Load Out

Closing Max & Rub

We performed in a school.

On Manhattan's Lower East Side.

In an "indoor garden."

In perhaps one of the most depressing gynmacafetoriums I've EVER seen.

...

The "indoor garden" was too small for the set.

The ceiling was too short for the roof.

We couldn't even put the "tree toppers" on our drops.

Our van got a parking ticket.

We had Fifth Graders in the audience.

The space was too echo-y to use mics.

We slipped and slid across the floors.

Our changing space was in full view of a whole section of the room.

We started fifteen minutes late.

...

And they (and we) still loved every second of it.



Kid quote of the day: After Max knocks down the castle and Grandma arrives for her show, Ruby informs her that something terrible has happened. "Oh," says Grandma. "What is it?" And a little kid announced, "Max, you've destroyed everything." Not a chance...

2000 Screaming Kids

Well, I have returned to New York in one piece, bid farewell to our vans at the Upper West Side garage and returned safely to my Brooklyn apartment. Today marked our final out-of-town performance, and leaves us with one show left before the adventures of Max & Ruby-Red are finished for this spring. However, today's show in Providence, RI, prompted a scene (of sorts) that I'd like to share. It may wind up being one of my favorite memories of the tour.

Remember this whole Blue Tarantula scene I've been talking about? Well, it all surrounds Ruby trying to get Max to take a nap, in order to calm him down, so that she can finish writing the show for Grandma. Max is riled up because his favorite radio program, SuperBunny, is on. He runs around, wearing a cape, shouting "SuperBunny" and doing the Superman flying-off-to-adventure arm thing. This repeats itself after the Blue Tarantula number and leads into a scene change. Our audiences being mostly of the six-and-under ilk, they like to chime in on this second "SuperBunny"-a-thon. And today's performance was one for the record books.

Two thousand Rhode Island children, screaming "SuperBunny" at the top of their lungs, doing the hand motions and nearly jumping out of their seats with excitement. Ben knew what he was doing, and milked it for all it was worth, while we watched from the wings, stunned. It stopped the show.

There has been some drama of late within the company, the kind of strife you'd expect from people who've been living and working together 24/7 for four months. None of which is worth reflecting on here. What we needed was a good ending to our run, something we could feel really happy with, something that would remind us why we have indeed dedicated nearly half a year to this show, and these kids, and this company. What we got today was as good a final "show in a theater" as anyone could have hoped. And, as we rolled into NYC for the last time, Sara Bareilles's "Love Song" (which has become the anthem of our company) blasting on the van stereo, I was overcome by a sense of pride in what we have accomplished. Amid the broken mini-disk players, too-small stages, car breakdowns, crappy hotel rooms, early wake-ups and long drives, we created something magical that can get 2000 kids to jump out of their seats with joy and wonder. We did it, together, without killing each other, in the most unusual of circumstances, and showed a whole new generation how amazing live theater can be. And when we officially close Max & Ruby tomorrow on Manhattan's Lower East Side, it is that sense of pride that I will take away from these months. I truly couldn't have asked for anything better.

Kid quote of the day: "SUPERBUNNY!"

Call tomorrow: 1:30pm, PS 42 Benjamin Altman School. It's time to put this show to bed.

(P.S. Exciting news! Ben, our amazing Max, was contacted by Nickelodeon to come in for a general audition. Turns out, somebody heard about/saw his great performance in our show and referred him to the people at Nick. WAY TO GO BEN!!)

The Day That Was, But Should Not Have Been

The day started well enough. I rolled out of my Cape Cod HoJo bed at 6:30am, showered, packed, grabbed a packet of PopTarts from Ben (my roommate for the night and the owner of half of the PopTart stash) and headed towards the reception area to check out and grab their version of continental breakfast. As I approached the building, however, something seemed strange. For 7am, the place was dead, and their didn't appear to be anyone behind the desk. A quick twist of the door handle proved me right: the place was locked down. However, through the windows, I spied a fresh pot of coffee, two carafes of juice and cereal. Which meant that somebody was there. My pounding on the door becoming futile, and there not being enough time to drive off in search of liquid caffeine, I angrily ate my PopTarts as I stared down the HoJo coffee machine.

Not a good start to the day.

Then we arrived at the Cape Cod Community College, which does indeed frequently get referred to as CCCC. After a lovely, fast load-in (with limited bodily harm) and a good sound check, Emileena came to us with the bad news: there were two shows scheduled, although only one was reflected on our schedules. Not normally an issue, but Equity requires that we be informed of "added shows" at least eight days in advance. So, secret balloting was held, Theatreworks was called, a little drama ensued, and we voted to do the show with some additional compensation (again, along union guidelines). Both shows went well (although everyone is pretty wiped out; we had planned for a one-show day, after all), we loaded out quickly and now we're on the road to Providence, RI, for our last out-of-town show. Which is, incidentally, one of my favorite towns.

What other wonders does this day hold in store for us?

Kid quote of the day: After the Blue Tarantula fingers popped over the wall for the second time, a little boy excitedly cried, "There IS a Blue Tarantula." Suspension of disbelief, indeed.

Call tomorrow: Unknown, as of now. I'm actually blogging in real-time from a Burger King. Classy, I know.

Barley Blooper

This was my most frustrating show yet. And not because of the space (which was lovely and large). And not because of the drive (which was short and easy). And not because of cast, crew or audience (all of whom were great). All because, in the first two minutes of the show, this happened:



Yep. I split my pants on stage. During "Looking for Max," our opening number, I have a few spoken lines with Ruby, after which I do two, level-changing "searching for Max" looks before I start singing again. During my first, when I squat down and peer off the edge of the stage, I heard a rip and felt the fabric around my butt give out. And I knew it was over.

Now, this might not seem like such a big problem, the kind of thing that a savvy actor could work his way around. Except that a significant part of the choreography I do as Barley occurs with my back to the audience, shaking my bunny tail. And, I later discovered that the split went right along the seam from my zipper to my bunny tail. There is no time for me to pin up such a long rip during the show, so there were some minor blocking changes in my later Barley scenes, both to protect my dignity, and the audience's eyes. Nobody wants to see my Theatreworks-provided biker shorts.

Emileena told me didn't notice anything, but I did see a few front-row dads looking at me funny. The whole event pissed me off backstage, and, after I realized the humor in the situation, it was all I could do to keep it together on stage. I sewed everything up this evening, although the Theatreworks costume will want to take a look at these when I get back. I hope my crude tack job holds at least through our last five shows. Because doing the show with your rear hanging out is... a little embarrassing, to say the least.

Kid quote of the day: During the Blue Tarantula: "DON'T TAKE A NAP, MAX!!"

Call tomorrow: 7:30am, Comfort Inn parking lot in North Dartmouth, MA. Our last two show day, in a really beautiful theater.

I guess this means I've gained weight on the tour, which isn't entirely a bad thing.

Chester Revisited

Remember way back at the Vans, Taxis and Three-Quarter Stages entry when I promised footage of the car issues and drug paraphernalia in Chester? Well, Sally-Swims-a-Lot blog has compiled an excellent video that sums up our day there.

Check it out here.

Introductions: Practicing Safe Sound

A warning to my more sensitive readers: this post is rated PG-13.

Tomorrow's our final travel day, and the beginning of our last week of shows, which is sort-of bitter sweet. More on that later. However, here is the long-promised blog entry about what I do offstage. Meet Assistant Stage Manager 2.

