Google's logo, March 30, 2005
Van Gogh was born on March 30, 1853.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Crab and artichokes for Easter
I went to my mom's for Easter. We had no plans to meet. I called that afternoon and, after we'd agreed that she would not need to clean the house specially for the visit -- she said yes.
On the way, I stopped to buy crab, artichokes, butter lettuce, sweet tomatoes, fresh-baked french bread, mayonnaise, salsa brava, three cheeses -- swiss, brie, and flaky sharp white cheddar -- and dark chocolates. Plus grapefruits, tangerines, & strawberries for breakfast. I'd bring dinner, as I wrote my niece, and my mom would bring the swift waters of Puget Sound, and the mountain.
It was one of the easiest, most laid-back holidays I have ever spent.
I threw the older strawberries off the deck into the frothing water, and was delighted to see nine brilliant fat rednesses riding the green waters like an armada of rubies -- brilliantly red, impossibly red.
On the way, I stopped to buy crab, artichokes, butter lettuce, sweet tomatoes, fresh-baked french bread, mayonnaise, salsa brava, three cheeses -- swiss, brie, and flaky sharp white cheddar -- and dark chocolates. Plus grapefruits, tangerines, & strawberries for breakfast. I'd bring dinner, as I wrote my niece, and my mom would bring the swift waters of Puget Sound, and the mountain.
It was one of the easiest, most laid-back holidays I have ever spent.
I threw the older strawberries off the deck into the frothing water, and was delighted to see nine brilliant fat rednesses riding the green waters like an armada of rubies -- brilliantly red, impossibly red.
The Tritons, who used to live on land part of the year, before retreating to live in the sea, remembered being partial to summer fruits, so the children brought them strawberries.
-- children's book, originally in French, about the 12 forces of the wind
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Changes in the wind
To answer those who have asked -- no, I do not have a job offer yet from Microsoft. I have finished talking to both groups, both interview loops went well (all day, in both cases), and I will likely hear next week.
Meanwhile, my housemate, Jeff, is moving out May 15th. We've lived together for three years. I'm simultaneously savoring our last few weeks of intimacy and talks, while anticipating the deliciousness of living alone.
Meanwhile, my housemate, Jeff, is moving out May 15th. We've lived together for three years. I'm simultaneously savoring our last few weeks of intimacy and talks, while anticipating the deliciousness of living alone.
the grey road leads past
flowering cherries, wet horses,
puddles -- going home
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Pre-resting
I remember putting myself to bed for a nap when I was six, because first grade was starting soon. Staring at the daylit ceiling tiles with their brown dots, I felt ancient. Weary, wary, and wise.
At 47, I find myself doing the same thing prior to taking a Microsoft job. The urge to sleep, to watch the sky, to let my unconscious mumble and rest up, is overwhelming.
At 47, I find myself doing the same thing prior to taking a Microsoft job. The urge to sleep, to watch the sky, to let my unconscious mumble and rest up, is overwhelming.
Rachel, remember...
Here is my list of stuff not to forget to do, once I start at Microsoft.
1. Dedicate all efforts to the benefit of all sentient beings
2. Pay everybody back
3. Do a good job at work
4. Get in shape
5. Fix the house & yard
6. Get support & advisors
7. Clarify the vision
8. Create multiple compounding income-streams from royalty-producing IP
9. Write the books
10. Move to Europe
11. Go to grad school
12. Buy the farm to make into the theatre
13. Establish the theatre company
14. Fall in love and get married
15. Say thank you
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Sit like a mountain. Sit like this.
Mount Rainier
I know a few people past their skins. Past their social selves and masks, out into where they are just mountains surrounded by clouds. Just ethics, just insights, just truths. It is like talking to the ocean, or to Indra's synaptic net. It's talking on all levels at once, mapping on all levels.
"Ethics is relationship," says Leonid Anisimov.
Interacting with mountain people -- or people in their mountain incarnation -- is the great joy of my life. It's spirituality in practice. Form dissolves into energy, and when the conversation is over, the form has also been reshaped. It is tremendously efficient, clean work.
I want a theatre of mountain people.
Perhaps now I can begin to find them, and they me.
