Due to heavy volume of mail (thanks, Ehrmie) asking about my living situations on the road, it seems appropriate to give a brief summation of how I travel, now that I've actually left Orange Park, FL.
I know... you're all dying to find out... what's my bus like???
In a word... or few... so much better than yours!!! (Or rather, the cast's). There is a really good reason for this, however, so I don't see any reason why I shouldn't gloat. The cast always stays in a hotel. The crew, on the other hand, often has to sleep on the bus because we will load out from one city and drive straight to the next to load in 10 hours later. For instance, next week we have 6 cities in 7 days. The bus will be my abode, as well as the abode for 10 other people. It. is. awesome.
You walk onto the bus and into the front lounge. It's got tan leather couches, a flat-screen tv, satellite cable, 2 mini-fridges, a microwave, coffeemaker, toaster, bathroom (walnut paneling!) and a fully-stocked bar. Emphasis on the bar. (Side note: before we moved onto the bus, we were asked what kind of drinks we wanted, and we were told to aim high. No shortage of Maker's Mark or Belvedere on this ride).
Once you pass through the front lounge, you're in the sleeper bay. 12 bunks, 3 high, 2 across, full length and slightly narrower than a twin; each one comes equipped with sockets, lights, and a fold-down flat screen tv for dvds or the satellite cable.
The back lounge is basically the same as the front lounge, minus the kitchen. Plus the booze.
You can be sure that every night, after the show, while the crew is getting onto our bus, the entire coach bus full of actors is watching our every step, crying on the inside. Overall, it's a good setup.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
FIRST PREVIEW TONIGHT!!!
The show is really cute, the wigs are hot, and I'm working with a pretty bad-ass crew. All's well :)
We load out tomorrow after the matinee and hit the road. We're driving all night to Raleigh, N.C. to arrive and check into the hotel Sunday morning. And then... we have Sunday off. UNBELIEVABLE.
The show is really cute, the wigs are hot, and I'm working with a pretty bad-ass crew. All's well :)
We load out tomorrow after the matinee and hit the road. We're driving all night to Raleigh, N.C. to arrive and check into the hotel Sunday morning. And then... we have Sunday off. UNBELIEVABLE.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
puppies and peace.
I didn't vote. It's true. I've never voted, in fact. I can't seem to elicit the importance, the necessity within myself to just register and do the good American deed. So it goes without saying that I don't have the privilege of voicing my opinion, good or bad. Actually, I'm going to go ahead and say that I'm not giving myself the privilege to opine on the choices that our future president will make.
So I'll use President-Elect Obama's words. Change has come to America.
What a fine day.
So I'll use President-Elect Obama's words. Change has come to America.
What a fine day.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Happy Halloween!!!
Ever the Conceptualist, my costumes in recent years have had multiple layers. In college I was a Charlie's Angel (first photo). Okay, not so conceptual. While at PCPA in Santa Maria, I was a Black Russian. Not so much the drink, but a Russian dressed in Black (middle photo). I realize 3 photos (er, 2 and a half?) does not a Conceptualist prove, but I couldn't find any more. Bear with me.
The third picture is from last Friday night. I dug up some luggage zippers (to get that nice grim chrome) and found these feather eyelashes that were to die for. Literally... because... I was dressed as... dun dun dun... Zippy the Clown's Widow. I "scene-d" out my hair (there are actually videos on youtube that show you how to style your hair like a scenester. Check it out here). I wore my contacts (shocking!) and wriggled into some black cabaret-caliber clothes. Black hot pants, plaid tights, cord vest. Cowboy boots. And the mystery I know you're all dying to de-frag... how are those zippers... on there? A lady never tells.
And the reason why we do this at all... the source of the thrill, that intense gratification not unlike the act of eating a Butterfinger, is... it's so fun to dress up like a crazy person.
And, I scared the crap out of the orphans.
Mission Accomplished!
