Umm, yes. I am not going to explain the title – just be assured that it makes sense as a whole for this entry.
Last week Andrew & I were leading a 3-day workshop for The Lion King. We had 13 kids and the object was to get a full 15 minute version of the show prepared for the final day to be put on in front of their families. Pretty much the Christmas plays that you always had to watch your kids in at school except shorter and with less rehearsal. It was a joy and a nightmare. Casting took place on the first day and the kids were either in one of two groups: the loud ones who wanted to audition for everything to ensure that they got a good role OR the quiet ones who didn’t want to read for anything. That was fairly easy enough to cast. Loud ones in main roles – quiet ones in chorus. After that the days were consumed with staging, teaching them the choreography and making sure they got their lines memorised. (They could take the scripts home each night.) However, one little boy in particular could never remember when he was supposed to be on stage, when he was supposed to speak or what his dance moves were. He is my hamster. For the first 2 days we had the kids rehearse without costumes, but we did make sure that everyone left the stage when they were supposed to if they had a costume changes for the next scene. This worked well most of the time. However, on the third day my little hamster decided that right after a big dance number and just before the next big scene with everyone on stage (These three scenes occurred back to back, with everyone staying on stage.) that he was the only one that needed to leave the stage to change. Of course he was late for his next line, but it was only during the rehearsal. During the main performance he got along well enough as I either whispered his cues from back stage or pushed him back on when he thought it was time to leave the scene. (And yes, I hated myself a little for shoving a child back on stage)
The great groaner happened afterwards. After the show I was chatting to all the parents, signing the kids out, congratulating them on a job well done when my little hamster’s parents came to have a chat with me. They were apparently both in ‘show business’ (I didn’t ask them in what capacity) and had put their son in this workshop to see if he had the acting bug. That’s right boys and girls, these parents were turning to me to find out if I thought their son was talented, if I thought he should take lessons and perhaps become the next cute little boy to star next to Johnny Depp or something.
I thought of the past three days with Hamster; how he hadn’t put up his hand to audition for anything, how he couldn’t remember the very, very simple dance moves. (When the lyrics go “look left, look right” – do exactly that), how lost he looked on stage, his inability to remember his one line at the beginning of scene 7 (Mummy, I’m tired!), and how Andrew, our other helper and myself had discussed how slightly slower than the rest of the kids Hamster was. I then said the only thing I really could say to a set of parents looking to me to see their son’s talent.
“Hamster has done really well, he was a little shy at first but really blossomed after the first day. He’s been a joy to have and I think he had a great deal of fun. I hope to see him again in one of our workshops.”
Lies, lies, lies…
As Andrew and I walked home and talked it over, we stopped on the steps in front of our door, keys in hand. Andrew turned to me. “At least you didn’t say ‘the wheel is turning…but the hamster is dead.”
I had to laugh.
On to politics. I am not the most political person in the world, nor do I have a great deal of research to support my views. I base a lot of what I think and feel on experience. But there is something in the news that is starting to really p*** me off. It’s the Americans vs. the NHS (National Health System of Great Britain.
I believe the President Obama wants to change the health care of the USA by making it more like that of Canada and Great Britain. To have more of the idea that everyone should be covered and that is should be easy access to all to see a doctor. And yet, there is this huge outcry from the American public. Or at least the American public that I read about in the papers and see on tv. They seem to think that to be more like the NHS system would be an abomination to humanity. They say that the NHS doesn’t care about older people and that very few people get actual care.
Hmmm…Pot. Kettle. Black.
For one, the NHS is not like that. Andrew & I are both Canadian citizens living in London and have been able to see our GP quiet easily. If I want to call for a general check-up I just call the office or walk in and book an appointment. If it is something a bit more urgent I can tell the receptionists and they will schedule us in that day.
With Andrew’s recent lung infection he has been able to see our GP anytime he wanted. X-rays have been scheduled, and redone and redone, and not a penny came out of our pockets as they were covered. Yes, the doctor still hasn’t been able to 100% cure him – but it is a lot better than when it started.
And yet I know that if my insurance did not cover me well enough – I wouldn’t have the same care in the USA.
I blame the corporations. Somehow they have been able to get their money sunk deep enough into the pockets of congress and such and should the USA ever go into public health care it is the corporations (I wager) that have the most to loose.
What upsets me is that the people in the town halls and schools who have rallied against the proposed changes yell and scream about how bad the systems in Canada and the UK are, but I doubt they have ever visited either country. Why can’t these people do their research? Maybe read up on both systems, call some friends, chat on facebook or – heaven forbid – find out from a professional what their thoughts are on the subject.
Ignorance is something that has always bothered me. But the fact that we are becoming more and more susceptible to the messages flashed at us on the tv, that we are being told what to think and are repeating that message to other people, that we are no longer questioning the medium as well as the mesaage…just plain scares me.
1984 anyone?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Mummy, We're Homesick!!!
There’s a line in a poem that says ‘Home is a place where if you have to be there, they have to take you in.’ Andrew and I are hoping this is relatively true.
Yes, after a year and half in a foreign country we have begun to have our fill of bangers and mash. (Sausage & Potatoes to you Canucks.) It all started when job shortages began to be felt as apposed to heard about. Slowly we realised we were in for a hard deal. And lady luck is one mean casino matron. Yes, we have had luck finding some theatre jobs but in the past few months they auditions have been rarer, the castings more specific (Princess Jasmine must be able to sing, dance and act, have a clean UK drivers license that is at least 5 years old, play the saxophone, tuba and flute and speak with a Yorkshire accent and preferably lives no more than 25 miles from Manchester.) Yes – they are THAT specific.
