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8/4/08
Saskatoon
Opening night in Saskatoon happened at 4 o'clock on a Thursday, when most of Saskatoon didn't yet know that there was a theatre festival going on. In fact, the Saskatoon Fringe Festival will come and go and most of Saskatoon won't even know it happened. Apparently there are about 3 things that happen in Saskatoon all year long, and they all happen in the same week. So the Fringe Fest is competing with the Saskatoon Expo, which is apparently like a county fair. How am I supposed to compete with a Ferris wheel? Impossible.
So, Thursday, first day of the Fringe, and I've got a 4 p.m. slot. Not a good time. AND my venue is far away from the rest of the festival. So the fact that 11 people come to my show is quite surprising. Eleven people - that's not the disaster I was anticipating. Other people with similar time slots that day had audiences of 3 and 4 people. That's brutal. By comparison, I'm sold out.
A few minutes into the show and it becomes clear to me that the guy running my lights and sound is having some problems, mostly involving running my lights and sound. My lighting requirements are pretty simple - turn the lights down when I play a video, turn them back up when the video is done. My first video finishes and the lights don't come up. The second video starts and they do. The video finishes and the lights go down again. I stop the show and ask if we could get the lighting thing worked out, so he proceeds to turn on every light in the theatre, then cycles through them randomly. And slowly.
Oh, and did I mention that there are two reviewers among the 11 people gathered? Two out of eleven. 18 percent of the audience were reviewers! And I didn't just work that out right now, I did the math there on stage. Why not? I have plenty of time, standing here waiting for the light show to finish, doing some math in my head and thinking about how much I love being judged.
The lights get sorted out and then the sound issues begin. I have 10 sound cues in my show that need to be played from a CD. Ideally these need to be played at a certain time, like the time indicated in the script, but I may not have made that totally clear, as they start to come up at random times throughout the show. Awesome.
I don't let it fluster me, though. I soldier on ahead, telling my story, showing my little pictures, and when I look into the "crowd" I can see people smiling and seeming to enjoy themselves. All except for one of the reviewers, who has FALLEN ASLEEP!
Now look, I can take the rejection of people not wanting me to hand them a flyer for my show, I can take it when people in the audience just stare at me rather than laughing uproariously at my clever observations delivered in signature deadpan style. I'm even used to seeing people nod off. Hey, it happens. But if you really want to put your self esteem to the test, try looking into the crowd and seeing that the woman who was previously scribbling in a notebook has now decided to grab a little shut eye. There's not enough theater in Saskatoon to warrant a full time theatre critic, so I'm assuming this assignment must have been new to her, and perhaps she needed to rest up before heading back to her desk and finishing that big story on the state of the Saskatoon hog industry, or whatever.
Sorry. That was unfair. I don't even know if Saskatoon has a hog industry. I do, however, know that typing Saskatoon over and over again is exhausting. Maybe that's why she was tired.
Her review came out the next day and was what I expected - 3 stars, some misquotes, a personal attack or two. I was hoping she'd accidentally include some of her dream imagery in her review, as I'm sure it must have shown up in her notes.
"Smith, in an unprecedented bit of acting, transformed himself into a giant starfish with the head of my father, and then, somehow, into my first dog, Punky, whose death I never quite got over. I was shocked when my mother flew into the theatre, wearing a referee's uniform and blowing a whistle while lights flashed, telling me that I'll never...oh, wait...why are all these people clapping?"
7/28/08
Winnipeg
I was pretty much a straight A student in school. I tell you this not to brag, just to give you some insight into my personality. You remember that kid who was quick to raise his hand when the teacher asked who'd like to come to the board and solve the math problem, diagram a sentence or clean erasers just for the fun of it? That was me. And yes, at some point you just start to expect the wedgies.
Now, I never managed to parlay this skill for academic sucking up into any sort of college education, something that I pretend to be proud of, but am probably a bit insecure about. This is evident in my constant attempts at overcompensation - mostly involving peppering my conversation with fancy words like "parlay," which I'm not even sure how to use properly.
