Stephen Quint and the ZOMBIE MIKADO

Southern G&S Tour 2013

The New York Gilbert and Sullivan Players recently (March 1 through 16, 2013) did a tour of the south. We flew to Atlanta, picked up our lovely and very agreeable 17-piece tour orchestra, got into our reasonably comfortable bus, and were off! We did time in Georgia, South Carolina, and Florida. We kept a daily journal of some of our adventures, and here are my entries, slightly revised for your pleasure.

Tour Day #3

March 3, 2013

Saturday night we gave our first performance of this tour. “The Mikado, presented by Burger King” as the marquee read. At the River Center for the Performing Arts, Columbus, Georgia. In the afternoon there was a 3-hour rehearsal with our tour orchestra - 17 friendly and easy-going people from the Atlanta area. The rehearsal was mostly for the orchestra’s benefit, with some time taken to rearrange people on the unusually large stage. The hall was quite a spacious one, in which case coordination between the singers and instruments takes a bit of experimentation. And Al always has a few new surprise ends of phrases he wants to ritard, requiring extra beating from him and refocused attention from us.

The rehearsal went fine – it was only music, no dialogue – the orchestra caught on beautifully and the cast felt secure with its spacing.We had a jolly good dinner, provided by the presenters. The cast was deservedly confident, having performed “Mikado” at City Center for a week in January, plus a brush-up rehearsal on Monday. 

River Center in Columbus, GA, and Al, scratching

I should mention here that I haven’t played Ko-Ko since the spring of 2011. Since then, on tour, I have undertaken the awesome responsibility of the role of Coolie #2. Matt Wages is Coolie #1. We move the bench, carry stuff, bow a lot. Coolie business — you know what I mean. So I applied an unconvincing layer of makeup, tied myself into the confusing costume, and put on the damn flip-flops, which I hate. My toes do not naturally clench.

I became very nervous during the overture. Nerves never bother me, so it was upsetting. I ran for help to Lance Olds, who is next to me in the opening number. With the patience of the dad he is he led me through the movements for “Gentlemen of Japan” and “Behold the Lord High Executioner.” Matt reminded me of some coolie details. Dave Auxier showed me where to stand AGAIN.

All was primed for success. And so it was. The orchestra was clear and sensitive and really on their toes. This was the first “Mikado” for most of them. The principals and [SPOILER ALERT!] MOST OF the chorus were amazing as always. And the audience was ready and willing to laugh. Unanimous standing ovation!

WELL. It was the definitive absolute worst and most incompetent performance of anything I have ever done, anywhere, on any stage at any stage of my life! An unparalleled achievement! Was there a mistake I could make? A fan I could open late? A wrong foot for me to start dancing on? Was there a bow I could forget? For god’s sake, bowing should be the least you can expect from a coolie!

For the first number I got by just making minor, depressing, dress rehearsal-type stupid blunders. Thereafter, my performance PLUMMETED. I forgot that the coolies exit after “Wand’ring Minstrel.” I was left standing next to Alan Hill – a nobleman, which is an outrageous coolie faux-pas. Alan made heartless grimaces at me the entire time I was stuck there, eyeing me with the disdainful revulsion any gentleman of Japan would feel towards a pathetic, cringing coolie. Fortunately I was too stunned and mortified to do anything but stand and be a coolie, and didn’t do anything desperate, like look at The Face in the Pit.

The entire act one finale was a nightmare blur of confusion for me - like I had never even heard the piece before. I inexplicably entered with a group of people rather than go out before them and get the bench out of their way. Angie hissed “Steve! The bench!” And it was downhill after that! The act ended with me in the front row of women (rather than the back row of men), again accommodated by Angie, who by this point I had begged to tell me to do everything. I was the first person offstage when Katisha finally chased us off. I fell to my knees, collapsed, and remained in a fetal position for a while. A pretty picture! Much merriment from my generous and supportive castmates.

Act 2 was much better. There just wasn’t that much havoc I could wreak. 

THE AUDIENCE COULDN’T TELL! What the hell do they care about some old coolie? There’s Pooh-Bah and the List Song and the world’s cutest Yum-Yum up there! They leapt to their feet and cheered!

I was an atrocity. A blight. I brought the plague to Titipu. None of the miserable souls who survived the terrifying ordeal will ever perform “Mikado” again with the same freedom and innocence. The stage, costumes, and sets are all stained with the sulfurous taint of my abominableness.

On the other hand, Sunday afternoon’s performance at the Grand Opera House in Macon, Georgia was great. I was a total coolie. And on Monday I am the Major-General. PHEW!

bus

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Tour Day #6

Wednesday, March 6

"What time's the bus?" "Which show's tonight?" "When's continental breakfast?" Repeat.

Today (Wednesday) we made the negligible journey from Greenwood to Greenville: Home of the famous Bob Jones University, "a biblically faithful, liberal arts university focused on educating the whole person to reflect and serve Jesus." We will be performing the sinful MIKADO there the next 3 nights. The rest of today and most of Thursday is our own, and many of us have elected to have the bus drop us off in downtown Greenville, miles from our lovely, secluded motel, 12 rooms, 12 vacancies, to spend the evening as we please. I saw the Blue Ridge Brewing Co. on the way into town, and am there now quaffing nectar and typing with my thumbs. Let others sip their wine and eat their tapas.
Blue Ridge Brewing Co.

For this blog entry I offer you backstage hijinks.
Here are just a couple I've managed to capture. Not
easy when so many hilarious, inspired people are
around you, just waiting for a spur of the moment.

Tuesday night was our second pirates, in a stadium-
seating sort of theater so audience and performers
can all see each other just fine. They loved the
'yelling goat' Major-General encore bit. 11 million
Facebook views yet certain people in charge, listening
to all that laughter, still don't know or care to ask
what it's all about! No video coverage of it yet, but
here is some dressing room humor with me and Dan
Greenwood... 
 

 

We had a Men's/ Women's dressing room last night! In S. Carolina! The men

sat across the aisle from the women! But each sex had its own locker room.

We don't care, anyway. All friends.

Emily Wright, Caitlin Burke, and Sarah Hutchison
unzipping in the Men's/Women's dressing room.
Note the photographer reflection in lower right.

