"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
With the virus taking hold, I spend our last night in Charleston wide awake for large portions of the night, terrified of choking to death on my own phlegm. I am also required to clear my throat every 10 minutes which I know is keeping Michael awake. He is still carrying the last vestiges of the cough from when he had the plague which, should I be lucky enough to fall asleep, wakes me up. Between the two us, it is a fairly sleepless night.
Michael is on a different flight than I am (!?!) so he has to leave the hotel at 7 a.m. I wake, or rather, I 'give in' to the world of daylight at 8 a.m. in order to achieve some semblance of normalcy before my 9:30 bus call. The tactic doesn't really work. I am sleepy, grumpy, achy, (sneezy & dopey) and I sound like Kathleen Turner when I can get any sound out at all. I manage to avoid any serious, conversation-inducing contact with the company, thus avoiding the risk me shredding them. The airport presents some slightly more challenging interactions. I stand in the line-up for security and listen to the agent try to explain to random Granny and Grandpa that they have to go check in with their airline to get a boarding pass before they can go through security. The concept eventually starts to make sense to them so Granny begins to fire a list of inane question about what she can and can't, hypothetically, take on board. My eye brows meet in the middle and then crawl over the back of my head. Once I reach my departure gate lounge, I decide that food might relieve my restlessness. I opt for a small container of peach yogurt, but I can find no spoons anywhere to eat it with. I stand in line at the cash and, when it is finally my turn I ask if there are any spoons. "No, sir", is the emotionless response. I briefly consider launching into a tirade that raises the question, "Why sell the yogurt but provide nothing to eat it with", "Why should I pay a 600% markup if you're not going to give me a spoon", but it hurts to talk. So, I leave the yogurt in front of the cashier and stomp away.
Boarding the plane, I'm stuck behind Granny & Grandpa again. Granny has to stop AT EVERY ROW to check the numbers. I want to scream, "The idea of numbers hasn't changed since even YOU were young. Two still comes after one, five still comes after four. If you still haven't grasped the concept, I have a slapping game that might help you learn." The only thing that actually stops me from saying anything at all to her is the fear that the plane might be delayed if my less than friendly demeanour frightens her into a stroke. That, or I might just shake her teeth out of her head. By the time I reach my seat, I could fillet anyone just for looking at me. The company leaves me alone.
Thankfully, I manage to sleep for most of the trip. Michael's sainted father meets us at the airport (where Michael has been waiting since his flight arrived an hour before mine) and drives us home. It is almost 7 pm by the time we pull into our driveway which means Michael has been travelling for 12 hours and I've been on the move for 10. The twins, our house/cat sitters, have fluffed the house and bring gifts of cheese and bread. They have also contrived to give us the house to ourselves for our first night back.
Let Serenity reign, for tomorrow, we must do laundry and taxes before heading back out on to the road in a mere 5 days.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CHARLESTON
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour
And they slowly fell apart..... What ever this little virus is that's going around the cast, it's busy. At the start of the show, Heather is feeling pretty bad and is worried about how much voice she has. Problem is, her understudy has virtually no voice at all and can barely even speak. Heather will have to do what ever she can. Galen, who is even paler than usual, almost transparent in fact, makes the decision to do a 'half-track' show. That is, he is cut from the dance numbers but does his character scenes which involve dialogue. Tracz, who looks like cold shit on an old bagel, makes is through show, but the effort takes it's toll. Several of the cast and crew, including our Technical Director, are sniffling, sneezing and coughing. It seems that our imminent few days off couldn't come at a better time. Our hotel is a newly renovated Hampton Inn and is quite comfortable. It is near the theatre, which is near the airport. We are also quite near the freeway, so 'peacefulness' isn't the first thing that comes to mind if you should happen to sit outside to enjoy the Carolina weather for a moment. The airport is also home to a posting of The National Guard, so there are constantly gigantic, buzzing transport planes flying low over the hotel. At times it's like being in a vibrating bed that doesn't need quarters. Michael and I take advantage of a warm, sunny afternoon. We rent bicycles and tour around downtown Charleston viewing the beautiful and well maintained old plantation-style mansions, the waterfront, the harbour, and the market. I am desperate to get some good ol' southern BBQ into me so we take an early lunch and I eat a platter of meat. The second show doesn't get any better, in fact the casualty toll gets higher. Heather is out, Keely, her understudy, is in, voice or no voice. Keely has about one octave of sing-able notes in her range and, through a combination of modulation the melodies, sing/speak and sheer will, she makes it through the show. Galen is looking a little better, as is Tracz, but neither of them look anything like healthy people. By the end of the show, I am losing my voice, Stephen is complaining of a sore throat and two of our crew are not feeling so great either. On a brighter note,.... Duff and Sarah do manage to create a beautiful mural of the show logo for us all to sign in the dressing room halls. The theatre has a tradition that casts sign the walls to commemorate their visits. There are some that are quite elaborate like "The Drowsy Chaperon" (see photo) and "Sweeney Todd", and some that are downright primitive like Bill Cosby and David Byrne. Outside my dressing room door, there are signatures of luminaries like Anne Murray, Oprah Winfrey and that perky, blond Calgary girl who was in our "Dirty Rotten..." cast this summer, Victoria Lamond.
Monday, February 23, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CHARLESTON
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
I continue to receive reports about the infamous 'bowlers' at the Hilton Toledo. It seems that quite a few of our group were kept up in to the wee hours by the antics of the party platoon.
I hear through the grape vine that we have played to over 10,000 people in our four days in Toledo. Who knew the Toledoans (Toledoites?) were such rabid theatre goers?
