A holiday hiatus.

The ASC touring troupe is on holiday.
Kinda.

We've got not allot of time to do allot of work, so we're going dark here at the Malapropcast.

Expect to see more on here near the first of February.

Thank you all for keeping up with me, and I look forward to talking with y'all again very soon.

Happy Holidays.

A thought on travelling through my homeland...

You are EVERYWHERE.

So, i've been thinking.

Dangerous business, i know, but bear with me.

Brief exposition: I was born in California and lived my first 9 years in the greater San Diego area.  Lovely, far off memories of sand and sunshine and the spicy warm smell of desert plants and salt water are about all i have to lay claim to as far as being a 'Californian.'

By year ten i was in Pennsylvania.  Two moves later, i was in MD.
Two years of living in Towson, MD saw my family move to Shepherdstown, WV.
And it was Shepherdstown that stayed my home until...well, until now, really.

I have seen enough of the east coast in moving and general travels that i feel much more  at home here than i do anywhere else.
And this tour is going EVERYWHERE i'm familiar with.
It seems as if every other day has me driving by somewhere i've lived, worked, or studied.  Come the summer leg, i'll even be going a town over from my own college town.  Black Bear, here I come.

All of this said and done, i've started wondering if this isn't a brilliant opportunity to say goodbye to this part of the world i have called home for so long.
Of course, my family still lives in Shepherdstown and i'll always call where they are a kind of home.  But something about the opportunity to exorcise some of my attachement to any of these places for the sake of embracing the rootless, restless life of the *gulp* life-style actor...it just seems coincidentally convenient, is all.

I've been bit by the traveller's bug and i want more.  I want to see more of this big old world than this small corner of a small nation.   Let's see where i can end up on an actor's salary, but at least i'm dreaming big.

Suggestions on how i might say goodbye to my places would be welcome.
Craft projects?  A blog post of stories for each place?  With audience appropriate editing, of course.
If you're out there, readership, let me know what you think.

Love,
Your Malaprop

15 Miles away and traffic STOPS

Pugsly has nothing but good wishes for the unfortunates involved in whatever accident has halted traffics progress but he does wish that the clean-up crew would pick up the pace!

Somebody Help! I'm trapped in a luxury hotel!

Ok, not trapped per se.

Less productive, perhaps.

Why?

This place is a Palace.

That assessment is based on one complimentary feature and one alone.  Never mind the beautiful architecture or decorating, the gracious and professional service, nor the fancy pants 'don't come in here without a tie and a haircut, you hippy' Restaurant on the ground floor.  

No, no.

It's all about the...

Shiatsu Massage Chair.

Remember walking around the mall as a kid and seeing the Brookstone storefront with it's overflow of weird gadgets and novelty 'conveniences?'

Of course you do.

Do you also remember being told, a sprightly, fresh faced seven year old, that you had to be such and such an age to sit in the reclining (foot and leg massage-er built in) full back massage chair?

Well suck it, arbitrary-rule-enforcing Guy!  I just sat for 30 minutes in one of those AMAZING things and you can't stop me!

I feel better now, thanks for reading.

In related news, the venue is nice, the shows are great, and I'm finding it reasonably pleasant to be in Kentucky.

The end.

Screaming down the highway, ready for a bed.

Well, looks like the snow-pocalypse came early this year.
Around 10:30am EST the ASC Almost Blasphemy tour was given our greatest opportunity yet on tour.
Let me set the scene for you;
We're ready to leave by 7:55a for an 8a departure from Canton, NY. 
We have a workshop at 4p in W. Hartford, CT.
It is Time to Drive.
And drive we did.
Come 10:30a, trundling the Adirondacks we pull a turn and emerge from a cellphone deadzone we've been resentfully enduring  for the past half-hour.
Que the choir of angels as the media returns to us, like the clearing clouds after a storm.
We've been making tracks and will make more...
Until Glenn's phone loses it's damn mind.
Texts, calls, emails; boy is busy and he informs driver and co-pilot that it is important we ALL hear what's being said.
So we talkie with the walkie and make a stop...-ie.
"Hey guys, wanna go back to Staunton instead of Connecticut?"
At first we're just standing around, looking at each other and soaking in our options.
Short version; power has taken a snow day for the better part of Connecticut and we're out of work for the next two days.  Our next gig is a shorter drive from Staunton than Hartford so...
So here we are, sprinting south on 81, as ready for a familiar place as a group of professional travellers might be.
Home again, home again, jiggidy jog!