Then began the battles of who could come up with what they miss most about Canada. Here’s the shortlist:
1. Tim Hortons (Yes, it goes without saying that Family should come first, but come on people! Do you know how lucky you are to have a choice of TIMBITS?!)
2. Canadian banks. I understand if you all may think that Canadian banks are filled with crooks – but that’s just because you haven’t met the British. There is no such thing as customer service, their system is archaic and the lines are a bare minimum of 25 minutes. And no, it doesn’t matter how few people there are in front of you – the line up is still 25 minutes.
3. Alexander Keiths. British ales are world renowned but they taste they warm stagnant pond water.
4. Driving on the RIGHT side of the road. (as in correct)
5. Swiss Chalet. I know some of you will groan when you read this one, but it is true. You just can’t beat that sauce.
6. Breakfasts that do not involve beans, mushroom and tomato. And streaky bacon. It’s not really streaky bacon, it’s just streaky fat. I miss bacon. Real bacon. Yumm, bacon.
7. Smart Set. Indeed, any store that does not sell psychedelic coloured clothing in sizes that are far too large for me. Over here I am a size six. But clothing over here doesn’t start at size six. It starts at size eight. And the petite section sucks. So if you want clothes that fit you might as well gain weight. Oh, and shops that you know aren’t involved with slave labour. Primark over here is able to sell most of their shoes for under 20 pounds, but no one seems to question why.
8.An actual bed. I mean one that involves a top sheet as well as a fitted one. And a box spring that is not helped up by the past decades worth of phone books. Please don’t ask why, just have pity.
9. People who clean up after their dogs. It seems over here in residential areas perfectly normal to leave dogs droppings on the side walk for all pedestrians. We know there is a penalty for it, but we have never seen anyone caught. And this stuff is everywhere. In the tourist areas you are fine. Forget the middle class residential.
10. A better appreciation for health. First of all, the smoking ban here is in its infancy and people are still grumbling about it, concerned that their rights are being taken away and that pubs will close as a result. Second, booze is way too cheap and easily available at all hours, so binging is rife. Finally, the doctors here have not been able to truly cure my cough that I’ve had since May, and I’ve lost my patience with them.
11. Canada’s Wonderland. We miss good rollercoasters and funnel cake.
12. Roads that go North-South and East-West. Here they seem to think, “Well, our horses have trod these paths for generations, let’s just pave those,” so the entire country is on the garden-path system and you can’t drive anywhere without a SatNav.
13. Being able to blow your nose without it coming out just a little bit BLACK.
14. Being able to say “pants” in polite company and not have people giggle. (Pants are underwear here.)
15. The Canadian school system. If I have to hear anything more on GCSE’s, A-levels, and that fact that they only have exams in year one and three in university, I may shoot myself in the foot.
16. Wendy’s Caesar Salad. Uncle Curtis had is right.
17. Bill’s shelving. (Please, please Dad – when we one day move into a house – we want your shelving!!!)
18. Colleen’s laugh, Linda’s giggle, David’s sense of humour, Glens deep voice, Charlene’s stories, Marc’s hair (aaawww, too soon?), Judy’s lipstick stained smile, Sandra’s hugs, Where’s Bob? Elaine’s goofiness and Curtis’s beer cans. (I almost didn’t write beer before cans – how funny would that have looked? Curtis’s cans!) We want to see Alayna and Nick’s house, go shopping with Emily & Amanda (imagine how fine we would look after that trip to the mall!) Hear what Scott and Andrew have been learning on the guitar, glare at Rachael for being so damn tall, talk to Nathan after, like, forever! And see what Ben has recently won from the city and hear his thoughts on how that affects the world today. And yes, Stephen, I will always listen to your financial advice (although I will not move my RRSP’s until I have seen some sort of increase!)
19, Bill’s rye, Barb’s cooking, (I have been hankering for a cabbage roll since 2009 rolled in. Haha – I made a pun!) Kathryn’s boundless ambition and energy, Uncle Bill and Aunt Mary’s dry wit, Uncle Richard’s dancing, Aunt Dawn’s Zen state of mind, Raiden’s cheerfulness, Reiko’s lovely singing, the Willicks’ spirit and the Knights’ Polish good times.
20. Brittany. And by that I mean Buster. (Hey Buster, how are you, do you miss your Auntie and Uncle? I bet you do. You know Buster, anytime you want to come over and stay you are more than welcome to.)
This list will most likely be added to as time goes on. At the moment Andrew and I are considering coming home for Thanksgiving. If we do, we also expect to at least get some bread or potato stuffing. And if we don’t get any we will turn Amanda on you. And she hasn’t had stuffing in a Loooonnng time.
Yes, after a year and half in a foreign country we have begun to have our fill of bangers and mash. (Sausage & Potatoes to you Canucks.) It all started when job shortages began to be felt as apposed to heard about. Slowly we realised we were in for a hard deal. And lady luck is one mean casino matron. Yes, we have had luck finding some theatre jobs but in the past few months they auditions have been rarer, the castings more specific (Princess Jasmine must be able to sing, dance and act, have a clean UK drivers license that is at least 5 years old, play the saxophone, tuba and flute and speak with a Yorkshire accent and preferably lives no more than 25 miles from Manchester.) Yes – they are THAT specific.
Then began the battles of who could come up with what they miss most about Canada. Here’s the shortlist:
1. Tim Hortons (Yes, it goes without saying that Family should come first, but come on people! Do you know how lucky you are to have a choice of TIMBITS?!)
2. Canadian banks. I understand if you all may think that Canadian banks are filled with crooks – but that’s just because you haven’t met the British. There is no such thing as customer service, their system is archaic and the lines are a bare minimum of 25 minutes. And no, it doesn’t matter how few people there are in front of you – the line up is still 25 minutes.