The morning comes too early as we stumble aboard the bus to get to the Detroit airport by 9 a.m. We have a day of flying as our flight takes us from Detroit to Charlotte NC then on to North Charleston SC. Our ascent and descent on both flights is very rough. LOTS of dips, dives and stomach churning lurches. Most people can cope with this, but poor Christy suffers from severe motion sickness. By the time we land in Charlotte, she is pale enough to be transparent. After we arrive in Charleston, I run into her in the hotel elevator. She is looking a little better, but still not feeling herself. She's on her way to bed.
Michael and I take advantage of a rare evening together and take a cab into downtown Charleston to enjoy a fine meal at the city's best seafood restaurant. We spend the early part of the evening enjoying the area, checking out the architecture, the horse and carriage stable next to the parking lot, the bars, the art galleries and, ultimately, and cute little wine store. We stumble on a London-style cab and ride back to our hotel feeling royal. The weather here is a bit on the cool side, but a far site better than the cold and blowing snow in Toledo. The boys are praying for a few more degrees so that they can do some golfing on Wednesday afternoon.
I continue to receive reports about the infamous 'bowlers' at the Hilton Toledo. It seems that quite a few of our group were kept up in to the wee hours by the antics of the party platoon.
I hear through the grape vine that we have played to over 10,000 people in our four days in Toledo. Who knew the Toledoans (Toledoites?) were such rabid theatre goers?
The morning comes too early as we stumble aboard the bus to get to the Detroit airport by 9 a.m. We have a day of flying as our flight takes us from Detroit to Charlotte NC then on to North Charleston SC. Our ascent and descent on both flights is very rough. LOTS of dips, dives and stomach churning lurches. Most people can cope with this, but poor Christy suffers from severe motion sickness. By the time we land in Charlotte, she is pale enough to be transparent. After we arrive in Charleston, I run into her in the hotel elevator. She is looking a little better, but still not feeling herself. She's on her way to bed.
Michael and I take advantage of a rare evening together and take a cab into downtown Charleston to enjoy a fine meal at the city's best seafood restaurant. We spend the early part of the evening enjoying the area, checking out the architecture, the horse and carriage stable next to the parking lot, the bars, the art galleries and, ultimately, and cute little wine store. We stumble on a London-style cab and ride back to our hotel feeling royal. The weather here is a bit on the cool side, but a far site better than the cold and blowing snow in Toledo. The boys are praying for a few more degrees so that they can do some golfing on Wednesday afternoon.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
...and another thing
...and another thing..
Pretty much every hotel we stay in has a "conservation program" in effect. They all have different names for it, but it's basically the same thing. If you're staying more than one night, you can opt out of having your sheets and towels replaced every day. In this way, the hotel is helping the environment by saving millions of gallons of water, hours of electricity and avoiding tons of chemicals ending up in the ground water. The tree-hugger in me would like to believe that the mega-corps actually care. The realist in me knows that it's nothing more than a shameless marketing ploy, begrudging enacted under pressure. Why? First: if they were truly committed to the environment or their program, they would train their housekeeping staff to follow the rules. No matter where I put my once-used towels, the maids INSIST on replacing them. On the shower rod, on the bathroom door, rehung on the towel bar, hidden in the closet or under the bed - they trade them for clean ones. Second: how can one profess to be "committed" to the planet and then happily supply guests with millions upon millions of plastic and Styrofoam cups. And worse still, to satisfy the germ-o-phobes who have been brainwashed into believing that bacterial are evil, the plastic cups are wrapped in .......PLASTIC!!!! If convenience is the enemy, then stupidity, greed and complacency are it's allies.
Pretty much every hotel we stay in has a "conservation program" in effect. They all have different names for it, but it's basically the same thing. If you're staying more than one night, you can opt out of having your sheets and towels replaced every day. In this way, the hotel is helping the environment by saving millions of gallons of water, hours of electricity and avoiding tons of chemicals ending up in the ground water. The tree-hugger in me would like to believe that the mega-corps actually care. The realist in me knows that it's nothing more than a shameless marketing ploy, begrudging enacted under pressure. Why? First: if they were truly committed to the environment or their program, they would train their housekeeping staff to follow the rules. No matter where I put my once-used towels, the maids INSIST on replacing them. On the shower rod, on the bathroom door, rehung on the towel bar, hidden in the closet or under the bed - they trade them for clean ones. Second: how can one profess to be "committed" to the planet and then happily supply guests with millions upon millions of plastic and Styrofoam cups. And worse still, to satisfy the germ-o-phobes who have been brainwashed into believing that bacterial are evil, the plastic cups are wrapped in .......PLASTIC!!!! If convenience is the enemy, then stupidity, greed and complacency are it's allies.
DIRTY ROTTEN TOLEDO
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
The drive to Toledo is a long one and, right from the beginning, we know it's going to be a push to get to the theatre. We do not, however, count on having a grand total of fifteen, yes 15 minutes in our hotel rooms before having to board the bus for the theatre. There is food waiting for us in the green room, pizza and lasagna, none of which I can eat but probably wouldn't anyway. On top of being too rushed to feel human, we are also too rushed to be familiarized with our hazardous stage. The floor surface is so slippery that, once again, we are doing Dirty Rotten on Ice.