There's a little girl in a Bunny Suit in this Coffee Shoppe

In which we discuss the quietude of tour life, my newly discovered love for the French language, the perils of bottomless coffee and the balancing of recreational vs. professional nerding.

Canton, NY is a quiet town.
Distant enough from any major tributary of motor traffic, the whole place is as sleepy as you would expect of a new england college town.

The loudest thing the happen here is the occasional train cross and the most color you will see will be in the changed leaves being tread underfoot by what seems to be a legion of spandex clad joggers.

The boys and I tried our hand at a local pub (plopped perilously close to the aforementioned tracks) and found it as dull as you could expect from an October Wednesday.  Our unrealistic expectations of a party where'ere we went being squashed like a penny under a train-car, we went back to our hotels to ruminate on our failures as party animals.

In an instance of uncharacteristic helpfulness, i found myself driving our dear Stephanie Earl to the ER for a look at a potentially twisted ankle from a spill she had during yesterday's 'Tis.  The drive over was pleasant; Stephanie is a delightful young lady full of laughter and conversation.  She handled the trip (one that she might as easily have treated as an unnecessary inconvenience) with all the poise expected of an avid professional.

But back to me.

I sat with Stephanie for a while until her gallant husband showed up.  Don't think Patrick a slacker, dear reader!  He just had to wash all the blood off of him before he could swoop into her rescue (come see 'Tis and you'll get that bit).  With his arrival we traded van keys; he had the Cargo and I had Grey.

We haven't named our vans yet save referring to them in the most utilitarian fashion; Blue, Grey, and Cargo.  Had we any appreciation of consistency, we'd call Cargo 'White' but that's about as dull as the other two; variety, it seems, no matter how minuscule, truly is the spice of life.

After getting into fervent debate with a vending machine as to the authenticity of my American dollar (who knows, this far north maybe it only takes the Loonie) and losing, I started my drive less candied and more hair-sprayed (come see 'Tis and you'll get that bit, too) than i generally care for.   Settling into the luxury van's driver throne, adjusting the angle of the seat and back with push-button controls, my mood immediately improved.  i began to search the radio for acceptable ambiance.  At first I though i could enjoy the classic rock station Patrick had left me.  Mr. Thorogood and his Destroyers were telling me the tale of his being born Bad to the Bone and i thought i could get behind it...i was wrong, of course.

For all of my posturing, i am not a Rock and Roll-er.  Mine is the tender ear raised on Sarah Brightman solo CDs and Nat King Cole Christmas vinyl.

A couple of turns of the radio dial and i find myself nowhere else but on a French Canadian public broadcasting station.  The man behind the mike was weaving some vocal sedative in the rolling crunch of a PM FM jockey speaking whatever variation of French is typically broadcast into the radio waves of upstate New York.  He finished his introduction and put on a smokey room jazz piece sung by a voice sultry enough to give even the Mad-est of Men pause.

And it was then, making a ten mile drive that took not nearly as many minutes, that i realized i love the French language.

It's not as if i didn't have opportunity enough to realize this sooner. Amelie is one of my favorite movies and that's due largely to the curt, indulgent voice of the narrator.  I even have one of those exploitive mix CDs that play in Cafes that features a collection of different songs from a specific culture devoted entirely to French music.  And yet still, until that drive, in that moment, almost accidentally i found my active and acknowledged love for the language.  Someone find me a language tape, cause i'm going to sweet Paris.

Speaking of exciting ways to eat up time, i'm finding the challenge of balancing off-time spent in leisure and time spent at work a...challenging one.  I have Christmas lines to learn, I have a pre-show to prep, and i need to make an effort to stay in some semblance of 'shape.'  Whatever shape it is, it's the one i was employed in, so i feel duty bound to maintain it.  Hehe.  Duty.

