The Pre-Christmas US Road Trip: The Beginning

In the morning, Marty and I are going to leave Guelph, drive to Florida, then drive to Cornwall. I'll be landing in Cornwall on the 23rd of December so that we can both make it to our respective family Christmases.

Why? Just because.

Impending hiatus

I went to Toronto over the weekend and took a couple small knitting projects with me. Hats, to be specific.

There will be pictures accompanied by stories. Right now, I'm up to my ears in work, so it's all going to have to slide for a couple days.

See you soon!

In which I'm never going outside ever again

I had a couple (somewhat) free days this week, so today, I decided to take it upon myself to take the short walk to Gole Market and get the pictures I need for my cell phone papers. Maybe do a little shopping. I drew a little map, threw what I needed in my bag, and headed out.

Within ten minutes, I'd gone straight where I should have turned right and was pretty damn lost. Most people would probably turn back or get a cab, but I figured I'd keep walking, dodging shit and stray dogs with every step. When the road ended I took a right and kept going. There was some nice architecture on this street (schools and temples) which distracted my from the fact that I was getting increasingly more lost. Then I suddenly hit a freeway. That would be about when I started to get a little worried. Still, I hung another right and kept walking. Nothing exciting to see on this road except I did see the *biggest* dead rat I've *ever* seen in my life.

After I'd been walking for maybe an hour, I was considering giving up and turned down the next side street to try to find an auto. I looked at what lay down the street and said to myself: "I've been lost here before!" Somehow, I'd made it to Gole Market after all. Exciting!

I magically located a photo shop that could give me the photos I need, albiet I'd end up with 6 more pictures than I needed and I was being overcharged by about 40Rs. I fixed my hair and quickly posed for the pictures. In theory, I should have been in and out within ten minutes, which would have gotten me back on track with the timeline I'd set for myself.

Then, the universe screwed me again. The photo printer just wouldn't work. I made small talk (about how pretty Canada is) with the owner while she, her daughter,and her employee messed around with the ink cartridges trying to make them work. After about an hour of this, I gave her 50Rs (still about 20Rs more than it should have been) for the one sheet of pictures that had actually printed. They're just shot through with lines of light and colour and I like how exhausted and irritable I look in them.

After getting directions, I stop at the mobile store on the walk home. I give them the pictures, buy a USB phone, and listen to them tell me that the service has been blocked on my phone but it will be back in service by Saturday. I know as they're saying it that my service won't be back for Saturday. (EDIT: It's Saturday and I have no service.)

Finally, I make it back a bit after 7pm, an hour later than I'd planned on being back. I decided to pass on tea since it's somewhat close to dinner. Although it's now almost 10pm and dinner hasn't arrived. So now I'm just really really hungry.

On the plus side, I now know the quick, easy way to get to Gole Market. Will I attempt it again. Um...... probably. We'll see.

In which I'm done like dinner

Do you remember how, in Disney's Cinderella, she makes a dress from what she has (with the help of little woodland creatures) and then her wicked step-sisters tear it apart? Well, that was my day. Except woodland creatures didn't help me make the dress and I wasn't the one wearing it.

Still, it did get torn apart. With razor blades and shears. I wouldn't have wanted to have been Gayathri when the dress was being cut apart.

I would leave. I should leave. But I keep hoping for something.

In which Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (to me) - Part II: Performance Week

For an entire week, this damn play owned my life. Normally, this would be a good thing. I'd scan some articles in the morning then, after lunch, I'd consider doing something, *anything*, and the bastard actors would show up early. Everyday I'd tell them that they couldn't be at the theatre until 5:30pm, and everyday they'd show up at 3pm. They wouldn't be in the theatre, they'd just be in the back doing notes and rehearsing problem scenes. You have to admire that kind of committment, but at the same time, it's sort of disrespectful to the theatre. Plus, I'd have to hang out and watch them get harrangued over mistakes and rehearse things endlessly. I'd occassionally debate some of the interpretation of the Hamlet text, but only if it was horribly innacurate. I was subtle about it. Gerd Hauck, you win again.

The thing is, I very quickly started to *like* all of the kids in the company. I haven't really met too many people around my age. Plus, they're all in college (mostly English), so I can totally relate. And they're all so *nice*. It was good company. Too bad I'm sure I'll never hear from them again.