On top of the skating rink issue, the stage is not level. I don't mean get-your-carpenters-level-out-to-prove-it kind of not level. I mean, when-your-standing-center-stage-you-feel-like-you're-on-a-hillside kind of not level. Under normal circumstances, this is only a minor inconvenience, noticed mostly by the dancers to whom it can present some problems. However, in this show, every single set piece is on wheels. The villa staircase unit, the balcony/hotel suite unit, all the palm trees, the hotel desk, everything rolls. At the end of my balcony scene with K.K., the boys come on stage to turn the balcony unit around for the next scene and, as they walk away, the unit just keeps on drifting. It continues to drift throughout the scene to the point where it is almost sideways on the stage. In another scene, the palm trees are lined up along the back of the stage to provide some colour and depth. For no reason, they begin to migrate toward the middle of the stage during the scene. Those on stage can hardly contain themselves. It's like being in a scene from "Attack of The Killer Tomatoes", but with palm trees. Thankfully, it's a short scene.
After the show we hit the hotel lounge. Sarah receives a phone call and quite clearly becomes very upset. We find out later that her beloved dog has had an accident and the prognosis is not good. Our hearts break for her. This is the hard part of being on the road, being away, being out of touch, being unable to "do" anything. And to top it off, it's her birthday. Thankfully, the next day, some kind of miracle occurs and the situation is greatly improved.
Though we are staying at the Hilton in Toledo, you'd never know it by the clientele. There is a convention of bowlers that come for 3 weekends every year. They are legion. Picture the loudest, fattest, drunkest, stereotypical trailer trash you can, and you'll start to get the picture. I run in to a man carrying a gallon bottle of vodka as I exit the elevator. Some of the cast has to actually elbow their way through the party crowds in the hallways to get to their room. Pembleton tells me that the room next door to him is still going strong (and loud) at 2:30 a.m. We may not often have the chance to say, "I believe we are the classiest people staying in this hotel".
The drive to Toledo is a long one and, right from the beginning, we know it's going to be a push to get to the theatre. We do not, however, count on having a grand total of fifteen, yes 15 minutes in our hotel rooms before having to board the bus for the theatre. There is food waiting for us in the green room, pizza and lasagna, none of which I can eat but probably wouldn't anyway. On top of being too rushed to feel human, we are also too rushed to be familiarized with our hazardous stage. The floor surface is so slippery that, once again, we are doing Dirty Rotten on Ice.
On top of the skating rink issue, the stage is not level. I don't mean get-your-carpenters-level-out-to-prove-it kind of not level. I mean, when-your-standing-center-stage-you-feel-like-you're-on-a-hillside kind of not level. Under normal circumstances, this is only a minor inconvenience, noticed mostly by the dancers to whom it can present some problems. However, in this show, every single set piece is on wheels. The villa staircase unit, the balcony/hotel suite unit, all the palm trees, the hotel desk, everything rolls. At the end of my balcony scene with K.K., the boys come on stage to turn the balcony unit around for the next scene and, as they walk away, the unit just keeps on drifting. It continues to drift throughout the scene to the point where it is almost sideways on the stage. In another scene, the palm trees are lined up along the back of the stage to provide some colour and depth. For no reason, they begin to migrate toward the middle of the stage during the scene. Those on stage can hardly contain themselves. It's like being in a scene from "Attack of The Killer Tomatoes", but with palm trees. Thankfully, it's a short scene.
After the show we hit the hotel lounge. Sarah receives a phone call and quite clearly becomes very upset. We find out later that her beloved dog has had an accident and the prognosis is not good. Our hearts break for her. This is the hard part of being on the road, being away, being out of touch, being unable to "do" anything. And to top it off, it's her birthday. Thankfully, the next day, some kind of miracle occurs and the situation is greatly improved.
Though we are staying at the Hilton in Toledo, you'd never know it by the clientele. There is a convention of bowlers that come for 3 weekends every year. They are legion. Picture the loudest, fattest, drunkest, stereotypical trailer trash you can, and you'll start to get the picture. I run in to a man carrying a gallon bottle of vodka as I exit the elevator. Some of the cast has to actually elbow their way through the party crowds in the hallways to get to their room. Pembleton tells me that the room next door to him is still going strong (and loud) at 2:30 a.m. We may not often have the chance to say, "I believe we are the classiest people staying in this hotel".
DIRTY ROTTEN OWENSBORO
"DIrty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
Though I am in the famed locale of the only mystery play writing festival in
North America (as far as I know) there is little time to investigate it. We
arrive at 2 pm and because we have a 7 pm curtain (bed time comes early in
Kentucky) the bus call to leave the hotel for the theatre is 5:45. As the
hotel is in the middle of fuckingnowhere, there is little time for anything
but a quick trip to Kroger's grocery and a stop at White Lightening Liquors
before a shower, shave and oh-so-cursory-meditation. I do scrounge a few
minutes to call Mark, artistic director of Vertigo Mystery Theatre, and tell
him that I'm in the holy land.
The show is mediocre, as is the very large crowd, though they do (as usual) express their appreciation by standing at the end. I am not having a good night. It starts when I completely destroy any hope of a laugh on one of my sure-fire laugh-lines by stumbling over the words and totally fucking up the timing. It goes down hill from there for a variety of reasons, to the point where I am actually relieved to see the audience rise to their feet (albeit, slowly).
Though I am in the famed locale of the only mystery play writing festival in
North America (as far as I know) there is little time to investigate it. We
arrive at 2 pm and because we have a 7 pm curtain (bed time comes early in
Kentucky) the bus call to leave the hotel for the theatre is 5:45. As the
hotel is in the middle of fuckingnowhere, there is little time for anything
but a quick trip to Kroger's grocery and a stop at White Lightening Liquors
before a shower, shave and oh-so-cursory-meditation. I do scrounge a few
minutes to call Mark, artistic director of Vertigo Mystery Theatre, and tell
him that I'm in the holy land.