Anyway, the days roll by and we come closer to returning to Staunton.  The draw of my recreational reading (a dive in the George R.R. Martins Song of Ice and Fire epic periodically spiced up with a one shot from a new author here and there) is becoming an e-inked distraction.  I fear my kindle and i may need to take a bit of a break.  At least until I'm confident that Fred is lodged as surely in my brain as the doings of the Stark family, or the failings of the Florio family (come see 'Tis and you'll get ALL these bits).

Oh right!  Bottomless coffee...well, let's just say that if i've misspelled anything then my caffeine palsied hands are my excuse.  Now, if you'll excuse me, i have to go run a few laps so i can sit still.

Saint Michaels After Hours

The enthusiasm of youth is infectious.

Let me qualify that by acknowledging my own youth: I'm 25.
There, i've acknowledged it.

I've always felt a bit of the old fuddy duddy when surrounded by the exuberance of my peers. 

I'm not lethargic so much as low energy.

I have never found myself truly invested in the party life.  While keg stands happen on my porch i'm content to wonder around the house with a water bottle, flitting from this conversation to the next; participating enough to qualify as a 'party goer' but never even dipping my toe into the deep blue see of 'the life of the party.'

Let those better suited to it take the living lime light; i'll wait until i'm cued to speak.

Some might call the condition that of having an 'old soul' but i would pile that up with all the other half-hearted dismissals of the yet unexplained that are brushed aside with some reference to the ephemeral and unexplainable...who needs a sould

Where was i?  Right!  a party

So, to find myself surrounded by the thrumming party evening of the college co-ed is like coming home. 

It's as if the same party I was merrily ambulating through at WVU has simply picked up and moved to Vermont.  Except they have a live dj and better booze.

I know these people.  I went to school and work with these people.  I love to observe and co-exist with these people.

I have loved being a part of this troupe because it has forced me to become slightly more invested.
I cannot disconnect from these people for they are all i have.

But these folks, these lovely lively players and makers and scholars and teachers all...they are INTO IT.

I can't thank them for it in the moment because that would sound silly and unnecessary but i do appreciate them.  What would i be doing right now if it weren't for them?  Sitting in my hotel room, feeling sorry for myself and my discontent at my own disconnect...

Well, here i am.

So, thank you, St. Michael's students.
Thank you for making me better appreciate my own youth and pulling me out of the wings as i participate in life happening around me.

Bar Harbour, Maine: College of the Atlantic

This post comes rather out of the typical order.

A view From the Discovery space.

Usually you'll find the From/Of the Discovery space post After we've done our show at any venue.  Today is such a loverly dern day, however, that i found myself ambulating the town of Bar Harbour with no more desire than to find myself tucked far away from the sunshine in an Internet Cafe (they still have those, apparently). Now, having compulsively paid the 2.50 for 25 minutes opening fee i need to do something more productive than look at facebook.
So here we are.

A view Of the Discovery Space.

The campus of CoA looks like a great big ski lodge.
In truth, this whole town does.
Not being a ski-er of any proficiency i find this as alienating as i do charmingly foreign.  In all, i rather like it here.  Everywhere you look there's a sign for a cafe, or a family diner, or some other convenience.  i'm reasonably sure that there's a town ordinance prohibiting the presence of any chain/franchise dining establishments because last night, in a fit of fast-food craving madness i searched for the closest crappy-burger/taco joint and couldn't find one within 15 miles of myself.  Needless to say, this defeats the purpose of making such an impulse driven excursion, so i didn't get my 4th meal.  Shame, that.

Last night, well before i had any liquid capitol to justify my participation therein, a solid contingent of the company and I went to a lobster feast.  It was delicious, expensive, and more fun than you'd expect from the systematic destruction of a big red, dead sea-bug.  Buttery-yum-yum, indeed.

The town seems to be preparing for a sizable influx of marathon runners for tomorrow.  Signs in windows advertising long-running amenities, the population has thickened noticeably (in number, not waistline.  haha) and the wearing of the contemporary style of skin-tight running apparel has redoubled.
Needless to say, all of these preparations have put me in a mind to remember how simple and unimpressive my life's accomplishments have been.  I couldn't run 26.2 miles if i were being chased by the slathering hordes of Hades nor if i had all the promise of Eternal Elysium a the end.  26.2 Miles?  Hell, i doubt i could manage the .2!
So, marathoners, Jog on, Jog on the footpath way...and i'm goanna go find a $.99 taco.

