have the feeling that I am being murdered in my sleep. Someone is driving a knife into my throat. Actually, it turns out to be not a someone, but a something that has invaded my right tonsil and made me feel like I'm swallowing glass. I sleep very little and get up the next morning sounding like James Earl Jones after a night of boozing. I notify stage management that all is not well and put Duff on alert that he may be going on in Billings.
The day doesn't bring much improvement. At our mid-morning rest stop, I wander into the convenience store and am so dizzy I have to hold onto the counter to keep from falling over. By the time we get to Billings I am exhausted, even though I've been lying down for the whole trip. After lying on the hotel room bed for awhile, pounding oil of oregano and trying to find my voice, I make the decision to step out of the show for the night. It is only the second time in over 25 years that I have missed a show and it feels strange. I know I have made the right decision though when walking five blocks to the pharmacy. By the time I make it there, I am so tired that I have to rest before attempting the walk back to the hotel. I feel like an old man.
It's strange to hear all the kids leaving the hotel to do the show while I lay in bed. I decide to go find some soup for dinner since the hotel has no room service. Another short walk and I am once again depleted, but seated in a cozy, trendy restaurant. Their soup of the day is scallops and snow peas in a spicy Asian broth. It is an astoundingly delicious creation. As well, the heat relaxes and warms me and the spice makes my throat feel better. As I finish the soup, I realize that it's eight o'clock. The show has been happening for thirty minutes already. It is very weird to be sitting in a restaurant while my road family is at work. I feel like I'm truant.
I lie in bed, waiting to hear the cast coming back from the theatre. I am desperate to find out how it went. All reports are glowing. Duff did what we all knew he could/would. Duff thanks me for the gift - allowing him to get on stage at least once after understudying so many parts for so long. Everyone carries him off to buy him drinks, I carry myself back to bed.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CASPER, WY
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"...on tour...
It's one of those days. Because our show finished so early in Pueblo, the bus call can legally be 7:30 a.m. without infringing on our mandatory 11 hour rest period. So, we stumble aboard.
It isn't long before we're waving at the shit-box hotel we stayed in when we played Colorado Springs. Then, shortly after that, we encounter a snow storm and morning traffic that is moving at a crawl in.....guess where....our favourite city to drive through.... DENVER!!!! The slow-down puts us at least an hour behind schedule, and Lady D probably won't be able to make it up because the roads the rest of the way are either icy or being hammered by 50 mph winds, making the ride a little wild. (No puking though)
Wyoming is beautiful in a stark, empty sort of way, at least for the first hour or so. The snow capped bluffs and blowing ice crystals make it seem quite desolate though. At any point in our journey today, it is very easy to spontaneously point and shout, "Look! Absolutely nothing !"
I would like, at this point, to ask for your help. I'd like you all to assist me in finding the fucking idiot that looked at an arena on day and thought, "You know, if we just curtain off one end, we could do theatre in here...kind of like a rock concert in reverse." If I ever find the lame-brain that came up with this idea, I will shackle them to the most painfully uncomfortable device ever invented, the airplane economy class seat, and force them, a la "Clockwork Orange", to watch a tape loop of Oprah apologizing for being fat for the rest of their miserable, useless life.
Doing theatre in an arena is like doing a rock concert in a dollhouse, like teaching The Hula Dance in The Antarctica, like wearing a mink coat to a P.E.T.A convention......wrong fucking venue. Once again, we have to cut so much of the show that it occurs to me that we used to be the cast of "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" but now we're just a bunch of people trying to tell a story that seems to be set nowhere in particular.
Of the many, beautiful backdrops that set the scenes for the show, we only have one available to us, along with our crystal curtain and another utility curtain that serves as the main curtain for the show. Except, wait! They don't drop gracefully to the stage because there is no fly system. They track on from the wings like living room drapes. The scene changes in this show can be loud on a real stage simply because everything is on wheels. On a temporary, hollow, plastic stage, held together with duct tape, the changes are deafening. In an apron scene with Brian, I am forced to stop talking because I can't hear myself. I look heavenward and through up my arms in a "What the fuck" gesture. Brian responds by yelling his line to me. We are, at the very least, entertaining ourselves.
The whole situation really comes into focus for me as I'm chatting with Duff in the boys dressing room (or, more truthfully, the curtained-off area behind stage left). I realize that he is leaning against one of our semi trailers. The just backed them right into the building and unloaded directly onto the stage. We are in an arena. And, yes, we did get our usual standing ovation from the audience at the end.
It's one of those days. Because our show finished so early in Pueblo, the bus call can legally be 7:30 a.m. without infringing on our mandatory 11 hour rest period. So, we stumble aboard.
