ActorMachine

Yeah, so, it's been over a month since my last post. I'm not lazy, I've just been busy.

We're in tech this week for "Paradise Lost". It feels like it's been a long rehearsal process, but it has been well-used time. We're now on stage, in costume, getting the lights right, getting the entrances and exits timed, and finding out what we need to change. The set is gorgeous: a representation of a Bronx brownstone family home, with two sets of stairs (one to the basement and one upstairs), a piano, a bank of windows, couches, family pictures, etc. It's really nice to sit on a stage in an easy chair reading the newspaper and maybe drinking a cup of coffee. Plus I get to wear a tuxedo in Act 2 and, if I do say so myself, I look good!

Other minor news: I am now (or will be as soon as I receive the certificate) certified as a Level 1 Rapier-and-Dagger Stage Combatant. I took a week-long course here in rapier and dagger stage combat and learned enough to qualify me for a certification. It's great fun - and a terrific workout! The funny thing with stage combat, of course, is that you're trying to make it look real without having it actually be, well, real. A real swordfight would go so quickly that the audience would just be confused. So you have to slow it down, and make these big, theatrical movements - this actually makes it more dramatic for the audience because they can see the points of the blades and are able to participate in the drama of the fight. Anyway, just another thing to add to the resume.

Speaking of which, the big news this week was that offers were made to actors for next year. I mentioned before how we had auditions and meetings in order to "pitch" ourselves and what we wanted to act in next season. We got our offers on Monday (hereafter known as Black Monday). I was initially pretty pleased with my offers, then, as the day went on, I became extraordinarily grateful to have been made an offer. I saw what seemed like dozens of my friends not get offers, and as the text messages and phone calls began circulating around us, the mood became grimmer. In all, over a quarter of the company was not invited back (including people who have families and houses here), and others that did get offers were offered roles that they weren't happy with. I feel very fortunate to have received an offer that I'm not only happy with, but would be a fool to turn down. I was offered: Lorenzo in "Merchant of Venice", Prince John in "Henry IV, Part 1", and Yoshiteru in "Throne of Blood", a Japanese adaptation of "Macbeth" (it's the Fleance character, for those that know). The supplementary good news is that I will also be understudying Prince Hal in "Henry" (a BIG part), and going to the Brooklyn Academy of Music with "Throne of Blood" at the end of next season (a BIG theatre in New York). They are transferring "Throne of Blood" there for a one-week run next November (2010).

So I go forward into these next four months knowing that I have future work here, which makes my job a lot easier. I'm extremely happy here still, and this past week confirms that, for now at least, they like having me here.

I offer this short post as a warning - a warning to anyone who finds themselves involved in a production of "Death and the King's Horseman". 


Our run of this show (39 performances down, 7 left), began well enough. The show was really ticking along and getting great reviews/feedback. Then all of sudden, we hit a bump - a small bump. We lost a cast member. He wasn't happy here, so he left, and, luckily, was easily replaced. Then, more bumps. Absent cast members, management scrambling to find understudies for the understudies. It seemed like every performance we had to come in early for more put-in rehearsals. 


Finally, during today's matinee, Derrick, our lead (who had missed our last performance due to a lost voice), lost his voice again during the first scene. He walked calmly to the foot of the stage, addressed the audience, and told them he was unable to continue. 


Backstage, we all sat anxiously in the green room for news. They were going to find a microphone for Derrick and he would continue. Bisi, our Nigerian drummer, said "We should have sacrificed a goat before we opened." We all laughed and someone said "Oh Bisi, you just miss having goat for dinner!" (it's his favorite meat). 
"Boot I'm sirious!" he insisted, in his thick accent.


This got me thinking. How do you sacrifice a goat? Who or what do you sacrifice it to? And why, above all, should we have sacrificed a goat before opening?
I asked him these questions a little later on, once the show was underway (again).
 
"This play is not a written play," he said. "It is from a real story. We should have sacrificed a goat to the ancestors. It is a play full of ritual and spirits, and everyone, even you, are the ancestors of the real people who died. You must offer them part of the goat, and everyone must touch the meat and the blood, and then eat it. Everywhere in the world, if it is a sirious production, they have done this before performing this play. I know that no one believes this here, but for the last weeks we have seen what will happen if the ancestors are not happy."


