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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Dirty Rotten Map

I may have posted this before, but for those of you who missed it.....here is the on line map that Mike Tracz created of all the places we have played.

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 are not and will not ever be properly equipped to deal with living performers of any kind, or with shows that involve more than one back wall and a 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 10 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 with ill-behaved, screaming sperm-consequence clinging to their limbs who inhabit the place before I retreat 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 it is currently 80-something-degrees-Fahrenheit and our hotel is a short cab ride to the beach.

DIRTY ROTTEN WITCHITA, KS

The Century II Hall wins the award for being the weirdest space we've ever played in. The building looks like a giant flying saucer and it houses several "performance spaces" some of which can double as exhibition space. The "stages" of these spaces meet in the middle of the circle, their backstage walls forming an unevenly sliced pie of three (I think) pieces. Though we are in the permanent theatre space, which has a pretty big capacity, the wing space backstage is not good and we are once again forced to edit the show and keep our backstage radar on to keep from being killed. Allison tells me that this structure is the local tornado shelter (Toto, I think we're in Kansas) which is no surprise given it's aerodynamic shape and solid cement construction.

Question: Why is it, that on every local crew, there is one guy that's always in the fucking way. One guy that always somehow manages to be standing in the exact spot that will prohibit a whole slew of people from getting to where they need to go. And as if this weren't bad enough, he seems constantly surprised, and a little annoyed that people either ask him to move or, if they are in a hurry, move him out of their way as he lumbers from inconvenient spot to inconvenient spot.

We are staying at another great old historic hotel in Wichita. The Broadview, built in 1922. Discussion with the cast reveals that about half of us got rooms so small you have to go into the hall to blink, while the other half got rooms so large that you could play Jai Alai in them. (Michael and I got the large room) Because it is an historic hotel, however, their heating/cooling system is very specific. They blow HEAT only until April, and then switch to A/C only until October. Because the weather is unseasonably warm, we are advised to leave our windows open to cool the room. I love the antique, overstuffed chairs and couches in the lobby, the free popcorn from the circus-style, portable cart and the fact that the bartender seems to like us all enough to pour us 16oz glasses of wine for $4. (Ahh.....America......land of the free pour)

Because we perform two nights here, Michael and I have a day to spend together. I do a brief on-line surf of the various museums in town and can't find anything I'm interested in, even though the Museum of Art that we can see from our window is a beautiful bit of architecture. The downtown core is reminiscent of our day in Sioux City, Iowa....a whole lotta nothin'. This is a downtown core that was already on the verge of disaster even before the current economic crunch. We are told that the only place where there is anything at all is the district they call Old Town, a 20 minute walk from the hotel. What we discover is a few restaurants, the odd up-scale shop, a movie theatre, and a whole lot of old cobble stone streets. It's trying to be like the Distillery District in Toronto but not quite achieving it's goal.....though we appreciate the effort.

DIRTY ROTTEN FT. SMITH, AR

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

It's another long, long bus day to get to FT. Smith. Since we are on back roads, the scenery is beautiful and very interesting. I am amazed by the number of what I believe are called "shot gun shacks", small, scrubby shacks, badly in need of paint or TLC, raised up on cement footings. What amazes me even more is that they are often very near brand new McMansions.

It is near 8 pm when we finally arrive. I can always tell when we've been on the bus for more than 7 hours. After the seventh hour, Mike Donald's bitterness barometer begins to rise exponentially minute by minute. ("Aug...get me off this tin can. Why you gotta take a wrong turn? No, no, don't back up, just let me off already.") Thankfully, there is no show until the following night. Michael, Duff, Geoffrey and I go to Red Lobster for dinner and embarrass the hell out of the cute gay boy who serves us. He'll be talking about us for weeks.

