Lynchburg, VA to Greensboro, NC from a Villa in Roanoke.

In which we discuss  the physical rigors of a job that makes me sit down in a car for hours at a go, the familial existence of a travelling troupe, the theraputic nature of various physical activities like exercise and hot baths, and how a city(town?  large hamlet?) beset with hills and stairways can satisfy every expectation one might have for a touring theatre gig.

First; the job.

it's good to be back to work.  I love the rush of doing a show i know and i trust with people whom i know and trust.  The couple of shows we have done thusfar have only served to re-enforce my confidence in this group and the quality of work we are capable of doing consistently and under a myriad of circumstances.

Speaking of circumstances, let's talk about how our troupe has become, in the words of the man himself, EuGenius Douglas, 'The walking Infirm.'
We've got back injuries, spontaneous stomach-yuck(a medical term i read on the internet), and a general feeling of 'oy' coming from the aches and soreness-es of a coming back to a not un-rigorous style of work.  It's not so much that our job is, as a whole, extraordinarily strenuous...well, mine isn't.

Maybe i shouldn't speak for the troupe, here.

Actually, now that i'm thinking about it, everyone else is fighting and flopping and flipping all over the stage while i'm sitting in back doing push-ups, and playing on a slide whistle.
And a slapstick.
Perhaps the use of a actual slapstick in my work environment has encouraged my already natural predilection for shtick...yeah, let's go with that.

Anyway.

We be hurt'n and aching, but the solidarity of this group is a huge comfort.
Not growing up as anything less than a hyper-indulged only child of a loving pair of 60's era breeders, i am not one that is able to aptly judge the classic 'sibling' dynamic.  Now, i know that what i'm getting here is Not it, but it's the closest i've come since college when i was living in a man house of manly mannishness.
And the years i spent in that Man-Heap-House were some of the best of my life.
So, you might imagine how much I'm enjoying being back with my road family.

Exercise has taken an interesting place in my life of late.
Due to a series of very difficult personal decisions i made recently, i have been feeling all the solitude and social deprivations of touring life a little harder than i did for a solid chunk of last tour.

My sudden singularity notwithstanding, i am a man-child subject to all the image issues, mood swings and self-indulgent introspections one might expect from a pox-ridden teenager (my apologies to all pox-ridden teens; often the zits will go away, but the crazies rarely do), so the use of such mood regulating activities as the high heart rate of aerobics and the deep muscle stimulation of lifting have done well to quell the tide of...well, of silliness.

It's silliness, folks, that keeps us down in the mouth.
Hormones and life events and i'll be slave to neither.

Lynchburg did for me something i wasn't sure if i should continue to hope for; i felt welcomed to that place in a way i'd not had all tour.  Which is not to say that i'd ever felt directly un-welcome anywhere else, but the experience of trudging the steps and hillocks of Lynchburg, VA after dark and then again after a yoga class (by the way, Whoever this Bikram fellah is, he is an evil, abusive genius and i want more of it) the next morning left me feeling like a much appreciated visitor.

I went to a bar that was quiet and met a bartender who was not.
We shared dinner and conversation and drinks with the whole wait staff and i felt like someone worth having a conversation with.

This is a post long overdue, but i'm glad to have started up again.

Thanks for reading, guys.

A Sendoff in Black

Good morning, everyone!

It's approximately 1:30am on Friday; the 20th of January.

Throughout our time on this old planet of ours (oh, by the way, broad-stroke 'Fundamental Human Truths' segment, incoming) we are given opportunities to take note of landmark life-events and share them or, conversely, to let them flow over us and out of our lives, like so much wind between the ears.

Allow me to let you in on one of which i've taken note.

Before today, before tonight, even, i had yet to see a Renaissance Season Production at the ASC.

This evening, i had my Ren-Cherry popped for me by a hunch-backed, limp legged, limp-Armed sociopath.
His name was Richard.
And he was a real charmer.

I've seen a couple productions of ol Triple Dick in my time as a student and a film-lover (thank you, yet again, Sir Ian, for reminding us just how much better you are when you're evil...I'm looking at you, Magneto), and i've even had the chance to play in one myself as Sir Catesby.  Good ol' Catesby.  Ol' Bill Catesby.  Sounds kinda like Bill Cosby, but with brass knuckles instead of a refreshing jell-o treat...if you don't get that reference, go see the show.  Brass knuckles: never not a good idea....

Anyhow.

I mention my passing familiarity with the script (and it is only that; I was and still am only passing familiar with anything more than the overall plot, and even then do i sometimes get a little wobbly...honestly, if you haven't been investing in these characters for the past 2-5 bloody plays, it's hard to keep track of everyone and why they hate everyone else...except for Margaret.  She's pretty clear.) to illustrate my gleefully ignorant place of mind during my pre-show sit down.

Allow me to talk it out

"oh, cool!  i get to see a show that i remember just enough of to know i like it, performed by people whose work i know i'm fond of, and i'm just about to start touring again, so i'll have something to write about on my blog!  Maybe i'll even see some material i want to use for auditions/hypothetical scene work for my hypothetical post-graduate education!  I'm really going to enjoy this show!"

To be clear, all of those things happened.  Because of my experience as an audience member, I look forward to returning to this text with a renewed interest in the characters and their circumstances, all together due to  the quality performances i saw this evening.  And that it's a great play.

But that's nothing i didn't expect.

What caught me off guard was a realization that came after everything else.  Came after the show.  Came after i walked home and warmed my face in the soft glow of my laptop screen.  It's a simple thing, really, but it caught me:

Those people directed themselves.
In a week.

I just watched what was, for all intents and purposes, a Professional student-production of Richard III.

What a triumph of love for this media.

Sure, it's a job, and it pays, so there's something pragmatic in taking a gig like this; it feeds and houses and pays the bills.  All the necessaries.

But so does hanging dry-wall.  So does working a desk.  And those are, in certain ways, (ways that i think make what we do such an exiting challenge for people who are seeking it) much easier.

These people, these madcaps of the medium, are doing THIS as their new years resolution.

Thank you, everyone at the Ren-Season for a great show.  See you next week.

P.S. If you're reading this, i thank you.
P.P.S. tune in again...at a yet undetermined time, for more ramblings about theatre, life on the road, and what it is to be an aspiring theatre professional in this yet fresh 2012.  Oh, and i might talk about things like Politics, social issues, spiritual journeys, and the joyful miss-happery of my personal life.
P.P.P.S. Spoiler Alert: The boat sinks and she marries some other guy.  And then Leo makes the same movie a few times before being in the Great Gatsby.  Is anyone exited for that?  Should i go back and try reading it?

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!