The question is, with six Shakespearean actors crammed into one van for 4 hours, how many ridiculous quotes can you walk out with? A lot. Later in this tour, I hope to share a couple of my favorite things that have been said in an American Shakespeare Center van (the publicly acceptable ones, unfortunately). But let me say this, a dude can start getting delerious in those vans. More often than not, giggly and absurd arises before frustration or annoyance does (thus far) which is a very very good thing.
We are four shows into our tour, and I already believe that I will love life on the road. Good things about road life:
1. Per diem. Cash-money in yo pocket.
2. Somebody gets paid to clean up after you.
3. We played a town with 1200 people. There were 300 people in the theatre. 1/4 of an entire town in Virginia came to see Shakespeare, and they loved it. This gives immense hope to the Theatre and civilization. 4. High schoolers and college kids that want to learn from you. And happy children that want autographs.
5. Hollins University
6. Awesome photography opportunity
7. Car games
8. Counting the number of Shoney's in Virginia.
9. Workshops!
10. Getting to see a new Theater space every day and figuring out how to adjust to it.
11. Glenn Schudel
12. Hot tubs
Things that are not good:
1. Powdered egg mcmuffys from hotel "breakfast".
2. Questionable drunken folk that talk to you about their planning stages of a bank robbery on the front porch of a Holiday Inn Express.
3. You don't get a chance to talk with the purty girls that you get to meet as much as you'd like. Because you just loaded in/did a show/loaded out/want to sleep/have to leave the next morning.
4. Trying to keep track of card keys/keys to vans/keys to housing/keys to life/your personal home keys/Florida keys/ keykeykeykeys.
5. Living in fear of leaving something in a state you may never return to.
6. Car sickness/ Eating Chinese Buffet and then sitting in a car for hours.
7. Gas station prices for nourishment.
8. Shoney's
9. Finding leftovers in your hotel room that you would have rather lived without.
10. Missing Austin
11. Missing Family, and leaving phone charager back in Staunton.
Awesome places we just played at:
1. Lawrenceville, VA (population 1200 somethin, happy child standing on a chair, discovered that we were not in possision of the Mandolin so Jake had to do impromptu Guitar and Banjo work)
2. Cedar Bluff, VA (awesome high schooler talk-back, and lotsa free pizza, I sprained my hand again, Stephanie accidently closed her head in a door in a hilarious manner)
3. Roanoke, VA (Hollins University. All girl liberal arts college. AWESOME people. New friends. AWESOME times. Lampshades.)
4. KilMarnock, VA (Population 1200 something, 300 something people in the theatre, Kids sitting on stage, gigilly Catholic School girls are amazing to do asides to)
This is a succinct way to get some info out quickly. List format will probably appear more often unless I am inspired to actually write some jiggity junka junka.
Love from the Road,
Dola
Friday, September 23, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy may think anon it moves.
No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
May think anon it moves.
Touch it. It's real.
Behold, The Things this week that made me realize that this shit is fo' real.
Transition Step #1:
This past week we began our preview performances. The Blackfriars Playhouse seats 300 people, below you, above you, on stage with you, and a few select lords behind you. We have been running these plays for six weeks, rehearsing scenes and songs in kitchens, living rooms, basements and on stage, but never for more than a couple handfuls of people. We walked on stage and began our acapella version of Big Yellow Taxi as we usually do: I spit my beat-box while Patrick bum-bu-dee-dee's his bass line to an empty theatre. And then four doors clanged opened and a boisterous crowd of 300 people started filing in. As the seats filled, the volume climbed and climbed to an amazing clatter and hub-bub. My heart raced and I struggled to maintain my interna iambic pentameter while we were struggling to hear each other play on stage. There were a few hilarious instances in a couple of those pre-shows, that, even though we are standing at max, six feet away from each other, it felt like a singer might be playing in one world while the guy on the kahone (a box with a hole in it that we substitute as a drum set) would be playing in another. <-- Lots of parentheticals there. This solicited impromptu drum solos in new and ...interesting... places, and some improvised versions of a few songs. However, now we know, that if we see a mob coming in, we all cluster together like some hobos around a trashcan on fire.
These previews host the most supportive and loyal of ASC fans it seems. I have heard that one should not use these preview audiences as a prototype of most audiences we will receive. They have been going very well sans a few hiccups here and there. It is thrilling listening from backstage to audiences falling in love with the actors that I have been living with. You always have a completely obtuse perception of what happens in these plays as an actor in it, because you are so used to what everybody does. Certain things that are hilarious to you, are not to the audience. And sometimes you do not realize how BRILLIANT your peers are until they get in front of the audience and you can bear witness to their true gifts.
