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.

  

A HUNDRED TIMES A DAY

I wake up every morning and have to take a few moments to figure out what is real, and what is dream. Every morning. I wonder if this is the only day I am alive, and all I know is preprogrammed material written by strange Gods that delight in stories about humans. Maybe they made up the whole thing. Humans. Earth. Music.

No. Music is real. That is certain.

Regardless, I wake, and the day begins. 

Coffee. First thing. Every day.

Except for the days when it's not available. Which usually means I am doing something different, something new and exotic. So no coffee days are okay.

Write in my journal. My morning pages. My attempt to make some sort of order out of the chaos. And the doors open, my mind wanders and leaps in confusion and joy, and all these possibilities present themselves to me.

And I accept as many as I can. 

Except for days I don't. 

Those are the sad days. The days lost to worries and angst that never gets me anything but a sense of stolen time.

Even if this day, this life, this existence,  is a simulacrum, an advanced computer program, I dig it. I love it. I revel in it. 

I think, therefore I am. 

And I am alive.

I think at least a hundred times a day.

Here's a song. It's "Free" by Flo and the Machine. 

 

A PIRATE'S LIFE, AN ACTOR'S LIFE, MY LIFE.

I find meaning everywhere. Not just in books and music and movies and myths, but in moments I witness as I stroll through this world. 

Meaning. Clues to Life. Reassurance. Omens good & bad. All over the place.

When I was all of twenty-four, I moved to NYC for the first time, pretty much sight unseen. I had stood on the tarmac at JFK once when I was seventeen and looked out to see the silhouette of the Twin Towers in the distance, but that was as close as I had ever come to Gotham. I stared at those towers like they were a distant castle in an enchanted kingdom. I ached to move there.

I had wanted to move to NYC for as long as I could remember. The first time I saw the original King Kong, around 5 years old, as I watched my favorite simian stomp his way through the Big Apple, I thought to myself "I am going to live there when I grow up". 

I never really grew up, but I did get older. Went to college. Found theatre. became a theatre major my third year. Graduated at 24, went to the Barn Theatre and got my Equity card, got a tour for a dance show to Japan, came back home to San Jose, California, loaded up my little Hyundai Excel, and headed East. 

I got there on Halloween. 

And the shit hit the fan in every way possible. I was broke. Alone. And for the only prolonged time in my life (so far) depressed. I felt like I had somehow fucked up my journey. Like my spirit guides had all abandoned me. I was the poorest, and skinniest, I have ever been. The cheapest thing I could do for entertainment was go to the MET, which was free for people who lived in the city. 

And I came upon this painting of a girl, lost. Like crazy lost. No hope. What the fuck will I do now? 

It cut me to the core. I had no idea what the painting was of, only that I felt exactly like the girl. Lost. Confused. Doomed. Turned out to be a painting of Joan of Arc, right when she hears the voices for the first time. It's intense. 

I found meaning. Clarity. Beauty wrapped in sorrow. I was still depressed and lost, but a tiny bit less lonely. 

Recently, we went to Disneyland. I never went there growing up so it's always held a sort of sacred magic. 

Never is not quite accurate. I did go there when I was about four, for one day, with my father, shortly after he and my mom split up. I remember the Haunted Mansion, the rocket ride, and Pirates of the Caribbean. It was the last time going there until I was seventeen. The Mix of having gone once with a father who I would not see again until I was twenty-eight, mixed with not going again for my entire childhood, gave the whole place a mystique that remains to this very day. I walk into the Magic Kingdom, and I am good, the world is just and kind and fair.

However, on the last trip, I noticed something about Pirates. 

It's really a descent into Hell. Not in a bad way. More like I'm Dante, and the ghost of Virgil is taking me on a tour of the Inferno. We start on a boat. We float through a bayou at dusk. A banjo plays in a beat up old shack. I imagine an old pirate, playing one last tune before checking out. We enter darkness.  A talking skull warns us we are about to see some weird shit. Then we drop off a waterfall, go through a cave full of strange colors, drop down another waterfall, and come upon a beach with a couple of skeletons. A seagull sits on the head of one, a crab waves its claws at another. I am fairy certain the gull and crab house the souls that once filled those skeletons, and they are realizing they are now dead and stuck on a beach in Hell. Next, we pass a weird bar, full of more skeletons. A pair of them play chess, stuck in stalemate forever. Another sits at the bar, holding up a bottle that pours clear liquid into into the skeletal mouth. The liquid turns red as it flows into the empty body. And the thirsty bag of bones never quinces its thirst. A Pirate Tantalus. Next, we meet another skeleton, trying to escape an eternal storm.