The show is mediocre, as is the very large crowd, though they do (as usual) express their appreciation by standing at the end. I am not having a good night. It starts when I completely destroy any hope of a laugh on one of my sure-fire laugh-lines by stumbling over the words and totally fucking up the timing. It goes down hill from there for a variety of reasons, to the point where I am actually relieved to see the audience rise to their feet (albeit, slowly).
Monday, February 16, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN BRAMPTON
The morning we leave Flint, MI for Brampton, ON, we are greeted by our new bus driver - Lady D. She has a smile as big as the great outdoors and a sparkling personality to match. We love her immediately. The love affair does tarnish slightly a bit later on as we hit stop-and-go- traffic on the 401. The combination of Lady D getting the feel of a new bus and her aggressive, heavy-footed brake/accelerate technique leaves the majority of the bus severely motion sick. I believe there was even some puking. She was spoken to, in the nicest possible way, and her driving smoothed out. Rumour has it that our old driver, James, or King James as we called him, won't be returning to us. As no one has bothered to confirm or deny the rumour so we feel a little like jilted lovers and can't help but wonder if we hogged the blankets or burned the meatloaf.
The Rose Theatre in Brampton is a cute little place. It feels very tiny to us after playing houses that seat well over 1200 people. The Rose maxes out at 860. The place is only a few years old so nothing looks tired or shabby yet. HOWEVER, I would like to bitch slap the architects. Why, why, oh why do people design theatres when they have no idea what goes on in them. The dressing rooms and the green room are 6 miles from the stage. The last theatre we were in where this was also a problem, it was because of major renovations and space constraints. The Rose is brand new and this flaw is, therefore, unforgivable! Just as unforgivable as putting frosted lights around the make-up mirrors (flattering, yes, but the exact opposite of the stage lighting for which you are trying to do your make-up) and not having a full-length or standing-height mirror (When, Mr. Architect, was the last time you sat down in front of the mirror to put your tie on?).
Our first night audience is like an audience, but smaller. Also quieter. ALOT quieter. In fact, our first show back in Canada sucks. They barely make a sound. We are not impressed. And it only gets worse when we got back to our oh-so-not-with-it Holiday Inn to find that the lounge had closed at 10 pm. Given that there is a statue of Ganesha that greets you as you come in to the main lobby, I can only assume that the owners are Hindu and, therefore, don't understand the concept of a night-cap or alcohol as self-medication. Our next 2 shows are much better with much more responsive crowds. Saturday night is a near capacity crowd.
I had thought that I would have to spend Sunday (day off in Brampton) auditioning for "Moon Over Buffalo" (which I am directing for Drayton in July). But things don't turn out that way so I rent a car and head to Niagara. Being home for 18 hours is odd, but I manage to get some laundry done, re-organize my bags, visit with Pam, scarf down a cheese buffet provided by Katy & Jess (our house sitters) and sleep in my own bed. Michael, who is sick as a dog and already en route to Kentucky is jealous of my quick trip. All I can do is bring him jam.
Now back in Brampton at the Holiday Inn, I wonder what I will do with myself since it's a holiday and everything is closed. Well.....thanks to Pam, I DO have vodka.
The Rose Theatre in Brampton is a cute little place. It feels very tiny to us after playing houses that seat well over 1200 people. The Rose maxes out at 860. The place is only a few years old so nothing looks tired or shabby yet. HOWEVER, I would like to bitch slap the architects. Why, why, oh why do people design theatres when they have no idea what goes on in them. The dressing rooms and the green room are 6 miles from the stage. The last theatre we were in where this was also a problem, it was because of major renovations and space constraints. The Rose is brand new and this flaw is, therefore, unforgivable! Just as unforgivable as putting frosted lights around the make-up mirrors (flattering, yes, but the exact opposite of the stage lighting for which you are trying to do your make-up) and not having a full-length or standing-height mirror (When, Mr. Architect, was the last time you sat down in front of the mirror to put your tie on?).
Our first night audience is like an audience, but smaller. Also quieter. ALOT quieter. In fact, our first show back in Canada sucks. They barely make a sound. We are not impressed. And it only gets worse when we got back to our oh-so-not-with-it Holiday Inn to find that the lounge had closed at 10 pm. Given that there is a statue of Ganesha that greets you as you come in to the main lobby, I can only assume that the owners are Hindu and, therefore, don't understand the concept of a night-cap or alcohol as self-medication. Our next 2 shows are much better with much more responsive crowds. Saturday night is a near capacity crowd.
I had thought that I would have to spend Sunday (day off in Brampton) auditioning for "Moon Over Buffalo" (which I am directing for Drayton in July). But things don't turn out that way so I rent a car and head to Niagara. Being home for 18 hours is odd, but I manage to get some laundry done, re-organize my bags, visit with Pam, scarf down a cheese buffet provided by Katy & Jess (our house sitters) and sleep in my own bed. Michael, who is sick as a dog and already en route to Kentucky is jealous of my quick trip. All I can do is bring him jam.
Now back in Brampton at the Holiday Inn, I wonder what I will do with myself since it's a holiday and everything is closed. Well.....thanks to Pam, I DO have vodka.