"Sit like a mountain," said Sogyal Rinpoche, the Tibetan buddhist monk. I was at a four-day retreat with him in a white-walled hall in Sydney, Australia. The room had tall windows, high dark beams, and an incredible Renaissance mural painted all across the ceiling. "Sit like a mountain. Sit like this." And then, he vanished. There was nothing left energetically but empty robes.
When people are mountains, it's only truth. Truth seined through splashing, inadequate poetic words -- truth like theatre, truth against truth, complexities of resonating unresolvable truth. Truth as the quest for truth. Truth as the highest tautness -- or easiness -- of a human spirit.
The great truths at their heart are always paradoxical, says Jim Rapson.
Ursula LeGuin, when asked over and over what The Left Hand Of Darkness was about, kept saying, "If I could tell that, I wouldn't have had to write the book."
There is something in the purifying search, that is the lesson.
It keeps me human, and grounded, to make things. Poetry, paintings, performances, dinners, blogs. There's something grounding about food and touch and art. Without that, I, like Milarepa, would just turn green from eating too many nettles.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Big changes coming
I find myself resting on the sweet spring air, drifting across the days like boneless flotsam.
Soon I will make a list, of stuff to remember to do.
Last night I watched my Electra and Medea. Electra was worse than I remembered, Medea better. I wish I could have seen videos of Doors and Noir, in that same sequence, to compare how I'm doing.
I am ready for a very different kind of work. Time to see if Joseph and Jennifer are free for a sesh.
In the meantime, the cherry wind is carrying me out the door.
Soon I will make a list, of stuff to remember to do.
Last night I watched my Electra and Medea. Electra was worse than I remembered, Medea better. I wish I could have seen videos of Doors and Noir, in that same sequence, to compare how I'm doing.
I am ready for a very different kind of work. Time to see if Joseph and Jennifer are free for a sesh.
In the meantime, the cherry wind is carrying me out the door.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Spent the afternoon with Stanislavski
Konstantin Stanislavski
I'm reading Stanislavski Directs, by Nikolai Gorchakov. Gorchakov was a young director who studied with Stanislavsky from 1924 till 1936. He was a stenographer, and kept a detailed diary of what Stanislavski said and did.
I know my way around Moscow in the early 1900's like a dog who was born there. I have read so many of the books, that I know not only this author, but the guy who wrote the foreward, and his book about observing Moscow rehearsals.
I feel like I have just stepped from the golden light and quiet dust of the Moscow Art Theatre of 1924, with Stanislavski's words still warm in my ear, and on my heart.
"The Moscow Art Theatre adheres to the precepts of Shchepkin and demands that an actor create a living human being in all the complexity of his character and behavior. When you enter the Moscow Art Theatre, you dedicate your life to serve these great precepts of Russian genius. Realize them every day and hour in your work in the theatre and outside it.And:
I know it is very difficult. I promise you my help, but I warn you that I will be very particular and very demanding.
The theatre begins not from the moment you make-up or from the moment of your entrance on stage. The theatre begins from the minute you awaken in the morning. You must ask yourself what you should do this day to earn the right to come to the theatre, to rehearse, to perform, or to take a lesson with a clear conscience.
You are in the theatre when you greet the doorman on the way to your dressing-room, when you ask Fyodor for a pass, and when you put your rubbers in the hall stand. You are in the theatre when you talk about it to your acquaintances, to the clerk in a bookshop, to a friend, to another actor, or to the barber who cuts your hair.
From now on, the theatre is your life, totally dedicated to one goal: the creation of great works of art which ennoble and elevate the soul of a human being, works which develop in man the great ideas of freedom, justice, love for the people, and love of country."
-- Konstantin Sergeivich Stanislavski
"Please explain to all the members of our theatre, beginning with Nemirovich-Danchenko, that I am not just directing the play, but that I am using these meetings with the young actors and directors to educate them and prepare them to take our places in the future life of the theatre when you and I will be no more."Stanislavski is our grandfather," I tell the actors -- the apprentice actors at the Odin, the actors at Bellevue Community College. "You must know your grandfather."
This is why I go to such lengths in discussing the general principles of actors' and directors' work.
