It is almost 12:30 a.m. by the time Michael and I finish dealing with my lost luggage and emerge from the security area to find his waiting parents. By the time they drop us in our driveway, it is almost 2:00. Of course, in our bodies it is California time, 11:00 p.m.
Our cats greet us as only cats can do: "Oh-hi-it's-you-I-need-to-go-outside-now." (Though the next morning I wake up with both of them napping happily between my knees). Since I have no luggage, there is no unpacking for me to do. We shuffle around the house, poke through the stack of mail, rummage for food & liquor and try to re-familiarize ourselves with the place. I remark to Michael that I feel like an adult returning to my childhood home, a place that is familiar and full of my possessions, but not a place where I feel like I belong anymore.
We are both in that strange place of being tired but not ready to sleep. Our bodies and brains are in shock because we have suddenly dropped out of hyper-speed to a full stop. We are suspended. Lost. Bored. Excited. Happy. Sad.
The next morning, like animals marking their territory, we begin to reassert ourselves on the place. Me cleaning and reorganizing inside, Michael digging and weeding outside. My luggage arrives, intact, late in the afternoon and the long process of sorting through the 'stuff' begins.
THINGS I WILL NOT MISS ABOUT BEING ON THE ROAD:
Riding the bus every day. Hotel rooms. Bad coffee. Trying to find a decent restaurant. Not knowing where we are. Crappy, old theatres.Doing the show, doing the show, doing the show.
THINGS I WILL MISS ABOUT BEING ON THE ROAD:
Riding the bus every day. Hotel rooms. Local coffee shops. Stumbling on a great restaurant. Not knowing where we are. Amazing old theatres. Doing the show, doing the show, doing the show.
Though I have a long list of things that will need to be attended to over the next week or so, I suspect that the rest of today, and probably much of tomorrow, will be spent rummaging through the house, trying to remember where I left my life.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN TEMECULA, CA
We are performing at a Casino/Resort in a facility that, while pretty to look at, and fairly new, wasn't built to have Broadway shows. It was created to host the myriad of has-been rock bands who's posters adorn our dressing room walls. Styx. Lynryd Skynyrd. Foreigner. What this means is that the dressing rooms are large and lavish and built for rock 'n' roll partying but the wing space on the stage can barely contain all the set pieces for the show.
The audiences are not large and because the theatre is barely half full for our shows, they tend to be quiet and somewhat......hmmmm, how do I say this diplomatically...........dull as yesterday's dog food? Our energies are running high since this is our final venue, but no matter what we do, we can't seem to convince the audiences to come out and play with us. By the final performance on Saturday night, we have given up on the audience completely and are doing the show for our own entertainment. We have, for months, played to gigantic crowds that have leapt to their feet screaming enthusiastically. It is this memory that we hold on to as we take our final bow for a scattered group of people who seem more interested in getting to their cars than SITTING through our curtain call.
After the show, there is drinking. It is 5:30 a.m. before Michael finally crawls into bed. (Oh, and speaking of 'BED"....don't ever, EVER stay at an Extended Stay America. We've stayed at two now and they were both on high on the crap scale. This one in Temecula is the most uncomfortable bed and the worst pillows of the entire tour. By the second day, I can barely move from the pain in my neck).
In the morning, there are hung-over faces stumbling onto the bus. There are also some that simply refuse to give in to the hang over and just keep drinking (but I'm not mentioning any names ...jjc).
May I rant about United Airlines for a moment? Our reservations are always made in groups of four. I am always booked with Brian, Steve and Heather. Because Brian and Steve opted to try stand-by and leave early in the morning, when Heather and I try to check in the reservation system says that we have already gone with Brian and Steve. The desk attendants have no idea how to fix this so our check in is long and painful. Also, if a tall person (say our Howard who is 6'6") wants an extra 3 inches of leg room by asking to sit in an exit row, they now have to pay $54.00. Isn't that a discriminatory policy? AND, some boneheaded executive has decided that cash is no longer acceptable on an airplane. So not only does one have to pay hugely inflated prices for dusty bagels and doll-house sized cans of tuna, it's credit cards only. What kind of a ridiculous fucking idea is that? And isn't it illegal to refuse to accept legal tender?
OH..... AND......because my reservation was a fuck up, my luggage didn't arrive at Pearson. Neither did Heather's. By the end of 10 hours of travelling, I was not interested in listening to the UA rep. as he pointed to his computer screen explaining where my luggage was last seen. I snapped, "Why are you telling me where it was sent instead of telling me when and how you're going to get it here?" What ever happened to the 'service' in the Service Industry?
Fitting, somehow, that our last travel day would be one of the most trying.
