The Bear Hunt

One of my favorite children's books is by Michael Rosen. It's called "We're Going On A Bear Hunt". It's a terrific story of family adventure, traipsing through the woods and the rain and the snow and the mud looking for a bear. I used to read this story to my kids every night (and still do, on occasion, cause it's just so much fun). My favorite part of the story is repeated each time they encounter an obstacle, whether it's the swamp or the wind or any of the other aforementioned encumbrances. Each time they encounter the obstacle they repeat this simple refrain: "Uh oh. We can't go over it. We can't go under it. We have to go THROUGH it." It's a wonderful metaphor for life, really. Sometimes you just come up against an issue that you can't go under and you can't go over, you just have to go through it. Today was the first stumbling run thru of "our" production of Mamma Mia. We couldn't go over it. We couldn't go under it. We had no choice but to go right through it. No one ever said it was gonna be easy.

We actually started the day with a quick review of all the dance numbers - thank God! The dancing for "Voulez-Vous", though short, continues to be the bane of my existence. I'm getting closer with each rehearsal, but it's still fairly complicated, especially for a guy with two left feet like me. Plus, I went to my FANTASTIC guru of a Chiropractor yesterday, Dr. Shire, who diagnosed what I was afraid I had - shin splints! It's a painful strain in the shin (in my case on the left side), so every time I had to spin in the dance, which is often, I felt a sharp pull on my left shin. I kept trying to stretch and massage it, but it still bothered me most of the day. My "Rosie" ("nurse" Alison) was kind enough to offer me a Ben-Gay patch which helped to alleviate some of the pain, but for the most part I struggled through. (I love being in my 40's, except when I HATE being in my 40's!) In any event, the "VV" dance review was extremely helpful, as was the review for "Gimme,Gimme,Gimme" and "Under Attack", the opening of the second act.

Finally, we were ready for the run. As our director Martha pointed out, it really is one of the few (and last) times we will ever get to see the show ourselves since, once it's up and running, we're too busy paying attention to our own roles and putting on and taking off costumes and attending to things backstage to actually "see" it, so enjoy it while we can. Well, I have to say I took her advice to heart and it was wonderful. Even with the amalgam of newbies and veteran Mamma Mia cast members, the show had that rawness and that newness that comes with a first time run thru and it was magic. Things I never saw in the script were suddenly illuminated, performances (we shouldn't call them that since we're still in "rehearsal", but that's what they are) seemed to be growing before my eyes and the room was filled with a kind of awe and wonder. Alyse ("Sophie") and her friends ("Ali and Lisa") were an explosion of energy that started the show and filled the room. My fellow "Dad's" David and John were just fantastic, at turns funny and moving and altogether full of power and nuance. Alison and Judy and Eric and Michael ("Rosie, Tanya, Sky, Pepper") were all just great, and Beth ("Donna") - my God Beth was fantastic. I had the good (or bad, depending on how you look at it) fortune of sitting a mere ten feet from Beth and Alyse as "Sophie" walks in the room with her wedding dress (there were limited props, by the way, so most of this action was mimed) and confronts her mother "Donna" about her marriage and together they sing "Slipping Through My Fingers", a paean to a youth lost and the torch of one woman's strength and independence being passed to her daughter. I'd be lying to you now if I didn't fess up to the tears streaming down my face while Beth poured out her heart to her daughter. It was raw and real and gut-wrenching and, as we all know in this biz, it will probably never be that good again. But that's the beauty of live theater. It may never be that good, but that doesn't mean we won't continue to pursue that excellence in every performance. Of course there were mistakes. In fact, I made most of them. My favorite was during "Name Of The Game" (which, as I've mentioned in previous posts, is so beautiful as Alyse sings this song of desperate yearning and longing right to my face!), when, having listened to her pour out her heart, I just stared at her, completely forgetting MY lyric and recovering only after she prompted me. Nice work, Boll!

By the end, we were all on our feet (literally). The previous posting account of the bows; silent, dancing, singing - they all went off without a hitch and we ended the day, and the run, with the ever delightful "Waterloo", sans Spandex. But it's coming, just you wait.

Tomorrow we brush up a bit, then Monday we start in full time at the theater. We're getting down to the wire, people, and the "mess" is quickly starting to congeal into something resembling the hit show. Let's hope that my dancing doesn't hold us back.

"Uh oh. We can't go over it. We can't go under it. We have to go THROUGH it!"

