Got up and made some final follow-up efforts with DC area theatres, thus far to no avail. I also did some research into other options in the DC market. All of this is time consuming work and before I knew it I had to leave for my next audition. I went back through the Midtown Tunnel and found a parking spot…discovering once I went to pay the meter that someone had left me with a whopping 45 minutes of free parking!
Virginia Stage Company’s offices are housed in an unassuming building in downtown Norfolk, up a creaky flight of uneven stairs. No decoration adorns the beat up white walls of the hallway. In the claustrophobic waiting area, I was asked by numerous passersby if I had been taken care of, and I responded each time in the affirmative. After a short time, my auditor came out. Chris Hanna, Artistic Director, reminded me a little of a slightly gayer version of a psychology teacher I had in school mixed with a dash of Harold Prince. He asked me questions about my trip and about Homer (who was, of course, strapped to my back) and we engaged in friendly conversation as we walked through the plain white halls, down stairs and through a set of doors. Before I knew it we were standing in the theatre, which was lavishly and richly ornamented, in sharp to the rest of the building. The theatre took my breath away. The stage killed me.
They are currently running a play called INDOOR/OUTDOOR by Kenny Finkle. I have no idea what the play is about, but the set was intriguing and made me want to read it – the entire stage was covered in plush yellow carpet - garish primary Big Bird yellow. Upstage a cutout of a house and a large moon were resting, and from the flies hung various objects, all of which were also covered in the same plush yellow carpet. It was ghastly and hilarious and somehow thrilling.
Chris paused while telling me the tale of their difficulties with the ridiculous and sublime set: the expense involved in yellow carpeting, getting just the right shade and maintaining it throughout their run (which was in its final weeks). He then offered me a choice. He said if I preferred we could do the audition in the lobby, or we could do it on the stage but I would have to take off my shoes in order to preserve the ghastly gorgeous carpeting –
My shoes were off before he finished his sentence!
The stage felt so good, in spite of its coloring. Throughout this Audyssey, I’ve noticed that my auditions bump up to a new level and are just a few notches more fun when I’ve been fortunate enough to be onstage. A special strain of adrenaline kicks in. Surely, the auditor sees me up there and realizes, as I do each time, that I belong on a stage!
I had planned to do the Doris/Touchstone combo. I usually perform Doris’ monologue sitting down, and here there were no sitables, just that vast expanse of yellow. So, moved by the spirit of Judy Garland, I sat myself right down on the edge of that stage, legs crossed and dangling over the side, and launched into a full fledged Doris, luxuriating in the sound of Doris’ raspy voice as it bounced through the perfect acoustics of that space. Chris was thoroughly entertained and enthusiastic. I then jumped up and in my stocking feet used the entire stage for a big long cross during the very animated Touchstone snippet. Again, Chris seemed to really enjoy my work, called it wonderful, and asked me if there was anything else I wanted to show him, since I had come all this way.
What to do? I asked if there was anything specific he wanted to see and he didn’t say anything. So I decided to do my Chekhov piece. It went well and Chris seemed to really like that one, too.
I hopped down from the stage and Chris guided me back through the building to the street entrance once I was re-shod. He said that they were just winding down their season, but that once they decided on next season he would surely keep me in mind for anything he thought might suit me.
I returned to the car after a brief walk up the street to find that I had one minute left on the meter. Sweet!
I drove back to the motel to check email but still had no responses about DC. I ate leftover pizza and then played the cello for a good solid productive two hours.
Homer has been playing tricks on me – he seems temperamental. Part of the problem is that I have not spent enough time playing, and part of it is probably the shifting temperatures and the newly arid climate after years on the gulf coast, but some days he sounds great and some days he really doesn’t. He also doesn’t seem to be staying in tune consistently as he was when I was playing on him in November in Florida. I’m anxious to get him back to NYC and have him checked out by Peter Lewy, my incredible cello teacher, who will likely be able to help. This afternoon, Homer sounded full and warm and gorgeous no matter what I was playing. Then I took a break, wrote yesterday’s Salty entry and had dinner. When I returned to the cello later in the evening, an odd buzz had somehow developed on the D string. Mysterious.
Tomorrow Mr. Shattner goes to Washington!
Monday, January 29, 2007
Hey, Sailor!: Raleigh, NC to Norfolk, VA
Sunday January 28
Instead of spinning my wheels in North Carolina for another day, I was back on the road spinning the wheels of trusty steed Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, making the three and a half hour drive to Norfolk, Virginia.
I haven’t made mention yet of the way I have pimped my ride, as it were, with the various symbols of love and good wishes from friends and family.
When driving anywhere, Homer, of course, rests in the space in front of the passenger seat, leaning diagonally back to be supported by the headrest. In the seat itself is my Christmas present from Kim & Drew, a production still from the movie NEVER ON SUNDAY, autographed by the star, Greek actress Melina Mercouri, and set by Drew in a gorgeous wooden frame. Kim introduced me to that movie and the two of us continue to draw inspiration from our beloved Melina and her sublime performance therein. Melina sits in the passenger seat on this Salty Audyssey, providing inspiration and support as necessary.
Incidentally, it is partially from that movie that Homer the Cello gets his name. Melina’s character’s love interest in NEVER ON SUNDAY (who is also pictured in the autographed still, blowing up an inflatable globe – he’s got the whole world in his hands!) was named Homer. Throughout the movie, Melina would speak his name with her thick accent, making it sound absolutely luscious – “Oh, Homaaaaaair!” Kim and I began to say “Oh, Homaaaaaair!” to each other whenever anything in life was particularly delicious. When I first met Homer the Cello, I was wooed by what I felt was a particularly delicious sound. So was my Dad, who heard me play on Homer the day I first began renting the instrument, which was also the last day I saw my father. He stood there beaming when he heard me play, and got all excited about how good the cello sounded. Playing the cello is an endeavor that is so close to my soul and to my heart that there were an awful lot of demons to battle in association with the undertaking. It meant a lot to me to see my father so excited by my playing. This is the other source of Homer the Cello’s name: my Dad and I used to call each other Bart and Homer, making reference to The Simpsons, a show we both enjoyed. So Homer the Cello is so named in tribute to my Dad.
But back to Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’s many fabulous adornments. Wrapped around the passenger seat is the hallowed Triplet Scarf. My friends Alison and Susan and I have named ourselves the Triplets, after the movie TRIPLETS OF BELLEVILLE (except we decided we were the Triplets of Bellview). When my Dad died, the Triplets sent me a care package that included a warm cozy scarf, which was meant to be a hug from the two of them. The scarf quickly gained security blanket status: I wear it not only for protection from the cold, but anytime I am feeling slightly fragile, and the love and support of my dear friends is palpable.
Me in the Triplet Scarf with Lola at Kim & Drew's the night before the Audyssey began (Photo courtesy Drew)
On the bottom part of the dashboard, near the gear shift, on the opposite side from the iPod adapter dock (Best. Investment. Ever.) a small green stained-glass frog is suction-cupped, smiling up at me as I drive. The frog holds a daisy and a sign that says “If friends were flowers, I’d pick you.” This cheesy yet heartfelt curio comes courtesy Carol Provonsha. Carol’s tales battling the frogs when it rains in her little sanctuary in the swamp tickled me tremendously, and we gifted each other with frogs at our meeting earlier this month in Fort Myers.
In the cup holder, among some mundane things like sunglasses, tissue paper, cell phone charger, pen and scratch paper, there lies a small piece of charcoal, within my grasp at all times while driving. This was another gift from Kim Crow, who handed it to me as I left her the last night before the trip began. It is meant to absorb negativity from the surrounding environment and clarify the energy. I sometimes grab it, sometimes hold it to my forehead, and it invariably helps dissipate the nasties. It has proven to be a powerful and incredibly effective magical talisman.
And finally, wrapped around the driver’s seat is the most sacred adornment of all. The night before I left for the trip, I was looking for something in the closet in my parents’ bedroom in our Sarasota home when I came across an iconic piece from my Dad’s wardrobe: his Tilley hat. A distinctive Australian chapeau, the Tilley hat tradition began, I believe, with my Grandmother’s husband, beloved imp Eli Abramson, who passed away in February 2006. My father used to call Eli the Wicked Stepfather in jest – there was not a wicked bone in Eli’s body. At some point that I can’t really remember, my Dad began to wear a Tilley hat as part of his golfing ensemble, one side of the brim snapped upright in rakish fashion. The hat can be seen in many pictures of my Dad around the house in Florida, and when I came across it by accident I knew I was meant to take it with me.
Back to the road: the trip to Norfolk was uneventful except I watched the outdoor temperature on Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’s dashboard gauge drop with every passing mile.
Norfolk has a strange energy to it. I can’t quite pin it down to describe it, but it doesn’t set me at ease in the least. It is somehow eerie. Perhaps it was the nearby presence of large Naval bases and shipyards, whose giant skeletal paraphernalia leered menacingly to greet me as I made my way through the downtown area in search of the theatre, and, having found it, in search of a place to stay for the next two nights.
I ended up in downtown Portsmouth, a short drive from Norfolk proper through the brief underwater stint of roadway that they call the Midtown Tunnel (my inner Manhattanite had a good giggle at that one). As the rain that had dogged me since beginning the trip eastward off of I-95 began a flirting dance with the freezing mark, taking it from liquid to ice to snow and back again, I finally found lodgings that were within my meagre price range and settled in to shelter from the icky night and the somehow spooky town.
I ordered in an accidentally ridiculous amount of pizza, and scanned the TV listlessly while I ate before trying to get some sleep.
Instead of spinning my wheels in North Carolina for another day, I was back on the road spinning the wheels of trusty steed Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, making the three and a half hour drive to Norfolk, Virginia.
I haven’t made mention yet of the way I have pimped my ride, as it were, with the various symbols of love and good wishes from friends and family.When driving anywhere, Homer, of course, rests in the space in front of the passenger seat, leaning diagonally back to be supported by the headrest. In the seat itself is my Christmas present from Kim & Drew, a production still from the movie NEVER ON SUNDAY, autographed by the star, Greek actress Melina Mercouri, and set by Drew in a gorgeous wooden frame. Kim introduced me to that movie and the two of us continue to draw inspiration from our beloved Melina and her sublime performance therein. Melina sits in the passenger seat on this Salty Audyssey, providing inspiration and support as necessary.
Incidentally, it is partially from that movie that Homer the Cello gets his name. Melina’s character’s love interest in NEVER ON SUNDAY (who is also pictured in the autographed still, blowing up an inflatable globe – he’s got the whole world in his hands!) was named Homer. Throughout the movie, Melina would speak his name with her thick accent, making it sound absolutely luscious – “Oh, Homaaaaaair!” Kim and I began to say “Oh, Homaaaaaair!” to each other whenever anything in life was particularly delicious. When I first met Homer the Cello, I was wooed by what I felt was a particularly delicious sound. So was my Dad, who heard me play on Homer the day I first began renting the instrument, which was also the last day I saw my father. He stood there beaming when he heard me play, and got all excited about how good the cello sounded. Playing the cello is an endeavor that is so close to my soul and to my heart that there were an awful lot of demons to battle in association with the undertaking. It meant a lot to me to see my father so excited by my playing. This is the other source of Homer the Cello’s name: my Dad and I used to call each other Bart and Homer, making reference to The Simpsons, a show we both enjoyed. So Homer the Cello is so named in tribute to my Dad.
But back to Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’s many fabulous adornments. Wrapped around the passenger seat is the hallowed Triplet Scarf. My friends Alison and Susan and I have named ourselves the Triplets, after the movie TRIPLETS OF BELLEVILLE (except we decided we were the Triplets of Bellview). When my Dad died, the Triplets sent me a care package that included a warm cozy scarf, which was meant to be a hug from the two of them. The scarf quickly gained security blanket status: I wear it not only for protection from the cold, but anytime I am feeling slightly fragile, and the love and support of my dear friends is palpable.
Me in the Triplet Scarf with Lola at Kim & Drew's the night before the Audyssey began (Photo courtesy Drew)On the bottom part of the dashboard, near the gear shift, on the opposite side from the iPod adapter dock (Best. Investment. Ever.) a small green stained-glass frog is suction-cupped, smiling up at me as I drive. The frog holds a daisy and a sign that says “If friends were flowers, I’d pick you.” This cheesy yet heartfelt curio comes courtesy Carol Provonsha. Carol’s tales battling the frogs when it rains in her little sanctuary in the swamp tickled me tremendously, and we gifted each other with frogs at our meeting earlier this month in Fort Myers.
In the cup holder, among some mundane things like sunglasses, tissue paper, cell phone charger, pen and scratch paper, there lies a small piece of charcoal, within my grasp at all times while driving. This was another gift from Kim Crow, who handed it to me as I left her the last night before the trip began. It is meant to absorb negativity from the surrounding environment and clarify the energy. I sometimes grab it, sometimes hold it to my forehead, and it invariably helps dissipate the nasties. It has proven to be a powerful and incredibly effective magical talisman.