Monday, October 27, 2008
crazy truths that have absolutely nothing to do with my new and exciting job.
I... have arrived. There's a "Lost" marathon on Sci-Fi in my hotel room. Heyo.
On a completely random note, the most interesting- and an excellent instance of divine (by which I mean DEE-VINE) modern anthropology- thing happened while I was at the airport in Charlotte, NC. I was sitting at my gate, at the far end of the terminal, suffering through a 2 hour layover. From my seat, I could see the long stretch of airport in front of me. Tons of people around me... huge crowds coming off planes and going on planes. Yet, with all of these people moving and shifting, I couldn't help but notice this one man. His head was shaved, he had a goatee, he wore an oversized striped brown polo, he had baggy denim shorts on, and his sneakers were clean and white. K-Swiss, probably. He looked like a townie... a mallrat, if you will. His girlfriend probably had a tanning problem, an acrylic nails affliction, muffin-top syndrome, and a Fargo accent. I say had because said girlfriend is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he has a baby girl in the crook of his left arm. To be more accurate, her neck and half of her back are awkwardly in the crook of his left wrist and forearm. He carries her like a bag of sand that is quickly slipping out of his grasp, yet he makes no adjustments; he doesn't set the backpack that is in his right hand down, so that he may shift her up and actually support her neck. He casually wanders over to an empty seat (one of very few... there are people ALL around us).
I scan the perimeter to see if anyone else notices the way he's carrying her. There is something sublimely wrong with it. Something you only see on t.v., and yet, it's so textbook, you probably wouldn't even see it on t.v., let alone in a crowded airport filled with mothers and fathers and grandparents and security guards and robotic voices droning over the loudspeakers "do not leave your belongings unattended at any time if you see unattended bags report it to airport security immediately."
Needless to say, I'm now half-grinning, half-panicking (in that socially moral kind of way) in disbelief. The voice echoing in the air above everyone seems, suddenly, to be the perfect soundtrack to what is happening. I feel like I am watching a post-modern performance piece.
He sits down and puts the baby girl on the floor in front of him, in between his feet. By now, people have seen him, noticed him, taken stock of this person who is, according to human standards, not right. They watch him like I'm watching, waiting to see if he is going to pick her up. He doesn't. He looks upset. He rubs his head, his cheek, all the while staring intently at her. He clearly has no idea that everyone's red flag alert is waving high. There is a silent but
absolutely pulsating tension in the air. Everyone within 10 feet is watching, waiting, panicking in that socially moral kind of way. A woman casually walks over and looks down at her, smiles, curls her fingers in a wave that people only do to babies, and asks him a question (which, of course, I couldn't hear), to which he replies with a small guarded smile. She walks away. Slowly. Looks back at him. Slowly.
He pulls a diaper out of his backpack, picks her up and cradles her more appropriately in his arm, and walks to the restroom. His backpack stays shoved under his seat. A few minutes later he comes back, sits down, puts her on the floor again, and starts talking on his cell phone. Staring at her. Leans back in his seat. Stares. Not a tremor of expression in his face. I've seen stoic parents, but this is breathtaking.
I should point out that the baby girl has not made a sound this entire time. In light of the general situation, this would be the least prevalent thought in my mind except, not 5 seats away from her and her caretaker, there was another man with his own baby. This other baby was swaddled and packed into a fancy carrier with toys dangling from the handle, and the father was sitting on the floor, waving a pacifier and a stuffed animal in his face while simultaneously cooing and smothering the infant with attention. This infant also happened to be screaming his head off. No one paid any attention. All eyes were on the muted baby girl and the man with her.
A man walks into the scene, notices the bizarreness of the situation, and walks over to the baby girl. He does the same thing that the previous woman did; smiles at her, waves, says something to the man, and gets the same diluted response. He too, walks away, slowly, looking back at him with flashing, worried eyes.
