Getting over myself: Lesson #672

The Fringe show I’m stage managing is a collective creation project. More on that to come. And while we don’t yet have a full show, we do have a clever little song. And our wonderful director has a vision about how that song should be performed. This vision includes a verse sung from the booth…and the person in the booth would be…me. Right.

Apparently I neglected to mention that singing in public is not in my contract (and I would sooner die).

The lovely assistant director came to my defence, to which the response was: “Oh please, she went to theatre school at NYU, I think she can handle it…”

Touché. Ok, Director, you win this round.

And really, it’s more talking than singing. I think I can handle it, too. But way to foil the plan, silly NYU theatre education, you have officially invalidated any excuse I will ever manage to come up with to not do anything for the rest of my theatrical career/life…geez.

Be gentle, it’s my first time.

The combination of alcohol and a hot tub can make doing just about anything seem like a good idea. No, not that, not what you’re thinking…get your mind out of the gutter! Seriously…So whilst I was relaxing in the wilds of Utah and enjoying a cocktail or two in the bubbles, I agreed to stage manage a Fringe show.

And I have no idea what I’m doing.

(Let’s just say “Spring Break” and leave it at that…)

But I was told that all I needed to do was keep them organized and bring a binder and some paper. I figured I could handle that.

Really, this all came about because I sent an apparently well-timed thank you email with an offer to help out in any way if it was needed. The response: “Straight up. We need a stage manager.” If you’re going to offer your help, you should probably be ready for anything.

And so far so good.

Although now that I’m back and actually doing things, I am a little curious as to what exactly I was thinking when I agreed to this gig (I blame the booze and the bubbles). I have a lot going on for the next few weeks and I’ve just had to accept that some things are falling by the wayside as a result (I’ll try not to let blogging become one of them, but I make no guarantees). Nothing majorly important has been sacrificed, just things I wanted to do and will now not be able to (like helping in the prep for the summer camp that used to be my June-August home). 

Of course, instead of doing those things, I am stage managing. And in addition to just showing up with my binder and paper (or computer, since I believe in technology), I’m getting to use my brain, which sadly does not happen as frequently as I would like.  I’m also getting to hang around with some incredibly intelligent, seriously hilarious, and very talented theatre people. And I get to be part of a very interesting creative process. So while I find this all kind of scary really intimidating, I think it’s also exactly what I need.  This is a fairly large step outside my comfort zone, but it doesn’t feel that uncomfortable. Although I may change my story when tech rolls around. In two weeks.

In short, I’m getting over myself.

Oh, and by the way, I’m also a Fringe virgin…

Flying: A Retrospective on my years of airline travel

Greetings from 30,000 feet. Well, sort of. Because I’m typing it up here but I’m not posting it from here. There will be no more forking over of my dollars for modern conveniences (like checking baggage and food…seriously) on this little aeroplane adventure.  Sigh, I remember the days when they actually fed you for free if you spent more than three hours in the air…even if it was crappy airplane food. Oh, nostalgia. Although, there is one redeeming factor of the long-haul (or long-ish haul) flight that has remained: the in-flight movie. That is, unless the in-flight movie is Race to Witch Mountain. I am all for the family friendly movie and whatnot, but I will not be supporting the film career of Mr. The Rock in any way, shape, or form.  Seriously, Disney, that will be enough. 

And it was Inkheart on the way here. Which I tolerated because I was flying First Class (The Photographer’s Dad is rich in frequent flyer points, thank you very much) and the costumes were pretty cool…Really, who is in charge of choosing these things? I think I need to write a letter.

So I’m on a plane full of crew members (as passengers…I’ve never seen this many of them before…I guess this means there are plenty of people aboard who could land this thing in the event of an emergency…) and Mormon missionaries (I know this because they’re wearing badges that tell me so) with nothing to do.  What an interesting life I lead…

I don’t remember the first time I was on a plane.  I was an infant and my parents took me to Puerto Rico.  Apparently I was well-behaved, but I’m not sure any baby, even a good one, is cute when you’re trapped in a pressurized sardine can with it for several hours.  I did a reasonable amount of travelling as a child, at least one trip a year. I’ve had a pretty privileged existence that way, I’m aware (and grateful).  And I got to see the pilots in the cockpit (clearly, this was all pre-9/11) and I remember Canadian Airlines used to give out colouring books.  In some ways, the getting on a plane part of travelling used to be my favourite. But times have changed.

