DIRTY ROTTEN BAKERSFIELD,CA

You know how sometimes, for no good reason that you can remember, you get totally the wrong idea about a person or place before you've even seen them? I had that idea about Bakersfield. For some reason I thought it was a dusty, broken down hovel of a town. Imagine my surprise as we drive into a bustling, lush, verdant and tidy little city. The Four Points Sheraton also contributes to the feel of the place. The decor makes me feel like I've walked into the catalogue. Everything stark white and ice blue and very spartan, punctuated by tiny splashes of powerful colour. The bathroom is so sparse and white that I need sunglasses. IkeaSooooo Scandinavian.

The theatre is bizarre. It's a strange hybrid of arena and theatre space, designed more for a Madonna concert than a Broadway musical. The stage is vast, you could play football in the orchestra pit, the house is vast, and the possible right-to-left spread of the audience could give an actor whiplash. Also, unlike other arena-type spaces we've played, this one does not have the usual raised, temporary stage. Instead, we are playing on plywood panels laid down over concrete. (A first in my checkered career). Much quieter for rolling sets, not so good for dancers. Once again, we are lifted out of the odd, and not always comfortable surroundings, by an audience that plays along and loves the show. We celebrate having played our last arena AND our last one-night-stand! It's back through the Tejon pass, through all the farms, orchards and vineyards to Los Angeles where we will play Thousand Oaks for a week.

DIRTY ROTTEN CERRITOS, CA

I gotta say, I really, really like California. I've been here before, several times, and I've always enjoyed myself, but spending so much time here now, I realize that it just feels good here. I guess that's why the population of the state is 38 million.

Most of us enjoy a day of thrills at Six Flags, which is really nothing but a park for coaster junkies. My voice is hamburger from screaming all day. The new X2 coaster, first of it's kind in the world, is RIDICULOUS!!! I think I actually saw my life flash before my eyes. What makes this ride unique is the fact that they've put the seats out in space beside the track instead of above or below it. ...And the fact that seats rotate. You make the initial climb to the top going backwards but then your seat suddenly pitches forward so that you plummet toward the earth in your first gut-wrenching drop FACE DOWN! I think I liked it, but I was too terrified to be sure. The string of profanity pouring out of my mouth during the ride prompted the guy next to me, at the end of the ride, to lean over and calmly ask, "First time?"

The final ride of the day was Goliath that I rode with Mike Donald. Because there's no up-side down sequences, the ride doesn't have an over the shoulder harness, just a lap bar. The initial climb is stupid.....twenty stories! Mike and I are in the second seat of the first car. As we are about to go over the top into the almost-straight-down descent, the random girls in front of us turn around and say, in unison, with saucer-eyes, "Guys, seriously?". Then there is only screaming.

After our last two hotels, the Marriott in Norwalk (not the virus place, that was Ohio) feels like the fuckin' Ritz-Carlton and we are very glad to arrive. Time begins to change our opinion though....

-I am given a key package that says "Greves/Brown on it. I go to the room and assume that Michael hasn't had time to check in yet. I call Michael and he says, "Um...don't you see my stuff all over the room?" It seems they have given each of us a room, even though we are sharing. I also find out later that no one can find me (us) because we are apparently listed as a person named Greves Brown.
-The lounge, which looks beautiful, doesn't ever seem to be open when we are around, even closing at 10:30 on a Friday & Saturday night. It's not open at all on the Sunday because the bartender phoned in sick and no one covered the shift.
-The restaurant which, again, looks nice, has appalling service. Michael has to eat his breakfast as someone is vacuuming around him.
-Room service is always, always busy. Anyone who tries to reach them over and over again eventually gives up and calls the front desk to have their order walked over to the room service phone.
-On returning after our show on Saturday night, none of our room keys will work and we all have to stand in a line-up at the front desk to have them re-programed while Tyler yells at the desk clerks.
-Oh, and for some reason, there is only one, yes one, lonely lounge chair by the pool. Weird.

But the rooms are clean, the beds are comfortable and no one seems to care how late you stay in the jacuzzi (as those who stayed in it until 4 a.m. getting drunk and naked will tell you).

