The End

 So, I chickened out.

I’m currently writing from 10,000 feet on a Baltimore-bound Southwest Airlines flight, the first of two I’ll be on today as I make my way back to New York City.  The rest of the company is cruising out of Ohio (no doubt at supersonic speeds), on their way back to the good old 108^th St Garage.

Our final performance was great: a nice group of Chicago kids who were happy to see the show gave us the strength to put our sleepiness behind us and put out a solid performance.  I try not to put too much importance on “closing shows;” I just did what I could in order to enjoy my final chance to play with the wonderful cast I’ve had the chance to work with.  Afterwards, there were high fives and congratulations.  We loaded out and drove nearly six hours to Ohio, our first leg of the long drive home. 

This morning, we awoke to find that the van wouldn’t start.  Our starter battery had been having trouble already (I forgot to mention the jump we got in Ann Arbor after our first show there), but today’s rough start felt like a blow. Still tired from the overnight drive from Ann Arbor to Chicagoland, and with my body clock refusing to adjust to normal time once again, my exhaustion level had reached its max.  David got the car towed, charged it in a big rig and, by 11:00am, we were on the road once again.  As we tumbled into the van, my heart flew up into my throat.  With almost five tours under my belt, I am more than accustomed to long hauls, but this felt different.  Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe the cold or maybe the stress from earlier in the morning had gotten to be too much. Whatever it was, my body jumped into a full-blown panic attack, and refused to calm down, despite all attempts to coax it into a relaxed state for nearly a half hour.  I knew that 10 hours of me shaking, squirming, twitching and on the brink of tears was not going to be good for any of us, so I asked David and the cast to drop me at the airport.  I hurried to the Southwest counter, got a price I could deal with, threw down my credit card and headed through security.

This is not the way I wanted to end this tour.  The triumphant return to the garage is something I always look forward to, with the big goodbye and the hugs and the genuine celebration of a tour that, no matter what, has given us memories we will never forget.  It truly pains me that I won’t be there to see the end of what has been an amazing adventure, with a group of people who, even in our darkest moments, I love like a family.  I already miss Courtney’s quirky humor, David’s ready smile, Nic’s wit, Matt’s Jersey pride and Kristen’s many voices, and the idea that I’ll wake up tomorrow in my own bed, without David’s daily “good morning” or a continental breakfast waiting for me in the lobby (always of varying quality, but still) seems incredibly foreign.  Touring is its own world, with its glories and its challenges, and dropping back into New York City is always a major change.

Theatreworks has been incredibly good to me: I’ve made my living over the last three years almost exclusively on Theatreworks contract and, thanks to their contributions to Equity’s insurance plan, I have health coverage until the middle of 2012.  And I also credit them with a lot of my growth as an actor and a person.  Many of my dearest friends in New York are fellow Theatreworks alumni, and most of my professional contacts have been netted from hours spent rehearsing in Chelsea Studios.  And, living in a van, traveling every day and negotiating life with an unchanging group of six or seven people has also offered me a chance to develop the confidence, diplomacy and self-sufficiency needed to be a fully functioning “adult.”  I guess it could be said that I’ve “grown up on the road,” and I’m beyond proud to call myself an alumnus.

All that said, it’s time for a little break.  I am regularly amused that I call myself a New Yorker, yet, in the last year, I have spent a total of 9 weeks actually living and working in New York City.  I have people that need to be seen, an apartment that needs cleaned (badly) and new, exciting opportunities that are out there, waiting for me to seize.  And, while I’m looking forward to seeing friends, hitting audition season hard (watch out for “Ethan 2.0”) and finally giving myself the time to enjoy New York City, a small part of me will still miss the daily adventure of donning the furry green monster suit, diving onto that stage, and belting my heart out onstage with a group of talented actors for the children of America.  We made some magic out there on the road, and that is something I will always remember.

The Drive

Ask any of the Fancy Ducks about "The Drive," and we'll know what you're talking about.  And we'll probably start either laughing hysterically, or sobbing.

Leaving the Michigan Theater in Ann Arbor, we knew it was going to be tight.  Google listed the drive to Matteson, IL at about four and a half hours, so, with appropriate breaks, we were looking at getting in pretty late by Theatreworks standards: around 9 or 10.  Not impossible by any means, but it was cutting into our 12-hour rest period, which meant a nice little extra in our future paychecks.  However, a major snowstorm had just dumped almost two feet of snow in Minnesota and Wisconsin (collapsing the Metrodome in Minneapolis and shutting down school for the first time since I was in 6th grade), and it didn't seem to be letting up.  David checked weather reports and, while the snow seemed to be letting up (Ann Arbor was just a little overcast), the wind and cold were not.  We crammed into the van, bounced back onto I-94 W, and hoped for the best.