It isn't long before we're waving at the shit-box hotel we stayed in when we played Colorado Springs. Then, shortly after that, we encounter a snow storm and morning traffic that is moving at a crawl in.....guess where....our favourite city to drive through.... DENVER!!!! The slow-down puts us at least an hour behind schedule, and Lady D probably won't be able to make it up because the roads the rest of the way are either icy or being hammered by 50 mph winds, making the ride a little wild. (No puking though)
Wyoming is beautiful in a stark, empty sort of way, at least for the first hour or so. The snow capped bluffs and blowing ice crystals make it seem quite desolate though. At any point in our journey today, it is very easy to spontaneously point and shout, "Look! Absolutely nothing !"
I would like, at this point, to ask for your help. I'd like you all to assist me in finding the fucking idiot that looked at an arena on day and thought, "You know, if we just curtain off one end, we could do theatre in here...kind of like a rock concert in reverse." If I ever find the lame-brain that came up with this idea, I will shackle them to the most painfully uncomfortable device ever invented, the airplane economy class seat, and force them, a la "Clockwork Orange", to watch a tape loop of Oprah apologizing for being fat for the rest of their miserable, useless life.
Doing theatre in an arena is like doing a rock concert in a dollhouse, like teaching The Hula Dance in The Antarctica, like wearing a mink coat to a P.E.T.A convention......wrong fucking venue. Once again, we have to cut so much of the show that it occurs to me that we used to be the cast of "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" but now we're just a bunch of people trying to tell a story that seems to be set nowhere in particular.
Of the many, beautiful backdrops that set the scenes for the show, we only have one available to us, along with our crystal curtain and another utility curtain that serves as the main curtain for the show. Except, wait! They don't drop gracefully to the stage because there is no fly system. They track on from the wings like living room drapes. The scene changes in this show can be loud on a real stage simply because everything is on wheels. On a temporary, hollow, plastic stage, held together with duct tape, the changes are deafening. In an apron scene with Brian, I am forced to stop talking because I can't hear myself. I look heavenward and through up my arms in a "What the fuck" gesture. Brian responds by yelling his line to me. We are, at the very least, entertaining ourselves.
The whole situation really comes into focus for me as I'm chatting with Duff in the boys dressing room (or, more truthfully, the curtained-off area behind stage left). I realize that he is leaning against one of our semi trailers. The just backed them right into the building and unloaded directly onto the stage. We are in an arena. And, yes, we did get our usual standing ovation from the audience at the end.
Monday, March 30, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN PUEBLO, CO
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour....
I'm not sure how many times we've driven past/through/near Denver on this tour, but it's starting to feel/look very familiar. I've lost track of the number of times we've crossed back on ourselves. Here's a conversation I overheard during the show tonight. It pretty much sums up the state of mind one ends up in after doing so many one-nighters.
Michelle: Why the fuck is our bus call so early tomorrow morning? Where are we going?
Sarah: Casper, Wyoming.
Michelle: Have we been to Wyoming yet?
Sarah: Um.....yeah,......we left from Cheyenne, Wyoming this morning.
Michell: Excuse me, I have to go to the other side of the stage now.
Our show in Pueblo is at 5 pm. Yes, FIVE P.M. I can't tell you how wrong that is. Every fiber of my being is expressing it's outrage. A 5 pm show is even more hideous than those heinous 10 am student shows at Drayton. Five o'clock is only a curtain time if it's Christmas Eve and you're seeing The Nutcracker. Five o'clock is when you start dressing for dinner. Five o'clock is the time you pray for so that you can escape from the job you hate. Five o'clock is when you make martinis. Five o'clock is when you eat overcooked, mushy food if you live in a retirement community in Florida. Five o'clock is when any respectable Bohemian considers getting out of bed. Five o'clock is not now, nor will it ever be a proper curtain time.
Oh, and did I mention that we're in yet another venue that is too small to properly house this show? Sure we're used to it by now, but that still doesn't make it OK that half the show is in the parking lot and the ensemble has to change in a curtained off area in the basement.
The crew at this venue are unusually friendly and playful. It's a welcome change from the Luddites, mono brows and glassy-eyed ex-hippies that we often have to deal with. We are told of the theatre's haunted status and encouraged to go into the house and check out the blood stains on the curtain at the back of the audience. It seems that someone was murdered in a knife fight at the back of the house and, though the curtains go out for regular cleaning, and come back clean, the blood stains always return. Mike Donald and I go check it out, and there are indeed mysterious stains, possibly in the shape of a hand print or two.
Though it's nice to be back in the mountains, the elevation is kicking us (me) in the ass after spending so much time at sea level. All through the show I can barely catch my breath and want to just lie down. It reminds me of being in the Peruvian mountains. Thankfully, in spite of all my moaning and pessimistic predictions, the mostly elderly audience is very vocal and it's a good, solid show.