For the most part, grades were in my control. If I studied and prepared, I could do well on tests. And I usually studied and prepared. There was no real randomness to it - you either get the math/history/grammar question right or you don't. Sure, there's the possibility to show some work in the margin for extra credit, but for the most part there was a formula - do the work, get a good grade.
Well, now I'm on the road, standing on stage almost every night telling people hilarious and poignant tales of my misspent youth. I've worked hard to put this show together, the writing, the pictures, the laser-like comedic precision of my delivery, the carefully rehearsed hand gestures, the whole bit. But this isn't math, so work and precision and preparation may not get you an A on this test. The people grading your tests are these people called critics, and sometimes math is not their favorite subject.
In Toronto I just killed - amazing reviews, loads of people turning out to see my show, shouts and cheers and laughter - so I thought for sure that my next stop on the tour, Winnipeg, would be a repeat of Toronto.
And, well...it wasn't. My three main reviews - the ones that the tens of thousands of Fringe festival goers swear by - were decidedly mediocre.
Essentially, I was given a C, maybe a C+, on my test, and I did not deal with it well. I took it personally, which is a bad move.
I never took a C on high school math test personally. Sure, my hyper-geeky self was disappointed, but I never thought my low grade was because my teacher didn't understand the nuances I was going for by failing to - no, by intentionally choosing NOT to - carry the 2. When I didn't know the capitol of Maine, and the teacher put a red mark by the blank space, I didn't entertain fantasies of violent retribution. I never felt that my work was not appreciated when I was unable to write a paragraph summarizing the Battle of Lexington and Concord.
But when you are on stage, pouring out your heart and soul and parlay each night, you can lose your perspective. Or I can. And did.
The thing is, though, it's just so arbitrary, right? Reviews? I mean, that's what you think when you get a less than perfect review. It's just arbitrary, the reviewer was probably tired, maybe hungry, they don't know what good art is anyway and screw 'em! Who needs this crap? Critics are just frustrated artists, petty little toadies who destroy because they are unable to create. They don't understand my art because they are unable to parlay my nuances into parlays.
Of course, when you get a good review, then critics are wise connoisseurs, handing down their well-deserved stamp of approval from their non-biased, truth-distributing viewing area. Barry is good, in the same way that two plus two equals four. So let it be written, so let it be done.
The result of my reviews - not all that many people came to see my show. Not nearly as many as I'd have had if I'd gotten just a few more stars and an additional choice superlative or two. But the shows went great, I thought, and people seemed to like them, and when all is said and done I'll just have to chalk up Winnipeg as one of those "learning experiences," the most unconvincing of all euphemisms.
Don't take it personally. Otherwise you're parlaying up a huge can of worms.
And I never thought I'd say this, but I'm looking forward to getting to Saskatoon.
7/21/08
Winnipeg
Winnipeg is the Emerald City of the Canadian Fringe circuit. All touring performers dream of it - if things aren't going well, it'll get better there. If things are going well, well, they'll go even better. All will be OK in Winnipeg.
I had a great run in Toronto, where I've just come from. I was doing my own show, American Squatter, as well as understudying for my friend Keir Cutler's show. It was busy and fun and focused, and the day after I finished performing I hopped in the van and drove to Winnipeg - 24 hours of driving. I got to The Peg just in time to pull into the place I'll be staying and then race to my technical rehearsal. I threw a banana into my bag as I ran out the door, hoping to get a chance to eat it in a few minutes, once I arrived and was able to sit down. I arrived and was not able to sit down. I finished the rehearsal three hours later and had to run to an interview.
Very excited for the interview - TV press is great in Winnipeg. The camera starts rolling and the reporter asks, "So, what was it like doing Keir Cutler's show in Toronto?"
See, Keir is a celebrity on the Fringe circuit, especially in Winnipeg. In fact, the Winnipeg Free Press review of a fringe show mentioned that it must be good, because Keir Cutler was in the audience on opening night.
