"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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CORPUS CHRISTI, TX
|"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...Our hotel is right on the waterfront, not beach, but seawall walk. I luck into a room on the 17th floor with a balcony that faces the ocean (photo). Since it is that odd hour of day (3 p.m.) when restaurants simply can't decide if they can still call your meal "lunch", the places in the hotel have simply closed until 5 so as to rid themselves of the problem. Also, I am not particularly interested in combing through downtown Corpus Christi, which gets seamier and seamier the further away from the seawall you get. So....I decide to order room service and sit on my balcony, watching the pelicans, the yappy, black-faced gulls (actually called Laughing Gulls), the cranes and the giant oil tankers that cruise in and out of the bay. I order a Caesar Salad and a martini and drag my easy chair onto the balcony. Cost of turning the balcony into a private dining room for one? Well, let's just say that it's more than a lite lunch for two with wine.....and it's worth every penny.
The theatre is only a few blocks down the seawalk, so I leave early enough to take my time and enjoy the wind and water. Halfway there, I get a call from the stage manager. Apparently, the show is at 7:00, NOT 7:30, I laugh out loud at such a glaringly gigantic miscommunication going un-noticed by so many people for so long. Fortunately, does not have too many sparkly distractions and the cast has not scattered too far, so everyone makes it to the theatre in plenty of time.
Because Harlingen, TX has cancelled, we have a bonus day in Corpus Christi which means Michael and I can have a play day. Uncharacteristically, I leave the balcony door open for him when to we go sleep because he likes the air flow and morning sunlight. The sacrifice on my part is being woken by the gulls at first light, (Michael can sleep through a war) although the fact that I can open my eyes and see the ocean softens my crankiness. Our plan is to spend the day at the beach, but the wind coming in from the gulf makes is difficult. Walking down the seawalk we are, at times, forced to lean into the wind in order to not be blown over. Before we even reach the beach, we can see that most of it is being blown up onto the roadway. We decide to abort and head back to the hotel pool. Even on the pool deck, the wind is hard to take. At one point, eight deck loungers simultaneously slide five feet across the deck. It's like being in a scene from "Poltergeist". Still, we tough it out for a few hours, enjoying the warmth, the hot tub and the company.
The plan for the evening is to inhabit one of the local seafood restaurants for fresh oysters and other delectables from the sea.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN GALVESTON, TX
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
An eight a.m. bus, a flight from St. Louis, MO to Dallas TX, plane change, a flight to Houston TX and then a forty minute bus ride to Galveston TX. We arrive at the hotel after 4 p.m ....bus call to the theatre, 6:45. We are tired and more than a little cranky.
I visit the tragic mall across the street looking for some food. I am stunned as I walk past a huge store that specializes in prom dresses. No, I correct myself, they specialize in hideous prom dresses. It's difficult to describe how horrifyingly bad and monstrously ugly thesedresses are. Try to picture all the colours of a baboon's ass dressed with sequins, frills and layers of tulle. But it gets better...As I am leaving the mall with my Subway salad (the only food in the mall that didn't scare me) I encounter a puffy dress in action. It's on a teenager. It's royal blue. It's fluffier than a bridal gown and dotted with rhinestones. Accompanying the dress are 8 or 10 young men in Navy dress uniforms. The South lives.
The drive to the theatre is a long one because we can't stay on the since hurricane Ike wiped out all the hotels. Our drive reveals that there is still much the has to be rebuilt, repaired and recovered. We are told that the theatre we're performing in had to undergo extensive repair after the hurricane and we are only the second musical to be there since it's reopening. If you visit their website you can see some photos of this beautiful little jewel of a theatre and a power point presentation which shows the mess they had to clean up. The basement dressing rooms were totally submerged and are still being repaired so the naked cement floor, raw wood door frames and holes in the wall lend a post-apocalyptic feel to the place.
The problem with the theatre is that it wasn't built to house a show like "Dirty Rotten...". The orchestra pit no longer lowers, thanks to Ike, so our drummer is blocking people's view and cannot be inside his sound-proof booth. The wing space is dangerously cramped. There is no actual fly system but, rather, ropes tied to pipes, weighted with sand bags and hauled through pulleys. Totally old school. The worst thing is the sight lines. Because of the long, narrow seating style of the house, virtually everything that goes on back stage is totally visible to fully a third of the audience. No entrance can be a surprise, any set pieces waiting in the wings are visible, the props carts are fully visible. We are used to being able to hide in the dark and feel very exposed, like the audience is seeing us in our underwear....which they may have during quick changes.
None of this seems to matter to the crowd. The show goes as it should and they are on their feet at the end. As we gather at our bus after the show, the Executive Director (I think) of the theatre makes a point of raving about the show and says to me, "Thank you for being a part of our healing." Hearing that made the hellish travel day, the exhaustion and the strange performance space all seem a little easier to take.
An eight a.m. bus, a flight from St. Louis, MO to Dallas TX, plane change, a flight to Houston TX and then a forty minute bus ride to Galveston TX. We arrive at the hotel after 4 p.m ....bus call to the theatre, 6:45. We are tired and more than a little cranky.
I visit the tragic mall across the street looking for some food. I am stunned as I walk past a huge store that specializes in prom dresses. No, I correct myself, they specialize in hideous prom dresses. It's difficult to describe how horrifyingly bad and monstrously ugly thesedresses are. Try to picture all the colours of a baboon's ass dressed with sequins, frills and layers of tulle. But it gets better...As I am leaving the mall with my Subway salad (the only food in the mall that didn't scare me) I encounter a puffy dress in action. It's on a teenager. It's royal blue. It's fluffier than a bridal gown and dotted with rhinestones. Accompanying the dress are 8 or 10 young men in Navy dress uniforms. The South lives.
The drive to the theatre is a long one because we can't stay on the since hurricane Ike wiped out all the hotels. Our drive reveals that there is still much the has to be rebuilt, repaired and recovered. We are told that the theatre we're performing in had to undergo extensive repair after the hurricane and we are only the second musical to be there since it's reopening. If you visit their website you can see some photos of this beautiful little jewel of a theatre and a power point presentation which shows the mess they had to clean up. The basement dressing rooms were totally submerged and are still being repaired so the naked cement floor, raw wood door frames and holes in the wall lend a post-apocalyptic feel to the place.
The problem with the theatre is that it wasn't built to house a show like "Dirty Rotten...". The orchestra pit no longer lowers, thanks to Ike, so our drummer is blocking people's view and cannot be inside his sound-proof booth. The wing space is dangerously cramped. There is no actual fly system but, rather, ropes tied to pipes, weighted with sand bags and hauled through pulleys. Totally old school. The worst thing is the sight lines. Because of the long, narrow seating style of the house, virtually everything that goes on back stage is totally visible to fully a third of the audience. No entrance can be a surprise, any set pieces waiting in the wings are visible, the props carts are fully visible. We are used to being able to hide in the dark and feel very exposed, like the audience is seeing us in our underwear....which they may have during quick changes.
None of this seems to matter to the crowd. The show goes as it should and they are on their feet at the end. As we gather at our bus after the show, the Executive Director (I think) of the theatre makes a point of raving about the show and says to me, "Thank you for being a part of our healing." Hearing that made the hellish travel day, the exhaustion and the strange performance space all seem a little easier to take.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN COLUMBIA, MO
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
We've played theatres that are short on wing space. We've played theatres that are short on dressing room space. We've played theatres that are, well...., primitive when it comes to backstage facilities. We've played theatres that have not and will not ever be properly equipped to deal with performers of any kind, or with shows that involve more than one back wall and sofa as the set. Rarely, however, have we played a theatre that wraps all of these dubious qualifications into one.
