9pm
At 8’o’clock sharp,
The Bald Soprano opened.
Twenty-three shows left.
10pm
The doorbell sounded.
A tune filled the dining room.
It was “Three Blind Mice”.
11pm
True fatigue simmers.
Briefly stalled with sandwiches.
Beware the triptophan.
12am
That show was quite smooth
But Keith pondered the question,
“Wow that was just four?!”
1am
Punch to Adam’s face
Oh, sweet self inflicted wound!
Own worst enemy.
2am
All the bars have closed,
Cigarettes in the booth,
A brown mustache falls.
3am
Dearest Delante,
You know you are our sunshine
You are our bouquet
4am
Body getting tired
Neck and shoulders tight, so tight
Muscles atrophy.
5am
Sleep deprivation,
Sinks his teeth into the air.
Still rockin! We don’t care!
6am
“haiku in a snowstorm”
7am
When the doorbell rings
Sometimes there is someone there.
Other times, there’s not.
8am
Laughter has broke free
Like a shot of fresh canned cheese
Aiming for your mouth.
9am
Breakfast was tasty.
The comedy was tasty.
The “Fun Cheez” was not.
10am
Quiet audience
But one man has been sitting
For at least eight shows.
11am
I’m out of haikus
It saddens me a little
To have no more poems.
12pm
Wigs are falling off
A bit of fixing helps them
To get them back onstage.
1pm
Damn good energy.
Toss around a ball of yarn.
Do the roboto.
2pm
We’re still going strong.
Bobbi Block laughs for Adam.
Mary moves sexy.
3pm
Bigger crowd baby!
Awkward silences, big laughs.
Spit-take not so great.
4pm
Fast, silly, and bald.
Krishna Murti Manchester.
Fire Chief molested.
5pm
Sleep will rule again!
Rings around the eyes, glow brightened
Like being on drugs.
6pm
One more show to go.
Now a naked Fire Chief
Sends chills through the crowd.
7pm
To the top, my friends.
The last the same as the first.
Leave it all behind.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
From the Booth
On June 29, 2007, BRAT Productions took over The Wilma Theatre in Philadelphia. With a cast of six and a crew of four, the 24 Hour The Bald Soprano ran on the hour every hour for 24 hours.
2 am.
I have to stand up. I pace around the conference table in the booth, keeping my eye and ear to the stage. I pick up my third cup of cold, stale coffee. I put it down without a sip. I light an illegal cigarette, smoke it, put it out in our ash cup. I pace in front of our command station. I sit down. I look to Richards, she’s checking the time, sending a text, waiting for the next cue that will come in ten minutes. Something doesn’t feel right. At a time when, in an alternate universe, I would be swapping out and giving in to sleep, I look to the stage and feel a misstep in our connection. I feel a lag, and I feel the need to change up, energize NOW. I turn, and say to Richards, “We need a dance party.” With a tired smile she stands and hooks up her I-pod. We dance and sing for five minutes, it feels forced, but when we sit down again, I feel a little better. Yet, my energy and the energy onstage is not the same, that misstep has not been fixed. Our sixth consecutive show ends, and I ask the ASM, Delante, over the headset, “How are the actors?” He comes back, exhaustion and strain in his voice where I’ve never heard it before. “Okay. Some of the actors feel others are going too far, pushing too hard.” Dissention in the ranks. Funny, I didn’t see this with my eyes happening onstage, but I feel it in our energy as a whole. There is a strain happening, an uneven give and take occurring in our space. Richards and I, Delante, and the actors are not on the same page. During our next ten minute break between cues, I close our vocal connection with Delante, and lean over to Richards.
“Let’s sing to Delante.”
“What are we going to sing?”
In the terrible, tone deaf way that I am prone to, I sing to her.
She joins in, and in a matter of minutes, we have a round going between us.
I press the button and connect to Delante.