I had a couple tech days (my idea) before they opened, so that I could figure out the lighting cues, and the sound girl could orient herself since she'd never done sound before. Great idea in theory, except the director refused to let me do my tech the way I needed to. In the end, I only got most of the cues for act 3. Beh. During those two days, when they were asked to do a dress rehearsal (which they were doing anyways) for Jalabala, Amba couldn't stop directing during the run. Which really just makes it a rehearsal. Plus, the fearless director was still performing with script in hand. Keep in mind that she's playing one of the titular characters. With a script in hand. The day before they opened.

I also spent a day doing publicity for them. Somewhat against my will. I took publicity photos and e-mailed them to all the newspapers with press releases. I took posters to all the press clubs as well as some tourist kiosks. I know the entire company had done poster runs, so I'm not entirely sure how places like that had been overlooked. I mean, if you're trying to start a theatre company, you should probably alert the press.

Miraculously, she learned her lines for opening, and was quite good to boot. As for the overall production...... well, it's not how I'd have done it. Then again, I had always thought the play was a comedy. I found that the high melodrama really made the play drag, especially by the time you got to the third act. Then there was all of the pseudo-Brechtian garbage they added...... But there were moments of great charm. They're all quite talented in one area or another, whether it be voice, physicality, or the whole package. I was particularly fond of the dumb show, for which they used commedia masks. They didn't know anything about commedia, but I (somewhat surreptitiously) gave a couple pointers on how to use the masks to their full advantage. They really tried to use my suggestions. I'm not sure whether it's because the think I'm a "real theatre person" or because I wasn't a total bitch about it.

I'm particularly proud of convincing Hamlet to use the "IMMEDIATELY" hand. I'm not sure if he understood *why* he was using it, but he definately understood that it was what needed to happen. I think everyone was confused by the fact that I use it all the time though.

The sound and lighting design were both pretty awful. The music cues were chosen in the style of "oh, this song would sound cool here" with no consideration of consistensy. Therefore it was a haphazzard mix of genre and era that often sounded out of place. I refuse to take responsibility for how bad the lights were. I know I'm not great with lights, but my ideas were effective, albiet simple. Then directorial decisions were made. My blue gels suddenly became way too saturated. My levels were all lowered. Specials were changed so that faces were only top lit and people moved about in the dark in the middle of monologues (although maybe he just didn't know how to find his light). A fucking horrible red light was added to make an overly dramatic moment even more dramatic. I tried to contest these decisions, had her look at how ridiculous they looked, but it was in vain.

The first couple of shows had minimal audience. The actors had been hoping for that so that they could get a feel for the performance (since they hadn't *really* done a proper run before), but I think they were disheartened nevertheless. Amba gave them a really backwards pep talk about "how they're not doing it for the audience" which left us Akshara folk scratching our heads in confusion. I don't know if it was my press efforts or if these guys have a great deal of friends, but the rest of the shows more or less sold out. Some audiences were better than others, but that's always the way it is.

It was during these early shows that I discovered that it was impossible to start the show on time. Because of the actors. Everyday I'd tell them: "Stop rehearsing AT 5:30pm and come into the theatre immediately. Your set and props should be placed by 6pm. Hair, makeup and costumes should be done by 7pm, and you can do your pep talks then. By 7:15pm, you should be in places (Ros and Guil were onstage for the preshow) so that the house can open at 7:20pm for a 7:30pm go." The first night, we held the house quite late, hoping for more audience. Now, I don't know if they were expecting the house to be held like that every night, but these guys just *couldn't* be ready on time. Which is ridiculous because they had such a simple set-up. Nothing was complicated about it, except for *maybe* Alfred's make-up (he was painted like a harlequin for god knows what reason). Every night we had to hold the house because we were waiting on the actors to finish whatever they were doing. With each night that passed, the audience got more and more agitated, as did I.

Did I mention that I was sort of house managing as well as doing the lights and filling in for their lack of stage manager? Who does a three act play sans stage manager?? Well, the sound girl did the seating, but I had to introduce the show and the intermission, as well as socialize with the audience before and after the show as well as intermission. It was hardest at intermission when I'd have 10 minutes to drink my soup, set up my lighting for the second half, have a smoke, give the actors their ten/five/standby cues, boost their moral, and try to find out from as many audience members as possible how they heard about the show. Jeh.