And finally. I only put this last because earlier you may not have felt
any motivation to continue, and nothing here is funnier. I present to
you the only known footage of JAMES MILLS in "DANCING PANTS"!!!
 

*******************************************************************
By now you have probably figured out there were three of us blogging,
so my deadline was every third day. We had a HELL of a success at
Bob Jones with three nights of "Mikado"! They loved it! Comedy, especially
with a fat suit and rolling around on the floor, slays Christians!
They love it!

Tour Day #9

March 9, 2013
Chris-Ian's blog entry of March 8 describes a remarkable incident
with our costume person Annette Deli. There is an all-too-brief video
of her at the piano which provides but scant testimony to her excellence.
We were in the hotel lounge and the bassist and trombonist had their
instruments out. “Who plays piano?” someone says. “Oh! Uh - well -
I do, a little. I can play some blues. I’m a little rusty.” Rusty. Annette
has honey-blonde hair. So she sits at the keyboard, plays a an arpeggio,
and starts bangin’ out blues! And jamming! We were all floored! I hope
somebody has more video coverage of her surprise performance. You
can see the video, which I was unable to transport, and read Erika's
and Chris-Ian's blogs as well, at NYGASP's Tumblr site.
 
Hardly anyone actually sleeps well on a bus tour, but bad sleep usually
produces interesting dreams. I was amazed to learn that four of the
NYGASP men, within three days, each had a dream featuring ANGELA 
SMITH! Matthew Wages (Coolie #1) was first. His dream was slightly 
inspired by actual events. For two nights he and James Mills offered 
their room for after-performance gathering, and Angie was there. In his 
dream the party was still going on, it was late, and Matt asked people to 
leave. Dream Angie was nonplussed, claimed that she had been kicked
out, and thereafter refused to talk to Matt. “Agressively ignored me”
was how he put it. 
 
Michael Galante dreamt he was at a NYGASP wedding of two people who, in 
reality, already have established relationships, and Angie was there.
Dave Auxier’s dream was set in his old, cramped college apartment, now 
grown huge. He was searching everywhere for a basket he knew he had 
and which Angie needed to do Buttercup.
I dreamt I was looking for a really big room in which to hold some unspecified
event. I went straight to the A.C. Smith Corporate Headquarters building 
in midtown. ”Hi, I’m here to see Angie.”
“Ms. Smith is in conference right now but I know she’ll want to see you,
Mr. Quint.” I took the elevator to Angie’s meeting floor where she was at
the head of a table of a bunch of guys in suits. “Steve! It’s so great to see
you! You guys carry on and send a text about what happens. So,
Steeeeeeeve, do you want some brunch? We have lox, gluten-free bagels,
and birthday cake. Moisturizers? It’s really expensive stuff, someone left all
these samples.”
I told here I was looking for a big room.
“Oh, I’ve got exactly what you need! I’ll give you a great price for it.
Come on, I’ll show it to you myself.”
 She showed me the room, we agreed on a deal, and hugged. She went
back upstairs to continue earning billions and I left with my bag of
moisturizers.
What does it all mean? Hopefully these descriptions will inspire all humanity
to dream about Angie, leading to world peace.
Saturday night was the final of three excellent "MIKADO"s at Bob Jones
University. Man, do those people like to laugh! It was a pleasure. I dropped
a fan once, was late for an entrance, and did three goat screams. Saturday
was also the birthday of Elisabeth Cernadas and Chris-Ian Sanchez! 
Celebratory HOT Krispy Kreme donuts!!!

I've neglected to mention that a tremendous amount of eating was
done on this tour.
Now we are on the bus hurtling back to Atlanta for our final Mikado. After
which it's down to Florida, where Coolie #2 will become a Major-General,
a matron will be Ruth, and a little lady from scholastic trammels free will 
be Kate. I have typed enough, am as nauseous as I care to be, and will
bid you angelic dreams.
 
- Stephen Quint
*******************************************************************
Tour Day #12
March 12, 2013
We are into the Florida part of our tour. The Sunshine State! Retirees, 
‘gators, and really questionable tap water. Last night was “Pirates” at the 
Times-Union Center’s opulent Moran Theater, in a somewhat seedy section 
of Jacksonville. Very good Tuesday night audience.

Rehearsal in Jacksonville(?)

The company is still getting along swimmingly. We’re on the bus almost 
every day and willingly hanging out and enjoying each other’s company 
offstage. Jim the bus driver comes to every performance, sits in the front 
row, and leads the standing ovations.

Laura Sudduth is experiencing her first NYGASP tour, having debuted in 
the “Mikado” chorus this winter at City Center. She is the youngest member 
of the company and has never done a show tour of any kind. She’s had an 
interesting time observing people adapting into their “tour modes” and feels,
like I do, that you can get off the bus or come down to the hotel lobby, go
off with whatever company members you happen to be near, and have a
perfectly jolly good time.
Many types of parties are had



Below is phone video of the encore from the Major-General 
song Tuesday night. It features a goat yell, which continues to amuse 
though I am sure its days are numbered. Recorded by the ever-popular 
dream girl Angela Smith, who, as Ruth, has a 45-minute break while the 
girls and I are onstage. 

Click here to watch Video!

**************************************************************************
Tour Day #15
March 15, 2013


This entry will be remarkable in its brevity. Prepare yourself for the soul of wit.

We are at the end of the tour and this is the point at which things really
startrunningtogether. It's lucky that our final "Mikado" was on Sunday, omitting 
one possible source of confusion with which we are in no condition to deal. 
Hotels, bus rides, restaurants, putting on makeup, taking off makeup - an 
actor's life for me!

Some theaters have video monitors


Our Atlanta orchestra is very invested in these performances, from knowing
us and living with us and sharing the Al Experience. They enjoy playing
the shows but are obviously too busy to watch us or hear what we're saying.
Some of the players, the ones sitting closest to the stage, can't see us at all.
So their understanding of what's going on is a little confused. Travis 
Cottle, the trombonist, had particularly warped conceptions about The
Mikado. He thought that Nanki-Poo was some kind of mailman, because
he was looking for someone and had a happy dispatch. He couldn't tell that
Pooh-Bah, Pish-Tush and Ko-Ko were three different characters, and thought
their different voices were just part of Louie's shtick! From what he was able
to glean, amidst all the noise, Travis didn't realize that Katisha 
actually appeared at the end of Act One - he thought someone was just 
singing about her. When she reappeared in the second act he thought it 
was the Mikado's daughter-in-law Yvette, but figured out after a couple 
of performances that Katisha and Yvette were one and the same.
The orchestra will be onstage with us tonight for "Pirates," our final
performance of the tour. So hopefully any lingering confusion about pilots
and orphans will get cleared up.

