So many things are happening and not enough computer time to post it. This just becomes a billboard for others talking about our show until I can sit down and talk about less self-involved things. Wait, this is a blog. This is all self-involved.
We’ve officially sold out our FringeNYC run. That was a goal, and dammit, we reached the damn goal. Damn.
4 out of 5 stars in Time Out New York.
5 Lesbians Eating a Quiche was a cult hit in Chicago last year, and arrives at the Fringe gleaming with comic polish. (Among the strong cast, I especially enjoyed Thea Lux’s wry turn as the butchest of the bunch.)
(Kept the shout out in case there was any confusion of this being self-involved.)
Backstage at The Living Theatre.
I finally got the butterflies to shut up and tonight’s show settled into a comfortable “This is fun—we don’t barf when things are fun, remember?” rhythm. We’ve had smiling, supportive audiences. I talked to one steadfast New York-loving audience member after the show who teased, “I hear you’re from a small Midwestern town! You know the place to do theater is here in NYC. I hope you all get to come back to do the show again!” Oh, lady sister. You are kind in your own way. He was seeing his 5th Fringe show of the night, SO OKAY FINE he’s proving people actually mean it when they say they support live theater here.
We’ve sold out two shows and are inching in on selling out more. To balance out my ego, I get to lug a suitcase and couch surf for the third time in four days.
I shouldn’t read reviews. It’s not like a review will stop this THEATER TIGER FROM PURGING ITSELF / EXPLODING ITS WAY OUT FROM THE DEPTHS OF MY SOUL / BURSTING FORTH OUT OF MY CHEST CAVITY LIKE A FOOTBALL PLAYER / BREAKING THROUGH A HOMEMADE PAPER BANNER/ AT A HOMECOMING GAME / CONFIDENT UNTIL HIS ANKLE GETS CAUGHT IN THE LENGTHY BUTCHER PAPER THAT THE CHEERLEADERS WORKED SO HARD TO DECORATE / MEOW, THEATER TIGER. / MEOW.
But here are some nice things said so far:
“One of the funniest shows to ever grace FringeNYC.” - Hy on the Fringe
“The five actors have excellent timing together.” - Backstage.com
“A farcical romp behind whose silliness lies some social and political observation that remains potent even in the dawning age of legalized gay marriage.” - NYTheatre.com
“I want more Draculas and Woofmen in the show.” - A mallard duck.
We have three days off, so we’re heading up to the burbs for some family time, home-cooked meals, and poolside gossip about all the celebrities we didn’t see.
There’s something in the air. Maybe a fart. Maybe kismet.
FringeNYC will be as ridiculous and exhausting and rewarding as we make it. It’s fun to believe that luck exists. I tell myself to focus on the positive, but then that always gets confused in believing in a horoscope or something, but you know what, people have religion, so fuck it. I enjoy coincidences.
Waiting in line for a cab. We’d been talking to anyone within earshot on the plane for better or for worse. “‘5 Lesbians on a Quiche’ I don’t know about, but 4 Drunk Girls on a Plane was enough to perk my interest,” said our new friend, Sean.
Hey now, we’re just actors and this is our natural, extroverted personally. Plus, two glasses of wine is child’s play.
After the flight we waited in line for a cab. I ask, “Where are you going?” to the college-aged girl standing in front of me. She proceeded to name the exact intersection I was heading to and immediately I swept her up, tattooed her name on my forehead, and became BFF cab buds.
Allison, from St. Louis, went to DePaul for a semester, now in NYC. Studying poetry, [another art], and fashion. Fashion is the one that is making her money.
We dropped her off in the cab, and drove a few more blocks to my destination.
“Can I pay with a card?” I asked the cab driver, which is a Midwesternly polite way of saying, “I don’t feel bad about what I’m asking you to do.”
“It will be better for you and me if you pay with cash.”
“I’m paying with a card.”
HOLY HELL, CAB DRIVER. He flew into a rage. A Tasmanian Devil’s worth of a cuss-tornado erupted out of the once friendly man. He sputtered. Cursing, sulking, stomping his way to the back of his cab to slam my luggage on the ground as if I was his mom and took his XBox privileges away. Yes, I’m a sucker for the twinge of guilt I felt and tipped 25%—which he won’t even be able to recognize as mine—to compensate for the fees. But I apparently I ruined his night. DESTROYED HIS LIFE. Don’t give me that power, sir. I will use it for evil.
I got out of the Angry Cab and retrieved my key from a 24-hour convenience store. “There will be an envelope with your name on it,” instructed my host through email correspondence.
There was! Faith in humanity restored.
I would have eaten everything in that deli—there were cops and fresh meat being shaved at 12:30 at night. Wait, cops weren’t being shaved…My suitcase prevented me from being able to order food without taking out a row of canned goods, so I just went to find my bunk.
So close to the night being done. But everything is worth talking about for once. No longer a routine, everything is interesting and strange.
Left the deli and walked behind a woman sobbing.
I avoided this interaction.
Continued down 9th (Avenue? Street?) to the apartment I was staying at and sat down to dump my brain out onto the page.
My housemates arrived. French and Italian travelers with names I would son mispronounce. Sleep was restless and NYC continued to be what it is—full of stories.