P.S. Today is my dear friends' Wedding!  Please help me in my long distance congratulations of them!  Huzzah for Mike Baker and Brittany Rogers (soon to be Baker)!  My love and best of wishes to both of you.

You know, you need, you know you need (In which we discuss my infatuation with the city)

For those who don't know, I have what is medically referred to as 'anosmia.'  Colloquially, i can simply say 'my nose don't work no more.'

I can still breathe through my nose, my tongue still works so i still taste basic flavor (salty, sweet, savory, spicy, etc.), and I remember what smells are like but, due to an accident i was involved in down in Tennessee, i am now without a sense of smell.

Take a sniff of the world around you.  Yes, yes, i know it's a weird thing to do, but bear with me; i'm going somewhere with this.  Are you cooking something in the other room?  Do your socks smell from a long day of walking?  Are you at a library, surrounded by the dusty musk of old and new books?

These sensory experiences, or whatever experiences you are having through your particular olfactory sampling, are unique amongst our passive senses in that you are absorbing some of the actual matter of your surroundings.  Whatever physical particulate exists in the air, you are ingesting and processing and translating that into 'smell.' Taste does this as well, but that is something we rarely do to our surroundings.

What an incredible organ the brain is, no?

When i had it, i loved my sense of smell.  Food wafting from any kitchen, perfume trailing after a pretty girl walking the other direction on the sidewalk, scented letters kept as mementos from friends and loved ones, even the less than pleasant smells in life; the experience of it was always a thrill for me.

The loss of this passive appreciation for the state of the world around me has contributed to a general disconnect from my surroundings.  Nothing so overt as to ruin me socially, but i acknowledge in myself a feeling of impassive objectivity i wouldn't have spotted had i not been given cause to think on it due to a loss such as this.

Periodically i'll ask whomever i'm walking with to tell me what the world smells like.  After a while, some folks just know to tell me.  My friend and tour mate 'Dola has become very good at volunteering the smells of road life.

"dude, it smells like baby diaper full of shrimp"
"wow...fresh shrimp?"
"No.  the opposite of fresh"
"gross"
"yup"
"thanks"

It is not the same.

Why, after all this talk of the city, am I bringing up this less-than-cheerful sounding topic?  Why should you hear about my disability-induced disconnect?


Because I visited a place that brought me back into it.

The occupation of Wall St. as a demonstration of general social unrest is a thing i've no place talking about here or anywhere; i am so very ignorant of the social/political state of our nation that all i can confidently say is that i lean 'liberal' and i'm 'pro-' to allot of stuff: pro-choice,-marital rites,-peace,-crastinating.  wacka wacak.

Anyway.  occupy wall st.

So there i am, surrounded by a throng of song and dance and words against perceived wrong and a tent city now many days long and...and i'm overwhelmed.
the antithesis of a bloodhound, I have caught the scent of the presence of my peers.
I've seen this place on television, on my smart-phone, on my laptop screen.  i've heard these words from every media venue and now i'm here.

i am, ostensibly, a part of it.

And it feels amazing to just watch and Feel with these people.  To observe what is, for all intents and purposes, history in the making. It may be a small blip in history, but these occupations (for they are spreading to other cities) are still taking up enough space in our collective consciousness that they won't soon be forgotten.
What a thing to say i was there.
Let the historians and more capable minds discern what, if any, effect these days have; let me simply say 'i was there.'

But then i leave the protest and re-enter the city and it is the City that i am infatuate with.  I cannot smell this world (i'm ok with that, i think) but i can feel it in my bones as the subway runs under my feet, and i can hear any kind of music you please in my walk, and i can imagine i smell Thai, Chinese, Indian, Italian, greasy spoon, Any kind of food.  this city inspires in me an imagination to make up for my sheared-sinus sensitivity.

