M'kay, people are asking for show details beyond the friendly link I posted the other day. Here we go. But I'm warning you, this journey will take some courage and some mental toughness. Are you ready? Let's do it.
First off, the meeting place is in the Epcor Centre for the Arts. The address is: 205 - 8 Avenue SE, Calgary AB. Here is a Google Map:
View Larger Map
THIS MAP WILL NOT HELP YOU.
The Epcor Centre is half a block wide and an entire block long. It contains four million theatres. This is where the mental toughness comes in. The theatre you are looking for is One Yellow Rabbit. You will find it on the North-East portion of the building. I recommend walking east along the 8th Avenue side, where you will pass entrances to the Jack Singer Hall and Alberta Theatre Projects. Keep going. There is a door near the Baraka coffeeshop. Go in that one. If you pass the falafel place, you've gone too far. (However, if you are heading west, that falafel place is your beacon of hope.)
Once inside, you will see a staircase. Go up. Once on the second floor, you will be confronted by a wild carnival atmosphere and weird people galore. Welcome to Midway – the hub of the High Performance Rodeo festival. Do not be distracted by the painted ladies, fortune tellers and fetishists. Stay focused.
Near the staircase you just climbed, on the right, there is a large cut-out of a cartoon guy called Ten-Foot Henry. He's pinkish and has a bulbous head. Next to Henry is the Freak Show box office. There will be a sign that reads 'Freak Show' and a man happy to take your money.
Pull a ten-dollar bill out of your wallet. I'm taking paper money, here. CASH. Give it to the nice man and tell him you want to see TABOO & TITILLATION. That's the name of my tour on the Freak Show. He will give you further instructions from there.
For those who are completely baffled by the concept in general:
Freak Show is a traveling theatre experience. There are two tours, each consisting of 5 pieces in various locations around the Arts Centre. Tour guides will lead you, so the mental toughness ends once you find the box office. One tour departs on the half hour at 7:30, 8:30 and 9:30. It is called Mouth of Madness. The second tour, my tour, departs on the hour at 8, 9 and 10. It is called Taboo & Titillation. (Or Taboo & Tits. Or just Tits, if you prefer.) Each tour takes about 50 minutes. We open tonight and also run Friday and Saturday.
Good luck and I'll see you at the Freak Show.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Day 130: Things You Shouldn't Say To An Audience
So it's the tech rehearsal of the Freak Show and we really still only have a sorta-kinda clue about what we're doing and my lines are not cemented into my head but rather poorly Scotch taped and oh, all of a sudden, there's an audience.
The first run goes well. Okay, it goes AWESOME. And then we all sit around for an hour and I think about A) how totally kick-ass I am at acting and at life, and B) how much nicer it is to eat chickpea curry and chitchat than it is to tromp around in the snow, screaming. Which is what I do in the show.
But then it's time for the second run, so we go. Only we can't get the door to the rooftop 'stage' open. "You gotta jimmy it," was what Mark Hopkins told us. But he's a foot taller than both Wil or I and therefore probably has some kind of mad upward leverage us shorties don't. So time's a-ticking and we can't get the door open.
And I run to find Mark through the intricate stairway/hallway/back way system in the arts centre and I do some door banging and SOS miming and eventually he comes. But he can't open the door either. So we take one of the back ways and all this door drama is seriously not in my Actor Preparation Technique handbook and so when BOOM the audience arrives, BOOM all the lines of the play vaporize right out of my head.
When you forget your lines in theatre, you're not supposed to say so. Especially not to an audience. Definitely not an audience of actors who knows you aren't supposed to say so and who also isn't dressed for minus-10 and snow. They would really rather if you hurried the f*ck up with this crap show, lines or no lines, thank you very much.
But honestly, I was at a bit of a loss since the opening monologue is where I, all by myself, alone in the snowy, cold wilderness, explain the overly-complicated concept of this piece. It's like the longest monologue of all time. I swear. So yeah, maybe at one point in going-down-like-a-DC10-desperation, in the grip of my-brain-is-a-sucking-vacuum-of-nothingness, I might have squeaked the words, "I forgot my lines." Twice.
And then that horrible silence happened. The one where the audience people are standing there going, 'Honey, I don't know your line either and even if I did, I'm off the clock. Sorry.'