A few of us meet in the hotel lobby bar after the show. Everyone keeps asking if the whole menu is still available because we are so used to trying to get food out of a reluctant kitchen at 11 p.m. The problem with finishing a show this early is that there's way too much time to sit around drinking. Could make for an ugly departure at 7:30 a.m.
I'm not sure how many times we've driven past/through/near Denver on this tour, but it's starting to feel/look very familiar. I've lost track of the number of times we've crossed back on ourselves. Here's a conversation I overheard during the show tonight. It pretty much sums up the state of mind one ends up in after doing so many one-nighters.
Michelle: Why the fuck is our bus call so early tomorrow morning? Where are we going?
Sarah: Casper, Wyoming.
Michelle: Have we been to Wyoming yet?
Sarah: Um.....yeah,......we left from Cheyenne, Wyoming this morning.
Michell: Excuse me, I have to go to the other side of the stage now.
Our show in Pueblo is at 5 pm. Yes, FIVE P.M. I can't tell you how wrong that is. Every fiber of my being is expressing it's outrage. A 5 pm show is even more hideous than those heinous 10 am student shows at Drayton. Five o'clock is only a curtain time if it's Christmas Eve and you're seeing The Nutcracker. Five o'clock is when you start dressing for dinner. Five o'clock is the time you pray for so that you can escape from the job you hate. Five o'clock is when you make martinis. Five o'clock is when you eat overcooked, mushy food if you live in a retirement community in Florida. Five o'clock is when any respectable Bohemian considers getting out of bed. Five o'clock is not now, nor will it ever be a proper curtain time.
Oh, and did I mention that we're in yet another venue that is too small to properly house this show? Sure we're used to it by now, but that still doesn't make it OK that half the show is in the parking lot and the ensemble has to change in a curtained off area in the basement.
The crew at this venue are unusually friendly and playful. It's a welcome change from the Luddites, mono brows and glassy-eyed ex-hippies that we often have to deal with. We are told of the theatre's haunted status and encouraged to go into the house and check out the blood stains on the curtain at the back of the audience. It seems that someone was murdered in a knife fight at the back of the house and, though the curtains go out for regular cleaning, and come back clean, the blood stains always return. Mike Donald and I go check it out, and there are indeed mysterious stains, possibly in the shape of a hand print or two.
Though it's nice to be back in the mountains, the elevation is kicking us (me) in the ass after spending so much time at sea level. All through the show I can barely catch my breath and want to just lie down. It reminds me of being in the Peruvian mountains. Thankfully, in spite of all my moaning and pessimistic predictions, the mostly elderly audience is very vocal and it's a good, solid show.
A few of us meet in the hotel lobby bar after the show. Everyone keeps asking if the whole menu is still available because we are so used to trying to get food out of a reluctant kitchen at 11 p.m. The problem with finishing a show this early is that there's way too much time to sit around drinking. Could make for an ugly departure at 7:30 a.m.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CHEYENNE, WY
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...We are staying at the historic Plains Hotel in downtown Cheyenne. It's been sitting on this corner of the Wyoming prairie since 1911 and it really is a trip into the past. (Please click the link, it's worth it just for the welcome music) It's very easy to imagine the pioneers, ranchers and ladies of the day walking these halls 'cause very little has changed. There's even a hissing radiator at the end of the hall. My room is almost big enough for the king sized bed, small desk and armoire that holds the t.v. Though I don't think the bathroom is original, I'm positive the sink has been there since the 30's. Downtown Cheyenne is in about as much trouble as every other downtown in North America. You know it's bad when retail stores are closed on Saturdays. Most of the downtown is devoted to all things cowboy and I am drawn into a large and, apparently famous western wear store that has been around since 1943. I can't stop myself from buying a black and white cowboy shirt, complete with snaps instead of buttons. As I walk the streets I can't help but giggle at how kitchy all the western-y stuff is. It occurs to me that the locals probably don't think of it as kitchy all. The show is, well, ..... a show. Not great. Not terrible. Just a way for a vast number of people to kill a few hours together. We do, however, have to break out the oxygen tank again. We've spent the last little while traveling around The Gulf of Mexico, at sea level, and are suddenly at a much higher elevation. Even after my less than strenuous number I find that I am dizzy and breathless. Including a random pic. that Howard took of me, sitting outside during intermission in Corpus Christi.