And finally, wrapped around the driver’s seat is the most sacred adornment of all. The night before I left for the trip, I was looking for something in the closet in my parents’ bedroom in our Sarasota home when I came across an iconic piece from my Dad’s wardrobe: his Tilley hat. A distinctive Australian chapeau, the Tilley hat tradition began, I believe, with my Grandmother’s husband, beloved imp Eli Abramson, who passed away in February 2006. My father used to call Eli the Wicked Stepfather in jest – there was not a wicked bone in Eli’s body. At some point that I can’t really remember, my Dad began to wear a Tilley hat as part of his golfing ensemble, one side of the brim snapped upright in rakish fashion. The hat can be seen in many pictures of my Dad around the house in Florida, and when I came across it by accident I knew I was meant to take it with me.
Back to the road: the trip to Norfolk was uneventful except I watched the outdoor temperature on Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’s dashboard gauge drop with every passing mile.
Norfolk has a strange energy to it. I can’t quite pin it down to describe it, but it doesn’t set me at ease in the least. It is somehow eerie. Perhaps it was the nearby presence of large Naval bases and shipyards, whose giant skeletal paraphernalia leered menacingly to greet me as I made my way through the downtown area in search of the theatre, and, having found it, in search of a place to stay for the next two nights.
I ended up in downtown Portsmouth, a short drive from Norfolk proper through the brief underwater stint of roadway that they call the Midtown Tunnel (my inner Manhattanite had a good giggle at that one). As the rain that had dogged me since beginning the trip eastward off of I-95 began a flirting dance with the freezing mark, taking it from liquid to ice to snow and back again, I finally found lodgings that were within my meagre price range and settled in to shelter from the icky night and the somehow spooky town.
I ordered in an accidentally ridiculous amount of pizza, and scanned the TV listlessly while I ate before trying to get some sleep.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
At Loose Ends: Day of Rest
I’ve had a very strange, low-energy day. I’ve been completely brain dead and definitely hit a wall of exhaustion. Also think I might be battling the cold that so many folk along the way seem to have had.
Odd how I can organize this whole complicated trip but today the idea of trying to figure out something interesting and different to do here in Raleigh was just too daunting. I toyed with the idea of going out hiking (the weather was beautiful). I toyed with the idea of going to the movies. In the end I spent the whole day in the hotel room, watching movies on TV (ERIN BROCKOVITCH, a guilty pleasure, was on TNT). I did play Homer for a good solid two hours, the longest single block of time I’ve spent playing the cello since I came to Florida at the beginning of January. It was a frustrating endeavor…I know my playing will improve again but right now everything sounds crappy. In spite of that, it did help to play, which reinforces my recently-created adage: When in doubt, cello.
Around dinnertime I finally ventured out to find food. I decided to get myself lost in Raleigh and pick the first place I could find that looked interesting. I was feeling completely apathetic but knew I needed to eat something. I drove all over, past the state capital building downtown and on up to crass commercial US1, and somehow along that whole route I could find very little in the way of sustenance that wasn’t a McDonalds. Eventually I came across Vaillarta, a Mexican restaurant. Upon entering I found that the entire restaurant was full of actual latino folk – I was one of the few white faces around. My margarita was enormous yet weak and my dinner (chipotle shrimp) was muy yummy. And that concludes my entire performance in Spanish.
Tomorrow I plan to migrate north to Norfolk, VA in preparation for Monday’s audition at Virginia Stage. For now, I am off to sleep.
Odd how I can organize this whole complicated trip but today the idea of trying to figure out something interesting and different to do here in Raleigh was just too daunting. I toyed with the idea of going out hiking (the weather was beautiful). I toyed with the idea of going to the movies. In the end I spent the whole day in the hotel room, watching movies on TV (ERIN BROCKOVITCH, a guilty pleasure, was on TNT). I did play Homer for a good solid two hours, the longest single block of time I’ve spent playing the cello since I came to Florida at the beginning of January. It was a frustrating endeavor…I know my playing will improve again but right now everything sounds crappy. In spite of that, it did help to play, which reinforces my recently-created adage: When in doubt, cello.
Around dinnertime I finally ventured out to find food. I decided to get myself lost in Raleigh and pick the first place I could find that looked interesting. I was feeling completely apathetic but knew I needed to eat something. I drove all over, past the state capital building downtown and on up to crass commercial US1, and somehow along that whole route I could find very little in the way of sustenance that wasn’t a McDonalds. Eventually I came across Vaillarta, a Mexican restaurant. Upon entering I found that the entire restaurant was full of actual latino folk – I was one of the few white faces around. My margarita was enormous yet weak and my dinner (chipotle shrimp) was muy yummy. And that concludes my entire performance in Spanish.
Tomorrow I plan to migrate north to Norfolk, VA in preparation for Monday’s audition at Virginia Stage. For now, I am off to sleep.
North Carolina, Part Two: High Point to Greensboro to Chapel Hill to Raleigh
Friday January 26
Woke up early to give my tired voice a chance to warm up before the day’s exertions. A three-audition day on the last day of a ten-audition week – truly a test of endurance.
I made a few follow-up calls to DC theatres for next week, still hoping to reach the magic number 20. Played the cello hurriedly, just long enough to be sure it was relatively in tune, and then headed out for audition #1.
North Carolina Shakespeare Festival’s administrative offices are housed in a small run-down complex of industrial buildings about two miles from the performing arts center where their theatre is located. Pedro Silva, the Artistic Director, a slightly unkempt man who welcomed me and showed me the artist’s drawings of the new complex that is going up courtesy of a great deal of money. He heard my audition in the open carpeted office space with the receptionist looking on. In spite of the early hour, I brought forth Margaret for the molehill speech and conjured an irascible Touchstone for my little contrasting comedic snippet. The response was very positive and Pedro asked me to contact him in late April to see what was going on with their season.
Next stop was Triad Stage in Greensboro, which I found with little effort, and snagged a parking spot right out front. I was very early, and though I stopped in the offices to see whether I could be seen before my scheduled time, Jay Putnam, Artistic Associate and my auditor for the day, was nowhere to be found. I stood for a little while reading the many articles about the theatre that were posted on a large billboard outside the door to the administrative offices. Triad’s brief history is truly impressive – in just a few years and overcoming major obstacles, they have been the pivotal force behind a cultural and financial renewal of Greensboro. Plus anywhere that starts their season with DIARY OF ANNE FRANK, moves on through a few other shows to NOISES OFF and eventually finishes with TOBACCO ROAD is my kind of place!
I decided to pass the time by strolling the pleasant sidewalks of South Elm Street, admiring the architecture of Greensboro’s quaint low buildings that imbued the downtown area with its small-town charm. The shops and restaurants that line the street are all sort of quirky in a laid back way. Since it was close to lunchtime, I stopped to eat at a 50’s style diner, hoping to maybe get some eggs. Nothing but fried food and beef on the menu, however. In spite of my better judgment, since I still had two auditions to go, I was decadent and ordered a grilled cheese on sourdough with tomato and a house specialty: Pilot Pickles – fried pickle slices. I am a man of strange tastes and have always loved pickles so I couldn’t resist when I saw these on the menu, even though they cost more than my sandwich and were no doubt going to wreak havoc with my digestive system. They were sufficiently tasty but very greasy, and in the end I would have preferred straight-up unadorned pickle slices.
After lunch I walked the breezy street some more, Homer strapped to my back, hoping the cool air would purify my clothes so that I didn’t walk into my audition smelling of fried foods. I paused for tea and a chocolate croissant at Simple Kneads, a tiny little “artisan bakery” located at the back of a tiled alley directly across the street from the theatre. I relaxed and looked over the maps for the next leg of the trip, for although I found myself with ample time now, the hiatus between the next two auditions was short, with very little room for error in the commute into unknown territory.
At last it was time for my audition. I headed back to the theatre to find that Jay still had not arrived. Someone there called his cell and found that he was not far away. He came in, sneezing from a cold he was just getting, and excused himself for a few minutes to make a couple of phone calls. Wishing he had put me in a room somewhere so I could be playing Homer, I was left to busy myself sending silly text messages of inane quotes from Broadway musicals to my friend Dwayne Mann…which went unanswered, I might add. Dwayne? How you gonna leave me hanging like that? Perhaps you’ll think twice about it now that you’ve suffered public humiliation on the Salty Blog.
Eventually, Jay brought me in to a studio littered with rehearsal props from NOISES OFF (which, I discovered, had opened the night before) and we chatted briefly before I launched into the Doris/Touchstone combo. He seemed genuinely entertained by both creations and said that he would have their NY casting director call me in later this month when they have auditions for their next show, a play I did not know called SYNCOPATION. An excellent outcome!
I boarded Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and quickly checked my email from the car – free WiFi on South Elm Street – but hadn’t received any more responses from the DC area theatres. So, still flying high from the excellent Triad audition, I began the drive to Chapel Hill.
Partway there I needed to stop for gas. For some reason I thought I had enough to get me there and I figured I would tank up after the final audition of the day, but that was not to be. I hastily pulled into a station and filled up. Slowest. Pump. Ever. And at the same time my bladder decided it needed relief as well, so I went in to get the key and was treated to a heavily-accented ten-minute monologue from the gentleman behind the counter, who was expostulating on the wonders of a new anti-smoking drug to the slightly cute Fedex delivery guy, who looked antsy and must have been regretting having started the conversation. Apparently, this man had been smoking since he was nine years old, and a year ago his doctor told him that he had only a couple of months to live if he didn’t quit and he complained to the doctor that he had tried everything and the doctor recommended this new drug and nothing else had worked but boy, sure as shootin’ he hadn’t had a cigarette since because it just plain cut out the desire. As soon as I could get a word in edgewise I requested the key. Shortly thereafter I was on my way again.
In spite of my detour, I made it to Playmakers’ Repertory Company on University of North Carolina’s Chapel Hill campus in plenty of time. Inside the performing arts centre, I met Dave Hansen, the company manager, who brought me into their enormous rehearsal hall that was brightly lit by the late afternoon sun. Left there to my own devices for a while, I broke out Homer. Partway through the Bach prelude, Joe Haj, the Artistic Director entered. His manner was brusque yet professional and he seemed pleasant enough. I did the Doris/Touchstone combo and again felt it was extremely successful. Afterwards Joe thanked me and said that although this season was completely cast, they would keep my resume on file for next season. As he was showing me out, Dave made a point to assure me that my resume would not simply disappear. Apparently, they do in fact keep a very small file of actors they’d like to work with and they consult it at the beginning of their season.
I left feeling a huge sense of accomplishment, not only at the great last audition, and not only at having completed the crazy day, but looking back over the past week, I must conclude that the trip is an out-and-out success.
I grabbed dinner at the local Panera (still no responses from DC theatres) and then headed to nearby Raleigh to find a hotel for the weekend and to get some well-deserved rest.
Woke up early to give my tired voice a chance to warm up before the day’s exertions. A three-audition day on the last day of a ten-audition week – truly a test of endurance.
I made a few follow-up calls to DC theatres for next week, still hoping to reach the magic number 20. Played the cello hurriedly, just long enough to be sure it was relatively in tune, and then headed out for audition #1.
North Carolina Shakespeare Festival’s administrative offices are housed in a small run-down complex of industrial buildings about two miles from the performing arts center where their theatre is located. Pedro Silva, the Artistic Director, a slightly unkempt man who welcomed me and showed me the artist’s drawings of the new complex that is going up courtesy of a great deal of money. He heard my audition in the open carpeted office space with the receptionist looking on. In spite of the early hour, I brought forth Margaret for the molehill speech and conjured an irascible Touchstone for my little contrasting comedic snippet. The response was very positive and Pedro asked me to contact him in late April to see what was going on with their season.
Next stop was Triad Stage in Greensboro, which I found with little effort, and snagged a parking spot right out front. I was very early, and though I stopped in the offices to see whether I could be seen before my scheduled time, Jay Putnam, Artistic Associate and my auditor for the day, was nowhere to be found. I stood for a little while reading the many articles about the theatre that were posted on a large billboard outside the door to the administrative offices. Triad’s brief history is truly impressive – in just a few years and overcoming major obstacles, they have been the pivotal force behind a cultural and financial renewal of Greensboro. Plus anywhere that starts their season with DIARY OF ANNE FRANK, moves on through a few other shows to NOISES OFF and eventually finishes with TOBACCO ROAD is my kind of place!
I decided to pass the time by strolling the pleasant sidewalks of South Elm Street, admiring the architecture of Greensboro’s quaint low buildings that imbued the downtown area with its small-town charm. The shops and restaurants that line the street are all sort of quirky in a laid back way. Since it was close to lunchtime, I stopped to eat at a 50’s style diner, hoping to maybe get some eggs. Nothing but fried food and beef on the menu, however. In spite of my better judgment, since I still had two auditions to go, I was decadent and ordered a grilled cheese on sourdough with tomato and a house specialty: Pilot Pickles – fried pickle slices. I am a man of strange tastes and have always loved pickles so I couldn’t resist when I saw these on the menu, even though they cost more than my sandwich and were no doubt going to wreak havoc with my digestive system. They were sufficiently tasty but very greasy, and in the end I would have preferred straight-up unadorned pickle slices.
