The Different Year to Come

New Year's eve is here. And it's spring-like in New York. Almost. It certainly doesn't feel like the bone-chilling years of recent memory outside today.

I have a lot to be thankful for looking back over this year. What? This isn't a Thanksgiving Day post, you say? Yes, I know. But there is something to the tradition of looking back on New Year's that I find more appropriate than some arbitrary day in November. Besides, that day is really about family - this one is about the year behind and the road ahead.

I've never been one to set resolutions. When something has needed doing in the past, I've done it. But there is something different about this New Year... a clarity, a want, a desire to take things by the horns. Is this different from the same 'every new year' feeling that comes around this time of year? This time, I think it is. It's not just a celebration, or a remembrance. It's something different to come.

Merry X-mas Eve

What is the proper way to spell "Xmas" anymore? Is there a hyphen? No hyphen? Should we spell it out to keep the Christ in? Heck, I just don't know anymore.

For those of you more familiar to my writing style - you'll know that I am not squeemish about using the hyphen. More correctly, I am a dash-a-holic. I use them everywhere. I feel they are more expressive than most choices of punctuation... and more specific than the ever so vague ellipsis... See?

Kristin and I did our gift exchange over the weekend, as we are spending the next two days with family. There was some spectacular gift giving this year, I must admit. Nothing too fancy or expensive - but some great clothing and cooking items, a killer japanese style tea-pot, and we adopted a red wolf family via Defenders of Wildlife. Good people. And we did put up a great tree. I still have problems cutting down a magnificent evergreen and sticking it in your living room as a symbol of everlasting life or greenery, just to watch it slowly dry up and die and be put out on the curb come January. I'd be much happier if there was the more Osiran bit to the myth where the tree is re-born right away, or we could at least re-plant it in a forest somewhere. (All you "X-ians" get a version of this in Easter - with the bunny mythos mixed in. That always makes me smile.) I did look into getting a potted tree this year, but they are prohibitively expensive here in the city.

But it did get me thinking: What happens when a symbol outlives what it symbolizes? And also when that symbol is adopted and adapted by other members of a mixed society that don't prescribe to the original symbolism? Now - bear with me - I know that the tree is originally a germanic pre-christian, pagan if you prefer, symbolic metaphor. They in turn gave it to the Brits via the whole House of Hanover succession thing, which then sent it across to the Americans... yeah, yeah, we all know that story. But does the adaptation and dissemination of a religious symbol into a larger society, thereby taking away some of the "religious-ness" of it, make it any less powerful? Is the symbol the essence of the meaning anyway, and that's why it symbolizes what it does? And is that why the powerful symbol of an everliving green tree survived two religions, two continents, and countless cultural dilutions?

Next year, I am planting a tree. And not for the tree-hugging, pro-environmental reasons you might think. Although most of you know that along with being a dash-a-holic, I am also a rampant tree-hugger. Nah... next year it's about the symbol and what it really means.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Return to the Blogosphere

Well, I'm sure some of you are wondering why it's been since May since I've written anything here. Hell, I know no one was really wondering anything... I don't think anyone reads this at all except me. But the reader's digest version is - what started as a blog meant to document my time aboard the NCL Dream had to be disbanded. And (drum roll, please) the reason for that was: the condition aboard the Dream deteriorated to become a nightmare. And this is not a joke... faced with constant gastrointestinal viral outbreaks onboard, near constant harassment from the officers and crew, a thoroughly disgusting passenger hygiene environment, bed bug infestations, and a beyond unprofessional performance and work environment, we jumped ship. Honestly, I couldn't even begin to make all of this up.

And it was all going so swimmingly at first. But the situation switched on a dime so quickly, and I was not removed enough from it in the present tense to write about it without using harsh and potentially legally incriminating language, that I just chose to not write about it at all. Rather professional, don't you think? For further evidence of the insanity, inanity, and a general summing up of what it was like to be on the 'Nightmare', check out the article below:

http://www.miamiherald.com/business/story/344219.html


Good thing we were long gone by the time this happened. But there were plenty other similar events during our time aboard - not anything as traumatic, thank our lucky stars. But all of the aforementioned was quite more than enough for our wonderful Agency in New York to support our decision to come home. And I can't tell you how wonderful it is to be in New York again!

So, this blog will be changing tones. I am back to trodding the proverbial boards again - and working on my new musical "The Westies". I will be posting links to samples of the music soon. In the meantime, look for my articles on ehow.com - and come back everyone for further thoughts and ramblings. Gods know what they'll be about. But here we go!

Tallinn

Nothingness enveloped the world. The view was shrouded in white, wisps of unformed fingers curled and coalesced against no horizon. And then, piercing through the quilted formlessness, a single black spine reached upwards. Slowly, Tallinn emerged from the fog – a faery tale come to life - the spires of the city’s old town cathedrals and castle walls materializing out of nowhere. It was more than magic – it was history and fantasy combined.

After a beautiful walk past dandelioned lots near the port terminal, we entered the old town. It’s not so much a maze of cobblestoned streets as it is a stream of constantly flowing alleys and avenues that all turn back on themselves and all eventually flow together into the central square. The town’s architecture, a consistent 400 years of Hanseatic influence, aren’t suspended in time either like other walled medieval towns I’ve been to – rather they are vibrantly alive with Estonian pride and culture.