Most notable, here in Columbia, are the dressing rooms...there are two of them....and two only. There are 19 of us using two, not-so-large, arena-style dressing rooms. And in these primitive dressing rooms are the make up mirrors which were obviously purchased from a defunct fun house. They are made of some kind of really cheap, wildly warped acrylic which makes your face and body look like a Picasso painting. The reflection offered by these pseudo looking-glass plates is so untrue that the girls eventually give up trying to perfect their faces and the boys spend a good ten minutes looking at their full body reflections, giggling like 8 year olds. The bathrooms (there are only two, one for each gender) are down the hall and our company manager's office is a folding table in the paint shop/laundry room/pass-thru-to-the-orchestra-pit. There are lots of reasons to be in show biz. I'm in it for the glamour.
We have a day off here in Columbia, but we are stranded, yet again, on the outskirts of the city. Not that it really matters because even if one were feeling adventurous, there are very few options that come up if one googles "things to do in Columbia". It is a day for rest, relaxation, and organizing future projects. I wander around the nearby mall for as long as I can take the vapid, slack-jawed creatures who inhabit the place before retreating to the hotel.
Seven-thirty a.m. bus call in the morning. The injustice of it all is eased by the fact that we are flying to Galveston, Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico, where the temperatures are hovering in the 80's.
We've played theatres that are short on wing space. We've played theatres that are short on dressing room space. We've played theatres that are, well...., primitive when it comes to backstage facilities. We've played theatres that have not and will not ever be properly equipped to deal with performers of any kind, or with shows that involve more than one back wall and sofa as the set. Rarely, however, have we played a theatre that wraps all of these dubious qualifications into one.
Most notable, here in Columbia, are the dressing rooms...there are two of them....and two only. There are 19 of us using two, not-so-large, arena-style dressing rooms. And in these primitive dressing rooms are the make up mirrors which were obviously purchased from a defunct fun house. They are made of some kind of really cheap, wildly warped acrylic which makes your face and body look like a Picasso painting. The reflection offered by these pseudo looking-glass plates is so untrue that the girls eventually give up trying to perfect their faces and the boys spend a good ten minutes looking at their full body reflections, giggling like 8 year olds. The bathrooms (there are only two, one for each gender) are down the hall and our company manager's office is a folding table in the paint shop/laundry room/pass-thru-to-the-orchestra-pit. There are lots of reasons to be in show biz. I'm in it for the glamour.
We have a day off here in Columbia, but we are stranded, yet again, on the outskirts of the city. Not that it really matters because even if one were feeling adventurous, there are very few options that come up if one googles "things to do in Columbia". It is a day for rest, relaxation, and organizing future projects. I wander around the nearby mall for as long as I can take the vapid, slack-jawed creatures who inhabit the place before retreating to the hotel.
Seven-thirty a.m. bus call in the morning. The injustice of it all is eased by the fact that we are flying to Galveston, Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico, where the temperatures are hovering in the 80's.
Friday, March 20, 2009
A view from elsewhere
I thought everyone might enjoy a view from the "other side", an entry from our TD, Jeff J.C.
Greetings Everyone,
I just thought I would take this opportunity to send a quick hello from “the road”. We continue to roll from state to state, working hard, laughing lots and giving our audiences one hell of a good show.
Everyday brings new adventures and new challenges. The strange things is, even though we have played in 43 different cities at this point, it doesn’t really matter to us “where” we happen to be. It’s just a name on the calendar. The other day I heard Kathryn (our Asst Carpenter) say to some of the local crew, “This may sound like a dumb question, but what city am I in?” As long as we know where our bus is in relation to the theatre, that’s all that matters. And a lot of the time that’s all we see, the loading dock, the local diner and the theatre.
From the crew’s point of view, Phil drives our bus through the night and we wake up outside the Stage Door. I usually get up first and talk to our truckers William and John (who are two of the best people you will ever want to meet). After a quick visit inside and some fast greetings with the local T.D., I go back on the bus and give the 20 minute wake up call. We gather outside and start to assess what kind of day we’re going to have: do they have a loading dock, does the local crew look like they know what they’re doing, how big is the stage, where are the power hook-ups, do we need to cut any set pieces, etc. etc.. At 8:00 the stuff starts rolling off the trucks and it’s “game on”. By the time we take our first coffee break I have usually hung all 17 drops, Kathryn has assembled all of the major set pieces, David has built and laid out the props, Sadie has mapped out the backstage, Alec and Justin have hung and cabled all four of the on-stage lighting pipes, Sara and Michael are setting up the dressing rooms and styling wigs, and Rob and Dan have the orchestra pit set up, the sound system in place and are ready to make noise. All by 10:00 in the morning. By noon, the stage is spiked, the FOH lighting is focused and we are down to little details and maintenance. After lunch we walk through the scene changes with the local crew, trying to teach them our show in about an hour, sound check as much as possible and finish focusing the rest of the lights. By 4:00 we are ready to do a show. Depending on their travel schedule, the cast usually arrives an hour before curtain to do a quick sound check. Before you know it, the show is done and we pack it all back up. Although our fastest time so far is 1 hour 33 minutes, we are usually done in about 2 hours. Then its back on the bus, have drink, laugh about the stupid things that happened that day and off to our bunks.
I cannot express enough how proud I am of our team. Not only are they extremely good at what they do, but they are the consummate professionals no matter what adversity we face. AND we’re having great time doing it together. Practically everyday someone on the local crew will say “y’all are so nice”. I don’t know what they’re used to, but they sure seem to enjoy us. They do look at as funny though when our head electrician runs the fly rail for the show and the head carpenter runs the lighting board and calls follow spots. We just say that’s how we roll at Drayton Entertainment.
Well, one show tonight in Wichita, KA then tomorrow it’s Columbia, MO, then down into Texas for a few days. Yee Ha!
I hope all is well back home. I’ll be thinking about you while I’m sipping a margarita on the beach in Corpus Christie.
Take care,
Jeff JC
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
...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.
Friday, March 13, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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!)
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!)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
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".
Friday, March 06, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, February 27, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN VIRUS
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
With the virus taking hold, I spend our last night in Charleston wide awake for large portions of the night, terrified of choking to death on my own phlegm. I am also required to clear my throat every 10 minutes which I know is keeping Michael awake. He is still carrying the last vestiges of the cough from when he had the plague which, should I be lucky enough to fall asleep, wakes me up. Between the two us, it is a fairly sleepless night.
Michael is on a different flight than I am (!?!) so he has to leave the hotel at 7 a.m. I wake, or rather, I 'give in' to the world of daylight at 8 a.m. in order to achieve some semblance of normalcy before my 9:30 bus call. The tactic doesn't really work. I am sleepy, grumpy, achy, (sneezy & dopey) and I sound like Kathleen Turner when I can get any sound out at all. I manage to avoid any serious, conversation-inducing contact with the company, thus avoiding the risk me shredding them. The airport presents some slightly more challenging interactions. I stand in the line-up for security and listen to the agent try to explain to random Granny and Grandpa that they have to go check in with their airline to get a boarding pass before they can go through security. The concept eventually starts to make sense to them so Granny begins to fire a list of inane question about what she can and can't, hypothetically, take on board. My eye brows meet in the middle and then crawl over the back of my head. Once I reach my departure gate lounge, I decide that food might relieve my restlessness. I opt for a small container of peach yogurt, but I can find no spoons anywhere to eat it with. I stand in line at the cash and, when it is finally my turn I ask if there are any spoons. "No, sir", is the emotionless response. I briefly consider launching into a tirade that raises the question, "Why sell the yogurt but provide nothing to eat it with", "Why should I pay a 600% markup if you're not going to give me a spoon", but it hurts to talk. So, I leave the yogurt in front of the cashier and stomp away.