(What, you were expecting a costume?)

At the beginning of this crazy adventure of a tour, I was offered the chance to earn an extra $6 a week for acting as ASM2. You see, every actor on a Theatreworks tour is signed as an ASM as well as an actor, which allows us to do load-in and load-out under Equity regulations. That said, we all become just actors at half-hour to our places call. Except for ASM1 (on this tour, Lydia) and ASM2 (me). We can be asked to work into our half-hour, without Theatreworks having to pay us for it. And, in addition to this, we each have a "specialty" of our own: ASM1 deals with set issues, and I help with Emileena's sound set-up. Which explains why I am frequently switching out faulty wireless body-mic packs backstage, changing wires, microphone elements and windscreens and pestering my fellow actors to not turn off their mics between shows.

One of the most exciting parts of my day, however, is when I get to prepare the microphones. After Emileena has synced the mics to the receivers, she gives me a shout and I come over to work my magic. And this is how I do it:










Do I really need to say anything else?

Kid quote of the day: When Max knocked down the castle at the end of the song "Happily Ever," two boys in the front row decided not to applaud. They gave Max a big "thumbs down."

Call tomorrow: I am still awaiting Emileena's text message.

Ouch!

The day began when Leigh arrived at our van. Coughing, and a tad hoarse. This made two ill cast members (Ben has also been hacking for a few days) for our show today. Then, on our trip to Montclair, a short stop in our passenger van caused Michelle to hit her left hip. Very hard. Arriving at the theater, we loaded in (slowly and carefully; no more injuries, please), set for the show, did our best to scare up some energy (remember, I've been doing the perform-in-the-morning, rehearse-at-night thing, which zaps me) and got our show started.

And then I got hurt.

During "Looking for Max," the opening number, I wound up stepping on something sharp, which cut through my shoe and stuck itself into my left foot. Very conscious that something not-so-good had happened, I hobbled through the rest of the number, stumbled backstage for my Gracie fast change and discovered a nasty puncture wound, about the diameter of a heavy-duty staple, on the left side of my foot. Thinking quickly (remember, this is all during a timed, fairly fast change), I sprayed my foot with the isopropyl alcohol we use to clean our bunny ears, wrapped the wound in gaffers tape, changed my bloody socks, threw on Gracie and got myself on stage for the scene. The show must go on, right?

At the break between shows, Emileena gave me the first aid kit and I went hunting for the perpetrator. I found that it was, indeed, a staple, one that had worked its way out of the stage and was standing straight up, about an inch tall, with one of its sharp ends waiting to do further damage. A set of pliers and some major hefting later, the villain has been extracted and was on its way to the garbage can. Not only revenge on my part, but also a public service effort for the company. As of now, all we had that remained unharmed were two bunny scouts, and we needed to keep it that way.

We finished the day, I rehearsed at the zoo, got back to the apartment, drank wine, downed two Motrin, changed the bandages on the wound (which hurts, but is healing) and am crashing. There is a tetanus shot in my future, I do believe.

Kid (er, Parent) quote of the day: After the show, we met two little girls who had been excellent audience members. They were thrilled to meet us, and we were thrilled to meet them. When Michelle was introducing me, she told the girls that "Ethan plays Gracie, but he's not really a girl," to which one of the mothers replied, "Oh, that's just like Uncle So-and-So. He likes to wear dresses sometimes too." Hmmm...

Call tomorrow: 6:15am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. Our last local show on this tour.

Keeping It Fresh

We're into a series of local shows, which means that we do our shows at venues within relative driving distance of NYC, and sleep at home. Which, for those longtime readers, means that I am setting upwards of five alarms every morning to ensure that there are no more "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad" days. It also means that I'm very tired, as each day of shows this week is followed by a rehearsal for my summer gig at the zoo. And these longs days, I've decided, earn me a glass of wine every night before bed.

Our week started with some house-less (as in our set, not our audience) shows in New Haven and Hartford, CT. At both locations, I had friends in the audience, which was really delightful. It's amazing how hearing the glimmer of a familiar laugh, or seeing a face or even knowing that someone "special" is out there makes you want to give a powerhouse performance. And I was quite pleased with the shows I gave, and the new discoveries I started to bring to all of my characters. It's never too late to mix it up a tad, and I like the new stuff. Froggie's RIBBITs are a little different each night, which keeps me fresh and Max and Ruby excited; a few extra cowboy sounds during Cowboy Max ensures that I still love doing the number; even a slightly slower line here or a stretched vowel there makes me feel more alive on stage. And, with ten performance left, I'm glad I am still turning out shows that I like without "checking out." Which, mind you, is an easy proposition (I could do this show in my sleep), and tempting when you've risen at 4:00am to make a 6:00am van call. However, my friends, my company and (most importantly) the kids deserve a good show. And, honestly, so do I. Because (and don't let this get out) Max & Ruby is really too much fun to perform, and even in my most frustrated moments, I am dazzled by the fact that they pay me to do this. I've described our show as "crack for the six-and-under crowd," and the high is pretty contagious when you're the one dressed as a gorilla.

Kid quote of the day: As a response to Ruby's lyric, "Happily Ever, then what?," a little girl exasperatedly instructed, "Ruby! AFTER!!" Think about it for a second...

Call tomorrow: 6:50am, Manhattan garage near Columbia University.

Introductions: Blue Tarantula / Announcer

We're back in NYC for the weekend, which is a welcome break. Our shows in Lebanon, NH, were great fun! One of our audiences clapped along for every single number, which was both cool and odd at the same time, as the rhythms are a tad complicated in our salsa and blues numbers. Anyway, the kids were wonderfully refreshing, the crew brought us deep-fried apple turnover goodness as a between-shows snack and our load-out (which involved a freight elevator) took less than an hour. We did get stuck in bad traffic on the way back, and were reminded that it is important to check our clearance when you are in a tall vehicle, as we passed a Greyhound bus with its top ripped off after what appeared to be a too-close call with a bridge. Word to the wise.

Anyway, with the tour winding down, and a little free time on my hands, I thought I'd present my final character-and-a-half introduction. Meet The Blue Tarantula (and, by default, the Announcer):



The Blue Tarantula is the scary creatures that mysteriously appears in Max's room. Ruby tries to convince Max to take a nap to distract him from playing SuperBunny (his favorite radio show, and my Announcer bit). Max isn't having it, so Ruby offers to read him one book, which, after some negotiation, winds up being the Blue Tarantula. Max gets scared, but decides to reread the story himself, and "allows" the creature into his room by opening the book. Madness ensues as small kids laugh, cry, scream and pee their pants. All is well with the world.

So, yeah, I also didn't know that these guys were part of my contract when I signed on. My contract made no mention of any spidery stuff. In fact, at my fitting, I was only told I would be playing "the tarantula head puppet." Thus, you can imagine it was quite a surprise on the first day of rehearsal when Jana, our music director, started playing the underscore to the Blue Tarantula song, stared at me expectantly and said, "You know that this is your song, right?" After my first day crash course, Jeff's notes to make it "more spooky" and composer Carol Hall's advice to "sing it just like I wrote it," I think we've developed something fun and a little scary.