This old town is still very much redefining itself – the day we arrived there was a cross-country ski race around the main church – they had made snow across the courtyard for the late May competition. The square was alive with people having afternoon lunch or a beer in the many gasthaus style outdoor sitting areas. And tourists aside, the town was awash with activity and life, all going about their business in this magnificent, ancient town.Everyone we met spoke beautiful English, or put up with my passable German.

The prices in Tallinn are decent – not as staggering as other Scandinavian ports of call, and not as bad as St Petersburg (that was a surprise!), and deals could be found at some of the side stalls, numerous artist galleries and market areas. Obviously, the worst deals were at any permanent stores conveniently located for tourists to stumble into. But we did find a number of fun items that we’ve earmarked for future purchase. And I’m very much looking forward to getting to know the streets of Tallinn over the next five months.

Bad Blogger. No Q-ookie.

I’ve been a bad blogger. It’s been twelve days , or the exactly length of one cruise, since I’ve written last. But rather than apologize – I do have good reasons. You see, Kristin and I had the grave undue pleasure of being quarantined. Yes, the Q-word. There are little buggles than run around the ship from time to time, and if you’re lucky enough to catch one, they stick you in your cabin for three days. Minimum. Now – we weren’t Q-ed for all twelve days – we did get off in Tallinn, St. Petersburg, and Stockholm – but I’m going to save those for separate blogs. We did however have to spend an eternity of those 72 hours in our cabin – and we watched every DVD we own twice. And with the director’s commentaries.

My new recommendation for favorite TV series is the beautifully crafted ‘Firefly’ by Joss Whedon. Those of you turned off by vapid writing, or the fan-frothing sci-fi series such as Star Trek, or the abysmal cgi-world of the latest Star Wars movies, then you will have a refreshing chance to see what science fiction can really be like with ‘Firefly’. The unfortunate thing is that Fox canned the series after only 13 episodes – so it definitely leaves you wanting more. There is a big screen continuation with the movie ‘Serenity’, but it’s more of a “Here’s what we would have done, given another ten episodes” rather than a real extension of the world. The writing is crisp, the dialogue witty and funny, and the future world that they created was superbly new in its scope and inspiration from present day real world developments. But the caveat are the characters – beautifully crafted real people: not black and white tin-types as most sci-fi goes – but true, grey, stuck in real moral dilemmas that they don’t get out of from time to time. As an actor, it made me supremely jealous – and then listening to the commentaries on the DVD and hearing how well the writer/director Joss Whedon got along with his actors, and their rapport with him, was truly refreshing.T

he weather along the Baltic route has improved – the sea is glassy and calm – and the sun is shining most of the time. Even yesterday’s jaunt in Germany started off grey and rainy, and then the sun broke through while we were having lunch in downtown Rostock. I love Germany – it’s a great place to check in with every twelve days on this strange little odyssey we’ve undertaken.

Germany on to the Baltic Proper

Warnemunde is a delightful town. Long, wide sandy beaches, a café lined promenade filled with old world Germanic charm, a cute little downtown area with a small brick church, and back alleys cobblestoned and gardened as far as the neck can bend.

Shame it was rainy and grey – a not uncommon condition on the Baltic. Early May is definitely not beach weather this far north.At least we’ll get twelve more chances over the course of the summer to see it once it’s warmed up a little. But for all its Hanseatic League coastal charm, we covered the town pretty quickly in the afternoon we had. Once we return, we’ll definitely be taking the train to Rostock, and after that, probably an excursion to Berlin and Hamburg.

We are sailing to Helsinki today, a bright white and emerald green water day, having switched the itinerary from Tallinn due to protests taking place in the city for the last few weeks. Apparently, tomorrow is the anniversary of the end of hostilities of WWII, and a major ceremony was supposed to take place over the Russian tomb of the unknown soldier. Only problem, the Estonians decided that the Soviet era statue to fallen Russian soldiers was a little too prominent smack downtown, so they moved it to a cemetery outside of town. This of course inflamed the ethnic Russians in Estonia. There have been a few protests and small riots over the matter, so rather than be in town on what might be a troublesome day, they decided to switch days with Helsinki. That’s probably a good call. I can’t think of anything offhand the Finns might riot over.

But two shows tonight – and sunset isn’t until 9.30. So it’ll be light for all of one, and mostly light for the other. Land of the midnight lit show, here we come.

Deutschland!

We are on the Kiel Canal – having just passed under the first bridge of seven. Apparently, the Dream is the largest boat that can access the canal, and we just literally saw why – we cleared the bridge by about three feet. Not kidding.

We entered the canal a few hours ago, and were piloted into the lock by several little German tugboats. Once in, we were joined on the top central outside deck by the local Feuerweg Zug Band – or the fireman’s band. They are mightly oom-pah-pahing away as I write this, and I had to have a German beer to mark the occasion. The only thing missing is a schweinbrot or wurst with mustard in my other hand. They’ll play onboard for the next eight hours or so that we’re on the canal.