Boarding the plane, I'm stuck behind Granny & Grandpa again. Granny has to stop AT EVERY ROW to check the numbers. I want to scream, "The idea of numbers hasn't changed since even YOU were young. Two still comes after one, five still comes after four. If you still haven't grasped the concept, I have a slapping game that might help you learn." The only thing that actually stops me from saying anything at all to her is the fear that the plane might be delayed if my less than friendly demeanour frightens her into a stroke. That, or I might just shake her teeth out of her head. By the time I reach my seat, I could fillet anyone just for looking at me. The company leaves me alone.
Thankfully, I manage to sleep for most of the trip. Michael's sainted father meets us at the airport (where Michael has been waiting since his flight arrived an hour before mine) and drives us home. It is almost 7 pm by the time we pull into our driveway which means Michael has been travelling for 12 hours and I've been on the move for 10. The twins, our house/cat sitters, have fluffed the house and bring gifts of cheese and bread. They have also contrived to give us the house to ourselves for our first night back.
Let Serenity reign, for tomorrow, we must do laundry and taxes before heading back out on to the road in a mere 5 days.
With the virus taking hold, I spend our last night in Charleston wide awake for large portions of the night, terrified of choking to death on my own phlegm. I am also required to clear my throat every 10 minutes which I know is keeping Michael awake. He is still carrying the last vestiges of the cough from when he had the plague which, should I be lucky enough to fall asleep, wakes me up. Between the two us, it is a fairly sleepless night.
Michael is on a different flight than I am (!?!) so he has to leave the hotel at 7 a.m. I wake, or rather, I 'give in' to the world of daylight at 8 a.m. in order to achieve some semblance of normalcy before my 9:30 bus call. The tactic doesn't really work. I am sleepy, grumpy, achy, (sneezy & dopey) and I sound like Kathleen Turner when I can get any sound out at all. I manage to avoid any serious, conversation-inducing contact with the company, thus avoiding the risk me shredding them. The airport presents some slightly more challenging interactions. I stand in the line-up for security and listen to the agent try to explain to random Granny and Grandpa that they have to go check in with their airline to get a boarding pass before they can go through security. The concept eventually starts to make sense to them so Granny begins to fire a list of inane question about what she can and can't, hypothetically, take on board. My eye brows meet in the middle and then crawl over the back of my head. Once I reach my departure gate lounge, I decide that food might relieve my restlessness. I opt for a small container of peach yogurt, but I can find no spoons anywhere to eat it with. I stand in line at the cash and, when it is finally my turn I ask if there are any spoons. "No, sir", is the emotionless response. I briefly consider launching into a tirade that raises the question, "Why sell the yogurt but provide nothing to eat it with", "Why should I pay a 600% markup if you're not going to give me a spoon", but it hurts to talk. So, I leave the yogurt in front of the cashier and stomp away.
Boarding the plane, I'm stuck behind Granny & Grandpa again. Granny has to stop AT EVERY ROW to check the numbers. I want to scream, "The idea of numbers hasn't changed since even YOU were young. Two still comes after one, five still comes after four. If you still haven't grasped the concept, I have a slapping game that might help you learn." The only thing that actually stops me from saying anything at all to her is the fear that the plane might be delayed if my less than friendly demeanour frightens her into a stroke. That, or I might just shake her teeth out of her head. By the time I reach my seat, I could fillet anyone just for looking at me. The company leaves me alone.
Thankfully, I manage to sleep for most of the trip. Michael's sainted father meets us at the airport (where Michael has been waiting since his flight arrived an hour before mine) and drives us home. It is almost 7 pm by the time we pull into our driveway which means Michael has been travelling for 12 hours and I've been on the move for 10. The twins, our house/cat sitters, have fluffed the house and bring gifts of cheese and bread. They have also contrived to give us the house to ourselves for our first night back.
Let Serenity reign, for tomorrow, we must do laundry and taxes before heading back out on to the road in a mere 5 days.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CHARLESTON
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour
And they slowly fell apart..... What ever this little virus is that's going around the cast, it's busy. At the start of the show, Heather is feeling pretty bad and is worried about how much voice she has. Problem is, her understudy has virtually no voice at all and can barely even speak. Heather will have to do what ever she can. Galen, who is even paler than usual, almost transparent in fact, makes the decision to do a 'half-track' show. That is, he is cut from the dance numbers but does his character scenes which involve dialogue. Tracz, who looks like cold shit on an old bagel, makes is through show, but the effort takes it's toll. Several of the cast and crew, including our Technical Director, are sniffling, sneezing and coughing. It seems that our imminent few days off couldn't come at a better time. Our hotel is a newly renovated Hampton Inn and is quite comfortable. It is near the theatre, which is near the airport. We are also quite near the freeway, so 'peacefulness' isn't the first thing that comes to mind if you should happen to sit outside to enjoy the Carolina weather for a moment. The airport is also home to a posting of The National Guard, so there are constantly gigantic, buzzing transport planes flying low over the hotel. At times it's like being in a vibrating bed that doesn't need quarters. Michael and I take advantage of a warm, sunny afternoon. We rent bicycles and tour around downtown Charleston viewing the beautiful and well maintained old plantation-style mansions, the waterfront, the harbour, and the market. I am desperate to get some good ol' southern BBQ into me so we take an early lunch and I eat a platter of meat. The second show doesn't get any better, in fact the casualty toll gets higher. Heather is out, Keely, her understudy, is in, voice or no voice. Keely has about one octave of sing-able notes in her range and, through a combination of modulation the melodies, sing/speak and sheer will, she makes it through the show. Galen is looking a little better, as is Tracz, but neither of them look anything like healthy people. By the end of the show, I am losing my voice, Stephen is complaining of a sore throat and two of our crew are not feeling so great either. On a brighter note,.... Duff and Sarah do manage to create a beautiful mural of the show logo for us all to sign in the dressing room halls. The theatre has a tradition that casts sign the walls to commemorate their visits. There are some that are quite elaborate like "The Drowsy Chaperon" (see photo) and "Sweeney Todd", and some that are downright primitive like Bill Cosby and David Byrne. Outside my dressing room door, there are signatures of luminaries like Anne Murray, Oprah Winfrey and that perky, blond Calgary girl who was in our "Dirty Rotten..." cast this summer, Victoria Lamond.
Monday, February 23, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN CHARLESTON
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
I continue to receive reports about the infamous 'bowlers' at the Hilton Toledo. It seems that quite a few of our group were kept up in to the wee hours by the antics of the party platoon.
I hear through the grape vine that we have played to over 10,000 people in our four days in Toledo. Who knew the Toledoans (Toledoites?) were such rabid theatre goers?
The morning comes too early as we stumble aboard the bus to get to the Detroit airport by 9 a.m. We have a day of flying as our flight takes us from Detroit to Charlotte NC then on to North Charleston SC. Our ascent and descent on both flights is very rough. LOTS of dips, dives and stomach churning lurches. Most people can cope with this, but poor Christy suffers from severe motion sickness. By the time we land in Charlotte, she is pale enough to be transparent. After we arrive in Charleston, I run into her in the hotel elevator. She is looking a little better, but still not feeling herself. She's on her way to bed.