About two hours into the drive, immediately after we took a bathroom break, traffic ground to a halt.  David surfed radio channels for information while those of us with smartphones Googled around for anything we could find.  Nothing.  No information anywhere about what lay ahead.  And, outside, it looked like this:

(photo credit: Kristen)

After over an hour at a standstill, David called Theatreworks.  Since our venue the next day was a show sponsored by them, we wanted to find out if the show was indeed going forward.  You see, with conditions deteriorating, the road closed (apparently) and no information on when things would recover, it seemed like we were in for quite a haul.  Getting in touch with Teresa, our Company Manager, we learned that things were looking good for the show, so it was best to press on.  Whenever the conditions would allow.

After two hours stuck in traffic, the road opened, we zoomed forward (smelling gasoline residue while trying not to think about how it got there) and, realizing that it was now past 8pm on a Sunday, decided it was worth getting our dinner now.  The exit we tried promised a Panera, a favorite among most Theatreworks folks I've met.  We giddily headed there to fill up on food and caffeine.

But the evening had other plans.  The Panera closed at 8:00.  It was 8:07.

We searched and searched for something that would be open, settling for a Subway, KFC, Walgreens run.  Then it was back in the van, and off into the fray.

Winter driving is an acquired skill, and luckily we've got a few experienced drivers among us.  David started us off with stalled traffic and winter conditions that kept us below 40 mph on the freeway.  I took over afterwards and battled glare ice and huge wind gusts as we headed towards Benton Harbor, MI, the site of previous misadventure.  I threw on some loud dance music and, as the clock ticked towards midnight, Courtney turned into my personal life coach, offering me encouragement and support as I navigated the slippery, windy highways.  Suddenly, it was midnight, and break time, and Benton Harbor's Wal-mart seemed to be our best option.  I mean, Wal-mart's are open 24 hours, have clean bathrooms and caffeinated beverages.  I slowly pulled us off the freeway and headed towards the parking lot.  We grabbed our hats, dove head first into the wind, making a break for the Wal-mart doors.

They were all locked.

A nearby Meijer provided some relief, but the prior two hours were all my nerves could handle, so Kristen took over.  The ice and snow was gone, but the winds had picked up, limiting visibility as strong gusts blew powdery snow into our path.  Kristen is an incredibly good driver under pressure, and we were all getting a little giddy from the mounting lack of sleep, so we began a round of Mad Libs and guessing games to keep everyone occupied.  By this time, we had been traveling for over eight hours.

Matt finished our epic drive, carefully navigating us the rest of the way to Matteson.  When we arrived, it was 3:50am local time (remember, there's a time change in there), which meant we had been traveling for over 12 hours.  With a call at 7:45am, there was just enough time to check into the hotel and grab two or three hours of sleep. The children still needed their show.

I have never done a performance on three hours of sleep before.  It is almost an out-of-body experience.  Your brain hits a point where, if you engage it too much, it will try to trip you up, so all you can do is sit back and watch your body carry you through the show.  All the right words, moves and music came out (and the sound cues were in the right places), but I'm not sure any of us were aware how this feat was accomplished.  It was interesting for me, however, that, even in this state of extreme exhaustion, the show's intrinsic fun and energy still seemed to take hold of me.  It just seemed very, very far away.

As we grasped hands for curtain call (Kristen gave me an extra "We did it!" squeeze), something strange happened.  The audience -- all 125 strong -- jumped to their feat, cheering and whistling. With my head still spinning, it took me a few minutes to realize what was going on.  Our audience had just given us a standing ovation; the first of our entire, three month tour.  In my state of exhaustion-induced euphoria, it was hard to fully accept the full import of the moment but, looking back, it seems all to fitting.  Without any knowledge of their actions, this audience gave us the will to make it through what was easily the most difficult performance I have ever been called upon to complete.  But complete it we did.  Apparently, with style.

Call tomorrow: 7:45am, Super 8, River Grove, IL.  It's time to close this show.

Kid Quote of the Day: At one point in "Pirates Don't Change Diapers," my pirate faints dead away.  As I crashed down behind the flat, a little boy winced: "Ouchie.  He got a boo-boo."