And then there is the head and legs. The head sits on a Styrofoam head form which has a long stick in it. (The eyes, as you have read, have taken a bit of a beating while on the road.) The legs are pool noodles covered in black fabric that are operated by Lydia, Leigh and Leah. All of this appears over the wall that opens up behind Max's bedroom set, and looks like the monster is climbing over his head and into his bed. I love puppeteering the head, creeping up slowly over the wall to get the kids to scream and then ducking down really fast, as if the spider noticed the audience and had to hide. Tracy told me my tarantula is one of the most lively they have had. I guess that summer at the zoo was good for something, right?

Oh, and the announcer? Well, he's super-nasal and super-1950s. Sounds about right for SuperBunny, huh?

Kid quote of the day: During Blue Tarantula, a little girl cried out to Max and Ruby, "Save yourselves!"

Call tomorrow: Nothing until Monday, and we don't know yet. We're headed to New Haven!

ASL

Emileena surprised us (or, at least, me) with great news this morning: our first show of the day here in Concord, NH would be ASL interpreted! In fact, we had an entire deaf school coming to see the show! COOL!

I have always been a big fan of accessibility in the theater, and getting two interpreters in front of the stage is my favorite way this happens. Probably because I like to watch them when I'm backstage (and sometimes when I'm on stage, if I can get away with it!) Anyway, our interpreters were great and really captured the sensibilities of the show. The woman interpreting Ruby captured the "ultimate patience with Max" face that Michelle has mastered, and Max's interpreter mastered the devious smile. And, in my case, I learned the signs for one of my characters:

Cool, huh?

Anyway, we've finished off our two days in Concord and now have an impromptu day off (a show was canceled) before we head to Lebanon to perform in what is rumored to be a very pretty opera house. New Hampshire looks just like I would expect it: colonial and green. Concord also seems to shut down pretty early, as our attempt at food finding proved last night. And it also appears to be McCain territory, after the number of giant posters we've seen for him. We're keeping a low profile in that regard.

Kid quote of the day: When Mr. Barley made his second entrance and greeted Ruby, a little girl started crying. I was sad.

Call tomorrow: Well, um, we need to check by noon, so, theoretically, before then.

A Job

Touring is difficult. I'm not sure that this is something I've stressed adequately in this blog. Most of you know that I am the eternal optimist and embrace the Rick Steve's "Always Say Yes" approach as much as I can in life, but I think it is worth mentioning that doing a show up to 13 times a week while loading in and loading out AND driving to your next venue (sometimes up to 8 hours) is not exactly a cake walk. And it leads me to think about a conversation I had with a patron a few weeks back.

I had come across a sponsor at one of our venues who was very excited to speak to me. She gushed about the show (which was very nice, as it had been a particularly tough performance) and then asked me a very simple, very leading question: "So, this must be just the most fun thing to do ever, right?" My instincts kicked in and I responded with mostly positive remarks, but it got me thinking. Yes, I love this show to bits and am thrilled beyond words that I am currently gainfully employed as an actor, but, just like anything else, doing the same thing over and over for months can take its toll. And it can start to feel like "a job," the same as any other. Some days, it's hard to get yourself going. And the energy of the show, in addition to our load-in and load-out, can leave you utterly exhausted. Sadly, I was starting to see myself getting frustrated and "rutted" during our local run-outs during the last few days. That, my friends, is an actor's nightmare.

And then Fairfield happened.

We had three lovely performance there, two of which were for the general public, where we actively saw kids and parents coming together. Moms, Dads and Grandma's laughing along at the PG humor with the kids sitting open-mouthed, following Max and Ruby's antics within an inch of their lives. And they applauded Max & Ruby's entrances, clapped along during our closing number and gave us such a warm reception that we all just wanted to race back out their give them a big hug. And, most tangibly, these two notes arrived backstage:

Dear Ruby,
When you said to Max to take a nap, some of the blue tarantula's legs came up and I also saw the blue tarantula's head. It was popping up its head. The blue tarantula is only fake. Please tell Max Because Max was kind of scared.
Love Kate

Dear Max,
You shouldn't have been afraid. The tarantula was very silly. The play was very fun. And you are great because you look cute. I made a SuperBunny book that has 4 pages and one chapter. And I really, really like your play.
Love Emma.

A scanned version is on its way.

If that isn't a reminder of why we do show, dress in these crazy costumes, sing along to these peppy tracks and build this monster house, I don't know what is.

Kid quote of the day: On Ruby's suggestion that Max take a nap, all the kids shouted NO and the grownups shouted YES. See what I mean about bringing people together?

Call tomorrow: 7:45am, parking lot of Hampton Inn in Concord/Bow, NH. And boy am I ready for it!

Maine / Lobster Feast / Auditions

So, this has been our run-out of Maine shows. Augusta the first day, then a quick trip to Worchester, MA (where we played in a 150 year old theater/meeting house) and finally a return visit to Portland for our final show on this run-out. After which we drove all the way back to New York. Needless to say, our return to the city was much-needed; we were pooped.

Anyway, all three days were noteworthy show-wise. In Augusta, we played on a stage set up in the middle of a basketball stadium. Which was really, really, really, really weird. Such a cavernous space is exhausting and everybody was zapped by the end. In Worchester, our 150 year old theater came complete with pictures of important dead white guys on the walls. And over 1000 screaming kids. Which definitely made us feel like rock stars. Finally, Portland held about 2000 kids on a stage that rivals anything I've ever seen in terms of depth and width. Both of the latter two spaces also had elevators for our load-in/load-out, which added an extra level of challenge. Plus, Maine is really cold, and (having just gotten back from Florida) nobody was really as prepared as we should have been.

Maine also continued to bring out the foodies in this cast. I don't think I've put this up here yet, but I've come to realize that the one thing you can sort-of control on tour is what you eat. And our cast has what a friend of mine would call "good eaters"; we know what we like and aren't afraid to go in search of it. So, being in Maine, I took it upon myself to organize a lobster dinner. We chose Portland as our location, and I got a restaurant recommendation from our super-swanky (and heavily-discounted; thanks Theatreworks!!) hotel. Leah, Lydia, Leigh and Michelle joined me for the Feast. I think this sums it up:




(I forgot my camera at the hotel, so these pictures are via phone camera. Hence the quality.)

I (and we) had a lovely time. A number of people kept the indulgence going by having breakfast in bed the next day. I opted for a local coffee shop, which was so good that I'm actually considering a return trip to Portland just so that I can have another cappuccino. Seriously, people, it was that good.

Back in the city today, four of us trekked out for an audition. Which means, apparently, there is life after this tour. Since we all got times before 10:30am, we decided that, if nothing else, this tour has taught us how to sing well and pump up the energy early in the day, thus giving us a distinct advantage over all those other folks in line. I also brought my CHA-CHING hat for luck. Everybody rubbed it before we went in. If that's not a bond, I don't know what is.

Kid quote of the day: Today, the floor creek in Blue Tarantula elicited a different response. Regarding Ruby: "Oh, now SHE'S scared!!"

Call tomorrow: 2:45pm, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We've got a 6:30pm show on Long Island. Life is beautiful.

Beep-us Interrupt-us

So, I'm blogging from NYC, where we are stationed for two nights, as we prep for the "northern" part of our tour. Maine, Mass, Rhode Island, Connecticut, here we come! However, before we get up that far north, it's time to recap the excitement of, in this case, Upstate New York.