Our plane begins to pre-board, families and elderly people first. He picks her up, her head dangling over his arm at an angle that I have never seen before. If she were to look at me from that angle, I would be upside down in her field of vision. As he walks past the people waiting in line, they watch him, then turn to each other to exchange a look. No one murmurs. I don't see any lips move. All I see is the look. He boards the plane. I head down the hall towards the plane about 7 minutes later.
From where I am standing outside of the hull, I can see the flight attendant craning his neck to look down the center aisle of the plane. It's not hard to guess what he's trying to see. I board and go to my seat. Once I'm settled (I'm in a middle seat) I turn and peek behind me through the armrests of the rear of the plane. I can see his left cheek, his arm, roughly 8 seats behind me. I turn back around. The plane takes off.
We land. I stand up and get ready to exit. I look back at the waiting crowd. He, as well as his cargo, are gone.
On a completely random note, the most interesting- and an excellent instance of divine (by which I mean DEE-VINE) modern anthropology- thing happened while I was at the airport in Charlotte, NC. I was sitting at my gate, at the far end of the terminal, suffering through a 2 hour layover. From my seat, I could see the long stretch of airport in front of me. Tons of people around me... huge crowds coming off planes and going on planes. Yet, with all of these people moving and shifting, I couldn't help but notice this one man. His head was shaved, he had a goatee, he wore an oversized striped brown polo, he had baggy denim shorts on, and his sneakers were clean and white. K-Swiss, probably. He looked like a townie... a mallrat, if you will. His girlfriend probably had a tanning problem, an acrylic nails affliction, muffin-top syndrome, and a Fargo accent. I say had because said girlfriend is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he has a baby girl in the crook of his left arm. To be more accurate, her neck and half of her back are awkwardly in the crook of his left wrist and forearm. He carries her like a bag of sand that is quickly slipping out of his grasp, yet he makes no adjustments; he doesn't set the backpack that is in his right hand down, so that he may shift her up and actually support her neck. He casually wanders over to an empty seat (one of very few... there are people ALL around us).
I scan the perimeter to see if anyone else notices the way he's carrying her. There is something sublimely wrong with it. Something you only see on t.v., and yet, it's so textbook, you probably wouldn't even see it on t.v., let alone in a crowded airport filled with mothers and fathers and grandparents and security guards and robotic voices droning over the loudspeakers "do not leave your belongings unattended at any time if you see unattended bags report it to airport security immediately."
Needless to say, I'm now half-grinning, half-panicking (in that socially moral kind of way) in disbelief. The voice echoing in the air above everyone seems, suddenly, to be the perfect soundtrack to what is happening. I feel like I am watching a post-modern performance piece.
He sits down and puts the baby girl on the floor in front of him, in between his feet. By now, people have seen him, noticed him, taken stock of this person who is, according to human standards, not right. They watch him like I'm watching, waiting to see if he is going to pick her up. He doesn't. He looks upset. He rubs his head, his cheek, all the while staring intently at her. He clearly has no idea that everyone's red flag alert is waving high. There is a silent but
absolutely pulsating tension in the air. Everyone within 10 feet is watching, waiting, panicking in that socially moral kind of way. A woman casually walks over and looks down at her, smiles, curls her fingers in a wave that people only do to babies, and asks him a question (which, of course, I couldn't hear), to which he replies with a small guarded smile. She walks away. Slowly. Looks back at him. Slowly.
He pulls a diaper out of his backpack, picks her up and cradles her more appropriately in his arm, and walks to the restroom. His backpack stays shoved under his seat. A few minutes later he comes back, sits down, puts her on the floor again, and starts talking on his cell phone. Staring at her. Leans back in his seat. Stares. Not a tremor of expression in his face. I've seen stoic parents, but this is breathtaking.
I should point out that the baby girl has not made a sound this entire time. In light of the general situation, this would be the least prevalent thought in my mind except, not 5 seats away from her and her caretaker, there was another man with his own baby. This other baby was swaddled and packed into a fancy carrier with toys dangling from the handle, and the father was sitting on the floor, waving a pacifier and a stuffed animal in his face while simultaneously cooing and smothering the infant with attention. This infant also happened to be screaming his head off. No one paid any attention. All eyes were on the muted baby girl and the man with her.