While I never did get the details on exactly how to sacrifice a goat, this story satisfied my curiosity. Theatre people are superstitious (I'm no exception). We're already tempting fate doing not only "Macbeth", but a play that deals with Shakespeare writing "Macbeth". "Death and the King's Horseman" has its own share of superstition and what we would call the paranormal attached to it. So, next time, be safe and sacrifice the goat before you open.

I've been ridiculously spoiled for the last several months. We've had two shows a week for Horseman, usually matinees, and THAT has been the sum total of my time commitments - an eight-hour work week. Occassionally I've ventured out to see a show, or a movie, or have drinks and a meal with some friends (thus the lack of blog posts - nothing to report!). But this cannot last. Tomorrow I begin rehearsals for "Paradise Lost".

I'm thoroughly excited, and nervous, beginning this show. My part, while not huge by any means, is much more substantial and meaningful than my current role in Horseman. My principle challenge will be that Julie, my character, is suffering from "sleeping sickness", which we don't see much anymore. There was an outbreak during the twenties and thirties (when this show takes place), and then it more or less disappeared. It actually took some hunting to find out what it was. Turns out it is a form of encephilitis, a swelling of the brain, that causes those stricken with it to remain in a state very much like sleep for months at a time - almost like hibernation. They can hear and can feebly respond to questions or stimuli, but for the most part are stuck between sleeping and waking. This can linger for months and can lead to death. Alternatively, as happens to Julie, the patient can recover, but several years down the line will develop Parkinson's-like symptoms (i.e. poor motor skills, weakness, spasming, double-vision, inexpressive facial muscles, etc). In the case of Julie, and in a portion of other victims, this leads to nearly full paralysis (I'll be spending the whole of the third act in a wheelchair in one position). Needless to say, this will be a physically and emotionally taxing show to do. I'm still engrossed in research on all of this, and it will take a lot of work during rehearsal to figure out what symptoms are manifesting themselves at different points in the play. I've embarked this week on a strict eating regimen in order to look a little bit gaunt by the time the show opens. And no, I won't be pulling any crazy Christian-Bale-losing-60-pounds-for-a-role stunts - just watching what I'm eating and trying to make myself get out to the gym more often. 

Other news: the Festival is in the midst of casting their next season. I made up my mind pretty soon after arriving here that I was going to do everything in my power to stay here for as long as they would have me. Not only is it a prestigious gig, and provides me with job stability, but I am growing as an actor all the time, seemingly just by being here. Ultimately, I've found that having respect for the people I am working for makes me want to stay. There have been jobs that I've been grateful to have, but have felt no great loss when my contract was up. In fact, I was always anxious to move on to the next thing for most of my twenties. For a number of reasons, that is no longer true, and I like the idea of having a home here, at least for the next few years.  Anyway, I had an opportunity to audition for a group of eight of the major decision-makers a few weeks ago and I was very grateful for that chance. I'm not doing ANY Shakespeare this year, so I made sure to throw in a couple of Shakespeare speeches, as well as one from "Pride and Prejudice", which I'm hoping to be cast in. Then a few days ago, I had a one-on-one meeting with the Artistic Director during which I had fifteen minutes to make a "pitch" about what I would like to work on next year and why. I managed to say all the things I'd planned on saying, and avoid saying all the things I'd told myself not to say, so I felt like it was successful. Now there are seven interminable weeks until I find out what, if anything, I'll be doing next year!

(If you haven't read Part I, here's the link.)

Quick word of warning: the beds at Ireland's Rustic Lodges are not so great.  I've had better nights in my life.  Just FYI, in case you ever end up at Gold Beach, OR.  I've spent a lot of nights in hotels and this one was particularly bad.  What I did expect, however, was that their free breakfast in the morning would be absolutely terrible - and it was!  No surprises there.  But I got my coffee and at least a few usable calories in me, before setting off.


The goal for Day 2 was to see all the things on the way up that I had wanted to see, but had been driving too fast to pull into (most of the roadside vistas are unmarked and the roads are bendy).  I had a hot tip from Tyrone (an actor in my cast) to see Indian Sands, part of the coastal hiking trail that goes up and down Oregon,  so that was on the list.  