3. Alexander Keiths. British ales are world renowned but they taste they warm stagnant pond water.
4. Driving on the RIGHT side of the road. (as in correct)
5. Swiss Chalet. I know some of you will groan when you read this one, but it is true. You just can’t beat that sauce.
6. Breakfasts that do not involve beans, mushroom and tomato. And streaky bacon. It’s not really streaky bacon, it’s just streaky fat. I miss bacon. Real bacon. Yumm, bacon.
7. Smart Set. Indeed, any store that does not sell psychedelic coloured clothing in sizes that are far too large for me. Over here I am a size six. But clothing over here doesn’t start at size six. It starts at size eight. And the petite section sucks. So if you want clothes that fit you might as well gain weight. Oh, and shops that you know aren’t involved with slave labour. Primark over here is able to sell most of their shoes for under 20 pounds, but no one seems to question why.
8.An actual bed. I mean one that involves a top sheet as well as a fitted one. And a box spring that is not helped up by the past decades worth of phone books. Please don’t ask why, just have pity.
9. People who clean up after their dogs. It seems over here in residential areas perfectly normal to leave dogs droppings on the side walk for all pedestrians. We know there is a penalty for it, but we have never seen anyone caught. And this stuff is everywhere. In the tourist areas you are fine. Forget the middle class residential.
10. A better appreciation for health. First of all, the smoking ban here is in its infancy and people are still grumbling about it, concerned that their rights are being taken away and that pubs will close as a result. Second, booze is way too cheap and easily available at all hours, so binging is rife. Finally, the doctors here have not been able to truly cure my cough that I’ve had since May, and I’ve lost my patience with them.
11. Canada’s Wonderland. We miss good rollercoasters and funnel cake.
12. Roads that go North-South and East-West. Here they seem to think, “Well, our horses have trod these paths for generations, let’s just pave those,” so the entire country is on the garden-path system and you can’t drive anywhere without a SatNav.
13. Being able to blow your nose without it coming out just a little bit BLACK.
14. Being able to say “pants” in polite company and not have people giggle. (Pants are underwear here.)
15. The Canadian school system. If I have to hear anything more on GCSE’s, A-levels, and that fact that they only have exams in year one and three in university, I may shoot myself in the foot.
16. Wendy’s Caesar Salad. Uncle Curtis had is right.
17. Bill’s shelving. (Please, please Dad – when we one day move into a house – we want your shelving!!!)
18. Colleen’s laugh, Linda’s giggle, David’s sense of humour, Glens deep voice, Charlene’s stories, Marc’s hair (aaawww, too soon?), Judy’s lipstick stained smile, Sandra’s hugs, Where’s Bob? Elaine’s goofiness and Curtis’s beer cans. (I almost didn’t write beer before cans – how funny would that have looked? Curtis’s cans!) We want to see Alayna and Nick’s house, go shopping with Emily & Amanda (imagine how fine we would look after that trip to the mall!) Hear what Scott and Andrew have been learning on the guitar, glare at Rachael for being so damn tall, talk to Nathan after, like, forever! And see what Ben has recently won from the city and hear his thoughts on how that affects the world today. And yes, Stephen, I will always listen to your financial advice (although I will not move my RRSP’s until I have seen some sort of increase!)
19, Bill’s rye, Barb’s cooking, (I have been hankering for a cabbage roll since 2009 rolled in. Haha – I made a pun!) Kathryn’s boundless ambition and energy, Uncle Bill and Aunt Mary’s dry wit, Uncle Richard’s dancing, Aunt Dawn’s Zen state of mind, Raiden’s cheerfulness, Reiko’s lovely singing, the Willicks’ spirit and the Knights’ Polish good times.
20. Brittany. And by that I mean Buster. (Hey Buster, how are you, do you miss your Auntie and Uncle? I bet you do. You know Buster, anytime you want to come over and stay you are more than welcome to.)
This list will most likely be added to as time goes on. At the moment Andrew and I are considering coming home for Thanksgiving. If we do, we also expect to at least get some bread or potato stuffing. And if we don’t get any we will turn Amanda on you. And she hasn’t had stuffing in a Loooonnng time.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
A Very Special Dog Named Scout
It is a sad day for myself and Andrew and John and Maryse of Vintage Video. I recieved an email from them saying that Scout had said her goodbye to us on August 4th, in a park in Waterloo. I hope it was a lovely day and one that she was enjoying.
Scout and I met in 2001 and for five years our lives were interlinked. If John and Maryse were her parents I hope she considered me her aunt, although she never treated me with the respect of one. My duties were to walk her and take her out for a play whenever she wanted it, as quite truthfully, she ruled the roost. Many people would come into the store especially to see Scout and occasion would even have gifts for her.
She always had a wonderful sense of childlike play to her. She would instantly understand if you asked her to go for a walk and would wag her tail without a care of what it was bashing through to make her way to the drawer where her leash was. In my final year in Toronto she was given a brand new red collar, something that she practically strutted around the store to show off.
She rarely misbehaved and new it was her job to woof at any squirrels or cats coming into the back lot. She always greeted me with a smile (yes, she could smile) and a big wag. If she was especially excited she would lift her paw to me.
Scout was introduced to Andrew as the person who would bring me food. Thus. she was the person who brought Scout food, as nothing (except for spice or chocolate) was served around Scout without a small sampling going to her. Many a pie plate was licked clean by her.
Her favourite toys that were always on her couch were Mr. Rooster, Mr. Kong and Mr, Gorilla. She always played with them gently and they were always placed beside her should she ever want them. She sucked at playing fetch, but was excellent at teaching me how. I would throw the ball or stick and she would run to it, turning to me when she found it as if to say "Get over here and pick it up, I want to do that again!" Which I always did. Her favourite were snowballs, she would catch those for hours, constantly trying to catch them in her snout.