Friday, March 27, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN OKLAHOMA CITY, OK
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...(Photo of our SM calling the show in Waco)
OK, well, you can't win them all. Waco - ridiculously cramped space, wild audience. Oklahoma City - space enough to build an ark, mostly mute audience. The crowd is sparse and mostly elderly. There are a few scattered people who guffaw loudly through the show, but overall, they are a tepid crowd at best. Christy is nervous since her big number is basically a five minute extravaganza that takes the piss out of Oklahoma. e.g. "Not a tree or a Jew to block the lovely view", or "..and our leading cause of death is melanoma", these lyrics after she has said things like, "It's all so flat, and peaceful, and flat". As it turns out, this number is the big hit of the show, and Christy gets the big hoots and cheers of the curtain call. The weather channel does not speak highly of our travel plans. Snow, rain, floods, hail and ice are pounding the central plains of America. We stand a slim chance of avoiding it all only if our timing is perfect. Our route from Oklahoma City to Colby, KS, our stop for the night, might just work if we can keep ahead of the storm. We do hit some pretty nasty ice, blowing snow and a closed section of freeway, but we manage to get ahead of the storm and stick pretty close to our schedule. As we travel across the vast plains of Kansas, I let my mind wander as I watch the landscape fly by. You've seen it in countless movies, but the endless, slowly changing terrain takes on a different connotation when you've been watching it flow past your window for 5 months. It suddenly occurs to me that this is a supremely strange existence. I spend the whole day on a bus, watching the plains turn to coast line or mountains or swamp, foraging for anything that resembles actual food in a land of truck stops and indifferent hamlets. At some point in the afternoon, I get off the bus, spend a scant hour or two working out or doing life administration before boarding the bus again to be taken to the venue. Once there, I don clothes that have been worn by many before me in order to speak words that have been spoken by many before me in order to distract the mortals who inhabit the dark on the other side of the orchestra pit. When it's all over, the people in the dark express their appreciation by smacking their hands together and I go back to the hotel and prepare to sleep in order to do it all again the next day. How many people, in their childhood years, while dreaming of being astronauts or doctors consider this strange life as a means of making a living?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN WACO
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
We have known from the very first day of the tour that the venue at Waco would be a nightmare. Up to now, we have played two other memorably small and ill-equipped venues. Waco is much like the historic Georgian opera house we played in Springfield, MA, ...only smaller......with less wing space.
The Hippodrome in Waco was opened in 1914 as a Vaudeville house. It had a busy life that continued into the 40's and 50's when live theatre started losing it's appeal. By the 1970's, it had been running as a movie theatre for years and eventually closed down because it was in a state of disrepair. I can only assume that, at some point, some money was put into it to spruce it up again, though I have to wonder what money has been spent on it in recent years, in spite of it being on the National Registry of Historic Places. (N.B. We must be in Texas...there's a man riding a horse past my window as I write this.) The plaster from the ceiling is crumbling onto the audience, the paint on the proscenium has certainly seen better days and the linoleum in the dressing room bathrooms is so old (and grimy) that the pattern has been worn off in places. The dressing room area itself is underneath the stage and was never meant to house 18 people who wear 200 costumes. Half of that might even be too much since the entire space is the size of most master bedrooms. Oh, and did I mention that the dressing rooms smell like the ass end of a dead and decaying St. Bernard?
Then there's the stage. The stage. Well, it's small. Really small. How small is that? Due to space restrictions, we had to make some cuts to fit the show into the theatre....
-All the palm trees that create various settings in the first act? Cut
-The balcony railings that create various settings? Cut
-The stair unit that creates the Villa? Cut
-The hanging paintings and stained glass that complete the Villa? Cut
-The walls that make two tables and chairs look like a train car? Cut
-The downstage palette that glides various pieces of furniture onto the stage? Cut.
-The statue that is the ONLY piece of stage dressing for a long apron scene between K.K & I? Cut.
-The "escape" stairs that give the illusion of descending to the dungeon for the "Ruprecht" scene? Cut.
-The dungeon walls that set the scene for the "Ruprecht" number? Cut.
(This scene also features a toilet which, due to space restrictions and because it gets used only in the one scene, is used through the rest of the show as the seating for the Stage Manager as he calls the show from stage right.)
-The hotel chandelier? Cut.
-The "hiding palms" that conceal Brian & I as we eavesdrop on a conversation? Cut. (No, it wasn't awkward at all to stroll on stage and deliver our lines while pretending that Heather & Steve can't see us.)
-The hanging paintings that create The Music Room? Cut.
When all is said and done, there is more of the show outside, sitting in the parking lot, than there is on the stage.
All night long there are jokes being made about what will have to be cut due to space restrictions.
-The giant pinky-ring that Brian wears? Cut
-Anyone using too much oxygen? Cut
-My ego? Cut
Given the severe space restrictions in the wings, the amount of stuff crammed into that space and the number of cast and crew trying to operate around it all, it is a testament to everyone that no one was seriously injured. Although, there are a significant number of scrapes, bruises and near misses reported through the night.