Our Chicago run closed yesterday to wonderfully supportive audiences, we fly to NYC on Wednesday, tech Thursday, shows Friday and Saturday…I’d be lying if I said I had anything other than quiche on the brain right now. Also, if anyone knows Mo Rocca, ask him to send extra audience our way—his show is already sold out.
Nerves. Happy nerves. Excited nerves.
5 Lesbians Eating a Quiche opens tonight at the Center on Halsted. After that, we head to NYC Fringe. If you know anyone in that NYC, we’d appreciate the rallying or attend the shows yourself! Other than that, meet the cast while I go yell at these stomach butterflies to stop flitting around in my innards:
Foolishly he’d been trying to take off his sock while standing up. Gravity worked against him, as did his balance, as did the cat that simultaneously decided that was the best time to get under his foot.
He fell. He toppled. He saw stars.
He hit his head on something he believed was a bookshelf, which was odd since he didn’t read—could never get through the dang things. He found books interesting for the first twenty pages then inevitably there was dinner to be made, or a rug that needed straightening. Plus, why keep the things? You read them once then they just keep up space. Or dust. Or just a dirty reminder of another failure.
So maybe it wasn’t a bookshelf…hell, maybe it was. What was the saying? A rose by any other name would still be called a bookshelf? Man, he must have hit his head pretty hard. Maybe the bookshelf was a state of mind. Who was he to call it a bookshelf? It could be a nick-knack nook or a dust depository. Maybe it was a museum of half-read novels. He looked up and inspected the wall as he inspected the welt on the back of his head…
He looked up.
Huh. It was a bookshelf.
On the ground was a book sprawled out on the floor from its fall. A postcard with his handwriting had fallen out of the pages, noticeably from the front of the book. He picked it up and read the back which noted the date was 8 years prior.
Hello from the outskirts of Nowhereville, USA!
I’ve found myself in a cabin with nothing more than a bearskin blanket, a warm fire, and some piece of mind. And this book you gave me. So far it’s looking to be quite the page turner!
Well, it looks like my dinner is done cooking. Freshly caught salmon calls me!
Reading habits foiled again by distraction and dinner. He hadn’t changed much.
He looked at the book in his hands and flipped through the pages. He returned the book to its resting place back on the bookshelf. He’ll get to it eventually.
We’re heading to FringeNYC very soon. Here’s my brain talking about said things via a website excerpt:
Q: Do you think the audience will talk about your show for 5 minutes, an hour, or way into the wee hours of the night?
A: The show sticks with you. It’s got heart. There’s not only a genuine chemistry and camaraderie on stage, but the audience is there through the journey with us. We are all sisters. Also, without knowing too much about science or being funded by any official quiche company, there is a good chance you will think of this production if you ever eat quiche in the future.
A: I don’t know anymore. Do I sound too cynical if I say “No”? People are very adamant about living inside technology and only speaking in 140 characters and meme-based references to one another. There are hot pockets of people who support live theater, but they’re not the majority. And I’d rather cut off my thumbs than go to a show with a designated live-tweeting section. (Ahem, follow me on Twitter @thealux.)
But society will always influence theater and if there’s injustice, those stories will be represented on the stage. As change happens, theater will reflect those struggles. That being said, there are a lot plays easily lifted from the silver screen. Seats need to be filled and money is super awesome, I hear.
It’s a lot easier to sell tickets if it stars a famous cartoon character with a built-in following rather than a stellar ensemble from Chicago tackling issues of sexual identity, fear, and sisterhood premiering Friday, Aug 10, 2012 5:00 PM at the Living Theatre… But they both have their merits.
Read all of my brain at NYTheatre.com.
Morning commutes are spent on bicycles with headphones piping in podcasts into my ear holes. News ingestion occurs from 9-6 in the form of a social media feed scrolling on the right side of my computer screen. I stopped listening to news on the way in since I preferred a slightly more meditative two-wheeled journey into the office before being bombarded by media behind a desk.
When I turned on my computer, immediately an IM blipped up into my view. My co-worker informed me of a shooting in Denver. I hadn’t heard. I’d removed myself from the news last night and missed the tragedy that struck during a midnight showing of a damn Batman movie.
A cellphone video posted on CNN showed people exiting the theater—pixelated footage of stunned patrons shuffling by with blood-stained shirts. But it was a kid in a full-on Batman costume standing confused in the background that caught my eye and made my heart ache.
I laughed while simultaneously tearing up.
I desperately love and respect dedication to something that may seem strange to others. Caring about something so much, being swept up by excitement, insecurities or fear of judgment is nonexistent.
That young person thought he was in a safe place. Not only a safe place to freely show his loyalty to his hero in full Batman regalia, but basic human movie theater safety.
That head-to-toe rubber superhero costume complete with cape, boots, and a helmet-like mask still firmly secured to this young person’s head equaled everything good in the world.
How dare his hero be tainted and his memories be soiled.
+ + +
Tonight I’m seeing a talented friend record her stand up comedy album. My date for the evening is coincidentally someone who experienced the Jonesboro, Arkansas playground shooting first-hand.
Time heals. Laughter heals. We’ll get through this together and remember Batman’s still a hero.