I stand at the corner of Union square, looking at the light pouring off the Empire State Building and i'm overcome, simply overflowing with an inarticulate push to show the people around me that i have heard the call; i have felt something pluck at the tips of my fingers and i want to follow the pull to the end of the rabbit hole.  I want to help make this world better by making this city better by being better for being here...

I love New York and i cant wait to go back...i guess is all i wanted to say.

thanks for reading.  Tune in, next time, and maybe i'll even make sense.


P.S. I am desperately insufficient in the department of editing and syntax; any suggestions on how to find a volunteer/basic grammatical primer online would be most welcome.
P.P.S.  That is assuming, of course, that this isn't just my mother reading this thing over and over again to make me feel good about my 'reader numbers'  ...Hi, mom, thanks for reading.

You know, you need, you know you need (Part 2)

What a thing this city is! 
How glad I am to have taken this opportunity to come play and prance around the thriving rush of commerce and day to day reality of city living.
Like any true tourist, I've been taking pictures of everything and everywhere I go.
Like a bad tourist, all the photos are of things that catch my eye in the moment, so of no real value to anyone save my passing fancy.
But don't you worry, I'll post em!
Fortunately, this poor-excuse of a tourist had time to spend with two dear friends (each in their own time)
Joshua, my dear college friend and I.  A conversation between comiserating college grads about adulthood and the unexpected suddeness of it.  I love my friends and miss the time spent with them almost as much as I value their prolonged and unwavering presence in my life (albeit digitally)
Faith, a part of my happy high-school years and sometimes so far from my present living I wonder she might be a figment of my better imagination, and here she is, crossing the street and hugging me, real as music and just as sweet.  Thank anything you choose for the visit from your history that so quickly becomes a part of your present. 
I have seen the Wall Street protests and am amazed.  I have fistfulls of sentanced ramblings to share with you about the occupation, but to do so here might be less than appropriate to my venue.  Later, with time to rest and ruminate, I'll link to a post in my private blog. 
'Blog.'  What a strange word.
I am near the protests, still, so I will swing by them again for more (hopefull better) photos and thoughts, and then I make my way to join Mr. Amendola at Lunasa Cafe on the corner of St. Marks and 1st. 
Adventure!!

P.S. pictures incoming!

You know, you need, you know you need...(An all day blogathon)

Where better to punctuate a touring theatre gig than with a trip to el Mondo Manzana?  Given any opportunity to do so, I will endeavor ever to find myself giddily wandering the gridwork windings of this most hospitable of Metros.
Look up and around and you are presented, bombarded, innendated and otherwise super-saturated with such stimuli as to make a synesthetic say 'dude, chill out.'
Even I, with earbuds making dull the natural soundtrack of the city and my own olphactory disability (those curious may find out more about anasmia here) cannot help but loose myself in the rumbling hustle and bustle of this great undulating press of persons such as one might have to travel the wide world to otherwise behold...that or I'm just lost.
Plans to date include: a trip to Astoria, Queens for brunch with a buddy; a return to the Bronx for company with my travel-mates, Eugene and Dola; and, I hope, another visit in midtown before I go co-habitate some Wall St. (quietly, I think: I'm more a cafe chat kind of guy than the kind that holds the gusto or gumption for such things as protests and occupations)
Excelsior!

In which we recount our performance at Oneonta, NY's Hartwick College

A view from backstage.

Oneonta, NY has ireperabley endeared upstate NY to me.
Let me qualify that.
Oneonta, NY has become the real-life model of middle America i grew up watching in film and television.
A bustling hamlet, nestled in the rolling autumnal hills of the Catskill mountains, Oneonta is as much a suburban surge of commuters and community centers as it is a college town.
What time i spent walking around downtown had me struck with the multicultural commercialism available to the consummate college-age consumer.  Cuisines from all over, bookstores (generic and graphic), cafes and consignment shops; this place is a shoppers paradise put to the tune of a 'Weird' Al parody.  The real success of the town is that the main drag of the place feels all the world like it is populated exclusively by privately owned small businesses.
If such a place as 'The Real America' existed, it might be something like Oneonta.

A view from the Discovery Space.