I got a good start to the day by taking a brisk walk on one of the beaches just south of Cape Sebastian.  The wind was amazing and the fresh air was great as a wake-up.  In my personal opinion, Day 2 yielded a lot higher quality of pictures, as well, but you can judge for yourselves.  The beaches are just breathtaking, lined with hundreds and hundreds of boulders and out-croppings.  All of those boulders must have been part of the coast at some point, but they are so far away from the beaches now that you can't even imagine how long ago that was.  


I seemed to be stopping every hundred yards or so, and hiking different segments on the Oregon Coastal trail each time.  That got tiring quickly, especially as I hadn't had a lot of time to recover from Cape Sebastian.  Pistol Creek State Park was a stand-out, though.  I got some great pictures there, too, which I'll let do the talking.


I finally decided on no more hikes until I got to Indian Sands.  I got there just after noon and set off on the trail.  Already I could tell Indian Sands would be today's Cape Sebastian.  But would it be worth it?  Only one way to find out...  


With legs still shaky from yesterday, I began the descent.  It wasn't as high as Cape Sebastian, but the trail was steeper.  No snakes, though, which was a plus!  The trail was badly marked, so I ended up going several places I didn't need to before finding my way out.  It lets out onto a hot, sandy beach, like you've arrived in Southern California all of a sudden.  The sand, which is very loose, doesn't go down to the water, though - it goes to a cliff, off the end of which you can see some arch-rocks and lots of tumultuous waves and surf.  Walking down the sandy "beach" to the cliff was fine, but after I had taken my pictures and explored some rocky outcroppings (again feeling Jeremy's watchful eyes judging me!) I now had to face a steep climb back up this loose sand, which was easily 100 yards, maybe more.  I stuck my feet out duck-ways and took little steps all the way up!  At the top, out of breath and heart-racing, as I was entering the wooded part of the ascent, I came across a guy whom I stood aside for as he and I crossed paths.  He stopped and looked at me expectantly.  I nodded, half-smiled, indicating that he should continue.  He looked ahead at the sandy hill and asked me, begrudgingly, "Is that it?  Indian Sands?".  He looked disappointed, but also like he could use a workout, so I told him he had to go down the sands to get the full vista.  


This time I really did feel like I was going to die.  The hike up was absolutely the most intense cardio workout I've had in years - probably since the time when I was a little boy and used to run just for the fun of it.  I do go to the gym, I swear.  It sounds like I'm the biggest baby in the world, but this terrain was no joke.  Add to that the fact that all of it was  a surprise as well - I didn't prepare for any of this.  So when I got to my car, I made a personal promise to myself: no more hikes today.  I think I burned 5000 calories before lunch!


My next goal was Brookings, again for lunch, but there were so many intriguing things I was passing.  Finally, I had to stop when I saw a sign for a beach, along with other signs that indicated that there was car access, and perhaps an area where parents could dip their babies in the ocean (that's just my interpretation of the sign - I have no idea what it actually was supposed to represent).  This was Whaleshead Beach, which will forever be the first thing I tell people to do on their Solo Oregon Vacations.  It was a wide, deep beach, sheltered from a lot of the wind but not all of it, with enormous boulders dotting the seascape, and several fresh-water creeks feeding into the ocean from the mountainside.  I have never felt anything so nice as when I took off my hiking boots and socks and stuck my feet into one of those freshwater streams.  The water was fresh, and slightly warmed up from the sand, but still refreshingly cold, and just ankle deep, so you could stand and wiggle your toes in it without worrying about waves taking you by surprise and soaking your jeans.  I spent a long time on Whaleshead Beach, and could have spent more, but my hunger got the better of me and I left in search of food.  


I ended up eating at the same diner I had lunch in on the way in, in Brookings.  Nice place, but I have no idea what it's called so I can't recommend it.  Then, after lunch, somewhere between Brookings and Smith State Park I completely lost all of my energy.  I just wanted to get home.  You'll find there aren't a lot of pictures from my trip home - I wanted to take more, to stop at all those places I hadn't stop on the way in - but I couldn't get up the energy for it.  I have plenty of time here in Oregon, though, and a whole summer ahead of me to take more adventures and see more of the Northwest.  I tell you, though, I could just keep going back to that coast - I'd be happy with that.