The most eventful of our shows came in Saratoga Springs. The town, by the way, is easily one of the nicest in which we've spent the night. Lovely college-town feel, with springs and cheap eats/drinks. I got a peak at the town when Leah and I went out to grab food. And the next morning, refreshed and relaxed (and having sampled some of the local spring water, straight from the source), we headed to our venue inside a Middle School. Where we were supplied with a breakfast of Dunkin' Donuts and coffee, and given made-to-order subs for lunch. Did I mention how much I love Saratoga?

Anyway, our first show went great and, after our provided lunch, we were all ready for a super-dooper second show. The kids filed into the theater, Lydia made our pre-show announcement, the overture played and Ruby went out to say her first lines. As she was discovering the mud pie, however, blaring beeps and flashing lights interrupted the show. It appears that somebody in the kitchen had set off the fire alarm, and the entire school (actors included) was to evacuate as quickly as possible. Meaning all six of us, in costume, headed out of the building and into confusion. On our left were the under-6 year-olds of our audience, a little freaked out by the incidents of the last few minutes (and confused as to why Max didn't have ears; we all put our hats back on immediately). On the right were middle school students, who did the classic point-and-laugh routine. Hoping to avoid the ogglers, and to keep the kiddies happy, we retreated to the van, which also caused an interesting sight:



Emileena joined us with the news that this might take a while, so Ben and Michelle headed out to teach the kids basic fire safety (watching Ben "stop, drop and roll" in the Max costume is perhaps one of the funniest things I've seen on this tour). Twenty minutes later, the "all clear" came, and we headed inside, only to discover that we had only 30 minutes in which to do a 50 minute show. Some quick thinking ensued and we decided to summarize the first half of the show, and perform from the attic onwards. Which felt weird. I kept forgetting which part of the play we were in! However, the show went smoothly and the kiddies loved us. Which is, of course, ultimately what matters. Emileena hosted a quick Q&A in the remaining five minutes after our show wrapped up, and then we loaded out. Certainly one of our strangest days.

Kid quote of the day: During the talk back, a little girl asked, very earnestly, "Does the Blue Tarantula bite?"

Call tomorrow: 9am, Manhattan garage near Columbia. We're going to Maine. I know somebody who's going to be eating a lobster!!!

Ethan Gets "Fired"

Yes, it’s true. I got fired from the Max and Ruby Red tour. However, so did everyone else in the company. Don’t worry, nobody did anything bad, and we all knew it was coming. In fact, we’re pretty OK with it.

Emileena received termination notices for us while we were in Wilmington, NC, where we gave four really good shows at the (almost) 150 year old Thalian Hall theater. Great kids, even better adults, a perfectly-sized space, really nice sponsors, awesome crew members, a full spread of food each day, shower facilities with fresh towels… we were in touring company heaven! I have actually fallen for Wilmington’s downtown area, and think it would be a great town for an SPT (small professional theater) or summerstock company. If anyone in Wilmington is reading this and knows of a professional theater in the area that might be casting NYC actors, would you please let me know? I’d really love to come back!!

Anyway, back to getting fired. Theatreworks was unable to fill the last two weeks of our tour’s run, so they have chosen to end our contracts early. However, in order to enable us to collect unemployment (and, of course, not pay us for weeks we aren’t working) they formally terminated our contracts. I know, I wasn’t really “fired” per-se, but it’s fun to hear people’s reactions when I tell them. And I like getting my kicks any way I can.

It’s also interesting to see how the impending end of our show is playing out communally. I remember how, in college, high school and some of my non-paying gigs in NYC, the end of a show signaled a time for some serious celebration. In high school, it was the excitement of a cast party at someone’s house and a trip to Perkins. College and NYC brought bars (dive and otherwise) and diners, where the party lasted and lasted. However, here in the “real world” of paid acting gigs, the end of a job is met with a mix of relief and trepidation. Sure, we’re having a lot of fun (as made clear, I hope, by this blog), but touring is hard, hard work, and we’re all in need of a break and a change. At the same time, however, we’ve all just lost our jobs and, unless you have something lined up (which a few of us do; I’m back at the zoo, for those of you familiar with those exploits), it’s time to rock the unemployment, or return to temping, as you audition like mad for your next job. And you can never be sure where it will come from, and how much it will pay. And that’s the scary part.

However, we’ve got 33 more days left on this contract, so I intend to have as much fun with these folks as I possibly can. Besides the fact that I’ve been paid for 16 weeks to dance around in a gorilla suit, wear fluffy bunny ears and sing in my falsetto, by the time this ends, I’ll also have set foot in every state on the Eastern Seaboard (plus Alabama, but we don’t talk about that), vacationed in Florida for 2 weeks and learned how to drive a giant Dodge Sprinter van without causing (too much) damage. And, perhaps most importantly, I’ve made some good friends, people who I hope I’ll be able to keep up with after this tour, both personally and professionally. We may be in each other’s hair a little bit too much right now (such is life in a maxivan for four weeks on the road), but, deep down, I love ‘em all, and am happy to have new faces in my “Urban Tribe.” So, let the adventures continue, even if they’re being cut a little short!!

Kid quote of the day: At the end of the show, Ruby becomes panicked when she looks at the town clock and discovers that “It’s almost 4 o’clock!!” During one of the Wilmington shows, after Ruby gave her line and all the Bunny Scouts gasped, a little boy very excitedly told his mother, “Mom, it’s almost 4 o’clock!!”

Call tomorrow: 7:30am, parking lot outside Hulbert House, Boonville, NY. Oh Lordy! We’ve got a 9am at a school, we’re expected to get to our hotel around 11pm and we’ve been driving since 7am.

Introductions: Froggie

Even MORE extreme blogging! You’d think I was on a tour or something…

We just got done with four awesome shows in Wilmington, NC (more on that soon) and are starting our drive towards Upstate NY, so it’s time for another introduction. Meet Froggie.



Froggie is an exercise in deep acting, serious focus, intense listening, and motivated ribbiting. Indeed, my exploits at Prospect Park Zoo prepared me well to, as they say, “become one with the frog.” The frog appears in one scene, where Max and Ruby are headed to Grandma’s house to pick up costumes for the show. Max finds a froggie in the pond and Ruby tries to get him to put it back. Max controls the frog onstage, moving him in and out of his pockets and making him “hop,“ while I provide vocal “ribbits” offstage, sometimes with an eye on what’s happening, sometimes not. And this frog is a pretty playful fellow.

I had no idea I would be playing a frog when I signed up for this gig. At our first read thru, Jeff informed me that the RIBBIT notations in the script were actually lines—my lines—and that it was my job to figure out how they worked. And thus began my descent into Froggie-dom. First, I decided each RIBBIT was based on the frog’s state of being at the time. Did he like the front pocket? What about the back? How does he feel about being held? Was there a time when he wanted to be back in the pond? What’s his relationship with Max and Ruby? And how does one translate these states of being into motivated RIBBITs?

Yeah, so, that didn’t work. Clearly, I was spending WAY too much time thinking about the frog, and not enough time thinking about how the frog functions in the scene. The frog is Max’s buddy, and an extension of him. So, if Max is excited, Froggie is excited. If Max is cheeky, so is Froggie. Jeff and Tracy had me watch the scene from the front a few times, croaking along, hitting my consonants hard and making the RIBBIT sound more onomatopoeic. And it worked! The scene tightened, the jokes got funny and I even got to throw in a pissed off frog sound. What was introduced to us as a “filler” scene is actually one of the favorites in the show. Frequently, I have to guess at my cues, because the kids are screaming so loud that I can barely make out what’s happening on-stage.