The couch at the bottom of the stairs was always hers. I would make it up when she was coming, with her bowl filled with water in the morning. I could only sit on the couch when she wasn`t there as she had made it very clear that the only human she would willingly share the couch with was John. My place was made clear - on the stairs...behind the couch.
She was a great friend to have. Whenever we walked together I would talk to her about what was going on in my life, my hopes, my fears and my dreams. She never complained, although I am sure sometimes she wanted to tell me to just chill.
There is a picture of Scout, on her back rolling in the sand on a beach that John & Maryse would always put up at the CNE booth during our time there. I will always remember her as such. There is a picture of her on my bureau, something that I found myself looking at more and more recently.
I was looking forward to meeting up with her again when I went back to Toronto, to have her recognize me and jump for joy when I said the magic words `Go fetch your leash`. So perhaps someday that will happen again, and we can again meet up for a nice long walk. It will be late afternoon in autumn, and the leaves will be all red, orange and gold. Verging on winter and the promise of snowballs. And she will know the way we always walk and which turns to take and when we reach our destination she will wait for me to take off her leash and I shall watch her run free in the park.
Farewell my sweet little friend.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Meeting Icons
Last night I got my Christmas present. Belated, but totally worth it. My lovely wife got us tickets to see a performance of Waiting for Godot, starring two legendary British actors -- Patrick Stewart (aka Jean-Luc Picard) and my personal acting hero, Sir Ian McKellan (Gandalf, Magneto, ad infinitum). After the show we got to meet the whole cast and get their autographs. An grand night, an amazing gift from the love of my life.
Waiting for Godot is one of those shows that people "just don't get." It's an absurdist masterwork by Samuel Beckett in which practically nothing actually happens. Yet it's considered a deeply layered classic that is known to scare actors at the daunting prospect of having to interpret and perform it -- including, by their own admission, last night's powerhouse cast. For me, I don't worry about whether I "get" the show or not. I just listen and watch and allow my mind to muse and wander on whatever theme I think is being portrayed, and allow myself to fully enjoy the nuanced choices of the actors. The show was, in my opinion, terrific, as the performances were fascinating to watch and wonder at.
I always find it interesting to watch Patrick Stewart in roles which break away from the austerity and authority of Picard and Professor Xavier. As Vladimir, he gets to act silly from time to time, scrunching his face and making funny voices while cavorting like a loon. Vladimir is in a kind of purgatory throughout the whole play -- forever waiting for an unseen character who never arrives, constantly holding out hope of his arrival, and the only character who gets the inkling that his circumstances are infinitely repeating.
This was one of the few times I've heard Ian McKellan use a Northern English accent, which is actually more accurate to his birth and upbringing than the standard RP we usually hear from him. Here again, authority is stripped away and he plays Estragon as a bit of a doddering clown, wonderfully cantankerous and sympathetic. Brianne pointed out that, while Vladimir thinks externally, Estragon is very insular and self-oriented. He thinks not a whit what they're waiting for; he cares infinitely more that his feet hurt, he never gets to sleep, and that he really wants a carrot to eat.
The cast is rounded out by two other great British actors, Simon Callow and Robert Pickup. Callow -- not Cowell -- you'll probably recognize from Shakespeare in Love as the Master of Revels who shuts theatre down. He plays the verbose and pompous Pozzo with wonderful panache and vigor, and then in turn makes him utterly pitable when he is blinded in the second act. Pickup plays Lucky, one of the most bedraggled and put-upon characters in literature, a mercilessly abused servant to Pozzo who is completely silent save for a completely disjointed and some might say utterly meaningless monologue of about a page and a half duration in the first act. You may remember Pickup as the voice of Aslan in the classic BBC version of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.
As were waiting by the stage door, a member of the management came out to inform the small and rather subdued group of autograph seekers that Stewart and McKellan don't mind their pictures taken but will not take the time to pose with everyone, and they will only sign things pertaining to Godot. Perfectly reasonable, I thought; simple guidelines to keep them from being mobbed with wizard hats and Starfleet uniforms. The first to leave was the young boy who plays a bit part in the show as a messenger, followed by Pickup.
Following him came Sir Ian. I'd been prepping what I was to say to him for some time, wanting to make sure I said something meaningful rather than just babbling that I was a huge fan or worse, playing it way too cool and aloof and not saying much of anything.
As he leant in to sign my program, I told him that when I was ten my dad showed me a recording of Acting Shakespeare, a one-man show he had done in the 70's, stating that he was my first acting teacher. As I hoped, he seemed very pleasantly surprised by this obscure reference to his early work. Brianne chimed in to say that Sir Ian was one of the main reasons I became an actor, which is quite true. I said he was a true hero to me. He grasped my shoulder and said "That's wonderful. Thank you." In that brief moment, I felt like he was impressed with me. I was rather lost for words after that, and B began to get misty.
(In all truth, my very first acting teacher and inspiration to be an actor is my father, a fact I shall always remember, honour, and appreciate.)
Stewart was next, and he seemed in a bit more of a hurry to get through the line of people. He was perfectly polite, and made a joke with another person in line, but I didn't even get to make eye contact with him, though that was partly because I finishing up my moment with Sir Ian when Stewart signed my program. Also, he had a private car waiting for him with a few other people in the back, so I can understand his haste.
Finally, out came Simon Callow, and he was a very warm and welcoming fellow. He was glad to pose for pictures. Callow is acquainted with Brianne's old boss John from Vintage Video, having visited the store several times in the past. John still has a photo of him with Callow wearing a very retro purple velour suit. B told Callow this, much to his delight, and asked us to give John and Maryse his "very warmest regards."