The Cerritos Center for Performing Arts is amazing. Stunning design, brilliant in it's execution, and mind-boggling in terms of the different configurations it can assume. It's worth a visit to the site to see this outstanding example of architecture. (The library that is part of the same civic complex is also amazing, containing a gigantic aquarium at it's center. Here is a video of the library and the theatre as it re-configures itself.) One of our truck drivers tells me that the local crew at this theatre is such a well oiled machine that they have our two trucks unloaded in 26 minutes!!!

The audiences, over the course of our 4 shows here, never really get rolling. They remain quite reserved and quiet across the board, though the blame for their silence during our Saturday matinee lies squarely on us as the pace of the show is slower than Bush doing calculus. I will miss my beautiful dressing room that had it's own private balcony where I could sit and read in the California sunshine.

DIRTY ROTTEN VALENCIA, CA

We are spending a day off here in beautiful Valencia, home of Six Flags Magic Mountain, where we will be for most of the day, hurling our guts out and trying to withstand the g-forces on their collection of mammoth roller coasters.

Heather wrote a song which she sang to us on the long bus ride yesterday. Though most of the jokes are 'insider', I thought it was worth publishing it for y'all.

Heather's Tour Song

Starbucks and Subways
Wal-Mart, Ruby Tuesdays
That's how we spend our days
OUr life on the road

Eight-thirty for Nine, nine-thirty for ten
We load up His Majesty and hit the road again
With slippers on our feets
In our sweet pimped-out bus seats
I wonder what movie Jess picked for today

I wonder where our lunch stop will be
It better come quickly cause I have to pee
There's only one toilet and it's a long line
Gotta get to the Walgreens to buy my purse wine

Pei-Wei, Panerra
Don't forget Cracker Barrell
That's how we spend our days
Our life on the road

We've bussed 'cross the country
My butts getting lumpy
And Tyler's "nawt happy"
What state are we in?
I'm feeling the jet lag
Get Christy a barf bag
Oh fuck! I just dropped my PSP again

Days off for sightseeing the beach or the zoo
Just bought cowboy boots
Ladies unpack your 'cutes'
In the VIP section we party with class
Especially when our girl gets voted BEST ASS

"Continental" - Conti for short
Don't care if I'm fatter, I love waffle batter
I can stock up my snack bar
They saw me, Abort

Oh Denny's and IHOP
Grilled cheese at the truck stop
That's how we spend our days
Our life on the road

We arrived at five-thirty
You've only one hour
for a shit and a shower
Before the bus call

I wonder what sets will be cut for doay
And the dressing rooms are a good half-mile away
Pauls' calling the show from his personal bathroom
But YES! I just heard that there's snacks in the Greenroom

Oooooh Starbucks and Subways
That's how we spend our days
We've seen every season
From mountian to ocean

A cast like no other
We've laughed all the hours
'Cause that's what it's like for
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

DIRTY ROTTEN REDDING, CA

The drive to the very northernmost part of California is an eye opener. We drive for hours and hours through more orchards and vineyards than I have ever seen. Mile after mile after mile of neatly organized rows of trees and vines, all watered by a major aqueduct that snakes it's way through the valley.It is agriculture on a grand scale.

The location of our hotel in Redding is not quite so panoramic. (I discover later that Duff's family has told him to pass along to us not to walk anywhere in Redding at night, and that our hotel is on "meth row".) We are staying at the hotel that all of us love to hate, The Quality Inn. It's a brilliant stroke of marketing to call this chain "Quality", but I am sure that no one who works for the chain could define or even spell the word. The slack-jawed heifers behind the desk at this particular hell-hole are especially stupid.

At Check In:

Tyler:
This is Patrick Brown, he's sharing with Michael Greves who has already checked in, so could you just give us another key to whatever room Michael is in.

Stupid Brunette Girl Behind the Desk:
(Looking at the cast list)Brown? Greves? Michael?

Stupid Pink-haired Girl Behind the Desk:
(stares blankly through little piggy eyes)

Tyler:
Michael isn't on that list, he's on the crew. They've already checked in.

Brunette:
(Still staring at the cast list)
(Time passes)
He's not on this list

Tyler:
No. That's the cast list. Michael is on the crew.

Pink Hair:
(Still staring)

Brunette:
I'll have to find that other list.

(time passes)

Tyler:
All right. Could you? Please?