The countryside is pastoral, green, and orderly in that way that the Germans perfected and patented. There is something comforting about the German countryside, something that I remember very well from my childhood. The rows of trees, the gently rolling yellow and green fields, no space wasted – there are always sheep, or cows, or horses, tucked into every little corner. Here up north, there are also windmills – giant white Quixote-defying modern mills – that only add to the feeling of order and care. Just one of those mills generates enough electricity to power who knows how many homes – and it’s green, and very abundant here on the edge of the North Sea.

Back in Germany. And ‘Bring back my Bonny to Me’ plays in the background. Das ist Super Toll!

The Promised Photo Blog

Finally! Here are a few pics!

The Dream. And Us. In Belize.










The Easter Bunny on board the Dream.










Sunset from the Dream.

It's my Birthday.

And I'm sitting in the Prince Albert pub in Dover, England, watching Manchester Utd. play football.

And of course, I've got a pint of bitter in my hand. It's making typing a little difficult, but there it is.

We start the journey in earnest tomorrow: off to the Kiel canal, then Tallinn.

But most of the cast is here, we're drinking, chatting, and the birthday celebration has begun.

Cheers!

Rare Ould Times to the White Cliffs

A few days catch up is needed, my apologies. Between being sick, and then having extra late rehearsals to get our new acrobat into the shows, things have been busy.We landed at Cobh, Ireland, Kristin and my first time together on the Isle. Cobh is a darling little coastal town – the official port for Cork. Lots of Georgian row houses, and brightly colored townhomes, and a rather Gothic ‘Mary of the Sea’ cathedral overlooking the whole town. There is not much to do, especially on a Sunday, but we managed to find a good seedy pub, named ‘Ryans’, and had a pint before going grocery shopping for such absolute necessities as Irish cheddar and orange juice.

We then steamed off for Dublin. I was amazed at how crowded it has really become – many Irish friends of mine have mentioned this in passing, but I was figuring it was an exaggeration, especially as we can compare it to New York. But it has gotten insanely crowded. Even on a Monday, the amount of foot traffic in the old was more than comparable to New York, even more so on some lanes. But we walked all over, one the great things about Dublin. I found a fantastic grey wool tweed jacket, and Kristin purchased a great brown suede jacket, for about half of what it would have cost in new York. Not that Dublin isn’t expensive, though –it is - we just happened across a great little thrift store on a side lane.

My Dublin from the mid nineties is all but gone, I’m sad to say. Much like the clean up New York experienced in the same time period, it seems the darker edge of Dublin is a fading memory. Temple Bar has lost a good number of its pubs to bistro type restaurants, and you can no longer carouse from pub to pub outside with the same pint glass. Alas, the rare ould times are indeed done. I do miss the energy, but like New York, you trade some loss for the good – I don’t think I’d trade the new times square for the old one, but something has been lost – and New York’s most famous square does resemble a mall in the middle of America now more than ever. Dublin hasn’t crossed that line yet, there is too much history all about, but I did notice that it felt more cosmopolitan, more generally European, than it did before. I saw no gypsy tinker children playing tin whistle on the corners, far fewer drunk story tellers calling out for another pint from a stool at the end of the bar. Indeed, as prices gouge away at our beloved East Village in New York, turning it into the last hold out for true New York characters, Dublin’s old town seems to have been gouged already – huge high rise condos and new buildings ring the edge of the old town now. Hopefully, there is still a place for the story tellers – we didn’t have enough time to hunt them down in our half-day in Dublin – but one where the stories abound, and an older, gentler, and less bustling Dublin allowed for a breath between swallows of Guinness.

Le Havre came the next day, and we had a lovely walk about the town. It’s a post-modern French town – mostly rebuilt after the War, but a lovely one nonetheless. It has a great beach front, and we walked all about. Unfortunately, our desire to find a great café for a fantastic French lunch was thwarted by our timing – we arrived in town just in time for the afternoon rest. So by the time we had to leave, the cafes still were not serving. Alas, we consoled ourselves by buying several more pounds of French cheese and a baguette, and made our way back.Dover – our new home port of call – was today. The cliffs are impressive, as is Dover castle sitting above it all. The town is a little lackluster – as is the port. But it’s going to be interesting coming back here for our base of operations every twelve days. We get two more new cast members day after tomorrow – our Adage couple that we rehearsed with the Florida is joining us again. And that means: more rehearsals! One three day quick cruise – and then we are off to Germany.

Azorean Island Time

The sea is grey and almost glassy today, our second day heading toward Ireland. We’re definitely in the North Atlantic now – the blues are muted and silvery instead of electric cobalt and azure. The motion of the boat is gentle, there is a calm, cooler breeze blowing – a herald to the Baltic breezes that will no doubt blow upon us soon. Kristin saw a pod of fifteen or so dolphins out the window earlier today.

And I’m sick. It sucks being sick on a boat. It’s really the week five crud – you get it on any tour or project – week five roles around and the crud hits. Mine’s a virus, accompanied by the shakes and the fever sweats – and there’s really nothing to be done except wait it out. I’m grumpy, but otherwise all right.