Adult Quote of the Day: At around 2am, somewhere in Indiana, Courtney turned to me.  "Ethan," she said, "this is going to make a really good blog entry."

Michigan Rivals, part 2: Maize and Blue, and Bed Bugs

So, before I launch into Ann Arbor proper, it's worth a mention that we left our mark at the McComb Community College, with their incredible ceiling tile signature collection:

Ann Arbor was like the Holy Grail, for our company, at least.  Within the first few days of rehearsal, a few of us who had been Googling our intended route started seeing Ann Arbor listed twice.  Not only was the prospect of a sit-down-ish situation extremely appealing, but both Jonathan and David were both excited to return to their alma mater, and to show us around.  “We’re gonna show you a good time in Ann Arbor,” Jonathan winked at us early on.

We hustled into our hotel, excited for what this college town would hold for us.  The place looked great, had dinner provided four days a week in the lobby, and was near a Whole Foods, which earned it major points from Kristen and Courtney.  We all went to our room, flipped open our computers, and discovered that, oops, the hotel had somehow lost its Internet.  A call down to the front desk revealed that the ‘net was to be down for nine days.  Strike one.  At least there was free food.

We found ourselves with two days off before our “two-shows-in-three-days” schedule, and we took full advantage of them.  A few of us even trekked to nearby Jackson to see the cast of Theatreworks/USA’s A Christmas Carol in action, and get a taste of the Theatreworks experience from the other side of the proscenium.  Ann Arbor is a classic college down, with wonderful little shops, great restaurants, incredible coffee houses and more bookstores than you can visit in two days.  David, who disappeared for most of our days off, visiting friends and catching the record-breaking Michigan/MSU hockey game on Saturday, gave us a list of great places to eat and hang out, but we mostly found a food spot and planted.  I strolled over and explored the famous Zingerman’s deli (where I had an amazing pastrami sandwich, so large that I had to eat it over two days), found a table at Espresso Royale and blogged my heart out (you may have noticed the rapid posting), browsed more bookstores than I can remember, worked on some material in preparation for my return to New York (there is life after Theatreworks) and generally laid low.

The next day, I woke up covered in strange, itchy bites.  As a New York City resident, I have met the scourge of bedbugs more than once, but I was unwilling to believe that this charming college town would harbor the parasites that have driven me crazy on a few occasions.  David watched as I tore apart my bed.  Finding no spots or other signs, I figured I was safe.  Must have been a bad reaction at the detergent.

We loaded our set into the Michigan Theater (where David worked as an IATSE member after college), with the help of one of the most eager and helpful crew’s we’ve had.  Our school day performance went well, and then our crew helped us strike the set into the far reaches of the theatre; it appeared that the orchestra had a performance that night, and didn’t want storybooks as their backup.  I understood.

That night, back at the hotel and still itchy, I pulled the headboard off of the wall to discover that my suspicions were right.  There were indeed bedbugs in room, a collection of about 10.  The front desk quickly moved me to a bug-free room and off I went to the Laundromat to dry every article of clothing with me on tour.  Sadly, experience with these buggers has taught me to be extra vigilant, particularly when you’re on the move.

The next morning, after David and I had a hearty breakfast at a local diner, the crew assembled to speak to the hotel about our predicament.  They kindly offered to comp us some rooms in exchange for our pains, at which point Matt piped up.  “Um, wait, are these bedbug bites?” he asked, pointing to raised bumps on his hand that he had been vigorously scratching.  A quick check of his headboard revealed another colony, and the gents were moving rooms as fast as they could.  For insects so tiny, they really are a nuisance.

Up and at ‘em for our last public performance of the tour, we arrived at the Michigan Theater to discover that the crew had already put the vast majority of our set up!  David had allowed us some extra time to finish this process, so we took a leisurely hour to prepare, listened to the live organ player pump out everything from “White Christmas” to the Star Wars theme, readied ourselves and ran the show once again, to a nearly-full, thoroughly excited audience.

Now, I’m finishing this blog entry before a 4:30pm van call outside the theater, as we head back to Chicagoland once again.  Two more shows, and then we head home.  It’s truly hard to believe.

Call tomorrow: 7:45am, La Quinta, Matteson, IL.

Kid Quote of the Day: During Leonardo today, when I blew raspberries at the kids to try and scare them, some little tyke blew them back at me.

