I imagine that there are very few people out there that read this thing anymore, and while I don't post on it much, I still want to hang on to it.
My life has seen some pretty big changes recently, and you would think that I'd be writing about them on here. After all, this whole thing has probably been one long story leading up to an inevitable conclusion.
So here it is: I'm living in Dublin now. For a year, then back home. Maybe.
Took a leave of absence from work, and I'm going to be getting an MA in Directing Theatre at University College Dublin. Pretty exciting stuff.
It's been a pretty emotional journey, one that started over a year and a half ago. But there's no need to get into all that now. I don't feel much like opening all of that up again. Trying to keep it positive.
Anyway, if you're hoping to hear tales of life in Dublin on this blog, I hate to say, you won't be getting much. I'm actually writing about it on a different site. My students wanted me to keep in touch, and send them stories of what life is like over here, and so I created 4T Tales. You can check it out here.
It's a "professional" blog, in a sense. I'm writing it as my teacher/director persona, whatever that is. So no angst, no cursing, no politics. Just some stories about theatre, travel, teaching, and tech. Get it? Four "T"s. And I'm 40 this year! And you could even say it's a half-reference to this as well. Har har har, I know. Let's just say my teacher persona loves cornball humor and bad wordplay.
So head on over there and check it out, and feel free to say hello. And you may want to check back in here every now and then. You never know when I need to complain about Mitt Romney or moan about how unfair my life is. That shit never gets old!
If I've decided anything recently, it's that I'm really fucking good at teaching drama.
This past summer I stepped down from the ole Limelight gig. But at the same time I agreed to take on a new position directing shows for a junior high. Part of me did it to secure space for Limelight; with me managing the space, it should be easier for the LTC gang to have a home.
And part of me did it because I liked the guys who asked, and well, they asked. And the kids over there deserve to have a proper drama program.
Scheduling it and planning it has been a real clusterfuck, but it seems to be all sorted out. And I'm lucky enough to have one of the finer persons I know serve as my A.D. I could write a whole post on him, but perhaps another day.
What I'm not good at, any more at least, is working two jobs. Maybe I'm too old? Maybe. Actually, I prefer to think that it's because I'm at the point where I put so much into both jobs that I don't have the time to just do one. I teach, I direct, I makewebsites.
These past two weeks have just crushed me, and I'm almost at the breaking point. Too stressed and too exhausted. Wake up every night after my body has exactly four hours of sleep. Then I stare off into space, my mind racing. I'll read a bit, then eventually fall back asleep around 5 AM before getting up an hour later. Yeah, it sucks. I should be in bed now, but why bother? I'll just wake up in a few hours. Better that I use my time for better purposes and have another glass of red wine.
While the show has been a bitch to plan, I am indescribably happy while working with the kids on stage. I'm at the point where it just comes naturally, and I'm in the moment, walking them through the story, moving them here and there, showing them how we tell tales with our voices and bodies and how we make the ink and paper become a real live thing in front of gathered persons.
The classroom can be like that at times, that living-in-the-moment thing, but it's too bad that it's saddled with so much bullshit. In both places, it's the kids that count, and everything else can fuck off.
So...in these times of financial collapse and budget cuts and familiar despair, I've been trying to figure out how I can take these talents of mine and focus them on one job instead of two. And that's not easy.
I was accepted at a drama school in Dublin. If all had gone as planned, I'd be there now, studying theory and walking the rainy streets and spending the occasional weekend with friends or wandering the countryside. But the practical side of me said, "Too Expensive. Be practical. Look at how things are right now."
And I was right. I'm glad I made the decision I did, but there isn't a day that doesn't go by that I don't think about being Over There.
The only time I ever get on this thing is to talk about two things: Where I'm Traveling, and Where My Head Is. Haven't done any traveling in a while, and the other topic is the same damn song that I sing over and over again. "I need to do something different, blah blah blah, tra la tra la tra la...."
I'm heading to Seattle next month to visit some friends of mine who used to live around here until they realized that they were going to rot and/or explode. The change of scenery has apparently done them good, and they warn me that I'll like the place so much that I'll never want to leave. Maybe.
A change of scenery does many people good, and man oh man do I need one, but I just can't seem to find the right avenue to get to it. I'm locked into the loop of teach-direct-teach-direct and there's never the free time to make the Big Plans. I want to pack the bags and just go far, far away and see new things and meet new people and learn new ways of teaching and directing and doing techy things that kick ass.