As the overture begins, I remark to Brian that the audience had better be so starved for entertainment that they are delirious with excitement when the curtain goes up. And, lo and behold.....they are. They hoot, they stamp, they guffaw, they cheer. Duff comes back stage at intermission and says, "You guys have never BEEN so funny, You can do no wrong!" Does it make it worth it? Does it make it o.k? Not by a long-shot. But it does make it easier to take when an audience enjoys themselves that much.
While we may complain about trying to perform in this cramped space, a venue like this is hardest on our crew. We have two trucks that drive this show around. That's two, 53' trailers crammed full of set pieces, costumes, drops, cables, lights, speakers etc. etc. etc. In a venue like this, the crew spends a long, tiring day hauling all of it in, and out, and back in again as they try to figure out what is going to work best. (I would looooove to hear how it all works out when "The Drowsy Chaperon" tour gets to this space.)
Perhaps in celebration, perhaps due to the relief, perhaps just to help forget it all, it seems that EVERYONE goes to the bar after the show. Cast, crew, orchestra, both our truck drivers, both our bus drivers......even me, looking for a way to let go of the day.
We have known from the very first day of the tour that the venue at Waco would be a nightmare. Up to now, we have played two other memorably small and ill-equipped venues. Waco is much like the historic Georgian opera house we played in Springfield, MA, ...only smaller......with less wing space.
The Hippodrome in Waco was opened in 1914 as a Vaudeville house. It had a busy life that continued into the 40's and 50's when live theatre started losing it's appeal. By the 1970's, it had been running as a movie theatre for years and eventually closed down because it was in a state of disrepair. I can only assume that, at some point, some money was put into it to spruce it up again, though I have to wonder what money has been spent on it in recent years, in spite of it being on the National Registry of Historic Places. (N.B. We must be in Texas...there's a man riding a horse past my window as I write this.) The plaster from the ceiling is crumbling onto the audience, the paint on the proscenium has certainly seen better days and the linoleum in the dressing room bathrooms is so old (and grimy) that the pattern has been worn off in places. The dressing room area itself is underneath the stage and was never meant to house 18 people who wear 200 costumes. Half of that might even be too much since the entire space is the size of most master bedrooms. Oh, and did I mention that the dressing rooms smell like the ass end of a dead and decaying St. Bernard?
Then there's the stage. The stage. Well, it's small. Really small. How small is that? Due to space restrictions, we had to make some cuts to fit the show into the theatre....
-All the palm trees that create various settings in the first act? Cut
-The balcony railings that create various settings? Cut
-The stair unit that creates the Villa? Cut
-The hanging paintings and stained glass that complete the Villa? Cut
-The walls that make two tables and chairs look like a train car? Cut
-The downstage palette that glides various pieces of furniture onto the stage? Cut.
-The statue that is the ONLY piece of stage dressing for a long apron scene between K.K & I? Cut.
-The "escape" stairs that give the illusion of descending to the dungeon for the "Ruprecht" scene? Cut.
-The dungeon walls that set the scene for the "Ruprecht" number? Cut.
(This scene also features a toilet which, due to space restrictions and because it gets used only in the one scene, is used through the rest of the show as the seating for the Stage Manager as he calls the show from stage right.)
-The hotel chandelier? Cut.
-The "hiding palms" that conceal Brian & I as we eavesdrop on a conversation? Cut. (No, it wasn't awkward at all to stroll on stage and deliver our lines while pretending that Heather & Steve can't see us.)
-The hanging paintings that create The Music Room? Cut.
When all is said and done, there is more of the show outside, sitting in the parking lot, than there is on the stage.
All night long there are jokes being made about what will have to be cut due to space restrictions.
-The giant pinky-ring that Brian wears? Cut
-Anyone using too much oxygen? Cut
-My ego? Cut
Given the severe space restrictions in the wings, the amount of stuff crammed into that space and the number of cast and crew trying to operate around it all, it is a testament to everyone that no one was seriously injured. Although, there are a significant number of scrapes, bruises and near misses reported through the night.
As the overture begins, I remark to Brian that the audience had better be so starved for entertainment that they are delirious with excitement when the curtain goes up. And, lo and behold.....they are. They hoot, they stamp, they guffaw, they cheer. Duff comes back stage at intermission and says, "You guys have never BEEN so funny, You can do no wrong!" Does it make it worth it? Does it make it o.k? Not by a long-shot. But it does make it easier to take when an audience enjoys themselves that much.
While we may complain about trying to perform in this cramped space, a venue like this is hardest on our crew. We have two trucks that drive this show around. That's two, 53' trailers crammed full of set pieces, costumes, drops, cables, lights, speakers etc. etc. etc. In a venue like this, the crew spends a long, tiring day hauling all of it in, and out, and back in again as they try to figure out what is going to work best. (I would looooove to hear how it all works out when "The Drowsy Chaperon" tour gets to this space.)