The audiences are not large and because the theatre is barely half full for our shows, they tend to be quiet and somewhat......hmmmm, how do I say this diplomatically...........dull as yesterday's dog food? Our energies are running high since this is our final venue, but no matter what we do, we can't seem to convince the audiences to come out and play with us. By the final performance on Saturday night, we have given up on the audience completely and are doing the show for our own entertainment. We have, for months, played to gigantic crowds that have leapt to their feet screaming enthusiastically. It is this memory that we hold on to as we take our final bow for a scattered group of people who seem more interested in getting to their cars than SITTING through our curtain call.
After the show, there is drinking. It is 5:30 a.m. before Michael finally crawls into bed. (Oh, and speaking of 'BED"....don't ever, EVER stay at an Extended Stay America. We've stayed at two now and they were both on high on the crap scale. This one in Temecula is the most uncomfortable bed and the worst pillows of the entire tour. By the second day, I can barely move from the pain in my neck).
In the morning, there are hung-over faces stumbling onto the bus. There are also some that simply refuse to give in to the hang over and just keep drinking (but I'm not mentioning any names ...jjc).
May I rant about United Airlines for a moment? Our reservations are always made in groups of four. I am always booked with Brian, Steve and Heather. Because Brian and Steve opted to try stand-by and leave early in the morning, when Heather and I try to check in the reservation system says that we have already gone with Brian and Steve. The desk attendants have no idea how to fix this so our check in is long and painful. Also, if a tall person (say our Howard who is 6'6") wants an extra 3 inches of leg room by asking to sit in an exit row, they now have to pay $54.00. Isn't that a discriminatory policy? AND, some boneheaded executive has decided that cash is no longer acceptable on an airplane. So not only does one have to pay hugely inflated prices for dusty bagels and doll-house sized cans of tuna, it's credit cards only. What kind of a ridiculous fucking idea is that? And isn't it illegal to refuse to accept legal tender?
OH..... AND......because my reservation was a fuck up, my luggage didn't arrive at Pearson. Neither did Heather's. By the end of 10 hours of travelling, I was not interested in listening to the UA rep. as he pointed to his computer screen explaining where my luggage was last seen. I snapped, "Why are you telling me where it was sent instead of telling me when and how you're going to get it here?" What ever happened to the 'service' in the Service Industry?
Fitting, somehow, that our last travel day would be one of the most trying.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN MESA, AZ
Our two shows in Mesa pass without incident. The theatre is another multi-million dollar palace of the arts that defies description. We are in the largest of four venues in this stunning and beautifully landscaped performing arts center.
As we have the afternoon free on the day of our second show, Michael and I, out of all the possible options for wasting a day in Phoenix, decide to take in the Chihuly exhibit at the Phoenix Desert Botanical Gardens. We couldn't have loved it more. Aside from the mind-boggling Chihuly glass art set into the stunning desert landscape, the gardens are amazing....and gigantic. We walk for over three hours in the searing, 100+ degree, desert heat. I'll let the attached photos say the rest.
President Obama's commencement address at ASU means that we have to leave extra early for our show on the second night since there are security-motivated road closures all over Tempe/Mesa. As we drive past the airport, we can't help but notice Air Force One parked prominently on the airfield.
We are back in California for our final 3 performances. I am happy to have escaped the oppressive heat of the Arizona desert. Standing outside on a cloudless Arizona day is like standing on a hot stove with someone pressing a larger than life, heated anvil down on your head. Here in Temecula, the sun is shining, but not at a temperature that melts glass, the breeze is blowing but it is gentle, not like a blast furnace, and there is a softness in the air as opposed to breathing in the tiny particles of desert that buff the inside of your nostrils. I've got that 'California feeling' again, and look forward to feeling it until we fly home on Sunday.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN PHOENIX, AZ (PART 2)
The cast spends the week in Phoenix making the most of everything the city has to offer, even though the heat is kicking us all in the ass. Often times, when I ask if something is within walking distance, the locals will reply, "Sure, you could walk that, it's not too hot today." Around here, 'not too hot' means 104 degrees....clear, cloudless sky, no breeze. I have never taken advantage of a hotel swimming pool so often in my life. I've learned to take advantage of the outdoor seating that offers a ring of cooling misters, small nozzles that create a curtain of fine spray that keeps the area around you cooler.
The audiences in Phoenix gradually improve through the week. They're a funny lot. They really love their live theatre here and, on the whole, are fairly entertainment educated, so they can be choosy about what they laugh at. We also discover that timing here is a little slower. Through the week we learn that letting everything land and sink in for one extra beat makes a huge difference. Strange. By Saturday, we know how to play them and are relieved to find that we're still funny (after the silence of Thousand Oaks and our first few Phoenix crowds).