Me: “Hey Delante…”
Richards: “Hi Delante…”
Richards: “We just…”
Me: “We wanted to tell you something…”
And, giggling, together we sing:
“You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine,
You keep me happy,
When skies are grey,
You’ll never know dear,
How much I love you,
Please don’t take my sunshine away.”
Dead air, then Delante comes back.
“Well I guess it would be nice,
If I could touch your body,
I know not everybody
has got a body like yoooooou.”
And then we’re all singing together, TERRIBILY:
“Well, I gotta think twice,
before I give my heart away
And I know all the games you play
‘cause I’ve played them tooooooo.”
We break into laughter, and push on.
The next set of cues comes and goes, ending in an escalation of earsplitting clock chimes, translucent walls, the actors screaming “IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE!”. Then black out, lights up, and we begin again, our 8th consecutive show and counting. Charlotte and Keith sit as the Smiths, with Sarah and Adam on deck as the Martins. Reinforcements arrive, as only Madi can do – an upper, a downer, and a beautiful boy. But even with the reinforcements, exhaustion pulls, tugs at us, pulling attentions in different directions.
Once alone and between cues, Richards and I plot how to steady ourselves, how to let the actors know that we are right there with them, even in this late hour of complete exhaustion.
“We could flick the lights up here.”
(pause)
“Write a note on the window.”
(pause)
“Walk the catwalk.”
(pause)
“Throw paper airplanes.”
“From the catwalk.”
(silence)
“What if at the end of this show, we open the booth window, and scream ‘It’s not that way it’s over here’ with the actors?”
“I could use a good scream.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Let’s do it.”
And so, eyes to the stage, we watch and wait as we have done 7 shows before, only this time we have a different role to play ourselves and so are reinvested in the action onstage. The anticipation builds, almost eerily in tune with the chiming of the clock, until Richards and I are on our feet hitting cues, sliding the booth window open, joining the actors, and screaming with all our might into the black “IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE! IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE! IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE! IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE!”
Lights up and FUCK. Sarah sits as Mrs. Smith, and I can see (feel?) she’s shaken. I whisper, “She’s pissed.” And Richards and I settle into position, set for the first round of cues. I sit on the edge of my chair watching Sarah intently, hoping that I am mistaken, and that she isn’t pissed, she’s fine, all’s right in this world we have spent a month creating, 48 hours perfecting, and 8 hours living. But no, I am not mistaken; Richards and I have overstepped our bounds. The stage is the stage, the booth is the booth, and they do not, DO NOT meet without prior consent. Then why do I suddenly feel alive and connected? Why do I feel the rush of adrenaline that I feel with the opening of a show? I look at Richards, she looks more alert, more awake then I have seen her in hours. I look to the stage, and although Sarah was shaken, she has fallen back into the rote of our show. And here come the others, onstage, who appear more committed, more alive. Or is that just my imagination, the high of my newfound energy? No. There’s a new, refreshed energy to the space, I can feel it, but I can also feel the ripple from the shock wave Richards and I sent through the actors.
Enter the Fire Chief.
Nate is prone to practical jokes, and the director has given him free reign. So far, he has done a show where 1) he handed out candy to the actors and audience., 2) done the Roboto for the duration of his scene, 3) entered without pants or a shirt, in black boxer briefs, with his nipples painted white, 4) brought water with him onstage and done spit takes at every conceivable moment possible and mostly in the other actors faces. I pray to god he doesn’t have something like that up his sleeve.
Richards says, “What’s that in his pocket?” And in slow motion it seems, Nate withdraws a can of FunCheez.