Friday, February 13, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN GRIND
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"....on tour
At this point in the tour, we arrive at the real grind of doing a "bus & truck" tour. Though we don't perform every night, for nine consecutive days we do not spend more than 16 or 18 hours in one place. Check in, check out, check in, check out. Abilene TX, Monroe LA, Atlanta GA, Fayetteville LA, Athens GA, Louisville KY, Ft. Wayne IL, Muncie IN, Davenport IA. Long days trapped on the bus begin to take their toll. It gets increasingly difficult to find one's "bus Zen".
The show in Ft. Wayne is not a memorable one, though the theatre is another one of those grand old beauties. Muncie's theatre is not pretty but the crowd is wild, being peppered with many students from the University theater program.
Davenport is a pretty little place even if it does sound like furniture. Grand old Victorian mansions looking out at the bucolic view of the riverboat casinos along the Mississippi. The theatre is only a block or so from the hotel. Oddly enough, the dressing rooms are about the same distance from the stage. No lie, to get to my dressing room I have to follow a series of long and twisting hallways that would rival underground Disney or NASA. By the time I get there, I'm convinced I'm under the Chinese restaurant in the next block. Because the show is a cavalcade of costume changes, pretty much everyone is forced to change in cramped, makeshift areas in the wings. The theater in the River Center is a huge deco-style affair (2400 seats). One of it's claims to fame is that Cary Grant died in one of the dressing rooms in '86. After the show, some of us wander over to the casino by our hotel. We enjoy teaching Howard (the largest drummer in captivity) how to play the slot machines, a concept that seems difficult for him to grasp for a while which only entertains us more. We are proud to say we popped his slot cherry.
Overnight in Flint MI tonight, which used to be the suicide capitol of North America (see Michael Moore's film "Roger & Me"). Then crossing the border to our home and native land tomorrow for 3 shows in Brampton. We're all very excited.
At this point in the tour, we arrive at the real grind of doing a "bus & truck" tour. Though we don't perform every night, for nine consecutive days we do not spend more than 16 or 18 hours in one place. Check in, check out, check in, check out. Abilene TX, Monroe LA, Atlanta GA, Fayetteville LA, Athens GA, Louisville KY, Ft. Wayne IL, Muncie IN, Davenport IA. Long days trapped on the bus begin to take their toll. It gets increasingly difficult to find one's "bus Zen".
The show in Ft. Wayne is not a memorable one, though the theatre is another one of those grand old beauties. Muncie's theatre is not pretty but the crowd is wild, being peppered with many students from the University theater program.
Davenport is a pretty little place even if it does sound like furniture. Grand old Victorian mansions looking out at the bucolic view of the riverboat casinos along the Mississippi. The theatre is only a block or so from the hotel. Oddly enough, the dressing rooms are about the same distance from the stage. No lie, to get to my dressing room I have to follow a series of long and twisting hallways that would rival underground Disney or NASA. By the time I get there, I'm convinced I'm under the Chinese restaurant in the next block. Because the show is a cavalcade of costume changes, pretty much everyone is forced to change in cramped, makeshift areas in the wings. The theater in the River Center is a huge deco-style affair (2400 seats). One of it's claims to fame is that Cary Grant died in one of the dressing rooms in '86. After the show, some of us wander over to the casino by our hotel. We enjoy teaching Howard (the largest drummer in captivity) how to play the slot machines, a concept that seems difficult for him to grasp for a while which only entertains us more. We are proud to say we popped his slot cherry.
Overnight in Flint MI tonight, which used to be the suicide capitol of North America (see Michael Moore's film "Roger & Me"). Then crossing the border to our home and native land tomorrow for 3 shows in Brampton. We're all very excited.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN FAYETTEVILLE/ATHENS
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"...on tour...
Well, my over-worked little lap-top computer has finally given up the ghost. I'll have to take it in for repair as soon as we're in one place long enough for me to do that. Hopefully, we'll be staying in large enough and up-to-date enough places that they'll at least have some kind of business center where I can access email.
Our show in Fayetteville wasn't great. Huge house with only a few hundred people scattered throughout. The theatre was definitely a bit run down and look a bit rough around the edges, But, apparently, so were we since the audience response was tepid at best. As the hotel wasn't particularly memorable either, we were happy to leave the next morning.
Athens, GA proves much more welcoming. Huge crowd. Very responsive and vocal throughout. It is both Brian and Duff's birthday as well. Heather writes "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in lipstick across Michael's ass so that he can display it to Brian from the wings as Brian is trapped on stage. Most of the cast go out to celebrate and are VERY green & grumpy as they board the bus next morning. Even Paul remarks the he doesn't think he's ever heard the back of the bus so quiet. Those of us that can concentrate on things other than our pounding heads or churning stomachs are loath to leave Georgia as the weather is beautiful and warm, but leave we must.
We stop for a lunch break somewhere outs tide of Nashville, TN. There is a local Sunday flea market that Duff and I decide to check out. There are some not UNinteresting things, but mostly it is mountains of used DVDs and boxes of dried foods that look like they've fallen off the back of a truck. There are also plenty of men dressed in camouflage with "Massey Ferguson" or "Harvester International" hats, and little old ladies listening to fiddle recordings of "Jesus Loves Me". They all look askance at us because we have clearly not swum in their gene pool. At one point, Duff overhears a kid ask, "Moma, can I have a skinnin' knife?"