At this point it is much more important for me to prepare the new young group who will eventually replace us older people than to put on another play. I want to pass on my knowledge, my achievements, and my power to the youngest group in our theatre."
-- Konstantin Sergeivich Stanislavski
Kai Bredholdt, at the Odin Teatret, has a nomadic actor's scantness of possessions. Taped to the glass of his bureau are the only photos in his small dressing room -- four black-and-white photos of Stanislavski.
Stanislavski's way of speaking is comfortingly familiar. My theatre master, Leonid Anisimov, speaks the same way. Even, sometimes, so do I.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
It's all the same everywhere
Kris and I, a couple years ago, were having a discussion of such rapid layered epiphany that we pulled into a strange Microsoft building to get a room with a whiteboard. The realizations built and built, growing and tumbling, until finally, wide-eyed, she blurted, "Oh my gosh -- it's all connected."
That has stayed with me as a moment, and definition, of enlightenment.
It really is all connected.
My epiphany for today is -- "It's all the same everywhere."
I subscribe to a newsletter for international living. It typically lists places to live all over the world. Today's issue featured a report on how to fund yourself, since naturally, most countries prefer that you have an income.
After more than a year of fantasizing about living in Poland, Wales, Denmark, Russia -- each a "there" which seems more spiritual, windy, and truthful than "here" -- it occurs to me that they are all exactly the same. I will need to earn money there or here. I will walk among the flowering trees, and drink tea. I will seek out exponential friendships, fierce-joy-truth conversations that realign my bones. I will create performances and revel in the mystery. I will talk with my family.
If I can solve it here, I can solve it there. I can solve it anywhere. (I sound like the Cat In The Hat.) More precisely, I can solve it here FOR there -- for anywhere.
The problem with epiphanies is that they sound like stuff everyone has already known for a long time.
That has stayed with me as a moment, and definition, of enlightenment.
It really is all connected.
My epiphany for today is -- "It's all the same everywhere."
I subscribe to a newsletter for international living. It typically lists places to live all over the world. Today's issue featured a report on how to fund yourself, since naturally, most countries prefer that you have an income.
After more than a year of fantasizing about living in Poland, Wales, Denmark, Russia -- each a "there" which seems more spiritual, windy, and truthful than "here" -- it occurs to me that they are all exactly the same. I will need to earn money there or here. I will walk among the flowering trees, and drink tea. I will seek out exponential friendships, fierce-joy-truth conversations that realign my bones. I will create performances and revel in the mystery. I will talk with my family.
If I can solve it here, I can solve it there. I can solve it anywhere. (I sound like the Cat In The Hat.) More precisely, I can solve it here FOR there -- for anywhere.
The problem with epiphanies is that they sound like stuff everyone has already known for a long time.
a fractal truth solves
everything at once, placing
one point correctly
the chinese symbol
for buddha looks like a thin
man and a fat one
We alone are re-
sponsible for our lives, says
Heart of the Buddha
a particle and
a wave are myths to explain
complexity's dance
In Tibet, scholar
and practitioner were
equally respected
My mother wants to
buy a ring I once gave to
her, that she gave back
It is not a ring
but a tanzanite myth -- a
particular wave
Emerald moment
Standing outside in the rain yesterday, listening to the roar of the pre-show party, feeling strong in my thighs and stomach, I suddenly had a moment --
Our northern skies look like Tibet's. Washed with rain, charcoal-limned, piles of thundergrey and brilliance, purple against yellow-green, sun glinting off raindrops. Rainbow skies.
I keep thinking my tickle-box has broken. Or perhaps my terror-box.
"Wealth is an income stream," says The Weekend Millionarie's Secrets to Investing in Real Estate, "Not possessions."
I feel like someone who has laid in bed for a year, and keeps discovering weird new superpowers and losses.
-- of feeling I was made entirely of emerald.I could feel what it was to be wholly myself.
Our northern skies look like Tibet's. Washed with rain, charcoal-limned, piles of thundergrey and brilliance, purple against yellow-green, sun glinting off raindrops. Rainbow skies.
one clear word explodesI am interviewing for program manager jobs at Microsoft, and I come away from each one seeing only from the manager's manager's perspective. I have grown two sizes.
all contradictions -- "diamond"
and the world sunders
our mud puddles are
full of white petals from the
flowering trees, drowning
I keep thinking my tickle-box has broken. Or perhaps my terror-box.