Michael and I take advantage of a rare evening together and take a cab into downtown Charleston to enjoy a fine meal at the city's best seafood restaurant. We spend the early part of the evening enjoying the area, checking out the architecture, the horse and carriage stable next to the parking lot, the bars, the art galleries and, ultimately, and cute little wine store. We stumble on a London-style cab and ride back to our hotel feeling royal. The weather here is a bit on the cool side, but a far site better than the cold and blowing snow in Toledo. The boys are praying for a few more degrees so that they can do some golfing on Wednesday afternoon.
I continue to receive reports about the infamous 'bowlers' at the Hilton Toledo. It seems that quite a few of our group were kept up in to the wee hours by the antics of the party platoon.
I hear through the grape vine that we have played to over 10,000 people in our four days in Toledo. Who knew the Toledoans (Toledoites?) were such rabid theatre goers?
The morning comes too early as we stumble aboard the bus to get to the Detroit airport by 9 a.m. We have a day of flying as our flight takes us from Detroit to Charlotte NC then on to North Charleston SC. Our ascent and descent on both flights is very rough. LOTS of dips, dives and stomach churning lurches. Most people can cope with this, but poor Christy suffers from severe motion sickness. By the time we land in Charlotte, she is pale enough to be transparent. After we arrive in Charleston, I run into her in the hotel elevator. She is looking a little better, but still not feeling herself. She's on her way to bed.
Michael and I take advantage of a rare evening together and take a cab into downtown Charleston to enjoy a fine meal at the city's best seafood restaurant. We spend the early part of the evening enjoying the area, checking out the architecture, the horse and carriage stable next to the parking lot, the bars, the art galleries and, ultimately, and cute little wine store. We stumble on a London-style cab and ride back to our hotel feeling royal. The weather here is a bit on the cool side, but a far site better than the cold and blowing snow in Toledo. The boys are praying for a few more degrees so that they can do some golfing on Wednesday afternoon.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
...and another thing
...and another thing..
Pretty much every hotel we stay in has a "conservation program" in effect. They all have different names for it, but it's basically the same thing. If you're staying more than one night, you can opt out of having your sheets and towels replaced every day. In this way, the hotel is helping the environment by saving millions of gallons of water, hours of electricity and avoiding tons of chemicals ending up in the ground water. The tree-hugger in me would like to believe that the mega-corps actually care. The realist in me knows that it's nothing more than a shameless marketing ploy, begrudging enacted under pressure. Why? First: if they were truly committed to the environment or their program, they would train their housekeeping staff to follow the rules. No matter where I put my once-used towels, the maids INSIST on replacing them. On the shower rod, on the bathroom door, rehung on the towel bar, hidden in the closet or under the bed - they trade them for clean ones. Second: how can one profess to be "committed" to the planet and then happily supply guests with millions upon millions of plastic and Styrofoam cups. And worse still, to satisfy the germ-o-phobes who have been brainwashed into believing that bacterial are evil, the plastic cups are wrapped in .......PLASTIC!!!! If convenience is the enemy, then stupidity, greed and complacency are it's allies.
Pretty much every hotel we stay in has a "conservation program" in effect. They all have different names for it, but it's basically the same thing. If you're staying more than one night, you can opt out of having your sheets and towels replaced every day. In this way, the hotel is helping the environment by saving millions of gallons of water, hours of electricity and avoiding tons of chemicals ending up in the ground water. The tree-hugger in me would like to believe that the mega-corps actually care. The realist in me knows that it's nothing more than a shameless marketing ploy, begrudging enacted under pressure. Why? First: if they were truly committed to the environment or their program, they would train their housekeeping staff to follow the rules. No matter where I put my once-used towels, the maids INSIST on replacing them. On the shower rod, on the bathroom door, rehung on the towel bar, hidden in the closet or under the bed - they trade them for clean ones. Second: how can one profess to be "committed" to the planet and then happily supply guests with millions upon millions of plastic and Styrofoam cups. And worse still, to satisfy the germ-o-phobes who have been brainwashed into believing that bacterial are evil, the plastic cups are wrapped in .......PLASTIC!!!! If convenience is the enemy, then stupidity, greed and complacency are it's allies.
DIRTY ROTTEN TOLEDO
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
The drive to Toledo is a long one and, right from the beginning, we know it's going to be a push to get to the theatre. We do not, however, count on having a grand total of fifteen, yes 15 minutes in our hotel rooms before having to board the bus for the theatre. There is food waiting for us in the green room, pizza and lasagna, none of which I can eat but probably wouldn't anyway. On top of being too rushed to feel human, we are also too rushed to be familiarized with our hazardous stage. The floor surface is so slippery that, once again, we are doing Dirty Rotten on Ice.
On top of the skating rink issue, the stage is not level. I don't mean get-your-carpenters-level-out-to-prove-it kind of not level. I mean, when-your-standing-center-stage-you-feel-like-you're-on-a-hillside kind of not level. Under normal circumstances, this is only a minor inconvenience, noticed mostly by the dancers to whom it can present some problems. However, in this show, every single set piece is on wheels. The villa staircase unit, the balcony/hotel suite unit, all the palm trees, the hotel desk, everything rolls. At the end of my balcony scene with K.K., the boys come on stage to turn the balcony unit around for the next scene and, as they walk away, the unit just keeps on drifting. It continues to drift throughout the scene to the point where it is almost sideways on the stage. In another scene, the palm trees are lined up along the back of the stage to provide some colour and depth. For no reason, they begin to migrate toward the middle of the stage during the scene. Those on stage can hardly contain themselves. It's like being in a scene from "Attack of The Killer Tomatoes", but with palm trees. Thankfully, it's a short scene.
After the show we hit the hotel lounge. Sarah receives a phone call and quite clearly becomes very upset. We find out later that her beloved dog has had an accident and the prognosis is not good. Our hearts break for her. This is the hard part of being on the road, being away, being out of touch, being unable to "do" anything. And to top it off, it's her birthday. Thankfully, the next day, some kind of miracle occurs and the situation is greatly improved.
Though we are staying at the Hilton in Toledo, you'd never know it by the clientele. There is a convention of bowlers that come for 3 weekends every year. They are legion. Picture the loudest, fattest, drunkest, stereotypical trailer trash you can, and you'll start to get the picture. I run in to a man carrying a gallon bottle of vodka as I exit the elevator. Some of the cast has to actually elbow their way through the party crowds in the hallways to get to their room. Pembleton tells me that the room next door to him is still going strong (and loud) at 2:30 a.m. We may not often have the chance to say, "I believe we are the classiest people staying in this hotel".
The drive to Toledo is a long one and, right from the beginning, we know it's going to be a push to get to the theatre. We do not, however, count on having a grand total of fifteen, yes 15 minutes in our hotel rooms before having to board the bus for the theatre. There is food waiting for us in the green room, pizza and lasagna, none of which I can eat but probably wouldn't anyway. On top of being too rushed to feel human, we are also too rushed to be familiarized with our hazardous stage. The floor surface is so slippery that, once again, we are doing Dirty Rotten on Ice.
On top of the skating rink issue, the stage is not level. I don't mean get-your-carpenters-level-out-to-prove-it kind of not level. I mean, when-your-standing-center-stage-you-feel-like-you're-on-a-hillside kind of not level. Under normal circumstances, this is only a minor inconvenience, noticed mostly by the dancers to whom it can present some problems. However, in this show, every single set piece is on wheels. The villa staircase unit, the balcony/hotel suite unit, all the palm trees, the hotel desk, everything rolls. At the end of my balcony scene with K.K., the boys come on stage to turn the balcony unit around for the next scene and, as they walk away, the unit just keeps on drifting. It continues to drift throughout the scene to the point where it is almost sideways on the stage. In another scene, the palm trees are lined up along the back of the stage to provide some colour and depth. For no reason, they begin to migrate toward the middle of the stage during the scene. Those on stage can hardly contain themselves. It's like being in a scene from "Attack of The Killer Tomatoes", but with palm trees. Thankfully, it's a short scene.