Pinkie:
(Stares)

Me:
Um.....couldn't you just look him up in the computer?
(Both desk idiots now look at me as though I've just spoken Greek)

Dumb Brunette eventually discovers what room Michael is in and asks Pinkie to make a new key. To my astonishment, Pinkie breaks her statue-like stance to make me a key, though she does not move off of her stool.

The theatre is another space that shouldn't be hosting us, but is. It is actually the Convention Center, and has arena-style seating, no orchestra pit, and dressing rooms that used to be offices and are up several flights of stairs. The audience seems very far away, but they are loud laughers, thankfully, and respond enthusiastically throughout the show.

On the local crew is a very, VERY handsome young man with dark hair, dark eyes, just enough five o'clock shadow, and a smile that could make Hitler blush. All the women and gay men are aflutter over this guy, and he is much discussed and flirted with. In the girl's dressing room, they discuss the dirty things they'd like to do with him. Several times, in her most lecherous, hillbilly voice, K.K. says, "He's yummy. I'd like to poke him." It's only at the end of the night that one of the dressers, who has been in the room with the girls all night, says to the girls, "Is he the one wearing a t-shirt that says, STAFF?". The girls affirm this to be true. The dresser says, "Oh, that's my son."

During one of my final scenes in the show, I fall apart like I have not fallen apart on stage for years and years. I am about to make a rather purposeful entrance that helps lead us to the big plot-surprise of the show, where I announce that, "The Jackal has been captured". Just as I step on to the stage, my suit jacket catches on a piece of scenery which is being stored in the wing I am entering from. Because I am moving quickly and with purpose, from the audience's point of view, it looks as though I am being yanked back into the wings by an invisible hand. They do not hear the tearing of my suit fabric as my jacket pocket is almost ripped off. Nor do they hear Stephen, Cooch and Chad, waiting to enter directly behind me, burst out laughing. I try to ignore them as best as I can, and make my entrance. The problem is that the whole series of events has just struck me as being so hilarious, that I can't speak. I can barely keep control of my face, scrunching it in a bizarre parody of seriousness as I make my way to where I should stand. On a normal night, Brian, who is already on stage, would unlatch the briefcase he is holding and prepare to open it, but would be stopped by my entrance. On this night, because I have not yet spoken, he is finding new and interesting excuses to NOT open the briefcase because his character cannot, yet, know what is inside. Eventually, I manage to squeak out my line, and Stephen, Cooch and Chad make their entrance. Stephen is a mess and as I catch the odd glimpse of his twisted, pained, laugh-suppressing face, and hear the odd squeak in his voice, my own attempts at recovery are thwarted. The crew, now aware that something is up, has gathered in the wings to watch the carnage. The orchestra, also aware that things are not as they should be, is grinning up at us like lunatic mimes. I, thankfully, have no lines for a few minutes and manage to gain a little control by staring at the floor as I listen to Stephen struggle through a few lines of song. We are both doing our best to avoid eye contact, convinced that any control we have gained will dissolve if we face each other. Eventually, somehow, over what seems like eternity but is, in fact, about 3 minutes, we manage to make it to the end of the scene and, without further incident.

Later, in the dressing rooms, Stephen thanks me for a memory that will stay with him for a very long time (and a theatre war story that'll be dragged out in many a post-show bar).

DIRTY ROTTEN SAN BERNARDINO, CA

...and dirty and rotten it is. We were warned that San B. was not the most hospitable of cities, but we weren't prepared for just how.....well, ...sketchy the city is. We are staying at a Hilton, with a pool, which is a good thing because the weather is scorching hot and there is virtually nothing to do here. The drive from the hotel to the theatre reveals a Bail Bonds office in every block, some of them advertising that they have an office conveniently located directly across from the jail. We are warned not to walk alone in the vicinity of the theatre at night, or around the hotel for that matter. (One of the "Oliver" cast was robbed at gunpoint not too far from our Hilton). There is a grocery store across the street from the theatre (where the boys witness an altercation that comes close to a knife fight one afternoon). I discover that they carry liquor, but I also discover that the security procedures needed to actually get it into my hands are not unlike trying to open a Swiss bank account. Duff visits the mall near the theatre (another place we are warned not to go) and says it's like the set of a horror movie, with most stores closed or closing, the whole place dominated by a dis-used, old merry-go-round. Oh, and did I mention that San Bernardino holds the dubious distinction of being where McDonald's started? Ray Croc's very first hamburger stand was right here.