Preamble: 
Well, I finally got my act together and treated myself to a mini-vacation, traveling to the Oregon Coast, through the Redwood Forest.  I've just returned, a little red-of-neck and sore-of-foot, after some beautiful late-spring weather and several taxing hikes along the magnificent coast.  

Let's begin with the route.  Here's a link to it, via Google Maps.  The only sensible way to get to the coast from where I am is north, then west, then south to below where I started from, then west again, and then finally north to above where I started from, due to the coastal range of mountains blocking the way.  

(Also, I'm not going to upload all the pictures onto this blog, because there are too many, so go ahead and take a look at them at my Google Photos page after or while you read this.)
(End Preamble)

I am first of all going to ask you to stop pitying me.  Yes, I took a vacation by myself.  Yes, I could have found someone to go with me, but that was not the point.  A man should know how to take a vacation by himself; it is a great freedom.  To take one's time; to see what one wants to see without having to decide by committee; to live in profound silence, and not have to make conversation; to get dirty and not have to wash off right away - to live with messy hair and sand under your fingernails and sweat on your neck.  A car, a full two-days worth of music (M. Ward, Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones, The Flaming Lips, Johnny Cash - these are great musicians to listen to on solo vacations), a fresh paycheck burning a hole in one's pocket, a good map, and no deadlines or itineraries - these are what go into a successful solo vacation.  All that was missing was a dog.

Not having an itinerary doesn't mean you don't have things you want to do, however.  My first stop was the Jedediah Smith National Forest, part of the Coastal Redwood Forest.  This was a must for me.  I've always loved the woods, and I have some memory of seeing redwoods on our family vacation to the West when I was fourteen, but not a good enough memory to make a lasting impression.  I had to pay $6 to get into the park, but it was worth that and more.  All the cliches apply: majestic, breath-taking, cathedral-like, prehistoric.  I saw water more blue than the Carribean, trees taller than most of the buildings in New York, and a herd of deer that charged straight at me before turning at the last minute into the forest.  As I walked the trail, I immediately regretted not bringing my swimsuit.  The Smith River runs through the forest and, as you'll see from the pictures, is the most inviting river I've ever seen.  I didn't care that the water was probably near-freezing, it would have been worth it.  I will go back in the summer with my suit - there, I declared it, so now it will happen!

I think the best thing I ever heard about the redwoods was from "Travels With Charley", one of my favorite Steinbeck books.  In it, he travels with his poodle Charley around the country in their camper.  They visit the redwoods and Steinbeck is excited for Charley because he will get to "make water" on trees so large that his standing amongst other dogs will be unimpeachable.  However, when Charley is released from the camper in the midst of the forest, he runs around and around, trying to find a tree to "make water" on.  He doesn't recognize these giants as trees.  Steinbeck finally sticks a leafy branch in the ground near one of the trees so that Charley can do his business, not even realizing the significance of this momentous event.  I feel the same way.  These are not earthly, terrestrial things; they bridge some missing link between vegetable and mineral, between earth and sky, between history and pre-history.  

It is a distinctly more frightening feeling hiking on one's own amongst such unfamiliar settings.  It's one thing to go strolling along the river in suburban New Jersey by oneself, but another thing altogether out here in the west, where a bear or a bobcat could pounce on you at any time.  I am obsessed with seeing a bear, ever since seeing that print on Grizzly Peak trail a few days ago.  I know all the things you are supposed to do and not do around bears, but, when faced with the reality, I began to feel like all my knowledge would fail me in an actual encounter.  I'd like to think of myself as someone capable of that kind of encounter, but I don't think I am (as we shall see later on at Cape Sebastian... Intrigued?  Ah, read on!)

Have you ever spent the day saying over and over again, to yourself or out-loud, "Oh my goodness!", "What?", "Are you KIDDING me?", or some more colorful phrase?  I never had had a day like that, and I got two back-to-back!  I have to put the Oregon coast (and the drive there) up on the board at the number three most beautiful place in the United States (from what I've seen of it).  Not having seen Hawaii, but having seen almost all of the other states, the ranking, for me, goes:
1. Alaska (sure, all of it, why not?  It's freaking gorgeous.)
2. Grand Canyon
3. Oregon Coast
4. Yosemite
5. Yellowstone
It's obvious from this list that I am a sucker for rocky outcroppings, abrupt terrain changes, and the scenery of the west in general.