I stood there, my heart pounding in my ears, the adrenaline poisoning my blood, but still no words came. And then, through the panic, came a miraculous oasis of calm. I realized there was something really human about what was happening. I mean, aren't all of us out here...alone on the stage of our lives...at a bit of a loss?
Oh, I think we are.
But I couldn't linger on the humanity of it for very long because a beacon of light was gradually emerging in my head. Soon my formerly vacant brain was FILLED with words, glorious words, honest, true and right words: "Go take a running jump off this rooftop and end this sweet, sweet hell."
The first run goes well. Okay, it goes AWESOME. And then we all sit around for an hour and I think about A) how totally kick-ass I am at acting and at life, and B) how much nicer it is to eat chickpea curry and chitchat than it is to tromp around in the snow, screaming. Which is what I do in the show.
But then it's time for the second run, so we go. Only we can't get the door to the rooftop 'stage' open. "You gotta jimmy it," was what Mark Hopkins told us. But he's a foot taller than both Wil or I and therefore probably has some kind of mad upward leverage us shorties don't. So time's a-ticking and we can't get the door open.
And I run to find Mark through the intricate stairway/hallway/back way system in the arts centre and I do some door banging and SOS miming and eventually he comes. But he can't open the door either. So we take one of the back ways and all this door drama is seriously not in my Actor Preparation Technique handbook and so when BOOM the audience arrives, BOOM all the lines of the play vaporize right out of my head.
When you forget your lines in theatre, you're not supposed to say so. Especially not to an audience. Definitely not an audience of actors who knows you aren't supposed to say so and who also isn't dressed for minus-10 and snow. They would really rather if you hurried the f*ck up with this crap show, lines or no lines, thank you very much.
But honestly, I was at a bit of a loss since the opening monologue is where I, all by myself, alone in the snowy, cold wilderness, explain the overly-complicated concept of this piece. It's like the longest monologue of all time. I swear. So yeah, maybe at one point in going-down-like-a-DC10-desperation, in the grip of my-brain-is-a-sucking-vacuum-of-nothingness, I might have squeaked the words, "I forgot my lines." Twice.
And then that horrible silence happened. The one where the audience people are standing there going, 'Honey, I don't know your line either and even if I did, I'm off the clock. Sorry.'
I stood there, my heart pounding in my ears, the adrenaline poisoning my blood, but still no words came. And then, through the panic, came a miraculous oasis of calm. I realized there was something really human about what was happening. I mean, aren't all of us out here...alone on the stage of our lives...at a bit of a loss?
Oh, I think we are.
But I couldn't linger on the humanity of it for very long because a beacon of light was gradually emerging in my head. Soon my formerly vacant brain was FILLED with words, glorious words, honest, true and right words: "Go take a running jump off this rooftop and end this sweet, sweet hell."
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Day 129: Welcome to the Freak Show
So, in Monday's post I kind of just casually skimmed over the fact that I'm acting right now, but...I'm acting.
Here's how it went down:
On Friday afternoon, as I was saying goodbye to my New Year's guests, one asked me what I was doing on my week off from writing. I told him I had no idea. Ten seconds later my phone went beep-beep. It was a text message from my friend Mark Hopkins saying something like: OMFG! I need an actor! STAT! And even though my friends had left, I said out loud, "Oh! That's what I'm doing next."
I think we can all agree it's appropriate the production is called Freak Show.
So I say yes and Mark says REALLY?! And I say yes again and then I think about Mark who went all-leather-S&M for Halloween and I started to wonder what I agreed to and if it would involve fishnet stockings and a ball-gag. But it involves me wearing a parka on the roof so that's fine and then we meet and he doesn't have a script. Because he's all laid back and under 30. And on the outside I'm hey-no-problem but on the inside I'm control freaky and crotchety because I'm an old broad who is resistant to change. So we write part of the script and then the next day, yesterday, Mark hires Wil and the three of us finish it.
Did I mention the show opens in two days? Mm hm. True.
And the part of me that made the New Year's Resolution about spending more time with humans is locked in mortal combat with the part of me that believes that people are a serious liability to a fairly satisfying hermetically sealed existence. And then there's the part of me that's saying, "Wow girl, you REALLY know how to screw up a week off."
But now I feel better because I've memorized my lines. So come see the show, m'kay?