On Broadway

So today was my first day on the stage and I cannot tell a lie - it was frickin' AWESOME! I know, I should probably try and make it sound like it was no big deal and play it cool since I've worked on a Broadway stage before, but let's be honest, it's every actor"s dream to be on Broadway, and I'm livin' it!
As usual, however, there was very little, if any, fanfare. I entered through the stage door and met the doormen, whose names escape me at the moment, and headed right out to the house (theater) to drop my bag and get my bearings. There is a sense of "been there, done that" about this entire project, mostly because, except for us "newbies", they have all "been there and done that"! But that still doesn't take away from the fact that we're doing a Broadway show. And a highly successful one at that.
Even though I'm actually a day late getting to the stage (we started yesterday but I wasn't called), it was still exciting to be standing out there, on the set, looking at a 1400 seat house, knowing that in less than 2 weeks, it's gonna be full (or nearly) and I'm gonna be singing Swedish pop songs. There goes the pinch again.
We basically did a very rough run through of the show, skipping large sections of dialogue and songs, merely to get a lay of the technical land, as it were. One of the biggest surprises for me was the "Name Of The Game" scene, which is played on the "jetty". The "jetty" is a large, slatted platform that thrusts out toward the audience, and at the beginning of the scene it hydraulically lifts about four feet off the stage. We had talked about this moment in the rehearsal space, but I was surprised at how smooth and how high the lift was. Four feet high from the audience looks much higher when you're standing on it. We (Alyse and I) worked through that scene quickly and safely and as a company got the end in a swift fashion, saving much of the work for next week, when we will have more time on the set.
It was an auspicious beginning, but I think I'll feel quite at home here at the Winter Garden Theater.
I also got a quick haircut from the hair department, which, since they are responsible for maintaining the look of my hair, was a good thing. I haven't had a haircut in months so I was starting to look a bit ratty, although that is very "Bill". We actually decided that it would be best to keep the hair long, but groomed. That way we still give Bill that adventurous look without looking like a yeti.
Tomorrow we're back at the rehearsal space. But those days are numbered, now that we've had a taste of "the Broadway"!

The Nitty-Gritty

It's so weird, or maybe not so weird, that after nearly 25 years in the theater, I know exactly where we are in the process and it never gets any easier. We're now more than two weeks into rehearsal and even though it's a wonderful company, today the "newness" seemed to drop like a rock and the confusion and insecurities that accompany this moment set in. When I say "this moment", I mean this moment in the process, because it's inevitable, like water from a raincloud, like an Elvis Wedding in a Vegas Chapel, that half way through the process all the proceedings become muddled and awash in vagaries. But it's okay, because these, being the "times that try men's souls", will inevitably lead to more clarity and a more specific performance. Right now, however, it sucks!

We spent the first part of the day rehearsing the bows. Now here's an interesting point. One would think that the "bows" for a show, when, as a performer, I am allowed to take some small measure of appreciation from the audience, basking (even for a brief moment) in the glow of an audiences acknowledgement of the work I've done and, possibly (hopefully) the enjoyment I've given them, are organic, and that "taking your bow" might be a spontaneous act, a moment when, at the end of a show, the actor or actors take a moment to step forward and get their just rewards (or boos, if so deserved). This is what one would think of the bows. But not in the world of musical theater. And definitely not in the world of MM! Let me give you a quick rundown:

The closing moment, Sky and Sophie, gazing into each others eyes, love conquering all; slowly, longingly, they walk off into the blaze of a rising moon. Show's over, audience (hopefully, again) applauds. The End, right? Wrong. Only just the start.

First we run on and take what we call the "silent bows", "silent" because we don't make any noise, but the audience (hopefully) does, filling the theater with thunderous applause. Then we rush off.

Next we start the "musical bows". That begins, strangely enough, with our leading lady Beth. Strange because usually the leading lady gets the final bow, but since the show began in London, maybe they do things differently over there. In any event, after her come her two female cohorts, Tanya and Rosie: then the three Dad's including myself, then Sophie and Sky. At this point it's just the "principals", the actors and actress' who have speaking parts, taking their bows, all while singing a reprise of "Does Your Mother Know". Then we rush off.

Next comes the "Mamma Mia" bows, when the ensemble (the absolute hardest working people on the stage every single NIGHT!) sing a reprise of MM and take their bows, all while performing choreography. (Think we've had enough bows yet? We're only halfway there.) Then they rush off.

