DAY THIRTEEN - IN AND OUT, UP AND DOWN, ALL OVER TOWN, AND SO IT GOES

The last day of our time at the Fringe arrives. We wake, we move, we walk. A long walk at that. There's been a substantial amount of moving things around on this one. From the first day to the last, with bonus moves in between. 

Keeps us healthy. 

But the new place is nice. Quiet. Clean. I dig it. Lisa digs it. We dig it.

And so, after setting up our things, we take a stroll down this lovely street to see a dance show called Midsommar. 

It's fucking amazing. Beautiful. Wild. Original. I don't know if it's inspired by the movie and I really don't care. It's brilliant.

We walk into the space. First thing we notice: There is dirt on the floor. Dark, loamy, the kind of dirt life pops out of. Also, there are all these young girls on the stage. They could be anywhere between 14 and 30. There is a wildness to them. A danger. They all seem to be anticipating something that will be happening soon. They also all have laurels of flowers in their hair.  They keep looking out into the audience as we walk in. Some smile. Some flat out stare. One of them walks up to Lisa, places her crown of flowers on Lisa's head. One by one, all the dancers place their flowers on someone in the audience. And then the dance begins. Music pulsates. The dancers perform this ritual of spring and life and power and fear and it's transportive. It's like a dream of that party you went to after dropping acid. 

It's enthralling and kinetic and I love it.

Next we stroll over to ZOO Playground to see Sam Bate's new play Sessions. This is a serious play about serious things, and it's beautiful in every sense. The writing is spot on, organic, funny, real, fast-paced and on point, at times brutal and at other times brimming with empathy and insight. The acting is some of the best I've seen at the Fringe. Ever.  Kudos to Sam Bates for both writing and directing, Adam Halcro for his incendiary turn as George, Naytanael Isareal for his rock solid portrayal of David, Finlay Murray for a subtle but powerful design, and Stacey Cullen for producing this fabulous, numinous new play. Go see it if you can!

So, now I am full of two brilliant shows. Nothing left to do but give our final performance of Banned at Fringe. The house is full. The cast is primed. We've been up and down and all over the past ten days. We are ready. We go out and give the best performance yet. The audience by the end is yelling and hooting and hollering, and I feel both elated and sad. Elated at the show tonight, sad that now that we've cracked it and I think could do it for a while quite well, it's time to pack our bags and head to points unknown. 

We have a cast drink atop the Johnny Walker building, which is lovley. The views are stunning and we are all in high spirits. After, some of us head to Greenside HQ for their end of the week party. I see a lot of people I've met this week. Meet some more. Talk with others I met last year who now feel like old friends. Which of course they are. Somehow it's past midnight and time to go, and we walk for over half an hour, through a town still dancing, past theatre's going dark, down some of the prettiest streets you will every see, to our quiet room and sleep.

In the morning, some take the high road, some take the low. Lisa and I take a car and head to the Highlands.

More on that soon. 

Here's a song. It's Sinatra. One for My Baby. The baby in question being the show we just closed. One for my baby, and one more for the road.

DAY TWELVE - SAINTS AND POETS AND ELVES AND FAGHAGS

I'm not seeing enough shows. I see a couple everyday. It's not enough. So much theatre. So much talent. So much story and song and inventiveness and brilliance.

The Fest is like life that way, magnified and amplified and dramatized in every way possible.

I walk the streets and see poster after poster of something that looks cool.

I meet person after person, mostly actors and writers and directors, all interesting and funny and having some show they want me to see, and that I do indeed want to see.

But there's just not enough time. 

And Time does not give any extras. 

So you do what you can. Develop an appreciation for where you are, what sight you are seeing, conversation you are having, show you do manage to see.

It's thrilling and sad in equal measure.

Walked down the Royal Mile yesterday to check out the Palace. So gorgeous and full of history and Lion Rampants and Mary Queen of Scots. It's this combination of history and beauty, the Palace. Part of it is a functioning home to the Royals, part of it's the ruin of an ancient church. 

And there's a wooden floor with blood stains from when Mary Stuart's husband stabbed a guy he thought she was messing around with fifty some odd times. 

Very dramatic.

We spend a few hours walking the Palace, then speed walk to a performance of "I'm Almost There", which is this semi-one man show, a musical of sorts, about life and love and working through your shit after meeting someone and thinking you are falling in love. It's beautiful and hilarious and touching. The show is the main guy at a piano, plus a harpist and bassist who not only accompany but become some of the characters the main guy mentions. The whole show is like a monologue, a confessional one person show, all about a chance meeting that leads to a day spent walking and talking and connecting to a missed kiss, a cup of coffee, and how the journey to a decision, to taking a step forward, to simply accepting a cup of coffee brought unbidden, can be an odyssey of the soul. 