After lunch I walked the breezy street some more, Homer strapped to my back, hoping the cool air would purify my clothes so that I didn’t walk into my audition smelling of fried foods. I paused for tea and a chocolate croissant at Simple Kneads, a tiny little “artisan bakery” located at the back of a tiled alley directly across the street from the theatre. I relaxed and looked over the maps for the next leg of the trip, for although I found myself with ample time now, the hiatus between the next two auditions was short, with very little room for error in the commute into unknown territory.
At last it was time for my audition. I headed back to the theatre to find that Jay still had not arrived. Someone there called his cell and found that he was not far away. He came in, sneezing from a cold he was just getting, and excused himself for a few minutes to make a couple of phone calls. Wishing he had put me in a room somewhere so I could be playing Homer, I was left to busy myself sending silly text messages of inane quotes from Broadway musicals to my friend Dwayne Mann…which went unanswered, I might add. Dwayne? How you gonna leave me hanging like that? Perhaps you’ll think twice about it now that you’ve suffered public humiliation on the Salty Blog.
Eventually, Jay brought me in to a studio littered with rehearsal props from NOISES OFF (which, I discovered, had opened the night before) and we chatted briefly before I launched into the Doris/Touchstone combo. He seemed genuinely entertained by both creations and said that he would have their NY casting director call me in later this month when they have auditions for their next show, a play I did not know called SYNCOPATION. An excellent outcome!
I boarded Maxwell’s Silver Hammer and quickly checked my email from the car – free WiFi on South Elm Street – but hadn’t received any more responses from the DC area theatres. So, still flying high from the excellent Triad audition, I began the drive to Chapel Hill.
Partway there I needed to stop for gas. For some reason I thought I had enough to get me there and I figured I would tank up after the final audition of the day, but that was not to be. I hastily pulled into a station and filled up. Slowest. Pump. Ever. And at the same time my bladder decided it needed relief as well, so I went in to get the key and was treated to a heavily-accented ten-minute monologue from the gentleman behind the counter, who was expostulating on the wonders of a new anti-smoking drug to the slightly cute Fedex delivery guy, who looked antsy and must have been regretting having started the conversation. Apparently, this man had been smoking since he was nine years old, and a year ago his doctor told him that he had only a couple of months to live if he didn’t quit and he complained to the doctor that he had tried everything and the doctor recommended this new drug and nothing else had worked but boy, sure as shootin’ he hadn’t had a cigarette since because it just plain cut out the desire. As soon as I could get a word in edgewise I requested the key. Shortly thereafter I was on my way again.
In spite of my detour, I made it to Playmakers’ Repertory Company on University of North Carolina’s Chapel Hill campus in plenty of time. Inside the performing arts centre, I met Dave Hansen, the company manager, who brought me into their enormous rehearsal hall that was brightly lit by the late afternoon sun. Left there to my own devices for a while, I broke out Homer. Partway through the Bach prelude, Joe Haj, the Artistic Director entered. His manner was brusque yet professional and he seemed pleasant enough. I did the Doris/Touchstone combo and again felt it was extremely successful. Afterwards Joe thanked me and said that although this season was completely cast, they would keep my resume on file for next season. As he was showing me out, Dave made a point to assure me that my resume would not simply disappear. Apparently, they do in fact keep a very small file of actors they’d like to work with and they consult it at the beginning of their season.
I left feeling a huge sense of accomplishment, not only at the great last audition, and not only at having completed the crazy day, but looking back over the past week, I must conclude that the trip is an out-and-out success.
I grabbed dinner at the local Panera (still no responses from DC theatres) and then headed to nearby Raleigh to find a hotel for the weekend and to get some well-deserved rest.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
North Carolina, Part One: Flat Rock to Blowing Rock to High Point
Woke up and put finishing touches on yesterday’s entry, which I’d fallen asleep writing. Alison White (also known as Pinata Head due to the brilliant things that fall out of her mouth which my other friend Susan Ferrara has threatened to retrieve in a much less organic fashion) returned my phone call late yesterday (she’s pursuing La Vie Boheme out in Los Angeles) and did me the favor of checking my email since I was bereft of the Inter-trons. Thanks to her I found out that I did indeed have both of my auditions today (I had been awaiting confirmation from Blowing Rock Stage Company and there it was).
Played the cello in my room briefly this morning, but had just made the decision that it would be better to go out for a walk around the lake in the brisk mountain air when I realized I somehow had very little time for cello or lake and jumped in the shower to get ready for my next audition.
Flat Rock Playhouse (the State Theatre of North Carolina, dontcha know) is in reality more than just the playhouse itself – the theatre company comprises a small assortment of buildings located near the historic flat rock from which the town gets its name. I didn’t actually see the rock. I am realizing as I meander my way through these here United States that my trip is allowing for very little in the way of sightseeing. I am a man with a mission.
When I arrived my auditor-to-be, Artistic Associate Paige Posey (throughout our interactions I had to actively resist the urge to call her Parker Posey), was nowhere to be found. “She might be on lunch,” I was told, but was assured that she would be back to meet with me. I was shown into the children’s theatre to wait and “warm up.” Without hesitation I grabbed a chair, set myself up stage centre and began to play Homer, as has become my standard practice in such situations. Partway through the Prelude to the first Bach Suite, Paige arrived, followed by Chris, another Artistic Associate. After exchanging a few pleasantries during which they played Six Degrees of Separation with my resume, I did the Doris monologue and they seemed to enjoy it but were about to end the audition when I asked if I could do one more piece. I launched into Touchstone and they seemed to like that, too. It all just felt a little off…like they didn’t completely get me but were amused nonetheless. Afterwards they asked me about my travels and seemed genuinely impressed by the Audyssey. When I mentioned going to Blowing Rock, Chris said he heard they might have some snow up that way tonight, but figured I'd be fine since I wasn't staying in that area. We parted ways with smiles and I was on my way up into the Blue Ridge Mountains.
It was around this point that a new trend started – I began to get a little cavalier with the directions I’d printed up from Google Maps. I stayed on the highway a little longer than they suggested and then took a more scenic route up into the mountains for the last twenty miles or so to Blowing Rock. It was great fun to rely on my own sense of direction and a little on chance but still to feel confident enough that I would get there in time and not get lost.
Route 221 in northwestern North Carolina is a long meandering road running through some low-lying farmland where cattle graze, rising up around Grandfather Mountain, past the Eastern continental divide and eventually on through Blowing Rock. Down at the bottom of this route, the sun was shining and the drive was pleasant. As I began my ascent, I started to see the first few signs of snow, tiny flakes wafting through the sunlit air. A few miles further and little wisps of snow were swirling here and there across the road. The higher I went on the mountain, the worse the storm seemed to get. Old Grandfather Mountain was a cantankerous curmudgeon today, my friends (as George on "Seinfeld" said once, angrier than an old man in a deli trying to send back soup). The sky went from clear to white to grey to black very quickly and I found myself alone on an already treacherous road made even moreso by the wind and the snow. Huge chasms opened beside me which would, I was sure, reveal stunning vistas on a less inclement day. Today nothing was visible save an impenetrable wall of white. Several times I skidded precariously, in spite of my creeping slow pace, and was worried I would go careening over the edge of the road out into that eerie white that persisted just beyond the ledge. But Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, trusty steed, did not falter and carried me safely on past grumpy old Grandfather and into the little burg of Blowing Rock, where the snow mercifully subsided. And even with the added tension of the snowstorm, the drive was still beautiful and well worth the risk.
The Blowing Rock Stage Company is housed in a brand new performing arts center that just opened in August. I was about an hour early for my audition, but Kim Kay, director of the Children’s program and wife of Artistic Director Kenneth Kay, greeted me warmly and gave me a tour of their new digs while we awaited Ken, who had been alerted to my presence. The theatre is beautiful and spacious and the building seems to have been planned with much intelligence. They are beaming with pride at all of this, and with good reason. It is a gem on the mountain’s peak.
Ken arrived and we got down to business. We chatted for a while and he seemed very personable and happy to see me. I performed Doris’ monologue for him and then again had to ask to do the Touchstone, since Ken seemed ready to cut the audition off after the one piece. Once again I felt that he enjoyed what I did, but wasn’t sure he really “got” me. Ah, well.
By this time I was extremely tired. But the day was not done. I did a quick costume change in the car, a skill at which I am becoming quite adept, out of Audition Costume Number One and into Driving Outfit. Then: bang, bang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer came down upon the road, and I was off to High Point.
Heading down off the mountain was a breeze compared to the tense ride up, and I was afforded some of the incredible views I am sure I missed earlier: the whole mountain range painted with hues of purple gold orange red pink as the sun set.
The drive past Winston-Salem was a piece of cake…then I got a bit turned around trying to find the correct exit for downtown High Point, since I was trying to do a drive-by of the theatre for tomorrow morning’s audition before finding a place to sleep. At length I was able to find my way, located the theatre and managed to get a cheapo place to stay nearby (with wireless Internet, no less). I had dinner at a cute little no frills diner (with very yummy food) called Alex’s House. And now I’m back in the room finishing up this entry.
One last little bit of good news was revealed when I just checked my email: I booked another audition for next week! Yesterday I emailed the Mill Mountain Theatre in Roanoke, Virginia, thinking I could stop in and see them on the way to visiting my friend Mary Lucy Bivins at the Barter Theatre. This would help fill in next week since the DC theatres seem to be generally reticent to schedule anything, and until tonight I only had two auditions confirmed. Now there are three, which is a respectable amount, and which brings the current Grand Audition Total to a whopping 18. I’m hoping to pick up two more to make it an even 20, so we’ll see.
I will play the cello for a little bit and then crash since tomorrow, booked solid with three auditions in three different cities, promises to be a crazy day.
Played the cello in my room briefly this morning, but had just made the decision that it would be better to go out for a walk around the lake in the brisk mountain air when I realized I somehow had very little time for cello or lake and jumped in the shower to get ready for my next audition.
Flat Rock Playhouse (the State Theatre of North Carolina, dontcha know) is in reality more than just the playhouse itself – the theatre company comprises a small assortment of buildings located near the historic flat rock from which the town gets its name. I didn’t actually see the rock. I am realizing as I meander my way through these here United States that my trip is allowing for very little in the way of sightseeing. I am a man with a mission.
When I arrived my auditor-to-be, Artistic Associate Paige Posey (throughout our interactions I had to actively resist the urge to call her Parker Posey), was nowhere to be found. “She might be on lunch,” I was told, but was assured that she would be back to meet with me. I was shown into the children’s theatre to wait and “warm up.” Without hesitation I grabbed a chair, set myself up stage centre and began to play Homer, as has become my standard practice in such situations. Partway through the Prelude to the first Bach Suite, Paige arrived, followed by Chris, another Artistic Associate. After exchanging a few pleasantries during which they played Six Degrees of Separation with my resume, I did the Doris monologue and they seemed to enjoy it but were about to end the audition when I asked if I could do one more piece. I launched into Touchstone and they seemed to like that, too. It all just felt a little off…like they didn’t completely get me but were amused nonetheless. Afterwards they asked me about my travels and seemed genuinely impressed by the Audyssey. When I mentioned going to Blowing Rock, Chris said he heard they might have some snow up that way tonight, but figured I'd be fine since I wasn't staying in that area. We parted ways with smiles and I was on my way up into the Blue Ridge Mountains.
It was around this point that a new trend started – I began to get a little cavalier with the directions I’d printed up from Google Maps. I stayed on the highway a little longer than they suggested and then took a more scenic route up into the mountains for the last twenty miles or so to Blowing Rock. It was great fun to rely on my own sense of direction and a little on chance but still to feel confident enough that I would get there in time and not get lost.
Route 221 in northwestern North Carolina is a long meandering road running through some low-lying farmland where cattle graze, rising up around Grandfather Mountain, past the Eastern continental divide and eventually on through Blowing Rock. Down at the bottom of this route, the sun was shining and the drive was pleasant. As I began my ascent, I started to see the first few signs of snow, tiny flakes wafting through the sunlit air. A few miles further and little wisps of snow were swirling here and there across the road. The higher I went on the mountain, the worse the storm seemed to get. Old Grandfather Mountain was a cantankerous curmudgeon today, my friends (as George on "Seinfeld" said once, angrier than an old man in a deli trying to send back soup). The sky went from clear to white to grey to black very quickly and I found myself alone on an already treacherous road made even moreso by the wind and the snow. Huge chasms opened beside me which would, I was sure, reveal stunning vistas on a less inclement day. Today nothing was visible save an impenetrable wall of white. Several times I skidded precariously, in spite of my creeping slow pace, and was worried I would go careening over the edge of the road out into that eerie white that persisted just beyond the ledge. But Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, trusty steed, did not falter and carried me safely on past grumpy old Grandfather and into the little burg of Blowing Rock, where the snow mercifully subsided. And even with the added tension of the snowstorm, the drive was still beautiful and well worth the risk.
The Blowing Rock Stage Company is housed in a brand new performing arts center that just opened in August. I was about an hour early for my audition, but Kim Kay, director of the Children’s program and wife of Artistic Director Kenneth Kay, greeted me warmly and gave me a tour of their new digs while we awaited Ken, who had been alerted to my presence. The theatre is beautiful and spacious and the building seems to have been planned with much intelligence. They are beaming with pride at all of this, and with good reason. It is a gem on the mountain’s peak.