In closing, I present you with some photos to take up space. First, my
dressing room at the King Center, Melbourne Florida. A full-length mirror
and a rug! Sounds logical, doesn't it?


A body-stockinged maniac "attracting business" at a
stolen goods boutique


Barnabas Collins and Sach! Together at the Parker Playhouse, Ft.
Lauderdale! An Arsenic and Old Lace tour with Dody Goodman and
Edie Adams in the 80's!!!


The entire Company, final performance!


 DAS IST ALLES (That's all, folks)



 

Pirates ARR Comin'!

Since the New York Gilbert and Sullivan Players' website has fallen into an even more serious state of disrepair than this site, I will take it upon myself to keep my stalkers apprised.

I'm writing this on Monday, April 9. I just finished my taxes -- online, which I totally endorse. I think it's even better than getting the help of an expert. Tonight: "Pirates" rehearsal. Tomorrow: rehearsal for a secret thing I am not yet at liberty to divulge. Wednesday: tech guys and people who can't bear the idea of flying to a place and doing a performance that very night leave for Michigan and a night a beauty rest. The remainder of us -- WHO REFUSE TO PAY FOR A NIGHT'S LODGINGS OUT OF OUR OWN POCKETS -- get up at at an absurd hour, make our ways to Newark,  and eventually arrive to perform "Pirates" at Warriner Hall, Central Michigan University, in Mt. Pleasant. We're staying at a Microtel. I don't recall ever having stayed in a Microtel, but I see no reason to be optimistic about it. Friday night: "Pirates" again, at "The Whiting" (? - a theater - I'll find out why it's called that), in Flint. Comfort Inn this time. Saturday: PIRATES! In Columbus - The Southern Theater. Super 8. A matinee same place Sunday afternoon, then off for a 100 mile trip to Cincinnati and a restful evening at a Fairfield Inn. Monday: "Pirates" at Cincinnati Music Hall. Back to Newark next morning.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
More "Pirates" in Morristown, NJ, Friday the 20th. "Pinafore" the 27th, New Brunswick, NJ.

Of course I'm the Major-General in all these, except "Pinafore," which fortunately has no Major-General.

Thanks, Doug, for keeping this site full of photos while I didn't feel like writing. What's the matter with you, Eva? Got gas or something?

Boise, Idaho, Here We Come!

Today's guest sermon is by Laurelyn Watson Chase. I don't
know what's with the font and margins.

I spent President’s Day weekend in gorgeous Sun Valley, Idaho.
At 6,000 feet altitude, it is breathtaking (literally).
This world-famous ski resort town is playground to the stars: 
Tom Cruise, Bruce Willis, Jamie Lee Curtis, Arnold, Tom Hanks, 
and many others own homes there. I thought it strange that our
little quintet from New York Gilbert & Sullivan Players ended 
up there for a gig. Al Bergeret (the boss), Keith Jurosko,
Michael Scott Harris, Angela Smith, Andi Stryker-Rodda (pianist)
and I would perform for fancy people.

The adventure began thus:  After traveling all day on Friday to
get to Boise, ID, we arrived and discovered all 11 pieces of our
luggage LOST. Our suitcases, costumes, props, and music scores
could not be traced. We piled into a mini-van (sans luggage)
and drove to Sun Valley where we were expected to perform that
night at a country club. Most of us were dressed casually for
travel; I had on a sweat suit from The Gap that looked like I
had a load in my pants.  After arriving and meeting our host
families, we were able to buy a few necessities at the only
drug store in town, and then had about 20 minutes to prepare
for our performance. My cast-mate Angie and I were exhausted
and stunned, but we put on make-up, sprayed perfume on each
other, and then rushed to the country club to sing for the rich
and well-dressed. Thanks to my book of G&S favorites I’d packed
in my carry-on (and some adrenaline), we were able to make it
through a 40 minute excerpt performance. The fancy people
gave us a standing ovation and a lot of wine.

The next day, we woke up in our luxurious, kick-ass log 
cabin to spectacular views of a rolling stream and snow-covered
mountains.  We’d hardly finished our breakfast when we got the
news that our bags were still lost. So, Saturday turned into
a mad rush to find concert wear and to our surprise (not
really), make-shift costumes and props for that evening’s show.
Angie and I found dresses at the local thrift shop, The Gold
Mine. Remember that stretchy velvet-like fabric so popular in
the 1990’s? Mine was a deep purple, long-sleeved tube dress
with a hem line somewhere between my knees and my name & address. 
Angie’s was a forest green velvet tent (we looked hot). When the
locals discovered we had lost our bags, they eagerly helped us
find shoes and gave us a discount at check-out. Meanwhile, our
director, Al, was furiously making props - fans and a large
axe, and enlisted his hosts to track down kimonos and wigs.
Our wigs were purchased at a toy store and were the consistency
of Barbie’s hair.  Angie and I tried to style the wigs into
Geisha-like buns, but it was almost impossible. There was
nothing to do but roar with laughter. We slapped the wigs on
our heads and went to the church for the show. We ended up with
some beautiful kimonos and bath robes donated by people who had
traveled to Japan or Hawaii.  However, what they presented for
Keith’s Mikado Ensemble was like nothing I’d ever seen: 
Liberace had raided the closet of one of the Golden Girls.
I’m waiting for Keith’s memoirs, “The Dark Side of Light Opera.”


