So, I talk for 5 minutes about being Keir Cutler, trying to slip in mentions of the fact that I'm actually doing my own show. The next day, when the interview aired, they had edited out all references to my show.
I finish the interview and go to pick up my flyers that I'd had printed locally. While there I met fellow performer Jimmy Hogg, also picking up his flyers. We decided to spend the next few hours taping up flyers around the festival grounds - a necessary part of fringing, and much more fun to do with someone else.
After an hour of taping little cards to awkward surfaces, I reach into my backpack to get more flyers and something feels...wrong. Something feels "I forgot that I put a banana in my bag this morning" wrong, a bag that also contains my computer, flyers, jacket, hat, etc...Now everything, including my right hand, is coated with a thin layer of banana puree. It was if I'd put a banana in a blender with a little bit of water, poured it into my bag and shaken it all about. I don't want to go into too much detail, but I just really, really hate having sticky stuff on my hands.
The next morning I had a radio interview at 6:30. In the morning. This is a brutal number, but again, a live interview on CBC is not something that you turn down, no matter how ungodly the hour.
I show up ready to self-promote, sit in the chair and the interviewer says, "So, a few months ago Keir Cutler called and asked if you'd like to do his show for him..."
Dammit.
Luckily, it was a live interview, so I was able to answer questions like this: "Well, the interesting thing about playing Keir Cutler is that I'm doing a show called American Squatter at venue number ten, opening tomorrow night at 7:45." And I did. Constantly. I'll show them.
Now I know how Honeyboy Edwards feels.
Honeyboy Edwards is one of the last remaining bluesmen to have played with blues legend Robert Johnson, who died in 1938. Honeyboy is a great guitarist and vocalist, and has had a long, successful career, yet every time anyone interviews him about anything, they ask him what it was like hanging out with Robert Johnson. That's what they all ask him. Always. Constantly. For 70 years.
Yeah...after four interviews about being Keir Cutler, I totally know how Honeyboy feels. And, if Honeyboy ever reaches into his bag one day to find it filled with mushed banana - then he'll know how I feel.
He'll know what it's really like to have the blues...
7/14/08
Toronto
OK, now THAT was a week...
Shortly before I left on tour, my friend Keir Cutler emailed me from Montreal asking if I would like to be him for a while. I said yes.
Keir's an actor and veteran Fringe Fest solo performer, and his latest show is autobiographical. In fact, it's his first every autobiographical show. Last year Keir got a 3-page handwritten letter from an insane audience member telling him that she was reporting him to a missing children's organization due to the content of his play - which, by the way, was not about abducting children. So Keir wrote a show based on this letter, as well as his nearly 10 years of insane audience member run-ins on the Fringe circuit, called "Teaching the Fringe." He then booked a Fringe tour of his show about the Fringe.
And then he got cast in a zombie movie.
This meant he'd be unavailable to perform his shows in the Toronto Fringe, so rather than canceling, he thought he'd get me to play him playing himself.
How could I say no to such a thing?
Well, actually, I could have said no pretty easily. It takes a lot of energy just to do your own show - 7 performances over 10 days, in addition to handing out flyers, putting up posters, drinking beer, etc...And you'd think that doing 2 shows would mean you'd have to drink enough beer for 2 shows - twice as much, basically. But it means exactly the opposite. Doing 2 shows, for me anyway, means that you have time and energy to drink exactly NO beer. No beer? For an entire Fringe Festival? Yes, life on the road can be grueling.
So I agreed. Keir and I did some work in Montreal last month - I scanned in a lot of his old photos and stuff so I could adapt his play to my PowerPoint style, I put together a slide show, and in Toronto we met up with Darla Biccum, a great actress who played the voices in Keir's head. Together we did a staged reading with PowerPoint.
It was all very fring-y, right? Doing somebody else's solo show at the last minute? And it was great fun. We got a good review and an awful review. Our crowds were small throughout, but for the first time I didn't care. It was a nice relief to not have to take attendance personally. For once.