We spend the night in Louisville, KY. Our hotel is one of those grand old, turn of the century ladies who's "had a little work done". Nothing too drastic though because she still looks great and reeks of style. The Steelbach Hilton is full of moulded cornices, marble floors, burnished wood and brass bannisters. The lounge is one of those dark, plush places that is reminiscent of 'gentleman's clubs' where you could disappear from society for hours at a time. The rooms, though small, are very tasteful and have, miraculously, managed to maintain their original heavy wood doors. We are literally across the street from "4th Street Live", Louisville's main entertainment area. I choose a steak-house-type restaurant and as the server to educate about bourbon. I have to say that, in spite of my long and mostly unblemished drinking career, bourbon and I are still trying to come to terms. It's definitely an acquired taste. This from someone who has happily consumed large amounts of room temperature gin or blue curacao liqueur when there was nothing else at hand.
Well, my over-worked little lap-top computer has finally given up the ghost. I'll have to take it in for repair as soon as we're in one place long enough for me to do that. Hopefully, we'll be staying in large enough and up-to-date enough places that they'll at least have some kind of business center where I can access email.
Our show in Fayetteville wasn't great. Huge house with only a few hundred people scattered throughout. The theatre was definitely a bit run down and look a bit rough around the edges, But, apparently, so were we since the audience response was tepid at best. As the hotel wasn't particularly memorable either, we were happy to leave the next morning.
Athens, GA proves much more welcoming. Huge crowd. Very responsive and vocal throughout. It is both Brian and Duff's birthday as well. Heather writes "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in lipstick across Michael's ass so that he can display it to Brian from the wings as Brian is trapped on stage. Most of the cast go out to celebrate and are VERY green & grumpy as they board the bus next morning. Even Paul remarks the he doesn't think he's ever heard the back of the bus so quiet. Those of us that can concentrate on things other than our pounding heads or churning stomachs are loath to leave Georgia as the weather is beautiful and warm, but leave we must.
We stop for a lunch break somewhere outs tide of Nashville, TN. There is a local Sunday flea market that Duff and I decide to check out. There are some not UNinteresting things, but mostly it is mountains of used DVDs and boxes of dried foods that look like they've fallen off the back of a truck. There are also plenty of men dressed in camouflage with "Massey Ferguson" or "Harvester International" hats, and little old ladies listening to fiddle recordings of "Jesus Loves Me". They all look askance at us because we have clearly not swum in their gene pool. At one point, Duff overhears a kid ask, "Moma, can I have a skinnin' knife?"
We spend the night in Louisville, KY. Our hotel is one of those grand old, turn of the century ladies who's "had a little work done". Nothing too drastic though because she still looks great and reeks of style. The Steelbach Hilton is full of moulded cornices, marble floors, burnished wood and brass bannisters. The lounge is one of those dark, plush places that is reminiscent of 'gentleman's clubs' where you could disappear from society for hours at a time. The rooms, though small, are very tasteful and have, miraculously, managed to maintain their original heavy wood doors. We are literally across the street from "4th Street Live", Louisville's main entertainment area. I choose a steak-house-type restaurant and as the server to educate about bourbon. I have to say that, in spite of my long and mostly unblemished drinking career, bourbon and I are still trying to come to terms. It's definitely an acquired taste. This from someone who has happily consumed large amounts of room temperature gin or blue curacao liqueur when there was nothing else at hand.
Friday, February 06, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN ATLANTA
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
As we board the bus to depart from Monroe, LA, I discover that there was drama after I left the lounge. The abbreviated version is that everyones food took an hour or more to arrive, regardless of what it was, and when Jess finally got hers, it wasn't cooked properly. She sent it away and ordered a pizza for delivery. She was told she couldn't eat outside food in the lounge. Managers were called. Apologies were made. Free cocktails were delivered. Little did we know that Jess's bad food karma would rear it's ugly head again when we stop at a sad shopping mall in Columbia, SC for lunch. (How many sportswear and gangsta t-shirt stores does one mall need?) Here is a loose transcription of the conversation that took place between Jess and the Food Court Table Cleaner.
FCTC: Miss, I think you forgot something.
Jess: (realizing she's left some personal items behind). Oh, thanks.
FCTC: Looks like you forgot to clear your tray off your table too.
Jess: Excuse me? I didn't have a tray.
FCTC: Well then one of your friends did.
She then proceeds to hold Jess's stuff hostage until the tray is removed. This same half-crazed-table-Nazi also tracks Duff down IN THE PARKING LOT to let him know that he didn't clear his tray from the table. Jezuz people. Why you gotta hate your life all over us?
We are all, as usual, looking forward to arriving in Atlanta after another long boring day on the bus. As I always do when we go to any large city, I surf the net to see what there is to do. I stumble accross a production of "Jesus Christ Superstar -GOSPEL" that seems to be wowing Atlanta. I decide to check it out, and Galen and Heather tag along. (I find out later that this theater is also where "The Color Purple" and "Aida" were born) We had no idea what to expect and it's difficult to explain, but I can give you the basic building blocks and you let your imagination do the rest. A completely re-worked orchestral and vocal score which is the same music, but Gospel-fied. An all black cast with voices that were superhuman. And, the final touch, added to the cast a 30 member gospel choir. When they walked down the aisle singing in the first number, we knew we were in for something special. We clapped. We hooted. We jived and swayed. We cried. We laughed out of sheer joy. We shivered. Oh, how we shivered. And we lept to our feet before the lights for the curtain call had even come up. One of the most amazing nights I have EVER spent in the theatre.
There was a talk-back after the show and stayed around to chat with a few of the cast, all of whom were delightful and thanked us for spending our free night at their show. Darius de Hass, who played Jesus, raved about how much he loves Toronto, having been there often to visit his aunt who is Salome Bey. (Now we can say we've met Jesus twice in the same week!)