This whole jet-setting thing is not as glamorous as it may seem.  It’s a lot of packing, waiting in lines, dealing with airport security (which pretty much has carte-blanche to do whatever they want these days, at least in the US…and whether this is to the benefit of our safety is up for debate) or, heaven forbid, Customs, being herded from lines to waiting areas to planes, stuffing bags into already stuffed overhead compartments, jostling for elbow/leg room, spending several hours in less than comfortable seats (and I’m not that big a person, I don’t know how some people manage it…even average sized humans), and finally arriving wherever you’re going basically exhausted.  The stories I could tell…I once flew out of what was basically a giant party tent by the side of a runway. The tickets were dirt cheap. Clearly, the sketch-factor of the experience was reflective of that. Anyway…

I used to fly back and forth fairly regularly between school in New York, my parents’ house in Michigan, The Photographer in Toronto/London, ON, and various other locations abroad.  I spent a large portion of my university life either in an airport or on a plane.  I was basically an expert on the art of air travel.  I had the time it took to get from my apartment in New York to LaGuardia, through security, and onto the plane without spending an extra minute waiting in what I would argue is one of the lousiest airports around down to a science.  And I’m not overly anxious in the air, but I was getting to the point where I just about needed meds to get on a plane.   Something about hurtling through the air in an over-glorified tin can just seems unnatural.So while I miss all the cool places I got to visit, I don’t miss the actual act of travelling.  This is where people get confused. Being somewhere new, interesting, amazing, that’s the glamorous part. Travelling, the getting there part, is not.  The fact that until this trip I hadn’t been on a plane in about a year is thrilling.  Because if you do something frequently enough, it kind of stops being fun.  It becomes a chore, an unpleasant necessity, and you take it for granted.

But I was thinking as we took off over the Great Salt Lake that flying has once again become kind of novel in my world, like it was when I was little, especially on a clear day with a window seat (although my camera is stuffed in the bin overhead, which is really too bad because it was beautiful).  I once again appreciate the wonder of going places.  I’m not so travelled-out as I once was.  And despite the lack of food, the fact that you now have to pay to check even one bag, the ban on doing pretty much anything other than sitting in your seat quietly, and the general lameness of the in-flight movie selections, it’s all kind of worth it to see the world from up here.

We weren’t really meant to fly, or so I gather by our lack of wings, but the view is pretty incredible.

Antelope Island and the Salty Lake

It was a huge bone of contention in my relationship that the last time I was in Utah, The Photographer refused to take me to see the Great Salt Lake. He wasn’t interested and his sister said it smelled bad (which isn’t totally a lie…it’s actually the flood plains that stink…), but I really needed to know if it was salty and, if so, just how salty it was. Well, this time around, I won.

Antelope Island is a state park on the Great Salt Lake. It is home to antelopes (duh.), about 600 buffalo (yum), beaches, a ranch, some campgrounds, hiking trails, and great views. The animals more or less roam freely and the island is open from sun up to sun down for all to explore…

This is a panorama The Photographer stitched together of White Rock Bay. It looks better here. But I didn’t take my camera, and it’s more fun with pictures.

We didn’t really know what to expect heading out there. It was kind of on a whim the day before we left for Moab, because I really, really wanted to see the salty lake. We did a bit of hiking and some wildlife photo stalking…We weren’t really prepared to do any intense hiking and we only had a few hours, so we didn’t get to see everything. But there were antelopes (kind of mangy looking), buffalo, and one very salty body of water.

We walked out a bit into the lake…Apparently its salt content varies by location, but parts of it have up to 25% salinity, which is more than the ocean.  I didn’t really get to test the extra buoyancy, due to lack of swimsuit and the fact that it was about knee deep for a long way out.  I also learned that it has no fish. The largest living organism in Great Salt Lake is brine shrimp, which are tiny.  It’s crazy to think that there is this vast expanse of water with basically nothing in it…

There is also a picture of me tasting the lake water on my finger, but I don’t have it. Let me just say, EW. And speaking of ew…

We had to cross a causeway to get on and off the island. Most of it was over flood plains, not water. But there were a whole lot of sand flies…they sounded like rain hitting the windshield and required one hell of a carwash.