Meanwhile, at a venue across town, I was doing my American Squatter show. This schizophrenic schedule meant remembering where I need to be, and when, and what show to do once I got there. It also meant lugging a computer and projector (for the PowerPoint thingie) back and forth across Toronto on my bike. I had 4 days when I did the two shows in the same day. On my last day, yesterday, I had to leave the bike behind and get a taxi, as the gap between shows was very small. Jump offstage, taxi across town, eat a banana in the taxi, jump on another stage, do a different show. Whew. See why there was no beer in my week? Not that beer intake is any measure of enjoyment...
And I'm happy to say that American Squatter was a great success in Toronto. I got staggeringly good reviews in all the major press, reviews that are almost too good to reprint anywhere, as they look made up.
"So much fun it could have gone on for hours more..." one reviewer wrote. I can't go around saying that! I mean, I'm sure I will, but...
Finally, the memory of the tiny, tiny Ottawa audiences fades slowly into the past. At a single show in Toronto I had more people in the audience than my entire run in Ottawa. And I'm not being dramatic - I actually did the math.
Being on tour is a rollercoaster of reviews, audience size, audience response and just your own personal mood and energy level in general. I'm not a big fan of rollercoasters, at least not the non-metaphorical kind, so I'm not sure I can say which part of the rollercoaster I'm on at the moment. Whichever part of the rollercoaster is fun - that's where I am.
And now - I'm going to Winnipeg.
7/6/08
Wakefield, Quebec
OK, I'm actually in Toronto at the moment, but I'm pretending I'm still in Wakefield. Seems more exotic somehow, right? Wakefield. Canada. Totally exotic.
I just opened American Squatter last night in Toronto, and I have another performance in two hours. There were four major press people at my show last night. Four! The reviews are already posted online.
And I'm not going to read them.
Well, at least not before I do my show in a few hours. I'll wait. That's the plan, and it's turning out to be a very difficult one. I need to know! A good review will leave me set up for the rest of the festival. A mediocre one will mean lots of flyering work needs to be done. A bad one, and, well...that'll mean the hardest work of all - trying to convince myself that reviews don't matter.
It was a good show, but it was one of those shows where the audience - a good sized audience - did a lot more staring than laughing. Which is not to say that they didn't enjoy my show, just that I'm not sure if they did or not. I know that sometimes I show my appreciation for humor by staring blankly, so...
Ugh...everyone else already knows! They've checked the reviews. All my friends. All the potential audience. They all check daily. So do I. Just not today. At least not BEFORE my show.
No, today I need to still be in Wakefield, which is where this dispatch is officially from. I'll deal with Toronto when I'm emotionally able. Like when I'm 85.
So ... Wakefield, Quebec - The Piggyback Fringe Festival. This was the first year of the Piggyback Fringe, called such because Wakefield is a small town less than a half hour from Ottawa, so some folks in Wakefield decided that they'd invite performers from the Ottawa Fringe Festival to pop by and do some more shows when their Ottawa run was through. I was one of those people.
In Wakefield I performed in a church. Not an old, abandoned church now used for storage and occasional theatre - a real church! With pews, a big old cross behind me. An active church. Hymnals. The whole bit. It was awesome. In my show American Squatter I show pictures on a screen. One of my pictures is of the first Butthole Surfers album. You'll want to Google this album to realize the significance of projecting this image in a church. Awesome.
I did two shows in one day, and during my second show I had some sort of transcendent experience - I don't know what else to call it. See, a few years back, back when I was still writing my first show, Jesus In Montana, I had this idea of how cool it would be to take my show on the road, performing in different places, for different people. Since I'd never actually done a show, or gone on any sort of tour, it seemed like a magical, dream concept to me. But flash forward just a few years, and here I am! On tour! Doing my show in a town I've never even heard of. In a church! And people are enjoying it. This is all so very cool.