One day, my father said, his twin older brothers held him down and tickled him until his tickle-box broke. It never worked again -- he was never, after that, ticklish. This story stayed with me all my life; a story of rape, and of choice; of magical costly escape.I need a crucible that can handle the fire I can summon.
"Wealth is an income stream," says The Weekend Millionarie's Secrets to Investing in Real Estate, "Not possessions."
I feel like someone who has laid in bed for a year, and keeps discovering weird new superpowers and losses.
Closed Noir tonight
We had a house of over 50 for the world-premiere of Keith & Lara Ballinger's Scenes from a Film Noir. A lovely night of theatre. We performed at the clubhouse of the Carlyle in Bellevue; a high-ceilinged venue with windows, trees, a beautiful bar, fireplace, plants, and furniture. We spent the day bringing in chairs, preparing the food, running & dress-rehearsing, and cleaning the "theatre." Very Russian.
I stood outside in the soft rain under the cedars for a half hour before the show. Partly to guide cars in, partly for coolness, solitude, and peace.
Turning, I asked Stanislavski and Chekhov to come help us. I held their rain hands and walked through the cold silver night toward the light, the roar, and the two alto saxophones playing Bach inventions in a pouring duet.
Last week, when our band of actors arrived to borrow a Microsoft conference room for rehearsal, we found two saxophonists had borrowed it first. It was a conference room which can't be reserved -- so it was one band of squatter artists against another. The sax players sounded fantastic. "We meet here every Wednesday to play," they said. "Hey, will you come be the pre-show for our play this weekend?" I asked. "Sure," they said. "Which play?" When they saw the program, they recognized Marina's name. "Hey," said one of the guys, "I know her. I'm GOING to that show."
So, out of total artist serendipity came a gorgeous classical & jazz pre-show that lifted the party to a roar before the first actor appeared.
I was pleased with the play and the actors. The play looked as classical as the Bach. The actors moved with precision and unconscious command. They spoke clearly, lifted the language & the logic, played their actions & objectives, connected with clarity, and moved with radiant physicality.
The audience followed it closely, laughed in many places, and stayed for an hour afterward to eat potluck and mingle. We served potato chips, salsa chips, bean & guacamole dip, cheddar & pepperjack cheeses, beef salami, cinnamon-raisin bread, crackers, hot meatballs, pepperoni & vegie pizza, purple grapes, apples, fresh strawberries, homemade brownies, cheesecake, champagne, water, orange pop, and root beer.
Stanislavski & Chekhov were helping us.
It wasn't until afterward that I realized we had transcended BCC entirely. There was nothing left to say this was -- or had begun as -- a once-a-week community college Continuing Education class. We had left the campus, the schedule, and all mention of the school. Even the actors just looked like a troupe of players. The audience tonight came to see a play... and got one.
A fitting first incarnation of "Acting In Performance."
I stood outside in the soft rain under the cedars for a half hour before the show. Partly to guide cars in, partly for coolness, solitude, and peace.
Turning, I asked Stanislavski and Chekhov to come help us. I held their rain hands and walked through the cold silver night toward the light, the roar, and the two alto saxophones playing Bach inventions in a pouring duet.
Last week, when our band of actors arrived to borrow a Microsoft conference room for rehearsal, we found two saxophonists had borrowed it first. It was a conference room which can't be reserved -- so it was one band of squatter artists against another. The sax players sounded fantastic. "We meet here every Wednesday to play," they said. "Hey, will you come be the pre-show for our play this weekend?" I asked. "Sure," they said. "Which play?" When they saw the program, they recognized Marina's name. "Hey," said one of the guys, "I know her. I'm GOING to that show."
So, out of total artist serendipity came a gorgeous classical & jazz pre-show that lifted the party to a roar before the first actor appeared.
I was pleased with the play and the actors. The play looked as classical as the Bach. The actors moved with precision and unconscious command. They spoke clearly, lifted the language & the logic, played their actions & objectives, connected with clarity, and moved with radiant physicality.