The show the next night is uneventful. The wing space is cramped and the crew is not the most experienced, but these are all minor things that we've dealt with often. Allison is, at one point in the show, forced to do "the walk of shame". She has a small but important walk-across in one scene where she greets Brian's character and then shuns Steve's character before she glides gracefully up the stairs and out the main doors wearing a stunning (and very short) tangerine, designer dress. It all goes as it should until she tries to open the doors for her exit. They don't budge. She tries a little harder. Nothing. Dropping all pretense of acting, she rattles them with all her might. Still nothing. There is nothing for her at this point except to gather any dignity she might have left, descend the stairs, turn and walk off into the wings.

The audience is a bit quiet and tentative through the show but they certainly show their appreciation at the end, leaping to their feet, screaming and bravo-ing like crazy.

DIRTY ROTTEN LAFAYETTE

The highway between Baton Rouge and Lafayette is mostly a raised road, basically a really, really, really long bridge. The reason for this is that we are driving across hundreds of thousands of acres of swamp and wetland. Lady D tells us that after hurricane Katrina, she was one of the bus drivers that volunteered to drive people out of the area. She says that there were over 6,000 buses lined up along this very highway, in a 15 hour line-up waiting to get fuel and their instructions from the military. She vividly remembers seeing people's furniture, appliances and personal effects floating in the water beside the road.

I am fascinated by the terrain. I have lived in the far north and on a tropical island, on the prairie and in the mountains, and am comfortable in all those places, but the swamps and marshes feel foreign and mysterious to me. A pair of barracuda or startled caribou are things I know how to deal with, I'm not sure I can say the same for a Water Moccasin or an alligator.

I am amused to see that the sign on the edge of the city says "Welcome to Lafayette" as well as, "Bienvenue a Lafayette". The Cajun presence is strong here. Brian tells me that a waitress in the restaurant has a Cajun twang powerful enough that he can barely understand her.

We are staying at a Hilton, which is usually a treat, but they seem to be having a problem with their service elevators, so all the housekeeping staff is using the guest elevators which means that you can either take the stairs (anywhere up to 15 floors) or wait a good 10 or 15 minutes for an elevator. Mike Donald and I try taking the stairs down from our floor and find that the stairs bypass the lobby level completely and eject you out onto the pool deck. Helpful. On the morning of check-out, I wait a good long time for the elevator doors to open and when they finally do, I see Mel & Allison sitting on their luggage. They have been riding the elevator for so long, trying to get to the lobby, that they are almost asleep.

...and another thing...

Some notes to the Lakeland Holiday Inn and Convention Center regarding service, and how to give it.

First, it's probably not a good thing that your front desk staff, your front line, the first people that any guest comes into contact with, know absolutely nothing about your hotel. Here is a sampling of conversations with a variety of your staff:

ME: Will the bar be open later tonight?
CLERK: Yup. Well, I mean they close at 10.
ME: That's not late enough. I won't be back 'til 11
CLERK: Oh. Well, they'll be open. But not for food. Maybe.
(They were NOT open)
**************************
ME: Do you have an ATM in the hotel?
CLERK: (screaming into an office behind her) DO WE HAVE AN ATM?
DISEMBODIED VOICE: no
CLERK:(to me) No.
ME: Thank you so much for your help.
********************************
CHRISTY: I need quarters for the laundry.
CLERK: I can only give you three dollars worth. Is that enough?
CHRISTY: Um.....it's $1.50 for the wash and $1.50 for the dryer and $1.25 for soap.
CLERK: So, you need more than three dollars?

Though cleaning a hotel room isn't a difficult job, it would seem that attending to the details is. It's bad enough that I have to drink my wine from a plastic cup. The insult is amplified when the maid removes the dirty cups without replacing them with clean ones. Oh, and that ice cold cup of coffee still sitting on the coffee maker in mid afternoon, .....probably not going to drink that.....it's o.k to remove it.