Perhaps in celebration, perhaps due to the relief, perhaps just to help forget it all, it seems that EVERYONE goes to the bar after the show. Cast, crew, orchestra, both our truck drivers, both our bus drivers......even me, looking for a way to let go of the day.
Monday, March 23, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CORPUS CHRISTI, TX
|"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...Our hotel is right on the waterfront, not beach, but seawall walk. I luck into a room on the 17th floor with a balcony that faces the ocean (photo). Since it is that odd hour of day (3 p.m.) when restaurants simply can't decide if they can still call your meal "lunch", the places in the hotel have simply closed until 5 so as to rid themselves of the problem. Also, I am not particularly interested in combing through downtown Corpus Christi, which gets seamier and seamier the further away from the seawall you get. So....I decide to order room service and sit on my balcony, watching the pelicans, the yappy, black-faced gulls (actually called Laughing Gulls), the cranes and the giant oil tankers that cruise in and out of the bay. I order a Caesar Salad and a martini and drag my easy chair onto the balcony. Cost of turning the balcony into a private dining room for one? Well, let's just say that it's more than a lite lunch for two with wine.....and it's worth every penny.
The theatre is only a few blocks down the seawalk, so I leave early enough to take my time and enjoy the wind and water. Halfway there, I get a call from the stage manager. Apparently, the show is at 7:00, NOT 7:30, I laugh out loud at such a glaringly gigantic miscommunication going un-noticed by so many people for so long. Fortunately, does not have too many sparkly distractions and the cast has not scattered too far, so everyone makes it to the theatre in plenty of time.
Because Harlingen, TX has cancelled, we have a bonus day in Corpus Christi which means Michael and I can have a play day. Uncharacteristically, I leave the balcony door open for him when to we go sleep because he likes the air flow and morning sunlight. The sacrifice on my part is being woken by the gulls at first light, (Michael can sleep through a war) although the fact that I can open my eyes and see the ocean softens my crankiness. Our plan is to spend the day at the beach, but the wind coming in from the gulf makes is difficult. Walking down the seawalk we are, at times, forced to lean into the wind in order to not be blown over. Before we even reach the beach, we can see that most of it is being blown up onto the roadway. We decide to abort and head back to the hotel pool. Even on the pool deck, the wind is hard to take. At one point, eight deck loungers simultaneously slide five feet across the deck. It's like being in a scene from "Poltergeist". Still, we tough it out for a few hours, enjoying the warmth, the hot tub and the company.
The plan for the evening is to inhabit one of the local seafood restaurants for fresh oysters and other delectables from the sea.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN GALVESTON, TX
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
An eight a.m. bus, a flight from St. Louis, MO to Dallas TX, plane change, a flight to Houston TX and then a forty minute bus ride to Galveston TX. We arrive at the hotel after 4 p.m ....bus call to the theatre, 6:45. We are tired and more than a little cranky.
I visit the tragic mall across the street looking for some food. I am stunned as I walk past a huge store that specializes in prom dresses. No, I correct myself, they specialize in hideous prom dresses. It's difficult to describe how horrifyingly bad and monstrously ugly thesedresses are. Try to picture all the colours of a baboon's ass dressed with sequins, frills and layers of tulle. But it gets better...As I am leaving the mall with my Subway salad (the only food in the mall that didn't scare me) I encounter a puffy dress in action. It's on a teenager. It's royal blue. It's fluffier than a bridal gown and dotted with rhinestones. Accompanying the dress are 8 or 10 young men in Navy dress uniforms. The South lives.
The drive to the theatre is a long one because we can't stay on the since hurricane Ike wiped out all the hotels. Our drive reveals that there is still much the has to be rebuilt, repaired and recovered. We are told that the theatre we're performing in had to undergo extensive repair after the hurricane and we are only the second musical to be there since it's reopening. If you visit their website you can see some photos of this beautiful little jewel of a theatre and a power point presentation which shows the mess they had to clean up. The basement dressing rooms were totally submerged and are still being repaired so the naked cement floor, raw wood door frames and holes in the wall lend a post-apocalyptic feel to the place.
The problem with the theatre is that it wasn't built to house a show like "Dirty Rotten...". The orchestra pit no longer lowers, thanks to Ike, so our drummer is blocking people's view and cannot be inside his sound-proof booth. The wing space is dangerously cramped. There is no actual fly system but, rather, ropes tied to pipes, weighted with sand bags and hauled through pulleys. Totally old school. The worst thing is the sight lines. Because of the long, narrow seating style of the house, virtually everything that goes on back stage is totally visible to fully a third of the audience. No entrance can be a surprise, any set pieces waiting in the wings are visible, the props carts are fully visible. We are used to being able to hide in the dark and feel very exposed, like the audience is seeing us in our underwear....which they may have during quick changes.