My sister and her family are headed for fucking Phoenix, Arizona, because that's what they do. But I stay. I always stay. How many times have I sat at that stoplight, driven by that gas station, shopped at that mall? How many times have I sat in that meeting? How many times have I listened to the same tired arguments about nothing? One day leads into the sleepless next, and I'm getting old, so old, and I never was much of a dancer, tra la, tra la...
Have you ever thought about goodbyes? Ever been disappointed by how one went? Ever wished you could do one over, make it really special, really one for the books?
This is a story of a goodbye.
I went back to teaching fifth grade a couple of years ago, and the class was filled with strong personalities, as we say in the profession. The less polite way is to say that it was filled with a few jerky kids.
Not that I wouldn't be the first one to stand up for each and every one of them, when it counted. But they were a rough group at times.
There was a student that was a bit different. She was quiet and funny and nervous and had a hard time getting her homework done. But she was Austin, and she had Maddie by her side (thanks to my artful seating arrangements), and she got through the year.
She was scheduled to move to Texas at the end of the summer. At the last minute, at my prodding, she showed up at summer auditions and wound up with the lead in Harriet the Spy. (Just so you know, I didn't cast it, but was overjoyed when Mal made her decision.)
Austin was a great Harriet, and perfectly captured that fragile thing that you need in a good Harriet M. Welsch. I was exceptionally proud of her.
Last day came, and she was leaving for Texas the next day. The kids had a pizza party while we tore down sets. Everyone left, and Austin and I said a brief goodbye over the sound of the drills and hammers.
Got busy taking apart something, a bit sad that we weren't able to have that proper farewell that should come with someone that you're close to. I know some people aren't good at goodbyes, and maybe she was one of them. I probably try and make them too monumental, too orchestrated.
Mal suddenly says, "Hey Austin!" and I turn and she's coming back in, with this awkward shuffling walk, arms out, tears streaming down her face.
This is the hard part to write about. It was very emotional, but it played out in front of everyone, like it was a story that needed to be told. A big hug, declarations like "you were the best teacher I ever had," "I don't want to go, " stuff like that. Like I said, it's hard to write about, and it's taken me over a year to put it in words. The last thing I want to do is make myself out to be this awesome teacher dude who inspires the masses, blah blah blah. That's not why I'm writing this.
If you know me fairly well, or if you read this thing a while back, then you're familiar with my father-abandonment-anger issues, etc. etc. etc. No need to dredge that business up, but needless to say, it left me with an unwillingless to get married and start a family.
That moment with Austin changed me, a lot. She was one of the first students I had where the parents were around my age. A strange enough thing to realize for a guy who still feels like he's in his early 20s. Holy shit, I could have a kid around this age!
Anyway, I guess I came to some sort of conclusion that I didn't need to be afraid of that whole being-a-father business anymore. I guess I realized that it might be something I might be okay at. Later that fall, I talked about this with my sister one night at a bar in Indianapolis, but I think this is the first time I've written about it.
I think about Austin a lot, and I miss her a ton, and one day maybe I'll track her down and thank her for deciding to come back into the stage that day, to say a proper goodbye. It wrecked me, but it was one of the most important days of my life.
I talk about The House Theatre on here about as much as I talk about Van Morrison or Neil Gaiman. One of my many obsessions, I suppose.
Anyway, this is a teaser for The House's current production of Rose and the Rime. They've always been very cinematic with their theatrical endeavors, and this clip gives a pretty clear picture of what The House does well. Atmosphere, excitement, mystery. Show just got extended for another four weeks, which is great to hear, especially since the economy's beating up the theatre industry like one of them dudes in Every Which Way But Loose.
If you search around you'll find plenty of other House stuff on You Tube or other places. I suggest checking it out.
The Seafarer Written by Conor McPherson
Performed by the Steppenwolf Theatre Company
There's this play, called The Weir, that I've hung onto for many years. Always wanted to stage it with some of the older, trusted members of the company, but I've never been able to pull the trigger. People in their early twenties playing roles that should be portrayed by people with more weight, more age, more heartbreak and regret. There's some things you just can't fake with lights and makeup.
The Weir was written by Conor McPherson, an Irish playwright, about my age. A few people sit around a pub in Sligo and tell ghost stories. But they really talk about themselves, only I don't know if they realize it.