Before I realize it I’m saying, “No, No, No. Don’t do it Nate, don’t do it. Sarah’s going to kill him. She’ll never eat it. She’ll kill him first.” But my heart is beating a million miles a minute and calling, “Yes! Heee.heee.hee.hee. D-do it. D-do it. D-do it.” She addresses him, and Nate turns to Sarah, lifts his hand and slowly brings the FunCheez to her mouth. She can’t say no, and, so, opens her mouth and takes it. I can’t imagine how disgusting it is, but she continues on through her line as he feeds her more and more. Finally after her line ends and she sits, he moves onto Adam, then Keith, and finally Charlotte. They each take their turn, continuing as best they can through the scene with a mouth full of FunCheez. Nate even gives himself a shot, and the audience is going nuts. But in the booth, between laughs, we’re going “Where in the hell did he get that? We’ve got to get them some water. And how old is that FunCheez? How long has it been in the Wilma’s greenroom?” We connect to Delante.
Then-
Enter Jess, The Maid, as she’s done before, only this time with a tray containing glasses of water and napkins. And when Nate comes at her with the FunCheez, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a cracker, and has a picnic. The show goes on. And together, we are HERE. Together we will run this show for 24 hour straight. For this moment, there is nothing but the stage, the booth, and the in between. We are all. We are together. There is nothing else.
2 am.
I have to stand up. I pace around the conference table in the booth, keeping my eye and ear to the stage. I pick up my third cup of cold, stale coffee. I put it down without a sip. I light an illegal cigarette, smoke it, put it out in our ash cup. I pace in front of our command station. I sit down. I look to Richards, she’s checking the time, sending a text, waiting for the next cue that will come in ten minutes. Something doesn’t feel right. At a time when, in an alternate universe, I would be swapping out and giving in to sleep, I look to the stage and feel a misstep in our connection. I feel a lag, and I feel the need to change up, energize NOW. I turn, and say to Richards, “We need a dance party.” With a tired smile she stands and hooks up her I-pod. We dance and sing for five minutes, it feels forced, but when we sit down again, I feel a little better. Yet, my energy and the energy onstage is not the same, that misstep has not been fixed. Our sixth consecutive show ends, and I ask the ASM, Delante, over the headset, “How are the actors?” He comes back, exhaustion and strain in his voice where I’ve never heard it before. “Okay. Some of the actors feel others are going too far, pushing too hard.” Dissention in the ranks. Funny, I didn’t see this with my eyes happening onstage, but I feel it in our energy as a whole. There is a strain happening, an uneven give and take occurring in our space. Richards and I, Delante, and the actors are not on the same page. During our next ten minute break between cues, I close our vocal connection with Delante, and lean over to Richards.
“Let’s sing to Delante.”
“What are we going to sing?”
In the terrible, tone deaf way that I am prone to, I sing to her.
She joins in, and in a matter of minutes, we have a round going between us.
I press the button and connect to Delante.
Me: “Hey Delante…”
Richards: “Hi Delante…”
Richards: “We just…”
Me: “We wanted to tell you something…”
And, giggling, together we sing:
“You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine,
You keep me happy,
When skies are grey,
You’ll never know dear,
How much I love you,
Please don’t take my sunshine away.”
Dead air, then Delante comes back.
“Well I guess it would be nice,
If I could touch your body,
I know not everybody
has got a body like yoooooou.”
And then we’re all singing together, TERRIBILY:
“Well, I gotta think twice,
before I give my heart away
And I know all the games you play
‘cause I’ve played them tooooooo.”
We break into laughter, and push on.
The next set of cues comes and goes, ending in an escalation of earsplitting clock chimes, translucent walls, the actors screaming “IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE!”. Then black out, lights up, and we begin again, our 8th consecutive show and counting. Charlotte and Keith sit as the Smiths, with Sarah and Adam on deck as the Martins. Reinforcements arrive, as only Madi can do – an upper, a downer, and a beautiful boy. But even with the reinforcements, exhaustion pulls, tugs at us, pulling attentions in different directions.
Once alone and between cues, Richards and I plot how to steady ourselves, how to let the actors know that we are right there with them, even in this late hour of complete exhaustion.
“We could flick the lights up here.”
(pause)
“Write a note on the window.”
(pause)
“Walk the catwalk.”
(pause)
“Throw paper airplanes.”
“From the catwalk.”