The audience followed it closely, laughed in many places, and stayed for an hour afterward to eat potluck and mingle. We served potato chips, salsa chips, bean & guacamole dip, cheddar & pepperjack cheeses, beef salami, cinnamon-raisin bread, crackers, hot meatballs, pepperoni & vegie pizza, purple grapes, apples, fresh strawberries, homemade brownies, cheesecake, champagne, water, orange pop, and root beer.
Stanislavski & Chekhov were helping us.
It wasn't until afterward that I realized we had transcended BCC entirely. There was nothing left to say this was -- or had begun as -- a once-a-week community college Continuing Education class. We had left the campus, the schedule, and all mention of the school. Even the actors just looked like a troupe of players. The audience tonight came to see a play... and got one.
A fitting first incarnation of "Acting In Performance."
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Adrift in the Styx
I have been down for the count. Except for Noir rehearsals, I have slept day & night. I haven't eaten since Sunday.
It didn't feel so much like being sick, as just... shut down.
It's nice to feel finally, today, like myself. Green, tender, new.
It didn't feel so much like being sick, as just... shut down.
It's nice to feel finally, today, like myself. Green, tender, new.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
We closed
Big house for our final show -- sold out, plus seats in the aisles. Tons of friends and family, and the actors sparkled. Our best show, for our biggest house.
Now -- off to strike the theatre.
The instant the show was over -- I was in the booth, flying the second-to-last lighting cue -- my body shut down. I had been holding so much determination and tension for so long, that the instant it was over, I had a fever, chills, sweats, and a racking cough. My skin hurt to touch anything all night last night, I was so feverish. I felt like a golem, disanimated -- returned to clay and sticks, falling apart.
I have deeper thoughts on this. I think it was because, for the first time in my life, I wasn't making a spiritual piece of theatre. It was like pushing a truck across America. No redemption, just day after day of hard work.
More thoughts on this to come.
Anyway, I'm glad we're striking today. My skin still hurts.
Now -- off to strike the theatre.
The instant the show was over -- I was in the booth, flying the second-to-last lighting cue -- my body shut down. I had been holding so much determination and tension for so long, that the instant it was over, I had a fever, chills, sweats, and a racking cough. My skin hurt to touch anything all night last night, I was so feverish. I felt like a golem, disanimated -- returned to clay and sticks, falling apart.
I have deeper thoughts on this. I think it was because, for the first time in my life, I wasn't making a spiritual piece of theatre. It was like pushing a truck across America. No redemption, just day after day of hard work.
More thoughts on this to come.
Anyway, I'm glad we're striking today. My skin still hurts.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Gremlins
I have two friends flying in to see the play. Kris flies in from California tomorrow night, and Ed from Virginia on Saturday. Scott is also hoping to make it, although his broken leg may make it difficult.
Tonight was a gremlins night. I forgot the keys to the theatre -- which, at rush hour, meant they were an hour and a half away. We got replacement keys at the last minute, but had to hold house 10 minutes and were off our pregame routine. The prop cabinet had been broken into, everything rifled through, and the toy gun stolen. With no key to lock the dressing room, Lois, the Assistant Director, had to stay down there all show. And the water sound came out of the back speakers, instead of the front ones.
Nonetheless -- big house, decent show. The actors had had three days off, yet the show was intact.
It's a mystery, as the fellow says.
Tonight was a gremlins night. I forgot the keys to the theatre -- which, at rush hour, meant they were an hour and a half away. We got replacement keys at the last minute, but had to hold house 10 minutes and were off our pregame routine. The prop cabinet had been broken into, everything rifled through, and the toy gun stolen. With no key to lock the dressing room, Lois, the Assistant Director, had to stay down there all show. And the water sound came out of the back speakers, instead of the front ones.
Nonetheless -- big house, decent show. The actors had had three days off, yet the show was intact.
It's a mystery, as the fellow says.
Closing weekend, kalachakra show
Tonight we head into closing weekend. With a two-weekend show, that's all you get -- Opening, then Closing.
Closing weekend is fun, because the houses swell as everyone tries to catch the show before it closes. And you get the ripple-wave of friends of folks who came the first weekend.
Ben, our set designer, is back and will see the show for the first time tonight. The cast is rested, after a 3-day break. Keith reinforced the set, so door-slamming can proceed with abandon.
