Rivers and Roads to Oneonta

It was late in a very long drive. We woke up in Steubenville, Ohio, and God knows what state we were in at this point. 

Time moves slowly in a van. Time moves even more slowly in the cargo van. There is you, another soul, and hundreds of pounds of theatrical crap in the back. I compare driving cargo somewhat to riding a buffalo. You tell it where to go, but sometimes the mass has a surly mind of its own, and will often win. But either way, you feel like a man when you drive it. It was particularly dark, and Daniel (author of malapropcast, if you are interested in another take on this tour) was particularly tired.  

We, as usual, were arguing about the music that was playing in the van, musing on the sights and sounds of the road and what's up with our fellow cast-mates. Daniel is a rather energetic, go-getter of life, but he also is the only 25 year old I know that would go to bed sometimes before 10pm. When Daniel gets tired, it sort of feels like he is melting. But he doesn't melt like the Wicked Bitch of the West, screaming in a shrill and irritating howl, he is more like an ice cream bar sitting on a kitchen counter that just kind of gives it up, dripping in the most zen fashion. 

We had been silent for awhile, I, the spastic, nicotine-deprived driver of a buffalo, and Daniel, the ice cream sandwich, until we had crossed state lines. It was dark and one couldn't really see much of anything. If I hadn't seen the sign, I would have never guessed that we switched states. But. It felt ... different. As cliche as it sounds, there was something in the air. We had crossed into New York. 

I said to Daniel, 'I feel a connection to this land.' 

He chuckled and melted some more. 

But it is true. I heard once from a cook at the Root Cellar Cafe in San Marcos, TX, Chris, who is of Scottish descent, that the first time he went to Scotland, he immediately felt like he was home. This was kind of how I felt. All of my family originated in New York. My mother's parents migrated to New York City from Brazil. My father's family all migrated from Italy to New York, my dad grew up in Hamilton, my brother and sister were born in Buffalo. Many of the family have stayed in NY for generations.

New York. Not even necessarily NYC (although I have been having dreams about NYC ever since I spent a day there recently, which I will get to) has always felt kind of right to me. 

Also, one nice thing about riding in cargo with Daniel, is he lost his sense of smell because he was hit by a car the day that he got his ASC contract offer. This is not a good thing. But the fact that you don't have to hold in farts for 7 hours, or feel guilty subjecting somebody to them is a plus. The flip side is you must endure the wrath that is Daniel's hippie elixers. Love you forever and always, Daniel. 

ONEONTA, NY: CHARMING as crap. Makes you want to snuggle with a chipmunk and then knit a sweater. As Daniel said, 'Oneonta is as much a suburban surge of commuters and community centers as it is a college town'. College towns always provide a good mix of weird, hippie-friendly establishments; dives; and, in the North especially, high-end, dress in slacks or get the stink eye, places.

I made quick friends with a fellow smoker named Joseph outside the hotel. We ran into a similiar smoking cycle, and I was graced with awesome stories from his travels as a Wal-Mart construction manager, Army dude, and a volunteer disaster relief guy. I mentioned a random location, he could name three Restaurants to eat at and where the city keeps the pretty ladies. He said to me, some people don't understand traveling folk, and you cannot understand the liberation of it until you do it. He has been traveling for decades, has a family, and doesn't seem to be bored with life at all. I hope to have that as well. He also happened to tell me a fairly captivating story about when he bought his granddaughter a lap-dance. However I don't feel that I am drunk enough to share this with you at this time. 

We performed 'Tis Pity She's A Whore at Hartwick College. 'Tis Pity is ALWAYS a treat to do because we perform it so rarely, and it really gives you perspective on the audience by how they react to it. We have had audiences that laugh uncontrollably, we have audiences that gasp and even some people leaving because they either find the content somewhat offensive (which is odd to me, because SPOILER ALERT, all the 'wrong-doers' get their come-uppance by the end, and they never once by any means condone incest, despite how pretty the actors are).

But where Winter's Tale is a buffet of different genres of content, 'Tis Pity is a buffet of audience reaction for the performers. When we gagged Putana, I heard gasps all the way from the back of the auditorium. When a brother and a sister kiss, you heard grunts of disgust, 'ooo's' and 'aaah's', laughter, and the slightly heavier breathing of some rather stoic individuals. Who knows what they are feeling, but they haven't left yet. 

When you have a venue with college students, you immediately know who is excited about the performance possibly because they are Theatre or English students, or just genuinely interested in culture, and you know who is a business major who is here for extra credit. The most thrilling sight is when you see the frat dude who looks like he has sworn off Theatre ever since his mother dragged him to Annie when he was 10, go from scowling in the first five minutes, to being completely invested and jumping to his feet by the end of the performance.

Love and Leaves, 

Rivers and Roads, 

Dola

P.S. If you have not heard the song 'Rivers and Roads' by The Head and the Heart. Listen to it. It perfect captures my version of homesickness that you experience on tour. 

Denice packs up herself/'Tis Pity. At one point in this performance I had to go fishing thru this cargo van to find a cup.