It is true that we didn’t look our best or have props that
weren’t sticky. Never mind that we were all dehydrated,
gasping for breath in the high altitude, and constantly
fighting back laughter over each other’s shitty wigs and
comments such as “I’m in Hooterville” or “I’m a whore!
I’ll do anything for a dollar.” We put on a show and
entertained the crowd with our voices and Gilbert &
Sullivan’s material. I don’t recall such enthusiastic
response from a crowd during a quintet performance, ever.
In their minds, perhaps we were like underdogs or somehow
handicapped with the disadvantage of lost luggage. Because
we could sing, act, dance, play the piano, be funny or
sentimental, and remember all the words, we were little
miracles.  I won’t be so quick to take my talent or the
talent of my peers for granted, dear hearts. A little
can take you a long way ... all the way to
Sun Valley, Idaho.

part 4: The Rest of the London Experience

In recent news... I am officially relieved of the cast I've had on my arm for the last 5 months. I've not been wearing it anyway for several weeks, and new X-rays show that the bone (humerus) has filled in enough so I can use my arm without worrying about it falling apart.

Also, on the zombie front, EVIL DEAD has been turned into a stage musical! Debuting in New York in October! Does that sound like a bad idea or what? I guess I can sort of imagine Ash being harassed by singing ghouls. I am of course not in favor of great movies being ripped off to be turned into musicals, no matter how "lovingly" it's done. But if it keeps Mel Brooks from making horrible new movies, I suppose that's fine.

AND NOW BACK TO ENGLAND. All horror now behind me, Thursday began with my arrival at PARLIAMENT, with nothing to encumber me but my wallet, a map, and the new passport I'd gotten the day before, which I took out to admire every 15 minutes. I had a careful look around the Parliamentary area, heard big Ben strike the hour, admired the statues, walked across Westminster Bridge for a different view, then continued walking up (east, actually) the river, on the Victoria Embankment. Quite bustling, the Thames, for such a mangy little river. Very unpleasant-looking water. Give me the HUDSON, now there's a river!

I saw London's Cleopatra's Needle, a 70-foot Egyptian obelisk imported in 1829. New York and Paris also have Cleopatra's Needles, needless to say they all look about the same. Same height (70 feet?), hieroglyphs, same vintage (1450-ish BC). None of them have anything to do with Cleopatra, except they're Egyptian. There were a couple of small sphinx reproductions at its base, one of which was marred by shrapnel scars from those GOD DAMN GERMANS AND THEIR AEROPLANES. Also on the Embankment were a couple of interesting bas-reliefs -- or whatever the plural is of that. One was of WWII soldiers and was carved in such a way that the men seemed to be reaching out, and falling out of the wall. It was a shock effect just as frightening as a nightmare moment in Romero's DAY OF THE DEAD. The other was just a little further on -- I looked up and was astonished to see a bas-relief plaque of W.S. GILBERT! "Playwright and Poet" -- no mention anywhere of his work with any composers, which I think would have pleased him. He was in profile, looking very gruff and grim, as usual. Or was he maybe more griff and grum? I don't know -- here's a picture, you decide. We have below him Tragedy, on the left, holding a quill and paper, and, on the right, Comedy, holding a Mikado doll, with Despard, Margaret, Willis, and some others spilling out of her sleeve.

I made detours off the Embankment to have walks on Strand, Fleet St, Chancery Lane, St. Mary Axe (why I didn't visit no. 70 I don't know), and had lunch at Ye Olde Cock Tavern, part of which was from the 17th Century. I went into St. Paul's Cathedral but it was absurdly expensive and crowded so I decided I didn't have to see the whole thing. I stayed parallel to the Thames most of the time. The sidewalks are kind of narrow for such a busy city. I "couldn't help" but notice that not nearly as many women wear thongs in London. And when they do they're not so ostentatious about it. Click here for "ostentatious" thong action.

I eventually made my way to the TOWER OF LONDON. For this one I paid for a tour, by an authentic Yeoman of the Guard. Very interesting place -- the oldest place I've ever been, I think. William the Conqueror began construction a thousand years ago. All manner of major monarchs lived and died there. Traitors imprisoned and beheaded, people tortured (though not as many as is legendary), people grew up and grew old within the walls, black death came, all kinds of staggering nuttiness. Do not consider visiting London without seeing the Crown Jewels. I was mighty impressed. Many, many, many sparkles. Plus ceremonial swords and scepters flourished by Elizabeth I, cups and spoons used by King George, Henry VIII's tankard, hoo-boy, I was all a-tingle. Huge collection of fightin' accouterments, as well. And just walking the grounds was very thrilling and strange -- probably the kind of thing best appreciated alone. Ghosts!

I noted with some disappointment the maintenance and restoration efforts at the Tower. Areas of crumbling, age-old hewn stone are being replaced by identical cement blocks.

On an amusing note, I just wrote several paragraphs, "an error" happened, and everything was lost! Ha, ha, ha! TypePad will have their little joke, those rogues! And I pay for this!

I had spent most of the afternoon at the Tower and left at closing. It had already been an exhausting day of looking, standing, and walking. So I went to a pub, had a pint, and set off for more! I started walking back the way I'd come, but on different streets. Decided I'd be sorry if I didn't get off my feet, so gave in and got on a bus. I rode on the top floor. Got off at the Savoy. Went into the lobby, had a look around. Nice. Very fancy. They asked me to leave. The way I was dressed (old clothes from my hosts, which they intended to throw out), I suppose I could have been a bum. Or "tramp," in your British.

I bypassed Covent Garden for the time being and went to check out Leicester Square. Pronounced "Lester." Why do British insist on sticking all these extra letters in otherwise normal words and not pronouncing any of them? Colour. Worcestershire. I tell you it's regoddamndiculous and next time I see the Queen I intend to protest. It irritated me so much I went back to Covent Garden. A swinging place, to be sure. Crawling with street entertainers, many quite good. I went into the Royal Opera House - they didn't ask me to leave - and looked at a bunch of other theaters. I had dinner - Indian, very good - on one of the many skinny side streets. Got back out to Putney by 10.

Friday morning. My flight was at 4, but, anticipating trouble, I left for Heathrow at 10AM. It's crazy to get from London to Heathrow any way other than the tube. I was there in about 45 minutes. Mind the gap, though! And it was actually above ground most of the way. I had a choice of lines (queues) to wait in. Chose one. When a ticket agent was finally able to take me I was informed, for the first time, that there was a 30 pound lost/stolen ticket charge. None of the Virgin Atlantic people I had spoken to the previous two days had mentioned anything like this. But what was I going to do? I heaved a heavy sigh and presented my credit card yet again.