Ken arrived and we got down to business. We chatted for a while and he seemed very personable and happy to see me. I performed Doris’ monologue for him and then again had to ask to do the Touchstone, since Ken seemed ready to cut the audition off after the one piece. Once again I felt that he enjoyed what I did, but wasn’t sure he really “got” me. Ah, well.
By this time I was extremely tired. But the day was not done. I did a quick costume change in the car, a skill at which I am becoming quite adept, out of Audition Costume Number One and into Driving Outfit. Then: bang, bang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer came down upon the road, and I was off to High Point.
Heading down off the mountain was a breeze compared to the tense ride up, and I was afforded some of the incredible views I am sure I missed earlier: the whole mountain range painted with hues of purple gold orange red pink as the sun set.
The drive past Winston-Salem was a piece of cake…then I got a bit turned around trying to find the correct exit for downtown High Point, since I was trying to do a drive-by of the theatre for tomorrow morning’s audition before finding a place to sleep. At length I was able to find my way, located the theatre and managed to get a cheapo place to stay nearby (with wireless Internet, no less). I had dinner at a cute little no frills diner (with very yummy food) called Alex’s House. And now I’m back in the room finishing up this entry.
One last little bit of good news was revealed when I just checked my email: I booked another audition for next week! Yesterday I emailed the Mill Mountain Theatre in Roanoke, Virginia, thinking I could stop in and see them on the way to visiting my friend Mary Lucy Bivins at the Barter Theatre. This would help fill in next week since the DC theatres seem to be generally reticent to schedule anything, and until tonight I only had two auditions confirmed. Now there are three, which is a respectable amount, and which brings the current Grand Audition Total to a whopping 18. I’m hoping to pick up two more to make it an even 20, so we’ll see.
I will play the cello for a little bit and then crash since tomorrow, booked solid with three auditions in three different cities, promises to be a crazy day.
Atlanta Auditions, Part Two and Atlanta, GA to Flat Rock, NC
Wednesday January 24
A brilliant day!
Woke up early and spent the morning doing some more follow-up. No matter how much time I give myself it seems to disappear very quickly and I found myself running out the door to make it to my first audition, saying a hurried goodbye to Margie and bidding farewell to Alpharetta for this trip.
Georgia Shakespeare Festival is housed among the large stone gothic buildings on the Oglethorpe University campus. I made my way there and met with Richard Garner, the Artistic Director. I performed two Shakespeare monologues (Margaret’s molehill speech and a snippet of Touchstone from AS YOU LIKE IT) and Richard seemed to like them very much. He then asked me for a contemporary piece and I did my Doris monologue from Steven Dietz’s play LONELY PLANET, which thus far has proved to be a big crowd pleaser on this tour. Richard enjoyed this piece as well and we spent some time talking. He was truly a pleasant person to talk to and really made me feel welcome; we really seemed to be on the same page. I left there feeling very confident that I would be working with them in the near future. They are doing RICHARD III in the fall, and I expressed my deep interest in that piece, but they also have a three-show summer season coming up soon.
I then drove to audition number two, for Theatre in the Square in Marietta, where a quaint little complex houses their two theatres and their production offices. I met with Jessica West, the Artistic Associate. Initially I was sure that I was doomed…as she was giving me a tour of the building, I got the distinct sense that she wouldn’t “get” me and that my audition would be miserable. I couldn’t have been more wrong! I began with the one-two punch of the Doris monologue coupled with Touchstone. She laughed her way through both and complimented me on my characters’ physicality. She then said I could do a serious piece if I felt like it, so I jumped into the “What a piece of work is man?” speech from HAMLET. I hadn’t done this piece as an audition monologue in years but had been wanting to try it again. I was definitely not pleased with how it felt…it was small somehow, restrained, with no build. I could definitely have done it better. But she seemed to like it nonetheless and we chatted for a little while more before saying our goodbyes. They haven’t picked their next season yet, and Jessica warned me that if there was something I wanted to be considered for, I would have to audition again, which would mean another trip to Atlanta, since they do not audition in New York. Also, they are a small theatre and cannot usually afford to provide housing for out of town actors, so if I were to book something there, I would have to live with Norman and Margie and the kids, or else bunk with Jamie and her roommates. Both sets of cousins had expressed their keen interest in having this happen, and it felt good to be welcomed that way.
Those were the final two Atlanta auditions and I left them flying high and excited at the prospect of hopefully returning soon to work in the area. Suddenly I could see a chain of events that could so easily lead to more work: book one show in Atlanta and I could have the people I’d just met with over the course of the past few days come and see it. I’ve always felt that it’s best to see me in an actual show, not limited by the restraints of the audition process. Nancy from Alabama Shakespeare (was that only two days ago?!) had also said that if I were to book something in Atlanta she would try to get up here to see it, since she did that from time to time, and would do her best to drag Geoffrey Sherman, their Artistic Director. Work begets work. As the peppy Kander & Ebb song goes, all I need is one good break, just one!
As I made my way to my next destination and my excitement at this prospect began to mount, I found myself wanting desperately (and irrationally) to call my father. I could just imagine the happy phone call and the joy in his voice hearing me so fired up about what I was doing. It was difficult to have to remind myself that this was not ever going to happen again. It was interesting though, to think about how close he has felt throughout this trip. Every now and then, it’s as if I feel him standing right next to me and just behind…he places a gentle hand on my shoulder and says “look” or “notice this”, directing my focus in a particular direction. It’s an eerie feeling sometimes but also comforting and I do know he is with me and proud of me even though I can’t call him to gab about the day’s conquests.
My next stop was Norman’s newest movie house, a large complex on a sprawling piece of land in Hiram, Georgia. Actually his newest movie house is currently being built (they just broke ground in December), but this is his most recent success story. A family affair, the place had been ingeniously designed by Norman and wittily decorated by Margie. I was given a full tour of the building by Norman, whose enthusiasm for the business of movies is completely infectious. The projection room was most impressive to me, never having had a chance to see that before. There in the long darkened chamber amidst the noise and the streaming celluloid and the flickering lights from the hulking machines (seeing Ben Stiller’s face on the screen below, of all things) I was surprised to find myself having a bit of an epiphany. I was suddenly deeply moved by the notion of these images of light magnified through space and reflected back into our eyes, refracted into emotion and laughter and visceral response. The magic of film, truly. As Norman continued his explanation, I felt the familiar hand on my shoulder – “Look” my Dad said, “See” and I was filled with such pride at what my cousin had wrought, at how well he was doing. I thought of Norman and his father (my Uncle Marty, who was involved with him in this business venture) and the mutual joy they shared at working with each other on these movie houses. I was glad that the room was dark so Norman wouldn’t see me crying. Had the head projectionist not been buzzing around us tending to the machines, I would have hugged Norman tightly right there and promptly dissolved into a puddle. But Salty finished strong and completed the tour.
Norman headed home and I followed in my car as he led me to the highway. As soon as he took his exit and I continued on my way out of Atlanta, I finally got a taste of that terrible Atlanta traffic my cousins had so dreaded. It was messy, I’ll admit. Margie, it turns out, was not merely a Commute Cassandra. But I pressed on and the cello music (Jacqueline DuPre’s performance of Elgar’s melancholy concerto) on my iPod made it bearable.
Evening became twilight and dissolved into night and I continued my trek northwards. I passed straight through South Carolina, stopping only for gas, and, turning north at Greenville, made my way towards North Carolina and Flat Rock. The ominous looming shadows of the mountains sprung up around me, silent, implacable and humbling as I drove alone in the dark on that winding road.
Flat Rock is a tiny village in nestled in the mountains. I think I knew this but I wasn’t really thinking about it when I planned my trip. I pulled in around nine o’clock and found the Flat Rock Playhouse, where my audition would take place the next day. Then, since I had no lodging and didn’t know the area at all, I drove around until I found something that was open to ask them for advice.
The Flat Rock Wine Store, adjacent to the Guitar Store, has a small wine bar attached, aptly called the Back Room, which I magically stumbled into past the lit tiki torches which marked the entrance. On a small stage in the back of the warm yellow, double-tiered room someone was just finishing a set on acoustic guitar while others waited their turns. A lusty bar wench approached and I asked her if she could recommend somewhere to stay. She brought me to Dave, the owner, who was quick to help. He had me follow him back into the shuttered Wine Store, where he wrote out a couple of phone numbers and made his suggestions…apparently he’d worked at a couple of the inns before as well. On my way out I strayed to listen to the end of someone’s odd, personal take on a medley of Beatles tunes.
The Mill House Lodge, which was Dave’s prime suggestion, was not answering their phones. I called Dave’s second choice, and they were open and welcoming, offering to buy me a glass of wine since the kitchen was closed and I’d missed dinner. However, they were a little expensive and the Mill House felt more right to me, so I went off in search of it. I didn’t have to look far – it was right down the street, just on the edge of a mountain lake. I rang the bell at the darkened office and was let in by a paint-spotted elderly gentleman who introduced himself as the handy man. At length he found the cost of the room, I agreed, and he checked me in.
I played the cello for about an hour until 11:00, certain that I was pissing off my neighbors in this tiny place, but so thrilled to be actually touching the instrument for any length of time. Homer, my poor new cello (whose backstory will undoubtedly be recorded here later), had been all but ignored since I arrived in Florida two-and-a-half weeks ago. This is not like me – I usually play at least a little (and usually a lot) every day. But the insanity that is this trip has affected that as well. I know I’ll get back into it, but the interrupted practice schedule has been by far the most frustrating aspect of life on the Audyssey.
Once I finally took mercy on my inn-mates, I turned on the TV to catch two of my favorites – The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, which I had not seen in a long time – and popped open the computer to write today’s Salty entry. Oddly, the Mill House Lodge has a full range of cable stations, but no internet access – not even a phone to be able to use dial-up! So this entry will have to wait to be posted until tomorrow night.
A brilliant day!
Woke up early and spent the morning doing some more follow-up. No matter how much time I give myself it seems to disappear very quickly and I found myself running out the door to make it to my first audition, saying a hurried goodbye to Margie and bidding farewell to Alpharetta for this trip.
Georgia Shakespeare Festival is housed among the large stone gothic buildings on the Oglethorpe University campus. I made my way there and met with Richard Garner, the Artistic Director. I performed two Shakespeare monologues (Margaret’s molehill speech and a snippet of Touchstone from AS YOU LIKE IT) and Richard seemed to like them very much. He then asked me for a contemporary piece and I did my Doris monologue from Steven Dietz’s play LONELY PLANET, which thus far has proved to be a big crowd pleaser on this tour. Richard enjoyed this piece as well and we spent some time talking. He was truly a pleasant person to talk to and really made me feel welcome; we really seemed to be on the same page. I left there feeling very confident that I would be working with them in the near future. They are doing RICHARD III in the fall, and I expressed my deep interest in that piece, but they also have a three-show summer season coming up soon.
I then drove to audition number two, for Theatre in the Square in Marietta, where a quaint little complex houses their two theatres and their production offices. I met with Jessica West, the Artistic Associate. Initially I was sure that I was doomed…as she was giving me a tour of the building, I got the distinct sense that she wouldn’t “get” me and that my audition would be miserable. I couldn’t have been more wrong! I began with the one-two punch of the Doris monologue coupled with Touchstone. She laughed her way through both and complimented me on my characters’ physicality. She then said I could do a serious piece if I felt like it, so I jumped into the “What a piece of work is man?” speech from HAMLET. I hadn’t done this piece as an audition monologue in years but had been wanting to try it again. I was definitely not pleased with how it felt…it was small somehow, restrained, with no build. I could definitely have done it better. But she seemed to like it nonetheless and we chatted for a little while more before saying our goodbyes. They haven’t picked their next season yet, and Jessica warned me that if there was something I wanted to be considered for, I would have to audition again, which would mean another trip to Atlanta, since they do not audition in New York. Also, they are a small theatre and cannot usually afford to provide housing for out of town actors, so if I were to book something there, I would have to live with Norman and Margie and the kids, or else bunk with Jamie and her roommates. Both sets of cousins had expressed their keen interest in having this happen, and it felt good to be welcomed that way.
Those were the final two Atlanta auditions and I left them flying high and excited at the prospect of hopefully returning soon to work in the area. Suddenly I could see a chain of events that could so easily lead to more work: book one show in Atlanta and I could have the people I’d just met with over the course of the past few days come and see it. I’ve always felt that it’s best to see me in an actual show, not limited by the restraints of the audition process. Nancy from Alabama Shakespeare (was that only two days ago?!) had also said that if I were to book something in Atlanta she would try to get up here to see it, since she did that from time to time, and would do her best to drag Geoffrey Sherman, their Artistic Director. Work begets work. As the peppy Kander & Ebb song goes, all I need is one good break, just one!
As I made my way to my next destination and my excitement at this prospect began to mount, I found myself wanting desperately (and irrationally) to call my father. I could just imagine the happy phone call and the joy in his voice hearing me so fired up about what I was doing. It was difficult to have to remind myself that this was not ever going to happen again. It was interesting though, to think about how close he has felt throughout this trip. Every now and then, it’s as if I feel him standing right next to me and just behind…he places a gentle hand on my shoulder and says “look” or “notice this”, directing my focus in a particular direction. It’s an eerie feeling sometimes but also comforting and I do know he is with me and proud of me even though I can’t call him to gab about the day’s conquests.
