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 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 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