Here's how it went down:
On Friday afternoon, as I was saying goodbye to my New Year's guests, one asked me what I was doing on my week off from writing. I told him I had no idea. Ten seconds later my phone went beep-beep. It was a text message from my friend Mark Hopkins saying something like: OMFG! I need an actor! STAT! And even though my friends had left, I said out loud, "Oh! That's what I'm doing next."
I think we can all agree it's appropriate the production is called Freak Show.
So I say yes and Mark says REALLY?! And I say yes again and then I think about Mark who went all-leather-S&M for Halloween and I started to wonder what I agreed to and if it would involve fishnet stockings and a ball-gag. But it involves me wearing a parka on the roof so that's fine and then we meet and he doesn't have a script. Because he's all laid back and under 30. And on the outside I'm hey-no-problem but on the inside I'm control freaky and crotchety because I'm an old broad who is resistant to change. So we write part of the script and then the next day, yesterday, Mark hires Wil and the three of us finish it.
Did I mention the show opens in two days? Mm hm. True.
And the part of me that made the New Year's Resolution about spending more time with humans is locked in mortal combat with the part of me that believes that people are a serious liability to a fairly satisfying hermetically sealed existence. And then there's the part of me that's saying, "Wow girl, you REALLY know how to screw up a week off."
But now I feel better because I've memorized my lines. So come see the show, m'kay?
Top 5 Reasons To Buy My Subaru
This Top 5 is an homage to my new internet friend Sarah Blue, who I met through the new contender for Nicest Guy On The Planet and TGIM Poster Boy, Wil Knoll. And also because Top 5s are in my Top 5.
Why am I selling my Subaru? To fund the second six months of my Just One Year plan, of course.
Top 5 Reasons To Buy My Subaru
5. You look cooler in my Subaru.
4. Your mom looks cooler in my Subaru.
3. There is bike grease on the back of the back seat from my Ironman bike. Which I would totally clean off if you bought it, but the fact that it's there is pretty frickin' hard core.
2. It's the perfect blend of sporty, 4-wheel-drivey, not-so-gas-guzzly, let's-take-the-doggie, Hugo Bossy, easy-to-parky.
1. I will leave my anti-road-rage Morning Meditation CD in it for you. Inner peace! Free with purchase!
Why am I selling my Subaru? To fund the second six months of my Just One Year plan, of course.
Top 5 Reasons To Buy My Subaru
5. You look cooler in my Subaru.
4. Your mom looks cooler in my Subaru.
3. There is bike grease on the back of the back seat from my Ironman bike. Which I would totally clean off if you bought it, but the fact that it's there is pretty frickin' hard core.
2. It's the perfect blend of sporty, 4-wheel-drivey, not-so-gas-guzzly, let's-take-the-doggie, Hugo Bossy, easy-to-parky.
1. I will leave my anti-road-rage Morning Meditation CD in it for you. Inner peace! Free with purchase!
Monday, January 5, 2009
Day 128: T.G.I.M
This is possibly the worst Monday of the year. The Monday after Christmas holidays end and you have to face going back to work in the brutal cold. The kind of cold that inspires you to make those dumb jokes about how you thought it was called global warming. The kind of Monday where you seriously considered wearing your Christmas jammies to the office to prove a point.
THIS is the Monday I've selected to begin a new series of posts called T.G.I.M. (Thank God It's Monday). Don't ask me why I'm doing this...unless you are begging for an earful of beauty pageant answers that will make you gag. I'm just doing it.
Our first T.G.I.M poster boy is very fine young actor/geek called Wil. Wil and I have found ourselves, quite suddenly, thrown together in a short play to be performed as part of the High Performance Rodeo – a festival of theatre, dance and other weirdness. I'm using Wil's head shot for this post because my camera was frozen solid after being left in my car for three weeks. Next time I'll put more effort in. Promise.
T.G.I.M. #1
Name: Wil Knoll
Age: 27
Occupation: Actor, Network Security computer fixer-upper, award-winning Twitter Phenom
Things You Can't Tell By Looking At Him: Had a yucky breakup in November, lost 30 pounds recently
What is the most awesomest thing in your life right now?
Yesterday, I wrote a twit (Twitter update) about how I was sick of doing nothing. Literally ten minutes later, Mark (Hopkins, theatre producer) called me and asked me to be in this show. My role involves climbing on a roof and using a bullhorn. I'd say that's pretty awesome.