My next stop was Norman’s newest movie house, a large complex on a sprawling piece of land in Hiram, Georgia. Actually his newest movie house is currently being built (they just broke ground in December), but this is his most recent success story. A family affair, the place had been ingeniously designed by Norman and wittily decorated by Margie. I was given a full tour of the building by Norman, whose enthusiasm for the business of movies is completely infectious. The projection room was most impressive to me, never having had a chance to see that before. There in the long darkened chamber amidst the noise and the streaming celluloid and the flickering lights from the hulking machines (seeing Ben Stiller’s face on the screen below, of all things) I was surprised to find myself having a bit of an epiphany. I was suddenly deeply moved by the notion of these images of light magnified through space and reflected back into our eyes, refracted into emotion and laughter and visceral response. The magic of film, truly. As Norman continued his explanation, I felt the familiar hand on my shoulder – “Look” my Dad said, “See” and I was filled with such pride at what my cousin had wrought, at how well he was doing. I thought of Norman and his father (my Uncle Marty, who was involved with him in this business venture) and the mutual joy they shared at working with each other on these movie houses. I was glad that the room was dark so Norman wouldn’t see me crying. Had the head projectionist not been buzzing around us tending to the machines, I would have hugged Norman tightly right there and promptly dissolved into a puddle. But Salty finished strong and completed the tour.
Norman headed home and I followed in my car as he led me to the highway. As soon as he took his exit and I continued on my way out of Atlanta, I finally got a taste of that terrible Atlanta traffic my cousins had so dreaded. It was messy, I’ll admit. Margie, it turns out, was not merely a Commute Cassandra. But I pressed on and the cello music (Jacqueline DuPre’s performance of Elgar’s melancholy concerto) on my iPod made it bearable.
Evening became twilight and dissolved into night and I continued my trek northwards. I passed straight through South Carolina, stopping only for gas, and, turning north at Greenville, made my way towards North Carolina and Flat Rock. The ominous looming shadows of the mountains sprung up around me, silent, implacable and humbling as I drove alone in the dark on that winding road.
Flat Rock is a tiny village in nestled in the mountains. I think I knew this but I wasn’t really thinking about it when I planned my trip. I pulled in around nine o’clock and found the Flat Rock Playhouse, where my audition would take place the next day. Then, since I had no lodging and didn’t know the area at all, I drove around until I found something that was open to ask them for advice.
The Flat Rock Wine Store, adjacent to the Guitar Store, has a small wine bar attached, aptly called the Back Room, which I magically stumbled into past the lit tiki torches which marked the entrance. On a small stage in the back of the warm yellow, double-tiered room someone was just finishing a set on acoustic guitar while others waited their turns. A lusty bar wench approached and I asked her if she could recommend somewhere to stay. She brought me to Dave, the owner, who was quick to help. He had me follow him back into the shuttered Wine Store, where he wrote out a couple of phone numbers and made his suggestions…apparently he’d worked at a couple of the inns before as well. On my way out I strayed to listen to the end of someone’s odd, personal take on a medley of Beatles tunes.
The Mill House Lodge, which was Dave’s prime suggestion, was not answering their phones. I called Dave’s second choice, and they were open and welcoming, offering to buy me a glass of wine since the kitchen was closed and I’d missed dinner. However, they were a little expensive and the Mill House felt more right to me, so I went off in search of it. I didn’t have to look far – it was right down the street, just on the edge of a mountain lake. I rang the bell at the darkened office and was let in by a paint-spotted elderly gentleman who introduced himself as the handy man. At length he found the cost of the room, I agreed, and he checked me in.
I played the cello for about an hour until 11:00, certain that I was pissing off my neighbors in this tiny place, but so thrilled to be actually touching the instrument for any length of time. Homer, my poor new cello (whose backstory will undoubtedly be recorded here later), had been all but ignored since I arrived in Florida two-and-a-half weeks ago. This is not like me – I usually play at least a little (and usually a lot) every day. But the insanity that is this trip has affected that as well. I know I’ll get back into it, but the interrupted practice schedule has been by far the most frustrating aspect of life on the Audyssey.
Once I finally took mercy on my inn-mates, I turned on the TV to catch two of my favorites – The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, which I had not seen in a long time – and popped open the computer to write today’s Salty entry. Oddly, the Mill House Lodge has a full range of cable stations, but no internet access – not even a phone to be able to use dial-up! So this entry will have to wait to be posted until tomorrow night.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Atlanta Auditions, Part One
This morning I did some further follow-up with theatres (this will continue throughout the next two weeks), pinning down dates and times for various future destinations. I had one audition scheduled today for the afternoon, at the Alliance Theatre, a very important pre-Broadway regional house. I was very excited to be considered by them. I also had been trying to get in touch with the Horizon Theatre, a small theatre in Little Five Points, Atlanta's answer to the East Village, that produces contemporary pieces. At 11:45 I managed to get a hold of the Artistic Director of the Horizon, an incredibly nice and laid-back guy named Jeff Adler, who said he would be happy to see me today. We settled on 1:00, I hung up the phone, flew into the shower and scrambled into Maxwell's Silver Hammer to make my first foray into downtown Atlanta.
The audition for Horizon was brilliant. Jeff was a delight to talk to and audition for. Very down to earth and personable, full of knowledge and thoroughly interested in the Salty B&T. He seemed genuinely impressed and entertained by my two pieces, and laughed in all the right places. I did my audition on the stage, which I adore, and really liked their space. True, they are a small company and the pay is probably less than I would like, but I would work there in a heartbeat! Very Boho and right up my alley!
From the upstart Horizon I made my way to the bastion, the Grande Dame of Atlanta theatre: the Alliance. Sitting in the administrative office just outside the office of the Artistic Director, I must say I didn't feel all that welcome. After some time spent waiting for a key to be found, I was ushered into a small "classroom" and my audition began unceremoniously. I was again pleased with the way my monologues went, but I felt the reception I received was rather chilly.
Afterwards I met up with my cousin Jamie, who also lives in Atlanta and works just a few minutes from the Alliance. We spent the evening together, and had dinner at a beaucoup Boho spot that was packed full of artwork by local artists - two of which were even there in the restaurant working on canvases as we ate. The food was so-so but the ambience was fun and the company was great!
I returned to my Atlanta base to find the kids all ready for bed but excited to get to see me. Adam and Ryan are both very interested in theatre and Carly is surely destined to be the greatest actor since Sarah Bernhardt. Margie asked if I would, for the boys' benefit, perform one of my monologues. I jumped right in and did my little Touchstone piece and my family seemed duly impressed. Then my cousins each took a turn performing something of their own while their proud parents looked on. It was fun to be part of this happy family scene.
From there, I checked my email, called my Mother, my Sister, my Grandmother and my Aunt and once again set about the task of blogging so that you, dear Bitches, could be fully caught up. From here on in I will try to make daily entries to keep us all up to date.
The audition for Horizon was brilliant. Jeff was a delight to talk to and audition for. Very down to earth and personable, full of knowledge and thoroughly interested in the Salty B&T. He seemed genuinely impressed and entertained by my two pieces, and laughed in all the right places. I did my audition on the stage, which I adore, and really liked their space. True, they are a small company and the pay is probably less than I would like, but I would work there in a heartbeat! Very Boho and right up my alley!
From the upstart Horizon I made my way to the bastion, the Grande Dame of Atlanta theatre: the Alliance. Sitting in the administrative office just outside the office of the Artistic Director, I must say I didn't feel all that welcome. After some time spent waiting for a key to be found, I was ushered into a small "classroom" and my audition began unceremoniously. I was again pleased with the way my monologues went, but I felt the reception I received was rather chilly.
Afterwards I met up with my cousin Jamie, who also lives in Atlanta and works just a few minutes from the Alliance. We spent the evening together, and had dinner at a beaucoup Boho spot that was packed full of artwork by local artists - two of which were even there in the restaurant working on canvases as we ate. The food was so-so but the ambience was fun and the company was great!
I returned to my Atlanta base to find the kids all ready for bed but excited to get to see me. Adam and Ryan are both very interested in theatre and Carly is surely destined to be the greatest actor since Sarah Bernhardt. Margie asked if I would, for the boys' benefit, perform one of my monologues. I jumped right in and did my little Touchstone piece and my family seemed duly impressed. Then my cousins each took a turn performing something of their own while their proud parents looked on. It was fun to be part of this happy family scene.
From there, I checked my email, called my Mother, my Sister, my Grandmother and my Aunt and once again set about the task of blogging so that you, dear Bitches, could be fully caught up. From here on in I will try to make daily entries to keep us all up to date.
The Saltiest Show On Earth: The Great Roadtrip of '07 Begins!
This roadtrip is by far the saltiest thing this bitch has ever done. I'm thrilled with the results so far. Over the course of the fourteen days I will use to get back to New York, I will have one-on-one auditions at 12 (and counting) regional theatres along the way. Initially, in contemplating this trip, I felt I would be happy if I were able to be seen by ten theatres - I have ten auditions scheduled this week alone! Sometimes they have been set far in advance, sometimes I've had to do some last minute jockeying to get them scheduled, but things have really come together.
We're almost caught up. Here's the past few days:
Sunday January 21 - Sarasota, FL to Montgomery, AL
Late in the day on Friday, as I was heading to my craptacular audition at Florida Studio Theatre, I received a voicemail that filled me with excitement and jump-started the Great Salty Roadtrip with an added jolt of adrenaline. The first theatre I had contacted back in December in my initial planning stages was the Alabama Shakespeare Festival in Montgomery. I had heard great things about them and was excited at the prospect of a long repertory season performing Shakespeare. After repeated follow-up attempts, however, I never heard anything back from them. I made one last effort to follow up and book an audition slot on Thursay last week, but had basically written them off and had cut Alabama out of my travel plans.
But on Friday I received a very apologetic call from Kevin Stewart, the Executive Assistant to the Artistic Director, saying that apparently my first two messages (which I referenced in Thursday's message) had been accidentally deleted. Apparently they were having some issues with their voicemail system. Kevin informed me that yes, they would be very interested in having me come and audition on Monday if I were still able to do so. I jumped for joy, composed my self, and said "of course."
So, Saturday was spent in frantic preparation, trying to get everything together and ready to go for the epic trip northward.
First thing in the morning on Sunday, literally at midnight, Jeffrey drove me to the Sarasota/Bradenton International Airport to pick up my rental car. He kept me in good spirits and laughing the whole way (not only with his rapier-sharp wit but also at his questionable driving skills). At the airport, I was greeted with a surly look by the gentleman behind the desk at Alamo Rent-A-Car, who had apparently just gone on break for the night when I showed up. I explained that I had called ahead to tell them that I would be picking up my car around 12:10 AM (which I had) and that I was really sorry to be doing it so late but I had just gotten off of work myself (which I had not). He softened and said he understood and began to put my reservation together. When he saw the length of the trip I was taking, he said his conscience would not allow him to send me off across country in an economy car, which I had reserved, and he bumped me up to a midsize car free of charge. And not just any midsize car, but a brand new (less than 270 miles on it when I got inside) beautiful spacious silver Toyota Corolla. The new car smell was fresh and exhilarating. A few summers ago when I drove to cello camp in Maine for the first time, I was given a sleek silver sportscar which I called the Silver Bullet. I decided that this car needed a name too, but the blunt features precluded anything so zippy...shortly, it came to me: I dubbed the car Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
I got home and spent the night folding laundry cleaning the house a bit and loading up the car as much as possible. I then slept for a couple of hours.
I awoke and continued the preparations to leave. As I got closer to leaving I realized that I was feeling sad about my Dad and about going away from this house which held so many memories for our family. When everything was packed in the car and I was all set to go, I stopped before leaving and played the cello on our gorgeous back deck for a little while. It delayed my departure until about 1:00 PM but it was worth it. I just took about half an hour to play, saying goodbye to the house, filling the air with music and hope and love.
I then took up Maxwell's Silver Hammer and hit the open road!
Three hours later I got a speeding ticket. I had torn my way through most of the northward route in Florida and had just made the turn onto I-10, which was to take me West out past Tallahassee and into the panhandle. I had been following a woman in an SUV since well before Gainesville, and she was moving at quite a clip. I don't know why I was singled out and she sped on unhindered, but I took it as a nod from Dad, since he had received many speeding tickets throughout the years on various family roadtrips.
The rest of the trip up into Alabama passed without incident...though I did drive through a torrential downpour where the sky was suddenly black and sinister, and I did pass the National Peanut Festival without stopping, sadly. Maxwell's Silver Hammer proved to be a sturdy and trustworthy steed, and I felt completely at ease behind the wheel. I am so grateful to that Alamo guy!
At about 9:00, as planned, I arrived in the outskirts of Montgomery near the Alabama Shakespeare Festival. I had dinner at Carrabba's (Italian) in honour of my Grandfather, found a nearby motel to stay in for the night and promptly went to sleep.