None of this seems to matter to the crowd. The show goes as it should and they are on their feet at the end. As we gather at our bus after the show, the Executive Director (I think) of the theatre makes a point of raving about the show and says to me, "Thank you for being a part of our healing." Hearing that made the hellish travel day, the exhaustion and the strange performance space all seem a little easier to take.
An eight a.m. bus, a flight from St. Louis, MO to Dallas TX, plane change, a flight to Houston TX and then a forty minute bus ride to Galveston TX. We arrive at the hotel after 4 p.m ....bus call to the theatre, 6:45. We are tired and more than a little cranky.
I visit the tragic mall across the street looking for some food. I am stunned as I walk past a huge store that specializes in prom dresses. No, I correct myself, they specialize in hideous prom dresses. It's difficult to describe how horrifyingly bad and monstrously ugly thesedresses are. Try to picture all the colours of a baboon's ass dressed with sequins, frills and layers of tulle. But it gets better...As I am leaving the mall with my Subway salad (the only food in the mall that didn't scare me) I encounter a puffy dress in action. It's on a teenager. It's royal blue. It's fluffier than a bridal gown and dotted with rhinestones. Accompanying the dress are 8 or 10 young men in Navy dress uniforms. The South lives.
The drive to the theatre is a long one because we can't stay on the since hurricane Ike wiped out all the hotels. Our drive reveals that there is still much the has to be rebuilt, repaired and recovered. We are told that the theatre we're performing in had to undergo extensive repair after the hurricane and we are only the second musical to be there since it's reopening. If you visit their website you can see some photos of this beautiful little jewel of a theatre and a power point presentation which shows the mess they had to clean up. The basement dressing rooms were totally submerged and are still being repaired so the naked cement floor, raw wood door frames and holes in the wall lend a post-apocalyptic feel to the place.
The problem with the theatre is that it wasn't built to house a show like "Dirty Rotten...". The orchestra pit no longer lowers, thanks to Ike, so our drummer is blocking people's view and cannot be inside his sound-proof booth. The wing space is dangerously cramped. There is no actual fly system but, rather, ropes tied to pipes, weighted with sand bags and hauled through pulleys. Totally old school. The worst thing is the sight lines. Because of the long, narrow seating style of the house, virtually everything that goes on back stage is totally visible to fully a third of the audience. No entrance can be a surprise, any set pieces waiting in the wings are visible, the props carts are fully visible. We are used to being able to hide in the dark and feel very exposed, like the audience is seeing us in our underwear....which they may have during quick changes.
None of this seems to matter to the crowd. The show goes as it should and they are on their feet at the end. As we gather at our bus after the show, the Executive Director (I think) of the theatre makes a point of raving about the show and says to me, "Thank you for being a part of our healing." Hearing that made the hellish travel day, the exhaustion and the strange performance space all seem a little easier to take.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN COLUMBIA, MO
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
We've played theatres that are short on wing space. We've played theatres that are short on dressing room space. We've played theatres that are, well...., primitive when it comes to backstage facilities. We've played theatres that have not and will not ever be properly equipped to deal with performers of any kind, or with shows that involve more than one back wall and sofa as the set. Rarely, however, have we played a theatre that wraps all of these dubious qualifications into one.
Most notable, here in Columbia, are the dressing rooms...there are two of them....and two only. There are 19 of us using two, not-so-large, arena-style dressing rooms. And in these primitive dressing rooms are the make up mirrors which were obviously purchased from a defunct fun house. They are made of some kind of really cheap, wildly warped acrylic which makes your face and body look like a Picasso painting. The reflection offered by these pseudo looking-glass plates is so untrue that the girls eventually give up trying to perfect their faces and the boys spend a good ten minutes looking at their full body reflections, giggling like 8 year olds. The bathrooms (there are only two, one for each gender) are down the hall and our company manager's office is a folding table in the paint shop/laundry room/pass-thru-to-the-orchestra-pit. There are lots of reasons to be in show biz. I'm in it for the glamour.
We have a day off here in Columbia, but we are stranded, yet again, on the outskirts of the city. Not that it really matters because even if one were feeling adventurous, there are very few options that come up if one googles "things to do in Columbia". It is a day for rest, relaxation, and organizing future projects. I wander around the nearby mall for as long as I can take the vapid, slack-jawed creatures who inhabit the place before retreating to the hotel.
Seven-thirty a.m. bus call in the morning. The injustice of it all is eased by the fact that we are flying to Galveston, Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico, where the temperatures are hovering in the 80's.