Throughout most of the Ottawa Fringe fest, just last week, I couldn't shake the fact that there weren't as many people coming to my show as I'd hoped, and I lost site of how excited and lucky to feel to get to do my show for anyone. I tried and tried, but couldn't quit whining and moping. I was actually more upset over my reaction to small audiences than to the small audiences themselves. But in that last show in Wakefield it all clicked in for me again. I was present and appreciative and really enjoying doing my show. At the end of the show, when I thanked the 20 or so people for turning out on a Monday night at 10:30 to see some guy they've never heard of, I was actually moved to tears. There, in a church, I had a religious experience. Obvious to some, an oxymoron to me, yet it happened.
Can I get an amen?
6/30/08
Ottawa
Last year when I did a summer-long tour of Canada, I decided to video tape myself doing it. It was pretty time-consuming, constantly pointing the camera at myself while simultaneously doing things that should have been getting my full attention. Like driving. But I persevered, because documentation is my thing.
I recorded hour after hour of life on the road, then sent the tapes to my friend and creative collaborator, Arman. He had agreed, in a moment of weakness, no doubt, to attempt to edit my summer home videos into something watchable. This is akin to handing someone a box crammed full of 5 years worth of receipts and asking them to do your taxes for you. As a favor. For free.
I sent Arman over 50 hours of raw footage, which is a lot of Barry-talks-to-the-camera-while-driving time. He worked on it for about a week then sent me an email saying he gives up. The reason, he said - it was boring. The reason it was boring - because nothing but good things happened. Which is true - it was a summer of great reviews, sold out shows, encore performances. Really, a dream come true. Which, for a documentary, is boring.
The only interesting part, Arman noted, was when my van broke down. So, my auto-doc was cursed by success. Dammit.
This year I decided to not document the tour so obsessively. Surely being the guy who did the sold-out hit show "Jesus In Montana" last will attract throngs of hordes turning out in droves to see his next work, so why shoot 50 more hours of people lined up around the corner every day to see me perform? Right?
Right...?
Well...so far the throngs haven't quite caught wind of my presence, and the hordes and droves are equally absent. Don't they all get the same newsletter?
This is what the Fringe is like for most performers - show after show to small or medium-sized crowds. There are usually a handful of shows that stand out, for whatever voodoo reason, and do really well. Last year I was lucky enough to be one of those from the start. So far this year my expectations were a bit high. In Orlando I actually printed more programs than flyers! That's just begging for a cosmic smackdown.
There's much more summer to come - I'm only in city 2 of 8, so it's a bit early to start making conclusions about my future, but it is a bit sobering. Nothing is guaranteed, and in that pile of no guarantees, "how many people come to your show" ranks pretty high on the list. So far as I can tell, the only certainty in life is that someone's cell phone will go off during your performance.
As of this summer I'll have been writing "Irrelativity" for 14 years. 14 years! I still remember the first few months, when my columns were published and a few people wrote in to the paper (no email in those days) to say they liked my column and I thought, OK, here we go! Next stop: national syndication, book deals, TV series, biopic, a "VH1 Behind The Writing" episode.
It hasn't turned out that way just yet. But each week I get to write something, whatever I want, a little slice of self-expression, which is all I really wanted to begin with. I even get to write about being on tour! A pretty cool gig, really.
The excitement of last summer was like the first few weeks of writing my column. It seemed so easy. Just show up and people flock to your show! Next stop: off Broadway, Broadway, HBO special, Comedy Central, Food Network.
And OK, Ottawa has pointed out that maybe it won't happen quite as quickly as I thought. Yet for the rest of this summer I get to stand on stage almost every night and do my little comedy show for some people, which is all I really wanted to begin with.
A pretty cool gig, really.
6/23/08
Montreal
There's nothing quite like being really, really wrong.
I've been wrong on such a level so many times that you'd think I'd be used to it by now. For instance, back in 1999, I was a full believer in the Y2K scare. I had cases of tuna, buckets of beans, water filters, grain grinders (like I was going to become some post-apocalyptic wheat farmer or something). I might have even had a gas mask, but I'd prefer not to admit to such things. My friends who though Y2K was a paranoid delusion perpetuated by internet nut-cases received my scorn, and I secretly marked them down on the "don't share tuna with" list.