Monday January 22 - Montgomery, AL to Alpharetta, GA
I awoke with the intention of playing the cello in the hotel room before my audition but ran out of time and had to head out.
The Alabama Shakespeare Festival is located in the middle of a gorgeous (even in the rain on a dreary day) park, and the enormous Festival Theatre is set back from the main entrance road, majestically welcoming all who seek the Bard and providing a stunning and impressive vista as you approach.
Inside, I met Kevin Stewart who was just as kind in person as on the phone, and he ushered me into a large rehearsal hall where I was to have my audition. Since I had a little while to wait, I decided to do the trick I learned before my Florida Rep audition - I got out the cello and started to tune it so I could play. I was just about to start playing the Prelude to the first Bach Suite when Nancy Rominger, Artistic Associate, interrupted me excitedly.
A former cellist who abandoned her bow for the stage at some point earlier in her career, Nancy and I hit it off right away. We traded celllo stories and blabbed on about all things musical for so long that eventually Kevin, who had come back to introduce me to Nancy, could not get a word in edgewise and was forced to beat a hasty retreat back out into the hall. A few minutes later, Nancy and I settled in and I began my audition pieces. I felt that I was well-received and I was generally pleased with how the monologues went. I was thrown for a bit of a loop, since I had planned to do two Shakespeare pieces and when I was done with the first one, Nancy asked me if I had anything modern to do. But I think she was happy with my work. She said that there really were only two things left in the season yet to be cast, one of which was a week-long workshop, but she promised to keep me in mind for when they would inevitable come to New York in the future. She also made me promise to keep on her if I saw that they were auditioning for something for which I felt I should be considered. All in all, a very successful audition.
From the mysitcal gardens of Shakespeareland (there was a delicately sloping outdoor ampitheatre and I longed to play the cello there. If the weather had been slightly less biting, I would have certainly done so), I drove less than five minutes into the culture shock of the crass, commercial strip-mall laden road that would take me towards the Interstate. I stopped in a Panera, which happened to offer free wireless, changed out of my "audition costume", grabbed some yummy vegetable soup served in a sourdough bread bowl, and hopped online to do some followup with theatres later on in the trip. Checking my messages, I was delighted to discover that Flat Rock Playhouse, in Flat Rock, North Carolina, had called to say that they did in fact want to see me - this was another major venue that I had been about to write off since my flurry of emails and phone calls had gone completely unanswered.
At length, I got back on the road. Today's trip was far less taxing - a mere three hours as opposed to yesterday's eight. However, a combination of the long drive the previous day and an uncomfortable sleeping position had left my neck incredibly sore, which made this three hours quite uncomfortable.
Norman and Margie, my cousins in Alpharetta, Georgia were anxious to see me, and kept calling my mobile to see where I was and spew forth frightening tales of Atlanta traffic. Perhapst their vehicular hysteria inured me to the congestion, but I found the drive quite smooth and passed through some notoriously hairy areas unmolested at the height of rush hour. I was fed copious amounts of very yummy Chinese food upon my arrival, and was greeted with rousing cheers of "Welcome Cousin Michael!" from Norman and Margie's three kids, Adam, Ryan and Carly. The boisterous dinner table chatter transitioned smoothly into a boisterous tour of their expansive home, all beautifully decorated by Margie. Norman's business is the movies - he owns two (soon to be three) movie theatre complexes in the Atlanta area and has become one of the premiere entrepreneurs of Atlanta. The home theatre in his basement belies his passionate love of the art form. My only regret is that I won't get to really spend any time this trip languishing in the high definition television and free popcorn. I spent several minutes before bed standing in awed meditation on the trifecta that adorns one wall of Norman's office: three scripts and three poster artwork plates framed separately, all signed by each of the headlining members of the cast as well as the director; a trilogy of impressive memorabilia from the most impressive trilogy of recent memory, LORD OF THE RINGS.
After typing up the Salty tales of Florida for you, dear reader, I was completely exhausted and went straight to bed!
We're almost caught up. Here's the past few days:
Sunday January 21 - Sarasota, FL to Montgomery, AL
Late in the day on Friday, as I was heading to my craptacular audition at Florida Studio Theatre, I received a voicemail that filled me with excitement and jump-started the Great Salty Roadtrip with an added jolt of adrenaline. The first theatre I had contacted back in December in my initial planning stages was the Alabama Shakespeare Festival in Montgomery. I had heard great things about them and was excited at the prospect of a long repertory season performing Shakespeare. After repeated follow-up attempts, however, I never heard anything back from them. I made one last effort to follow up and book an audition slot on Thursay last week, but had basically written them off and had cut Alabama out of my travel plans.
But on Friday I received a very apologetic call from Kevin Stewart, the Executive Assistant to the Artistic Director, saying that apparently my first two messages (which I referenced in Thursday's message) had been accidentally deleted. Apparently they were having some issues with their voicemail system. Kevin informed me that yes, they would be very interested in having me come and audition on Monday if I were still able to do so. I jumped for joy, composed my self, and said "of course."
So, Saturday was spent in frantic preparation, trying to get everything together and ready to go for the epic trip northward.
First thing in the morning on Sunday, literally at midnight, Jeffrey drove me to the Sarasota/Bradenton International Airport to pick up my rental car. He kept me in good spirits and laughing the whole way (not only with his rapier-sharp wit but also at his questionable driving skills). At the airport, I was greeted with a surly look by the gentleman behind the desk at Alamo Rent-A-Car, who had apparently just gone on break for the night when I showed up. I explained that I had called ahead to tell them that I would be picking up my car around 12:10 AM (which I had) and that I was really sorry to be doing it so late but I had just gotten off of work myself (which I had not). He softened and said he understood and began to put my reservation together. When he saw the length of the trip I was taking, he said his conscience would not allow him to send me off across country in an economy car, which I had reserved, and he bumped me up to a midsize car free of charge. And not just any midsize car, but a brand new (less than 270 miles on it when I got inside) beautiful spacious silver Toyota Corolla. The new car smell was fresh and exhilarating. A few summers ago when I drove to cello camp in Maine for the first time, I was given a sleek silver sportscar which I called the Silver Bullet. I decided that this car needed a name too, but the blunt features precluded anything so zippy...shortly, it came to me: I dubbed the car Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
I got home and spent the night folding laundry cleaning the house a bit and loading up the car as much as possible. I then slept for a couple of hours.
I awoke and continued the preparations to leave. As I got closer to leaving I realized that I was feeling sad about my Dad and about going away from this house which held so many memories for our family. When everything was packed in the car and I was all set to go, I stopped before leaving and played the cello on our gorgeous back deck for a little while. It delayed my departure until about 1:00 PM but it was worth it. I just took about half an hour to play, saying goodbye to the house, filling the air with music and hope and love.
I then took up Maxwell's Silver Hammer and hit the open road!
Three hours later I got a speeding ticket. I had torn my way through most of the northward route in Florida and had just made the turn onto I-10, which was to take me West out past Tallahassee and into the panhandle. I had been following a woman in an SUV since well before Gainesville, and she was moving at quite a clip. I don't know why I was singled out and she sped on unhindered, but I took it as a nod from Dad, since he had received many speeding tickets throughout the years on various family roadtrips.
The rest of the trip up into Alabama passed without incident...though I did drive through a torrential downpour where the sky was suddenly black and sinister, and I did pass the National Peanut Festival without stopping, sadly. Maxwell's Silver Hammer proved to be a sturdy and trustworthy steed, and I felt completely at ease behind the wheel. I am so grateful to that Alamo guy!
At about 9:00, as planned, I arrived in the outskirts of Montgomery near the Alabama Shakespeare Festival. I had dinner at Carrabba's (Italian) in honour of my Grandfather, found a nearby motel to stay in for the night and promptly went to sleep.
Monday January 22 - Montgomery, AL to Alpharetta, GA
I awoke with the intention of playing the cello in the hotel room before my audition but ran out of time and had to head out.
The Alabama Shakespeare Festival is located in the middle of a gorgeous (even in the rain on a dreary day) park, and the enormous Festival Theatre is set back from the main entrance road, majestically welcoming all who seek the Bard and providing a stunning and impressive vista as you approach.
Inside, I met Kevin Stewart who was just as kind in person as on the phone, and he ushered me into a large rehearsal hall where I was to have my audition. Since I had a little while to wait, I decided to do the trick I learned before my Florida Rep audition - I got out the cello and started to tune it so I could play. I was just about to start playing the Prelude to the first Bach Suite when Nancy Rominger, Artistic Associate, interrupted me excitedly.
A former cellist who abandoned her bow for the stage at some point earlier in her career, Nancy and I hit it off right away. We traded celllo stories and blabbed on about all things musical for so long that eventually Kevin, who had come back to introduce me to Nancy, could not get a word in edgewise and was forced to beat a hasty retreat back out into the hall. A few minutes later, Nancy and I settled in and I began my audition pieces. I felt that I was well-received and I was generally pleased with how the monologues went. I was thrown for a bit of a loop, since I had planned to do two Shakespeare pieces and when I was done with the first one, Nancy asked me if I had anything modern to do. But I think she was happy with my work. She said that there really were only two things left in the season yet to be cast, one of which was a week-long workshop, but she promised to keep me in mind for when they would inevitable come to New York in the future. She also made me promise to keep on her if I saw that they were auditioning for something for which I felt I should be considered. All in all, a very successful audition.
From the mysitcal gardens of Shakespeareland (there was a delicately sloping outdoor ampitheatre and I longed to play the cello there. If the weather had been slightly less biting, I would have certainly done so), I drove less than five minutes into the culture shock of the crass, commercial strip-mall laden road that would take me towards the Interstate. I stopped in a Panera, which happened to offer free wireless, changed out of my "audition costume", grabbed some yummy vegetable soup served in a sourdough bread bowl, and hopped online to do some followup with theatres later on in the trip. Checking my messages, I was delighted to discover that Flat Rock Playhouse, in Flat Rock, North Carolina, had called to say that they did in fact want to see me - this was another major venue that I had been about to write off since my flurry of emails and phone calls had gone completely unanswered.
At length, I got back on the road. Today's trip was far less taxing - a mere three hours as opposed to yesterday's eight. However, a combination of the long drive the previous day and an uncomfortable sleeping position had left my neck incredibly sore, which made this three hours quite uncomfortable.
Norman and Margie, my cousins in Alpharetta, Georgia were anxious to see me, and kept calling my mobile to see where I was and spew forth frightening tales of Atlanta traffic. Perhapst their vehicular hysteria inured me to the congestion, but I found the drive quite smooth and passed through some notoriously hairy areas unmolested at the height of rush hour. I was fed copious amounts of very yummy Chinese food upon my arrival, and was greeted with rousing cheers of "Welcome Cousin Michael!" from Norman and Margie's three kids, Adam, Ryan and Carly. The boisterous dinner table chatter transitioned smoothly into a boisterous tour of their expansive home, all beautifully decorated by Margie. Norman's business is the movies - he owns two (soon to be three) movie theatre complexes in the Atlanta area and has become one of the premiere entrepreneurs of Atlanta. The home theatre in his basement belies his passionate love of the art form. My only regret is that I won't get to really spend any time this trip languishing in the high definition television and free popcorn. I spent several minutes before bed standing in awed meditation on the trifecta that adorns one wall of Norman's office: three scripts and three poster artwork plates framed separately, all signed by each of the headlining members of the cast as well as the director; a trilogy of impressive memorabilia from the most impressive trilogy of recent memory, LORD OF THE RINGS.
After typing up the Salty tales of Florida for you, dear reader, I was completely exhausted and went straight to bed!
Monday, January 22, 2007
Salty Beach: The Florida Travels, January 7-20
The preliminary section of the Great Salty Roadtrip of '07 was a big circle around the state of Florida. I'm a little behind getting this out to you all and I've got a lot of ground to cover, so here goes:
Sunday January 7 - NYC to Sarasota
I returned to New York at the beginning of January from Montreal, where I had been staying with my family for a month as we all tried to pick up the pieces after my father's death. For four hurried days in New York I prepared to begin the Salty Bus & Truck and crammed in quick visits with a few close friends. Then, on Sunday I flew to Sarasota on JetBlue. Had a quick lunch with my Uncle Marty and Aunt Carrie and then went to see my mentor/sister/mother/lover/guide Kim Crow as Golda Meir in GOLDA'S BALCONY at Florida Studio Theatre. Kim was fucking brilliant as Golda - there is some serious channeling going on. Her performance was seamless and powerful and really just knocked my socks off.
I spent the next few days doing more follow-up work and finalizing auditions at various theatres in Florida and beyond for the trip.