After the show we hit the hotel lounge. Sarah receives a phone call and quite clearly becomes very upset. We find out later that her beloved dog has had an accident and the prognosis is not good. Our hearts break for her. This is the hard part of being on the road, being away, being out of touch, being unable to "do" anything. And to top it off, it's her birthday. Thankfully, the next day, some kind of miracle occurs and the situation is greatly improved.
Though we are staying at the Hilton in Toledo, you'd never know it by the clientele. There is a convention of bowlers that come for 3 weekends every year. They are legion. Picture the loudest, fattest, drunkest, stereotypical trailer trash you can, and you'll start to get the picture. I run in to a man carrying a gallon bottle of vodka as I exit the elevator. Some of the cast has to actually elbow their way through the party crowds in the hallways to get to their room. Pembleton tells me that the room next door to him is still going strong (and loud) at 2:30 a.m. We may not often have the chance to say, "I believe we are the classiest people staying in this hotel".
DIRTY ROTTEN OWENSBORO
"DIrty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
Though I am in the famed locale of the only mystery play writing festival in
North America (as far as I know) there is little time to investigate it. We
arrive at 2 pm and because we have a 7 pm curtain (bed time comes early in
Kentucky) the bus call to leave the hotel for the theatre is 5:45. As the
hotel is in the middle of fuckingnowhere, there is little time for anything
but a quick trip to Kroger's grocery and a stop at White Lightening Liquors
before a shower, shave and oh-so-cursory-meditation. I do scrounge a few
minutes to call Mark, artistic director of Vertigo Mystery Theatre, and tell
him that I'm in the holy land.
The show is mediocre, as is the very large crowd, though they do (as usual) express their appreciation by standing at the end. I am not having a good night. It starts when I completely destroy any hope of a laugh on one of my sure-fire laugh-lines by stumbling over the words and totally fucking up the timing. It goes down hill from there for a variety of reasons, to the point where I am actually relieved to see the audience rise to their feet (albeit, slowly).
Though I am in the famed locale of the only mystery play writing festival in
North America (as far as I know) there is little time to investigate it. We
arrive at 2 pm and because we have a 7 pm curtain (bed time comes early in
Kentucky) the bus call to leave the hotel for the theatre is 5:45. As the
hotel is in the middle of fuckingnowhere, there is little time for anything
but a quick trip to Kroger's grocery and a stop at White Lightening Liquors
before a shower, shave and oh-so-cursory-meditation. I do scrounge a few
minutes to call Mark, artistic director of Vertigo Mystery Theatre, and tell
him that I'm in the holy land.
The show is mediocre, as is the very large crowd, though they do (as usual) express their appreciation by standing at the end. I am not having a good night. It starts when I completely destroy any hope of a laugh on one of my sure-fire laugh-lines by stumbling over the words and totally fucking up the timing. It goes down hill from there for a variety of reasons, to the point where I am actually relieved to see the audience rise to their feet (albeit, slowly).
Monday, February 16, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN BRAMPTON
The morning we leave Flint, MI for Brampton, ON, we are greeted by our new bus driver - Lady D. She has a smile as big as the great outdoors and a sparkling personality to match. We love her immediately. The love affair does tarnish slightly a bit later on as we hit stop-and-go- traffic on the 401. The combination of Lady D getting the feel of a new bus and her aggressive, heavy-footed brake/accelerate technique leaves the majority of the bus severely motion sick. I believe there was even some puking. She was spoken to, in the nicest possible way, and her driving smoothed out. Rumour has it that our old driver, James, or King James as we called him, won't be returning to us. As no one has bothered to confirm or deny the rumour so we feel a little like jilted lovers and can't help but wonder if we hogged the blankets or burned the meatloaf.
The Rose Theatre in Brampton is a cute little place. It feels very tiny to us after playing houses that seat well over 1200 people. The Rose maxes out at 860. The place is only a few years old so nothing looks tired or shabby yet. HOWEVER, I would like to bitch slap the architects. Why, why, oh why do people design theatres when they have no idea what goes on in them. The dressing rooms and the green room are 6 miles from the stage. The last theatre we were in where this was also a problem, it was because of major renovations and space constraints. The Rose is brand new and this flaw is, therefore, unforgivable! Just as unforgivable as putting frosted lights around the make-up mirrors (flattering, yes, but the exact opposite of the stage lighting for which you are trying to do your make-up) and not having a full-length or standing-height mirror (When, Mr. Architect, was the last time you sat down in front of the mirror to put your tie on?).
Our first night audience is like an audience, but smaller. Also quieter. ALOT quieter. In fact, our first show back in Canada sucks. They barely make a sound. We are not impressed. And it only gets worse when we got back to our oh-so-not-with-it Holiday Inn to find that the lounge had closed at 10 pm. Given that there is a statue of Ganesha that greets you as you come in to the main lobby, I can only assume that the owners are Hindu and, therefore, don't understand the concept of a night-cap or alcohol as self-medication. Our next 2 shows are much better with much more responsive crowds. Saturday night is a near capacity crowd.
I had thought that I would have to spend Sunday (day off in Brampton) auditioning for "Moon Over Buffalo" (which I am directing for Drayton in July). But things don't turn out that way so I rent a car and head to Niagara. Being home for 18 hours is odd, but I manage to get some laundry done, re-organize my bags, visit with Pam, scarf down a cheese buffet provided by Katy & Jess (our house sitters) and sleep in my own bed. Michael, who is sick as a dog and already en route to Kentucky is jealous of my quick trip. All I can do is bring him jam.
Now back in Brampton at the Holiday Inn, I wonder what I will do with myself since it's a holiday and everything is closed. Well.....thanks to Pam, I DO have vodka.
The Rose Theatre in Brampton is a cute little place. It feels very tiny to us after playing houses that seat well over 1200 people. The Rose maxes out at 860. The place is only a few years old so nothing looks tired or shabby yet. HOWEVER, I would like to bitch slap the architects. Why, why, oh why do people design theatres when they have no idea what goes on in them. The dressing rooms and the green room are 6 miles from the stage. The last theatre we were in where this was also a problem, it was because of major renovations and space constraints. The Rose is brand new and this flaw is, therefore, unforgivable! Just as unforgivable as putting frosted lights around the make-up mirrors (flattering, yes, but the exact opposite of the stage lighting for which you are trying to do your make-up) and not having a full-length or standing-height mirror (When, Mr. Architect, was the last time you sat down in front of the mirror to put your tie on?).
Our first night audience is like an audience, but smaller. Also quieter. ALOT quieter. In fact, our first show back in Canada sucks. They barely make a sound. We are not impressed. And it only gets worse when we got back to our oh-so-not-with-it Holiday Inn to find that the lounge had closed at 10 pm. Given that there is a statue of Ganesha that greets you as you come in to the main lobby, I can only assume that the owners are Hindu and, therefore, don't understand the concept of a night-cap or alcohol as self-medication. Our next 2 shows are much better with much more responsive crowds. Saturday night is a near capacity crowd.