Security check was a horrific, unruly mob. I like to keep at least 2 feet personal space fore and aft while waiting in a line. I received no cooperation. All the jabbing and bumping drove me to the verge of screaming something inflammatory, like "I have water!" maybe in Arabic. At least I didn't have one single piece of luggage, carry-on, or nuthin' to hassle with, and was quickly decided to be harmless. But it was after all the lines were cleared, with comfortable time to spare, that the really annoying bit began.

My flight was scheduled for 3:50. At 3:30 the gate departure board, which I had been checking obsessively every 5 minutes, still said "check again." "Check again!" How vague is that? Not "Delayed," not "Approx 6," nothing the least bit useful. Isn't "check again" one of the answers you get from the Magic 8 Ball? Click here to ask the Magic 8 Ball a question. BUT COME RIGHT BACK HERE. I browsed the stupid duty-free shops -- what a ripoff they are, went to the bar and downed a few, all the while keeping my eye on the departure board. "Check again." Around 7 I finally decided it was stupid not to get something to eat, and it was while I was enjoying some appalling lasagna, school lunchroom quality, that a 7:35 departure was announced! I had to hustle to get to the gate and was the last person to board. There was another 40 minute delay while we waited to take off.

VIRGIN ATLANTIC STINKS. BOYCOTT. Also (a reminder) easyinternetcafe, Tottenham Court Road.

My neighbor on the flight was a young man with a very intrusive elbow. He must have felt my waves of hate and didn't talk to me. I watched Ballet Russes, a documentary, pretty good, and the only horror movie available, the remake of The Hills Have Eyes. I found it to be on a par with the original. Avoid it.

As mentioned several times already if you've been paying attention, I was completely luggage-free. This greatly facilitated time getting through customs and out of Kennedy. What a day, though! It was 11 (4AM in England), I'd been up almost 22 hours, and, also as previously mentioned, I can't sleep on planes. It was a pleasure indeed to get home, take a shower, put on something that I hadn't been wearing for TEN DAYS, and go to bed with Val! Hooray!

And my luggage re-appeared! After 11 days of being God knows where it got delivered to... RICHARD HOLMES' APARTMENT! Richard, who I flew over with on the 9th. His stuff turned up, too. Rather than give them my correct address he thought it wise, considering we were dealing with VIRGIN ATLANTIC, to accept it and leave well enough alone.

In summation, yes, I would go to London again. But then I would also go skiing again. Watch these pages and CHECK AGAIN.

PART 3: The London Experience

My train to London was out of Buxton the morning after the performance. More rolling hills, more sheep, bla-a-ah, bla-a-ah, bla-a-ah. Very lovely.

I got into London, paid 20 pence to use a toilet. Arrangements had been made for me to stay with a London friend of a couple of our cast members. He was in Dublin for the week, but his wife was around, and he had sent me her phone numbers. I got no answer, left messages, then left the train station and went out to have a look around. No luggage, you'll recall, just my backpack.

This was my first time alone in a European city, and that was pretty cool. I felt that people were looking at me with some kind of interest and respect, instead of the usual revulsion I get in the States. There is nothing to which I can attribute this.

I had some time to kill before I tried the phone numbers again. I didn't go into any shops as there was nothing I was remotely interested in acquiring. England is God damn expensive. A dollar is worth about 55 cents. You can get a decent no-frills meal for 7 pounds but then you calculate what you're really spending.

Those London pubs sure fill up at the end of a day. It seems like entire offices empty out and go directly to fun at the pub. Dozens of people were spilling out of every alcoholic establishment, drinking their pints on the sidewalk. I managed to find a seat in one of them, and ordered some kind of British blood, lard, and horror pie. It was exquisite.

I took my time over dinner then found a phone again. Still no Karen; I left more messages.

I decided that my host people may have e-mailed me that nobody would be around till late. I hadn't looked at a computer since I'd left Brooklyn. So for the first time in my life I went into an internet cafe. There was a four-terminal cubicle close to the door. I took a seat next to the wall, in front of an un-staffed service desk, and put my backpack between the wall and my chair. There were two women also working at the cubicle.

The screen was very difficult to see, at a bad angle, and my bifocals are kind of out-dated. So I took them off and had to kind of lean in and squint at the screen.

There was a fellow milling around behind me, near the service desk. I paid him no heed. That's the only thing I didn't pay him, though.

One of my e-mails (there was nothing from my hosts) had a date I wanted to transcribe to my book. I reached for my backpack but couldn't find it, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I still wasn't wearing glasses. The guy standing by the desk had squeezed in behind me while I was focused on the screen and silently nipped my bag! The woman sitting next to me hadn't noticed anything, either. I popped out onto the street; of course there was no sign of him.

This internet cafe didn't occupy much space on the ground floor, but upstairs was kind of huge, and was also a Subway sandwich joint. There was a security guard. I told him what had just happened and he told me he wasn't really a security guard -- he had been fired a couple of weeks ago. And he didn't work at this place anyway. I was already feeling so stunned that his insane story didn't really strike me as such at the moment. He also didn't know the phone number for the local police station or how to help me find it.

This was the easyinternetcafe, 14 Tottenham Court Road. Boycott them if you are able. Also Virgin Atlantic.

I called the emergency number for the cops, and they forwarded me to the proper desk. They took my basic info and told me I had to report the incident at the precinct house for the area (Putney) in which I was staying. That particular station was for some reason only open 11 to 3, so there was nothing more I could do at the moment other than find somewhere to be. My next call was to my host lady, who was home and had apparently not heard any of my messages.

"Hello, Karen?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, Karen, it's Steve Quint."

"Steve - ?"

"Quint. I'm the guy who's staying with you the next couple of days."

"You're staying -- here?"

"Uh, yes... Ian may have mentioned -- ?"

"He did say someone was staying here but he never said when, he's a little vague that way."

This was scary. But it got sorted out. I found their house without difficulty. Karen and her son Richard listened horrified to a more detailed telling of my adventure and were both tremendously accommodating and helpful getting together all the phone numbers I needed. I stayed on the phone until there just wasn't anything more I could accomplish.

I slept badly, but the next morning I had stopped feeling weird and was no longer taking the theft personally.