Wednesday January 10 - Sarasota to Fort Myers
After much last-minute packing of the car (my parents' sleek Mitsubishi Spider eclipse, a trusty - and speedy! - steed), I finally left Sarasota late in the evening and drove to Fort Myers, where my dear friend, South Florida Diva Carol Provonsha awaited me with baited breath. Carol had waged a successful battle with liver cancer in the past several months and I was anxious to see her and know that she was OK. She was far more than OK - she really seems to be doing tremendously well! The humor and talent of this beautiful spirit are intact and she is eager to get back on the boards. She's also not resting on her laurels while she recuperates - she's writing a (brilliant) script with yours truly in mind for the central character. Carol is currently living with Roberta (whose collection of Beatles memorabilia had me squealing like one of the girls on the Ed Sullivan show at the Fab Four's American TV debut) and Lady the dog (who is spoiled rotten by La Provonsha). Upon arrival, I was treated to a delicious, healthy, soul-healing feast prepared for me by the Diva herself. We stayed up talking until well past the point where I could keep my eyes open. Many thanks to Carol and Roberta (and Lady) for their hospitality, on this, the first night of my roadtrip.
Thursday January 11 - Fort Myers to Boca Raton
A nervous Salty Bitch arrived at Florida Rep's theatre to audition this morning. I was ushered into a rehearsal studio and asked if I could wait about 15 minutes to be seen. All morning (and much of the day before) I had been plagued by the negative voices who like to attack when we are putting ourselves out on a limb. These demons or Fears have a remarkable ability to swarm together and spiral, dragging one's thought processes into a vortex of negativity. I've also noticed lately that the better an action is for you to take in pursuit of your soul's desire, the stronger these Fears will well up to try to deter you from taking that action. This morning, waiting for the first audition of this enormous endeavor that is the Salty Bus & Truck, the fears were merciless. However, instead of simply waiting in the room for my audition to begin, I decided to play the cello (I had brought it in with me since I didn't want to leave it in the car). This was the best thing I could have done! Almost instantly, it calmed me, cutting straight through the Fears and grounding me right back into all the good reasons I had for doing this trip in the first place. No sooner had the good thoughts begun to bubble to the surface when the door opened and my auditors entered. I had a fantastic audition and a lovely conversation with the folks at Florida Rep (they spent about an hour with me). It was the best possible way to kick off the roadtrip.
After a quick lunch and a little one-on-one time with La Provonsha, I jumped back in the car and sped across the state past Alligator Alley to Boca Raton (Mouth of the Rat, sweetie) for my audition at the Caldwell Theatre. I received a very warm welcome there from Company Manager Patricia Burdette (who had been so wonderfully supportive and sensitive of my feelings surrounding my dad's passing), and the audition went well. It was a very different situation from the morning's audition (the whole thing lasted maybe 15 minutes).
I then drove to the Casa del Flamingo - the lavish home of my friend Jerry Gulledge (Flamingo) and his partner Arthur Barnes (Maestro). Jerry's totem is the Flamingo and they are present in his home in great flocks. A neon Flamingo light shines from their kitchen window like a beacon. Once there, I also had the honor of meeting Miss Lily and Miss Lotus, the pussies. I am not kidding when I tell you that Lotus is Barbara Streisand in cat form. The gentlemen took me to a hurried dinner and then I ran back to the Caldwell to see their production of STEEL MAGNOLIAS.
Friday January 12 - Boca Raton to Manalapan to Vero Beach
I left my safe haven among the Flamingos (mille grazie to Jerry and Arthur and the girls) and took a leisurely drive up A1A, the road that runs along Florida's coastal barrier islands) to Florida Stage in Manalapan. The drive was glorious - I got to say a first hello to the ocean, who, exhillarated, leapt up to wave back at me. I passed enormous palatial estates (you know your land is large when you have to name your estate. The winner for worst use of pretentious French in an estate name: Chateau Mer du Lac), posh little seaside towns...and wedged in between two of these, the little blink-and-you'll-miss-it city of Briny Breezes, which was a stubborn throwback to old-school Florida squatting defiantly among upturned noses.
At Florida Stage I had the pleasure of meeting Artistic Associate Javier Chacin, who immediately set me at ease and welcomed me warmly. The audition was OK...I did only one monologue and didn't feel as good about it as I'd hoped, but I was happy I had the opportunity to be seen and Javier was a gracious host.
Having had nearly all of my professional gigs in Florida, my resume is packed full of names that have been known to the people at the theatres I'd visited thus far. I bore personal greetings from various well-connected acquaintances to the auditors and spent time schmoozing the auditors by talking about the common threads of our network. Each theatre received me with open arms because I had worked with people they recognized immediately, and each stop felt a little like a homecoming of sorts. I had to keep reminding myself that this was not going to be typical as I moved north of the Florida border.
From here I made my way up to Vero Beach, home of my beloved Riverside Theatre. I have worked at Riverside on and off both as an actor and stage manager for the past eight years. This truly was a home away from home. However, returning there this time was a little difficult. It was here that I received the stunning, terrifying middle-of-the-night phone call from my mother telling me that my father had died. I was glad to be getting back here to clear the air, to see that things were still OK at the theatre and to have them see that things were starting to be OK with me. It was an important step. I spent the afternoon talking with some of my friends among the staff, including Ro(sida) van Dright (the self-styled Beach Bitch), Ericka Fera (the Company Manager, also known as Ericka Fericka), and Allen Cornell, the Artistic Director and the man who had consistently given me opportunities to explore my craft in interesting and unexpected ways - and also the man who gave me my Equity card (with a little prodding from my friend Sherrie Dee Brewer). I grabbed a quick dinner with Ms. Fericka and then high-tailed it back to the theatre to see their production of FOREVER PLAID, for which my friend Ken Clifton was the musical director. After the show I said hello to the ocean from the same spot where I had bid it farewell a little over a month earlier. After hanging up the phone from my mother and regaining my senses (courtesy of my castmate Terry Loughlin), I drove to the ocean and sat there, crying, wailing, screaming, talking to my father and trying to get my mind to accept what had happened. It was an important step to be able to return there. Then it was back to Ro's house, where I was lodged in swanky comfort for a good night's sleep.
Saturday January 13 - Vero Beach to The Forest
I took my time driving up the coast of Florida again today, recharging my Salty self with the salty ocean air. I stayed on the coastal islands until I reached Kennedy Space Center, which had always fascinated me - it is our portal to the universe - and then turned inland and set my sights on Ocala National Forest, where Kim Crow and her husband Drew Strouble have a secret getaway - a little house on stilts which they have dubbed the Stiltin' Hilton.
As a Witch, I try to be in tune with the natural patterns of energy in a place. The ancient Ocala National Forest is a huge energetic node in the landscape, a pulsating powersource that feeds the surrounding area. It is the heart of Florida.
Thanks to Kim and Drew, I was fortunate to spend three whole days in the Forest (one of them with Kim's sister Jeanette, or Doll "She's the Coolest"), recharging my batteries, becoming addlepated, playing the cello on the deck of the Hilton and hearing it resonate in the trees, hiking through ancient groves of oak trees that change the temeprature and the smell of the air when you are among them, eating soul food at Shellcrackers and basically allowing the forest to heal me (sometimes in spite of myself). I could write endlessly about the Forest and its many wonders, but I will save that for another time.
Tuesday January 14 - The Forest to Orlando to The Forest to Sarasota
I made the two-hour trip into Orlando, feeling the ancient Forest energy melt away from me as I sped southward, to audition for the Orlando-UCF Shakespeare Festival. The audition went well and I was told I would be able to be seen by their people back in New York when they are casting things for which I would be appropriate. I'm told that's a successful audition.
I returned to the Forest, having decided that I would stay there one more night. But at some point late at night, I knew, as clearly as if the Forest had spoken to me aloud, that it was time for me to leave. After a shocked response of "really?" I began to pack up the car and drove back to Sarasota in the wee hours of Wednesday. Thus ended the actual road part of the Florida leg of the audition roadtrip, however one audition remained...
Friday January 15 - Florida Studio Theatre
I did an internship at FST in Sarasota immediately after college ten years ago. At the end of the internship, I was cast in their mainstage production of THE COMPLEAT WORKS OF WLLM SHKSPR (ABRIDGED), brilliantly directed by the aforementioned Kim Crow (aka Kim Kro - which, I postulate, has much better "Hollywood" alliteration). We have had a few near-misses, but I haven't been back to work there as a professional actor yet. And after the audition I gave on Friday, that is not likely to happen any time soon...
However, it was very nice to see many old friends from my days at FST. Although I have been to Sarasota regularly since working there, I rarely have made it back to the theatre. In addition to Richard Hopkins and James Ashford, whom I had actually seen (or at least spoken to) a couple of times over the years, I got to see Dona Walter (who's still meaner than a junkyard dawg), Beth Duda (whose eyes are still twinkly periwinkly) and Kelli Karen (who had no Nestle Crunch for me).
I had also had the opportunity to see, over the course of the past couple of days, my NYC friend Jeffrey Plunkett, who is in rehearsals for the next mainstage show at FST, PERMANENT COLLECTION, in which he is starring as the token white boy.
And so, with five auditions behind me, I began to put a cap on the Florida leg of the Salty B&T, which was a mere prelude to what lay ahead: the long road home from Florida to New York.
Sunday January 7 - NYC to Sarasota
I returned to New York at the beginning of January from Montreal, where I had been staying with my family for a month as we all tried to pick up the pieces after my father's death. For four hurried days in New York I prepared to begin the Salty Bus & Truck and crammed in quick visits with a few close friends. Then, on Sunday I flew to Sarasota on JetBlue. Had a quick lunch with my Uncle Marty and Aunt Carrie and then went to see my mentor/sister/mother/lover/guide Kim Crow as Golda Meir in GOLDA'S BALCONY at Florida Studio Theatre. Kim was fucking brilliant as Golda - there is some serious channeling going on. Her performance was seamless and powerful and really just knocked my socks off.
I spent the next few days doing more follow-up work and finalizing auditions at various theatres in Florida and beyond for the trip.
Wednesday January 10 - Sarasota to Fort Myers
After much last-minute packing of the car (my parents' sleek Mitsubishi Spider eclipse, a trusty - and speedy! - steed), I finally left Sarasota late in the evening and drove to Fort Myers, where my dear friend, South Florida Diva Carol Provonsha awaited me with baited breath. Carol had waged a successful battle with liver cancer in the past several months and I was anxious to see her and know that she was OK. She was far more than OK - she really seems to be doing tremendously well! The humor and talent of this beautiful spirit are intact and she is eager to get back on the boards. She's also not resting on her laurels while she recuperates - she's writing a (brilliant) script with yours truly in mind for the central character. Carol is currently living with Roberta (whose collection of Beatles memorabilia had me squealing like one of the girls on the Ed Sullivan show at the Fab Four's American TV debut) and Lady the dog (who is spoiled rotten by La Provonsha). Upon arrival, I was treated to a delicious, healthy, soul-healing feast prepared for me by the Diva herself. We stayed up talking until well past the point where I could keep my eyes open. Many thanks to Carol and Roberta (and Lady) for their hospitality, on this, the first night of my roadtrip.
Thursday January 11 - Fort Myers to Boca Raton
A nervous Salty Bitch arrived at Florida Rep's theatre to audition this morning. I was ushered into a rehearsal studio and asked if I could wait about 15 minutes to be seen. All morning (and much of the day before) I had been plagued by the negative voices who like to attack when we are putting ourselves out on a limb. These demons or Fears have a remarkable ability to swarm together and spiral, dragging one's thought processes into a vortex of negativity. I've also noticed lately that the better an action is for you to take in pursuit of your soul's desire, the stronger these Fears will well up to try to deter you from taking that action. This morning, waiting for the first audition of this enormous endeavor that is the Salty Bus & Truck, the fears were merciless. However, instead of simply waiting in the room for my audition to begin, I decided to play the cello (I had brought it in with me since I didn't want to leave it in the car). This was the best thing I could have done! Almost instantly, it calmed me, cutting straight through the Fears and grounding me right back into all the good reasons I had for doing this trip in the first place. No sooner had the good thoughts begun to bubble to the surface when the door opened and my auditors entered. I had a fantastic audition and a lovely conversation with the folks at Florida Rep (they spent about an hour with me). It was the best possible way to kick off the roadtrip.
After a quick lunch and a little one-on-one time with La Provonsha, I jumped back in the car and sped across the state past Alligator Alley to Boca Raton (Mouth of the Rat, sweetie) for my audition at the Caldwell Theatre. I received a very warm welcome there from Company Manager Patricia Burdette (who had been so wonderfully supportive and sensitive of my feelings surrounding my dad's passing), and the audition went well. It was a very different situation from the morning's audition (the whole thing lasted maybe 15 minutes).
I then drove to the Casa del Flamingo - the lavish home of my friend Jerry Gulledge (Flamingo) and his partner Arthur Barnes (Maestro). Jerry's totem is the Flamingo and they are present in his home in great flocks. A neon Flamingo light shines from their kitchen window like a beacon. Once there, I also had the honor of meeting Miss Lily and Miss Lotus, the pussies. I am not kidding when I tell you that Lotus is Barbara Streisand in cat form. The gentlemen took me to a hurried dinner and then I ran back to the Caldwell to see their production of STEEL MAGNOLIAS.
Friday January 12 - Boca Raton to Manalapan to Vero Beach
I left my safe haven among the Flamingos (mille grazie to Jerry and Arthur and the girls) and took a leisurely drive up A1A, the road that runs along Florida's coastal barrier islands) to Florida Stage in Manalapan. The drive was glorious - I got to say a first hello to the ocean, who, exhillarated, leapt up to wave back at me. I passed enormous palatial estates (you know your land is large when you have to name your estate. The winner for worst use of pretentious French in an estate name: Chateau Mer du Lac), posh little seaside towns...and wedged in between two of these, the little blink-and-you'll-miss-it city of Briny Breezes, which was a stubborn throwback to old-school Florida squatting defiantly among upturned noses.