After three long, dull days of driving, we are finally in Fayetteville, NC. It might be nice to do the show again.
As we board the bus to depart from Monroe, LA, I discover that there was drama after I left the lounge. The abbreviated version is that everyones food took an hour or more to arrive, regardless of what it was, and when Jess finally got hers, it wasn't cooked properly. She sent it away and ordered a pizza for delivery. She was told she couldn't eat outside food in the lounge. Managers were called. Apologies were made. Free cocktails were delivered. Little did we know that Jess's bad food karma would rear it's ugly head again when we stop at a sad shopping mall in Columbia, SC for lunch. (How many sportswear and gangsta t-shirt stores does one mall need?) Here is a loose transcription of the conversation that took place between Jess and the Food Court Table Cleaner.
FCTC: Miss, I think you forgot something.
Jess: (realizing she's left some personal items behind). Oh, thanks.
FCTC: Looks like you forgot to clear your tray off your table too.
Jess: Excuse me? I didn't have a tray.
FCTC: Well then one of your friends did.
She then proceeds to hold Jess's stuff hostage until the tray is removed. This same half-crazed-table-Nazi also tracks Duff down IN THE PARKING LOT to let him know that he didn't clear his tray from the table. Jezuz people. Why you gotta hate your life all over us?
We are all, as usual, looking forward to arriving in Atlanta after another long boring day on the bus. As I always do when we go to any large city, I surf the net to see what there is to do. I stumble accross a production of "Jesus Christ Superstar -GOSPEL" that seems to be wowing Atlanta. I decide to check it out, and Galen and Heather tag along. (I find out later that this theater is also where "The Color Purple" and "Aida" were born) We had no idea what to expect and it's difficult to explain, but I can give you the basic building blocks and you let your imagination do the rest. A completely re-worked orchestral and vocal score which is the same music, but Gospel-fied. An all black cast with voices that were superhuman. And, the final touch, added to the cast a 30 member gospel choir. When they walked down the aisle singing in the first number, we knew we were in for something special. We clapped. We hooted. We jived and swayed. We cried. We laughed out of sheer joy. We shivered. Oh, how we shivered. And we lept to our feet before the lights for the curtain call had even come up. One of the most amazing nights I have EVER spent in the theatre.
There was a talk-back after the show and stayed around to chat with a few of the cast, all of whom were delightful and thanked us for spending our free night at their show. Darius de Hass, who played Jesus, raved about how much he loves Toronto, having been there often to visit his aunt who is Salome Bey. (Now we can say we've met Jesus twice in the same week!)
After three long, dull days of driving, we are finally in Fayetteville, NC. It might be nice to do the show again.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN ABILENE
The whole company is extra perky as we gather around the bus in the beautiful morning sunshine. We have been spoiled by having two nights in our very deluxe Dallas Sheraton suites and we drag our heels when faced with moving on.The drive to Abilene is simple and uneventful but for our lunch stop. We pull in to a Shell station in a place that truly deserves to be called Sparrow Fart, Texas. Inside the station there is a Subway sandwich place as well as a local grille that serves up meatloaf, cream gravy, mashed potatoes and the like. As we are getting out of the bus, out attention is taken by.....yes.....it is......it's a life sized cross. And it's being loaded out of the back of a pick-up truck by a tall, thin man. And, yes, he is actually hefting it onto his shoulder and making his way toward the Shell station. Could this be the second coming, right here in Sparrow Fart? Perhaps not. We're quite sure that the bible stories didn't mention Jebus smoking and our cross-toter lights up a Marlborough. Also, this cross, big as it is, has wheels on the bottom to assist in all that pesky dragging. Personally, I am a bit miffed that he parks his cross directly in front of the picnic tables, effectively cutting off access to all three of them. I am forced to go sit in the wagon-wheel chairs. Someone talks to Jebus to find out that he has apparently been across the U.S. five times with his cross. Steve gets permission from Jebus to drag his cross around the parking lot. (Photo attached) As we pull away, he has, miraculously, disappeared. I dub him Heeby-Jebus.
We have a great show in Abilene. Huge crowd who are all having a great time. They not only leap to their feet but many of them are waving their arms in the air during the curtain call. They're very effusive here in Texas.
In the morning, I join the girls gathered around the bus as we prepare to leave Abilene and discover that, as usual, I have caused more of a stir than I know. It seems that the girls found themselves in the position of "enlightening" one or two of the wardrobe/hair people assigned to them last night. At first it was just simple things like, "Do ya'll have the same kind of music as us up there in Canada. Have you heard of Kelly Clarkson?". But then, one of them wonders aloud if Michael, who is basically in charge of them while the show is in the theatre, might be gay? The girls are amused by this and aren't really taking it seriously. They suggest that it's certainly possible. One of the dressers asks, "How do you tell? They look just like everyone else." At this point, the girls realize that they're not in Kansas anymore. One of our girls, interested in whacking the hive, says, "In fact, Michael's husband is in the show." Shock and consternation abound. "They're married??? Like, legally married???? What state????" The girls offer the not-so-gentle reminder that we are from CANADA. Knowing none of this, I enter the room at the end of the night, looking for Michael. Now, when one enters a ladies dressing room it is customary to knock and say "It's a boy", since the girls are often naked. If you want to just knock and barge in, and you are the correct gender, you might say, "It's a girl". Or, you can do what I do, a combination of the two preceded with the announcement, "Homosexual!". Which, of course, is what I did last night. I barged into the room, planted a big kiss on Michael and told him I'd see him at the next stop.