I had thought that I would have to spend Sunday (day off in Brampton) auditioning for "Moon Over Buffalo" (which I am directing for Drayton in July). But things don't turn out that way so I rent a car and head to Niagara. Being home for 18 hours is odd, but I manage to get some laundry done, re-organize my bags, visit with Pam, scarf down a cheese buffet provided by Katy & Jess (our house sitters) and sleep in my own bed. Michael, who is sick as a dog and already en route to Kentucky is jealous of my quick trip. All I can do is bring him jam.
Now back in Brampton at the Holiday Inn, I wonder what I will do with myself since it's a holiday and everything is closed. Well.....thanks to Pam, I DO have vodka.
Friday, February 13, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN GRIND
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"....on tour
At this point in the tour, we arrive at the real grind of doing a "bus & truck" tour. Though we don't perform every night, for nine consecutive days we do not spend more than 16 or 18 hours in one place. Check in, check out, check in, check out. Abilene TX, Monroe LA, Atlanta GA, Fayetteville LA, Athens GA, Louisville KY, Ft. Wayne IL, Muncie IN, Davenport IA. Long days trapped on the bus begin to take their toll. It gets increasingly difficult to find one's "bus Zen".
The show in Ft. Wayne is not a memorable one, though the theatre is another one of those grand old beauties. Muncie's theatre is not pretty but the crowd is wild, being peppered with many students from the University theater program.
Davenport is a pretty little place even if it does sound like furniture. Grand old Victorian mansions looking out at the bucolic view of the riverboat casinos along the Mississippi. The theatre is only a block or so from the hotel. Oddly enough, the dressing rooms are about the same distance from the stage. No lie, to get to my dressing room I have to follow a series of long and twisting hallways that would rival underground Disney or NASA. By the time I get there, I'm convinced I'm under the Chinese restaurant in the next block. Because the show is a cavalcade of costume changes, pretty much everyone is forced to change in cramped, makeshift areas in the wings. The theater in the River Center is a huge deco-style affair (2400 seats). One of it's claims to fame is that Cary Grant died in one of the dressing rooms in '86. After the show, some of us wander over to the casino by our hotel. We enjoy teaching Howard (the largest drummer in captivity) how to play the slot machines, a concept that seems difficult for him to grasp for a while which only entertains us more. We are proud to say we popped his slot cherry.
Overnight in Flint MI tonight, which used to be the suicide capitol of North America (see Michael Moore's film "Roger & Me"). Then crossing the border to our home and native land tomorrow for 3 shows in Brampton. We're all very excited.
At this point in the tour, we arrive at the real grind of doing a "bus & truck" tour. Though we don't perform every night, for nine consecutive days we do not spend more than 16 or 18 hours in one place. Check in, check out, check in, check out. Abilene TX, Monroe LA, Atlanta GA, Fayetteville LA, Athens GA, Louisville KY, Ft. Wayne IL, Muncie IN, Davenport IA. Long days trapped on the bus begin to take their toll. It gets increasingly difficult to find one's "bus Zen".
The show in Ft. Wayne is not a memorable one, though the theatre is another one of those grand old beauties. Muncie's theatre is not pretty but the crowd is wild, being peppered with many students from the University theater program.
Davenport is a pretty little place even if it does sound like furniture. Grand old Victorian mansions looking out at the bucolic view of the riverboat casinos along the Mississippi. The theatre is only a block or so from the hotel. Oddly enough, the dressing rooms are about the same distance from the stage. No lie, to get to my dressing room I have to follow a series of long and twisting hallways that would rival underground Disney or NASA. By the time I get there, I'm convinced I'm under the Chinese restaurant in the next block. Because the show is a cavalcade of costume changes, pretty much everyone is forced to change in cramped, makeshift areas in the wings. The theater in the River Center is a huge deco-style affair (2400 seats). One of it's claims to fame is that Cary Grant died in one of the dressing rooms in '86. After the show, some of us wander over to the casino by our hotel. We enjoy teaching Howard (the largest drummer in captivity) how to play the slot machines, a concept that seems difficult for him to grasp for a while which only entertains us more. We are proud to say we popped his slot cherry.
Overnight in Flint MI tonight, which used to be the suicide capitol of North America (see Michael Moore's film "Roger & Me"). Then crossing the border to our home and native land tomorrow for 3 shows in Brampton. We're all very excited.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN FAYETTEVILLE/ATHENS
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"...on tour...
Well, my over-worked little lap-top computer has finally given up the ghost. I'll have to take it in for repair as soon as we're in one place long enough for me to do that. Hopefully, we'll be staying in large enough and up-to-date enough places that they'll at least have some kind of business center where I can access email.
Our show in Fayetteville wasn't great. Huge house with only a few hundred people scattered throughout. The theatre was definitely a bit run down and look a bit rough around the edges, But, apparently, so were we since the audience response was tepid at best. As the hotel wasn't particularly memorable either, we were happy to leave the next morning.
Athens, GA proves much more welcoming. Huge crowd. Very responsive and vocal throughout. It is both Brian and Duff's birthday as well. Heather writes "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in lipstick across Michael's ass so that he can display it to Brian from the wings as Brian is trapped on stage. Most of the cast go out to celebrate and are VERY green & grumpy as they board the bus next morning. Even Paul remarks the he doesn't think he's ever heard the back of the bus so quiet. Those of us that can concentrate on things other than our pounding heads or churning stomachs are loath to leave Georgia as the weather is beautiful and warm, but leave we must.
We stop for a lunch break somewhere outs tide of Nashville, TN. There is a local Sunday flea market that Duff and I decide to check out. There are some not UNinteresting things, but mostly it is mountains of used DVDs and boxes of dried foods that look like they've fallen off the back of a truck. There are also plenty of men dressed in camouflage with "Massey Ferguson" or "Harvester International" hats, and little old ladies listening to fiddle recordings of "Jesus Loves Me". They all look askance at us because we have clearly not swum in their gene pool. At one point, Duff overhears a kid ask, "Moma, can I have a skinnin' knife?"
We spend the night in Louisville, KY. Our hotel is one of those grand old, turn of the century ladies who's "had a little work done". Nothing too drastic though because she still looks great and reeks of style. The Steelbach Hilton is full of moulded cornices, marble floors, burnished wood and brass bannisters. The lounge is one of those dark, plush places that is reminiscent of 'gentleman's clubs' where you could disappear from society for hours at a time. The rooms, though small, are very tasteful and have, miraculously, managed to maintain their original heavy wood doors. We are literally across the street from "4th Street Live", Louisville's main entertainment area. I choose a steak-house-type restaurant and as the server to educate about bourbon. I have to say that, in spite of my long and mostly unblemished drinking career, bourbon and I are still trying to come to terms. It's definitely an acquired taste. This from someone who has happily consumed large amounts of room temperature gin or blue curacao liqueur when there was nothing else at hand.
Well, my over-worked little lap-top computer has finally given up the ghost. I'll have to take it in for repair as soon as we're in one place long enough for me to do that. Hopefully, we'll be staying in large enough and up-to-date enough places that they'll at least have some kind of business center where I can access email.
Our show in Fayetteville wasn't great. Huge house with only a few hundred people scattered throughout. The theatre was definitely a bit run down and look a bit rough around the edges, But, apparently, so were we since the audience response was tepid at best. As the hotel wasn't particularly memorable either, we were happy to leave the next morning.
Athens, GA proves much more welcoming. Huge crowd. Very responsive and vocal throughout. It is both Brian and Duff's birthday as well. Heather writes "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in lipstick across Michael's ass so that he can display it to Brian from the wings as Brian is trapped on stage. Most of the cast go out to celebrate and are VERY green & grumpy as they board the bus next morning. Even Paul remarks the he doesn't think he's ever heard the back of the bus so quiet. Those of us that can concentrate on things other than our pounding heads or churning stomachs are loath to leave Georgia as the weather is beautiful and warm, but leave we must.