What are you grateful for?
I'm grateful for the people in my life who have been honest with me. The best advice I've ever received was the stuff that hurt the most.
THIS is the Monday I've selected to begin a new series of posts called T.G.I.M. (Thank God It's Monday). Don't ask me why I'm doing this...unless you are begging for an earful of beauty pageant answers that will make you gag. I'm just doing it.
Our first T.G.I.M poster boy is very fine young actor/geek called Wil. Wil and I have found ourselves, quite suddenly, thrown together in a short play to be performed as part of the High Performance Rodeo – a festival of theatre, dance and other weirdness. I'm using Wil's head shot for this post because my camera was frozen solid after being left in my car for three weeks. Next time I'll put more effort in. Promise.
T.G.I.M. #1Name: Wil Knoll
Age: 27
Occupation: Actor, Network Security computer fixer-upper, award-winning Twitter Phenom
Things You Can't Tell By Looking At Him: Had a yucky breakup in November, lost 30 pounds recently
What is the most awesomest thing in your life right now?
Yesterday, I wrote a twit (Twitter update) about how I was sick of doing nothing. Literally ten minutes later, Mark (Hopkins, theatre producer) called me and asked me to be in this show. My role involves climbing on a roof and using a bullhorn. I'd say that's pretty awesome.
What are you grateful for?
I'm grateful for the people in my life who have been honest with me. The best advice I've ever received was the stuff that hurt the most.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
2008's Greatest Hits
M'kay. Having been incapacitated by a cheese coma for the past few days, I kind of let 2008 go out with a whimper. And so, I've elected to do a run-down of 2008's finest, funniest and most notorious posts.
The United Harmonica Federation of France
"He is 60-plus, balding with curly grey hair gathered behind him in a ponytail. He wears glasses and some kind of windbreaker. His eyes bug out with emotion or effort, I can't tell which."
Crotch Management
"So there you are, buck naked with a tube of thick white cream, staring at your crotch."
Psycho Midnight Cleaning Lady
"My peaceful bathroom-cleaning mantra was something like: You want a clean effing house you effing sonofabeep, I'll effing show you a clean effing house."
Surgerized
"I was buck naked from the waist down, attached to a giant grey machine that looked suspiciously like a BBQ. It had a 'smoke clearance' sticker on it."
Meet The F*ckers
"I met The F*ckers one winter evening as I was making dinner and they were making something else. As I chopped, they humped, the music of their lovemaking drifting easily through our shared wall."
The Hair
"Some moles, however, are not so beautiful. They come in weird colours. Sometimes they're kind of lumpy. And some moles...well, some moles have The Hair."
Inside The Mind Of A Writer
"Sixty-six words. That's all? God. It's almost eleven. My back hurts. I need a massage. I can't afford a massage. I can't afford anything. What am I thinking trying to be a writer when the world is falling down?"
Dishing It Out
"He does the dishes like he's finishing a marathon, scrubbing with great gusto, breathing heavily, dropping the cutlery, polished and gleaming with a flourish on the countertop, before doing the victory lap of wiping down the counters."
Better Known As Bacon Strip
"We wear our knickers ‘til they unravel from our asses, 'til they look like tattered bandages from WWI trench warfare, we don’t care. Maybe this is our family secret: wearing underpants long past propriety."
Happy Anniversary...I'm Leaving
"Six years ago, on our second anniversary, my husband told me he was leaving. While he worked his way through a poorly rehearsed speech, looking down for dramatic effect, his nose began to bleed."
The United Harmonica Federation of France
"He is 60-plus, balding with curly grey hair gathered behind him in a ponytail. He wears glasses and some kind of windbreaker. His eyes bug out with emotion or effort, I can't tell which."
Crotch Management
"So there you are, buck naked with a tube of thick white cream, staring at your crotch."
Psycho Midnight Cleaning Lady
"My peaceful bathroom-cleaning mantra was something like: You want a clean effing house you effing sonofabeep, I'll effing show you a clean effing house."
Surgerized
"I was buck naked from the waist down, attached to a giant grey machine that looked suspiciously like a BBQ. It had a 'smoke clearance' sticker on it."