(silence)
“What if at the end of this show, we open the booth window, and scream ‘It’s not that way it’s over here’ with the actors?”
“I could use a good scream.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Let’s do it.”
And so, eyes to the stage, we watch and wait as we have done 7 shows before, only this time we have a different role to play ourselves and so are reinvested in the action onstage. The anticipation builds, almost eerily in tune with the chiming of the clock, until Richards and I are on our feet hitting cues, sliding the booth window open, joining the actors, and screaming with all our might into the black “IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE! IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE! IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE! IT’S NOT THAT WAY IT’S OVER HERE!”
Lights up and FUCK. Sarah sits as Mrs. Smith, and I can see (feel?) she’s shaken. I whisper, “She’s pissed.” And Richards and I settle into position, set for the first round of cues. I sit on the edge of my chair watching Sarah intently, hoping that I am mistaken, and that she isn’t pissed, she’s fine, all’s right in this world we have spent a month creating, 48 hours perfecting, and 8 hours living. But no, I am not mistaken; Richards and I have overstepped our bounds. The stage is the stage, the booth is the booth, and they do not, DO NOT meet without prior consent. Then why do I suddenly feel alive and connected? Why do I feel the rush of adrenaline that I feel with the opening of a show? I look at Richards, she looks more alert, more awake then I have seen her in hours. I look to the stage, and although Sarah was shaken, she has fallen back into the rote of our show. And here come the others, onstage, who appear more committed, more alive. Or is that just my imagination, the high of my newfound energy? No. There’s a new, refreshed energy to the space, I can feel it, but I can also feel the ripple from the shock wave Richards and I sent through the actors.
Enter the Fire Chief.
Nate is prone to practical jokes, and the director has given him free reign. So far, he has done a show where 1) he handed out candy to the actors and audience., 2) done the Roboto for the duration of his scene, 3) entered without pants or a shirt, in black boxer briefs, with his nipples painted white, 4) brought water with him onstage and done spit takes at every conceivable moment possible and mostly in the other actors faces. I pray to god he doesn’t have something like that up his sleeve.
Richards says, “What’s that in his pocket?” And in slow motion it seems, Nate withdraws a can of FunCheez.
Before I realize it I’m saying, “No, No, No. Don’t do it Nate, don’t do it. Sarah’s going to kill him. She’ll never eat it. She’ll kill him first.” But my heart is beating a million miles a minute and calling, “Yes! Heee.heee.hee.hee. D-do it. D-do it. D-do it.” She addresses him, and Nate turns to Sarah, lifts his hand and slowly brings the FunCheez to her mouth. She can’t say no, and, so, opens her mouth and takes it. I can’t imagine how disgusting it is, but she continues on through her line as he feeds her more and more. Finally after her line ends and she sits, he moves onto Adam, then Keith, and finally Charlotte. They each take their turn, continuing as best they can through the scene with a mouth full of FunCheez. Nate even gives himself a shot, and the audience is going nuts. But in the booth, between laughs, we’re going “Where in the hell did he get that? We’ve got to get them some water. And how old is that FunCheez? How long has it been in the Wilma’s greenroom?” We connect to Delante.
Then-
Enter Jess, The Maid, as she’s done before, only this time with a tray containing glasses of water and napkins. And when Nate comes at her with the FunCheez, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a cracker, and has a picnic. The show goes on. And together, we are HERE. Together we will run this show for 24 hour straight. For this moment, there is nothing but the stage, the booth, and the in between. We are all. We are together. There is nothing else.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Traded In
Pulling the front two loops on his jeans
together with tie line -
a perfect little knot -
Sapphire says,
"I haven't bought a new belt yet."
Trading in black
for a forest green
North Face fleece,
tie line for
a belt,
Sapphire lights another cigarette
and moves on his way.
together with tie line -
a perfect little knot -
Sapphire says,
"I haven't bought a new belt yet."
Trading in black
for a forest green
North Face fleece,
tie line for
a belt,
Sapphire lights another cigarette
and moves on his way.