When we went out for the third curtain call of MidSummer, I felt like a Roman God. But I'm sure that will not be the same case when we are performing for a high school full of English classes required to see the play they probably spark-noted their way thru in class. I been there, kids. Believe me. Most people that do this thing did not pick up their first Shakespeare play and fall in love. This is a point that a lot of the workshops we have been learning to teach emphasize.
Transition Point #2:
We are now taking workshops on teaching workshops. Holy lordy, I wish I could find my middle school English teachers and tell them that I will be teaching Shakespeare, they never would have seen that coming. There seem to be LOTS of teachers in our group, so I have a lot I can learn from. Not to mention I was made by two teachers.
Transition Point #3:
Last night we did our first load in/load out. In the Rain.
THIS was the moment that it all started to feel real. We took apart the entire Tyson Center (essentially the basement of the Blackfriars Playhouse) and loaded all of it into a van. This includes 'Tis Pity furniture, benches, table, Hermione podium, Hippolyta Bower, three bins of props, Laundry, Sewing, Steaming, Repairing, Fixing, Road Supplies and tools, 33 bags of costumes, Merchandise binds, Sound Effects and percussion instruments, 3 guitars, banjo, bass, mandolin, kahone, melodica, a couple ukeleles, the discovery space and pipe and drape system (the stage we build every time we go to a new venue) and 12 suitcases. This crap was scattered across the theatre for six weeks and now fits SOMEHOW into one van in a tetris game that made one-act in high school look like ... well, high school. (Thanks to the Geometretical genius of Jake Mahler, and Daniel 'Iron Tongue of Midnight' Stevens. )
Then. We unpacked it. And put it back where it was. In the rain. Now i have sniffles.
We will be doing this 34974 times. (Hopefully not in the rain)
Transition Point #4:
Cleaning my room. I have yet to do it. But when I do, it'll be weird.
Other Stuff: Half of my face was swollen with pain for four days and three performances as one of my wisdom teeth started doing awful things to my life. It took me four hours Friday morning to get antibiotics and painkillers because there is not a single dentist in the tri-county area apparently works on Friday. And none were on emergency call either because they all were apparently attending the same workshop. Bogus. I went to a walk-in clinic who hooked me up with some prescriptions to tide me over. The swelling has since gone down and the pain has subsided, but when I will get those suckers pulled ... um ... don't ask me about it yet. My sprained thumb is still kind of jacked up, but I can do essentially everything except snap with my left hand.
Patrick has a herniated belly button. This makes him the third of our cast of 11 with a hernia in the past 4 months. The most (unfortunately) amusing part of this, is that in the company accident report, the cause of the incident was somehow attributed to his leather pants. Speaking of which, wait until you see these freakin' sexy 'Tis Pity costumes. They'll change your life. And I want to buy this punk rock military leather jacket like nobody's business.
Happy September 12th.
Love and Drum Solos,
Michael.
May think anon it moves.
Touch it. It's real.
Behold, The Things this week that made me realize that this shit is fo' real.
Transition Step #1:
This past week we began our preview performances. The Blackfriars Playhouse seats 300 people, below you, above you, on stage with you, and a few select lords behind you. We have been running these plays for six weeks, rehearsing scenes and songs in kitchens, living rooms, basements and on stage, but never for more than a couple handfuls of people. We walked on stage and began our acapella version of Big Yellow Taxi as we usually do: I spit my beat-box while Patrick bum-bu-dee-dee's his bass line to an empty theatre. And then four doors clanged opened and a boisterous crowd of 300 people started filing in. As the seats filled, the volume climbed and climbed to an amazing clatter and hub-bub. My heart raced and I struggled to maintain my interna iambic pentameter while we were struggling to hear each other play on stage. There were a few hilarious instances in a couple of those pre-shows, that, even though we are standing at max, six feet away from each other, it felt like a singer might be playing in one world while the guy on the kahone (a box with a hole in it that we substitute as a drum set) would be playing in another. <-- Lots of parentheticals there. This solicited impromptu drum solos in new and ...interesting... places, and some improvised versions of a few songs. However, now we know, that if we see a mob coming in, we all cluster together like some hobos around a trashcan on fire.
These previews host the most supportive and loyal of ASC fans it seems. I have heard that one should not use these preview audiences as a prototype of most audiences we will receive. They have been going very well sans a few hiccups here and there. It is thrilling listening from backstage to audiences falling in love with the actors that I have been living with. You always have a completely obtuse perception of what happens in these plays as an actor in it, because you are so used to what everybody does. Certain things that are hilarious to you, are not to the audience. And sometimes you do not realize how BRILLIANT your peers are until they get in front of the audience and you can bear witness to their true gifts.