Next is the "Dynamo's bow", the "Dynamo's" being Donna and Tanya and Rosie. A virtual rock concert ensues, complete with rising platform and smoke and strobe lights, as they sing a reprise of "Dancing Queen", all while singing and dancing and wearing spandex that leaves little to the imagination. Then, you guessed it, they rush off.

Finally, the piece de resistance, "Waterloo". Arguably ABBA's most famous song, certainly their first big hit. By now the audience A: is on their feet applauding and singing along; B: is sitting passively enjoying the end (if it ever comes); or C: has begun the process of insulin injections to counteract the effects of the saccharine overload. In any event, when "Waterloo" begins, Spandex is the word of the day.

Finally, FINALLY, the show is over, the bows are done and someone (the audience, the actors, the crew, the dressers, the custodian, the box office worker!) can go home. Then we start it all over again the next show.

So if you were under the assumption that when you go to the theater and see the performers bowing that it all just "happens", think again. It is very well thought out and usually very well choreographed. And in the case of MM!, it is very well accompanied, getting the most out of ABBA's best.

Following this part of rehearsal, we got down to the nitty-gritty of really working and re-working a few of the scenes. First was the "Take A Chance" scene between Rosie and me, clarifying a lot of moments that were "muddy " and making strong choices about where we were going, both physically and emotionally. It's at this point in rehearsal when things can get a little bogged down and technical, but you have to go through this to reach the other side.

The same held true for the "Name Of The Game" rehearsal which came next. Again, technical and not very glamorous, but we really began to solidify some choices which, up until now, were simply "meanderings" and "possibilities" ("We could do this? Or we could do this?") Today we said "We WILL do this." Once the structure or outline is set, it's much easier to explore the perimeters.

Thursday was strangely a day off for me, but Friday we begin anew, this time on the stage of the Winter Garden Theater for the first time! Broadway, here we come!

"Indi"-pendence

There are some days, today being one of them, when I really have no idea where to start or what to say. I suppose when that happens I should take the hint from my conscience and just leave it. But I think there's value in starting "no where" and seeing where it takes me.

Today's work was short, but informative. We touched on the only scene left in the show that hadn't been rehearsed, partly because, up until last week, we didn't have our "Tanya". But we made up for lost time in that department as she spent most of the day in rehearsal. My time with her was short, however, because she and I rarely share the stage together. We have one small scene when, after returning from a "fishing trip", my "Rosie" and I encounter her on the beach for a quick and awkward verbal exchange. Then we're gone. The scene itself is merely an introduction to the much bigger song "Does Your Mother Know", so we did our part and skedaddled. Because the scene, in the larger scheme of things, takes place on a busy stage (lots of people and props moving around and lots of different events vying for the audience's attention), it's hard to do much more in rehearsal than lay down the basics upon which, once we're in the theater, we can build.

At this point things got a bit interesting. I had yet another costume fitting, again with Angie our Assistant Costume Designer. Only this time, rather than heading down to Matera's costume shop, she brought the clothes to the rehearsal space. We tried on some simple khaki-colored cargo pants and a pocketed, khaki-colored, long-sleeve cotton shirt, fitting for the character as he's been written originally and played thus far in the run. But this is where the questioning began. Simply put, until now the character of Bill has been Australian, complete with Akubra, the real name for the Australian bush hat. And with the multi-pocketed cargo pants, the pocketed shirt, the second pair of pants (though without the cargo pockets), the khaki, cargo-pocketed shorts - the theme to me seemed overwhelmingly Australian. The problem is we're trying to change the character from being Australian to being American. It's becoming more and more clear to me that you can't simply "drop" the accent and make the character American. I'm thinking that he really needs to have his own "look". There have already been line changes in the script to reflect this difference, too. Where Bill was once referred to as "Dundee" (as in Crocodile), he's now called "Indiana" (as in Jones). Where he once replied to the query of his origin as "Australian", he now replies, "I'm from the US." So if the change in the character has been made in the words he says and the things that are said about him, it becomes increasingly difficult to think that the clothes he wears would be the same as an Australians. He would be an American wearing American clothes. Cowboy boots, perhaps, and blue jeans. And of course some sort of Indian Jones Fedora hat. If they have established the original "Bill" as the iconic Australian, it seems only fair that the American "Bill" be afforded the same distinction. Obviously more than just my opinion comes into play here. There is the consideration of the costume designer, first and foremost, and what he is trying to establish. There is also the "palette" of the show, the blending of the costumes and sets and lights and how they all look together. Much has to be taken into account before changes can be made, but in the end the strength of the show lies in the strength of it's characters.