A full 8 show week (that means wrapping up by doing a marathon 5-show weekend!) in mind-numbing heat, leaves everyone more than ready for a day off. Michael and I make plans to join Duff who has a friend with a ranch and horses in Tombstone. We are invited to stay the night as it is a 3+ hour drive. Sadly, we have to cancel because Michael has to do a load-in to our new venue at 7 a.m. on Tuesday morning. You see, we are now moving the show to Mesa, which is only 20 miles away, so we're not moving hotels, just venues. It's kind of a pain in the ass and we are very disappointed to miss out on riding in the desert. Michael and I make the best of our disappointment by buying him some fabulous clothes at Macy's, going to see the new Star Trek (it's fantastic), enjoying sunset cocktails at the revolving restaurant atop The Hyatt, and dining at the local Thai place which serves up some of the best tasting Thai cuisine I have tasted anywhere in the world (including Thailand).
As we are mere days from coming to the end of the tour, everyone is starting to talk of home, getting back to their lives and their next jobs. In talking with K.K., I admit that home feels like a slightly foreign concept to me at the moment. "What is this 'home' you speak of? What do I do there?" For so long, home has been just another hotel room in another strange city in a country that I am bouncing around in like a rogue racquetball. A strange existence, to be sure. It's no wonder they call us 'gypsies'.
The audiences in Phoenix gradually improve through the week. They're a funny lot. They really love their live theatre here and, on the whole, are fairly entertainment educated, so they can be choosy about what they laugh at. We also discover that timing here is a little slower. Through the week we learn that letting everything land and sink in for one extra beat makes a huge difference. Strange. By Saturday, we know how to play them and are relieved to find that we're still funny (after the silence of Thousand Oaks and our first few Phoenix crowds).
A full 8 show week (that means wrapping up by doing a marathon 5-show weekend!) in mind-numbing heat, leaves everyone more than ready for a day off. Michael and I make plans to join Duff who has a friend with a ranch and horses in Tombstone. We are invited to stay the night as it is a 3+ hour drive. Sadly, we have to cancel because Michael has to do a load-in to our new venue at 7 a.m. on Tuesday morning. You see, we are now moving the show to Mesa, which is only 20 miles away, so we're not moving hotels, just venues. It's kind of a pain in the ass and we are very disappointed to miss out on riding in the desert. Michael and I make the best of our disappointment by buying him some fabulous clothes at Macy's, going to see the new Star Trek (it's fantastic), enjoying sunset cocktails at the revolving restaurant atop The Hyatt, and dining at the local Thai place which serves up some of the best tasting Thai cuisine I have tasted anywhere in the world (including Thailand).
As we are mere days from coming to the end of the tour, everyone is starting to talk of home, getting back to their lives and their next jobs. In talking with K.K., I admit that home feels like a slightly foreign concept to me at the moment. "What is this 'home' you speak of? What do I do there?" For so long, home has been just another hotel room in another strange city in a country that I am bouncing around in like a rogue racquetball. A strange existence, to be sure. It's no wonder they call us 'gypsies'.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN PHOENIX, AZ
I forgot to mention in my Thousand Oaks entry that Falcucci hurt his back mid-way through the run and had to have Duff cover some of his track, including carrying Stephen Patterson in the hotel scene. This sounds plausible on paper until you remember that the smallest guy in the company(5' 5", 150 lbs) has to lift and carry the biggest guy in the company(5' 10" 190 lbs) up four stairs and down four more on the other side. It was hilarious to watch. Poor Duff could barely make it. He did it for a few shows and then suggested that we find another solution before he became crippled.
Our Phoenix hotel, Hotel San Carlos, is something of a local landmark. Built in the twenties and inhabited by many famous people through the decades, notably Marilyn Monroe and Mae West who often played the theatre we're in. The hotel is now a trendy boutique place with a sassy lobby bar and restaurant. Unfortunately, our arrival is a disaster. The crabby old ladies behind the desk do not have our keys ready and are completely uninterested in being hurried or told what to do by Tyler. Then we find out that some of the rooms are not ready. Yelling ensues. Managers are called.
Very little about the hotel has changed since it was built. Because of it's age, the rooms are very small, a bit of an issue for Michael and I sharing since we'll be here for 10 days. In our room, the bathroom floor is, for some reason, 6 inches higher than the bedroom area, requiring you to step up on entry. Again, because of the age of the place, there are no counters in the bathroom and the tub/shower is tiny. The crew, who have already spent one night here are pretty unhappy with how thin the walls are. Michael says he was actually kept awake by the snorer in the next room. (Michael, who can sleep through a war). Long story short, people are unhappy, a meeting is held before the show, it is announced that we will move. The next day we check into a beautiful Wyndham Hotel which is one block away. Everyone is much happier and there is much, much more space.