Off to the theatre.
Closing weekend is fun, because the houses swell as everyone tries to catch the show before it closes. And you get the ripple-wave of friends of folks who came the first weekend.
Ben, our set designer, is back and will see the show for the first time tonight. The cast is rested, after a 3-day break. Keith reinforced the set, so door-slamming can proceed with abandon.
Off to the theatre.
kalachakra show
spun from light, swept to dust, poured
in the river -- blessed
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Matinees in the light of day
We had our first matinee yesterday. We faded lights to black and... it wasn't black at all. Daylight streamed cheerfully through windows along the whole right side of the wall, out from under the heavy black stage curtains.
It cut the show's energy in half. You could never really enter the spell... or, worse, in Seattle, forget that it was one of those rare beautiful days outside. Instead you kept subliminally wondering why you were sitting in this small dark theatre, instead of out in that sun.
We have an incredible fountain, in the middle of Seattle Center. It's a huge sunken globe, at the bottom of a smooth-sided amphitheatre bowl. Water-jets shoot from all over the fountain, making patterns, or shooting hundreds of feet in the air. Music plays. Some of the fountain patterns are choreographed to the songs. It's a central point for families, with children screaming in the spray, and parents resting on wide cement ledges around the top. The fountain is encircled by green lawns, rimmed by the cultural buildings -- the theatres, the ballet, the opera, the sports arena. On sunny days, from the theatre you can hear the children squealing.
Seattle Center fountain
It is an axiom in Seattle to never mount a play in August. August is our one guaranteed month of sun, and people stay away from the theatre in droves.
Ben, our set-designer, says aluminum foil is the solution. "It's what day-sleepers use," he said. "People who work at night and need to sleep during the day." I think we'll be foiling our windows today.
It cut the show's energy in half. You could never really enter the spell... or, worse, in Seattle, forget that it was one of those rare beautiful days outside. Instead you kept subliminally wondering why you were sitting in this small dark theatre, instead of out in that sun.
We have an incredible fountain, in the middle of Seattle Center. It's a huge sunken globe, at the bottom of a smooth-sided amphitheatre bowl. Water-jets shoot from all over the fountain, making patterns, or shooting hundreds of feet in the air. Music plays. Some of the fountain patterns are choreographed to the songs. It's a central point for families, with children screaming in the spray, and parents resting on wide cement ledges around the top. The fountain is encircled by green lawns, rimmed by the cultural buildings -- the theatres, the ballet, the opera, the sports arena. On sunny days, from the theatre you can hear the children squealing.
Seattle Center fountain
It is an axiom in Seattle to never mount a play in August. August is our one guaranteed month of sun, and people stay away from the theatre in droves.
Ben, our set-designer, says aluminum foil is the solution. "It's what day-sleepers use," he said. "People who work at night and need to sleep during the day." I think we'll be foiling our windows today.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Come see the show! (directions, ticket info)
Go to ticketwindowonline.com, or call 206-325-6500 noon-6pm Tues-Sat. $12.25 online/phone, $10 at the door, $8 seniors/students.
Or visit a TicketWindow office in person and save $2.25 service fee. Or, just show up. Most of our audience is walk-ins. We are in the Centerhouse, in Seattle Center -- the 4-storey cement building with the food court. Take the elevators behind the food court (not the purple one in the middle) to the 4th floor and follow the signs (left all the way, then left down skinny hall). $10 at the door, we'd love to have you. Bring friends, we're not sold out.
Eastsiders, weekends are good to avoid bridge traffic.