RIBBIT!!

Kid quote of the day: During Blue Tarantula, Ruby and Max get scared by a very large creaking sound that comes from under Max’s bed. In the air after the sound cue, a very frightened voice chirped: “Uh oh.” Stopped the show.

Call tomorrow: 7:00am, Red Roof Inn parking lot, Richmond, VA. We’ve got a very full day of traveling to Upstate, NY.

Vans, Taxis and Three-Quarter Stages

More extreme blogging! We’re on the way back to North Carolina after a three-show day in Pennsylvania. Lydia is driving, Leigh is navigating, Ben is listening to his iPod Shuffle (purchased in Alabama), Leah is reading about the Texas polygamist cult in People and Amy Winehouse is singing her guts out on the speakers of our shiny red Ford Expedition.

WHAT? Ford Expedition?! Don’t you guys drive Sprinter vans?

Let me explain:

After Myrtle Beach, we had some very fun shows in Wilkesboro and Winston-Salem, NC. Great kids, beautiful theaters, excellent crews, super-high energy performances, but hard shows. We got a little out of shape stamina-wise during our time in Myrtle and were really tired at the end of each day. So, we were very much looking forward to our travel day up to PA. You see, we needed to make up that three-show day that got snowed out in February (I reference the “SNOW DAY!!!” entry), and this was our opportunity. So, we spent a day heading north and landed ourselves in Chester, PA, at our Days Inn. Which is where the excitement started.

First, Leah reported that she couldn’t get our passenger van door to stay shut. Then Michelle informed us that she too was having issues. The door’s ability to close fully has been a consistent problem on this tour, and the mechanism has been looked at by Dodge dealerships up and down the east coast, none of whom could resolve the issue. Then, when Ben and Lydia were out grabbing food, the door went flying open while on the road. Lydia managed to bungee the door (sorta) shut and Ben drove slowly for the rest of the ride. The lock, it seemed, jammed shut, and the door was sliding around anytime it was on the road:



The next day, we were traveling by taxi caravan.

(Quick note about the hotel: a heroin spoon and pipe were found in one of the rooms’ ventilation systems. Sally-Swims-a-Lot will cover this topic, as well as the door, in more extensive detail, as she has additional knowledge on and video footage of each. A link will be posted when her entry goes up.)

We arrived at our venue and discovered that the stage was a three-quarter stage, meaning audience was on three of four sides of the stage. Our show is blocked and set for a proscenium environment. Suddenly, when you’ve got kiddies to the left and right (and, in my case, you are about a foot taller than the leads), the whole show changes. Blocking opened up, the WHOLE show moved back on the stage and you become super-conscious of who can see you (or, in my case, everyone shorter than me). A challenge, yes, but we all know this show so well that it’s nearly impossible to throw us. And, as I think I have said before, it’s these oddities that happen onstage that get me going and keep me engaged.

We lunched at Perkins, where the hats came out and everyone sang CHA-CHING! as we noted our two hours of meal invasion. Emileena called the taxis, which were to take us back to the hotel for some serious R&R before our evening performance, and we hunkered down on the benches outside the restaurant. After about a half hour, the Perkins manager came out to shoo us away, assuming we were loiterers from the local high school. Another half-hour passed. No cabs. Another half-hour passed, and I was fed up. We were within walking distance of our venue, so I left the cast, snuck back into the theater, curled up backstage behind a drape and crashed for an hour and a half. Sleep that I really, really, REALLY needed.

We gave a great evening show (the audience clapped along with the finale!) and headed back to the hotel, ready to crash. My body was angry at me for putting it through three shows, and I was out almost immediately after my head hit the pillow. This morning, Lydia and Emileena delivered our passenger van to a dealership and then picked our Expedition at Avis. We’ve got a nice little sit-down in Wilmington, NC, and they we start heading towards Upstate New York for a few shows, at which point we will be reunited with our van. I hope it makes it through.

Kid quote of the day: During the curtain call, a little girl shouted, “Bravo, Ruby!! Bravo!!”

Call tomorrow: 11am, Days Inn parking lot, Wilmington, NC. Nothing like afternoon shows!!

Myrtle Madness Part III: Max & Ruby Red and the Hat Crusade

We have new uniforms!

Myrtle Madness Part II: Max & Ruby Red and the Parking Lot of Doom

A warning to my more tenderhearted readers: this post is rated PG.

(Picking up where we left our heroes in Part 1…)

Our trip back from nighttime singing and swimming wasn’t exactly the smoothest. Try as we might, our eagle eyes managed to miss the turn in for our beach community. After about four miles, Leigh and I (driving again) agreed that it would be best to turn around. Leigh pointed out a Goodyear dealership, large enough for me to pull a three-point turn, and we headed in.

My first instinct that something was amiss at this location was that, at 2am, the place was packed. Cars in every open spot, a line behind our van for entrance, and no lights on. And, as our headlights shone over to one side, I observed a strange sight: a very tall, leggy woman, wearing three inch, red stiletto heels, red, sequined booty shorts and a tiny halter top climbed out of the passenger seat of a car. She slunk over to another waiting car. She opened the passenger door and sat down. The door closed. The woman’s head disappeared below the dashboard.

“Ethan,” Leigh said calmly, but firmly. “I think we need to get out of here.”

As I put the car into reverse to complete the turn, I realized the folly of our ways. We drive Sprinters, which are extra-long maxivans. They beep when we back up. Every head in the lot turned.

All of a sudden, two men popped out about ten feet in front of the van, both wearing suits and looking not so happy. Leigh reported two behind us. Three girls popped out on the side. All, apparently, walking towards the van. And not looking too happy. “Go, Ethan,” Leigh urged. “Go, go, GO!!” That was all I needed to hear.

The car swung out of the parking lot and towards the safety of the highway without hitting anyone or anything. And without any of us meeting up with the underbelly of Pawleys Island.

If you are looking for a good time in Myrtle Beach, might I suggest you avoid the Goodyear dealership?


Kid quote of the day: We had an audience that ended up seeing us post show, as they exited the gymnacafetorium through our backdrops. As we were all still in costume, we waved at the kids. One very precocious little boy approached me (still in the Gracie costume) and asked, very earnestly, “Why are you a boy in a dress?”

Call tomorrow: You’re kidding, right?

Myrtle Madness Part I: Max & Ruby Red and the Rockers of Lost Karaoke (Bar)

So, we arrived in Myrtle Beach (or, more specifically, Pawleys Island) around noon, and found our place of residence for the next three days to be incredible: open, airy, with a pond in the back, a pool to the right and a golf course behind all of it. And a kitchen. That was probably the best part.

We settled, got groceries, Michelle whipped up a batch of sangria, and Lydia and I started to figure out the gas grill. This was a mistake, as I am not exactly the world’s best grill master, but we muddled through and made some very tasty (although not terribly beautiful) beef and Boca burgers. After dinner and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (we watched the entire trilogy during our three days there), Leigh, Michelle, Leah and I were ready to play. On the way in, Michelle spotted the Pub ‘n Grub, which promised karaoke that evening, starting at 9pm. After some deliberation (and clothing changes), we convened at our passenger van at 9:37pm, ready to head off and rock our hearts out.

