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!