He wrote another play called The Seafarer, and I saw Steppenwolf put it on last month. Like The Weir, it deals with older men, drinking, and a bit of the supernatural. Instead of fairies or ghosts knocking on the door, the Devil himself comes to visit poor, wrecked Sharkey.
Being a fan of the man's work, I was very excited to see the play. Chris Jones, of the Tribune, whetted my appetite even more with this piece he wrote about it, and which I mentioned in an earlier blog post. Wound up with box seats for twenty bucks and took the wonderful Mrs. Reader to see the show.
It's a fantastically written show, involving a clutch of middle-aged Irish drunks clinging to each other on a lonely, desperate Christmas Eve. And of course Lucifer gets involved, but I won't go into it too much, lest I spoil the events for you.
Everything about the show was great, except for one thing, that got to both myself and Mrs. Reader: The accents. They just couldn't do the accents right. These were Chicaaaaaaago men playing Dubliners, and they slipped in and out of the cadences with alarming irregularity.
Liked seeing Chicago, Midwestern faces do this play, as it reminded me of some of the sad old drunks that haunted the local bars I used to frequent, but I still feel like I haven't seen a true adaptation of this play. This felt like a great local band covering a killer song by an Irish group. Would like to see Irish actors do this one.
Rose and the Rime Written by Nathan Allen, Jake Minton, and Chris Matthews
Performed by the House Theatre of Chicago
Most of you know that I am a huge fan of The House. I've been lucky enough to work with them in a few workshops, and while I may not be able to call some of them friends, I can at least call them professional acquaintances.
I did this workshop with Maria and Carolyn a couple of years ago, where we met once a week in the basement of the Old Town School of Folk Music, and we talked story and worked on creating an original bit of theatre.
Cori and I were the only ones who showed up every week. There were a couple of others that came and went, but for the most part, it was just the four of us that met week after week. The frequent absences affected our end product, which was just a short scene, largely wordless, focusing on a young girl and a funeral and a burned out town.
One of the things we did talk a lot about was Joseph Campbell and the hero myths, and an interesting variation on the Hero's Journey that they liked to work with. Instead of the hero returning victorious to his town and Living Happily Ever After, they liked to focus on What Happened Next? Usually, it involved the Hero becoming the Dragon or the Evil Witch in the end.
While that workshop didn't really develop into much other than a great time had by all, it fed the fires that eventually led me to write Heroes and Villains, which tried to deconstruct that whole Campbell-myth-hero-thing a bit.
It also, in a way, led to Rose and the Rime, the House's latest production.
The House has tinkered with this story archetype for a long time, but never until now have they embraced it as completely as they have with this show. You have a hero, in young Rose, trapped in wintry Radio Falls with the rest of her town, until she decides to hunt down the evil witch that has imprisoned them in an eternal winter.
Later there is victory, and hot dogs and neon clothing and much beach blanket bingoing. And heroic Rose becomes something different, in the end. All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again. (Something I played with when I did Julius Caesar a couple of years ago, another show affected by that workshop.)
A largely wordless show, focused on the House's incredible ability to wring excellent theatre out of the simplest of things. You wouldn't think it possible to stage Rose's dramatic journey through the ice and mountains and caverns on a stage, but House knows how to do that shit.
In the end, though, I'm a bit frustrated with the show, because I feel like it skirted around the story when it should have dove in. None of the characters move beyond basic archetypes, something The Sparrow suffered from a bit as well. I know they're going for the whole Fairy Tale thing with Rose, but when it only clocks in at 80 minutes with no intermission, I can't help but feel they could have dug deeper.
House has made its name on these types of shows, the archetypal comic book mythological westerns superheroes rocket (and cave) men magicians rock stars and boy detectives stories. I love those stories, but they only get you so far.
What House does is awesome, but it's time for them to put away that college-level enthusiasm about Joseph Campbell and High Myth, and start embracing the next phase of life, and storytelling. They're all about to turn 30 this year, and I think it would be good for them to start looking at the world in a more mature, complicated way.
I haven't done The Weir because I don't have the right actors for it, and The House limits itself by relying on the same group of twenty-something actors playing the full range of the ages of man. It's time to put away childish* things, and to start getting serious.
*Self-conscious, late-in-the-game "wow-people-actually-read-this-thing" edit: I think this word's a bit strong, actually. Childlike might be better? Maybe. Archetypal? Archetypal can be good storytelling, but it can't be the only storytelling.