The theatre is another one of those old vaudeville houses with a proscenium arch right out of The Muppet Show. There's even premium gold boxes at the edge of the balcony for Statler and Waldorf. But this also means that, once again, we've cut many pieces of the show, not as bad as an arena show, but still a pain. Also a pain is the fact that the wing space is so small that one is constantly bumping into someone trying to maneuver around the set pieces. The local crew has gotten very comfortable working the space though, so much so that they have forgotten how close they are to us when we're doing a scene on stage, so we are treated to their full-voice conversations the entire time. (They are, in fact, so loud that our bass player tells me that our mics were actually picking up their voices and broadcasting them directly into his headphones.)

The unseasonable heat is pushing the A/C capacity of the old building to the limit. Well, depending where you are. On the side of the stage that my dressing room is on, our little rabbit-warren of closet-sized rooms is sweltering. On the other side of the stage, the ensemble girls are so cold they have to keep a window open to let some heat in. We are not alone in suffering the heat. Every performance, I can see the waving of stark, white programs out in the darkness. The scene that K.K. and I do in our extra-plush terry-towel bath robes is a particular treat. A bit like putting on a parka to work in the garden in August....in Niagara.

The first night audience is absolutely rabid. (They do a lot of hooting in San B.) We could have walked onto the stage and carved a notch in a stick of wood and they would have screamed and applauded like asylum inmates. We play most of the shows to very full crowds, except for Sunday night. Mike Donald remarks that if all the Sunday night people had come for the matinee, we could have had a full house. Though it isn't really quite that small a crowd (700) it feels like it, especially when we are staggering under the heat. We are happy to finish up.

The morning is an easy start since we don't roll until 10. Cast and crew are milling about, drinking coffee, eating bagels, enjoying the California sun. We have a full day of driving to the cute little city of Sacramento, where we will spend the night. Then on further north (almost to Oregon) to Redding, CA for our next performance.

DIRTY ROTTEN BOZEMAN, MT

And we're back after a whirlwind week that could have been relaxing, but I suspect not. Though a change IS as good as a rest.

Michael and I waken at the crack of crow's piss on Monday morning to catch our flight to Vegas. The payoff is that we are checking into our hotel (The Luxor) by 11 a.m. The rumours about the long lines at The Luxor's front desk are true, but service otherwise is very, very good. Our room, as luck would have it, is ready, and we stagger into our 21st floor suite, complete with hot tub overlooking the mountains. Sadly, Vega has so much to offer that we will never get around to the hot tub.

Vegas is delicious and much changed since my last visit. I drag Michael, mercilessly, up and down the strip, indulging in every possible excess (it is Vegas after all). "La Reve" at The Wynn, "Believe" at The Luxor(See note below), "Ka" at The MGM, the roller coaster at New York, New York, cocktails and caviar at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant at Paris, shopping at Venice and Bellagio (ask Michael about his new Prada bathing suit), manicures at The Mirage, tasting menu at Emeril's (ho-hum) restaurant in MGM, and more martinis and slot machines than I can remember.

As we have another crack-of-crow's-piss flight to Calgary, the decision to stay up until all hours drinking and playing slots is probably ill advised, but what happens in Vegas only follows you as a hang over. We arrive in Calgary late on Thursday afternoon and are whisked away to the wilds of Airdrie for home some home-cooked deliciousness and calm. The next two days are a blur of visiting. Friday is egg-colouring day at the homestead, but I manage to drink my way through the throngs of attending children, some of whom, I'm told, are relatives. Friday night is our visit with a throng of rarely seen but cherished friends at our favourite Mexican restaurant, followed by a quick trip to StageWest where we catch the second act of "Boeing Boeing" (would someone please stop Marty Fishman from making good actors look bad?!?!) and a visit with more amazing friends who are still in the biz. Saturday is the big family Easter dinner which is lavish, delicious and entertaining but over-populated by children.

Sunday is another rising-sun-departure as we are being driven to Bozeman by my sainted Father and Step-Mother. The drive is a 9-hour blur of reading, napping and mountain views.