Overall, it did go well. Everyone was in high spirits after the final performance, and I tagged along for the cast party. The final remaining four of us piled into an auto for the ridiculously long ride to the bar. I vaguely answered questions about what Waterloo cast parties are like. I tried to remember the last cast party I'd been to that was at a bar. It was for 'Featuring Loretta'. Either you know what happened that night or you don't. Good times. For a half second, I missed Phil's, but then I remembered that Phil's is kinda gross. We finally got to the bar called Cafe Morrison. You know what it's going to be like just from the name. It had the ambiance and drink prices of Starlight with the music of those rare good nights at Abstract. Oh, how it made me happy. We drank (I decided on a Tom Collins night), and talked, drank some more, smoked all of my cigarettes (those bastards), and danced until close. Leaving the bar made me kinda homesick as the police ushered us along our way. The whole gang arranged my auto home, which was sweet. As I was driving off, I gave an "immediately" hand out the side, which made various actors try to touch my hand like I was some kind of rock star. Which I am. My driver turned out not to speak *any* English, and once we figured that out, he put on the radio and we enjoyed Indian dance music on the lengthy ride (except for one stop where he inexplicably bought a large amount of matches). It was a nice night to be kinda drunk in an auto-rickshaw with the music and the breeze. I was nice and zen when I got home, except that I had to raise all kinds of hell to get the night watchmen to open the gate for me.

For an epilogue, this group of actor put on a show and make a large amount of cash. I can't imagine anything more encouraging for a young company. They all go back to college. Amba, their fearless leading, instead of immediately starting to work on her next project, has decided she wants to act in something (rather than act and direct I guess), effectively ending things for them. At any rate, she plans on taking a long break before she starts on something else. That's the fucking problem with theatre in this country. There's no constant drive, theatre's just a past-time. God knows, if it was me, I'd take that money and pour it right into the next show. Entice the people who liked the first show to keep coming before they forget. Jeh. Beh. Feh. It's part of the permanent state of theatre in this country (judging by the 40 year old articles I've been reading), and it really fucking sucks.

In which Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (to me) - Part I: Pre-Performance

Months ago, I had been asked to show the theatre to a couple girls who were planning to mount a production in future. While they were looking at the theatre, I mentioned that I would probably be asked to program their lighting for them, and their stage manager could just just hit the go button. I didn't think anything more about it until, a couple weeks ago, they came back, handed me something resembling a script of R&G Are Dead and told me that they planned to take me up on my offer do their lighting design and operation. Also, they didn't have a stage manager. Or a production crew. And the director (Amba) was also playing Guildenstern, and was still on book.

Beh. Jeh. Feh.

Miranda: (holding a motely collection of loose papers with no numbering, covered in notes) So, can I get a performance copy of the script?
Amba: (pointing at motely collection of loose papers with no numbering, covered in notes) That's it.
Miranda: Seriously?

And so I end up typing out my own copy of the script to write my cues in. It took two days and by the end of it I discovered that my original 'script' was missing pages, therefore my nice, new script was also mising pages. The opening speech and the last couple pages of act two to be specific, so it was kind of a big deal. The show has now closed, and despite my frequent requests for those pages, I'm still waiting for them.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I'm not great (understatement) at lighting design. Still, it's a really small stage, so I drafted out a basic lighting plot (or at least something resembling one) that seemed alright. Amba told me what specials she wanted, mostly close spots, allowing for little movement if you want to stay lit. Then again, most of the actors don't seem to know how to find their light. Still, she refused my suggestions of bigger spots, or filler lights for those frequent times when actors walk out of their light. Focusing the lights (they were already hung) took much more effort than it had any right to take. We couldn't do it ourselves, due to the dubious system of having to stand on a rickety stool on top of a five foot scafold in order to reach the lights. The staff guys who were supposed to focus the lights for us (me giving English instruction to Amba to give to them in Hindi) kept disappearing or saying they couldn't do the work unless a certain other person was there (lie). They also said they couldn't hang more instruments (lie) which meant that I had to make the best out of what little was up there. They also said they couldn't patch lights plugged into the old (metal slider )system into the Strand board (lie) which meant that I was going to have to do some acrobatics to operate certain lighting cues. It also meant that I lost a filler light for one of my areas. That somewhat darker spot pissed me off. Anyways, it took all three of the tech days (6-8 hour days) to focus twenty something instruments, and we had to stay super late on the third day just to get it done. The actors used the time to get used to the space and run scenes, but I was only told the lighting looks for the third act, sort of. I never even saw a run of the show in those days. Technically (considering that, from the lx booth, you can only see the stage left half of the stage) I guess I never saw the show at all.