We stop for a lunch break somewhere outs tide of Nashville, TN. There is a local Sunday flea market that Duff and I decide to check out. There are some not UNinteresting things, but mostly it is mountains of used DVDs and boxes of dried foods that look like they've fallen off the back of a truck. There are also plenty of men dressed in camouflage with "Massey Ferguson" or "Harvester International" hats, and little old ladies listening to fiddle recordings of "Jesus Loves Me". They all look askance at us because we have clearly not swum in their gene pool. At one point, Duff overhears a kid ask, "Moma, can I have a skinnin' knife?"
We spend the night in Louisville, KY. Our hotel is one of those grand old, turn of the century ladies who's "had a little work done". Nothing too drastic though because she still looks great and reeks of style. The Steelbach Hilton is full of moulded cornices, marble floors, burnished wood and brass bannisters. The lounge is one of those dark, plush places that is reminiscent of 'gentleman's clubs' where you could disappear from society for hours at a time. The rooms, though small, are very tasteful and have, miraculously, managed to maintain their original heavy wood doors. We are literally across the street from "4th Street Live", Louisville's main entertainment area. I choose a steak-house-type restaurant and as the server to educate about bourbon. I have to say that, in spite of my long and mostly unblemished drinking career, bourbon and I are still trying to come to terms. It's definitely an acquired taste. This from someone who has happily consumed large amounts of room temperature gin or blue curacao liqueur when there was nothing else at hand.
Friday, February 06, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN ATLANTA
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" on tour...
As we board the bus to depart from Monroe, LA, I discover that there was drama after I left the lounge. The abbreviated version is that everyones food took an hour or more to arrive, regardless of what it was, and when Jess finally got hers, it wasn't cooked properly. She sent it away and ordered a pizza for delivery. She was told she couldn't eat outside food in the lounge. Managers were called. Apologies were made. Free cocktails were delivered. Little did we know that Jess's bad food karma would rear it's ugly head again when we stop at a sad shopping mall in Columbia, SC for lunch. (How many sportswear and gangsta t-shirt stores does one mall need?) Here is a loose transcription of the conversation that took place between Jess and the Food Court Table Cleaner.
FCTC: Miss, I think you forgot something.
Jess: (realizing she's left some personal items behind). Oh, thanks.
FCTC: Looks like you forgot to clear your tray off your table too.
Jess: Excuse me? I didn't have a tray.
FCTC: Well then one of your friends did.
She then proceeds to hold Jess's stuff hostage until the tray is removed. This same half-crazed-table-Nazi also tracks Duff down IN THE PARKING LOT to let him know that he didn't clear his tray from the table. Jezuz people. Why you gotta hate your life all over us?
We are all, as usual, looking forward to arriving in Atlanta after another long boring day on the bus. As I always do when we go to any large city, I surf the net to see what there is to do. I stumble accross a production of "Jesus Christ Superstar -GOSPEL" that seems to be wowing Atlanta. I decide to check it out, and Galen and Heather tag along. (I find out later that this theater is also where "The Color Purple" and "Aida" were born) We had no idea what to expect and it's difficult to explain, but I can give you the basic building blocks and you let your imagination do the rest. A completely re-worked orchestral and vocal score which is the same music, but Gospel-fied. An all black cast with voices that were superhuman. And, the final touch, added to the cast a 30 member gospel choir. When they walked down the aisle singing in the first number, we knew we were in for something special. We clapped. We hooted. We jived and swayed. We cried. We laughed out of sheer joy. We shivered. Oh, how we shivered. And we lept to our feet before the lights for the curtain call had even come up. One of the most amazing nights I have EVER spent in the theatre.
There was a talk-back after the show and stayed around to chat with a few of the cast, all of whom were delightful and thanked us for spending our free night at their show. Darius de Hass, who played Jesus, raved about how much he loves Toronto, having been there often to visit his aunt who is Salome Bey. (Now we can say we've met Jesus twice in the same week!)
After three long, dull days of driving, we are finally in Fayetteville, NC. It might be nice to do the show again.
As we board the bus to depart from Monroe, LA, I discover that there was drama after I left the lounge. The abbreviated version is that everyones food took an hour or more to arrive, regardless of what it was, and when Jess finally got hers, it wasn't cooked properly. She sent it away and ordered a pizza for delivery. She was told she couldn't eat outside food in the lounge. Managers were called. Apologies were made. Free cocktails were delivered. Little did we know that Jess's bad food karma would rear it's ugly head again when we stop at a sad shopping mall in Columbia, SC for lunch. (How many sportswear and gangsta t-shirt stores does one mall need?) Here is a loose transcription of the conversation that took place between Jess and the Food Court Table Cleaner.
FCTC: Miss, I think you forgot something.
Jess: (realizing she's left some personal items behind). Oh, thanks.
FCTC: Looks like you forgot to clear your tray off your table too.
Jess: Excuse me? I didn't have a tray.
FCTC: Well then one of your friends did.
She then proceeds to hold Jess's stuff hostage until the tray is removed. This same half-crazed-table-Nazi also tracks Duff down IN THE PARKING LOT to let him know that he didn't clear his tray from the table. Jezuz people. Why you gotta hate your life all over us?
We are all, as usual, looking forward to arriving in Atlanta after another long boring day on the bus. As I always do when we go to any large city, I surf the net to see what there is to do. I stumble accross a production of "Jesus Christ Superstar -GOSPEL" that seems to be wowing Atlanta. I decide to check it out, and Galen and Heather tag along. (I find out later that this theater is also where "The Color Purple" and "Aida" were born) We had no idea what to expect and it's difficult to explain, but I can give you the basic building blocks and you let your imagination do the rest. A completely re-worked orchestral and vocal score which is the same music, but Gospel-fied. An all black cast with voices that were superhuman. And, the final touch, added to the cast a 30 member gospel choir. When they walked down the aisle singing in the first number, we knew we were in for something special. We clapped. We hooted. We jived and swayed. We cried. We laughed out of sheer joy. We shivered. Oh, how we shivered. And we lept to our feet before the lights for the curtain call had even come up. One of the most amazing nights I have EVER spent in the theatre.
There was a talk-back after the show and stayed around to chat with a few of the cast, all of whom were delightful and thanked us for spending our free night at their show. Darius de Hass, who played Jesus, raved about how much he loves Toronto, having been there often to visit his aunt who is Salome Bey. (Now we can say we've met Jesus twice in the same week!)
After three long, dull days of driving, we are finally in Fayetteville, NC. It might be nice to do the show again.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN ABILENE
The whole company is extra perky as we gather around the bus in the beautiful morning sunshine. We have been spoiled by having two nights in our very deluxe Dallas Sheraton suites and we drag our heels when faced with moving on.The drive to Abilene is simple and uneventful but for our lunch stop. We pull in to a Shell station in a place that truly deserves to be called Sparrow Fart, Texas. Inside the station there is a Subway sandwich place as well as a local grille that serves up meatloaf, cream gravy, mashed potatoes and the like. As we are getting out of the bus, out attention is taken by.....yes.....it is......it's a life sized cross. And it's being loaded out of the back of a pick-up truck by a tall, thin man. And, yes, he is actually hefting it onto his shoulder and making his way toward the Shell station. Could this be the second coming, right here in Sparrow Fart? Perhaps not. We're quite sure that the bible stories didn't mention Jebus smoking and our cross-toter lights up a Marlborough. Also, this cross, big as it is, has wheels on the bottom to assist in all that pesky dragging. Personally, I am a bit miffed that he parks his cross directly in front of the picnic tables, effectively cutting off access to all three of them. I am forced to go sit in the wagon-wheel chairs. Someone talks to Jebus to find out that he has apparently been across the U.S. five times with his cross. Steve gets permission from Jebus to drag his cross around the parking lot. (Photo attached) As we pull away, he has, miraculously, disappeared. I dub him Heeby-Jebus.