This idea of "costume as character" really hit home when, after the fitting with Angie at the rehearsal space, I walked the 15 blocks north to the Winter Garden Theater and met Ron, the Wardrobe Supervisor on the show, for a shoe fitting. At first I was presented three different sandal options for the end of the first act, when the trio of songs "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme", "Name Of The Game", and "Voulez Vous" are sung. This is the bulk of my dancing so I want to make sure that the sandals I wear are not only appropriate looking but comfortable enough to wear 8 times a week. (I joked a couple of times today with my fellow "older actors" that when we were all in our 20's we threw ourselves around the stage with abandon, caring not for the consequences. Now all we think about is, "Can I really do that 8 times a week?) We settled not on the traditional Birkenstocks that other actors before me have worn, but on a closed-toe sandal designed for comfort and durability, but still within the style of the show.

Then came the boots for my first entrance, and suddenly my dilemma became palpable. I don't want to be known as a difficult actor, and in reality I'm not, but I am very particular about my footwear. For me, the shoes I wear say a lot about, and really inform, the character I play. These boots were large and clunky and certainly do not fit the image or idea I have of an American "Bill". I was offered two colors, dark (almost chocolate) brown, and a lighter, butterscotch-y brown. I commented that if I wore my pants halfway down my ass with the latter, I'd be a home-boy in the Bronx! I walked around for awhile in both pair. Neither held much appeal. In the end, and after much discussion with Ron about my options, I agreed to the butterscotch pair. But this decision came with the caveat that I would be discussing more the idea of boot alternatives, including Cowboy boots, with Martha our director and Angie and the other powers that be.

This is a difficult position to be in, not only for me but for all involved. If this were a brand new show, for example, the idea of character choices and clothing would be a direct discussion between actor and director and designer. But in this unique situation, where you have a very successful, long running show that is trying to "tweak" the characters and change things up a bit, it's a lot harder to make a change, fearing (justifiably) that you might alter some well-working chemistry and topple the "house of cards" that is the show. But the great thing about this situation, I feel, is that all parties are open to discussion and the possibility that something will change. Therein lies the key to success.

One last thing. (This is a lot from a guy who didn't know what he was gonna say in the beginning!) I never tire of walking into a Broadway theater, and this one is no different. It's very cool! There's a palpable feeling to walking backstage in a long running, successful show. It's exciting. As Ron led me up the 4 flights of stairs to the wardrobe room, we passed by what will be my dressing room. I'll be sharing it with David ("Harry") and it's beautiful! We have a large space with a big coach and, best of all, a beautiful view of Times Square. We look right out on to 50th St. It's breath taking and I can't wait to A:move in and B: show my kids. They're gonna think Dad's job is pretty cool! At least I hope so. And the best part is, the theater is right next door to my daughters favorite restaurant, "Ellen's Stardust Diner", complete with singing waiters!

Now if can just figure out what to do about the Indian Jones hat...

Ache-y Break-y Bones

When I was in High School we had a football coach named Russ Hepner. Russ was a muscular man who wore his short sleeve shirts very tight to show off his well developed physique, and his short legged shorts pulled very high in the crotch to apparently show off the other well developed parts of his body. Though no one seemed to take notice of the latter, his "costume" provided hours of "behind the back" ridicule, as only teenagers can do.
Russ had favorite sayings - "...that's hell's bell's fellas..." and "...horse feathers..." were among his most frequent. He was a task master on the field and a feared teacher in the classroom. But he was also, and ultimately, a well respected and liked man.

Two of my older brothers, first Pete and then Dave, were star players on Russ' football teams. As a young man I always enjoyed watching my brothers play, often in fullback or halfback positions, which allowed them the opportunity to score touchdowns and carry the moniker of "star" football player.
I never liked football. I liked watching football, but I never liked playing football. When I was in 7th grade I had exactly one experience with organized football and I still have a clear memory of how much I disliked it. The coach was a non-descript tough guy, the kind who probably played high school ball himself but ended up driving a forklift six days a week: midnight shift.
"So listen young fella, on this play, you're gonna hold your ground and when the offensive end comes at you, you're gonna hit him right in the ear hole!
"The ear hole?"
"Yeah, just hard like this", thwack! (You can take the tough guy out of the game, but you can't take the game out of the tough guy.) "Right in the ear hole."
I remember thinking how much that hurt.
"Don't I get to carry the ball? And run for a touchdown?"
"Nah, nah. That's for the backs. Now get out there and hit!
"But..."
"But nothing. Don't worry about it, you're gonna love it. Hit! Hit! HIT!"
Thus began and ended my career with the Grosse Pointe Lions.