As we know, Y2K came and went without any nuclear meltdowns, jets plummeting from the sky or worldwide martial law. The only lasting change is that Prince's "1999" can never listened to in the same way again.
Luckily, I like tuna.
But I was so very, very sure that the end was nigh. Everything that I use for finding my way - my intellect, my intuition, my keen sense of smell - they all told me that the doodie was about to hit the fan, and that I'd better have my duck jerky in a row for when it all goes down.
And I was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Don't get me wrong - I'm glad I was wrong. But man, the wrongness really made me wonder what other things I'm totally convinced of and an equally wrong about.
I know that Y2K may be an obscure example, because chance are you were among the majority of right people all those years ago. And sure, I'm a bit paranoid and gullible, but that doesn't make me any less right. Or wrong.
So now, years later, here I am in Montreal, embarking on a summer of performing autobiographical solo comedy shows. Standing on stage for an hour talking about your life (in what you hope is a funny and entertaining way) leaves you a bit, well...exposed. The exposure at the moment is intense enough - tell a joke, nobody laughs, ouch, move on - but what really gets me are reviews.
I got a great review of my new show in the Montreal Gazette early last week. Exciting and positive - it said I was a "masterful storyteller." Cool. But then the Montreal Mirror came out. The review said that my style has evolved (this is my third consecutive year in Montreal) into something slick, resembling a Michael Moore film, and that I could just record my voice, play it over my slide show thingie and not even bother to show up. The final line was the one that stuck with me - "It may not be theatre - but it's good."
Whaddya mean, slick? Not show up? You mean my performance was so bad that I didn't even need to be there? Not theatre? Why not? What makes something theatre? What, because I wasn't prancing around pretending to be lots of other people - acting, I think they call it - I'm not theatre? "It was good" is nice enough, but why just "good?" Why not great? Or even awesome? Why not "It may not be theatre, but it f**kin rocked!"
I walked around the whole day thinking I'd been ruined. A bad review. My show is slick (slick is bad, right? I don't want slick, I want punk rock!), my performance could have been phoned in, and my show isn't theatre. I know my show isn't really theatre, but why point that out?
I'm doomed. It's the end for me.
Later that day I turn up to do my show and my stage manager, Nicole, says, "Hey, you got a good review in the Mirror today!"
What?
"The critic picked you as one of the top four of the festival. Did you see it?" she continued.
Were we talking about the same thing?
She pulled the paper from her bag and showed it to me - the exact same review I'd read that morning - and sure enough, at the top of the page, the introduction to the four reviews, it said, basically, "Of the 70 shows in the festival, here are four that you can count on to be worth seeing."
How did I miss that? Why had I defaulted to my own emotional Y2K?
Probably because I was aboard the Wrong Express. Next stop, Whiner-ville.
6/16/08
Montreal
Well, yee haw then! The summer of Fringe is up and running, and I'm already trying to catch up to it!
Last year when I did this trans-Canadian performance tour, I had two recurring themes - 1) How tired I was, and 2) How my van kept breaking down.
I swore that I would not do this again this year, however - I'm a bit tired, and my van broke down somewhere in Nebraska. I guess taking AAA off my speed dial was a bit premature.
Still, I got to meet yet another tow truck driver in this great nation of ours, and spend more quality time in an auto repair shop waiting room, an environment that has managed to remain untouched by the whole feng shui craze.
I got a new coil installed (in the van) and was back on the road with just a few hours lost.
The night before the Montreal Fringe Festival opened there as a "preview" evening - where all the arriving out-of-town acts get one minute on stage to do whatever they want to promote their show. It started at 10 o'clock on Thursday night, and I figured I'd arrive earlier that afternoon, hang out, get situated, do my 60 seconds, have a beer, see old friends from previous years. A nice casual evening, good way to start the festival.
Not.