Fortunately my wallet had been in my pocket. In addition to a brand new backpack the guy had gotten my passport and return ticket; ipod --engraved with my name -- a beloved gift from Val; two pairs of headphones -- one kind of expensive; souvenir programs and stuff from Buxton; box of prescription meds for the rest of the stay -- stuff I have to take daily; two days' worth of dirty laundry; keys; prescription shades, useless to anyone but me; datebook full of phone numbers and stuff; cellphone; $80 US; AND --

A PLAY I'VE BEEN COMMISSIONED TO WRITE. And all the notes I'd been using to write it from. All in longhand, no copy on a computer. The guy I'm writing it for expected me to read it to him beginning of September. Sorry!

I went to the police station and made out a complete report to the very nice cops. They contacted the US Embassy and got me the next available appointment -- FRIDAY MORNING.  MY FLIGHT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON. I decided I would assemble all the stuff I needed, go to the embassy immediately, and see what turned up. I got new passport photos taken. The girl in the photo shop was kind of interesting. She was 25 or so -- you know, I can't tell how old young people are anymore. They're all just plain young. This girl had short black hair, thick blue eyeshadow, and really unpleasant attitude. I'm not chatty -- I don't generally say enough for people I don't know to get annoyed with. She just didn't like me, or anyone else, maybe, how do I know? Anyway, she took the photos even though she resented it and told me they'd be ready in 5 minutes. I asked if she'd mind if I went a few stores down to a travel agent while the picture process happened. She shrugged. I was hoping the travel agent could get in touch with Virgin Atlantic for me, but they gave me the contact info I needed to do it myself. Went back to the photo shop. As soon as I came through the door I was this girl's best friend! She loved me! Talkative, joking, couldn't do enough for me! I didn't ask if she was twins.

I called Virgin Atlantic and was instructed to go to their website and print out an itinerary which would prove to the embassy that I was traveling on Friday. So I had to go to another internet cafe. Everything I owned was now in my pockets, so this experience was considerably more positive.

I found the embassy. There was a long line, or queue, in British, waiting to get in. I went to the guard at the front and told him "I have a stolen passport emergency." He waved me right through! I spoke to a passport person and gave him the photos and the various proofs of the stuff they needed proved. Less than two hours later, and 97 American dollars, a brand new US Stephen Quint passport was mine! The embassy couldn't really do anything to help me with my missing medications, as I had hoped, so what could I do other than do without them for my remaining two days. My only other option: go to a doctor, pay 60 pounds to get prescribed the stuff I know I need. Guess what -- I didn't. Guess what else -- I survived.

Well, I was as light as a feather -- and not just from the lack of weight strapped to my shoulders. It was very nice to have the passport resolved. It was late afternoon. I went to Westminster Cathedral. I've never been in a cathedral I didn't like. And it was free. Then I walked to Buckingham Palace. By this time it just happened to be 7:00, at which time the guards strut around in their absurd fashion. The crowd went wild! Kids were yelling "They're moving! They're moving!!!" I had a jolly good Italian dinner, went back out to Putney -- about a 20 minute trip. Had a few richly deserved quaffs at one of the positively ripping local pubs. Went to bed.

I haven't told you yet about the part of The London Experience where I actually had fun. And there are more surprises. But I have to get up tomorrow to go to Connecticut to do three Labor Day Weekend Mikados. Light Opera Company of Salisbury brings in some professional ringers every year to join the production they've put together. Keith Jurosko and Louis Dall'Ava will be Mikado and Pooh-Bah. So I'll continue this tale... uh... later.

PART 2: ALL G&S ALL THE TIME!!!

I made it clear, I hope, in the previous posting, that Virgin Atlantic basically -- or not so basically, EXACTLY -- told all their customers at Heathrow that we were all on our own, as far as our Thursday, August 10 travel plans were concerned. We were directed from desk to desk and finally told to get out -- we couldn't have our luggage. Of course I was in a stupor all this time, from an uncomfortable, frustrating night and a sleeping pill that didn't quite knock me out. We made our way up to Manchester and thence to Buxton. Some lovely hilly country up there. Sheep safely grazing, that type of thing.

"Buxton has been a popular holiday resort for centuries. Blessed with stunning scenery, magnificent architecture, a wealth of shops, a thriving arts scene and its world-famous spa water, Buxton has plenty to offer any visitor." How can I say it any better than someone who was hired to write that stuff? The Opera House is in beautiful condition and gets used continually.

It is a fabulously beautiful town and the inhabitants are as merry as Munchkins. Working at the Opera House  and its rehearsal spaces every day was like working in a park. You'd look out any window and see rolling green hills, people feeding ducks and swans, a band in the bandstand, bucolic stuff. After a couple of days I stopped expecting my luggage to turn up and bought a shirt and some underpants to supplement what I'd been wearing since the untidy business at Heathrow, and our sympathetic stage manager presented me with a new pair of socks.

This "International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival" is like nothing else I'm aware of. You can't compare it to a Star Trek convention because those things only last a long weekend. You can't compare it to Bayreuth because that's all about the performances. The G&S Fest is two solid weeks of fourteen hour days of concerts and lectures with full-out productions of the shows every night. And after the performances you get cabarets. Cabarets with all manner of drinks. Plus there's an excellent old pub right across the street from the Opera.

It's kind of difficult and annoying to give a very vivid impression of this festival. It's mostly about amateur performers, G&S companies from all over the UK and the States, who pay their own way to come to this thing and put on their show. In addition to the performers is a large number of fanatics, and there's nothing a fanatic loves better than being around other fanatics. People travel the world to be able to be with a group who shares their obsessions. I must say it was quite nice being among such friendly people who all had a great passion in common. Hardly any of them were horrifying, just kind of socially clueless. And that doesn't bother me much.

John Reed, with whom I've worked several times with NYGASP, turned up and came to a rehearsal to listen to me sing the Judge's Song, which was a trifle nerve-wracking. Reed was the last great Gilbert and Sullivan star. He performed the principal comedian roles -- the roles I do -- with the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company for 20 years, and was on all the original stereo recordings of the shows. His voice was perfect for these roles. I maybe only say that because it's the voice I grew up with. He's an incredibly sweet man, which, of course, comes across in his work. He's 90!