But apparently news of my retirement had not reached Russ's ears, for every year in late July or early August, I received the same phone call:
“Hey Pat, Coach Hepner here, listen, I hope you're havin' a good summer. I wanna talk to you about the football program."
"Football?"
"Sure. We start 2-a-day practices next week. Now I hope you're gonna play football like your older brothers, aren't you?"
"Football? Uh, to be honest Mr. Hepner, I don't really like football."
"Don't like it? Why not?"
"Well, I just, it's just... I don't know, I just don't like it." I didn't have the heart, or the guts, to say that I thought it was a bit stupid, that it seemed like a bunch of organized idiots running around the field, hitting each other in the "ear hole" for 60 minutes while they chased a dead pig.
"Aw, now, let me tell you something, Pat. That's just... well, hells bells fellas, that's just horse feathers. Now, your brothers, Pete and Dave, now they were great young football players. And they really benefited from the program. And I gotta tell ya, I think you’d be a great young football player and I think you’d really benefit from the program as well."
Right. Here's the thing. I didn't want to benefit from the program. I didn't like the program. And although I had a lot of friends in the program, I just didn't think it was the right thing for me.

But I digress. My point here is that in High School the "program" was probably a good thing. Young kids, mostly boys, exercised and stayed in shape. They worked out. They lifted weights. They were agile and limber and after a week of "2-a-days" they went home and ate their mothers' out of house and home and never gained weight.
That's great when you're 16. Or 17. Or 18, or 19, or 22 or even 25. But when you're a man (or woman) of a certain (mid to late 40's) age, the body is not meant for that kind of continual physical abuse.

Unless you're in Mamma Mia 8 times a week. At which point, apparently, all bets are off and constant pain is the word of the day!
Again, and I don't want to sound like a wimp here, or redundant, but we spent 8 hours today rehearsing mostly the dance and movement sequences - "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme", Voulez-Vous", the "Wedding and Finale" - and I am so absolutely fricking exhausted it's hilarious! I'm dyin' here! I'm walking around my house like a 90 year old man! Where's the walker? I think I need that stair chair thing that takes you from one flight to the next! And don't even talk to me about my back. Oy vey!

I should have known I was in trouble when I walked into rehearsal and saw John AND David, both of my other fellow Dad's, wearing protective braces on both of their knees, and we hadn't even started. Did they know something I didn't know? Had they gotten a memo that I missed? Apparently. Though I believe their pain was assuaged no less than mine even with the aid of their apparatus. At least I toughed it out without medicaid assistance!

But in the end, as seems to happen after every rehearsal, we laughed and joked and I secretly pinched myself, quietly asking "I'm still getting paid to have this much fun, right?" Somehow, it just doesn't seem right.

I also have to say that it felt, after all that had gone on over the last few days with the wake and funeral and attendant family issues, very good to be able to throw myself right back into work. There was a speaker at the wake who made a point of saying that a big part of who we are, of what defines us, is the work we do. I believe that's true, and I believe, I know, that I'm very lucky to make my living doing my work, doing what I love to do more than anything else in the world. And no value can be placed on that.

In Memoriam

I just want to take a moment and touch base with you all. I feel a bit odd, taking time away from this show that I have, so far, LOVED doing, for personal reasons. It's like I'm cheating on a lover that I've promised to be faithful to. The creative and management team of MM! have been wonderful and very accommodating and of course the reason for the time off, the death of my Brother in law, is certainly valid and has warranted all my attention. But now, in a complete reversal, I am to return to rehearsal tomorrow feeling a bit like I did around the time of 911, when I went to work thinking "What's the point of all this? Why am I doing this?" I know in my mind that I am loving this experience and I will certainly move forward, as the human spirit does, and prevail. But my heart hurts right now for the loss of our Brad and I try to make sense of it.