We have a great show in Abilene. Huge crowd who are all having a great time. They not only leap to their feet but many of them are waving their arms in the air during the curtain call. They're very effusive here in Texas.
In the morning, I join the girls gathered around the bus as we prepare to leave Abilene and discover that, as usual, I have caused more of a stir than I know. It seems that the girls found themselves in the position of "enlightening" one or two of the wardrobe/hair people assigned to them last night. At first it was just simple things like, "Do ya'll have the same kind of music as us up there in Canada. Have you heard of Kelly Clarkson?". But then, one of them wonders aloud if Michael, who is basically in charge of them while the show is in the theatre, might be gay? The girls are amused by this and aren't really taking it seriously. They suggest that it's certainly possible. One of the dressers asks, "How do you tell? They look just like everyone else." At this point, the girls realize that they're not in Kansas anymore. One of our girls, interested in whacking the hive, says, "In fact, Michael's husband is in the show." Shock and consternation abound. "They're married??? Like, legally married???? What state????" The girls offer the not-so-gentle reminder that we are from CANADA. Knowing none of this, I enter the room at the end of the night, looking for Michael. Now, when one enters a ladies dressing room it is customary to knock and say "It's a boy", since the girls are often naked. If you want to just knock and barge in, and you are the correct gender, you might say, "It's a girl". Or, you can do what I do, a combination of the two preceded with the announcement, "Homosexual!". Which, of course, is what I did last night. I barged into the room, planted a big kiss on Michael and told him I'd see him at the next stop.
Had I known what kind of a stir I was causing, I'd have asked him to model the new bubble-gum pink Dolce & Gabbana briefs I just bought him. It's quite possible that there is a prayer meeting for our immortal souls somewhere in Abilene right now. What they don't know is that we met Jebus that very day.
The first part of our endless drive to North Carolina lands us in Monroe, LA for a stop-over. The lounge at the hotel is an unlikely combination of camouflage-hatted good ole' boys and blaring gansta' rap music. I retreat to my room.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN DALLAS
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" ...on tour.We all take advantage of the spring-like weather and consume the best of what the very wealthy city of Dallas has to offer. Some go golfing, some go shopping, some take in the grassy knoll assassination museum. I decide to take in the the Tutankhamen exhibit at The Dallas Museum of Art. Sadly, the rest of the stunning museum is closed because it's Monday, but the exhibit is well worth the special $15.00 admission price. Though, I do have to say, there was far less to see than I thought there would be. We know that there were thousands of artifacts from Tut's tomb, we saw perhaps 35 of them in this exhibit. Clearly, Egypt is like your stingy older sister who doesn't like to share her stuff or have it stray too far from her room.
After the museum, we ride on the 100 year old, free trolley car that goes through the tasteful "Uptown" district. Duff, Mike Donald and I enjoy some shopping, a lite lunch and cocktails at The Ritz-Carlton. I feel obliged to photograph the orchids in the lobby of The Ritz for Michael's father. I can assure you, they're real. I notice that they're crazy about valet parking in Dallas. There are red coats hopping into cars everywhere, even at smaller bars or restaurants. Everyone's car is sparkling clean and very new, just like all the buildings. You can smell the money.
Back at the hotel the next day, everyone agrees that, however they may have spent their free day in Dallas, they had a good time and found the people very friendly, open and helpful.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
DIRTY ROTTEN GREENSBURG (PA)
"Dirty Rotten Scoundrels - The Musical' On Tour
We load the bus knowing that we face a full day, well, six hours drive before we get to our hotel. The early part of the drive is scenic as we drive through Brooklyn, under The Brooklyn Bridge, past Ellis Island and The Statue of Liberty with great views of New York Harbour along the way. It's a much more scenic drive the one that got us to Long Island since we came in through The Bronx. Several long, boring hours of driving later we arrive at our hotel. The time is 6:30 p.m. We have a mere half hour to check in to the hotel, freshen and be back on the bus to get us to the theatre for an 8 pm show.
We are in yet another theatre that's too small for us and back stage is the usual mayhem. I still haven't figured out why we cut set pieces but don't cut the crew that would have been moving them. In a cramped backstage we have 18 cast members racing to and fro, 7 of our own crew and 13 local crew. Honestly, because it's not my budget that's paying for them I don't really care, I just want them to get the fuck out of my way. OH, and perhaps NOT whistle a happy tune while doing a set change behind the scrim that I'm doing a scene in front of. The audience is small, but appreciative and, after last night's show, we are relieved to know that we still have the power to make them laugh.
Apparently, my hotel room karma is very good this week. I assume that everyone's room is as deluxe as mine but I find out that I'm the only one that lucked into this kind of luxury. The room is huge. It's so big that the king sized bed looks small. There is a sofa, coffee table, fridge, microwave, desk & chair, flat screen tv. stereo and, oh yeah, a two person jacuzzi in the corner beside the tv. And you could play handball in the bathroom. Heather actually offers me money so that she and Galen can have jacuzzi play time. I remain impassive and when I get back from the show, I sit in the swirling water eating my left over salad from McDonald's, drinking Australian plonk and watching "Iron Chef".
Tomorrow we fly to Dallas where we get to spend a day. We are all looking foward to feeling the energy of a city, if only briefly.
We load the bus knowing that we face a full day, well, six hours drive before we get to our hotel. The early part of the drive is scenic as we drive through Brooklyn, under The Brooklyn Bridge, past Ellis Island and The Statue of Liberty with great views of New York Harbour along the way. It's a much more scenic drive the one that got us to Long Island since we came in through The Bronx. Several long, boring hours of driving later we arrive at our hotel. The time is 6:30 p.m. We have a mere half hour to check in to the hotel, freshen and be back on the bus to get us to the theatre for an 8 pm show.
We are in yet another theatre that's too small for us and back stage is the usual mayhem. I still haven't figured out why we cut set pieces but don't cut the crew that would have been moving them. In a cramped backstage we have 18 cast members racing to and fro, 7 of our own crew and 13 local crew. Honestly, because it's not my budget that's paying for them I don't really care, I just want them to get the fuck out of my way. OH, and perhaps NOT whistle a happy tune while doing a set change behind the scrim that I'm doing a scene in front of. The audience is small, but appreciative and, after last night's show, we are relieved to know that we still have the power to make them laugh.
Apparently, my hotel room karma is very good this week. I assume that everyone's room is as deluxe as mine but I find out that I'm the only one that lucked into this kind of luxury. The room is huge. It's so big that the king sized bed looks small. There is a sofa, coffee table, fridge, microwave, desk & chair, flat screen tv. stereo and, oh yeah, a two person jacuzzi in the corner beside the tv. And you could play handball in the bathroom. Heather actually offers me money so that she and Galen can have jacuzzi play time. I remain impassive and when I get back from the show, I sit in the swirling water eating my left over salad from McDonald's, drinking Australian plonk and watching "Iron Chef".
Tomorrow we fly to Dallas where we get to spend a day. We are all looking foward to feeling the energy of a city, if only briefly.
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