Bozeman is another arena-trying-to-be-a-theatre show. Have I mentioned how much I hate playing arenas? Again, most of the major set pieces and drops are cut. Again, we are yelling to be heard over the roar of set pieces rolling around on the hollow stage. And also, again, the audience is capacity and crazy-happy. It seems that no matter how bitter we are, we can't help but bring happiness to the people. We are now faced with two days off in Bozeman. Have I mentioned that I'm over Montana? Two days off here is a bit like two days off in your basement. Two days off in your car. Two days off in your bathroom. You probably could find something to do, but it will only entertain you for a few desperate moments. It's a bit like waiting in purgatory before we have to get up at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning so that we can fly to California.

*Note re: Criss Angel
Everyone, well, lots of people, are trashing this show. While I admit that it has some problems, most of which could be cured by a good writer and some major clean up on the transitions, it is a great night of thrills. I was enthralled and entertianed. Most of the furor seems to come from the content of the show which is very dark, macabre and twisted. I will say this......we saw "La Reve", which is the hot new ticket in Vegas that everyone is wiggling about. It was pretty, sometimes breath-taking, and a stunning use of technology. When all is said and done though, I felt empty, left with nothing, unchanged by the show. The Criss Angel show took risks, sometimes failing miserably, but at least it thrilled me, challenged me and left me lots to think about.

DIRTY ROTTEN RENO

People who can't afford to shop at Holt Renfrew, shop at The Bay. People who can't afford foiegras, buy Spam. People who can't afford Las Vegas go to Reno. Not only are we inundated with far too many brush cuts in sweat pants, 56D cups in sweat shirts, and polyester pant suits topped with lavender rinse, we are staying at Circus Circus.

Now, we've stayed at a lot of hotels on this tour. Some spectacular, some that make you want to peel your skin off and mail it back to yourself. In my personal opinion, this is the worst hotel ever. It's past it's day and starting to look it, the service is deplorable (but that seems to be the case everywhere in Reno), the housekeeping is not very good (I discover M&M's on my floor and Sarah finds the previous guest"s toiletry bag still hanging in her bathroom), and the long walk to the rooms in the Sky Tower is complicated by several sets of stairs that one needs to negotiate with one's luggage! Add to all of that the fact that the place is CRAWLING with children and you have my own personal kind of hell.

As I leave my room one day, there are 3 children, all under 5 years old, playing in the hallway....not an adult in sight. (Probably in the casino trying to win the money for this month's payment on the trailer home). I scowl at the urchins sufficiently enough to send them back to their rooms...or at least out of my sight. We find out that most of the children are here for a wrestling tournament. Twenty-two-hundred, twelve-year old boys have converged on Reno. (Why me? What next, locusts?)

The six elevators in our tower are miserably inadequate to service a full hotel. Often, you have to let 2 or 3 cars go before you can squeeze in to one, and this, after waiting several minutes for each car. Steve tells me that he eventually gave up one morning and walked down 20 flights of stairs with a long line of people who were doing the same.

Downtown Reno itself is looking pretty sad. A world apart from it's richer, sassier sister, Vegas. Everything is dusty, empty, closed or closing, and vagabonds, loonies and unsavories accent the streets. Everywhere we go, we find that service seems to be a lost art. We are studiously ignored for as long as possible, then grudgingly serviced. In a way I can see how it got this way because I'm pretty sure nobody makes much of a tip from Bucky Ballcap and Bertha Bingohall. At The Sienna, Reno's supposed "boutique hotel", I finally get the world's most watery martini from the careless bartener, and then have to pay $11.00 for it. I do have to add an exception here, though, and say that the food and the service at Mel's Diner are great. Perhaps that's why they've been there since 1947.

The theatre is very nice and supports a full season of Broadway shows and it's own Philharmonic series. We play 5 shows, all of them very well attended with vocal, responsive crowds. This is good news for me since I am still feeling like crap and need all the support I can get. The illness has turned into a wet, lung-rattling chest cough that makes me sound like an alcoholic, asthmatic smoker. Try singing and dancing a romantic duet through that!

Somehow, in spite of it all, I make it through. Through the impossibly overpopulated hotel. Through a manic five-shows-in-three-days. Through a whirlwind of visiting family, producers, possible producers and a host of sundry "somebodies" and hangers-on. Through phlegm, low oxygen, petty bickering questionable acting choices, I make it to the Easter hiatus. And that means that Michael and I get to spend a week of play-time together. First in Vegas, then in Calgary. Yee-haw. I hope my lungs can take it.