Our afternoon at Ponta Delgada on the Azores was wonderful. We got off the boat fairly early – after some confusion as to whether we could leave at all or not, due to a Coast Guard drill being called. But once off, it was such a palpably better feeling to be in Europe again. Given, the Azores are only marginally Europe, but just the tempo and the air feels better. I’ve never been to Portugal, or to any Portugese holdings, and neither had Kristin, so this was a first for both of us. But the waterfront itself is not unlike sleepy coastal town along the Maine Coast. Minus the cruise ship dock, the rest of the dock was populated primarily by local fishermen’s boats. But the town – now this is where it gets surreal. Most of the rock on the islands is volcanic – so the churches, the walls, even the sidewalks, are this black volcanic stone. The sidewalks all throughout town are quite apiece of work – patterns and knotwork in white stone is set against the mosaic of black stone. And the churches and municipal buildings are all that classic 16th Century Iberian style – the walls being whitewashed a blindingly clean white.We walked around town, most of which was closed due to it being a national holiday (I think the founding of the Republic Day), but there was a little bandstand in the square, and lots of locals listening to music. We wandered by the teatro municipal, which we were happy to see was being renovated, and had obviously been expanded significantly already. We also then found a botanical garden founded by Jose do Canto, a local of some significance in the 1800s. Some sacrifice was required to enter: We had had to each get a beer, the local Sergas, in order to get the 2$ change in euros so we could enter. We nobly made the sacrifice, and found that it was an unkempt, magical little garden, Calla lilies growing wildly everywhere about, and the remnants of Victorian sensibilities peeking out of the undergrowth here and there, all accented by the black volcanic stonework. The moon peered at us from high in the sky, even though it was only the afternoon. We found the original manor house on the property, moss overtaking the red huntsman patterned tiles around the blacksmith’s work area, other escapees from a flower garden now commanding the doorstep and every crack in the house to boot.

After the garden, we wandered around looking for a place for dinner – after wandering a little off the beaten path, we found a cute little hole in the wall, and had by far one of the better meals on the whole adventure so far. A bottle of local red was recommended by the waitress, which I’m ashamed to say to don’t remember the name of, only the grape variety. I had salted cod, of course, with the most amazing red cured peppers and new potatoes. Kristin had a wonderful tuna steak, that was fresher than anything Ive tasted in new York, and rivaled preparation. The lilt of Portguese diners flowed around us, familiar in some of its romantic cadences, and yet completely unfamiliar in others – some trace of deeper Mediterranean rhythms, whether Greek or Phoenician perhaps. We ended our meal, cutting just a little close to make it to the boat, but make it we did, with full bellies and a new appreciation for a different kind of island living.

(About the pictures - unfortunately the server for the ship has a massive firewall that doesn't allow uploads. I promise I'll do a number of postings once we find an internet cafe in Europe in a few days...)

Opening Night

Our first shows went fairly smoothly – excepting one major event. Our acrobat snapped his Achilles tendon on one of his first passes during the early show. He was taken immediately to the infirmary, and they determined they had to get him to hospital as soon as possible. We scrambled to cover the various numbers he was a part of – luckily our stager was still with us and had the good sense to substitute similar choreographed sequences for what would have been his music. It was a shame to lose him like that – especially on our first actual performance. As a cast we’ve bonded over the last few weeks, and he fit a special niche in the dynamic of the group. When we landed in Bermuda yesterday, they got him the first available flight back to the states. Hopefully, he’ll make a full recovery.That said the audiences didn’t know that anything was changed, and they gave us standing ovations both shows. The piece itself is a very flashy, Vegas style review; very fun to perform, and obviously fun for the audience as well. We retired to the cruise director’s cabin afterwards for a champagne celebration – he quite graciously invited us all to his quarters on the forward deck. Far too much bubbly was drunk for our own good, but it was a much needed release. We then continued into the wee hours in a cast mate’s room, where we ordered room service and lip-synced along to the soundtrack of Dream Girls. They keep coming back in this story, don’t they?

The next morning had us in the port of Bermuda. I cannot begin to describe the beauty of the water there – it’s a type of blue similar to the blue of the Mediterranean, but at the same time it is clear. The buildings on the island largely have white roofs – and the Bermuda stone that they build with is also an almost white limestone – so the view across the island almost has a Greek Isle feel to it. We had lunch at the Frog and Onion pub – a cute colonial style pub in the Victualling Yard at the old Royal Navy Dockyard. We then went up to the fort, and toured the museum showcasing Bermuda’s military history. They have quite a considerable collection of old armaments – including a number of enormous 18 pounders that are still on the ramparts of the naval fort. The fort has by far the best view of the Dockyard area – and it was a beautiful day in the low 70s.

We then wandered down to an area in the fort that they use to rehabilitate dolphins. We watched as two children in wetsuits got to “swim” with the dolphins. It’s a nice gesture – the prices for them to do that are extraordinary – but the true shame is that those dolphins will never know what the open ocean is like. But at least they live in relative peace and comfort.
We sail to the Azores today – three more days at sea. We’ll have show number two after more rehearsal in two nights, and then on to Ireland.