Had I known what kind of a stir I was causing, I'd have asked him to model the new bubble-gum pink Dolce & Gabbana briefs I just bought him. It's quite possible that there is a prayer meeting for our immortal souls somewhere in Abilene right now. What they don't know is that we met Jebus that very day.
The first part of our endless drive to North Carolina lands us in Monroe, LA for a stop-over. The lounge at the hotel is an unlikely combination of camouflage-hatted good ole' boys and blaring gansta' rap music. I retreat to my room.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN DALLAS
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" ...on tour.We all take advantage of the spring-like weather and consume the best of what the very wealthy city of Dallas has to offer. Some go golfing, some go shopping, some take in the grassy knoll assassination museum. I decide to take in the the Tutankhamen exhibit at The Dallas Museum of Art. Sadly, the rest of the stunning museum is closed because it's Monday, but the exhibit is well worth the special $15.00 admission price. Though, I do have to say, there was far less to see than I thought there would be. We know that there were thousands of artifacts from Tut's tomb, we saw perhaps 35 of them in this exhibit. Clearly, Egypt is like your stingy older sister who doesn't like to share her stuff or have it stray too far from her room.
After the museum, we ride on the 100 year old, free trolley car that goes through the tasteful "Uptown" district. Duff, Mike Donald and I enjoy some shopping, a lite lunch and cocktails at The Ritz-Carlton. I feel obliged to photograph the orchids in the lobby of The Ritz for Michael's father. I can assure you, they're real. I notice that they're crazy about valet parking in Dallas. There are red coats hopping into cars everywhere, even at smaller bars or restaurants. Everyone's car is sparkling clean and very new, just like all the buildings. You can smell the money.
Back at the hotel the next day, everyone agrees that, however they may have spent their free day in Dallas, they had a good time and found the people very friendly, open and helpful.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN GREENSBURG (PA)
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels - The Musical' On Tour
We load the bus knowing that we face a full day, well, six hours drive before we get to our hotel. The early part of the drive is scenic as we drive through Brooklyn, under The Brooklyn Bridge, past Ellis Island and The Statue of Liberty with great views of New York Harbour along the way. It's a much more scenic drive the one that got us to Long Island since we came in through The Bronx. Several long, boring hours of driving later we arrive at our hotel. The time is 6:30 p.m. We have a mere half hour to check in to the hotel, freshen and be back on the bus to get us to the theatre for an 8 pm show.
We are in yet another theatre that's too small for us and back stage is the usual mayhem. I still haven't figured out why we cut set pieces but don't cut the crew that would have been moving them. In a cramped backstage we have 18 cast members racing to and fro, 7 of our own crew and 13 local crew. Honestly, because it's not my budget that's paying for them I don't really care, I just want them to get the fuck out of my way. OH, and perhaps NOT whistle a happy tune while doing a set change behind the scrim that I'm doing a scene in front of. The audience is small, but appreciative and, after last night's show, we are relieved to know that we still have the power to make them laugh.
Apparently, my hotel room karma is very good this week. I assume that everyone's room is as deluxe as mine but I find out that I'm the only one that lucked into this kind of luxury. The room is huge. It's so big that the king sized bed looks small. There is a sofa, coffee table, fridge, microwave, desk & chair, flat screen tv. stereo and, oh yeah, a two person jacuzzi in the corner beside the tv. And you could play handball in the bathroom. Heather actually offers me money so that she and Galen can have jacuzzi play time. I remain impassive and when I get back from the show, I sit in the swirling water eating my left over salad from McDonald's, drinking Australian plonk and watching "Iron Chef".
Tomorrow we fly to Dallas where we get to spend a day. We are all looking foward to feeling the energy of a city, if only briefly.
We load the bus knowing that we face a full day, well, six hours drive before we get to our hotel. The early part of the drive is scenic as we drive through Brooklyn, under The Brooklyn Bridge, past Ellis Island and The Statue of Liberty with great views of New York Harbour along the way. It's a much more scenic drive the one that got us to Long Island since we came in through The Bronx. Several long, boring hours of driving later we arrive at our hotel. The time is 6:30 p.m. We have a mere half hour to check in to the hotel, freshen and be back on the bus to get us to the theatre for an 8 pm show.
We are in yet another theatre that's too small for us and back stage is the usual mayhem. I still haven't figured out why we cut set pieces but don't cut the crew that would have been moving them. In a cramped backstage we have 18 cast members racing to and fro, 7 of our own crew and 13 local crew. Honestly, because it's not my budget that's paying for them I don't really care, I just want them to get the fuck out of my way. OH, and perhaps NOT whistle a happy tune while doing a set change behind the scrim that I'm doing a scene in front of. The audience is small, but appreciative and, after last night's show, we are relieved to know that we still have the power to make them laugh.
Apparently, my hotel room karma is very good this week. I assume that everyone's room is as deluxe as mine but I find out that I'm the only one that lucked into this kind of luxury. The room is huge. It's so big that the king sized bed looks small. There is a sofa, coffee table, fridge, microwave, desk & chair, flat screen tv. stereo and, oh yeah, a two person jacuzzi in the corner beside the tv. And you could play handball in the bathroom. Heather actually offers me money so that she and Galen can have jacuzzi play time. I remain impassive and when I get back from the show, I sit in the swirling water eating my left over salad from McDonald's, drinking Australian plonk and watching "Iron Chef".
Tomorrow we fly to Dallas where we get to spend a day. We are all looking foward to feeling the energy of a city, if only briefly.
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