Adult Quote of the Day: After the report of bedbugs, our hotel manager casually kvetched, “Damn New Yorkers, bringing bedbugs to my hotel!”  He then got very quiet once he noticed the addresses on our accounts.

Michigan Rivals, part 1: Spartans and Sit-downs

Michigan was our treat.  After all of our back-and-forth traveling, we were finally staying in one state for a while!  First, we had a sit down in East Lansing of four days (three had shows) at the enormous Wharton Center for the Arts on the campus of Michigan State University.  David, our resident college football fan and proud graduate of the University of Michigan (whose fans refer to MSU as their "little brother") insisted on wearing his Maize and Blue to load-in.  However, even with rivals showing their true colors this early on, we were all thankful for the Spartan hospitality, as our crew raced our set inside from the freezing cold and onto the stage with gusto.

The Wharton Center provided us with a few interesting challenges.  The big one?  A huge thrust stage.  Now, we'd performed on a "mini-thrust" (more of an extended apron) before at a school in West Virginia.  And our experience there certainly helped.   However, it takes a lot of mental readjustment when you set up the set and your stage looks like this:

Lots of real estate to play.  And so, with some general tape marks and a few "don't go past here" pointers from the crew, we prepared for our first of six shows.

A change like this puts everybody's brain into overdrive.  Not only do you become hyper-aware of sight lines and spacing, you also realize that you have much more space to cover than usual, and that the typical cardiovascular workout that the show can be has been thrown into overdrive.  And, because of all this, the show took on a nice new life.  It was fresh and fun, if a little disorienting, and the kids gobbled it up, which is often just as satisfying for us.

Post-shows, we shifted our set around so it would fit behind the main curtain.  Why?  Our sponsors, the Michigan State University Federal Credit Union Institute for Arts and Creativity (say that three times fast!), was also producing a staged-reading of Nickle and Dimed in the evening, which Matt, Courtney and I caught.

Having a semi-Michigan native in David, we managed to get ourselves invited to a production of Greater Tuna at the local Williamston Theater.  David is good friends with the artistic director and one of the leading players, so we spent a night at the theater (!) laughing at some outstanding performance.  I am always happy to be reminded of the incredible quality of theater that exists outside of the "meccas" of New York and Chicago, and this proved to be no exception.  Afterward, the two actors came out to say hello, and we briefly traded backstage tales and a few Equity jokes.  Wayne David Parker, whose other credits include Escanaba in da Moonlight and more plays and movies than I can count, wisely reminded us how great it is to be working.  Sage advice, coming for someone at the top of his game who has clearly seen a lot.

The next day brought two more shows and, for the first time on this tour, a chance to show up, perform and leave, all without building or breaking down the set.  Besides being more rested than any of us have ever been for a 9:45am show, it was a nice glimpse of the more-typical theater experience for actors, one I haven't seen too much of since graduating from college.  The one-off nature of Theatreworks shows often means that "normalcy" is found solely in the routines of putting up the set and doing the physical actions of the show.  Now, with a single hotel and a consistent space, we had the mental room to play.  And, with shows done by 2pm and no need to travel, we also got to ground ourselves a little in the Lansing and East Lansing area: Courtney found solace in the all-weather farmer's market across the street from our hotel; David visited friend and old haunts; Matt explored the "campus downtown" area; and Nic and Kristen convinced me to take a kickboxing class with them at a nearby gym.  My abs have yet to recover.

A day off followed (where Matt saw a movie, I got a haircut and everybody slept; it is getting to be that time of the tour where a "day off" means a day OFF) and then we were back for Sunday afternoon public shows, a lightening fast load-out and we were off to the Detroit suburbs, headed to the shrine of Maize and Blue.  Tour keeps chugging along.

Call tomorrow: 8am, Red Roof Inn, Southfield, MI.

Kid Quote of the Day: At the end of the show, we point out and the audience and encourage the kids to "turn a page."  Kristen, as Babymouse, pointed to a boy and girl on her side of the audience.  They seemed a little confused about which one was receiving attention, so Kristen made a point of waving to both as she left.  As she was exiting, she heard the little girl taunt, "Babymouse LIKES you!!"

Adult Quote of the Day: I thanked our TD as we were leaving for all his help (they were a great crew!) and he told me to "try not to have too much fun in that town with those people we don't like," as he glanced over at David, dressed from head to toe in University of Michigan gear.