It's brilliant. 

We walk home, and happen upon this strange, wondrous tea shop, run by two young women who might be elves. They smile, talk and sing to themselves as we walk about the shop, smelling little samples of tea. It's one of those random stores you find now and then- well, you find them a lot here in Edinburgh but this place is another dimension, to be certain. We buy some tea and a brownie that one of the elves tells me is "most certainly the best brownie you will ever have". 

I haven't eaten it yet, but I'm fairy certain when I do I will find I can levitate or speak with animals or something.

Then it's time for the show. And it's one of those shows where things just feel odd. First off, there's a street band playing outside the building, behind and below us on Victoria Street, which is this winding cobble stoned thoroughfare that looks like Diagon Alley, because it was the inspiration for Diagon Alley. The band has an excellent sound system, and we can hear them as the play is being performed. The audience is almost a strange mix, with some looking rather unimpressed, and one guy somehow napping. In my big fight scene, my Apple Watch, which I wear but have turned to theatre mode so it won't ring, starts beeping. 

But even so, it's a solid show. Tight. The cast has this thing down and are now in control, and that feels excellent. 

Afterwards, we head towards the show Dylan Mulvaney: FAGHAG. En route, we stop at this outdoor food court- there are lots of these throughout the Fringe, parks and courtyards and open spaces full of food trucks and tables and tents and people. This one looks like Pleasure Island from Pinocchio. As we walk in, a random man sees me and says quite loudly "you're from that show! Up by the castle!". He looks at my face a moment, continues. "Yeah! It's you. Great job! Great Show". And off he walks.

And I feel absurdly good. 

We have Pizza and falafels and I feel just fucking great.

We head to the show, which most of the cast is there for. It's wonderful. Dylan Mulvaney is the trans woman who made headlines when Bud Light had them as a spokesperson and the right wing section of American went even more insane. She is magnetic and uber-talented and makes every single person in the theatre feel like they are a personal guest at her most fabulous and excellent party. The show is a joyous, hilarious, romping good time that is witty and tender and touching and uplifting, and we are all hooting and laughing and I'm watching my friends absolutely fill up with joy, which increases my own joy even more. It's yet another thing I love so much in this city full of things I love. 

And then it's time for bed. We have to move from the flat we are staying in, which is basically a college dorm with free entertainment nightly as it is right next to an intersection where the howling banshees of the night meet, and the screaming seagulls of the morning hold court. So I'm up early, even before the coffee shops open, to write and then pack. 

And tonight, we have our final performance. 

It all makes me think of one of my favorite lines. "Does anyone ever realize life while they live it? Every every minute? No. Saints and Poets. They do. Some."

Here's a song. It's Dylan Mulvaney singing Girlhood.  

EDINBURGH DAY ELEVEN - BREAKING CUBES AND ADDING A FUCK YOU HARD

You blink your eyes twice, and time flies by. Two more shows to go. What happened? Didn't we just land? Somehow, it's been over a week. I've seen show, ran into old friends, eaten way too much haggis, laughed entirely too loud too often for anyone's comfort but my own.

I am a loud person. I am told that often. 

I can't help it. I don't mean to offend.

I just enjoy things. And when something is funny, I laugh. And when I speak, I speak.

No apologies. The world is full of much worse things than a person loudly enjoying their life.

Also, I may have kicked a hole in one of our cubes on stage last night.

We have this scene in the show between my character Ron, and his wife Denise, Played by aforementioned friend of blog, Tracy.

And we fight in it, and yell, and it gets ugly, and I storm off, and she sings this song "Only the Lonely" whose title always makes me think of that old Roy Orbison song but is a new one and a number I particularly love in this show, as it's dramatic, set up nicely by the scene going into it, and performed perfectly, and one of the moments in the show I think I directed well. 

A heart breaking work of staggering genius and all that. 

Nothing feels better than directing a moment and having an actor not only get what you're trying to do, but have them run with it. Soar. Transport the audience.

So the scene going into that moment is important.

So we're doing the scene last night. It's going ok. We're yelling. Doing the lines. Something feels a little different about the scene. We're playing off each other, but it's in some new zone. Usually Denise is more aggressive. Tonight, maybe it's my loudness, or the rain that day, but she's more leaning back, a little more of a slow burn kind of anger. 

Which fuels my character's/my anger. 

And we get to this point, right before I say "I want you to shut your fucking mouth..." and I stand up off a cube, and for some reason I kick the thing. 