Our Dream...
02/21/08
~
I am dreaming
that
I am walking on the moon.
With chairs.
Chairs that press down into water.
I found some sea weed that tased like licorice.
Out onto cement.
I stepped out of the water onto the cement and there was a restaurant.
...
I stepped from the moon to the earth.
The moon was next to the earth.
I went and told Ms. Waterman and she said,
"We're going to have to do something about that."
The moon changed from yellow to orange like last night.
I woke up.
~
~
I am dreaming
that
I am walking on the moon.
With chairs.
Chairs that press down into water.
I found some sea weed that tased like licorice.
Out onto cement.
I stepped out of the water onto the cement and there was a restaurant.
...
I stepped from the moon to the earth.
The moon was next to the earth.
I went and told Ms. Waterman and she said,
"We're going to have to do something about that."
The moon changed from yellow to orange like last night.
I woke up.
~
To The Moths and Bats at My Back;
Gentlemen,
Before you open your mouths,
before you profess your love,
or lack there of;
Please, educate yourselves
on the nature of me.
Many Thanks,
Yours Truly,
Scoober
Before you open your mouths,
before you profess your love,
or lack there of;
Please, educate yourselves
on the nature of me.
Many Thanks,
Yours Truly,
Scoober
Monday, March 10, 2008
Because I Love Women
I am condemned to the Seventh layer of hell.
Guarded by the Minotaur,
the fury,
and encircled within the river Phlegethon,
filled with boiling blood;
The violent, the assassins,
the tyrants, and the war-mongers
lament their pitiless mischiefs
while centaurs armed with bows and arrows
shoot those who try to escape their punishment.
The stench here is overpowering.
Home to the wood of the suicides-
Stunted and gnarled trees,
in twisting branches,
poisoned fruit
hanging from their branches -
The Harpies,
foul birdlike creatures
with human faces,
make their nests.
Beyond the wood
is scorching sand
where those who
committed violence
against God and nature
are showered
with flakes of fire
that rain down against
their naked bodies.
Blasphemers and sodomites
writhe in pain,
their tongues
loose to lamentation,
and out of their eyes
gushes forth their woe.
Usurers,
who followed
neither nature nor art,
also share company in the Seventh Level.
I am condemned to the Seventh layer of Hell.
Guarded by the Minotaur,
the fury,
and encircled within the river Phlegethon,
filled with boiling blood;
The violent, the assassins,
the tyrants, and the war-mongers
lament their pitiless mischiefs
while centaurs armed with bows and arrows
shoot those who try to escape their punishment.
The stench here is overpowering.
Home to the wood of the suicides-
Stunted and gnarled trees,
in twisting branches,
poisoned fruit
hanging from their branches -
The Harpies,
foul birdlike creatures
with human faces,
make their nests.
Beyond the wood
is scorching sand
where those who
committed violence
against God and nature
are showered
with flakes of fire
that rain down against
their naked bodies.
Blasphemers and sodomites
writhe in pain,
their tongues
loose to lamentation,
and out of their eyes
gushes forth their woe.
Usurers,
who followed
neither nature nor art,
also share company in the Seventh Level.
Because I love women,
find solace in a smile,
a hug from a friend -
Because I love
midnight talks,
our round table,
fishbowl of goddesses,
and our endless
beehive dance -
Because I love the
expansion of your lungs,
the vibrancy of your fury -
Because I love,
upon greeting,
how you tuck your nose
into the nape of my neck,
breathe in the scent
of the jasmine powder
I dust on each morning -
Because together we revel
in the beauty of womanhood -
Because I love -
I am condemned to the Seventh layer of Hell.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
A Mother's Kiss
"You might stand next to the fire;
if only to feel the heat.
And it'll be hot.
But for goodness sake,
don't step directly into it.
There's no sense in
burning yourself."
if only to feel the heat.
And it'll be hot.
But for goodness sake,
don't step directly into it.
There's no sense in
burning yourself."
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