Sometimes, Life is Hard

I've met a ton of wonderful people while on tour, and many of them seem to be slightly charmed when I explain what I do. "Oh," they say in their delightful Midwestern accents, "you do a musical for children? That's so nice. It must be so much fun!" And, while I hope this blog usually reflects the fun and adventure that comes with touring, there are days when you wake up, roll out of bed, meet your company members in the hotel lobby, look at each other and say, "Life is hard today."

There's not always a particular reason why a certain day is hard. Occasionally, you can peg it on an early call, or a string of days off that have taken your body out of the Theatreworks touring rhythm. But, usually, it comes about as part of some mysterious "group think," when the constant travel and energy required by the show catches up with everyone, all at once.

Admittedly, I love it when "life is hard." Sure, load-in feels like a haul and folks can be a little testy, but the fact that people are feeling a little off-kilter often brings a new and interesting energy to the show. Since, at the end of the day, this tour is "a job," we, as employees, run the risk of falling into the trap of feeling like it is "a job," where we perform a rather repetitive task day in and day out, comfortable in the routines and following our "track" (for you non-theater folk out there, that's the theater-speak term for "part," and somewhat fitting for today's post) blankly. And, when you're "not feeling it," the only way to reconnect with the material and bring that fresh, live performance we are expected to produce is to reengage with the show in a new way. And that often means you give one of your best performance.

Our performance at Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry is a good example. Loading in, and up, two floors on a freight elevator and down a ramp was a chilly and strenuous beginning to the day. Nobody really spoke to each other as we built the set, placed our costumes, checked the sound and began our pre-show routines. There were the obligatory “good shows” and “have fun out theres” while waiting in the wings, but I could feel from everyone (myself included) a sense that this was going to be a labored show. Music started, we headed out onstage and it began. And, slowly but surely, everyone started coming to life.

First, Nic’s “Good morning livestock!” at the top of “Duck for President” came with such gusto that it was hard not to latch onto his energy. Then, Courtney, as Chicken, started doing a full-out Macarena as we wheeled her offstage. Matt started hitting his key words in new, and fun, ways during his campaign speech and Kristen “raised the roof” like nobody’s business once Duck became president. The energy was infectious! The fun was back! We were all working our butts off to stay focused and keep the show fresh, but it was working. The show wasn’t easy – everyone was already drenched in sweat and panting – but it was there, and that’s what mattered.

After breaking down, we spent some time exploring the museum (I rode the coal mine experience, a “ride” I made my dad take me on three consecutive times when I was 6) and the headed back out into the cold to load out our set. Traffic out of Chicago was heavy as we headed to our still-sorta-under-construction Econolodge in Kalamazoo, MI. Everyone was still feeling the weight of the day, until Courtney (seated in her front-center seat) perked up: “Hey guys, check it out! Our hotel is on Easy Street!” It must have been a sign. After a “life is hard” day, we’re sleeping on Easy Street.

(However, a martini with dinner also helps)

Call tomorrow: 8am, Econolodge, Kalamazoo, MI. Snow is in the forecast.

Kid Quote of the Day: During Fancy Nancy, the appearance of the "parfaits" brought a chorus of "Ice Creams!" from the audience-right section of the house. However, when they came crashing down on her, another chorus emerged: "They're not real!"

Adult Quote of the Day: (This one is a little PG) The front-middle seat and front-passenger seats have buckles in the same spot. The new cheer for when both people go to buckle up at the same time? "Hand orgy!!"

We're Kind of A Big Deal

Yeah, when you see things like this in the local bookstore in Traverse City, MI, you can generally tell that the shows are going to be good.

And they were.  I'm trilled to say that our two shows at the Traverse City Opera Houses were filled with some of the best and most responsive crowds we've had on this tour.  Between the girls with their collection of a dozen-plus Fancy Nancy books, the pile of Babymouse books that landed in front of Kristen at our post-show book signing, the extraordinary lunch provided by our sponsors and the local yoga teacher who brought her kids to see "her newest students" (Kristen and I), it was one of those weekends of performances that makes you feel like a superstar.  Plus, Traverse City is a wonderful little town, with more than enough bookstores, gift-y shops, restaurants and coffee bars to occupy our motley crew of theatrical types for a few days.  It was a charming vacation, a wholly different experience from staying with the family, but still one of the charming varietals of touring life that keeps everybody fresh and alive.