A grand night out at the theatre, one of those "remember forever" nights. B said she has no idea how to top this gift, to which I replied "How do you think I feel?"
Waiting for Godot is one of those shows that people "just don't get." It's an absurdist masterwork by Samuel Beckett in which practically nothing actually happens. Yet it's considered a deeply layered classic that is known to scare actors at the daunting prospect of having to interpret and perform it -- including, by their own admission, last night's powerhouse cast. For me, I don't worry about whether I "get" the show or not. I just listen and watch and allow my mind to muse and wander on whatever theme I think is being portrayed, and allow myself to fully enjoy the nuanced choices of the actors. The show was, in my opinion, terrific, as the performances were fascinating to watch and wonder at.
I always find it interesting to watch Patrick Stewart in roles which break away from the austerity and authority of Picard and Professor Xavier. As Vladimir, he gets to act silly from time to time, scrunching his face and making funny voices while cavorting like a loon. Vladimir is in a kind of purgatory throughout the whole play -- forever waiting for an unseen character who never arrives, constantly holding out hope of his arrival, and the only character who gets the inkling that his circumstances are infinitely repeating.
This was one of the few times I've heard Ian McKellan use a Northern English accent, which is actually more accurate to his birth and upbringing than the standard RP we usually hear from him. Here again, authority is stripped away and he plays Estragon as a bit of a doddering clown, wonderfully cantankerous and sympathetic. Brianne pointed out that, while Vladimir thinks externally, Estragon is very insular and self-oriented. He thinks not a whit what they're waiting for; he cares infinitely more that his feet hurt, he never gets to sleep, and that he really wants a carrot to eat.
The cast is rounded out by two other great British actors, Simon Callow and Robert Pickup. Callow -- not Cowell -- you'll probably recognize from Shakespeare in Love as the Master of Revels who shuts theatre down. He plays the verbose and pompous Pozzo with wonderful panache and vigor, and then in turn makes him utterly pitable when he is blinded in the second act. Pickup plays Lucky, one of the most bedraggled and put-upon characters in literature, a mercilessly abused servant to Pozzo who is completely silent save for a completely disjointed and some might say utterly meaningless monologue of about a page and a half duration in the first act. You may remember Pickup as the voice of Aslan in the classic BBC version of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.
As were waiting by the stage door, a member of the management came out to inform the small and rather subdued group of autograph seekers that Stewart and McKellan don't mind their pictures taken but will not take the time to pose with everyone, and they will only sign things pertaining to Godot. Perfectly reasonable, I thought; simple guidelines to keep them from being mobbed with wizard hats and Starfleet uniforms. The first to leave was the young boy who plays a bit part in the show as a messenger, followed by Pickup.
Following him came Sir Ian. I'd been prepping what I was to say to him for some time, wanting to make sure I said something meaningful rather than just babbling that I was a huge fan or worse, playing it way too cool and aloof and not saying much of anything.
As he leant in to sign my program, I told him that when I was ten my dad showed me a recording of Acting Shakespeare, a one-man show he had done in the 70's, stating that he was my first acting teacher. As I hoped, he seemed very pleasantly surprised by this obscure reference to his early work. Brianne chimed in to say that Sir Ian was one of the main reasons I became an actor, which is quite true. I said he was a true hero to me. He grasped my shoulder and said "That's wonderful. Thank you." In that brief moment, I felt like he was impressed with me. I was rather lost for words after that, and B began to get misty.(In all truth, my very first acting teacher and inspiration to be an actor is my father, a fact I shall always remember, honour, and appreciate.)
Stewart was next, and he seemed in a bit more of a hurry to get through the line of people. He was perfectly polite, and made a joke with another person in line, but I didn't even get to make eye contact with him, though that was partly because I finishing up my moment with Sir Ian when Stewart signed my program. Also, he had a private car waiting for him with a few other people in the back, so I can understand his haste.
Finally, out came Simon Callow, and he was a very warm and welcoming fellow. He was glad to pose for pictures. Callow is acquainted with Brianne's old boss John from Vintage Video, having visited the store several times in the past. John still has a photo of him with Callow wearing a very retro purple velour suit. B told Callow this, much to his delight, and asked us to give John and Maryse his "very warmest regards."
A grand night out at the theatre, one of those "remember forever" nights. B said she has no idea how to top this gift, to which I replied "How do you think I feel?"
Sunday, June 28, 2009
You've waited so patiently for the Italian Finale
To all our readers who still check in on us to see that we're doing while months go by without writing, GOD BLESS YOU. It's been such a long time since I've been able to sit down at the cafe in order to upload pics with our entries, and for some reason that's been holding me back from blogging on any other topic until I finished talking about Italy. Monkey off my back now. 
As I said before, we were SO happy to get out of Naples. Lesson learned, Sorrento is a much better base of operations. Ironically it was so lovely and relaxing that I plum forgot to take a whole lot of pictures! But you can the craggy beauty of the Amalfi Coast above.
We had hoped to take in a mass given by the Pope, which occurs regularly on Wednesdays. Unfortunately His Holiness was in the Middle East that week so we missed out. But as luck would have it we ran into a young American priest-in-training who offered to take us on a tour of the Vatican with a couple of friends of his sister's from the States, as well as get us into the Catacombs, which one normally must book well in advance! We all got along famously -- the two girls from Atlanta reminding me very much of the Willicks back home and their Redeemer Bible Church crowd; the phrases "God not just good, He's FABULOUS!" and "Jazz Hands for Jesus!" came to mind.
This statue of my namesake saint, Andrew, made B and me giggle when we heard a rather humourous take on his martyrdom and crucifiction as told by our priest friend. St. Andrew was very positive and upbeat, apparently, and went to his execution essentially shouting to the masses, "HEY! Hey! Guess what! I've got this really awesome friend named Jesus who's the best guy ever and now I'm gonna die just like HE did! Except a little slanty." B said, "Y'know, that really does sound like you."