Oh, Florida!

Downtown Miami seems to be going through the same post-911 renaissance that New York is. Lots of cranes grace the skies from South Beach to Downtown. The Dream docks right smack between the two, at the port of Miami, and we managed to get a few hours of shore leave yesterday after a tech run-through at 10.30. Yes, my theatre world friends, we are doing run-throughs at both midnight, and at 10.30 in the morning. I have to say, even with the crazy hours, the schedule is fairly easy. The shows are all under an hour long. And once we open day after tomorrow, the rest of the contract will be even better – we won’t do shows on port days – so that means anytime we’re in at some great European city – we can get off ship and tour about without having to worry about a show later that night. And we have two overnights: one in St. Petersburg, Russia, and the other in Copenhagen. Land of the midnight sun indeed.

But returning to Florida for moment. It’s ironic that Kristin and I have spent so much time in Florida. We met during a contract for Riverside Theatre in Vero – and have both returned a number of times. To be truthful, I think I’ve returned more times to Florida than to any other regional theatre area. It seems to break my theory about western theatre: that nice weather outside guts the community interest in terms of real, sustainable ongoing art (hence the lack of large scale professional theatrical communities in areas that could easily support them – like the Bay Area in California, Napa and San Francisco in particular). I mean, you look at the great bastion theatre towns in Western, Anglo-cultural mediums – and all their weather is fairly crappy at least some part of the year: London, New York, Chicago. And L.A. doesn’t count – the only reason they do theatre out there is because they’re not working in film at the moment. But it’s not hard to guess that it’s the generational landslide of baby boomers and pre-boomers that have managed to make Florida viable for a regional theatre career. Granted, you won’t get your cutting edge, nouveau musicals or some such (I don’t expect Spring Awakening anytime soon at Riverside), but there is something to be said for an environment where people are still considering live theatre to be an everyday part of their life. Outside of the cities I mentioned above, I don’t know of anywhere else that is the case.

Back to the Miami anomaly – not a lot of live theatre. In the last few trips I made to the city that sleeps on the beach, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend – it seems to be emulating the not so great urban sprawl that L.A. has perfected, and is even creeping into my beloved Big Apple. The Miami of low lying, deco inspired sleek lined buildings is all but gone, excepting little stretches of South Beach. Now the mini-stretch mall is at every corner, 24-hour pharmacies at your beck and call when you need that pick-me-up at 4 a.m. And the ubiquitous chain restaurants where the food is exactly as you remember it, whenever you want it grace the malls with their homespun, collected and perfected antique-i-ness, so everyone can feel at home, without actually being home. And then there are the great castles of envy - their coral and blue towers rising from of the edges of the city out of some Metropolis meets Atlantis dream – shadowing even Star Island and the white sands. Literally – as the Dream pulled out, we noticed that the thirty story plus towers cast a long shadow over the surfers, who waited in vain for a wave to ride past the break wall at South Beach. The red sun darted between the grey columns of shadow, creating an almost pinstripe effect the farther away we sailed. Even further out, the horizon seemed a theatrical backdrop – the shadow shapes of square buildings stretching from horizon to horizon, backlit by the tired sun, too tired to dodge the scrapers anymore, instead content to settle languidly behind them for the night. It was a stunning sunset, one of the finest I’ve ever seen.

Do we have to sacrifice culture and live theatre for the inevitable pull of the outdoors? Or for the inevitable pull of pop culture and the next age to be? What is defining us now? Development? Buildings pushing the limit of both the sky and sustainability? I am not certain. But as we sailed out of Miami harbor, I saw the dozens of cranes, and the endless throng of cars and moderns caves for modern humans. These questions were flying through my head. And we were sailing straight into the Bermuda Triangle.

Stormy Seas

Had our first really rough night at last night. We started in earnest toward Miami, and ran into the tail of the big Nor’easter that tore through Texas the day before, and is hitting the East Coast as I write this. I made the mistake of having a pretty large dinner – and then we had rehearsal onstage. I think I would have been fine if I could have gone to bed, but because we were on stage, anytime you took a step, you ended up taking three more as the ship moved. In the end I was all right – just a little nauseous. But I’m hoping we don’t encounter anything more dramatic than that on our Atlantic Crossing.

It is surreal being on board for this long. After our transatlantic, we’ll have been on straight for at least 12 days, maybe more. Now that we’re on the fifth deck, you can actually walk the length of the ship in the main hallway – about five or six uptown city blocks. Running on a treadmill in the gym, looking out over the endless blue water and sky is also a little humbling – I could go on about how small we really are compared to the rest of the universe – but the truth is, there aren’t really words to sum up horizon to horizon water unless you’ve seen it. I’ll spare you any metaphysical clichés.More rehearsal late tonight, and then official run-throughs for the big-wigs in Miami come tomorrow afternoon. Then, hopefully, we’ll get to a more civilized schedule with regards to rehearsals and call times.