During our first show in the stunning Orpheum Theater, I pull a classic. I miss an entrance. It is the apron scene near the end of Act 1 where Brian and I sneak to the center of the stage behind our rolling palm trees. For this performance, however, there is only one palm tree rolling to center stage because I am in the upstage crossover thinking, for some reason, that we've already done the palm tree scene and I'm waiting for Heather to start singing. Eventually, reality hits me in the head and with a start I exclaim, "Oh crap! I'm not there!". I race to the stage where I find Brian standing, lonely, forlorn and little bored behind his palm tree. What I don't realize is that my mic is on, so the entire audience has heard my exclamation. Later, the crew tells me that since this is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, there must be some kind of planetary alignment happening and they're all buying lottery tickets.
Oh, and did I mention that it's 100 degrees here?!?!?
Our Phoenix hotel, Hotel San Carlos, is something of a local landmark. Built in the twenties and inhabited by many famous people through the decades, notably Marilyn Monroe and Mae West who often played the theatre we're in. The hotel is now a trendy boutique place with a sassy lobby bar and restaurant. Unfortunately, our arrival is a disaster. The crabby old ladies behind the desk do not have our keys ready and are completely uninterested in being hurried or told what to do by Tyler. Then we find out that some of the rooms are not ready. Yelling ensues. Managers are called.
Very little about the hotel has changed since it was built. Because of it's age, the rooms are very small, a bit of an issue for Michael and I sharing since we'll be here for 10 days. In our room, the bathroom floor is, for some reason, 6 inches higher than the bedroom area, requiring you to step up on entry. Again, because of the age of the place, there are no counters in the bathroom and the tub/shower is tiny. The crew, who have already spent one night here are pretty unhappy with how thin the walls are. Michael says he was actually kept awake by the snorer in the next room. (Michael, who can sleep through a war). Long story short, people are unhappy, a meeting is held before the show, it is announced that we will move. The next day we check into a beautiful Wyndham Hotel which is one block away. Everyone is much happier and there is much, much more space.
During our first show in the stunning Orpheum Theater, I pull a classic. I miss an entrance. It is the apron scene near the end of Act 1 where Brian and I sneak to the center of the stage behind our rolling palm trees. For this performance, however, there is only one palm tree rolling to center stage because I am in the upstage crossover thinking, for some reason, that we've already done the palm tree scene and I'm waiting for Heather to start singing. Eventually, reality hits me in the head and with a start I exclaim, "Oh crap! I'm not there!". I race to the stage where I find Brian standing, lonely, forlorn and little bored behind his palm tree. What I don't realize is that my mic is on, so the entire audience has heard my exclamation. Later, the crew tells me that since this is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, there must be some kind of planetary alignment happening and they're all buying lottery tickets.
Oh, and did I mention that it's 100 degrees here?!?!?
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN THOUSAND OAKS, CA
The company makes the most of our long stay here in Thousand Oaks. We are so close to everything. The hotel is surrounded by restaurants, shopping malls, movie theatres and a fantastic Whole Foods grocery.
A car rental can get you to pretty much any part of L.A. that you want in under an hour. The girls are driving downtown to take yoga and dance classes almost every day.
Michael and I spend a day driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. We have the most expensive breakfast in history at a chi-chi place in Malibu, but everything is organic this and farm-fresh that. We walk the beach at Point Dume and watch a sea lion surf the waves. We walk the Santa Monica pier and surrounding shopping area. While Michael is off taking a picture of something, I have the quintessential L.A. moment. I am standing in Palisades Park, people watching. Out of the glare of the sunshine, an angelic figure floats toward me. I can make out a beautiful young man (16-20...it's so hard for me to tell anymore). His skin is flawless, his teeth are perfect, his tight, white t-shirt reveals his model-perfect torso. He truly is gliding toward me because he is on a skate board, his long, golden-blond hair trailing in the breeze behind him. He is an Abercrombie & Fitch cover come to life. I am, of course, staring. As he passes me, he glances over the top of his Ray Bans and in the briefest milli-second, in a single flicker of a perfect blue eye, I am scanned, judged, packaged and dispensed with as he glides off through the crowd. Beautiful and cold. So L.A. We drive home through the mountains on a wind-y little road that takes us from the Pacific Coast Highway through the canyons to Thousand Oaks with breath-taking views of mountain mansions and farms all the way.