Aside from being under the weather, there's a show this week with the theatre group. I've got another member of the company directing this one, but I come in from time to time to help and advise. He's a teacher, like me, and knows how to work with kids, but he's still learning how to put a show together on his own.
Most of my tech crew is away at school right now, so this week I've had to teach myself how to hook up our sound equipment. I usually have other guys do it for me, but I know the basics. There's the mixing board, some xlr cable, an amplifier, some other cable with a strange blue circle around the end. And then there's Elliot, who I call in an emergency.
Sometimes, though, you gotta figure something out for yourself, and after 10 years or so of having other guys take care of the tech side of things, I'm having fun figuring it out for myself. It take me a few tries, but Liz and I got it figured out both nights. (Liz is an old Limelight veteran, in for the long haul.)
Well, we mostly got it figured out. Now, even the best of us at Limelight have needed a pass or two to get the mics and the speakers all running properly, and we all range in age from late teens to late thirties. It's not the best equipment, and every six months we have to pull it out of storage and try to remember how it all gets set up. But we figure it out, eventuall.
And then there's the new crew.
There's this new kid, whom I'll call Elliot 3.0. We also have an Elliot 2.0, who's a whiz on the light board. He's 12, by the way.
Elliot 3.0 is a 4th grader, who apparently has his own DJ business already. He's been following me around the past couple of nights, blowing off his acting duties, wanting to help solve our sound problems. I've been politely brushing him away, letting him know that I'll show him how it all works, just as soon as I figure it out myself.
Well, twice tonight he pointed out that the emperor has no clothes, and that he's got a better head for it than me. Firstly, he noticed an important knob on the mixer that controlled the input sound for the laptop I was trying to hook up. Then, after I thought I had everything up and running, even though no sound was coming out of the floor mics, he walked up to me and said, "the phantom power switch is off."
Now, to my credit, I think I taught him how phantom power works last night, so I get some credit for that. But still.
It would be very easy for me to sputter and tell the kid to fuck off, but I gave him a high-five and made him the tech supervisor for the weekend. And he's barely 10 years old.
It's a brave new world out there, and most of us are dinosaurs crumbling into dust.
She's been saying she wants this old thing for....three years now? I inherited it from an old friend who I believe found it on the side of the road. But I could be wrong about that.
Lots of fond memories of that damn couch, but I have a small living room, and I don't really need two couches taking up all that space. It spent the summer in my garage, where I would occasionally retire to have a post-rehearsal smoke and work out the final kinks in Heroes and Villains. (I really hope it didn't have too much of a smell to it, Tiff.)
The ironic thing is that she won't even be around to enjoy this smelly old garbage-picked couch. She just headed to L.A. to be in Xanadu for a few months before it heads to Chicago. So I should be proud that my crappy old couch is now in the possession of a burgeoning Broadway star.
Good luck in California, Tiff. And don't forget: no matter how big of a star you become, you should keep that cruddy old stained couch to remember your humble origins.
I just spent several days up in Door County, which is in Northern Wisconsin. For those not from this area. Door County, and Wisconsin in general, is a place where Illinoisans travel when they want to get away for a weekend.
We are generally referred to as FIBs, or "Fucking Illinois Bastards." Still, we pump a lot of money into Wisconsin's economy, so they need us just like we need them. Like sharks and them little fish that tag along.
Anyway, here's an interesting story from the Door County trip. There is a theatre company up there called the Peninsula Players, a place where a lot of the Chicago and New York talent go to get away from the cities and work with different people.
A long-time Limelight member has been doing an internship up there all summer, and had hoped I could make it up there to see the place and to catch one of the shows. It was an extremely busy summer for me, but luckily the Duders wanted to go up to the cabin before summer ended.
I can't get any cell reception at the cabin, so it was a bit tricky trying to track Eric down. But (different) Eric and I found him eating lunch in the mess hall. He jumped up and gave me a big hug and proceeded to give us a tour of the place, all while carrying his plate of food with him.
We saw the new 700-seat theatre, the scene shop, got an up-close look at the set, and then he took us to his barracks. Yes, barracks. I think that's the right term.
The directors and the Equity actors get fairly plush accommodations up the hill, but the interns get a more rustic cabin at the edge of the lake. The view is gorgeous, and you get to fall asleep every night to the sound of the water lapping against the shore. A nice gig for someone who's spent the last two years living in the south Loop.
"Yeah, but we had to cover the ceiling with tarp, otherwise we'd wake up covered in bat shit every morning."