DIRTY ROTTEN GREAT FALLS, MT

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

I rest as much as possible on the bus and say as little as possible (imagine me resisting the impulse to speak) in order to preserve my voice. When we arrive in Great Falls, I take a brisk walk to see how quickly my energy level drops. I have a peculiar sensation in my mouth and it takes me a while to realize that I'm back in the prairie and I can taste the dust where ever I go. The walk goes well, my energy seems fine and my voice is about 80% restored so I decide to do the show.

We're in yet another weird-ass venue that requires a list of cuts from our sets and backdrops. It's been so long since we've done the full show that we're all having trouble remembering what it looks like. By the middle of Act 1, I am soaking wet and am relieved to hear that the rest of the cast is too. I don't have a fever, the theatre is simply the temperature of molten lava. It's a good, solid show and a great crowd and my voice manages to make it through to the end. Sadly, even though it is Jeffrey's birthday, I feel that it would be really irresponsible of me to go out and drink with the cast. So I go to bed.....

....and bed seems to be where I'll be spending my day off here in Great Falls. Ah....Mah.....Gahw! Being stuck downtown is not unlike being banished to the unfinished basement that your Grandparents refer to as the 'rec room'. I mean, I'm pretty good at entertaining myself but there is NOTHING here, and what there is carries an air of dusty, last chance desperation. Not to mention the assortment of broken down people who have the same last chance air. I hold a door open for an old man with a cane. Instead of thanking me, he hits me up for change. I tell him he gets money or politeness, not both. (Note to self: Buy a couple of hits of acid in order to stay entertained during 2 days off in Bozeman, MT!!!!).

The most interesting thing I've come across here is the classic 50's cafe down the street. This is no kitchy retro-diner, this is the real thing, complete with counter stools, juke boxes in the booths and hoodlums ordering cheese burger deluxe. The reason the place is so interesting though is because it has one of the grumpiest waitresses I've ever seen. She is such a sour-puss that she doesn't even raise her eyes from her pad when she speaks to someone. All I can think is, "Honey, I know you're a hundred and four years old, but you can't hold me responsible for that". She is, in fact, so miserable, and giving everyone (including the cook) such a hard time that I am wildly entertained.

DIRTY ROTTEN BILLINGS, MT

"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...

I wake in the middle of the night in my hotel room in Casper. I have the feeling that I am being murdered in my sleep. Someone is driving a knife into my throat. Actually, it turns out to be not a someone, but a something that has invaded my right tonsil and made me feel like I'm swallowing glass. I sleep very little and get up the next morning sounding like James Earl Jones after a night of boozing. I notify stage management that all is not well and put Duff on alert that he may be going on in Billings.

The day doesn't bring much improvement. At our mid-morning rest stop, I wander into the convenience store and am so dizzy I have to hold onto the counter to keep from falling over. By the time we get to Billings I am exhausted, even though I've been lying down for the whole trip. After lying on the hotel room bed for awhile, pounding oil of oregano and trying to find my voice, I make the decision to step out of the show for the night. It is only the second time in over 25 years that I have missed a show and it feels strange. I know I have made the right decision though when walking five blocks to the pharmacy. By the time I make it there, I am so tired that I have to rest before attempting the walk back to the hotel. I feel like an old man.

It's strange to hear all the kids leaving the hotel to do the show while I lay in bed. I decide to go find some soup for dinner since the hotel has no room service. Another short walk and I am once again depleted, but seated in a cozy, trendy restaurant. Their soup of the day is scallops and snow peas in a spicy Asian broth. It is an astoundingly delicious creation. As well, the heat relaxes and warms me and the spice makes my throat feel better. As I finish the soup, I realize that it's eight o'clock. The show has been happening for thirty minutes already. It is very weird to be sitting in a restaurant while my road family is at work. I feel like I'm truant.

I lie in bed, waiting to hear the cast coming back from the theatre. I am desperate to find out how it went. All reports are glowing. Duff did what we all knew he could/would. Duff thanks me for the gift - allowing him to get on stage at least once after understudying so many parts for so long. Everyone carries him off to buy him drinks, I carry myself back to bed.