It doesn't hurt that they gave us an amazing reception for 'Tis Pity.
that one needs no qualification.
Tis Pity is not a show we have done often enough on the road for us to have any reasonable expectations of how an audience should behave.
This does not, of course, prevent expectation.  Let's not forget who we're talking about here.
What do we expect?  Who's to say?
Expectations are like opinions and excuses, and we all know what those are like.
Silence.  A solid scene and a half of somewhat bewildered silence.  Here comes the Friar and Giovanni and they're talking about whatnow?
'What kind of play have we gotten ourselves into' the vacuous response of the audience would seem to tell us.
And here's a bit of brawling to bring in the bloodthirsty.  Nothin?  K.
A bit of prancing clown-foolery?  A chuckle here and there.  Good!  If we can't get you into the hard stuff, then we hope you like the funny.
Ah, yes.  The wooing of Annabella.
The hard stuff, indeed.
Dead silence through all declarations of love and all offerings of daggers points.
And then, the Kiss.
A rumble rolls across the audience; audible disgust.
These strangers (to each other and to us) see a pair of actors kiss each other in the name of playing at incest and they cannot help but buy it.
We have them.  And, as much as that, they have us.  For the remaining traffic, we are caught up in the delightfully subtle dialogue of the performer and the auditor.
Two hours later they have been with us every step of the way.  Awesome.
Tis Pity is a hard show to take to the unsuspecting community, but if we can take every audience on a trip like the one we took in Oneonta, then i call that a win.

Backstage with St. Francis

I think there is something incredible about this job. 
We go on tour is to go from place to place, from town to town, to a venue that wants us there.  One that has even gone so far as to invest a (I assume) not-so-modest sum in the fees we charge such place.  And here we are, bought and paid for; an evening's entertainment for whomever cares for it...so who wants to see a shakespeare play these days? 
Today we have movies and video games and internet based activites abounding, and yet we still find work.   But, surely, it's just an ambitious arts council with less public participation than it has funding to spend on entertainment?
Full house.
A sleepy town, Ohio, yet again gives us so much of a packed house that we need to send people onto a gallery balcony, peering over us in the style of a wooden U we're more familiar with.
A community comes to life to come play with us. 
Last night, when we played Stuart's Opera house, we had a host of enthusiastic young people (6-16yrs) dancing with us, on stage, for all of our interlude's finale song. 
Awesome.
I have a tired talk-box this evening, but tomorrow is a drive day, and the day after is a proper day off.  Wish us safe travels and we'll see you soon.

Drive Day: Loyola, MD to Nelson, OH

Drive days are good days.
What do you do on a long car day?
Read: 'The Difference Engine' by William Gibson
Play: Warcraft 3
Photograph: Very confusing localized propoganda posters. (Pic. Related)
And then you load in.
And then you sleep.
More, soon.

Theatre at Lime Kiln of Lexington, VA

A view From the stage. 

So, our first venue on the long leg of our first half of our contract, and it was an experience, indeed!

The Lime Kiln is a beautiful outdoor performance property, with three permanent venues and a one-point, big-top tent.

The primary space (The Lime Kiln itself) is a wonder of living and preserved history.  Like all memorable theatres, Lime Kiln owes its history as much to happenstance as intent..  A post civil war entrepreneur's failed get rich quick scheme left a ramshackle ruin of excavation, natural beauty and aged architecture.  This left available a foundation on which these gifted patrons of the arts have built

A view Of the Stage.  (See what I did there?)

a space that inspires a whimsical nostalgia perfect for the tone and style that they specialize in.  Perhaps you'd like to enjoy Shakespeare under the stars, with a beer in your hand and a burger on your plate?  If that doesn't suite your fancy, can we offer you a staged story of 'Stonewall' Jackson's life?
Did we mention it was a musical?

Anyway, I mention the Lime Kiln itself to give you a sense of the tragedy of our stay that we were unable to use the space.

This season's steady rain and misting of the Appalachian/Blue Ridge ranges made a mud pit of the pictured venue and settled us into the aforementioned tent-space.