You also need to pay attention to your machines. The ice machine on my floor is a Jerry Lewis movie come to life. When the button is pushed, it begins to grind, and whir, and clunk and chug, and rattle and shake and eventually, after 10 or 20 seconds, four or five tiny cubes are regurgitated into the waiting bucket. To obtain enough ice for one or two drinks requires a whole lot more grinding, whirring, clunking, chugging, rattling and shaking. Then there is the clothes dryer. I was told that one full cycle (costing $1.25) wasn't enough to dry the clothes, but I didn't believe it. So, tie me up and call me an unbeliever. After a full 30 minutes on a setting called "extreme high heat", my mixed load was still damp enough to wipe my face with.

I won't even begin to discuss the heinous crimes wrought by your "restaurant", not the least of which is the edible-oil spray-on-cheese dressing the nachos. The horror stories told to me by the cast about the food coming out of this establishment would rival any episode of "Haunted Places".

But the weather was nice.

DIRTY ROTTEN LAKELAND, FL

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

It's a good thing our departure time was as early as it was because it is already 4 pm by the time we arrive in Lakeland. The Holiday Inn is, as usual, in the middle of nowhere so there is precious little to do but take advantage of the laundry facilities, surf the agonizingly slow Internet or wander the aisles of Boutique Target (it's pronounced Tar-jhay).

The bus call is 7pm for an 8pm curtain, Things are going fine until we close in on the theatre and encounter total grid-lock. We try to flatter ourselves into believing that the chaos is caused by the waves of people coming to see us, but there is another large venue in the performance center and it is the combination of the two that creating havoc. We decide that it will actually be faster to get out and walk, so Lady D opens the door and lets us pour out into the frozen traffic, creating our usual spectacle. Unsure of where the stage door is as we approach the complex, we make a full-frontal assault on the front entrance and give the front of house ushers a heart attack as we storm the doors for the theatre shouting, "We're the cast, we're the cast!" The show has sold well and even though we fear that they are another group of retired Republicans, they turn out to be a pretty good audience.

To take advantage of the sun, a few of us do a group yoga session on the grass the next morning and manage to find our inner peace in spite of the noise from the freeway. Eventually it becomes clear that there was a small contingent of people who went to Hooter's and got ridiculously drunk the night before. There is a noticeable dip in the Florida fresh water supply as they all try to rehydrate themselves. Despite the ashen skin and stories of puking, there is already plans for another outing once the night has fallen.

DIRTY ROTTEN NICEVILLE, FL

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

Actually, we are staying in Destin, Fl, but performing in Niceville (the town so nice, they named it once. Better than OK, but not quite really terrific. It's nice). It is one of the curses of doing a one-nighter to drive past pristine white sand beaches that are being tickled by crystal green waves and know that you will barely have enough time to shower, shave and head for the theatre. Fortunately, our hotel is only a few blocks from the beach and even though we have a mere 2 hours before our bus leaves for the theatre, most of us do manage to enjoy a little sun and sand. I insist on throwing myself into the ocean even though it is freezing (well, no colder than Grand Bend in June). As soon as I taste the salt and feel it in my nose, all is right with my world again. In the ocean, I am complete.

The theatre is serious 25 minute drive and it is after 7 p.m by the time we arrive and figure out where the bus can drop us off. Somehow, we manage to get the show started just after 7:30. The house is packed (95%) and they are loving the show. Although they must all be retired Republicans because they didn't find any humour at all in the Bush joke and they certainly were not amused with the sexual innuendo in my scenes with KK.

There is very little talk of 'going out' on the bus ride back to the hotel because we are facing a long drive to Lakeland and the call time for departure is 7:30 a.m. Some of the kids on this tour aren't even aware that 7:30 exists in a format other than p.m. Because Destin is basically surrounded on four sides by water, and the breeze coming in from the Gulf of Mexico is chilly, the morning is an odd mix of warmth, humidity and dense fog. Perfect for sleeping. Its a very quiet bus.

DIRTY ROTTEN BATON ROUGE (performance day)

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

The 'free wireless internet' has been out for over 24 hours. I figure that, since I'm meeting Michael downtown in the afternoon anyway, I might as well take my computer and hunt for a wireless signal. I find a bench in the park by the art gallery and pirate the wireless signal from The Hilton. Eventually, my concentration begins to wander and my eyelids droop. I lie down on the bench, in the shade of a gigantic magnolia tree and drift away for an afternoon nap. Bliss.