The next day, we have the second oh-so-Los Angeles experience....and earthquake. Just a tiny one, by L.A. standards. A mere 4.4. I was sitting in the hotel room and actually thought that the noise was being made by the noisy person above me. I was almost ready to pound on the ceiling when I realized what it was. Because I was on the ground floor, it was all a little less dramatic than for those on floors 3 and 4 where drawers slid open and pictures went askew.
We all enjoy the theatre in Thousand Oaks, but the audiences are consistently quiet and withdrawn. They don't like sex jokes and are completely uninterested in toilet humour which, unfortunately, is a large part of the show. Several of the cast's L.A. friends reassure us that this is a typical response for Thousand Oaks which tends to be an older, reserved, monied crowd. We are are pleased to hear that we have not suddenly lost our ability to entertain, but are disappointed that we don't get much in the way of feedback from the crowds. Our weekend wind-up in Thousand Oaks is one of those marathon 5-shows-in-48-hours nightmares, and comes at the end of 14 straight days without a day off. A little unbridled enthusiasm would be most welcome. Alas, it does not materialise and we do our best to crawl, valiantly, to the finish line.
Everyone is looking forward to a day off. I plan to spend the day in West Hollywood with Duff. Michael, sadly, has to leave for Phoenix with the crew so can't come out to play with us. I reserve a convertible but when I arrive at Enterprise, they are sorry to tell me that they can't fulfill my reservation. I make them give me a fully loaded, brand new BMW for the same price. Duff almost squeals when I pick him up on Santa Monica Blvd. We shop Melrose, we drive through Beverly Hills and all over WeHo, we eat, we drink and we shop some more. The sun shines. Life is good.
A car rental can get you to pretty much any part of L.A. that you want in under an hour. The girls are driving downtown to take yoga and dance classes almost every day.
Michael and I spend a day driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. We have the most expensive breakfast in history at a chi-chi place in Malibu, but everything is organic this and farm-fresh that. We walk the beach at Point Dume and watch a sea lion surf the waves. We walk the Santa Monica pier and surrounding shopping area. While Michael is off taking a picture of something, I have the quintessential L.A. moment. I am standing in Palisades Park, people watching. Out of the glare of the sunshine, an angelic figure floats toward me. I can make out a beautiful young man (16-20...it's so hard for me to tell anymore). His skin is flawless, his teeth are perfect, his tight, white t-shirt reveals his model-perfect torso. He truly is gliding toward me because he is on a skate board, his long, golden-blond hair trailing in the breeze behind him. He is an Abercrombie & Fitch cover come to life. I am, of course, staring. As he passes me, he glances over the top of his Ray Bans and in the briefest milli-second, in a single flicker of a perfect blue eye, I am scanned, judged, packaged and dispensed with as he glides off through the crowd. Beautiful and cold. So L.A. We drive home through the mountains on a wind-y little road that takes us from the Pacific Coast Highway through the canyons to Thousand Oaks with breath-taking views of mountain mansions and farms all the way.
The next day, we have the second oh-so-Los Angeles experience....and earthquake. Just a tiny one, by L.A. standards. A mere 4.4. I was sitting in the hotel room and actually thought that the noise was being made by the noisy person above me. I was almost ready to pound on the ceiling when I realized what it was. Because I was on the ground floor, it was all a little less dramatic than for those on floors 3 and 4 where drawers slid open and pictures went askew.
We all enjoy the theatre in Thousand Oaks, but the audiences are consistently quiet and withdrawn. They don't like sex jokes and are completely uninterested in toilet humour which, unfortunately, is a large part of the show. Several of the cast's L.A. friends reassure us that this is a typical response for Thousand Oaks which tends to be an older, reserved, monied crowd. We are are pleased to hear that we have not suddenly lost our ability to entertain, but are disappointed that we don't get much in the way of feedback from the crowds. Our weekend wind-up in Thousand Oaks is one of those marathon 5-shows-in-48-hours nightmares, and comes at the end of 14 straight days without a day off. A little unbridled enthusiasm would be most welcome. Alas, it does not materialise and we do our best to crawl, valiantly, to the finish line.
Everyone is looking forward to a day off. I plan to spend the day in West Hollywood with Duff. Michael, sadly, has to leave for Phoenix with the crew so can't come out to play with us. I reserve a convertible but when I arrive at Enterprise, they are sorry to tell me that they can't fulfill my reservation. I make them give me a fully loaded, brand new BMW for the same price. Duff almost squeals when I pick him up on Santa Monica Blvd. We shop Melrose, we drive through Beverly Hills and all over WeHo, we eat, we drink and we shop some more. The sun shines. Life is good.
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