So, let us put on for you a show on a stage that is, after the addition of our travel 'Discovery Space' (a piece of Original Staging Conditions artifice that gives any audience anywhere the feeling that they're watching a show at the Staunton Blackfriars) about seven feet deep and three times that wide.  Alright folks, hold on tight and let's hope you like it.

And they did.

As a part of the performance end of things, I'm inclined to be overtly and always hyper critical of every piece of professional and personal minutia that goes into any show (one that I'm in or one that I'm watching).  You call it snobbery, i call it investment in the work.

Anyway.

I was distressed by allot of our performance.  Our crowded stage-space was mirrored in miniature by the backstage.  For my own part, i couldn't wait to get my-pantaloon-ed posterior onstage just so i could have some room to breathe.  Blocking felt clunky and i was ever and always aware of what sort of wear and tear i might be putting on my costume.  My costume made out of very expensive, very delicate fabric.  So too are all of our costumes, but it's my blog so we're sticking to first person.

So there we are, having a seat-of-our-pants kinda show and come the middle of the second act (My quiet, meditative time where i get to sit cross legged on the fairy bower surrounded by noise makers and ring/slap/rattle/and whistle my way to nirvana) i have a realization: They are a Great crowd.

Laughing at the sight gags; laughing at the prat falls and physical bits; Laughing at the rhetoric!  What a crowd.

And that's the important bit.  We put on a silly play for the peoples, and the peoples loved it.

And we love them back.

In summary: Go to the Lime Kiln because  It's gorgeous and worth as much attention as any regional theatre I've seen; Do the best you can but don't let your attention to minutia take you out of the joy of the Play; come see our shows because they're funny.

Fin.

...Lime Kiln

Briarley Bed and Breakfast

More images of the soft spoken luxury of this charming family business.
Here see images of the Good Friends suite

A view from our evening's lodgings.

Look at it!

Travels with Billy

Abusive misuses of classic Steinbeck memoirs notwithstanding, I am being offered an opportunity here I'd never really expected, one I would love to talk to you about: I am a travelling performer.

I arrived in mid-July with no expectations.
That is a lie.  I expected genius, i expected fervor and passion beyond compare, i expected immediate professional accolades from every possible angle.  I also expected to have started this damn blog by now, but that's not to be fixed.

What else can you expect from a gig you put so much stock in?  We do what we love for money, but we do it mostly because we love it.  LOVE.  And i love it so much the more because i'm new (liquify that 'u' sound for me, wont you?) to it.  Bright eyed and fuzzy-tailed, i'm here to Build the foundation to a lifetime career.  I hope.

Anyway.  Two months and change and we've mounted three travelling productions; worked up a catalogue of workshops; and mapped out a tour route that looks something like the charted path and pattern of a Duncan Yo-Yo that forgot to take it's medication.

Now, load a dozen enthusiastically dynamic personalities into two passenger vans and one cargo van and get to driving.

And so we have done, and shall continue to do.

we will move from town to town, hotel room to b&b, theatre to auditorium to community center and back again.  The rolling green and brown of Virginia countryside will give way to the more industrial sprawl of suburban Baltimore and Bethesda and then up and around again.  Vermont to Sarasota, Austin to All-Over the Bloody place.

The longest stay we'll see will be something around a week and then we shall to the road again, churning asphalt under our dozen spinning brains conveyed by our dozen spinning wheels.

We will share with each other what we might fail to share with anyone: our best and our worst.  The sobering reminder that 'this is just a job; i love it but it is still just my job' will serve us at our best and completely evade us at our worst.  we will play the gypsy by day and live the Play by night.

All the while the odometer ticks and grinds us further and farther away from ground 0; from where we started and all this was but a dream and fruitless vision.  The reality of our going and coming, the return for the holiday season and the neo-exodus to the road again will be every bit the catalyst of inspiration as it might be a nail in the coffin in the fantasy of what this world is; are we to live on, loving the work and the fight and the toil, or will we walk away jaded of our passion and looking to a cubicle and a 401k?

Tomorrow we start the longest stint of absence from our borrowed beds and homes here in Staunton, VA.  6 weeks later we're here again and more work to be done.

Check in again and see where we go, who we meet, what we do, and (melodramatically of all) who we are.