By the time I got out of the redwood forest, it was coming up on 3 o'clock, and I didn't want to get to Gold Beach (my destination) after sunset.  I didn't know how long it would take, or if I would want to stop again, so I set off.  But around every bend, over every hill, I HAD to verbally express my wonder at what I was seeing.  I wanted so very badly to stop, but driving north up the coast, you had to cut across the traffic to get to the roadside vistas, so I told myself I would go on Day 2, coming back south again.  I made it up to Gold Beach, after stopping in Brookings for lunch, at around 4:30.  James Edmundson, OSF's resident wise-man, had told me about a hotel there last week and it sounded excellent.  It was called Ireland's Rustic Lodges and featured an estate with individual cabins and private beach access.  He also told me that if someone could get their hands on the registry there, they would be able to discover all of the illict OSF affairs that have happened over the last 30 years.  That kind of place - a romantic destination.  And no wonder - it lived up to its reputation.  I booked a small cabin, forgoing the beach view for something a little cheaper, but got a great little guy, called The Fir, with my own fireplace - stocked with newspaper, kindling, and logs for building your own romantic fire!  They even had communal, outdoor jacuzzis overlooking the ocean.  Top notch establishment, and absolutely worth every penny.

By now it was nearly five and I had one more destination for the day: Cape Sebastian (you can see it on the Google Map just below Gold Beach in the green area).  This was also recommended by Mr. Edmundson and I must remember to scold him when I see him.  He completely under-sold the difficulty of the hike.  My plan was to hike down the cape, to the promised boulders at the ocean's edge, and watch the sunset from that rocky perch.  Mr. Edmundson, for those that don't know him, is what someone my age might call an old man, thus giving me the impression that this would be less of a "hike" and more of a "walk" or perhaps even a "scramble".  Only afterwards did I see in my guidebook that it is listed as a "moderate to difficult" hike.  Sunset is generally around 8PM these days in the Rogue Valley, so I guessed at a coastal sunset of 8:15 or 8:30PM.  That gave me plenty of time to get down, take some pictures, see the sunset, and get back up.  That was my plan.

I arrived at the parking area, 700 feet directly above sea level, just after 5PM.  Not another soul nor car to be seen, which was fine with me - I'd have it all to myself!  I locked the car, taking my backpack with me, as I'd heard there were bandits in this area, and set off on the trail.  The first part of the trail was paved, which further deceived me into thinking this would be a dawdle.  I hadn't gone 50 feet when I stopped dead in my tracks and saw a snake lying squarely in the middle of the path.  Not a big snake, but not a gardner snake either.  It was looking directly at me, head raised.  I couldn't go around him, due to the high, dense brush on either side, and there were no rocks around to throw at it (no rocks!  I'd seen nothing BUT rocks all day!).  I did manage to take a picture of it, though (the picture does make it look rather small, but I swear it was an impressive size!).  I doubled back on the trail looking for some rocks, but, not finding any, I went back to see what other options I had.  By then the snake was gone, but I knew it couldn't be far off the trail and was probably lying in wait for me amongst the dense brush.  Shaken, suddenly not wanting to continue, I summoned my courage and ran like a little girl past the point where the snake had been.  

This was the straw that broke the back of my surety in myself that I could handle an encounter with a bear.  Granted, I hadn't prepped myself for snakes, but still, I acted like a scared little city-boy, and not at all like Bear Grylls, host of Discovery Channel's "Man Vs. Wild" and my personal hero.  From that point on, I felt that it was going to be an evening of Me Vs. Cape Sebastian.  

The trail, having to descend 700 feet straight down, was LONG - going back and forth, back and forth across the front (and sometimes the back) of the cape.  The whole time I was thinking three things: "stop drinking your water, you'll need it coming back up", "how on earth will I be able to get up here after the sun goes down", and "I hope no one is breaking into my car".  I was also worried about more snakes, to be honest.  Then I had a personal revelation, that went something like this:

"Man-up, Daniel.  You're on a solo vacation.  If someone is breaking into your car, you can't do anything about it.  If the sun goes down and the trail is dark, you'll just go slower.  And if you see another snake, become it's master.  But, you should definitely stop drinking your water, though - you really will need that coming back up."