And a good thing too, because we've got another long drive back to Chicago again.  This will be our sixth time in/near/passing by the Windy City.  Apparently, Chicagoland loves their Fancy Ducks!

Call tomorrow: 10:00am, Days Inn, Traverse City, MI.  It's off to Chicago we go!!

Kid Quote of the Day: When the tray of ice cream crashed to the ground during "Fancy Nancy" and covered Courtney in fake ice cream globes, a little girl shrieked and covered her eyes in terror, only to split her fingers moments after to see what would happen next.  The girl behind her, however, burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably for the rest of the story.

Adult Quote of the Day: I was spotted taking pictures of the bookstore paraphernalia by one of the managers.  His response?  "You must be an actor."

O'Shaughnessy

(Note to readers to whom I’m not related: this one gets sappy, and rather Minnesota specific.  If that’s not your cup of tea, feel free to skip it.)

O’Shaughnessy Auditorium is an important performing arts venue in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area.  Sure, it doesn’t really have the historic value that the State, Orpheum or Pantages do in Downtown Minneapolis, or the producing power of the Ordway in St. Paul, or even the state sponsorship of Northrop Auditorium at the University of Minnesota.  But it’s a big, boxy (on the outside), purple (on the inside) theater that houses dance, music, spoken word, performance and the occasional play.  And, apparently, Theatreworks tours.

As we drove up in the van (and, mind you, it’s extremely odd to drive around your hometown in a Theatreworks Sprinter van, surrounded by NYC-based friends), it all came flooding back: the dozens of Zenon Dance Company performances I’d seen there, Christopher Watson Dance and their genre-bending shows, Ragamala Music and Dance Theater, the school trips to see visiting arts groups (perhaps Theatreworks?), the international musical troupes… it was odd how after nearly a decade away from the space, I still recognized its very specific, extremely clean smell.

We loaded in, with our helpful crew (who chided us relentlessly for our gloves, hats, scarves and coats; it was 12° and windy) and I marveled once again at how huge the stage is.  Staring at those purple seats, I saw a nine year-old Ethan mesmerized as his Modern teacher John Munger slowly spun across the stage in a tattered sweater at a Zenon Winter Show.  Glancing into the wings, there was Carol Huncik, who trusted me enough to put a piece of choreography I developed as a teenager into a Choreographer’s Evening at the Walker Arts Center, giving me a clandestine wave before her big entrance in her first solo concert, lo these many years ago.  I strode downstairs to the dressing room and saw James Sewell, straightjacket and magic cane in hand, stretching on a barre while the Theatre de la Jeune Lune crew, now disbanded, did their extensive physical and vocal warm-ups in the nearby greenroom.

As David made his announcement and the lights faded, I peeked out from behind my flat and saw more faces: real faces this time.  The folks had assembled a group of a dozen friends – everyone from old babysitters, family friends and neighbors to one of my prom dates, my dad’s coworker and my mom’s tennis partner – and they were sitting front row, stage left. The music started, and Matt and I wheeled our way onstage.  The rest is a bit of a blur.

I still get nervous performing in front of my parents, probably because it happens so rarely.  But, for whatever reason, this show wasn’t nearly as bad.  Maybe because of the material, maybe because of the cast, but probably because my mind was focused on the odd importance that this performance was taking on in my mind.  It felt strangely full-circle, as a bunch of squealing little kids took my old place in the auditorium and I, somewhat older and wiser, took my mentors’ places onstage and off.

Post show, I said hello to my assembled fans (another first: I’ve never had an “entourage” before!) and struck the set with the cast.  My parents got a chance to see a little bit of load out and, after peeking inside the van’s seating compartment, I am sure they now think I’m moderately insane.  The rest of the company fled to the Mall of America after the show, since it’s one of those things you should do when in Minnesota, and I went to lunch with my parents.  At lunch, Mom just couldn’t help herself, “How cool is it that you were up there on the O’Shaughnessy stage?!”  And I couldn’t help but agree.  For all the odd stages and ice-covered stairs and weeks of repeated time zone changes, it’s the days like this that keep bringing me back.

Call tomorrow: 9am, Days Inn, Traverse City, MI.  Showtime once again!

Kid Quote of the Day: Without fail, every single time anybody said the word “pee,” the entire audience shouted “Eww.”

Adult Quote of the Day: One of the crew members, as I stood there looking like Randy from A Christmas Story: “Yeah, you’re in Minnesota now.”