A man walks into the scene, notices the bizarreness of the situation, and walks over to the baby girl. He does the same thing that the previous woman did; smiles at her, waves, says something to the man, and gets the same diluted response. He too, walks away, slowly, looking back at him with flashing, worried eyes.
Our plane begins to pre-board, families and elderly people first. He picks her up, her head dangling over his arm at an angle that I have never seen before. If she were to look at me from that angle, I would be upside down in her field of vision. As he walks past the people waiting in line, they watch him, then turn to each other to exchange a look. No one murmurs. I don't see any lips move. All I see is the look. He boards the plane. I head down the hall towards the plane about 7 minutes later.
From where I am standing outside of the hull, I can see the flight attendant craning his neck to look down the center aisle of the plane. It's not hard to guess what he's trying to see. I board and go to my seat. Once I'm settled (I'm in a middle seat) I turn and peek behind me through the armrests of the rear of the plane. I can see his left cheek, his arm, roughly 8 seats behind me. I turn back around. The plane takes off.
We land. I stand up and get ready to exit. I look back at the waiting crowd. He, as well as his cargo, are gone.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Shipping out tomorrow morning!!!!!! Tyler, gracious boy he is, will keep my insomniac person company for the long, interminable wait. Commencing caffeine i.v. drip... now.
Side note: subscribe to my feed... at the left... and get notified when I post new updates. You can add it as a gadget to your igoogle homepage. I mean, if you want to. Not saying you have to. Kinda rad, though, if you think about it.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
because a true blogger shares every silly little detail...
I got my flight info today for this Sunday. Another nice long day of shuffling around the Chicago transit/Charlotte airport/ Jacksonville everything. Can't wait :D
If, for some odd reason, you feel like wasting an hour, or 20 minutes, send me a letter or a package or candy or a pumpkin to the hotel, because I'll be there for 3 weeks or so and it'll be a rare opportunity for you to catch me for longer than a nanosecond in my super exotic travels. I'm not going to post the address of the hotel here because I'm not crazy. Email me and I'll give you the secret password.
If, for some odd reason, you feel like wasting an hour, or 20 minutes, send me a letter or a package or candy or a pumpkin to the hotel, because I'll be there for 3 weeks or so and it'll be a rare opportunity for you to catch me for longer than a nanosecond in my super exotic travels. I'm not going to post the address of the hotel here because I'm not crazy. Email me and I'll give you the secret password.
Monday, October 20, 2008
blog is turning pretty
Cleaning up the blog to make it pretty for the masses. How about that logo up top, eh? Kind of a gem, if I do say so myself. A couple of new things... links to videos of past Annie productions, good and bad, professional or otherwise, at the bottom of this page. I don't discriminate :)
Also, trying out a free ad service, way down at the bottom there. Make me some money... click on it. Do it. You know you want to. Right now they're random, but I'll eventually make them site-specific. So, no ads for cell phones on a site about Annie on Tour. Relevance. It's good for your complexion.
Also, trying out a free ad service, way down at the bottom there. Make me some money... click on it. Do it. You know you want to. Right now they're random, but I'll eventually make them site-specific. So, no ads for cell phones on a site about Annie on Tour. Relevance. It's good for your complexion.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
the story thus far...
It’s been about 2 months since I got hired for this job. It’s been nearly a week since I went to Gainesville, Florida to work on “The Wizard of Oz.” It’s been 2 days since my parents had their little “get-together” with 30 of our closest flotsam and jetsam. Tomorrow I go to Trinity Rep to get some finger-wave techniques. And… dun dun dun… a week from Sunday, I fly to Orange Park to get this show on the road. Literally.
Time… is… moving… so… slowly.
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