So from that point onward, to use a cliche, I lived in the "now".  If my car window was broken when I got back up, so be it.  If I got bitten by a snake, I had my cell phone.  So there, Cape Sebastian!  Point: me!

Half an hour into the hike, I was still 400 feet above the coast.  I estimated that my ascent coming back would have to be at half or even a third of the pace I was walking at coming down.  I almost chickened out at that point, thinking that if I stayed until sunset, I wouldn't be getting back to my car until well after dark.  But, maybe foolishly, I pressed on, just to see what the next fifteen minutes brought.  

The last part of the trail was actually only another 200 or 250 feet down, since it didn't actually go all the way down to sea level, so I managed it in another 20 minutes or so.  Then I was free to scramble around the boulders and listen to the crashing surf below me.  Everytime I got too close to the edge, though, I could feel Jeremy, my stage manager, breathing down the back of my neck. 

I have to tell you that even if I hadn't seen that snake, there was something about some of the trees and roots and smells that was very unwelcoming and down-right spooky about Cape Sebastian.  You can see in my pictures some of the dark holes and strange groves that the trail went through, as well as the old, dead, bleached-out trees lining the cliff-side.  There was one place I couldn't even take a picture of, I moved so quickly through it.  I do get spooked easily, but there was something distinctly eerie at work there. 

I decided that I would not stay at Cape Sebastian until sunset.  Too risky, and not worth it.  Besides, I got my time on the boulders, and some good pictures.  I got most of the way down and turned around.  Coming up that hill, though, I felt like I might die.  If you look at the Google map, and zoom in on Cape Sebastian as far as it will go,  and click on the button that says Terrain, you'll see that over approximately 1000 lateral feet, it goes up 600 feet.  That's a 30-ish degree incline!  I began to regret taking my backpack, AND sweatshirt, AND down vest with me, as the sweat poured down my face.  

Finally, I reached the top.  I had conquered Cape Sebastian!  I was literally running with my last ounces of strength to get to my car when I almost tread on ANOTHER snake!  This one was moving so I didn't get a picture, but it was much more sinister looking: black with either a yellow or orange stripe down its back.  Once it was out of my way, I moved quickly to my car (still intact!) and drove back into town.  

My day concluded in the following sequence: shower, barefoot walk on the hotel's private beach to see the sunset, a restaurant (where I had two well-deserved beers with dinner, and treated myself to ice cream for dessert), and a fire in my fireplace.  The pictures of my sunset walk will describe the experience more than I could, and I didn't take any pictures of either my dinner or my shower, so unfortunately I can't share those experiences with you!  You will find one picture of my fire, though it didn't last very long.  I'm learning more and more how far I have to go before Bear Grylls and I can be friends.


(Part II)

This thing wouldn't let me upload more pictures to that last post, so here's part 2.  (Make sure you read part 1 first).

I know it's hard to see, but I'm pretty sure I followed the footprints of a bear for a while (this was Grizzly Peak, after all).  What else could make a print that big in hard, cold mud?  It had claw-prints, too, even though they don't show up in the picture.

The drive home, with clouds rolling overhead.

My plans for hiking adventures were foiled by deceptive weather patterns this morning.  I thought I would have a nice day like yesterday was, and a whole day free to do some walks, but was met with some annoying rain.  Ah well, I did my adventuring by car instead, with occasional on-foot detours.  Here are some pics I took.

Drive up the foothills of the Cascades.  This is the view of Ashland from above (middle of the picture), with Mt. Ashland ski slopes visible to the far left.

Billions and billions of allergy-inducing spores about to be released into the atmosphere.  This is no joke - a serious health concern!

My foot-journey begins somewhere high above the last few pictures... Snow was blocking the road from further automobiling, so I hoofed it.  (The snow, by the way, is behind me in this picture - this is the view from where I had just come.)

Some snowy flora.

The sounds of woodpeckers was everywhere - the only sound I could hear.  I found some evidence low down on an old dead tree.

There's a woodpecker in this picture.  Can you find it?  (No prizes awarded)