Amba: (jokingly) Now all the pressures on you. The play will be a complete failure if the lights fail.
(I raise an eyebrow and contemplate saying: "Nobody will notice the lighting because they'll be distracted by how much your play sucks". What I actually say is:)
Miranda: I doubt that.
Amba: I've seen productions that were ruined by messed up sound and lighting.
Miranda: First of all, you haven't even told me *where* all the lighting changes are. I can look at the stage directions...
Amba: No. That won't help you.
Miranda: Okay. You still need to give me the lighting cues. Can you e-mail them to me?
Amba: No. That will take me too long. I'll call you Saturday around eight.
Miranda: Okay. Secondly, not just for me, but for your sound operator who hasn't been here *once* this week, you need to come in for another day, where we can *rehearse* all of your sound and lighting cues. I only been able to to the third act, and some of mu cues rely on sound, blah blah blah.
Amba: You're right. That's a very good idea. I'll call Jalabala tomorrow to set up a day.

I'm still waiting for that phone call with the lighting cues. In the end, I called them to set up a tech day. Due to the Guildenstern/director's inability to stop directing or learn her lines, there wasn't actually a run. I was given various sets of lighting cues, but didn't get to try out most of them.

Right after their tech days, it absolutely *poured* rain for a few days. One of their set pieces was a tree (in the Waiting For Godot sense of the term) and they were storing it behind my cottage. At one point, when the rain stopped for an hour, I dragged the tree under the awning, but the staff moved it the next morning so they could sweep under the awning. They love to sweep.

Miranda: (Confused. A little pissed at being disturbed.) Hello?
Actor playing Ros: Hi. It's [name of actor who's playing Rosencrantz].
Miranda: Um...
Ros: From Amba's play.
Miranda: Oh, right. Hello.
Actor playing Ros: Can you make sure our tree is out of the rain?
Miranda: Well, I moved it under an awning, but it's only about half covered.
(this is repeated a few times until Ros understands what I mean.)
Ros: Can you put it somewhere else or put a tarp on it?
Miranda: There's nowhere else to put it. Of course, if *you* bring a tarp, you're more than welcome to cover it.
Ros: So if someone brings a tarp, you'll cover it?
Miranda: (Slowly and with great clarity.)You can bring a tarp and cover it yourself.
Ros: Oh, okay. I'll see what Amba says and then get back to you.

Nobody calls back. It's really pouring outside, I don't want to get soaked through, so I let the tree drown. There's nowhere sheltered to put it anyways.

The thing is, after seeing those few rehearsals, I'm not particularly commited to the play. It's not....... great. Amba is one of those yelling, hystrionic directors, which isn't really my thing. She's also interpreted the script a little too seriously...... meaning it's more melodramatic than comedic. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the play was supposed to be hysterically funny. During their rehearsals, I would sometimes flex my dramturgy muscle, which it turns out, I'm getting better at. I didn't impose on their interpretation. Although I really confused the Player when I kept asking her to explain to me why she goes into such detail in describing the performance that R&G skipped out on. She played it very dramatically, and it just sounded odd to me. I think there's supposed to be something a little lighting in that pearticular scene. I could be wrong. My 'light dramaturgy' seemed to be appreciated (except for pointing out that they guy painted up like a Harlequin playing the Player King was an anachronism, so far as commedia is concerned), especially when I explained to them how to more effectively use these gorgeous commedia masks they had gotten made for the dumbshow. There was one point, where Amba (supported by the rest) cried out "Ah! We've needed someone like you all of this time!". Yes. Yes you did. But you didn't.

In which I *finally* have an adventure worthy of my reputation

I’m still amused by the events that transpired last night. My day was pretty shitty. I couldn’t finish doing my internet things (including trying to finish uploading all of my backposts for this thing) since they were recording in the other room and *apparently*, my *typing* (of which I wasn’t even doing) could be heard. Of course, this happens *right* before I’m able to read this Facebook message from my cousin answering a question from me. I figure, to stay out of the way, I can go find a camera shop, since my digital finally died it’s impending death. This was not meant to be. Other things came up, and I ended up running about doing whatever it is that I do here.

In the evening, it was brought to my attention that there was an impromptu Sufi music performance going on at a hotel nearby. One of the groups from the performance that I missed the other night was doing a last show in the hotel. You know, just for kicks. Clearly, I was in. Plus, there was a wine reception afterwards.