When we went out for the third curtain call of MidSummer, I felt like a Roman God. But I'm sure that will not be the same case when we are performing for a high school full of English classes required to see the play they probably spark-noted their way thru in class. I been there, kids. Believe me. Most people that do this thing did not pick up their first Shakespeare play and fall in love. This is a point that a lot of the workshops we have been learning to teach emphasize.
Transition Point #2:
We are now taking workshops on teaching workshops. Holy lordy, I wish I could find my middle school English teachers and tell them that I will be teaching Shakespeare, they never would have seen that coming. There seem to be LOTS of teachers in our group, so I have a lot I can learn from. Not to mention I was made by two teachers.
Transition Point #3:
Last night we did our first load in/load out. In the Rain.
THIS was the moment that it all started to feel real. We took apart the entire Tyson Center (essentially the basement of the Blackfriars Playhouse) and loaded all of it into a van. This includes 'Tis Pity furniture, benches, table, Hermione podium, Hippolyta Bower, three bins of props, Laundry, Sewing, Steaming, Repairing, Fixing, Road Supplies and tools, 33 bags of costumes, Merchandise binds, Sound Effects and percussion instruments, 3 guitars, banjo, bass, mandolin, kahone, melodica, a couple ukeleles, the discovery space and pipe and drape system (the stage we build every time we go to a new venue) and 12 suitcases. This crap was scattered across the theatre for six weeks and now fits SOMEHOW into one van in a tetris game that made one-act in high school look like ... well, high school. (Thanks to the Geometretical genius of Jake Mahler, and Daniel 'Iron Tongue of Midnight' Stevens. )
Then. We unpacked it. And put it back where it was. In the rain. Now i have sniffles.
We will be doing this 34974 times. (Hopefully not in the rain)
Transition Point #4:
Cleaning my room. I have yet to do it. But when I do, it'll be weird.
Other Stuff: Half of my face was swollen with pain for four days and three performances as one of my wisdom teeth started doing awful things to my life. It took me four hours Friday morning to get antibiotics and painkillers because there is not a single dentist in the tri-county area apparently works on Friday. And none were on emergency call either because they all were apparently attending the same workshop. Bogus. I went to a walk-in clinic who hooked me up with some prescriptions to tide me over. The swelling has since gone down and the pain has subsided, but when I will get those suckers pulled ... um ... don't ask me about it yet. My sprained thumb is still kind of jacked up, but I can do essentially everything except snap with my left hand.
Patrick has a herniated belly button. This makes him the third of our cast of 11 with a hernia in the past 4 months. The most (unfortunately) amusing part of this, is that in the company accident report, the cause of the incident was somehow attributed to his leather pants. Speaking of which, wait until you see these freakin' sexy 'Tis Pity costumes. They'll change your life. And I want to buy this punk rock military leather jacket like nobody's business.
Happy September 12th.
Love and Drum Solos,
Michael.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Case of the Mondays
Things:
We are in the final moments of rehearsal. The bones are built. It is tweaky season.
We tweak, sustain the monsters we created, and let them ravage.
Monday is the new free day. Saturdays are now double-header performances.
Rainyday Labor Day. I hope the parking bitches don't work on Labor Day. And if they do, I hope they do not work on Rainyday Labor Day. But they probably do, because they are parking bitches. No offense to any parking bitches reading this.
Coffeeshoppy quality internet. I have discovered that if you sit in Coffee on the Corner long enough, you will always run into Glenn Schudel (our beloved Tour Manager/Assistant Director/Man with the sharp wit to keep us sane) and nearly ever Mary Baldwin Renaissance Graduate student.
Recovering from first MidSummer run since August 18th. Sprained Thumb (hopefully just sprained).
When I played Caliban for Austin Shakes. I went balls to the wall physically every performance. Flinging myself onto the floor and reveling in the masochistic body bruising that I personally translated into Caliban angst and suffering. It was tough enduring, but lots of fun. I was not asked to do half of the things I chose to do with the flinging. But it was for only 12 performances, so why not?
Now I find myself in a similar situation with Puck. Choosing to do physically taxing things that I was not always directed to do, but stuff that I brought, and was kept. The difference here is ... there are 3980483 performances of MidSummer Night's Dream. I am going to be in rather good shape, if I don't screw something up. Last night was a reminder that you should always block things that you can repeat without fear of injury. It has been a tendency of mine to over-exert myself on stage, which actually is not always a good thing. Working too hard, looks like working too-hard. And often, that is not what a character wants to be presented as. Complication with ease can be glorious. Simplicity with ease can be, and often is, just as effective.