And then shit gets really weird. We float into a room full of treasure. A well dressed skeleton lays in bed, looking through a magnifying glass at nothing, searching for a clue like a spooky Pirate Sherlock Holmes. And a voice tells us we are now cursed for having seen the treasure. Then we pass a skeletal torso in a glass case, that becomes human as we pass it. 

And now we are with the dead, lost in their memories, playing out their mistakes and misdeeds over and over and over. Battles. Late night drinking parties where we end up talking to cats and pigs, or scream at each other, or tie things to frightened people whose homes we have just destroyed. On and on, each scene stranger than the one before. Finally, we go through a burned up ship, past some shockingly drunk pirated shooting at each other while surrounded by boxes of gun powder, and then the final thing we see is a rather detached, lost Jack Sparrow mumbling about how we are all pirates. 

And a voice tells us Dead Men Do Tell Tales.

And we, the Dead, are sent back to the world.

Maybe I read too much into things, but that's just how I'm wired.

Today, I find meaning in my morning walk. In my coffee. In writing this blog. 

Now I am off, to explore America via a pilot that is a a variation of an old script of mine called "Lunatics and Assholes". 

Perhaps I shall get it made, and some young lost soul will watch it and find meaning.

Perhaps.

And now, a tune for your listening pleasure. It's the first track from this album I love so much when I was in college, a collection of Disney tunes reimagined by Hal Willner and performed by some musical luminaires. This is Stay Awake, by Suzzane Vega. It's creepy and cool. 

I DON'T MEAN TO MAKE IT ALL ABOUT ME BUT THEN AGAIN I DO

Sometimes, oftentimes, now times, I wake with this feeling of existential dread. Or what I think existential dread is. I get up early, almost every day. Usually it's around 5:30, but on days off I might not manage to get out of bed until 6:30 or even 7:00. Not that I don't wake up. The waking time is so ingrained in my soul I just wake up. Then I lie there, thinking about... everything. Life and meaning and death and worries and money and friends and theatre and jobs. Does any of it matter? Do I matter? Have I made the right choices to get here? 

I suppose it's kind of stupid, crazy, and wrong to do so. 

But there it is. 

What's strange is I think I love being alive more than almost anyone I know. I love the warmth of the blankets over me when I wake and ponder. I love going downstairs while Lisa sleeps, making coffee, the world still dark, the heater coming on, getting my journal out. This morning, even with my usual companions of questions about what it all means, I am at the same time I'm glooming and dooming, I am reveling in the luxury of being able to do so.

I am so spoiled.

There are so many parts of this world, so many people, where getting up, putting the kettle on, and feeling lost and confused for a moment would no doubt be a miracle. We have a world full of angst, danger, hunger, and uncertainty. 

But I do feel these things, and have to honor them, deal with them, seek perspective and move on.

My life is like my writing. At times effortless, at times impossible. But always sustaining my soul. Even when it's not so great. Even when it is repetitive, derivative and dull. When none of the characters surprise me, the plot feels predictable, and I find no wonder. 

Oh, who am I kidding? I love all of it. I love being a version of Eeyore for a bit, because most of the time I am the Pooh. 

And yes, I realize I just wrote that I am the shit.

Well, sometimes I am. 

I am not short, but kind of fat, and proud of that.

I am writing today for many reasons. But one of the best is that a friend, a former student who I don't get to see so often because they had the audacity of growing up, sent me a text with a song they thought I would like to listen to while writing in my blog.

I think that's the one of the best things about writing. Because, now and then, when the Writing Gods are generous, you can manage to say something that resonates with at least one other human being. 

And now I feel better. 

Here's that song. It's Voyager by boygenius.