Another Day One

April 14, 2007

We are finally in our permanent quarters! After a lovely week on deck seven – right midships on the starboard side – we now have moved to our home for the next six months. Aftwards, deck five, at the end of the hall. It is the back of the ship, so it rattles a bit. Okay, who am I kidding? When we shoved off, and the winches were pulling the ropes back up from the pier, our co-principal singer Steve called and asked “Is that a tsunami coming?” There is a constant thrum, and I have no doubt that on severe weather days (which in the Baltic I am assuming we might catch a few) it’s going to rock and roll. But the room is significantly bigger than most on board, there is a king sized bed, and two portholes. It’s not spacious – but by New York city apartment standards, it’s quite doable. As a matter of fact, it’s larger than my first studio on 106th and Riverside. And the bathroom is bigger than our current pad in the East Village, minus the tub.

We docked in Houston today, the end of the ‘Texarribean’ run. No, I did not make that up. I have no comment whatsoever except to say that I am very happy to be steaming away from Houston at an average of 16 knots. We’ll be in Miami late day after tomorrow – and have a last afternoon ashore before starting the 17 day transatlantic by way of Bermuda and the Azores.But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We did get off the ship today, and took an inordinately long cab ride to the nearest shopping area. It was a nondescript strip mall like you’d find Anywhere U.S.A., except that this one being in Texas was bigger, more crowded, and just packed to the gills with all things consumable. And we certainly did our patriotic duty: we bought a fair number of DVDs for the watching during the crossing, and some household items for making our room more comfy and livable. A nice little rug now graces our cabin, and two smart throw pillows that I matched to the color scheme of the room. It’s the little things that truly do count.And now we’re off to our 10.45 company meeting and run-through. I expect we’ll be wrapped by midnight. Once again, it’s the only time the stage is available. It will be nice to be on a performance schedule in a week or so, that way we can sleep at regular hours. Heigh-ho, the glamorous life.

First Days Onboard

Living on a ship is not unlike living in New York City. Your living quarters are small, you’re constantly surrounded by people and activity, and there’s often an unsettling motion around you at all times, whether the rattle of the subway, or the rolling of the ocean. It can also be expensive until you figure out where the deals are, and who to deal with.

But on board a ship, at least the food is free. It is odd to sit down to dinner, eat, and then get up without paying anything. Kristin and I have joked that we’re going to have to remember not to do that once we get back to the city.

We sailed to Progreso, Mexico after Houston – and we were able to get off at the pier for about an hour or so between rehearsals. Unfortunately, the pier at Progreso is six miles long – thanks to the limestone shelf that the bay sits on. So our first mini-liberty took us ashore to see a duty-free shop, four faux-stucco shacks jammed with straw hats, Aztec paraphernalia, cheap sunglasses that were definitely cousins to our St. Mark’s or Canal Street knockoffs, and lots of things that had the Corona logo emblazoned upon them.

Followed by more rehearsal. Kristin and I were talking this morning about how long the past four days on board have been – and we realized it had barely been over 48 hours. Given that we rehearse during the early day, and then again after mid-night – it’s the only hours we can get the stage – the days feel like two or sometimes three apiece.

We’re looking at Belize outside the windows today – it’s muggy hot, but the sun is bright and the water is a cool emerald green. We won’t see much more of it, there’s more rehearsal at 2 pm. But once we get past these three next days – and out of Houston and on the way to Miami – our days will be our own, and the show schedule will be set. And then on to the Old World!

First Day on Board

First night on board.

We flew to Houston this morning at o’dark thirty – and had a fairly uneventful flight. There were no screaming children, or scary tuberculitic coughers. The in-flight entertainment was Dream Girls, which I have to say even at early morning light hours still had the power to considerably move me.

The drive to the port of Houston from the Bush International airport (I will refrain from commenting on that one. It’s just too damn easy…) seemed to consist entirely of oil refineries and indescribable smells that could only be imaginable if the Goodyear Blimp exploded, crashing into the bloated, ten day old decaying body of the Michelin Man. The port was not much to look at either, just your average endless stacks of containers – as far as a consumer’s eye could reach. It was rainy to boot - not a welcoming tropical rain, but a cold, blustery driving rain swirling down from our Canadian neighbors.But then the van came up over a crest, and there she was – the Dream. She’s a beauty of a boat – one of the older maidens of the NCL fleet. But she’s big. The décor is hotel circa early 1990’s – reminiscent of one of the better Parisien Novotels.

We gathered our four fifty pound each suitcases (six months is a long time), and rolled our way to the crew deck. We checked in with security – a rather friendly bunch – in time to walk on board for a Coast Guard drill, complete with fake smoke and screeching alarums. We then met our company manager and co-performer Tracy. We descended down to the third deck to the crew bar for an informal briefing – signing requisite paperwork and whatnot.
The crew bar, down on deck 3 (ship decks are numbered low from the water level to high), is an odd, homey, smoked filled gathering place for the crew. There’s a fussball machine, a dart board, a karaoke set-up (apparently very big with the Phillipino crew members) , and a good number of bar stools and tables. The whole feel is very euro football club a la Manchester or even Kaiserslautern – with the appropriate beer signs on the walls. There’s even a mural of a very Persephone-esque black haired maiden – her locks spreading out over the walls turning into waves – that I’ve taken to calling the Dream Girl. The crew bar is the break place, the meeting place, and the blow off steam place of the boat. We already met a good representative number of the 600+ crew – the salon crew, the other cast entertainers, and more – hanging out there.