We've played theatres that are short on wing space. We've played theatres that are short on dressing room space. We've played theatres that are, well...., primitive when it comes to backstage facilities. We've played theatres that have not and will not ever be properly equipped to deal with performers of any kind, or with shows that involve more than one back wall and sofa as the set. Rarely, however, have we played a theatre that wraps all of these dubious qualifications into one.
Most notable, here in Columbia, are the dressing rooms...there are two of them....and two only. There are 19 of us using two, not-so-large, arena-style dressing rooms. And in these primitive dressing rooms are the make up mirrors which were obviously purchased from a defunct fun house. They are made of some kind of really cheap, wildly warped acrylic which makes your face and body look like a Picasso painting. The reflection offered by these pseudo looking-glass plates is so untrue that the girls eventually give up trying to perfect their faces and the boys spend a good ten minutes looking at their full body reflections, giggling like 8 year olds. The bathrooms (there are only two, one for each gender) are down the hall and our company manager's office is a folding table in the paint shop/laundry room/pass-thru-to-the-orchestra-pit. There are lots of reasons to be in show biz. I'm in it for the glamour.
We have a day off here in Columbia, but we are stranded, yet again, on the outskirts of the city. Not that it really matters because even if one were feeling adventurous, there are very few options that come up if one googles "things to do in Columbia". It is a day for rest, relaxation, and organizing future projects. I wander around the nearby mall for as long as I can take the vapid, slack-jawed creatures who inhabit the place before retreating to the hotel.
Seven-thirty a.m. bus call in the morning. The injustice of it all is eased by the fact that we are flying to Galveston, Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico, where the temperatures are hovering in the 80's.
Friday, March 20, 2009
A view from elsewhere
I thought everyone might enjoy a view from the "other side", an entry from our TD, Jeff J.C.
Greetings Everyone,
I just thought I would take this opportunity to send a quick hello from “the road”. We continue to roll from state to state, working hard, laughing lots and giving our audiences one hell of a good show.
Everyday brings new adventures and new challenges. The strange things is, even though we have played in 43 different cities at this point, it doesn’t really matter to us “where” we happen to be. It’s just a name on the calendar. The other day I heard Kathryn (our Asst Carpenter) say to some of the local crew, “This may sound like a dumb question, but what city am I in?” As long as we know where our bus is in relation to the theatre, that’s all that matters. And a lot of the time that’s all we see, the loading dock, the local diner and the theatre.
From the crew’s point of view, Phil drives our bus through the night and we wake up outside the Stage Door. I usually get up first and talk to our truckers William and John (who are two of the best people you will ever want to meet). After a quick visit inside and some fast greetings with the local T.D., I go back on the bus and give the 20 minute wake up call. We gather outside and start to assess what kind of day we’re going to have: do they have a loading dock, does the local crew look like they know what they’re doing, how big is the stage, where are the power hook-ups, do we need to cut any set pieces, etc. etc.. At 8:00 the stuff starts rolling off the trucks and it’s “game on”. By the time we take our first coffee break I have usually hung all 17 drops, Kathryn has assembled all of the major set pieces, David has built and laid out the props, Sadie has mapped out the backstage, Alec and Justin have hung and cabled all four of the on-stage lighting pipes, Sara and Michael are setting up the dressing rooms and styling wigs, and Rob and Dan have the orchestra pit set up, the sound system in place and are ready to make noise. All by 10:00 in the morning. By noon, the stage is spiked, the FOH lighting is focused and we are down to little details and maintenance. After lunch we walk through the scene changes with the local crew, trying to teach them our show in about an hour, sound check as much as possible and finish focusing the rest of the lights. By 4:00 we are ready to do a show. Depending on their travel schedule, the cast usually arrives an hour before curtain to do a quick sound check. Before you know it, the show is done and we pack it all back up. Although our fastest time so far is 1 hour 33 minutes, we are usually done in about 2 hours. Then its back on the bus, have drink, laugh about the stupid things that happened that day and off to our bunks.
I cannot express enough how proud I am of our team. Not only are they extremely good at what they do, but they are the consummate professionals no matter what adversity we face. AND we’re having great time doing it together. Practically everyday someone on the local crew will say “y’all are so nice”. I don’t know what they’re used to, but they sure seem to enjoy us. They do look at as funny though when our head electrician runs the fly rail for the show and the head carpenter runs the lighting board and calls follow spots. We just say that’s how we roll at Drayton Entertainment.
Well, one show tonight in Wichita, KA then tomorrow it’s Columbia, MO, then down into Texas for a few days. Yee Ha!
I hope all is well back home. I’ll be thinking about you while I’m sipping a margarita on the beach in Corpus Christie.
Take care,
Jeff JC
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