I've kicked it a few times, both in rehearsal and in the show. But tonight, I have extra-kick mode on, and a kick it like I'm a field goal kicker and it's the Super Bowl.

And as I turn to say "Shut Your Fucking Mouth..." I notice a hole in the cube. About the size of a golf ball. And then, as I march off, where I'm supposed to say "Fuck you", I add a bonus "Fuck you hard."

I may be insane. 

Now, here's the thing. Part of me feels bad about this. 

But part of me feels good. I was playing the role. In the moment. And yeah, I kicked the cube and swore more. 

But that's live theatre. Shit happens. Actors go a little nuts. 

Or a lot. 

After the show, Lisa and I and some of the cast go Ceilidh Dancing, which is Scottish folk dancing similar to square dancing. You run around a lot, sweat your ass off, dance with strangers, and release all of the days worries. 

It's fantastic. I hang with cast mates and also old friend and fellow Fringe performer Katelyn Berrios, who was in the sublime How to Eat a Bear last year and has a great solo piece this year called The Basement Entertainer, which I saw in the morning and recommend. It's a new piece about trying to make it in the business, create some art, and somehow combine creative freedom with success. Definitely worth catching.

And now it's Friday. The day is clear to see shows and sights, then we perform, then I think as a group we are going to see a show.

Last year, on the Isle of Skye, I heard a tale of an Islander who married a faerie. They could only be together a year, then she would have to return to her world. Then spent a happy year together, full of love and magic. Then the time came, then walked to a bridge, kissed one last time, and she took the high road and he took the low, never to see each other in this world again. I feel like that now. Like the Fringe is my faerie, we'e had this grand time, but tick tock goes the clock, and the bridge awaits.

Now real life starts to creep into my mind. Now I start to prep for the next show, the latest gig. A bid for Rock of Ages. A new production of Rocky Horror Show I'm directing. Scripts that have been patiently waiting for me to get back to them as I have this adventure. 

Speaking of, time to head out, grab coffee, feel the cool morning air.

Loudly, of course.

Here's a song. Only the Lonely by Roy Orbison. 

EDINBURGH DAY TEN - THE JOHNNY CASH OF EDINBURGH, SPAIN

To say the days are full here is the grossest of misstatements. Each day is a month, each hour a week, each moment a lifetime.

Yesterday in the City of Stones and Storms, of Closes and Wynds, we had a go of it, as is our want here. 

We started with a day trip out to Roslyn Chapel, what some call the Green Church, and the masses call the old building in Da Vinci code where they found the thing.

I had gotten to bed quite later. A little close to 5 am. So I was feeling just keen. 

And yet that place is so fill of mystic charges, I felt energized. Alive. Delirious. Lisa and I had gone there last year, so I thought I'd have a similar experience.

The more fool I. No two experiences are ever the same in this life. It's lesson I learn over and over, in unique ways every time.

Found this stone carving of Death and Humanity, and it was a trip. Saw a carving that translated to "Wine is strong, the King is stronger, women stronger still, but truth conquers all". 

Fact. 

Of course, what is true and what is false in this world is never clear and ever changing. 

So there's that. 

After pondering death and life and truth and dares, we head back to Auld Reeky. Lisa and I go to  see "Kafka's Metamorphosis: The Play with Puppets!". It is fucking genius. Smart, strange, one of a kind. Singing, puppets as promised, tragedy, and truth. One of my favorite shows so far this year. Just love it. 

Then it's time for our performance of Banned the Musical. I am going on maybe four hours of sleep. I grab a huge mocha before the show, and reach down deep and pull out of my soul a performance. I think it's good. Could be awful. I do know when I stormed out of the one big scene I have, a may have almost broken a very large door with how forcefully I opened it. Knocked over some chairs. Felt good. 

Then I meet my old pal Lance, and we hash and rehash our lives for an hour or so, then he's off and I'm off and I head to meet Lisa at The Captain's Gate, a tiny bar that has locals playing live music. Folk stuff mostly. When I get there, a guy on guitar is playing a Scottish folk tune. It's great. Then he launches into Sweet Home Alabama. It's surreal and sublime and I love it. Then this man who looks like the last surviving member of the original cast of Brigadoon gets up and goes off. I love him so much. He's like the streets of Edinburgh and the fields of the Highlands and a little brilliant and a little insane.

In this photo, he's on the bench, to the right of the guy in black with the guitar.

The Man in Black looks like he's Johnny Cash, mostly wearing black, gets up. I am thinking "well, good luck, my friend". 

And then he starts to play. 

And it is shocking. 

Dimensional doors open, and we all step through them to the rhythm of his playing. It's magic. No other word will do. It's just pure, impossible, real magic. 