I don't know how that reads, but if you hear Eric Swanson say it, it's hilarious. He has a rather unique voice, usually peppered with plenty of profanity, and can make a phrase like, 'How's that meat taste?" into something legendary.
Eric (i.e. Duder) and I caught the show that night, and it was good. A fairly-obscure romantic comedy about witches and sin and death. We had great seats and got to hang with Swanson and most of the players after the show, drinking dark beer by a big bonfire.
We were talking to Tom Mula, who played Scrooge for a number of years at the Goodman's annual production of A Christmas Carol, when Eric/Duder said, "Hey, I'm just a meathead, and I really enjoyed the show!" Tom quickly turned to Greg Vinkler, the director of the show (and Artistic Director of the Peninsula Players), and said, "Here, you need to hear this."
Tom asked Eric to repeat what he had said, word for word, and it seemed to make Vinkler the happiest man there. I guess the show hadn't been as well-received as the others, but if a "meathead" like Duder enjoyed it, well...it's nice to hear these things.
Talked to Mula and Vinkler for a while (Vinkler is known for his legendary performances of Falstaff in the Chicago area), and then it was time to pack it in. Eric (Swanson) walked us back to the van, and I marveled at the changes that have come over him in the past two years. He was confident, mature, and spoke about acting, and theatre, with a deeper insight than I had ever given him. The boy's growed up good, and I'm incredibly proud of him.
Woke early and spent some time updating my Flickr page--the trip now has a proper Set, but will still need some work and adding to before it's finished.
Yesterday was a mixed bag of good and wet. Rained all day all over Scotland, and the traffic getting out of Glasgow was just horrendous. By the time we made it to St. Andrews, The Wolves in the Walls was more than half over, and so I never made it to the show.
The drive itself was great, however. Colin rented a very comfortable Jetta for the day, and I was able to sit back and watch the Scottish countryside roll by while he careened around sharp corners and flew through various towns and cities.
Wandered around St. Andrews a bit, had fish and chips in Anstruther, then headed down to Glasgow. Got to see the famous cantilevered Forth bridge while driving over the also-famous Forth Road Bridge (sorry, the weather was too mucky to take pics. Wikipedia will have to do instead.)
Caught the closing night of The Bacchae, which was one of the big draws at the Edinburgh International Festival, the largest arts festival in Europe. It featured the return to the Scottish stage of hometown boy Alan Cumming. It also featured a lot of lazy hamming and mincing around by Mr. Cumming. The play had some flaws, but still a great experience nonetheless.
And that's been Scotland, more or less. There was a lot of conversation, and pub-hopping Friday night, and more of that excellent bacon they have over here. But mostly just the deep getting-to-know a place, and people, that my traveling has become. I don't think I've seen one historial site or stepped foot into a single museum. I like doing those things, mind you, but I haven't really done any of that lately.
Time to pack up, hop back over to Dublin, and then home tomorrow. And then back to the great work ahead of me.
14 hours of callbacks, 3 hours of a damn-fine Damn Yankees! production, a lot of scotch, a lot of Radiohead, a lot of conceptualizing and Caesar-y goodness, and a Sunday morning playing theatre games with Maria and Mike from The House.
Summer came crashing to a cool, drizzly halt today as my ninth year in my district began today. Once again I was behind the wheel of the Opening Day ceremonies, and it's a good idea they don't listen to my private panic attacks, since I thought it would be a theatrical disaster but it ended up being decent cheeseball fun.
It was modeled after a morning talk show, and was filled with dumb humor and obvious jokes like "Iron Chef: Oswego", I was still able to slip in a good geek reference here and there. (Theme music was from Sports Night.)
Saw T and Prince Fan and Duder briefly as I weaved through the mass of teachers and missed them terribly, wished I saw them more than I did. At the same time finally felt comfortable in the job I have, and ended up working a long, long day, 7 to 7, finishing up at an ice cream social school kickoff thing. The kids I really trust and love and had discussed my potential plans said they were glad I didn't leave for England, and couldn't wait for school to start.
Somehow lost a fair amount of weight this summer, literally and figuratively. Started the school year with optimism and energy, first time in a while. Want to finally make some real plans and figure things out and create create create. Write and write and write and get the words down for real and leave something good behind. Want to fall in love and wear a stylish black suit and stay up too late with great people and then the next day climb a really tall mountain and spit from the top.