I got to the outdoor pavillion where the concert was and it was nowhere near ready to start. There were a few people milling about, people setting up the stage, and some of the musicians were being interviewed. I noticed a younger guy, who looked pretty German, talking on a mobile a little ways away. I noticed him because he bore a striking resemblance to Britt Daniels. I spied on him and entertained a fantasy that it *was* Britt Daniels and he had come to India to ask me to marry him. Yes. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I prefer to live a rich fantasy life. Thank you very much.

The organizers moved the audience members inside so they wouldn't just be hanging about while the set-up finished. This turned into the wine reception. A dozen or so really rich looking people sitting around awkwardly and complaining loudly about the wine. In their defense, the wine was really fucking awful. For serious. I should have gone with juice.

Finally, the show started. I know it's not likely that you'll ever get the chance to see a Sufi performance. But, if you ever get the chance, go. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GO!!! I could never do the performance justice to try and descibe it. It's an intensely spiritual process for the performers. In my opinion, song and dance is the most wonderful expression of religious belief. It contains a kind of joy or euphoria that spreads through the viewers. They also did a "fusion" (which is a term I loathe) piece involving a digeredoo which was very cool. Plus, there were whirling dervishes, which is probably my all-time favourite form of religious expression. Especially when there are two guys (one of whom bore an strange resemblance to a curlier haired version of my brother) spinning and dancing while simutaneously playing great big drums. So cool. I ended up standing at the back (better visibility, plus if you *heard* it, you wouldn't be able to sit either) and sort of dancing/freezing. I noticed my Britt Daniels siteing was the only other person doing the same. Except he cheered much more.

After the performance, I went back inside to collect myself before getting a cab home. Next thing I know, my Britt Daniels look-alike is sitting next to me, sharing a cigarette and chatting me up. Turns out, Lionel's a Finland-born musician (electronic and Eastern) who's been living in Delhi with his Bharat-Natyam dancer wife for 13 years! One of his bandmates was the guy playing the digeredoo, and they actually made friends with the band at another gig last year. He gave me his card, made me promise to call and hang out some time, and we went out seperate ways.

As I'm headed down the walk, Lionel calls me back and asks me if I want to have dinner with him, his friends, and the musicians, apparantly at the bequest of the musicians who were being fed by the hotel anyways. Clearly, I had never been more in. Plus, I'd get a free ride home. I ended up seated across from the most intense looking of the musicians, so I sat their pretty quietly in rock-star awe. Plus, the group was mostly speaking Hindi and Urdu, so I couldn't exactly be chatty. One of the musicians gave me a rose from the centrepiece, which started a trend of everyone passing the roses to everyone else. So cute.

Dinner ends, and we all prepare to head our seperate ways, when Lionel mentions that some people, including a couple musicians are headed back to his place for some tea, and I should come. At this point, I figure 'what the hell?' and head over to his car.

I have to sidebar here and mention that Lionel has one of the *sweetest* cars I've ever seen. It looks like a modernized (read: streamlined) silver version of the old Ambassadors that you see around here. It's very new and very shiny and you feel very secure in it, which is key when you're driving in India.

He also has a beautiful wife and apartment. I'm actually totally in love with their apartment, it's just so...... special.

The rest of the night consisted of drinking particularly nice tea, filling the room with cigarette and hash smoke, and the men pulling out all kinds of instruments and jamming. It was the two Delhi musicians and the two Sufi drummers making beautiful music together. It was really really special. The musician that had earlier reminded me of my brother showed us all pictures of his family and his group's recent tour in Japan. In most of the pictures, he was The Dave W. Sunglasses. Hands gestures. "Pure sex" faces at the camera. New pictures were taken (me, all the while, cursing the death of my camera), much merriment was had, albiet in Hindi and Urdu.

In case you don't already know, Hindi and Urdu are *related* languages, but their not the same. For this reason, everyone (except for me) could somewhat communicate with the use of sign language (which helped me). My new favourite piece of sign language is the one that was used for 'sitar'. Hands positioned like their on the fingerboard of a sitar held up, then lower the entire upper body into the proper position. For some reason, I find it hilarious.

After much merriment, I crammed into a car of musicians for the ride home. It turns out that the musician that was sitting across from me spoke English (which I wish I'd known about 4 hours earlier) and we made idle chit chat.

All in all, it was a very special night. Plus, I made friends in Delhi! Woo!!