Some nights are just like that. 

Then, after spending a few millenia in this other realm of musical madness, we are transported back to the little bar. We scream and clap and look about, not sure what just happened but certain that whatever it was, we are forever changed.

Then Lisa and I head to meet most of the cast to watch this staged reading of a new musical based on Drop Dead Gorgeous. What we heard was great. I can't wait to see what they do with it. 

And I hope I get to hear a song by the killer sometime. 

Then it's home, broken glass, a cut foot, lots of laughter, I finally hit the bed, and sleep is instantaneous.

Onwards.

Here he is, folks. The Johnny Cash of Edinburgh, Spain. He starts slow, and you can hear me singing along, off key and out of my mind. But is does capture a tiny sliver of what is was like to sit there, in glory and wonder. 

EDINBURGH DAY SEVEN - BRIDGADOON, CRISPR-ING, TEA AND BISCUITS

As with most things, the long you live, the more they either make sense or seem completely insane. On rare occasions, both are true. 

When I was a kid, my mother loved what they call Golden Age musicals. A lot. My name is Kelly because she loved Gene Kelly so much. My father supposedly wanted to name me Casey, but mom would have none of that. It was Kelly and that was that. She made my first name be Robert, after Bobby Kennedy, just in case I became president. But Kelly was, is, and remains the name everyone calls me by. 

It fits. Sort of out of the norm, a bit rough around the edges, and at times singing in the rain good times or bad. Not always. But often enough

One of the musicals we'd watch often was Brigadoon. A story of a mythic town in Scotland that sleeps in some other dimension and only appears now and then, to the true believers, as they wander mountains seeking things of little import but with something about them that merits a bit of magic.  The town appears, everyone sings, there's romance and drama and magic. And then, somewhere after midnight, if vanishes. And the traveler stands there in the woods, alone again, hungry for more of whatever they just experienced and pondering on the brevity of it all.

At least, that's how the story seemed to me as a boy. 

Edinburgh Festival Fringe is full of little Brigadoons. Moments of magic that rise out of the mist, dazzle your eyes and delight your mind, pick you up and make you dance, pull you out of your tiny thoughts and problems as it hurls you into mystic experiences.

And then, Ding Dong Ding, Midnight comes as it always does, and you are wandering down rainswept cobblestone streets, questioning your sanity and if you really saw that perfect show, truly heard that bagpipe in the distance, really saw what might be the best musical farce about genetics ever devised.

And you have two choices. Either grow sad at time passing so quick, or leap with joy that you were allowed to be part of the show for the briefest of moments- the great show of it all. 

The Brigadoon of it all.

And we had a lot of Brigadoon yesterday. 

First, we all went to a high tea at the Signet Library. Beautiful room, makes you feel like your in Downton Abbey. I had this Aram tea infused with Rose. I am not generally a big tea drinker. But when in Downton... And it was glorious. And then they bring these magnificent trays of little sandwiches and confections and cakes and avacado mousse and items you would think were from the finals of The Great British Bake Off. Exquisite. We all seemed to breathe deeply, relax, and I think as one wanted a nap after.

On the day rolls. Lisa and I wander the Scottish National Museum, which is sort of a natural history museum with hints of the Smithsonian. We look at ancient stones with carvings that look like something from a movie that one of the characters who will soon be killed read with dread saying something like "this means get out before the demon cackels" and then the inevitable CACKLE is heard, and said character is dispensed to parts unknown. 

Really cool.

Then the show. We know there is a reviewer coming this day. At least our second, maybe more have come, but we don't know for certain. But this one is a sure thing, because as the show starts, sitting in the second row is a woman with a press lanyard and prominent notebook, writing at a fiery pace. Page after page. We all notice her. It's a small theatre. Hard to miss. Both exciting and a bit... distracting. Nothing like doing a song and then have someone five feet away start to scribble furiously. 

Brigadoon!

After, head to a tavern for a quick drink and snack, then it's off to CRISPER! THE MUSICAL, which is one of the funniest shows I've ever seen. Brilliant lyrics, impeccable performances, absurd premise. Pure theatrical joy. They have a soundtrack on Spotify and iTunes. Get it. Listen to it. Wait for it to hit big and then go see it when your local theatre does it.

Next, we head to another area to see Silence! The Musical. This is a musical comedy based on The Silence of the Lambs. It's framed with a greek chorus os lambs, and has such hits as "I Want to Smell Your C#nt." The cast is to a one perfect. The show itself amazing and brilliant and sidesplittingly funny,. 

Brigadoon again!

We all wander home over the rainswept streets, talking of the show, the reviewer, the day, life itself. The glory of it all.