After that, we were left on our own recognizance for a while. We tried to grab a nap, but every time we were about to nod off, the announcement chime would ring, and Ricky (our cruise director – more on him later) would come on, his crisp, slightly wry and smirky South African accent would intone that there was a mandatory passenger safety drill – and that “All passengers had to report to their muster stations, listed on the back of their stateroom doors”. After three of those, we gave up, and watched some some Pierce Brosnan era James Bond on one of the ship telly stations.

The ship left Houston at four p.m. The open water was a welcome sight – and the motion of the boat is not subtle when the weather is blustery. You sort of feel slightly drunk all of the time – not a new sensation for me, but odd when you’re still trying to find what deck everything is on. The ship seems fairly easy to navigate, and I’m sure that in six months, we’ll know it like the back of our hand.

Seven o’clock p.m. rolled around, and we went to meet our fellow cast mates and have another informal welcome from Tracy. We met the current cast that’s on board, and we’ll see them perform one of their shows tonight. We had a beer or two at the crew bar with our cast and some of the other cast – who are a good number of Aussies and Brits. Our bunch is about even with three Americans, two Canucks, and three Brits. The current Adage or Ballroom couple is a classically sculpted Russian couple – who will be with us for a month until the American couple that we rehearsed with joins us in May.

After the beers, we went to the Italian restaurant at the aft of the ship – named ‘Trattoria’. There are ten restaurants on board, some with the same theme every night, some that change. The food was very good – smaller Italian style piatti portions – which was great because they offer full course meals. Steven, our fellow singer, joined us, and opted to share some appetizers, a pizza, and a strip steak. I had to indulge in the Macadamia nut ice cream. Life is buono.
By now, the ship was rolling pretty considerably – and getting to sleep was a little touch and go for a while. But Poseidon lolled us to sleep eventually, and got some much needed rest. The days ahead would be more rehearsal, and getting to know not only the rhythm of the ship, but the rhythm of the waves underneath both sleeping and waking.

(I'm working on getting photos uploaded. Stick with me - they'll be some of the ship and cast soon.)

Hazy Thursday

It's an official condition.

You're halfway through the rehearsal period for any given project - and everything starts to fog over. All the material you've learned seems the same, and all the material that you haven't learned yet looms in front of you, causing momentary panic attacks, fear, abject bitchiness, and even dyspepsia. Other symptoms can include an A.D.D.-like glaze to come over the eyes. Stimulants like coffee seem to offer little solace or effect, and alcohol only deadens the subject even more. Only surviving through the process till one realizes you only have a few days left of rehearsal alleviates the ever worsening symptoms. And it usually corresponds to a "Thursday" - or another day that falls one or two days before a day off.

All I have to say is thank god the hotel has a hot tub, or I'd be even stiffer than I am. It's not that I'm old, it's just that my knees are.

And I do adore this cast - but the dancers are younger and more limber than I am. Hell, most people are more limber than I am.

See! Right there was a symptom of the Haze! Beware of the spread of this highly communicable disease! Take all and any necessary prophylactic precautions!

Movie Review #2

Okay, was anyone else also as completely not blown away by The Departed as I was?

I mean, seriously. It's a decent cop drama - but didn't it feel as if it turned into Scorcese's Boston-based version of Reservoir Dogs toward the end?

And never mind that he won the Oscar. We all darn well know that he was given it as a consolation for all the times he hasn't won. But seriously - the script is witty in a few places, but again, by the time most things happen to our two protagonists, I felt as if I was already a mile ahead of them in knowing what was coming next.

Okay, maybe that review sounds a little harsh, but haven't we seen Matt Damon do this before? Nice twist with him being crooked, and yes, he's really from Boston, we get it. Great cast of supporting characters, albeit for a "realistic" cop drama, everyone's performances seemed a bit broad. Between Baldwin and Walhberg (who will always be Markie Mark), and then squinty McGee-DiCaprio (his eyebrows were more furrowed than a plowed Kansas cornfield) there was enough chewed scenery that it could've been a musical. I would have loved it if they broke out into song, like that dreadful Botchko T.V. show "Cop Drama" that was on the air for ten minutes back in the early 90's (I believe). Even better if it was freestyle rap so Markie Mark could go all Southie on our asses. I can just hear the big show stopper number with everyone's Boston accents:

"Please don't end up just like one of us -
Crooked cops that you can't trust
If you smell a rat - it's not that he fah-ted -
it's just 'cause Mah-ty got the Oscah finally for De-pah-ted."

And really, this is a highly crafted film with a decent script and cinematography. I guess what gets me going is that the only reason it's any good is because of the people involved. And maybe that's why it got the lauds it did. Does material have to be brilliant of it's own accord? Maybe not. But I think there should be a distinction made. Perhaps Scorcese's brilliance lies in who he hires - after all they do say that good direction is 99% good casting.

So, it's a good movie. But it didn't knock my sahks off. Sorry guys.

Country Who?

So. There's a country show.