SHOW TIMES
Saturday 3/5 (today) 2:00 & 7:30pm
Sunday 3/6 2:00 & 7:30pm
Thur 3/10 7:30pm
Fri 3/11 7:30pm
Sat 3/12 2:00pm & 7:30pm
DIRECTIONS
I-5 south from 520, or north from I-90
EXIT at Mercer
stay in right lane
RIGHT at bottom of ramp = Fairview
get in 2nd to left lane as you make the turn
(actually, any lane except the right one is okay,
but the 2nd to right becomes an exit-only pretty soon,
so avoid it also if you can)
LEFT at light at T in 50 yards = no sign = Broad St.
get in 2nd to right lane
(right will soon peel off as an exit only)
RIGHT at light at 5th
pass EMP, the big curvy purple and silver building
you'll see paylots on your right, and on your left
you'll want the one on your right
RIGHT at next light, into paylot on your right
it's cheaper, only $5
plus there's a person, not finicky machines
bring cash
TO THE CENTERHOUSE
CROSS 5th, heading west (toward other paylot)
GO THRU other paylot
tall skinny yellow/brown sticks & EMP are on your left
WALK TO far left (southwest) corner of lot
MERGE onto sidewalk, still heading west (straight)
PASS carnival on left
NEXT BLDG on left = Centerhouse
WALK a bit further until Centerhouse is on your left
ENTER using the north steps (two art-deco eagles over the door)
RIGHT at lobby with big stone
ELEVATOR IMMEDIATELY on your left; small, ancient, slow
UP to 4th FLOOR
LEFT to end of hall
LEFT just before the glass doors, into long skinny hall
THRU fire-door, keep going
RIGHT into theatre = Theatre 4 = Studio H
See you there.
Or visit a TicketWindow office in person and save $2.25 service fee. Or, just show up. Most of our audience is walk-ins. We are in the Centerhouse, in Seattle Center -- the 4-storey cement building with the food court. Take the elevators behind the food court (not the purple one in the middle) to the 4th floor and follow the signs (left all the way, then left down skinny hall). $10 at the door, we'd love to have you. Bring friends, we're not sold out.
Eastsiders, weekends are good to avoid bridge traffic.
SHOW TIMES
Saturday 3/5 (today) 2:00 & 7:30pm
Sunday 3/6 2:00 & 7:30pm
Thur 3/10 7:30pm
Fri 3/11 7:30pm
Sat 3/12 2:00pm & 7:30pm
DIRECTIONS
I-5 south from 520, or north from I-90
EXIT at Mercer
stay in right lane
RIGHT at bottom of ramp = Fairview
get in 2nd to left lane as you make the turn
(actually, any lane except the right one is okay,
but the 2nd to right becomes an exit-only pretty soon,
so avoid it also if you can)
LEFT at light at T in 50 yards = no sign = Broad St.
get in 2nd to right lane
(right will soon peel off as an exit only)
RIGHT at light at 5th
pass EMP, the big curvy purple and silver building
you'll see paylots on your right, and on your left
you'll want the one on your right
RIGHT at next light, into paylot on your right
it's cheaper, only $5
plus there's a person, not finicky machines
bring cash
TO THE CENTERHOUSE
CROSS 5th, heading west (toward other paylot)
GO THRU other paylot
tall skinny yellow/brown sticks & EMP are on your left
WALK TO far left (southwest) corner of lot
MERGE onto sidewalk, still heading west (straight)
PASS carnival on left
NEXT BLDG on left = Centerhouse
WALK a bit further until Centerhouse is on your left
ENTER using the north steps (two art-deco eagles over the door)
RIGHT at lobby with big stone
ELEVATOR IMMEDIATELY on your left; small, ancient, slow
UP to 4th FLOOR
LEFT to end of hall
LEFT just before the glass doors, into long skinny hall
THRU fire-door, keep going
RIGHT into theatre = Theatre 4 = Studio H
See you there.
We opened, lighting
Our show opened. Golden Time paid off -- by the night we opened, we had a show, which has been settling, growing, and finding its groove ever since.
I'm running lights. We have a two-scene-preset mixer board, which means it's manual. No memory, no presets, just live flying faders. It takes me back to college-audio days, at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music.
There are two banks of 24 faders, one above the other. You move the top 24 faders into position, then, while that scene is running, you set the 24 faders on the bottom row. When it's time to change lighting, you slide a lever, and it dissolves from one scene to the next.
This only becomes a problem if one scene is very short. Our play's structure is: scene, revolving door, scene, revolving door, etc. Which means that, you start the doors, then race like mad for three seconds to set all 24 faders for the next scene... and fade in.
After watching me run the board two days before we opened, Sasha, our laconic, experienced, high-school-senior, track-captain, sound-board operator showed up with a high-school-junior guy.