And somewhere deep inside, there is a tinge of the blues, knowing full well that this moment will pass in time like tears in rain, to quote Roy Batty, my favorite replicant. 

For now, we are still in the magic village. The music plays, we dance whenever we feel we must, we meet strangers who quickly become friends, we learn a tiny bit about our souls.

And we wander on, not lost at all. Lucky and lovely and leaning in.

Brigadoon indeed.

EDINBURGH DAY FIVE - MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT EACH HOUR FULL

Mornings here are quiet brilliant. Streets empty, sky clear, gulls singing, Ravens commenting on said gulls voices, a few stalwart souls who like me burn the candles at both ends and while having had a time of times last night or early today are up and wandering, not only to find coffee but to fill up on the energy, the beauty of this loveliest of cities. The theatre spaces all are waking up, the crews coming in, picking up the programs blowing across the ground, tech crews discussing lights that went wrong, sets to fix, how to deal with overly enthusiastic audience members. And all of us who wander, not lost but following a mystic map only reveals itself to you step by step, are going over whatever we need to in our collective minds, which all seem to emit a hum, an energy, and life force.

My mind is full of theatre, of people I have met, of costume changes, flyers, of Real Mary's Kings Close and plague doctors and what happens when the lights go out in the middle of a show. My eyes are watery, I blink and I'm in front of a coffee shop. 

Yesterday morning, I awoke around 6:30, fairly standard for me, grabbed my laptop and headed out to write and caffeinate and do everything I've just been talking about. I was going over how to address my cast and myself, how to make amends and clarify the air. Ran into one of the cast, figured this was the time to start, and just spoke as plainly and truthfully as I could. 

That seems to be the only way to go. Just don't bullshit, say what you feel, hope for the best, and move on.

And lo and behold, that was indeed the way to go. Letting go of self created toxins is the best feeling. It did indeed feel like learning to fly. 

So I grab more coffee,  fly over the buildings and back to the flat, grab Lisa, and off we go to meet some of the troupe as we are taking a tour of Mary's Kings Close, an old part of the city now underground, a guided tour of sorts full of really cool info and access to walk around rooms and alleys in a now subterranean city. Very cool. And a little bit haunted. 

At the end of the tour, our guide tells us he is also an actor, and that he is in a show at the festival called Godfather Death: A Grimm's Musical. Which just happens to be a show we have already bought tickets to see that very day. 

Coincidence is a thing here. Happens daily, almost hourly. Someone you know is standing next to you at the pie shop. Someone who saw our show last year bumps into you as you head into a show and loudly talks about how great last year's show was. An old friend is in a show you are seeing and you had no idea they were even here. 

It just happens.

After the tour- truly worth it and I highly recommend to anyone coming here, we head to the flat to read through the show. I make my amends to the rest of the cast, we read through, and it feels good. Everyone is laughing and excited and here we are, in Edinburgh, about to perform the entire show for the first time at the festival. It's electric.

Then we toodle off to see Godfather Death. It's really good. Sort of a modern fable with music that was somewhere between Godspell and Hadestown. Our tour guide is playing Death himself. And he's terrific. We are at about fifty minutes into this one hour show, when the lights go out. 

All of them. 

Clearly not a lighting cue. The band is an electric keyboard and a drum set. At the point where the lights went out Death had just started what felt like the epic and of show number for a lead character. And when the lights left the building, he stayed in character and kept singing. And the drummer kept playing. And we all lost our minds and were cheering and clapping. We see the stage manager run up the aisle and to the backstage area. Death keeps singing. The stage manager comes back, stops the show for a second with their authoritative stage manager voice to say power is out in the whole building. We all say "keep going", Death does, and we start holding up our cell phones with flashlight on to light the stage. And it's great. Then the main building people- in charge or not only the theatre we are in but several others in the complex, in an even more authoritative voice, informs us the show must stop, we are evacuating the building. A huge collective sigh permeates the room, and we shuffle out. I chat with the cast and show's producer on the way out, as we are all in line together. Very nice people. They hope to come to our show, and we hope to come back to theirs.

Such is life sometimes. Unexpected, with highs and lows doled out in equal measure. 

And it's time for the show. Well, first, I run to our space to make sure our power is on, then run back to the flat, get my costumes, take a breath, and head back. Now it's time for the show.

It's a light house, but we know that coming in. We have never run the show in its entirety in the space. We are all still a little jet lagged and don't have time to do anything but gear up and go.

And we kick the shit out of it. The tiny audience is into it. 

And a show is born.

After, we go out as a group, a team, a family, and eat and drink and laugh and feel like the rock stars we are.

And all is well.

On to another day.