I meet Michael at the art gallery at 3 and we enjoy the extensive Rodin exhibit. Then we go to the top floor of the gallery and have some fantastic sushi while watching the ships and barges work up and down the river.

The River Centre (sorry, CentER), where we're performing, was built in '77 and is definitely showing it's age and more than a few signs of neglect. They are in the process of renovation and sprucing the place up which is good, but it means there are no lights around the make-up mirrors in the dressing rooms, which is bad. All we have to work with is one shadowy pot light in the ceiling. Mind you, it's easy to look beautiful in the dark. I also note that the floor in either corner behind the toilet in my bathroom probably hasn't been cleaned since 1979.

The auditorium itself is huge and packed and the crowd is hot! Double hot when you consider that they have to deal with the constant distraction of a man on the downstage right corner of the stage who is waving his arms around. Yes, this performance is being simultaneously translated into ASL for the hearing impaired. (Ask me sometime to show you the sign language for "hummer in my Hummer" and "fresh shaved testicles", both of which are song lyrics in the show). It takes all of us a little time to learn to ignore the translator, though the band is very entertained by watching him. I ask him how he's going to suggest my French accent in his signing and he tells me that he actually does know a few French signs and will throw them in now and then for 'flavour'.

Our fun is dampened somewhat when Gabe complains of severe and debilitating lower back (kidney) pains and leaves the show at intermission to go to the hospital. After an emergency meeting, we are back on track with a slightly adjusted and re-blocked version of Act II. (The next morning we learn that Gabe most probably passed a stone, thus the pain!)

DIRTY ROTTEN BATON ROUGE (FREE DAY)

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

Just as I am about to leave the hotel to explore downtown Baton Rouge with Duff, Michael shows up. I'm surprised because I didn't expect that the crew bus would arrive until at least 5pm or so. But, 11:30 a.m. and here he is.....reeking of alcohol and the colour of any respectable hotel bed sheet. Yes, it would seem that they all got really, REALLY drunk in Nashville the night before. So drunk, in fact, that my Dutch baby is wearing a brand new pair of 'gator belly cowboy boots that cost more than our monthly rent. They are a thing of beauty to behold even if, in his hung over state, he isn't. I leave him to his recovery and venture out into the world.

The driver of the taxi that takes us downtown is apparently somewhat of a local celebrity. He keeps the magazine featuring an article on him in the back seat. In our 10 minute cab ride, I learn more about Baton Rouge than most mayors would learn in their first term. I also learn a great deal about what does and does not work when it comes to delivering tried and true one-liners. He shows us the State Capitol building, the wine lounge, the casinos, the theatre where we'll be performing. He points out that the museum currently has an exhibition of Rodin sculptures and that we should take advantage of the sushi restaurant on top of the museum because it's one of the best around. He calls this restaurant Tasammi. At lunch, a tourist booklet proves my hunch correct. The sushi restaurant is actually called Tsunami, our cabbie just didn't know how to pronounce it.

It doesn't take us long to "do" downtown. A smart lunch at sidewalk bistro,(delicious gumbo) a quickie visit to the old state capitol building (stunning architecture), a walk along the levee (just so that I can say that I have walked along one), a martini at the Hilton (an American Heritage site) and we're done. Baton Rouge, not so big. The real problem is that most things worth doing are closed on Mondays. The Rodin exhibition at the Museum of Art,.... closed. The is award-winning sushi that offers a view of the river,....closed. The wine bar.....closed.
And, I hate to sound like I'm complaining, but the heat is starting to get to us as we shuffle up and down empty side streets. We decide to cut our losses and head back to the hotel, making plans to get some authentic Cajun/Creole cuisine for dinner. I take advantage of the heat wave and take my plastic glass of wine out to the park bench behind the hotel to write this entry.