Here's Reed as Ko-Ko.

And here are John, on the right, and his mate Nikki Kerri visiting our rehearsal, obviously having the time of their lives listening to me sing the Judge's Song.

 

I mentioned in a posting months ago, before I went to Alaska, exactly what I was in England to perform. It was a NYC amateur company, "The Actors' Opera," which also seems to want to be called "Light Opera of New York," for the sake of a catchy acronym. They wanted to do The Zoo, composed by Arthur Sullivan but written by BC Stephenson, at about the same period in which Sullivan and Gilbert wrote Trial by Jury. The Zoo is a rarity, considered lost for 90 years. It's a miserable one-act through-composed piece about nothing in particular, which happens for no particular reason to take place at a zoo. The best thing about it is the music, which stinks. The Zoo was act one. Act 2 was Cox and Box, also composed by Sullivan but written by someone else. C&B is also a one-acter, this one with dialogue. About two tenants at a boarding house -- Cox (baritone) and Box (tenor) -- who have been sharing the same room without realizing it, due to the machinations of their dishonest landlord. Only three characters. Other than the basic situation there isn't very much amusing about it, and it's almost always performed -- on those rare occasions when it is performed -- with cuts and deletions, and is over with in about 40 fairly fast-paced minutes. This performance was uncut, which added about 15 minutes to the running time and 6 hours to the pain. Act 3 was a Gilbert and Sullivan masterpiece, Trial by Jury. I was there (expenses paid) to play the Judge. It was very exciting to perform G&S in England, for such a group of aficionados. Unfortunately, the aforementioned luggage never turned up, so my lovely judge's costume, robe, wig, and even the gavel were all floating around somewhere in Virgin Atlantic Land. A costume and a ratty old wig were dredged up from the festival's storeroom the day of the performance. Also I was without my contact lenses (with makeup in luggage) and my vision is just too bad to do anything other than wear my glasses, kind of pushed down over my nose.

In addition to an extremely long evening of one-act operas it was decided that there would be performing during the intermissions. So members of the cast -- mostly very excellent chorus members, with a few principals -- came out and did old music hall numbers. This, naturally, stopped the audience from getting up, going to the bathroom or whatever, and made for 2 REALLY long intermissions. I was supposed to perform a very lame 'comic' tongue-twister song, "Sister Susie's Sewing Shirts for Soldiers," but canceled out that morning. It was just too awful to get completely into my head. Perhaps some of you performers out there can back me up on how difficult it is to learn crap. Well-written stuff is easy to memorize.

Without going into any detail, which would not only confuse you needlessly but possibly cause some brain damage, all 3 of our actual shows were "held together" with a dreaded DIRECTOR'S CONCEPT. It was Nathan's idea (Nathan Hull, who played Cox and the foreman of the jury) that Sullivan had wanted these three pieces to be performed together. And Nathan contrived relationships between the characters who were actually the same characters from show to show. Why the Judge should be Tom Brown's major-domo in The Zoo and Tom Brown should be the Counsel for the Plaintiff in Trial by Jury, and why the Trial usher should be the landlord from Cox and Box -- not just the same singer but the same character, the landlord -- who wants to go there? No one wants to think about it enough for it to make sense! It made me feel schizophrenic. I don't think it was the Ambien.

Anyway, the audience loved it all and we had prolonged applause and cheering.

Immediately after the show many of the cast members performed at the cabaret! More old songs. Some with elaborate dancing. What a long day.

The most interesting day of my 9 in England was the next day, my journey to London. Check again. Mind the gap.

PART 1: "Flying" on Ambien

I have considerable writing to do over the next couple of days to bring y'all up to date. But first of all, A WARNING! A word to the wise, from the stupid.

You know Ambien, the famous sleeping pill? You can't watch the evening network news without seeing their commercials, with their promises that you'll go to sleep and wake up smiling, with retriever puppies licking your face.

If you never (hardly ever) use sleeping medication, don't have the inspiration to try them during a trans-Atlantic flight. It was a red-eye, Kennedy to Heathrow, getting in at 9AM UK (5 hours difference). I have never, without qualification, fallen asleep on a plane. So half an Ambien seemed like a pretty good idea. I had been to the bathroom, felt pretty good, had space to get as comfortable as possible, put in earplugs. Tossed, turned, repositioned. Sat and listened to the engines for a few hours. Took the other half of the pill. Made some notes (now lost -- what could they have said?) for a play I'm writing. Listened to ipod for a while. Re-applied myself to falling asleep. Tried counting snakes. COULD  NOT  LOSE  CONSCIOUSNESS. Saw the sun come up. The cabin bell rang and we were told to collect our wits for landing. Then we were told there was a problem on the ground and we'd have to circle the airport for a while, which is always charming. I forgot to mention that this was THURSDAY, AUGUST 10. My friends Richard (Holmes, from NYGASP) and Miranda, a chorus girl for this Buxton G&S gig, helped unload me from the plane. They were eventually able to make me understand, after much repetition, that terrorists had succeeded in getting all flights suspended, our checked luggage was nowhere, and we'd have to continue our trip up to Manchester by other means.

Thanks be to God for Richard, who found the train we needed, and Miranda, who made sure I didn't wander off somewhere and fall down a flight of stairs. We eventually made it to Buxton, which is more than I can say for our luggage. We're still waiting for it, actually, ten days later.

There are people who use Ambien as a recreational drug! Because it lowers your inhibitions (what kind of inhibitions do you have while you're asleep?) and makes you feel loopy. Well, yippee! What a treat! And then later, after you've finally fallen asleep, you can't remember any of it! Doesn't that just sound great?

I could go on at greater length about Ambien, but you'll have to get me drunk first. NO PILLS.

Some valuable information for you:
VIRGIN ATLANTIC TRULY SUCKS. They are unhelpful, rude, and apparently somewhat retarded. I will elaborate on this in the next post on my England adventure.

Something New

Yes, well, I've been back in New York for six days of lethargic, dazed jet-lag. Call me a mincing little limp-wristed pink-garbed lisping sissy if you will, but I've been barely able to curl my girly little wrists over a keyboard and too full of blog ennui to do so anyway.