Today's song is By and By by Caamp, in honor of the Lifeforce of this town, this festival, and this show.

EDINBURGH DAY FOUR - HAUNTED BY THE WITCH OF MEMORY

It's a little past 7 this grey Edinburgh morning. We've been here I think three days, but the days all blend together like coffee beans in a grinder, so I'm not sure of exact day count. I'm getting ready for our first performance here at the festival. We've done our press launch, met dozens and dozens of fellow Fringers, theatre goers, and good people of Scotland. 

I've managed to be a bit of an asshole to pretty much everyone in the show.

It's a skill I possess.

As we rumble and roll through ups and downs, techs and launches, the desire to create something unique and brilliant and amazing, which most of the time is thrilling, can at times eat up your reason, logic, and sense of joy, and you are left with childish behavior directed at people who are trying to help you on your quest for theatre magic.

So I have been short with people. Sarcastic. Dickish. 

And I can't stand myself when I am like that. 

I don't suppose anyone does.

I am so lucky to be here. 

I think part of me has been trying to recreate last summer's experience.

And that's madness. Last summer was brilliant and mighty, but that was last summer, and it deserves respect and singularity. 

Last summer, on the night before opening, a few of us went up the Royal Mile around midnight to perform mystic rights at the theatre, say a few pagan prayers, and revel in our being here.

Last night, I went there again, but with a different set of friends. And as we walked through the cobble stoned streets, I realized I've been trying to time travel, to step through dimensions and force this wonderful, perfect reality into some warped idea of 2023. 

There was a witch we met at midnight that fated eve before we opening Eigg. She was frightening and magnetic and clearly a sign from the forces of nature that we were doing what we were meant to be doing. She took the form of a large drunk man who I was fairly certain was going to kick our asses. She ambled up the Mile as we triumphantly paraded back to our flat, confident and inscrutable. She appeared out of the shadows, beer in hand, mumbling spells full of invectives. We called her the Witch of Edinburgh.

Now I shall call her the Warlock of Time. A beacon of those moments of rarity when you are certain life has meaing and purpose. Those moments that can't ever be replicated but that we seek nonetheless. And we get so busy on that quest, we miss out on the magic of now. Of here. Today. This moment. This show. This year. 

I can't force magic to happen. I can't live in the past. I am here. Now. In the most exciting festival I have ever been a part of. I am opening a brand new musical tonight. I am with my wife and a group of friends who are to a one lovely and strange and brilliant. 

Let this be what this is. 

That's when the magic happens. 

Now I walk. I drink coffee. I think about how to apologize to those I've treated poorly.

And I let the past go. 

I leap.

I fly. 

Here's a song for today. It's Learning to Fly by Tom Petty.

 

EDINBURGH DAY THREE UPSTAIRS DOWNSTAIRS

Both last year and this, I've stayed at Darroch Court, which is a set of flats that are part of Edinburgh University. Dorms, basically. And I must say, they are not the Ritz. Nor the Holiday Inn. Nor the Red Roof Inn for that matter. They are brilliantly located, to be sure. Right by Arthur's Seat, and a less than ten minute walk to Riddle's Court, the theatre we perform at on the Royal Mile. Still, some of it can be challenging, and for some reason often involves moving from one flat to another at inconvenient times. Last year we moved from the floor of one building, a four story walk up, to the bottom floor of another at 11pm. That was fun. This year, did the same slog, from top floor to bottom. Happily, it was only the afternoon this year. They must like us now. 

Keeps me off the street at least.

But the streets here are so beautiful and rumbling with life and wonder I do not wish to be off them.

I want to run up and down them, screaming joy, dancing a few licks, and absorbing the energy here, dark and creative and wild.

We had our Press Launch for Greenside yesterday. This is where a few shows get to perform about 2 minutes of their show for all sorts of rarified press folks. It's a lot of fun, a little stressful, and important. 

So of course, one of my cast gets a stomach bug. 

Panic. Think. Rearrange. Go.

We had a number ready, but the actor with the bug was prominent in this one. We tried to move things around a bit, to get the best possible option with a diminished cast ready. At one point, we considered doing an acapella  bit from a different song. But that wasn't going to work, mainly since we had already done the tech for it at the space with 19 others shows, everything was set as far as cues, and that was that. So we made it work. Of course, there was the exciting moment at the top of the number- the first one of the show- where the cast had decided that they didn't need to say their lines at the top, which might have been fine except no one thought that the director might need to know this, so that if nothing else, I could tell the tech crew that their cue for starting the music was not cut. Nothing like having lights come up, a cast on stage, and confused silence for a moment.

It was probably only a second, but felt like an eternity. 

