EDINBURGH DAY EIGHT - TIME PASSES, AND THEN AGAIN IT DOESN'T

I might be an amateur horologist. Time, its passage, how things change continually is a manner that is constant, how we all seem to be shocked with another year passes, a child becomes older, a movie we love suddenly is no longer the hot new thing.

It's bizarre, at times a little bittersweet, and just the way it is. 

We went to the big castle yesterday. Wandered ancient streets, walked through prisons, felt strangely young in comparison to our surroundings. Went to Saint Margaret's Chapel up on top, which has a stained glass of St. Columba, the first person to have encountered the Loch Ness Monster. So of course one of my favorite saints. Strangely, the glass doesn't depict Nessie. Well, what can one do?

Saw an old friend yesterday. We were apprentices at the Berkeley Shakespeare Festvial long ago, and fast friends. Later, we were roommates at The Western Stage in Salinas, and worked on, among other things, a nine hour three part adaptation of East of Eden, one of the most intense and glorious shows I have ever been a part of. And we also did some shows with a fledgling company in Berkeley called Central works. Thick as thieves would be a good way to describe how it was.

Then time and life and school and marriage and moves and more moves... you blink your eyes twice, and decades have past, and you haven't spoken in years but keep up on all the socials.

Strange.

And yet, life is nothing is not constantly surprising, ready to give curve ball after curve ball, pretty much always when you think you are past such things.

Lance- my friend from back then, is directing a play called Bad Shakespeare here at the Fringe. In the very building I am doing Banned the Musical in. The very same building another pair of old friends from NYC, Todd and Nicole, are doing The Bronze Boy. (which is fucking great and if you are here you must see)

Coincidence, or fate? Qui sait?

I walk in to the theatre yesterday, and there is my dear friend, last seen in my apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan so long ago I was still drinking. 

Long indeed.

And yet, not a moment has passed. He is still he, I am still I, and we hug and talk like not a moment has gone by.

One of life's "So Anyway" friends. 

Years pass, you don't really talk or see each other, randomly connect, and first think you say is a variation of "so anyway" and you pick up where you left off.

Delicious and magic, this life, isn't it?

The show is a group of college theatre students performing various scenes and soliloquies from Shakespeares villains and not-so-nice-ones.

The theatre is a sauna, but I don't care one bit. It's a walk through pieces I know, some from the days Lance and I were apprentices in the long ago imaginary world called the past.

Then it's time for Banned. 

And we kick the shit out of it. Small house. Very quiet. Very hot. Another reviewer. 

We don't let it get us down. 

We are driving the bus, and on a mission from Dionysus. 

Then it's off to a whiskey tasting at The Lost Close, a really brilliant place under the streets of Edinburgh. I don't drink, so I sit and listen and smell the dram and then hand it to Lisa. She is quite wobbly by the end.

And then it's off to Pleasance Courtyard for late night food, a looooooooong chat with some of the cast about writing and theatre and life. 

And then sleep. 

But I wake early. Like 5 or so. I can't help it. 

Now we are off to see the Gems of Edinburgh. A tour of some sort. But I feel as if my pockets are full of rubies and emeralds already.

Here's a song. It's I Am a Scientist by Guided by Voices. Enjoy. 

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 SIX - FIVE SHOWS, A REVIEWER AND A RAVE

I HAVE UNLEASHED MY FRINGE.

And it feels pretty damn good. 

Yesterday was a full on day of shows, morning noon and night and midnight and in my mind as I slept and in my bones as I woke and here I am in Black Medicine, one of the great coffee shops that pepper this city like sand on a magnificent beach. This surprised me last year. I assumed it would be all tea, all the time. British people drink tea, American drink coffee. 

Not so. 

And absurd amount of coffee houses here. And they each have their distinct feel. Black Medicine is as groovy as you can get. Right now, it's full of theatre people young and old and most hung over and jazzed and has Rhinestone Cowboy playing.

I love it so much I feel like hugging the walls, dancing on the tables, hugging the staff like old friends I haven't seen in years.

So. Yesterday. We rise early and walk over to New Town, past the Burnt Church and Prince Street, over to George where Greenside has it's headquarters and several venues. We had met a bunch of fellow Greensiders at the press launch, and so we lined up four. 

But then we added two more. One of them was for a friend who had a critic coming and needed to fill the house, the other was just some folks we had chatted with here and there and who seemed cool.

That's how it goes here a lot. You meet people, they give you good karma, you vibe as it were, and then you go see their show. And the simple act of going to see these shows fills your soul, gives you magic and insight and courage and wonder.

First show: Barbara (And Kenneth). It's a mostly one-woman show, with accessory Kenneth who joins in for a song and a monologue. It's energetic and funny and smart, full of original tunes and a force of nature in the lead role. My whole group loved it beyond measure. Lisa wants them to come to Colorado and do the show at our school. It's just brilliant and a must see. 

Next up: Wait, Why Don't We Just Build a Boy? This one is an original play about 3 Gen Z roomies who build a young man in a variation on the Frankenstein story, using various movies and tv shows to program the Creature's personality. The cast and the writing feel like the Creature in the story, raw and seeking identity, but full of promise. Some of the joy in the Fringe is seeing young aritsts just starting out, finding their way, reaching for the stars.

On we go.

Show Three: The Bronze Boy. This one is directed by an old friend from NYC, Todd Faulkner, and stars another old friend from Gotham, Nicole Greevy. It's a show about two women who have had their lives irrevocably shattered from a school shooting, and it's breath taking, at times hilarious, at ultimately beautiful. We all cry a bit at this one, the better for it and maybe a wee bit wiser. A must see.

Then we have our show. We know there are one or two critics coming. We have asked all our new friends to come. Our old ones too. At one point, we had maybe 5 tickets sold. So we were and are in a bit of a state of panic. The show is in good shape. We are ready as can be. The doors open. And all these people file in. Not just our friends, who show up of course, but strangers. People who bought tickets simply because they thought the show sounded cool.

We are energized. The crowd is rowdy. Loud and encouraging. At first, we think, well, our friends are being nice. But it keeps going. Song after song. Scene after scene. The cast lets that energy feed their performance. Magic is happening. The rough magic of live theatre when it's all new and veils are lifted and we touch the collective soul of the world.

So, feeling brilliant and charmed, we head to the next show, back on George Street. We get there a little early and grab a soda in the lobby, and there are a few of us so we move some tables, and ask this fellow who is sitting solo writing on his laptop if he minds us moving the tables. And he looks up and says "I'm writing a review of your show! I just saw it and it was brilliant." He writes for the Scotsman. Hope to post that review soon. We chatted a bit, and I got the vibe he might indeed write a few good lines about our show. 

Life is funny sometimes. And it never hurts to have a bit of good luck.

Fourth Show: Shower Chair. This is a one person show about a young mans journey to selfhood by way of booze and denial and bad choices and horrible moments and friends good and bad. It's beautiful and brave. A bit rough around the edges, but so much heart in this. We all love it.

Then it's off to our first late night show of the Festival.

DANCEFLOOR CONVERSION THERAPY. This show makes you happy to be alive. It's like a rave, a sermon, an old friend you love so much telling stories of life and dancing and parties. It's a revival meeting. It's a rave. It makes you feel high when in fact you are stone cold sober. I laughed and shouted "amens" and at the end, after we moved all the chairs we were sitting in to the side of the hall, danced with both my wife and cast mates and strangers who were, for that moment, part of me. And I was part of them. I could have dance all night like a manic version of Eliza Doolittle, but it was past one in the morning and time to head off. This is a must see. A must experience, actually. 

And that was our day. Crammed full of everything. On to the now. 

Always. 

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.