As we turned into the parking lot, a squeal of excitement came from the back seat (I was driving): “BIKERS!!” Indeed, there were about fifty hogs sitting outside the bar, and the inside was filled with smoke, leather and biker babes/dudes. Singing country. This was going to be exciting. We hurried in, grabbed the songbooks, ordered up a round of Jack and Coke and began plotting our entrée into this strange new world.

Michelle was first up. Her rendition of Let ‘er Rip, including some SERIOUS riffing at the end, made a big splash. The four of us were already cheering up a storm for everyone who got up to sing (earning us some very strange looks), and you’d better believe we went wild for our own people. Leigh’s Bye Bye brought down the house, I got people up dancing for Uptown Girl and Leah’s Piece of My Heart was a performance that would have made Janis proud. By the time second songs rolled around, we had befriended a bunch of bikers, bartenders and bar-folk, and successfully moved the music selection closer to pop/rock standards. Someone actually told us: “You make this bar fun.” Clearly, we New York folk were turning some hearts.

And, perhaps, one a little too much.

Crash, as he liked to be called, decided he wanted to seduce the ladies. Not just one, but all three. Leah, Michelle and Leigh successfully fended him off (despite promises that “I got a boat, thirty-foot boat,” “I got a band, rock band; you can sing in it” and “I got more money than Davey Crockett”), so I was the one who got to play “super boyfriend,” and listen to Crash’s sad tales of loneliness. One of the better conversations:

[Crash, covered in alcohol-smelling sweat, approaches me and gives me a bear hug.]
Crash: Man, I don’t know how you do it. All three of ‘em at once.
Me (trying to think on my feet): Well, um, it’s… hard.
[Crash nods sadly, knowingly, and hobbles back to the bar for another.]

After a few more songs (including Journey's Don't Stop Believin' and Mamma Mia), we said goodbye to Crash and our new biker friends. The van was calling. After a brief stop to dive into the ocean in our underwear (again; remember Miami?), we began the long journey back to our secluded home, confident that the hijinks of our evening were successfully ended.

They weren’t.

(To be continued…)



Kid quote of the day: As the bunny scouts mourn the demise of the castle, which Max has knocked down, a little girl in the third row very patiently consoled us: “It’s OK.”

Call tomorrow: I think we all woke up around noon. Something like that.

(Not So) Sweet Home Alabama

Alabama left a little something to be desired. OK, maybe MORE than a little something to be desired. Well, actually, as a company, we’re not talking about Alabama anymore.

It was bad. Real bad.

We arrived at our venue the night before our show, enjoying our free hour (AL is in the Central Time Zone), and unloaded the van to set up the set. You see, we were scheduled to perform a 9:15am and a 10:45am, but, when Emileena called to confirm our dates/times, we were informed that the venue changed its plans, and we now had an 8:45am and a 10:30am. That’s only thirty minutes on one end and fifteen on another, but, as we can only be called as early as 6am, those are big minutes, especially concerning load-in. So, we got permission to load in the night before, and we got help. Nobody was too thrilled about performing that early (as a wise friend once observed, “Singers aren’t meant to sing before 10am”), but we were all grateful for the extra sleep, and a call time of 7:50am.

Anyway, back at the theater, during our evening load in, the excitement began. The space was too small for our set (about 16 feet across; we are used to 30+), so (for the third time) we built without the house. Emileena’s sound set up, however, is the same regardless of the set size, so she was up in the booth, working very hard with the local crew sound guy. They were working on sound and we were doing touch-up paint when everyone heard a loud crash. Looking in direction of the house, we spied the remnants of our minidisk player lying on the ground. (Just for clarification, all sound and music comes from tracks on a minidisk.) Apparently, the sound guy had precariously balanced our player on the top of the balcony, and his risk hadn’t paid off. The player was broken, and we had a show the next morning. Our sound guy offered his equipment (from a theater in another town), and also promised to figure out the lights, bring in the legs and attempt to repair our player. We left to get some sleep and decompress in a Super 8 where two good-ol’-boys were grilling on a mini propane stove in the outdoor hallway.

The next morning, breakfast at the Super 8 failed to materialize. In fact, it consisted of a few slices of bread, four plastic-wrapped cinnamon buns and coffee. Nobody really ate (although there were promises of food at the theater, which did materialize, albeit a little late). We headed off to the theater, where we discovered that no lights had been set and the legs had not been brought down. However, our minidisk player appeared to have been fixed. We quickly set for the beginning of the show, ran through the opening number and began our own presets. Breakfast was eaten, kids were brought in, costumes were placed, props were checked, new blocking was discussed (to accommodate the space) and “places” was call. The show began well enough, the overture and the first entrances, but then the fun began. Our first sound cues failed to materialize. And, as we neared the first lines of the song, poor Michelle was left to improvise her way into the music. “I’m looking for Max… where can he be? I’m looking all over, everywhere. What’s over here? Mud. And here? ore mud.” Backstage, the wheels were turning and, as Mr. Barley is the next character to enter, we decided to send me on. As I was approaching the stage, however, Emileena came running down the aisle, announcing that there was a technical difficulty and that we would be restarting the show shortly. As we exited, there was a brief consideration of running the show off of an iPod, but that thought was dashed when Emileena called places and we started again. With a new minidisk player installed up at the booth.

All, however, was not solved. Because, for whatever reason, the new minidisk player failed to pause after each individual cue. When meant, on multiple occasions, cues came one after another, until Emileena was free enough to stop the thing. And, a few times, cues came that actors had to acknowledge (such as a ringing phone), thus shortening quick-change times and scene changes. That, coupled with the fear that music might not always be there and a tiny, tiny stage (necessitating some very fast thinking and onstage blocking changes), made for a scary show. And, according to Emileena, one of the most high-energy, engaged and committed shows we’ve ever given. The kids absolutely loved it! However, everybody backstage was about to have a heart attack.

And, just to add to the fun, the Styrofoam neck on the Blue Tarantula puppet snapped mid-show. Urg!

Our second show came right afterwards. Everyone took some time (Leigh knitted, Michelle and I did yoga, everyone else achieved some sort of meditative state), and then we started all over again. Practice made things better, but it was still a scary proposition, being on that small stage, doing our blocking and praying that there would be music. And, amid all the frustration, there was something fun about the experience. It was a new show, for all its problems, and it certainly kept us fresh. I just wish it hadn’t come with the whole fear-of-crashing-off-the-edge-of-the-stage-in-unexpected-silence-because-the-minidisk-player-was-broken thing.

We lunched at Sonic, drowning our sorrows in Cherry Limeade (and wishing we had something to spike it with), and loaded out. And on the way to our Smyrna, GA hotel, Leigh and Lydia made two very wise statements: “We will need to bitch about this tonight,” observed Lydia. “Yes,” Leigh added, “and then we will never speak of it again.”



Kid quote of the day: Umm, to be honest, I wasn’t really playing attention. Sorry.

Call tomorrow: 6am. Although it’s an unofficial one. We have 4 days off, and we’re going to Myrtle Beach, for some more time off in Lydia’s family’s beach house. And, in light of recent events, I think we really need it.