For dinner, we head for a local place that the cabbie spoke of, not far from the hotel. Not much on ambiance, but the food is what we are looking for. I decide to splurge out and order a dozen oysters on the half shell followed by the crawfish etoufee. Michael has a 1/2 order of oysters and the fried catfish platter. Duff chooses the grilled oysters and the fish of the day in Pontchartrain sauce. Mmmm.....Cajun.

DIRTY ROTTEN TRAVEL DAY

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

The audiences in Clinton Township never really do improve much. The Saturday matinee is an exercise in listening to one's hair grow. The evening show is a bit better, but there is still an icy silence that greets any humour that smacks of sexual innuendo or naughty words. Is it any wonder that I feel like I can judge the right-wing middle class with impunity? They wear their prudery like medieval armour.

As if to add insult to injury, Michigan gives us it's best gray, cold, damp drizzle for our drive to the airport in the morning. We wrap ourselves in the knowledge that we are flying to Louisiana where summer is underway. Its an idea we need to keep close since the bus is freezing! The A/C seem to be working again.

After the usual rape by various departments and personnel at the airport, we stumble on to our first plane. Yes - its yet another connecting flight. (Please, God, just put me on one plane and fly me to my destination.) Three hours to Houston, a 90 minute layover and another hour to Baton Rouge.

On the plane, I am in the window seat. A brusque and man-ish Latino woman crashes into the middle seat beside me and deposits her chihuahua into the lap of the woman in the aisle seat as she proceeds to settle herself in. The dog is not happy in it's little Legally-Blonde-esque pink carrier and proceeds to whimper. The whimpering is not a surprise since the breed quite commonly whimpers and shivers when a cloud passes over the sun. I do, however, take the dog's side in this case considering that being stuffed in a bag under a seat while the change in altitude wreaks havoc on your ears is probably not something your canine sensibilities can cope with. The dog's owner is useless in calming the creature. (In my mind, I begin to call her Imelda Marcos for no reason other than that she seems brutish and heartless.) At one point, I am forced to nudge her awake, refusing to allow her to doze while her pets cries are keeping everyone else from napping. Truth be told: I'd take a chihuahua over a baby any day. I had it easy compared to the poor sods 10 rows behind me in baby world.

After a 6 hour walk from terminal C to terminal B at BUSH(!) airport in Houston, I make for the nearest bar in the hope of dulling the throb of humanity and blurring the view. Howard eventually joins me but our conversation is rail-roaded by a drunk, lonely, insecure business man from Toronto. After hearing about his 13 cell phones (all in his briefcase), his house in Caracas and how quickly he fills up his passport (did you know you can get a 48 page passport for an extra $100?) I am done. Later, as we are boarding our flight, we see him weaving toward his gate, surreptitiously slipping a beer into his jacket pocket.

The flight to Baton Rouge is on another teeny, tiny plane....3 seats across. Our flight attendant is the gayest thing in the sky. This guy is gayer than Wayne Sujo on GHB doing an episode of "Will & Grace". He is in the only business he could find where his audience is literally held captive and he is obviously looking for an agent. It's as if he feels his very fey-ness gives him ownership of the bad pun and rolling eyes. When he tells us that all personal electronic devices must be turned off, he explains that the definition of said device is anything that runs on batteries and has an on/off switch. I hear Mel behind me wondering aloud if he's really willing to check that ALL personal devices falling into this category are off.

Baton Rouge is as I remember it....rough around the edges, not particularly pretty, low and spread out. I get drunk on the warm tropical air. I am transported back to my days living in the tropics. I sit outside and listen to the hum of night creatures and feel the caress of warm wind on my face and lose any sense of time or place.