The music began, we kicked it in the ass, and all was good.

Then we were told we had to move from the top floor to the bottom.

Yay. A free work out after a press launch. Sometimes, the luck is just with you.

Went and saw our first show, a one- man show out of Toronto called Twenty-three and Me. A one person musical all about a guy who finds out his father is not his biological daddy. Went with a good chunk of the cast and Lisa, and it was pretty good. 

Then off to our first party at Greenside, at their new space, over on George Street. Met a ton of people, talked of theatre and writing and shows for hours. I am a bit of a social butterfly, flitting from converstaion flower to conversation flower. I can't sit still. I just love it. Theatre, life, people- all crammed into a room too small for all of us, talking shop.

At some point it winds down, but not before I run into Sam, a friend I made last year who has had some success as a playwright this year and is just full of life and glory. He got there somewhere after ten. 

One of the many great joys this year is realizing how many friends I made last year who I am seeing again this year. It's mad. 

Finally, Lisa and I decide it's time to find dinner. Only problem, Edinburgh shuts most of it's restaurants down around 9. Bars stay open later, but not anywhere you might want to eat at. So, after wandering a bit- and there few cities better to wander in - up and down alleys and closes and up steps and down them, we decide to grab cheese and crackers at Tesco, hit the pub near our flats so Lisa can have a dram or two, and then do a picnic in our kitchen- which is rather nice.

Somewhere after the midnight hour, it's time for bed.

Today, we tech the whole show in the theatre we are performing in, which is a different theatre than where we did the press launch.

Now it show begins in earnest. 

We will scour google for any links to anything from the press launch. We will run lines and songs. We will meet more people all over, every day. 

And we will rise.

I try to write, but this is more of a long charger for my soul battery that will fuel writing later on. 

That's all for now. More soon. 

Oh, one more thing. There are a lot of seagulls here. Like, multitudes. And they all sing day and night like insane children left to their own devices while their parents nap in the late afternoon. Today's song would be Seagulls Screaming by XTC, but I think, in defiance of their screams and more importantly because it feels right, I shall instead play Ballad for a Rainy Day by them instead.

If you are in Edinburgh and want to see our show, Click HERE.

If you want to kick in some dough to buy me and my compatriots some coffee- which won't available until 6:30 am because why serve coffee early to a bunch on theatre people- click HERE.

Here's XTC.

EDINBURGH DAY TWO - RUNNING IN AIRPORTS, MEETING FELLOW FRINGERS IN ATLANTA, TOUCHING DOWN, TECHING UP

And with a blink of the eye, I am back in Edinburgh. And I feel energized and crazy and excited and happy and in love with theatre all over again.

It's funny. Going back to a place that was so special and magic. You hope it will be like you recall,  while fearing that maybe last time was a once in a lifetime thing and never again will have anywhere close to what you had last time. 

No way.

Don't even think it you greedy bastard.

So arrive at Denver International Airport with Lisa, ready to fly. I get a message from the cast, who are mostly on a different flight a little earlier than us. Their flight is delayed, and they are worried they will miss their connecting flight in Newark. Then our flight gets delayed as well.

Stay calm. Don't panic. All that.

The cast's plane finally takes off, over an hour late. 

We follow suit, also over an hour late. Our connection is in Atlanta, and we originally had 45 minutes to get to a different terminal to fly on to Edinburgh. Now we have negative fifteen minutes. But the pilot says we can make up time and all shall be well.

So they say. 

We land late. Very. We ask if they can call the gate and tell them we are running and will be there please don't take off. 

They say they can't call between gates, which seems like bullshit but what can you do?

We run like you've never seen two people run before in an airport. We navigate the crowds, leap into the airtrain to the international terminal, and get to the gate with a minute to spare. 

And it turns out that flight is delayed, and we can breathe. So we do, and then meet some folks from two different shows also on the way to the Fringe: Over Her Dead Body and Baby Likes Candy.

Finally time to board the plane, and there's something wrong with my passport and the check-in machine. It beeps at me. Many times. After what feels like an hour but is more like fifteen minutes, I am allowed to get on the plane, and off we fly.

I manage to sleep a little, maybe three hours or so, and then it's noon and we are landing and I'm in Scotland. 

And I feel the magic. 

It comes out of the soil. It shines from every strangers face. It's in each theatre poster.

We do our tech for the press launch. I see old friends from Fringe I met all of a year ago but feels like it was many.

Tech goes well. We have one actor down with what is hopefully food poisoning, but we persevere.

We go to a Fringe opening party at a place called Brewhemia, run into yet another old Fringe friend, the great Frankie Mack - the Vegas Show Man. 