So that’s all from my photo tour of Utah…le sigh. I love vacations. Anyone else have fun photos of their adventures to share?

More from Moab (and The Photographer)

I’m full of photos, so I thought I’d share a few more from Moab. These are all from The Photographer (if you want to know more about him, click that link). Except for the ones he’s in, of course. But I took those on his camera and he more or less set them up, so we’ll give him the credit.

Delicate Arch. This photo should be viewed larger. Check out his blog to do so.

Landscape Arch. The big boulders underneath are from its most recent rock fall, September 1991.

Me in front of Delicate Arch. I think I’m in mid-sentence.

Himself in front of Delicate Arch. Apparently he doesn’t believe in sleeves. Still pretty cute, though.

On the path to Turret Arch…I love the clouds.

Balanced Rock through a fence.

The Photographer on a precipice after a more challenging hike than I perhaps should’ve done in flip-flops. But I’m that hardcore.

I would…

And the money shot. This is my new favourite and the replacement for my old facebook picture, which was from last year’s trip to Utah…

As if I would really hitch-hike…

That’s all from Moab. I have one more for the photo-tour and then I promise to get back to business…

It’s a long way down and a bumpy road…

More from Moab, even though I am technically back in town…my brain is still on vacation.

After our whitewater rafting expedition (I AM HOOKED…that’s all you really need to know), of which there are no pictures online because all we had was a cheap underwater camera and no good action shots because we were paddling, we still had the better part of a day to enjoy Moab. So we decided to go off-roading in the Jeep. The appeal of driving a car over rocks must be a male thing. But I’ll admit that the appeal of not hiking while still seeing cool stuff was enough for me.

There has been a battle between me and The Photographer over giving credit for photos (he likes to steal mine, too!) and whether the photographer or the editor should be getting credit…so let me just say there’s a mix in this entry…we’ll leave it at that.

We found an easy trail, which is actually technically a dirt road for the most part, out to a landmark, Gemini Bridges. The Gemini Bridges are twin bridges formed by arches, much like these ones. They’re fairly large and after you’ve driven to the sort of trailhead, you can hike farther in to see them and you can actually walk over them. Although, you should be careful—all the guidebooks and maps warned to watch for “children and foolish adults” near the edge…There is about a ten-foot gap between them and it’s approximately 100 feet from the top to the bottom of the arches (although The Photographer and I were guessing the bottom of the canyon is probably 200 feet).

So there they are. And you can get on top of them and look down. And if you don’t have a healthy fear of heights, you might develop one. Below is the view of the bottom from the top…it gave me vertigo and I didn’t have the guts to get close enough to the edge. Neither did The Photographer. Actually, it didn’t take us long to decide that we'd like the view from the bottom better…

Now there I am looking up. That hole thing isn’t the bridges. Just a hole.

And below is The Photographer. You have to look pretty closely to find him. This gives you an idea of scale…and what was crazy was that we were totally alone. There were a few people coming in at the top when we were leaving and a few others leaving the canyon as we hiked in, but we pretty much had the place to ourselves. And it was one of those places where you look around and there is no sign of civilization for miles. Literally, not even a power line.

This next one is for my nerds. It’s the Starship Enterprise in natural rock formation. Seriously.

The view through the windshield…

And again…the first part of the road was winding, rocky, and fairly narrow. It also had a wicked drop-off on one side and pretty much no margin for error. I may have gripped the door handle the whole way up.  But it was scenic.

Gooney Bird Rock is the major landmark on the way in. And it does look like a Gooney Bird. Someone did an excellent naming job…

It’s crazy to be alone in silence amongst such enormous natural formations. It sort of makes you consider your place in the world in a different way.

And it’s fun to explore.

Survival of the Fittest.

It’s a lizard eat lizard world out there. For more pictures and his version of events, check out The Photographer’s blog. More from me later…