DIRTY ROTTEN CLINTON TOWNSHIP, MI

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

The morning dawns bright, windy and warm in Waukegan....which is really just a suburb of Chicago....which is called, after all, the windy city. No one really wants to get on the bus. Sarah says that this weather makes her want to frolic. I ask her if there are specific motions/gestures/actions involved in frolicking and if she could describe them. She says there would definitely be galloping and probably arm flailing as well. I ask her if she would mind demonstrating but she feels that a parking lot is not conducive to frolicking. A meadow would be more appropriate. I remind her that it is is still March and that the buttercups and daisies she is envisioning haven't bloomed yet, at least not in Illinois.

Several hours later, we are not quite so happy about the warm weather. The A/C on the bus doesn't seem to be working quite as it should. We begin to feel, and look, like hostages on a Cambodian transport, soaked with sweat, not speaking to conserve energy. The situation worsens as we get closer to our destination, which is really just a suburb of Detroit. Construction and rush hour make the traffic a mess. Our estimated 5pm arrival time is now long past. In fact, as we creep up on 6pm, the mood begins to turn.

At last, our hotel, the much desired and spacious Hyatt Place, appears on the horizon. In a bid to get us there as quickly as she possibly can, knowing that we have very little time before we have to leave to do the show, Lady D pulls into the lane that she thinks will get us there. Sadly, it is the wrong lane and we are sent back out on to the freeway. Time is ticking past, and we have to head several miles in the wrong direction to find a clover leaf for turn around. When we finally pull up to the hotel, we have a mere 20 minutes to get to our rooms and do whatever we need to do before boarding the bus again to leave for the show. It's amazing what one can accomplish in 20 minutes. I even manage to iron a shirt.

The theatre is prepared for our arrival. Bless our Jeff J.C. and our crew for shopping for food for us and laying out a buffet of cold meats and sushi in the green room so that we don't pass out during the show. (We have heard that William, one of guys who drives the set around in his big rig and a real sweetie, often drives the crew around looking for food for us, ....in his rig! He is pictured above in his new shirt.) The audience, oddly, does not seem prepared for our arrival. They seem non-plussed with anything we do. We feel giddy and playful and willing to do whatever it takes to keep our energy up to entertain, but they don't seem willing to play along. By the end of the show, I am done with them. I feel as though they have managed to take whatever I offer them and discard it in the way one discards an overcooked potato chip. I drop my comedy, my sparkle, my energy, my smile into their vacant laps and they brush them off like someone else's dandruff. During the curtain call, I offer them a curt nod of the head during which my eyes never leave theirs. We are prize fighters staring each other down. We are a divorcing couple, meeting for the last time in the lawyers office thinking, "Let's never do this again".

DIRTY ROTTEN WAUKEGAN

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

And we're back. Back on the road again. Back in airports being mauled, maligned, mis-handled and manipulated again. We're on yet another small plane, only 4 seats across. It would appear that any time we fly on a small plane, the weather will contrive to make poor Christy as uncomfortable as possible. Our landing at AdamsonO'Hare is one of the roughest yet. In fact, I'd happily pay extra at Universal Studios if they put that ride on the agenda. I can hear Christy behind me, breathing in, breathing out. And behind her I can hear one or two of the other girls muttering curses under their breath, convinced that their deaths are imminent. Much to their surprise, we land safely and an hour or so later, check in to our hotel.

On the way to the theatre, Lady D, our driver, encounters a traffic snarl up on the freeway that she doesn't like the look of. Always making her passengers her first concern, she decides that she must get us off of the current route in order to avoid a huge delay. To that end, she backs up the bus .....along the shoulder.....to the nearest exit. The shoulder is really more of a ditch so the bus is listing slightly. Again, a ride worth paying for. We decide to change our drivers name from Lady D to Fearless D.

The Genesee Theater is another well restored grand old dame. The gigantic Baccarat crystal chandelier in the lobby came from a theater in Seattle and it is jaw-dropping. There is another massive chandelier hanging over the audience and I can't shake the feeling that we are somehow obligated to perform "Phantom of The Opera". Ttickets for our show obviously haven't sold well and the place is only half full, but those that have come out are ready to rock and we all have a great time.