I wrote this to a friend tonight and I repeat it here:

And now, I guess, in that strange way that always happens - life goes on. Every one's life has value and, as much as Brad seemed like "just another obligation" in our lives, I know I will miss him and his sweet and gentle presence. God rest his soul.
So...

Like a First Rehearsal - Only NOT.

Wow! What a day. It was short, as we only did a read through of the show, but amazing! Really - this is gonna be a helluva production!

We started a few minutes late as we were waiting for the cast to fully assemble - minus the ensemble. The first thing I noticed, even though, as I said yesterday, we've been in rehearsal already for a week and a half, was the "first read-thru" feeling in the room. Everyone was giddy and excited to be here and for those new to the room there were a lot of introductions. Once we finally sat and began, we were still missing our Tanya (Judy) as she was running late, so we started without her. She showed up moments later and we were whole. As the first act seemed to flow along, I was taken aback at how quick some of the transitions from scene to scene really are. I was especially shocked to realize that after my first scene on stage, when the Dads enter, I don't come on again till the middle of a song called "Gimme Gimme", where the girls are desperate to dance with the guys. But immediately following this raucous number comes the much more intimate, as I've said before, and touching "Name Of The Game." The quick emotional transition between the two, from happy, giddy writer out for an adventure to shocked and confused (there's that word again) possible father, caught me totally off guard. I was still enjoying the euphoria of the first world when I was suddenly slapped in the face with the reality of the second. And the slap was helped along by the truly intense and focused read of Alyse as "Sophie". She's got such an intelligent quality and a quiet intensity about her that even with her diminutive size she really commands a room. It's remarkable to see and be a part of. We finished what was left of the first act and took a break for the intermission. I introduced myself to those I had yet to meet, including Judy, and grabbed a quick bite to eat. It's amazing the amount of food actors eat, considering we were sitting in chairs for an hour. But that just shows how much work and effort goes into a production, even at the read-thru stage.

If the first act was filled with a nervous energy, the second act became much more refined, a taught string across which these characters had to traverse their emotional lives. And when John and Beth, our "Sam" and "Donna", belted out "S.O.S.", the room was rocking! Boy are they a couple of powerhouses! I just sat there taking this all in, pinching myself, as I have often along the way, thinking, "I get to work with these people 8 times a week. On Broadway!" Cool, huh? But if I thought that was good, I was in for a real treat when Beth rewarded us all with her (very early in the stage) rendition of the true 11 O'clock number, "Winner Takes It All". Holy S--t! Talk about "rocking the house", about "quiet intensity", about "keepin' it real" - she was phenomenal! This woman has such power and depth behind her voice, it's remarkable. Even she couldn't take it sitting down, forcing her, as the song did, to get to her feet and sing this ode to loneliness, to self-acceptance, to retribution and revenge with a grace and hunger that explores an interpretation never before seen. John sat there, his "Sam" dutifully taking what was due him. This is gonna be a fascinating and exciting scene.

For my own part, it was like going backward in time, and frustrating too, to be sitting there reading "Take A Chance" after having really fleshed out the characters and the scene only days before. I was ready to get up and move, as was Allison, my "Rosie", but we played the scene with all the intentions intact, only from a seated position.

When we finally finished the read, a rousing applause arose from the room, not only from the cast and creative team assembled, but company and stage management as well. It seemed the success we had hoped it might be was coming to pass. As we arose from our seats, I did have to spend some time walking around, checking in with my fellow actors and stage managers and even Martha and Janet, our director and Dance Captain, discussing the reading. The thing that really stuck out to me, and I expressed it many times in the coming moments to all assembled, was how "real" it seemed. It was grounded and whole. It didn't feel "put on" as so often musicals can. But I attributed that purely to the performers themselves. John and Beth and Alyse and Eric, our new "Sky", these are all actors of the highest caliber and their work shows. These are people who work under the same ethic as I do - the reality comes first. Playing a scene for a joke or a "bit" or a laugh is only effective for a short time, then it loses it's luster and becomes old soon. But when something is real and grounded and comes from the gut - that's something an audience can hold onto and "take home with them". It's a real connection and an audience can feel it. I was sitting in the room with these great people and I felt it! I can't wait to continue that journey.

On a personal note (although what in a blog isn't personal), I won't be writing for a few days. I have no rehearsal tomorrow or Saturday due to the funeral arrangements for my dear brother-in-law Brad who passed away last Saturday. Please remember him in your prayers. He was a sweet and gentle man and will be missed by many. He's in God's hands now.