At Florida Stage I had the pleasure of meeting Artistic Associate Javier Chacin, who immediately set me at ease and welcomed me warmly. The audition was OK...I did only one monologue and didn't feel as good about it as I'd hoped, but I was happy I had the opportunity to be seen and Javier was a gracious host.
Having had nearly all of my professional gigs in Florida, my resume is packed full of names that have been known to the people at the theatres I'd visited thus far. I bore personal greetings from various well-connected acquaintances to the auditors and spent time schmoozing the auditors by talking about the common threads of our network. Each theatre received me with open arms because I had worked with people they recognized immediately, and each stop felt a little like a homecoming of sorts. I had to keep reminding myself that this was not going to be typical as I moved north of the Florida border.
From here I made my way up to Vero Beach, home of my beloved Riverside Theatre. I have worked at Riverside on and off both as an actor and stage manager for the past eight years. This truly was a home away from home. However, returning there this time was a little difficult. It was here that I received the stunning, terrifying middle-of-the-night phone call from my mother telling me that my father had died. I was glad to be getting back here to clear the air, to see that things were still OK at the theatre and to have them see that things were starting to be OK with me. It was an important step. I spent the afternoon talking with some of my friends among the staff, including Ro(sida) van Dright (the self-styled Beach Bitch), Ericka Fera (the Company Manager, also known as Ericka Fericka), and Allen Cornell, the Artistic Director and the man who had consistently given me opportunities to explore my craft in interesting and unexpected ways - and also the man who gave me my Equity card (with a little prodding from my friend Sherrie Dee Brewer). I grabbed a quick dinner with Ms. Fericka and then high-tailed it back to the theatre to see their production of FOREVER PLAID, for which my friend Ken Clifton was the musical director. After the show I said hello to the ocean from the same spot where I had bid it farewell a little over a month earlier. After hanging up the phone from my mother and regaining my senses (courtesy of my castmate Terry Loughlin), I drove to the ocean and sat there, crying, wailing, screaming, talking to my father and trying to get my mind to accept what had happened. It was an important step to be able to return there. Then it was back to Ro's house, where I was lodged in swanky comfort for a good night's sleep.
Saturday January 13 - Vero Beach to The Forest
I took my time driving up the coast of Florida again today, recharging my Salty self with the salty ocean air. I stayed on the coastal islands until I reached Kennedy Space Center, which had always fascinated me - it is our portal to the universe - and then turned inland and set my sights on Ocala National Forest, where Kim Crow and her husband Drew Strouble have a secret getaway - a little house on stilts which they have dubbed the Stiltin' Hilton.
As a Witch, I try to be in tune with the natural patterns of energy in a place. The ancient Ocala National Forest is a huge energetic node in the landscape, a pulsating powersource that feeds the surrounding area. It is the heart of Florida.
Thanks to Kim and Drew, I was fortunate to spend three whole days in the Forest (one of them with Kim's sister Jeanette, or Doll "She's the Coolest"), recharging my batteries, becoming addlepated, playing the cello on the deck of the Hilton and hearing it resonate in the trees, hiking through ancient groves of oak trees that change the temeprature and the smell of the air when you are among them, eating soul food at Shellcrackers and basically allowing the forest to heal me (sometimes in spite of myself). I could write endlessly about the Forest and its many wonders, but I will save that for another time.
Tuesday January 14 - The Forest to Orlando to The Forest to Sarasota
I made the two-hour trip into Orlando, feeling the ancient Forest energy melt away from me as I sped southward, to audition for the Orlando-UCF Shakespeare Festival. The audition went well and I was told I would be able to be seen by their people back in New York when they are casting things for which I would be appropriate. I'm told that's a successful audition.
I returned to the Forest, having decided that I would stay there one more night. But at some point late at night, I knew, as clearly as if the Forest had spoken to me aloud, that it was time for me to leave. After a shocked response of "really?" I began to pack up the car and drove back to Sarasota in the wee hours of Wednesday. Thus ended the actual road part of the Florida leg of the audition roadtrip, however one audition remained...
Friday January 15 - Florida Studio Theatre
I did an internship at FST in Sarasota immediately after college ten years ago. At the end of the internship, I was cast in their mainstage production of THE COMPLEAT WORKS OF WLLM SHKSPR (ABRIDGED), brilliantly directed by the aforementioned Kim Crow (aka Kim Kro - which, I postulate, has much better "Hollywood" alliteration). We have had a few near-misses, but I haven't been back to work there as a professional actor yet. And after the audition I gave on Friday, that is not likely to happen any time soon...
However, it was very nice to see many old friends from my days at FST. Although I have been to Sarasota regularly since working there, I rarely have made it back to the theatre. In addition to Richard Hopkins and James Ashford, whom I had actually seen (or at least spoken to) a couple of times over the years, I got to see Dona Walter (who's still meaner than a junkyard dawg), Beth Duda (whose eyes are still twinkly periwinkly) and Kelli Karen (who had no Nestle Crunch for me).
I had also had the opportunity to see, over the course of the past couple of days, my NYC friend Jeffrey Plunkett, who is in rehearsals for the next mainstage show at FST, PERMANENT COLLECTION, in which he is starring as the token white boy.
And so, with five auditions behind me, I began to put a cap on the Florida leg of the Salty B&T, which was a mere prelude to what lay ahead: the long road home from Florida to New York.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
The Great Salty Roadtrip if '07, or SALTY! The Bus & Truck
The Salty Bitch may be coming to a town near you!
At the end of October last year, I left a job I enjoyed quite a bit in order to return to my practically abandoned theatre career. The Riverside Theatre in Vero Beach, Florida (the place where I cut my teeth as an Equity actor several years ago, where I worked frequently for a while, and where I had the opportunity to play many interesting parts) called me out of the blue and invited me to come play the Ghost of Christmas Past in their new musical version of A CHRISTMAS CAROL. A blessed phone call and an exciting opportunity! So I extricated myself from my “steady” job and made the decision not to return there when I was done with my five-week-long acting gig. This was a huge step down the Boho path for me, and it felt really good to make that decision. While I was in Florida, in an effort to drum up more theatre work and continue living la vie boheme, I set up auditions at various regional theatres around the state. I had a great deal of momentum and excitement behind my pursuit of this new work, and I felt poised to take some more steps forward in my acting career.
Then in early December all that great forward momentum came to a crashing halt. During the last week of CHRISTMAS CAROL, my father died suddenly and unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. I found myself having to leave the show abruptly in the middle of the night to travel to Canada in the middle of the winter. The auditions had to be cancelled. There in the great frozen North my poor decimated family and I began a long process of mourning, grieving and eventual (we’re hoping) healing.
And in the depths of my mourning, an idea took root and began to grow. I took the work I had been doing for myself in Florida and extrapolated it to a larger scale. I conceived a huge roadtrip, traveling from Florida home to New York City and stopping to audition at as many regional theatres along the way as would have me. As the grieving process continued, I started work on this trip. The energy and momentum I had put behind my earlier endeavor came flooding back in and the roadtrip began to take concrete form. It felt great to be throwing myself behind my acting work this way, to be doing everything I could to try to create opportunities for myself. Tres Salty! Tres Boho!
Over the next few weeks you can tune in here to get updates on where I'm spreadin' the salt around.
At the end of October last year, I left a job I enjoyed quite a bit in order to return to my practically abandoned theatre career. The Riverside Theatre in Vero Beach, Florida (the place where I cut my teeth as an Equity actor several years ago, where I worked frequently for a while, and where I had the opportunity to play many interesting parts) called me out of the blue and invited me to come play the Ghost of Christmas Past in their new musical version of A CHRISTMAS CAROL. A blessed phone call and an exciting opportunity! So I extricated myself from my “steady” job and made the decision not to return there when I was done with my five-week-long acting gig. This was a huge step down the Boho path for me, and it felt really good to make that decision. While I was in Florida, in an effort to drum up more theatre work and continue living la vie boheme, I set up auditions at various regional theatres around the state. I had a great deal of momentum and excitement behind my pursuit of this new work, and I felt poised to take some more steps forward in my acting career.
Then in early December all that great forward momentum came to a crashing halt. During the last week of CHRISTMAS CAROL, my father died suddenly and unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. I found myself having to leave the show abruptly in the middle of the night to travel to Canada in the middle of the winter. The auditions had to be cancelled. There in the great frozen North my poor decimated family and I began a long process of mourning, grieving and eventual (we’re hoping) healing.
And in the depths of my mourning, an idea took root and began to grow. I took the work I had been doing for myself in Florida and extrapolated it to a larger scale. I conceived a huge roadtrip, traveling from Florida home to New York City and stopping to audition at as many regional theatres along the way as would have me. As the grieving process continued, I started work on this trip. The energy and momentum I had put behind my earlier endeavor came flooding back in and the roadtrip began to take concrete form. It felt great to be throwing myself behind my acting work this way, to be doing everything I could to try to create opportunities for myself. Tres Salty! Tres Boho!
Over the next few weeks you can tune in here to get updates on where I'm spreadin' the salt around.
What Makes A Bitch Salty?
I thought it might be helpful at this point to define some terms for the uninitiated.
Salty Bitch
Bitch is often used in a derogatory sense. I would like to change that. A few years ago I played the part of Queen Margaret in Shakespeare’s Henry VI, Parts 1, 2 and 3. Margaret is an incredibly powerful and controversial historical figure brought vividly to life in Shakespeare’s text. Margaret of Anjou, proud French wife to England’s King Henry VI, is forced to hold her own alone in a foreign land populated by bloodthirsty men to whom her presence is unwelcome to say the least. When her husband doesn’t prove to be the king he should be and the country is plunged into a bloody civil war thanks to the treasonous usurper Richard, Duke of York, Margaret bears King Henry’s standard and rallies his armies in his defense. Partway through the rehearsal process, I privately started to call Margaret a Salty Bitch. The term, for me, meant a strong, determined person who is taking control of their destiny and making things happen. At some point, I used the term publicly in front of a few friends and it grew in popularity. After a little while, a small group of us were referring to ourselves as the Salty Bitches. It became the name of my now infamous AIDS Walk team, and is becoming my very own trademark term. This blog is dedicated to Salty Bitches everywhere.
La Vie Boheme
I use this term to describe the kind of life that seems to make me the happiest. I see it around me in the people I respect, a life replete with joy, humor and satisfying artistic pursuits. It can also be described as the artist’s life. It is the power of living fully. I strive always to attain this, and this blog will let you in on some of the experiences I have while trying to walk that path.
Salty Bitch
Bitch is often used in a derogatory sense. I would like to change that. A few years ago I played the part of Queen Margaret in Shakespeare’s Henry VI, Parts 1, 2 and 3. Margaret is an incredibly powerful and controversial historical figure brought vividly to life in Shakespeare’s text. Margaret of Anjou, proud French wife to England’s King Henry VI, is forced to hold her own alone in a foreign land populated by bloodthirsty men to whom her presence is unwelcome to say the least. When her husband doesn’t prove to be the king he should be and the country is plunged into a bloody civil war thanks to the treasonous usurper Richard, Duke of York, Margaret bears King Henry’s standard and rallies his armies in his defense. Partway through the rehearsal process, I privately started to call Margaret a Salty Bitch. The term, for me, meant a strong, determined person who is taking control of their destiny and making things happen. At some point, I used the term publicly in front of a few friends and it grew in popularity. After a little while, a small group of us were referring to ourselves as the Salty Bitches. It became the name of my now infamous AIDS Walk team, and is becoming my very own trademark term. This blog is dedicated to Salty Bitches everywhere.
La Vie Boheme
I use this term to describe the kind of life that seems to make me the happiest. I see it around me in the people I respect, a life replete with joy, humor and satisfying artistic pursuits. It can also be described as the artist’s life. It is the power of living fully. I strive always to attain this, and this blog will let you in on some of the experiences I have while trying to walk that path.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Salt and Bitchery!
Welcome, friends, to The Salty Blog: Tales from La Vie Boheme as told by me, the Salty Bitch.
In his play AWAKE AND SING!, Clifford Odets writes: "Do what is in your heart and you carry in yourself a revolution." My revolution begins here, and I am offering you a front row seat.
I will share with you the ridiculous and the sublime, the agony and the ecstasy, the troubles and triumphs I encounter as I pursue the life of an artist. I hope to give you, in these pages, a glimpse of what is in my heart.
Consider yourself warned. Let the salt and bitchery commence!
In his play AWAKE AND SING!, Clifford Odets writes: "Do what is in your heart and you carry in yourself a revolution." My revolution begins here, and I am offering you a front row seat.
I will share with you the ridiculous and the sublime, the agony and the ecstasy, the troubles and triumphs I encounter as I pursue the life of an artist. I hope to give you, in these pages, a glimpse of what is in my heart.
Consider yourself warned. Let the salt and bitchery commence!
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