Remember this:
Always be in control. Always know where your foot is going. Because the second you don't, you step on Lysander's foot while he is "sleeping", and this does not bode well for your production.
Know where your hands are going. Because the second that you don't, your thumb lands on the floor before the rest of your body does, and this does not bode well for your thumb.
Ease.
The second it seems hard to do. You know that you either need to run it 3809384 times, or you have to modify. Because this shit has got to run. And your body needs to keep up with it.
I used to only believe that you were only doing things right on stage if you were completely lost in it. That is not true. Only when part of your brain is reserved for hitting marks and safety, may the other part feel free to get lost. But one eye must always be in the moment, and the other outside looking in. At least until it becomes clockwork.
I am losing money. But I am gaining ... stuff. Good stuff. A guitar case. Bass case. New bass on its way. Contacts. Microsoft word. Now that the plays are almost built, I feel like I can pick up the play I was writing months ago, and resume work. I am fortunate to have 11 brilliant, experienced theatre artists at my disposal, and, unfortunately for them, cannot run away from me because my laptop and I will be lurking next to them all the time.
Stencil Spray Paint parties rule. My soft guitar case got ambushed with ShakesNerd all over it. The light-headedness isn't too bad, either.
Party at Ralph Cohen's mansion tonight. He and Jim Warren built this thing. Now I will drink and eat things in his home.
Starting to reconnect with some old voices. It feels good to have them around again. Even though it makes me question a lot of things from the past. Wow, is this vague enough?
Omelette and waffle outtings are also fun. Getting to know strangers is something I should have done more of a long time ago.
Too much coffee. Have to pee. Bye.
Love and Blueberries,
Dola.
We are in the final moments of rehearsal. The bones are built. It is tweaky season.
We tweak, sustain the monsters we created, and let them ravage.
Monday is the new free day. Saturdays are now double-header performances.
Rainyday Labor Day. I hope the parking bitches don't work on Labor Day. And if they do, I hope they do not work on Rainyday Labor Day. But they probably do, because they are parking bitches. No offense to any parking bitches reading this.
Coffeeshoppy quality internet. I have discovered that if you sit in Coffee on the Corner long enough, you will always run into Glenn Schudel (our beloved Tour Manager/Assistant Director/Man with the sharp wit to keep us sane) and nearly ever Mary Baldwin Renaissance Graduate student.
Recovering from first MidSummer run since August 18th. Sprained Thumb (hopefully just sprained).
When I played Caliban for Austin Shakes. I went balls to the wall physically every performance. Flinging myself onto the floor and reveling in the masochistic body bruising that I personally translated into Caliban angst and suffering. It was tough enduring, but lots of fun. I was not asked to do half of the things I chose to do with the flinging. But it was for only 12 performances, so why not?
Now I find myself in a similar situation with Puck. Choosing to do physically taxing things that I was not always directed to do, but stuff that I brought, and was kept. The difference here is ... there are 3980483 performances of MidSummer Night's Dream. I am going to be in rather good shape, if I don't screw something up. Last night was a reminder that you should always block things that you can repeat without fear of injury. It has been a tendency of mine to over-exert myself on stage, which actually is not always a good thing. Working too hard, looks like working too-hard. And often, that is not what a character wants to be presented as. Complication with ease can be glorious. Simplicity with ease can be, and often is, just as effective.
Remember this:
Always be in control. Always know where your foot is going. Because the second you don't, you step on Lysander's foot while he is "sleeping", and this does not bode well for your production.
Know where your hands are going. Because the second that you don't, your thumb lands on the floor before the rest of your body does, and this does not bode well for your thumb.
Ease.
The second it seems hard to do. You know that you either need to run it 3809384 times, or you have to modify. Because this shit has got to run. And your body needs to keep up with it.
I used to only believe that you were only doing things right on stage if you were completely lost in it. That is not true. Only when part of your brain is reserved for hitting marks and safety, may the other part feel free to get lost. But one eye must always be in the moment, and the other outside looking in. At least until it becomes clockwork.
I am losing money. But I am gaining ... stuff. Good stuff. A guitar case. Bass case. New bass on its way. Contacts. Microsoft word. Now that the plays are almost built, I feel like I can pick up the play I was writing months ago, and resume work. I am fortunate to have 11 brilliant, experienced theatre artists at my disposal, and, unfortunately for them, cannot run away from me because my laptop and I will be lurking next to them all the time.
Stencil Spray Paint parties rule. My soft guitar case got ambushed with ShakesNerd all over it. The light-headedness isn't too bad, either.