"This is Lighting Jeff," she said succinctly.
Lighting Jeff was a godsend. He stayed for dress rehearsal and opening night. I flew the door lighting, he flew all the other faders. He also helped define the looks for the different time periods -- Yellow for 2025, Blue for 2005, and Red for 1985. When Gwen, the light designer, came back to refocus a few lights, Jeff scampered up the ladder and added the red fresnel to give us the third time period.
On opening night, he brought light-board sheets he had made of our light board, and recorded the settings for each scene.
As I stood there, flanked by small, silent, unsmiling, elegantly-black-clad Sasha running sound on my left, and small, friendly, wiggly black-clad Jeff flying the scene lights on my right, I sent a huge prayerful "thanks" upward to god. And to Gwen, Jen, Sasha, Jeff.
Come see the show. Tickets are available online at ticketwindowonline.com, or call 206-325-6500 noon-6pm Tues-Sat. Or just show up -- we are not sold out, and would love to have you. More info in next post, or at nextsteptheater.com.
I'm running lights. We have a two-scene-preset mixer board, which means it's manual. No memory, no presets, just live flying faders. It takes me back to college-audio days, at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music.
There are two banks of 24 faders, one above the other. You move the top 24 faders into position, then, while that scene is running, you set the 24 faders on the bottom row. When it's time to change lighting, you slide a lever, and it dissolves from one scene to the next.
This only becomes a problem if one scene is very short. Our play's structure is: scene, revolving door, scene, revolving door, etc. Which means that, you start the doors, then race like mad for three seconds to set all 24 faders for the next scene... and fade in.
After watching me run the board two days before we opened, Sasha, our laconic, experienced, high-school-senior, track-captain, sound-board operator showed up with a high-school-junior guy.
"This is Lighting Jeff," she said succinctly.
Lighting Jeff was a godsend. He stayed for dress rehearsal and opening night. I flew the door lighting, he flew all the other faders. He also helped define the looks for the different time periods -- Yellow for 2025, Blue for 2005, and Red for 1985. When Gwen, the light designer, came back to refocus a few lights, Jeff scampered up the ladder and added the red fresnel to give us the third time period.
On opening night, he brought light-board sheets he had made of our light board, and recorded the settings for each scene.
As I stood there, flanked by small, silent, unsmiling, elegantly-black-clad Sasha running sound on my left, and small, friendly, wiggly black-clad Jeff flying the scene lights on my right, I sent a huge prayerful "thanks" upward to god. And to Gwen, Jen, Sasha, Jeff.
Come see the show. Tickets are available online at ticketwindowonline.com, or call 206-325-6500 noon-6pm Tues-Sat. Or just show up -- we are not sold out, and would love to have you. More info in next post, or at nextsteptheater.com.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Locking up the mixing board
We have the theatre rented for 3 weeks. Friday night, we left our tools, paint, and props out, and locked the theatre. Saturday, for the first time we bought locks, stayed late and locked up all the props in the props cabinet, and all the tools in their storage unit. I left at 3:00am, after cleaning the theatre and locking up the tools, lumber, and paint.
Between 3:00am Sun morning, and 9:00am Monday when I returned -- so basically, sometime Sunday -- Seattle Center was robbed. They took $20,000 worth of equipment from the Center School, jimmied our theatre door's lock, and stole the small mixer board from the booth. Fortunately, that was the board that handles the house lights. They left the big one, which actually handles all the regular lights.
So now I am in the eerily warlike situation of locking up not only costumes, props, and tools at night, but also the mixer board.
Last night we did the last spacing & choreo rehearsal on set. This afternoon is cue-to-cue, tonight is run.
Between 3:00am Sun morning, and 9:00am Monday when I returned -- so basically, sometime Sunday -- Seattle Center was robbed. They took $20,000 worth of equipment from the Center School, jimmied our theatre door's lock, and stole the small mixer board from the booth. Fortunately, that was the board that handles the house lights. They left the big one, which actually handles all the regular lights.
So now I am in the eerily warlike situation of locking up not only costumes, props, and tools at night, but also the mixer board.
Last night we did the last spacing & choreo rehearsal on set. This afternoon is cue-to-cue, tonight is run.
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