As I said before, we were SO happy to get out of Naples. Lesson learned, Sorrento is a much better base of operations. Ironically it was so lovely and relaxing that I plum forgot to take a whole lot of pictures! But you can the craggy beauty of the Amalfi Coast above.Our hostel was a 10 minute walk from the centre of Sorrento. The place reminded me of a villa. It was light and breezy with white walls and a thatched roof. To our surprise and delight we were not sharing a dorm but got our own private double-bed room for the same price we would normally pay to share with 12 other people! And even though the breakfast was an extra 5 euro, it was the best breakfast of the trip, with eggs and bacon and a multitude of morning pastries. The hostel was also apparently a small cooking college, as one guest from Atlanta was staying there 3 months to get hands-on experience cooking Italian food.
Sorrento is simply stunning. Laid back and picturesque tourist town with plenty of shopping and restaurants, plus wonderful views of the bay. We stopped into a beautiful little church with frescoes and ceiling art, and poked into the shops that line a labyrinth of alleys just off the main road. We picked up the southern Italian Limoncello, a lemon liquer, in a boot-shaped bottle as a gift for our pals Clare and Jonathan -- they specifically asked for something tacky.
We had been jonesing for a nice beach for days in the heat, and finally found one along the coast at Positano, a short but incredibly winding bus trip. Sadly, it was not sandy but pebbly, but we made the best of it and managed to unwind completely. Of course, all good things come at a price, and I burnt pretty badly. Notice the unique "I can only reach so far" pattern.
We stepped out for dinner both nights to little restaurants within the alley maze. The first night we went to The Lantern, and it reminded me a bit of Lady and the Tramp. Glorious pasta and wine. The next night we went to a slightly cheaper hole-in-the-wall place, and learned the lesson that if a place offers food at a few Euros cheaper, there's a reason . . . Brianne found a thick black hair in her ravioli. Aaarrgh.
We stepped out for dinner both nights to little restaurants within the alley maze. The first night we went to The Lantern, and it reminded me a bit of Lady and the Tramp. Glorious pasta and wine. The next night we went to a slightly cheaper hole-in-the-wall place, and learned the lesson that if a place offers food at a few Euros cheaper, there's a reason . . . Brianne found a thick black hair in her ravioli. Aaarrgh.We said our farewell to Sorrento and boarded the train back to Naples so as to catch our connection to Rome. We learned another valuable lesson -- ALWAYS check for the little electronic card punchers on the platform to validate your train ticket before you board the train. We had neglected to do this on the way TO Naples without incident, but this time a conductor checked our ticket and there was a very tense exchange before he let us off with a warning and a weary smile. Phew.
We were very glad to be back in the grandeur of Rome. After booking back in to the same hostel as our first stop, we made our way down to the Colisseum again. We'd been wanting to do something fun and silly, which was to pay a little money to have a picture taken with the guys who dress up as centurions outside. More specifically, Toby needed to be in the shot. The armoured chaps were very nice about it and gave us more poses than we expected. From there we continued to wander about the centre of town, checking back in at a view overlooking the Forum to see the spot it is believed that Julius Caesar met his sticky end. We ended the night with a trip to Trevi at night.
We had hoped to take in a mass given by the Pope, which occurs regularly on Wednesdays. Unfortunately His Holiness was in the Middle East that week so we missed out. But as luck would have it we ran into a young American priest-in-training who offered to take us on a tour of the Vatican with a couple of friends of his sister's from the States, as well as get us into the Catacombs, which one normally must book well in advance! We all got along famously -- the two girls from Atlanta reminding me very much of the Willicks back home and their Redeemer Bible Church crowd; the phrases "God not just good, He's FABULOUS!" and "Jazz Hands for Jesus!" came to mind.No photography we could muster would do justice to La Pieta, the lighting and protective glass make it nigh impossible. The tour our priest friend took us one was quite informative, such as telling us that the chapel is designed in a kind of sliding scale so that everything looks proportional: the higher up you look, the larger the statue or lettering has been made so it looks even with the stonework closer to you on the floor. Speaking of the floor, there's a patch of marble at the entrance that is just about the rarest and most expensive material on the planet. And I stood right on top of it. Yay.
The trade-off on the informative nature of the priest's tour was the fact that it was heavily faith-based; it was practically a sermon moreso than a history lesson and got a little tedious at times. I made a mental note not to mention that, practicing Catholics as we are, we had been married on a golf course by a woman.
Interesting tidbit about the spectacular canopy. At the bases of the columns are crests with have rather contorted faces; these are representations of the agony of childbirth that Bernini put in. He also discretely placed a representation of his own rosary lying on top of one of the bases.
This statue of my namesake saint, Andrew, made B and me giggle when we heard a rather humourous take on his martyrdom and crucifiction as told by our priest friend. St. Andrew was very positive and upbeat, apparently, and went to his execution essentially shouting to the masses, "HEY! Hey! Guess what! I've got this really awesome friend named Jesus who's the best guy ever and now I'm gonna die just like HE did! Except a little slanty." B said, "Y'know, that really does sound like you."Another little tidbit of info I liked was a massive sculpture involving a host of Virtues, i.e. female figures representing things like Charity and Chastity and the like. This particular one was commissioned during the time of Henry VIII's split from Rome; in retaliation, the sculptor depicted the virtue of Truth with her foot atop a globe of the Earth, with it's big toe directly on top of The Tower of London.