Meet The F*ckers
"I met The F*ckers one winter evening as I was making dinner and they were making something else. As I chopped, they humped, the music of their lovemaking drifting easily through our shared wall."
The Hair
"Some moles, however, are not so beautiful. They come in weird colours. Sometimes they're kind of lumpy. And some moles...well, some moles have The Hair."
Inside The Mind Of A Writer
"Sixty-six words. That's all? God. It's almost eleven. My back hurts. I need a massage. I can't afford a massage. I can't afford anything. What am I thinking trying to be a writer when the world is falling down?"
Dishing It Out
"He does the dishes like he's finishing a marathon, scrubbing with great gusto, breathing heavily, dropping the cutlery, polished and gleaming with a flourish on the countertop, before doing the victory lap of wiping down the counters."
Better Known As Bacon Strip
"We wear our knickers ‘til they unravel from our asses, 'til they look like tattered bandages from WWI trench warfare, we don’t care. Maybe this is our family secret: wearing underpants long past propriety."
Happy Anniversary...I'm Leaving
"Six years ago, on our second anniversary, my husband told me he was leaving. While he worked his way through a poorly rehearsed speech, looking down for dramatic effect, his nose began to bleed."
Day 127: Lying Flat On My Face, Drooling
I have reason to believe a diet consisting entirely of cheese – not to mention being on the wrong side of a book-finishing adrenaline high – is a good way to ensure feeling like you've been hit by an avian-flu chicken truck. Perhaps an organic carrot juice followed by a good, old fashioned base jump is the answer.
Irregardless.*
I've decided to take a week off from writing and see how I feel. Today is my fourth day and I feel exhausted. In my overachieving heart of hearts I'm hoping my creative energy makes a miraculous recovery at some point in the next 2.5 days and I wake up on the 7th refreshed and ready to revise.
But, the lesson I learned over the past month (and the lesson several of my artist friends have been trying to tell me forever) is: you can't force it. And why would you want to, really. It's like trying to coerce someone into loving you – even if it works, it feels all wrong.
BUT. I have all sorts of other non-writing ideas I want to play with, many of them specifically for this blog. Stay tuned.
I've also decided to do The Artist's Way again. I write about this book an annoying amount, but until you either go out and get a copy or post a comment saying shut-the-hell-up-or-I'll-stop-reading, I'm going to keep doing it. I credit The Artist's Way (and Facebook, actually) with turning me into a person who has lived as a full-time artist for a year now. For all intensive purposes.**
However, there is still work to be done. My overly serious approach to the artist's life is annoying and counter-productive. I experience crippling artistic jealousy and mood swings on a regular basis. My beliefs about artists and money need a major overhaul or I really will die penniless and alone and it will be all my fault.
So, back to the good book I go, and while I rest my writing brain and refill the creative well, I will cultivate my belief in abundance, possibility and unicorns.***
* Not a real word.
** Not a real phrase.
*** Totally real.
Irregardless.*
I've decided to take a week off from writing and see how I feel. Today is my fourth day and I feel exhausted. In my overachieving heart of hearts I'm hoping my creative energy makes a miraculous recovery at some point in the next 2.5 days and I wake up on the 7th refreshed and ready to revise.
But, the lesson I learned over the past month (and the lesson several of my artist friends have been trying to tell me forever) is: you can't force it. And why would you want to, really. It's like trying to coerce someone into loving you – even if it works, it feels all wrong.
BUT. I have all sorts of other non-writing ideas I want to play with, many of them specifically for this blog. Stay tuned.
I've also decided to do The Artist's Way again. I write about this book an annoying amount, but until you either go out and get a copy or post a comment saying shut-the-hell-up-or-I'll-stop-reading, I'm going to keep doing it. I credit The Artist's Way (and Facebook, actually) with turning me into a person who has lived as a full-time artist for a year now. For all intensive purposes.**
However, there is still work to be done. My overly serious approach to the artist's life is annoying and counter-productive. I experience crippling artistic jealousy and mood swings on a regular basis. My beliefs about artists and money need a major overhaul or I really will die penniless and alone and it will be all my fault.
So, back to the good book I go, and while I rest my writing brain and refill the creative well, I will cultivate my belief in abundance, possibility and unicorns.***
* Not a real word.
** Not a real phrase.
*** Totally real.
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