Two, Three and Four

So, we’ve just left Florida, heading for our Georgia hotel, on the way to Alabama, where we have two shows. Lydia is at the wheel, Ben is navigating, and I am flanked by Michelle and Leah in the back seat. The iPod is playing Andrew Bird. In case you haven’t guessed by now, I’m writing from the van. EXTREME BLOGGING!! Exciting, right? (Hey, I gotta get my thrills somehow.)

Today’s show was, for me, a lesson in child development. We performed at a preschool in a Methodist church. They had a big, cavernous, sprung-floor gym, large enough for the entire set and an audience of 100 kids, plus a ton of parents. So, with the full house built (and tons of room to spare in all directions), our eager audience was ushered in and seated down according to age: two year-olds in front, three year-olds in the middle and four year-old in the back (with the kids-at-heart in chairs behind them, of course).

Now, they tell me that two year-olds and four year-olds are pretty far apart developmentally. Sure, they’ll react to the same kind of stimulus, but in very different ways. And this was made very clear to me at today’s show, particularly during the Blue Tarantula. As the scene started, the four year-olds were actively excited, moving around nervously and clapping their hands erratically. The three year-olds shifted a little, but had their eyes glued on Max and Ruby. Our two year-old audience members were staring at, um, something (not sure what), and pulling some severe slack-jaw.

And, as it got scarier, the differences became more profound.

The two year-olds covered their ears. The three year-olds covered their eyes. And the four year-olds laughed. Hard. Pretty cool, huh?

Perhaps, however, the greatest moment of the show was at the end. We went backstage to change (Ruby and Valerie went out to meet some kids, but they returned quickly) and, after the house had cleared, we went to grab some lunch. However, when we returned, we found these on Ruby’s table:



Our first fan mail!!! They’re going up in the van.

I love kids!!

Kid quote of the day: Before the show, a little boy waddled in and excitedly asked, “Is that Max & Ruby’s house?” After his teacher informed him that it was indeed their house, he asked, “Can I go inside?”

Call tomorrow: 11:00am, Quality Inn parking lot in Tiftin, GA. Heading to Alabama. Oh boy.

Back in the Saddle Again

So, our time in New Port Richey was bound to come to an end. But not without a show, of course. This time, at the River Ridge Center for the Performing Arts, attached to a high school.

I wish my high school had a theater like this.

A full-sized, new stage, with actual fly space, four electrics, an automated traveller and enough smart lights to run four rock concert. And a paid crew. Of high school students. Who were, honestly, one of the best and most enthusiastic crews we've had. Super energetic, really professional and a well-oiled machine. And, get this: the school isn't a performing arts high school. I'd love to see one of their shows.

And then we had our show. And it felt SO GOOD to do it again. As nice as it was to have some time off, I miss the show when we're off. I think I've probably driven the cast mad with the random show bits that come out of my mouth during our off hours, but I really do love doing it. Anyway, we slipped and slid around the stage (there was a puddle that appeared during the opening number; not sure where it came from) and discovered we were rusty in a few spots, but it was a good show. And the kids went crazy. They started cheering after our curtain speech and didn't stop until the end. Ruby actually had to give a few "simmer down now" hand signals during the Froggie scene to keep them from screaming too loud. And, the screams during Tarantula were so intense and perfectly timed that everybody except Leigh lost it during the song. So, that was fun. And a good reminder about why we do this.

Now we're in Deland, at a Comfort Inn, watching something on TV that looks very old, after having downed a pizza (but no beer). We have two days left in Florida, and I already know I'm going to miss it.

Kid quote of the day: At the very beginning of the Treasure song, Grandma hints that there are two treasures in the room that will make Ruby's show perfect. At the first mention of the treasures, a little girl shouted: "You two!!" Kids these days, they sure are smart.

Call tomorrow: 7:15am, parking lot at the Comfort Inn, Deland, FL. We're performing at a church.

Introductions: Alien Green Gorilla

New Port Richey, FL is fun and restful, but we've had a lot of downtime (and it's currently raining). So, apart from beautiful beaches and good dinners, there isn't too much to report (besides the fact that my shoulders have come down about three inches due to the extreme amounts of sleep I've been getting, and that my skin is a few shades darker.) Which leads me to my next introduction. Meet the Alien Green Gorilla:



The good-old AGG is a hardcore toy. As Robin told me at my initial audition, "It's not enough that he's just an alien gorilla - he's also green." And, indeed, I would add: he's not just an alien green gorilla - he's a cowboy alien green gorilla (because he sings a verse of our country-western song "Cowboy Max"). So, you see, the part gave me a lot to work with from the get-go. We've had to integrate elements of Star Trek with Bonanza and bits of King Kong. I actually get to leap onstage (catching some serious air in the process) and do the whole "sitting on my knuckles" thing while riding a hobbyhorse and shouting "YEEHAW!" And, the best part, the little boys and dads love me, with more than one going "whoa" when I make my entrance!! What could be better, right?

For me, the hardest thing to figure out was the gorilla's "growl so mean" (lyric quote, in case you were confused). According to the script, he is to utter a "guttural OO OO OO RAHHHR!" as both the mini doppelgänger version that Ruby and Max play with earlier in the scene and as my human-sized version. Initially, I had a really fierce growl going on, higher pitched for the little guy and deep and burly (well, as much as a tenor can) for the real entrance. However, after a few attempts this way, choreographer Tracy suggested something that would not strain my chords quite as much. We experimented with a few different growls and, on the very last day of rehearsal, discovered a loud, supported, sorta-resonant and very onomatopoeic "ROAR!!," identical for both the little guy and the big one. Emileena reports that my growls sound like they are coming from inside the house when I roar for the little guy, which I think is pretty cool.

And then there's the gorilla suit. Which I love, exhibited (I hope) by the fact that I keep repairing it. I have a wild costume change out of the gorilla, which causes most of the problems, as I essentially flip the entire thing inside out (it's one huge piece with a zipper in the back). It's also pretty warm inside, and not exactly the kind of thing that can be sent to the dry cleaners with all the other costumes, so I spray it down every day it Isopropyl alcohol and Febreze, and then wipe the inside out with baby wipes. This has helped a lot, but it's still a little smelly. Sorry Theatreworks/USA costume shop; I tried.

ROAR!!



Kid quote of the day: (This one is apropos) After my first "growl so mean," a little boy decided he wanted to join in. Thus, every time I growled or shouted "YEEHAW," he did too. Made me feel kinda special.

Call tomorrow: 7:30am, Days Inn parking lot in New Port Richey, FL. We're off to do our show again!

Ocala?

Hmmm. I seem to spy a trend here.

Ocala was, um, strange. We arrived at our (grey) venue's (locked) loading dock at the appointed time, only to find that our sponsor was nowhere to be found. After we found a custodian and managed to get the door opened, a strange sight greeted us: bright yellow-green drapes and borders. You see, our venue was a high school in the 1970s, and was now a community college. No dressing rooms, no backstage bathrooms, flickering light bulbs along an electric that looked like it hadn't been touched for years, and a very, very, very grey interior. Don't get me wrong: the space was fine and we were able to put up our set without any significant problems. It was just that, well, we were expecting a tad more.

Perhaps the most tense moment, however, came when we hit half-hour to curtain. Usually, by this time, we can hear the kids lined up outside, making excited "we-get-to-see-a-play" sounds. Silence. Utter silence. Deafening silence. So quiet that it made you wonder if (in that our arrival appeared a little unexpected) somebody forgot about our show. After about 15 minutes, the kiddies started arriving and we were able to relax, but it was perhaps the most nervous I have seen this cast prior to a performance.