After a light lunch with our new friends, we said goodbye and toddled along to the last few sights we wanted to visit or revisit, including the Spanish Steps (above), Piazza Navono (just another obelisk with some lion fountains, really), and one last look at Trevi. We dragged ourselves to the bus stop to take us to the airport, where B and Toby summed up our feelings . . .
After a light lunch with our new friends, we said goodbye and toddled along to the last few sights we wanted to visit or revisit, including the Spanish Steps (above), Piazza Navono (just another obelisk with some lion fountains, really), and one last look at Trevi. We dragged ourselves to the bus stop to take us to the airport, where B and Toby summed up our feelings . . .Thursday, May 28, 2009
Break from Italy - Recent Activities
I take a quick break from recording our Italian experiences to tell of some more recent activity in London. Brianne and I have been awfully busy with comings and goings in the last two weeks!
The major "going" was the departure of our dear flatmate Matt, who trundled off to Spain for several weeks before heading back to Australia for the rest of the year. He's been the best friend we've had in our building, developing a wonderful rapport of shared interests in The Office and Scrubs, witty banter and purile practical jokes. We kept each other in stitches most of the time, and we're sad to see him go. The silver lining is he's storing a lot of his bulkier luggage with us during his time in Spain and will return to stay with us a couple of days in June before heading Down Under.
As a final group activity, the three of us went to see Spring Awakening, a Tony Award-winning musical based on the play of the same name which was soon to close it's London engagement. The show was fantastic, a mixture of bold theatrical themes of innocence and sexual discovery in 19th century Germany, infused with a modern rock score.
We've also had two arrivals in the last few days. Our pals Christine and Darrell from Ottawa are staying in another room of our building for the next few days, taking in the sights of London before heading off on a bus tour of Scotland. I did my best to give accurate directions for them to follow to our door, and after a consultation with the all-seeing all-knowing Wifey and a revision, it seemed to work out okay! We've got The Tower and Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese to look forward to.
Brianne and I also met up with family friends Linda and Jim Collacott of Niagara Falls. We met them for lunch near my office and received a lovely care package from home by way of Mom. Things we just can't get here, like NeoCitran and Swedish Berries. Yay! So nice to have faces from home.
For the past week or so, B and I have been in Britain's Got Talent mode, checking out the semi-finals each night. This is of course the showcase for the "worldwide media darling" Susan Boyle. As nice a story as she makes, we're more interested in the street dance groups which have also made it to the finals.
Check out "Diversity" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pg3fvanDDc
and "Flawless" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MamSKGd4y28&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GrOMLylvhQ&feature=related
More to come on Italy soon!
The major "going" was the departure of our dear flatmate Matt, who trundled off to Spain for several weeks before heading back to Australia for the rest of the year. He's been the best friend we've had in our building, developing a wonderful rapport of shared interests in The Office and Scrubs, witty banter and purile practical jokes. We kept each other in stitches most of the time, and we're sad to see him go. The silver lining is he's storing a lot of his bulkier luggage with us during his time in Spain and will return to stay with us a couple of days in June before heading Down Under.
As a final group activity, the three of us went to see Spring Awakening, a Tony Award-winning musical based on the play of the same name which was soon to close it's London engagement. The show was fantastic, a mixture of bold theatrical themes of innocence and sexual discovery in 19th century Germany, infused with a modern rock score.
We've also had two arrivals in the last few days. Our pals Christine and Darrell from Ottawa are staying in another room of our building for the next few days, taking in the sights of London before heading off on a bus tour of Scotland. I did my best to give accurate directions for them to follow to our door, and after a consultation with the all-seeing all-knowing Wifey and a revision, it seemed to work out okay! We've got The Tower and Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese to look forward to.
Brianne and I also met up with family friends Linda and Jim Collacott of Niagara Falls. We met them for lunch near my office and received a lovely care package from home by way of Mom. Things we just can't get here, like NeoCitran and Swedish Berries. Yay! So nice to have faces from home.
For the past week or so, B and I have been in Britain's Got Talent mode, checking out the semi-finals each night. This is of course the showcase for the "worldwide media darling" Susan Boyle. As nice a story as she makes, we're more interested in the street dance groups which have also made it to the finals.
Check out "Diversity" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pg3fvanDDc
and "Flawless" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MamSKGd4y28&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GrOMLylvhQ&feature=related
More to come on Italy soon!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
When the moon hits your eye . . . punch him back
We hopped an early train from Rome to Naples, a reasonably comfortable two and a half hour journey. Once we arrived at our destination, however, we quickly formulated the opinion that Napoli will henceforth be referred to in our memories as "The purgatory through which one must pass to get to Amalfi." The city immediately gave the impression of being dirtier, more cramped, and less friendly than Rome, in direct accordance with what our Rome hostel mates had warned. And clever me, I had pre-booked two nights there, thinking it was a decent home base for visiting Pompeii -- which it was, but offered nothing else to recommend itself. Luckily, the hostel we stayed at was top-notch with a very friendly and helpful owner, and we managed to spend all our time of the next two days out of town.
Continuing in our good fortune at finding fellow countrymen abroad, Brianne ran into two young guys from Brampton purchasing their tickets to Pompeii. We joined them and an American couple currently based in Germany for a trek into the historic ruins in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. One of the Canuck lads had a passionate enthusiasm for Pompeii and offered to be our guide for the day. As it turned out, enthusiasm does not always equal factual accuracy; he was positive the mountain dominating the landscape was too close to be the real Vesuvius, we completely passed by the House of the Faun that he was looking for because the characterestic statue denoting it wasn't as large as he expected it to be from the pictures he'd seen, and the preserved counters with holes in them (see below) were described by him as "public toilets," rather than being -- as we learned from a guidebook afterwards -- "food pots." Doesn't matter, though, he was a terrific guy and we all had a great time.
