Group shot of the troup in our festive black attire. Really makes Jake's Mandolin pop. I am Uncle Fester playing the bass.
The Ren Run blinked by and we all survived. Rough and tumble, new and brilliant, inspired in all of the right and wrong kind of ways. I tried things I knew I would never be able to get away with once we start touring to churches and high schools. Including Puck lighting joints for Oberon, a behind doors fairy sex scene during one of Oberon's more lenghty monolgoues, and a game show guessing game bit for "My mistress with a ____ is in love." The Puck that swaggerd about there has been shape-shifting ever since. Bits and different choices must be in conjunction with telling the story, not independent of that.
Just as expected, this first week of MidSummer rehearsal has proven to be the most challenging thus far. Primarily because of the physical toll that I have embraced. I have been having flashbacks of Austin Shakespeare's The Tempest. (On a side note to those of you who know the Tempest, ASC's production has the masque as a delicious drag show.) Each morning, I resurrect myself from death. I discover new muscles and try to unwind the others. Cricks and cracks resonating from my lumbar, shoulder socket and knee caps awake the street. I've been living in a squat, shifting into back rolls, leaps and multiple Indian dance numbers. To aid Stephanie's quick change out of Fairy Queen Titania into Xena Amazonian Warrior Princess Hippolyta, I have been granted a 30 second dance solo featuring a mash-up of traditial Indian dance, pop and locking and my old stand-by, the worm.
My ass looks slightly better every day. ;)
As Kate said, Puck is 7 years old sometimes and 3987394 years old other times. He is Oberon's homie, partner in mischeif, servant and pet all at the same time. Puck can be an innocent clown that just enjoys a good show, a dark scorserer, the audiences' host and comedian, a dancing sex god, and a compassionate human. The possibility in his range is endless and I look forward to finding the nuances all year long. Justifying all of his sides to make a believable character is extremely challenging. I have found myself wanting isolation more often this week than any time before just because I need to release the day's load and let the pressure I exert on myself unwind. I took refuge in the disbanded HBO series, Carnivale and plowed thru both of its seasons in one week. It got to the point where I just had to finish it is soon as possible so I could be released from its clutches and move on with my life. (I heart Sophie and I hate them all for not letting me see what happened to demon Sophie.) 
I must say, there is less debauchery present than I would have ever guessed for a theatre troupe. As Glenn said last night, here in Staunton, they love their Jesus and they love their Shakespeare. (Not that everybody is a Jesus freak, but just to put the vibe in persepctive.) Thems fine folks that are involved with the company and the Mary Baldwin Literature department. More so than being wholesome, we are tired, and adding drinking to that equation just doesn't sound nearly as fun as it used to.
There is however ... the OTHER side of Staunton. There is a large population of this town waving confederate flags and hunter caps that don't like the fact that a bunch of Shakespeare heads, artsy panzies and high-end touristy shops have overtaken their town. Some muscley lug of a moron in a blue wifebeater and a grey pony-tail came up to Rick, Kevin and I on our front porch the other day and informed us that he has a dog named "KKK" and he is a good straight white dog. He told us where he heard some 'queers' lived. He asked us if we were n***** lovers. I was so shocked I could only stare at him wondering if he was real or some sort of Huckleberry nightmare. I guess he saw three white men, two of which had shaved heads and thought he was in proper fellowship. I had to supress the urge to feed him a fist full of rotting trash. He showed us the scar on his head and said he only had half a head. I was not surprised.
There is however ... the OTHER side of Staunton. There is a large population of this town waving confederate flags and hunter caps that don't like the fact that a bunch of Shakespeare heads, artsy panzies and high-end touristy shops have overtaken their town. Some muscley lug of a moron in a blue wifebeater and a grey pony-tail came up to Rick, Kevin and I on our front porch the other day and informed us that he has a dog named "KKK" and he is a good straight white dog. He told us where he heard some 'queers' lived. He asked us if we were n***** lovers. I was so shocked I could only stare at him wondering if he was real or some sort of Huckleberry nightmare. I guess he saw three white men, two of which had shaved heads and thought he was in proper fellowship. I had to supress the urge to feed him a fist full of rotting trash. He showed us the scar on his head and said he only had half a head. I was not surprised.
The night before our Ren Run, Eugene and I were running some of our scenes outside when this really nervous sweaty drunk dude walked by holding a 40oz. Eugene, being the extremely friendly spirit he is, greeted him. The dude then proceeded to ask us for money or a ride because if he we didn't, he was going to jail. Eugene, being a New Yorker, doesn't own a car, and being an actor, doesn't have any money, apologizes politely that he couldn't help. I didn't offer a thing. The guy told Gene that if he couldn't help him, then don't even bother talking. We found out a few days later that that night, two convicts had escaped and were running from the police in Staunton.
For every nationally renowned Literature scholar that lives in this town, there is an ignorant toothless HillBilly or a sweating angry crackhead. I believe this is known as Ying-Yang. I ain't either one, so I must be pretty well balanced.
In that regard, I have heard, and seen to be true, that it doesn't matter what part of the world you go to, there are simple folk and geniuses and warm-hearted people and asshole douche bags, and warm-hearted geniuses, and asshole simple folk and warm hearted regular jos and asshole genius douche bags. They just all come in a variety of shapes and hues and accents. And all of this is in Shakespeare, too. I am getting flashbacks to college classes, I am revisiting all of Michael, Laura and Chuck's classes. Michael's isolation work is coming more in handy now than ever, Laura inspired me to make interesting, creative and bold character and scene choices, and Chuck (and Dr. Charlton) taught me everything I knew about acting Shakespeare. If you are in any of their classes now, eat it up and hold on to those notes, because everything I can remember, I am using, and everything I can't remember I wish I had taken better notes on. However, acting is an art such that, you grow often thru the subconscious. I cannot explain how I have improved because my body learned things that my mind cannot articulate and it grows kinetetically and energetically thru practice and instinctual adjustment without book-readin'.
Now here is some random jibber jabber.
Baja Bean is not mexican food. It is barely food. Poor souls don't know good salsa here.
Rick Blunt has introduced me to the Avett Brothers, and I dig.
I don't feel like I have much to talk about to people. And it continues to be a struggle to hold a conversation with strangers when I don't know nothin but to report my day to day and comment on the weather. Often fabricating something for the sake of conversation doesn't prove as successful as smiling and just offering to listen. I internalize lots of happenings and am grateful to be exposed to soak up things, but all I can do in terms of expressing that vocally is jibber jabber. 'Make sense, Michael.' 'I can't. Not yet.' I do love nonsense.
It is hot and rainy. I yearn for the up close smell of a woman. No prospects. Lots of reflecting. Missing and reminescing. We are here for work, and the up close smell of a woman is one of three things that can truly distract from that. Crazy with them, crazy without them. I am certainly without it at the moment. The play is the thing. The play is the thing. Fairy lords, give me the mojo to make this Puck pop and cast a spell with this MidSummer Night's Dream. One day at a time, one day at a time, one day at a time. The play is the thing.I miss and love all of you and give infinite hugs.
Love,
Dola.