Fringe is what you make of it. Things go wrong. Flights get delayed. People get sick.

That's life. 

But there is so much magic and wonder. 

Onwards. 

And if you want to check out our Indiegogo and all that, go here:

www.indiegogo.com/projects/banned-busted-and-beautiful/

Here's a song. It's Storms by Pink Martini with the Von Trapps

EDINBURGH FRINGE 2024 DAY ONE

Today, I return to Edinburgh to take part in the world's largest theatre festival. In fact, it's the third largest event in the world, with only the Olympics and World Cup being bigger.

Fucking crazy.

These things never seem real, or how you expect them to feel. 

Not like how you see it in the movies.

It's actually better.

Long ago, I'd picture some moment in my life that would change it all. That point where the music would swell, I'd suddenly be at one with the world, and everyone would love me and my family would be healthy and all would be well. 

And I suppose, in one sense, I've had that moment. 

Many times. 

But I still haven't unlocked the secrets of the universe.

I still haven't woken up remembering how to fly like I can in my dreams.

I still can't make it all make sense. 

But I do get to wake up. 

Be alive in this world. 

Get to have nights the the night I met Lisa.

The day I learned my first play got into the New York Fringe.

Opening night of East of Eden. 

Doing a show in Edinburgh Fringe.

I am so lucky.

So. 

Off to Denver International Airport.  Long flight. Land Tuesday morning at 11-ish. First tech rehearsal for our Press Launch. Basically, 20 shows get selected to present 2 minutes of their show to the world's theatre press. Places like The Guardian, The Telegraph, BBC, and so on. A huge opportunity to strut our stuff and hopefully entice some critics to come. 

We already have 6 lined up.

No pressure.

I will write more on this, but it is time to fly.

Literally.

Wish us luck. 

And magic.

And wonder.

If you want to see more about our show and maybe kick in a few bucks towards coffee and haggis, go here:

www.indiegogo.com/projects/banned-busted-and-beautiful/

And here's a travel/love song. It's 500 Miles by The Proclaimers. 

AND I SHALL HAUNT JUKEBOXES

Sometimes, after a long day - and there are a lot of long days of late, full of doing what I love combined with insane schedule, squelching heat, a world that seems insane, inspiration, creation, writing, directing, acting, producing- the long day laughs and says "you're not done yet, my friend."

Such was last night.

Got home after a ten hour day of theatre camps and that long drive from North Boulder to Denver in a torrent and a near miss with a car veering away from a big puddle and almost killing me, somewhere after 10 pm, my mind full of the coming performances of Banned here in Denver and then Edinburgh and auditions for Rocky Horror at StageDoor and rewrites of screenplay and whatever else wanders my mind, I walk in to my home where my wife and one of our dear friends are sitting at the dining room table, laughing and listening to music and reveling in friendship.

And without hesitation, I leap into the fray.

I think life is entirely too short to let moments slip away like the last few episodes of some show you binge on Netflix but that doesn't quite grab your imagination but you watch anyway.

This is reality. 

A rainy night, a Nick Drake record playing full blast - yes, we do the vinyl thing, and love it- and that just rained feel on a hot summer night. 

So we just hang out and shoot the breeze and decide to turn on the jukebox - yes, we also have a jukebox, which when said sounds both awesome and absurd, like we're a bit precious with how we do things but who gives a shit it's cool and was Lisa's dad's and we love it  - and end up realizing in the blink of an eye that it's almost 2 am and we all have shit to do tomorrow/today and finally friend leaves, and we go to bed, and I wake up feeling bug eyed and head warmed and like a piece of old bread forgotten in the toaster.

And it is glorious. 

This is the life I choose. Full of friends and music and conversation. Children on the stage. New musicals. Drives in the rain.

I used to often say "I'll sleep when I'm dead", but I don't think I will. I'll just be a ghost in a record player or jukebox and keep on dancing.

So.

Things I am doing. 

First and foremost, I'm directing Banned the Musical, a new show about identity and gender and finding ones self. There is an Indiegogo campaign for it. Please check it out HERE, and if you can, kick in a few bucks. Producing a show and taking it to the Edinburgh Fringe is not cheap. And we are all doing this for love, and a little help for the starving artists is good karma. And also please share the link for the campaign on your social media. We are also doing three preview performances in Denver at the Vintage Theatre. Click HERE for info on that.

I'm also going to be directing Rocky Horror Show at StageDoor Theatre in Conifer. The auditions and callbacks are the two days before we head over the pond, because why have time to breathe? Info on that is HERE.

I think that's it for now. Here's some Nick Drake. Play it late at night with friends, dancing and laughing and talking freely and with gusto.