The ruins of Pompeii are expansive; you're told it's a "city," of course, but the reality of the size doesn't really hit you until you're exploring it. We wandered in and out of dwellings, checked out the amphitheatre, and marvelled at mosaics and frescoes. Our admittedly morbid group goal, however, was to make sure we "saw some dead people." We were searching for the casts of the remains of those who had not escaped the wrath of the volcano. We found them towards the end of our days, and they are eerily fascinating.
One site within the city that was very popular was the brothel. Seriously, people were lined up outside, it was hilarious, but of course we were there too. Within the recently excavated and restored edifice were separate rooms with stone beds in them, and over the doors to each room were frescoes which quite clearly depicted . . . shall we say, "menu options?" What happens in Pompeii, stays in Pompeii. Following our long and dusty exploration of the ruins, we enjoyed the company of our North American friends over some delectable local pizza.
The next day we made our way down to the docks to hop a ferry out to the Isle of Capri. We had read amazing things in the Lonely Planet guide about the beauty of the island, particularly of The Blue Cove, a grotto accessible only by row boat with hauntingly blue water due to light refraction and white sand. We opted for a motor boat tour of around the entire island shore, with the Cove at the end. The tour was well worth it, showing the beauty of the craggy mountain cliffs and mirrored water and inlet grottoes, all the while inspiring the theme from Jurassic Park to run through our heads.
Once we made it to the Blue Cove, however, we realized it was a complete rip-off. They charge you for the row boat into the cave PLUS cave entry, you're only in there for about 4 minutes, you can barely take a recognizable picture (see below), and all the while your row boat captain is belting out bad opera in the echoing darkness trying to drum up a tip! Sheesh! Well, live and learn.
After regaining our land legs, we ventured up to the main town of the island. Ventured? More like "scaled." It was a 25 minute uphill walk to Capri Town. Along the way we kept passing people on their way down who so compassionately assured us that we were LESS than half-way there. Still, we met a couple of gals from Chicago with whom we completed our climb, took in the admittedly astounding views from the summit, and had a little lunch. Capri Town is packed to the gills with high-end retailers (Gucci, Cartier, etc) and five-star hotels, so there was a lot of just window shopping on our part. We made our way back down and indulged in some gelato which was thoroughly earned, then said goodbye to our Chicago gals, hung out on very rocky beach for a little while and took the ferry back to Napoli.
One thing that made us both laugh: when walking back to our hostel, we saw in the window of a McDonalds a picture on the menu for a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich entitled "McToast."
Continuing in our good fortune at finding fellow countrymen abroad, Brianne ran into two young guys from Brampton purchasing their tickets to Pompeii. We joined them and an American couple currently based in Germany for a trek into the historic ruins in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. One of the Canuck lads had a passionate enthusiasm for Pompeii and offered to be our guide for the day. As it turned out, enthusiasm does not always equal factual accuracy; he was positive the mountain dominating the landscape was too close to be the real Vesuvius, we completely passed by the House of the Faun that he was looking for because the characterestic statue denoting it wasn't as large as he expected it to be from the pictures he'd seen, and the preserved counters with holes in them (see below) were described by him as "public toilets," rather than being -- as we learned from a guidebook afterwards -- "food pots." Doesn't matter, though, he was a terrific guy and we all had a great time.
The ruins of Pompeii are expansive; you're told it's a "city," of course, but the reality of the size doesn't really hit you until you're exploring it. We wandered in and out of dwellings, checked out the amphitheatre, and marvelled at mosaics and frescoes. Our admittedly morbid group goal, however, was to make sure we "saw some dead people." We were searching for the casts of the remains of those who had not escaped the wrath of the volcano. We found them towards the end of our days, and they are eerily fascinating.
One site within the city that was very popular was the brothel. Seriously, people were lined up outside, it was hilarious, but of course we were there too. Within the recently excavated and restored edifice were separate rooms with stone beds in them, and over the doors to each room were frescoes which quite clearly depicted . . . shall we say, "menu options?" What happens in Pompeii, stays in Pompeii. Following our long and dusty exploration of the ruins, we enjoyed the company of our North American friends over some delectable local pizza.The next day we made our way down to the docks to hop a ferry out to the Isle of Capri. We had read amazing things in the Lonely Planet guide about the beauty of the island, particularly of The Blue Cove, a grotto accessible only by row boat with hauntingly blue water due to light refraction and white sand. We opted for a motor boat tour of around the entire island shore, with the Cove at the end. The tour was well worth it, showing the beauty of the craggy mountain cliffs and mirrored water and inlet grottoes, all the while inspiring the theme from Jurassic Park to run through our heads.
Once we made it to the Blue Cove, however, we realized it was a complete rip-off. They charge you for the row boat into the cave PLUS cave entry, you're only in there for about 4 minutes, you can barely take a recognizable picture (see below), and all the while your row boat captain is belting out bad opera in the echoing darkness trying to drum up a tip! Sheesh! Well, live and learn.
After regaining our land legs, we ventured up to the main town of the island. Ventured? More like "scaled." It was a 25 minute uphill walk to Capri Town. Along the way we kept passing people on their way down who so compassionately assured us that we were LESS than half-way there. Still, we met a couple of gals from Chicago with whom we completed our climb, took in the admittedly astounding views from the summit, and had a little lunch. Capri Town is packed to the gills with high-end retailers (Gucci, Cartier, etc) and five-star hotels, so there was a lot of just window shopping on our part. We made our way back down and indulged in some gelato which was thoroughly earned, then said goodbye to our Chicago gals, hung out on very rocky beach for a little while and took the ferry back to Napoli.One thing that made us both laugh: when walking back to our hostel, we saw in the window of a McDonalds a picture on the menu for a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich entitled "McToast."
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