The antiquated, hair-and-filth-filled computers I had access to in Anchorage deterred me from writing anything in too much detail, and perhaps you'd like a more complete idea of what went on up North.

Trial by Jury was not the main thing going on up there. For those zombie fans who could give a rat's ass about G&S, Trial by Jury is less than 40 minutes long. Madama Butterfly was the big Anchorage Opera production. Opera singers are way more delicate than normal people, and have to rest for a couple of days after singing Puccini. Post-performance hangovers and ice cream and french fry binges do take their toll as well. So on the nights in between Butterfly, while the singers were "resting," two other shows were produced to take advantage of the fact that the theater was rented anyway. One was "Americans Gone Wild," the first half of which was Broadway selections (including one by JERRY HERMAN, which was all that was necessary for me to immediately need a toilet), and the second half being "Sweet Betsy From Pike," a cute little one act Western (Cowboy) - type opera. "A Smattering of Pattering" was the Gilbert and Sullivan program, organized by my  old friend soprano KATE EGAN , now living in Anchorage. First half was the most basic Trial by Jury you've ever seen -- it made NYGASP's Trial look like a Zeffirelli production. The second half was "The 'When a Merry Maiden Marries' Show," daytime TV-type "discussion" hosted by Kate. Various G&S characters came out and sat on the couch with Kate while she interviewed them about their relationship problems. For instance, "Yum-Yum, you have something to say to Nanki-Poo, don't you?" "Darling, I don't want to appear selfish, and I love you with all my heart," etc. And then they'd sing. It was frequently pretty funny. The "Americans" and the "Smattering" shows each had 2 performances, so I had plenty of time to be amazed by Alaska. I drove around, went to the museum, zoo, and library, and went flying with one of the chorus guys who has a plane. He told me the percentage of Alaskans who have pilot's licenses -- some unbelievable number I don't remember. And I "rested." There are many good local brews in Anchorage.

Click here for a review of the "Smattering of Pattering" show. It's the only intentionally funny review I've ever gotten that is actually quite amusing!

The Anchorage Barnes and Noble had a VALERIE FRANKEL display near the entrance --  all of her stuff prior to Hex and the Single Girl, which was on the "New Fiction" table.

When Kate was driving me to the airport we remarked that the only moose I had seen while in town was at the zoo. Not 2 minutes later we passed a moose about to cross the road.

I've recently (yesterday) been enlisted to perform the Judge again in an out of the way place -- the Buxton International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival in England. This festival goes on for 20 full days, 10:30 to midnight! "Basically Trekkies without the ears," is how one survivor described it. My performance is on Monday, August 14. I've never visited England and I probably don't need to tell you what a thrill it will be to perform G&S there. Thank you, Nathan Hull.

Other upcoming Quint stuff, scant though it may be:
These are all Pirates of Penzance (the Major-General), with NYGASP:
April 20, State Theater in New Brunswick, NJ
April 25, Utica, NY
April 27, New Bedford, MA
June 2 & 3, Wolf Trap Festival, VA

I went to "Wall-to-Wall Stravinsky" at Symphony Space Saturday night. 11am to 11pm of free Igor! By various performers, hosted by Isaiah Sheffer. Isaiah also narrated "A Soldier's Tale," which featured Richard "John-Boy" Thomas as the soldier and Leonard "Mr. Spock" Nimoy as the devil, a role I was proud to perform last year. John-Boy and Spock were good, and I'm happy to report that they both still look like themselves. Spock did a bit in the "Devil's Dance" which made me laugh out loud. Of course he didn't dance this energetic number, what he did instead was try to attack John Boy, who would turn around and play his fiddle at him, causing Spock to freeze and grimace and contort the way he and Captain Kirk frequently did when hit by a paralyzer ray or torture beam. The Quintet of the Americas "And Friends" played "Symphonies of Wind Instruments," gad, I love that piece. The Purchase Conservatory Symphony ended the evening with a very well-played "Firebird Suite," led by a truly gruesome-looking conductor with an offensive comb-over. Get a yarmulke!

My brother Doug, many of whose pissy comments pollute this website, went to the hospital this weekend for sleep tests. Look at this mess he had to wear to sleep in:

When I, good friends, was called to the Klondike bar...

Well, guess who's going to Alaska on Tuesday. If you guessed me, reasoning that I am what this blog is all about, and why would I be asking you to guess where anybody else is going, I would deduce you to be a person of normal or lower intelligence. Congratulations. This site is exactly where you belong. Your guardian angel must have led you here. Praise be! Say five "Hail Mary"s, wipe your feet, floss your teeth, and don't quote Pinafore for a week. Eat more vegetables. Give away those old paperbacks you'll never read again. Think about the stations of the cross!

And think about Barney Fife and Carl Kolchak. Gone in the same weekend. Too much. The cases they could have solved together!

Anyway, yes, Anchorage needs an emergency Judge. Trials are about to begin for the case of that bear who ate the psycho/surfer dude/MisterRogers wannabe from Herzog's Grizzly Man, and they want a hangin' judge from out of town. A judge who can dispense fair but firm justice to bears. I'll also be hearing the cases of a lemming who's being charged with suicide and a trespassing caribou who committed public indecency.

Haw, haw. I will have my joke. I'm going up to do Trial by Jury, of course! Tee-hee, I'll bet you knew that all along! They're doing a G&S program and their patter guy got lost in a blizzard and is now eating boiled shoes in a desolate cabin. I was available and cheap, plus the furthest north I've ever been was still in the state of Maine. Montreal and Quebec are closer than Northern Maine. I've always wanted to visit Alaska. I understand that if you make it there you can make it anywhere. Am I man enough? Watch these pages -- time alone can tell.

Did you clear that space on your bookshelf yet? Mrs. VALERIE FRANKEL's latest book is in stores now. It's got a lot of words in it, quite a few of which don't begin with 'f,' for some reason. Buy it, stick it on your bookshelf, notice that it seems to be misplaced after you've had people over, then buy another one and this time read it before another one of those unscrupulous chick lit fans takes advantage of you. It's at Barnes & Noble, Borders, etc., but Val likes you to buy it from Amazon because of reasons involving stuff I'm not sure of. CLICK HERE for a quick, easy link to right where you want to go on Amazon.