We packed up (with the help of a dad, who was very sweet), ate at a Panera Bread and started the trek to New Port Richey, where we will be crashing for a few days. It's a beach town that's pretty quiet, but our hotel has a pool, spa and sauna, and there's enough touristy kitsch around to fill a few days. Plus, I'm right in the middle of Life of Pi and it's getting pretty good. So, time to hibernate.

Kid quote of the day: Just before she hangs up the phone, Grandma give Ruby an over-the-phone kiss. To which the kids always, ALWAYS scream: "Ewww."

Call tomorrow: None. And it feels pretty good.

Tampa?

We bid a sad farewell to Orlando, certain that we had sucked every bit of life out of the place, and headed towards our next venue: Tampa. This is a Floridian town of which I know absolutely nothing, so I was eager to give it the benefit of the doubt from the start. And we were doing pretty well, with Busch Gardens immediately across the street from our hotel, and rumors of beaches, the Yuengling brewery and an awesome, restored 1927 Moorish Revival movie theater (with a Wurlitzer!!) as our venue circulating throughout the cast. So, I guess the Days Inn with the musty smell and reported roaches was excusable. I mean, the price was right, we were scheduled for to do four shows in two days and we weren't planning to spend that much time there, right?

WRONG!!

After an 8am call and a thirty minute drive to the Tampa Theater, we decided that there was something amiss. The theater building was locked. Emileena raced around the block looking for an entrance as we sat in the passenger van nervously. After about a half hour, Emileena arrived with the news: shows had been cancelled about two weeks ago. In fact, one day was completely off, and the other had been shrunk down to one show. Tired, confused (and, honestly, a little excited for an extra day off), we headed off to our Days Inn, eager to figure out what the heck there was to do in this town.

My day was spent at the beach. Michelle, Ben, Lydia and I headed off to Clearwater Beach, FL (about 45 minutes away), where we lounged. Hardcore. The sand was that fine, sugar-y sand that sticks to your skin and the ocean water was frigid. Perfect. After some major nappage, Michelle and I took a stroll, returning to find Lydia and Ben holding onto a kite attached to 400 feet of string. This mounted an idea: SAND CASTLE. With the kite as our focal point, we built a giant structure, complete with a moat and guard towers (photos at the Sally-Swims-a-Lot blog). Dinner was at a little cafe near the beach, where we watched the thunderstorms roll in and listened to live music (and our nutty, singing head-waiter Deano). A great impromptu day off.

This morning, meeting up at 7:55am, we made it in for our only show. And the theater was all we had hoped for:



Cool, huh? Only problem was, the stage was too small for our entire set. So, for the second time, we performed our show sans house. A first for Leah, who handled it like a pro. The heat index was also really high (as it has been for most of our Florida shows), which also made the show a little rough, and most of us threw off our costumes immediately after we exited the stage for the final time. But, the kids loved it, we managed through, and the "show went on.

Now we're in Ocala, FL. Which reminds me of rural Minnesota, except warmer and with palm trees. Should be interesting.

Kid quote of the day: When Grandma told Max and Ruby that the two treasures in her attic will make the show perfect are "right in front of her," a little girl stood up and declared, "I knew it!"

Call tomorrow: 7:45am, Quality Inn parking lot in Ocala, FL. Oh boy!

Hunting for Gaters

Yep, we were in Florida, so we hunted them. And by hunted, I mean went out on an airboat and found ourselves a few new friends. And by friends, I mean 15 foot-long, big mouthed, sharp-toothed crocodilians. Grrr.



Kid quote of the day: As Max cowered in fear in Ruby's bedroom from the scary tarantula in his room, a little girl felt the need to inform the world: "He's not in his bed."

Call tomorrow: 8am, Days Inn in Tampa, right across from Busch Gardens. Double header at the Tampa Theater

Disney World!!

Our merry band assembled at 7:50am. Well, sort of. At 7:50am, Ben and I were sitting in the hotel lobby, waiting for everyone. I dialed Leigh's phone, only to learn that she would not be joining us. Neither would Lydia, Leah or Emileena. In fact, our merry band had, overnight, whittled itself down to three: Ben, Michelle and me. To make matters more interesting, the much-touted Disney shuttle evaporated. After some quick text messages and phone calls, we got clearance to use the Theatreworks cargo van. We were GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!!



Soon, our crew had arrived at the Magic Kingdom parking lot (section "Pluto 18," which my phone's text message dictionary insisted was actually "Plutocracy 18") and was ready to board the monorail to the "Happiest Place on Earth." As we entered the turnstiles, linking our tickets to ourselves through a fingerprint scan, the smell of cotton candy and popcorn filled the air. Main Street, USA opened before us as Pluto, Chip, Dale and Pinocchio signed autographs and a group of eight dancers performed a medley of trolly-themed showtunes. "Wow," I commented. "And we thought it was hard doing our show at 10:30am."

And, of course, as we turned the corner, Cinderella's castle opened before me. Michelle, our cast's resident Tinkerbell, insisted on a photo:



And then it was ride time. The Steam Boat cruise, the Haunted Mansion, Small World, Peter Pan (where Michelle made a friend: Smilo), Dumbo, the Tea Cups and Snow White (which stopped halfway through). Wanting for something a little more intense, we headed for Splash Mountain and Thunder Mountain, when Michelle's friend Danielle arrived. She's "close personal friends" with a number of Disney characters and, after joining us on a wild train ride, she offered us an interesting proposition: free tickets to Epcot. The expense of a Disney trip made the "park hopper" option outside our actor-budgets, so we had planned to limit ourselves to the Magic Kingdom. However, this new development provided ample opportunity for more debauchery. And we took it (after lunch and some cool-down time at an in-park choral concert, where the big hit song was by Styx.)

Epcot proved to be more our style. Danielle walked us over to the MISSION: Space ride, which simulates a flight to Mars. Cool, cool, cool! So cool. So, so, so cool. So cool, in fact, that the three of us haven't stopped talking about it. With that and Spaceship Earth out of the way (the one in the golf ball; it's my favorite ride in all the parks!), it was time to experience Epcot as it is meant for the 21+ crowd: Drinking Around the World. For those not in "the know" (and I certainly wasn't!), this means going to all of the 11 country pavilions at Epcot and indulging in something alcoholic. However, in that I'm a lightweight and we did have to drive ourselves back at some point, our trip was "selective." Meaning we skipped a few places. One place we did tackle, however, was China, where I tried Chinese Cabernet and Ben showed off his awesome rubber-coated-stick-things skills:



Dinner and fireworks were in Morocco, and then we high-tailed it back to Magic Kingdom to catch a ride on Space Mountain. As fireworks burst overhead and the castle glowed blue in the background, we decided that it was time to turn in. Fifteen and a half hours at Disney will do anybody in, and we were happy, but exhausted. I drove home, as Ben and Michelle snoozed, and, with visions Mickey and Minnie in our heads, we crashed like we've never crashed before. And it was easily the best day on this tour yet.



Kid quote of the day (from Disney): A little kid in the Peter Pan line: "I'm flying!" Maybe not the best on this tour, but it certainly made me smile.

Call tomorrow: 11:30am, La Quinta parking lot. We're driving to Tampa. Woohoo! (I think?)