I can hear most of you laughing all the way from NYC. Yes, we are doing a country western show on board. And you may choke at this even more, but it's primarily recent top 40 country songs, most of which I'd never heard before, and here comes the odd part - I actually like most of the songs.

Seriously. They're fun to sing. And even I can line dance.

Add in the cowboy boots and big hats, and I can slap on my drawl with the best of 'em. What's even more fun is that we have a number of Brits in our cast - and that's just a whirl of cross-cultural exchange.

Again, there is the Brie Factor. But it's fun, and the show is fast paced enough that when you do hit one of those awkward uncomfortable moments, it's over before it can imprint on your retinas.

There is one tune that's rather conscious of the "country-vs.-the-rest-of-the-world" mentality - and it's quite funny in an ironic sort of way:

"Well the folk scene's dead, but he's holding out in the village.
He keeps writing songs speaking out against wealth and privilege...
He says 'I don't believe in money, but a man like me could make him a killin'...
'cause some of that stuff don't sound much different than Dylan.
I hear down there - it's changed you see.
They ain't as backward as they used to be... He's Gone Country..."

I found that particularly funny as Kristin and I live two blocks from Sidewalk Cafe in the village, where they have the anti-folk hootenanny - or at least they used to back in the day.

At any rate, our first runthrough of the the first show we learned went pretty smoothly yesterday. Now we just have ten more days to learn the other two shows, and then get to Houston and get on that there big ol' boat. Yee haw. Now that's irony.

End of Week One

Wow. It is Friday already? It feels as though we've been doing this for a month.

One show down - two to go. And a day off tomorrow to rest a little, and try to learn an hour more of music. All in all, haven't really had much time to think about anything other than learning the new material, and the overtly cheese-ridden narration that I seem to be the main delivery vehicle for. A port-wine, nut laden log comes to mind anytime I have to speak - but what is interesting is that while in the past, I would have made fun of such "cruise-ship" dialogue in other arenas - here it just is what it is. And it's very aware of what it is: entertainment for a captive, non-paying audience (at least non-paying for the show they are seeing) - and one where the only motive is to entertain, and not make the audience have to think too much. And it accomplishes this in spades.

Kristin and I did rent "The Good Shepherd" last night. A good movie - if a bit longwinded. I feel that DeNiro's directing debut fell prey to the bug of Coppola or even Scorsese's bug of say the same thing over and over again, and then say it again just in case. When you can nod off in the middle , and come back thirty minutes later and still know what's going on without having to ask, then it's time to edit some, fellas. Especially with a spy story. They really should follow the LeCarre model - say with "Constant Gardener" - where he allowed the adaptation to be sleek, rapid paced, and certainly not as long-winded. By the time Matt Damon's character reaches his "mature" position within the CIA, we all know exactly the kind of self-made pitfalls and hubris he's going to face - because we've seen it happen already to two other supporting players. Three times in this case is not good vaudeville set-up - it's just overkill.

Didn't know this was also going to have movie reviews, huh?

Have a good day off!

Escape from New York

So you probably heard about the ice storm that bogged down NYC and most of the Northeast this past weekend. After getting prepped and all set to leave for Florida to begin rehearsals last Saturday, our flight was canceled. Add insult to injury, we had to move all our stuff into storage during said ice storm. But after a long on-hold filled phone called, Delta managed to get us on the evening flight to Ft. Lauderdale on Sunday. (It actually gave us an extra evening to chill and clean our apartment.)

And then the first day of rehearsal! After showing up late the evening before, all that anticipation and not knowing what it was going to be like - we awoke bright and early and went to rehearsal at 9 am. Now those of you that know performers - rehearsing that early in the morning is not the favorite of most civilized peoples. But there I groggily was, ready to give it my best, even though it wasn't even a double digit daytime hour.

But the rehearsal was like most first day rehearsals - minus two of the other dancers - who were stranded in the U.K. because of the same ice storm. It's a cute, entertaining bunch of material. We learned most of the music for the first piece, and started staging. The next few weeks will be like that - nothing that spectacular or exciting - these are the woodshed weeks. Day two consisted of much of the same, although we started at 8 a.m. this time due to scheduling constraints. Joy. We also had to get medical exams since we're joining a ship's crew. Mind you, they don't want hepatitis or TB on board, so that's probably a good thing. You know how dirty most actors are. Florida is Florida - traffic ridden, flat, and right now very wet. I will never understand the rampant viral strip-mall architecture that has consumed the better part of the eastern seaboard. At least the hotel is nice, and has a jacuzzi. I'll need it after today's dance rehearsal. Hi-ho the glamorous life.

Feels like the First Time

Welcome to the blog.

Or maybe you all should welcome me. I've finally joined this online world of opinion, rants, and musings with my own offering. Most of you who know me probably thought I'd already done it by now, but no - I've been saving myself.

In truth, this blog is starting because I'm heading to sea with my wonderful partner in crime, Kristin McLaughlin, working for NCL and touring for six months. A large portion of this blog will be devoted to travel reviews, life aboard a big ship, and general observations of all things cruising and/or European. And of course, there will be songs, dance, wine, spirits and stories galore. So Enjoy!

Cheers - James