Party at Ralph Cohen's mansion tonight. He and Jim Warren built this thing. Now I will drink and eat things in his home.
Starting to reconnect with some old voices. It feels good to have them around again. Even though it makes me question a lot of things from the past. Wow, is this vague enough?
Omelette and waffle outtings are also fun. Getting to know strangers is something I should have done more of a long time ago.
Too much coffee. Have to pee. Bye.
Love and Blueberries,
Dola.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Where's the fire?
The third day I was in Staunton, I heard a fire truck zoom by our house all hot and bothered with siren and flashy lightness and this bizarre swirling pin wheel thing on ecstacy tweaking out in the front. How interesting that a fire would be afoot on my third day in this small town. A few hours later, I witnessed it again. And then again.
Surely, this place could not be so devoid of entertainment that arson would become its patented pastime.
Nearly every day, that damn fire truck has interrupted my stories on the TEEVEE, or a much needed nappy-poo or a Saturday morning hangover. My beloved housemate Daniel (aka The Iron Tongue of Midnight) and I started calling Bullshit.
BULLSHIT!
During one of our Friday Night Tour Drink-a-thons, we heard our Poser-Truck yelping. Daniel and I, in proper Poser-Truck martyr form, both exclaimed Bullshit. (If we had money, we might even bet it to test who may call Bullshit first.)
BRIDGET: You can't call bullshit on an emergency response vehicle!
But oh. I do. And did, last night.
My new favorite post-rehearsal hobby is saddling up in my shitty Chevy Cavalier. Blairing the loudest musical flavor of the day, getting lost and finding my way back home again. After about thirty minutes of aimless gas wasting, I decided I should go home and do something productive and less harmful to the environment. (Sorry, Earth.)
While I was parking, Poser-Truck said " BLEEEEELHLHLEHEHBBBBLEHE!!!!!"
I was finally in prime position to prove Bullshit.
U-Turn.
I followed that damn truck to what I assumed must be a church burning down or a cat stuck in a tree. A REALLY DAMN TALL TREE. Like skyscraper suicidal kitten. Because only such a thing would deem worthy for that kind of ruckus.
After four blocks, the Poser-truck un-posed its lights. Un-posed its sirens. Un-posed the cracked out pinwheel. He casually turned corners at the speed limit. And said, "Hey, I'm not really in such a hurry. In fact, I'll use my blinker now." It lead me back to their poser-home of a fire station.
Thus I have witnessed and proven the Emergency Responce Poser Joy Ride.
And I end my tale with this ...
I CALL BULLSHIT.
Apparently if you live on Beverley, you don't deserve sleep, TeeVee stories or a peaceful hangover.
... I can't wait to go on tour.
Surely, this place could not be so devoid of entertainment that arson would become its patented pastime.
Nearly every day, that damn fire truck has interrupted my stories on the TEEVEE, or a much needed nappy-poo or a Saturday morning hangover. My beloved housemate Daniel (aka The Iron Tongue of Midnight) and I started calling Bullshit.
BULLSHIT!
During one of our Friday Night Tour Drink-a-thons, we heard our Poser-Truck yelping. Daniel and I, in proper Poser-Truck martyr form, both exclaimed Bullshit. (If we had money, we might even bet it to test who may call Bullshit first.)
BRIDGET: You can't call bullshit on an emergency response vehicle!
But oh. I do. And did, last night.
My new favorite post-rehearsal hobby is saddling up in my shitty Chevy Cavalier. Blairing the loudest musical flavor of the day, getting lost and finding my way back home again. After about thirty minutes of aimless gas wasting, I decided I should go home and do something productive and less harmful to the environment. (Sorry, Earth.)
While I was parking, Poser-Truck said " BLEEEEELHLHLEHEHBBBBLEHE!!!!!"
I was finally in prime position to prove Bullshit.
U-Turn.
I followed that damn truck to what I assumed must be a church burning down or a cat stuck in a tree. A REALLY DAMN TALL TREE. Like skyscraper suicidal kitten. Because only such a thing would deem worthy for that kind of ruckus.
After four blocks, the Poser-truck un-posed its lights. Un-posed its sirens. Un-posed the cracked out pinwheel. He casually turned corners at the speed limit. And said, "Hey, I'm not really in such a hurry. In fact, I'll use my blinker now." It lead me back to their poser-home of a fire station.
Thus I have witnessed and proven the Emergency Responce Poser Joy Ride.
And I end my tale with this ...
I CALL BULLSHIT.
Apparently if you live on Beverley, you don't deserve sleep, TeeVee stories or a peaceful hangover.
... I can't wait to go on tour.
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