The thing is, my timing was a bit off. Off to the point where I arrived - after 4 days on the road - at 10:15. I ran into the theatre - which, by the way, was a very large and packed theatre, not the tiny, intimate affair I was imagining - ran backstage only to find that the girl with the clipboard had literally just crossed my name off the list. My pleading got her to uncross it.
Phew!
I grabbed two other performers, the duo who perform "The Cody Rivers Show," and asked them to pretend to be a projection screen and pictures - you know, in an "acting" way. My shows are multi-media, so I have a little slide show going in the background while I talk. Obviously with one minute I didn't have time to set up such a thing. I explained this to the crowd (using a quarter of my time), brought the guys up, and started rambling. I'd say "click" and pretend to be advancing my slide, and the guys would act out whatever I said. I hadn't actually had time to think about what I'd say, nor was there anything even remotely resembling a rehearsal. I have no idea what I said. But according to reactions from the crowd, it was all very funny. The only credit I can take for that is that I chose funny people to be on stage with me.
Phew! Or did I say that already?
I don't seek out this drama, but that's how my summer has started, and why not? It's Fringe theater, seat-of-your pants, free expression. A whole summer's worth. How did I get so lucky?
My new show, "Barry Smith's Baby Book" opened the next night. I felt I could have easily spent another week memorizing it. I was memorizing bits as I walked to the theatre. I considered writing notes on my hand, but how much good will a few notes do for an hour's worth of talking? Unless I were to write "Don't Screw Up!" But if I'm going to open that door, I may as well have that tattooed somewhere on me.
It was a late night show, Friday at 11:15, about 20 people in the audience. Not bad, actually. For once I wasn't concerned with audience size, I just wanted to not puke. I guess I was a bit nervous. I had yet to actually "perform" this show, I'd just done script readings - hardly any pressure there.
But this, the opening - bringing my show out for the very first time - just me, some pictures, and some people waiting to be entertained. I'd been thinking about this day for months and months.
And it went well. I didn't forget any major lines. Nothing caught fire. People laughed. I didn't puke. I'm off do a great start!
Phew!
...or did I say that already?
6/9/08
Somewhere in the Midwest
I grew up in Mississippi, so I'm no stranger to my homeland being the butt of jokes. Mississippi really is the ultimate punchline state, far worse than West Virginia. It's so bad that even people in Arkansas make Mississippi jokes.
Here's one of my favorites:
Q: How many Mississippians does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Y'all.
So when I tell people that I'll be spending the summer in Canada, their response feels similar to when I tell them that I'm from Mississippi - mostly confusion and pity. It's almost like Canada is the Mississippi of countries. Only without the lynching.
"Why Canada?" they ask, with a hint of "you poor thing" in their voice.
My answer is a long one, so long that I can't wait to get to Canada so I don't have to explain why I'm going to Canada anymore.
Of course, I could just stop telling people that I'm spending the summer in Canada and instead steer the conversation toward what THEY'RE doing this summer, but that's not likely. Plus, it seems dishonest to answer "not much" to the "what are you doing this summer" question, when the answer is that I'm spending the entire summer touring my two comedy shows across Canada. And I'd hate to be dishonest AND miss a chance to talk about myself.
"Why Canada?"
I understand this response, because 2 years ago I knew as much about Canada as any American who hasn't lived near the border and doesn't have Canadian relatives. Which is to say I knew what I learned from Bob and Doug McKenzie in the mid-80s.
So, as I go through my days telling people I'm going to Canada (occasionally I let them ask first), I get some great responses. I remember all of them. Here they are:
"Canada? That sounds pretty boring."
Maybe, but the thing is, it's not going to be. It's going to be the exact opposite of boring. It's going to be the most amazing summer of my life - each day will be radically different. I'll meet new people, I'll see new sights, I'll see lots of Fringe theatre shows (I plan to see 100 this year), I'll explore cities, I'll get to perform my own shows about 70 times. Canada, at least my version of it, will not be boring. Sorry.
"Canada? Well, I guess that's a good place to start."
This was specifically in response to the fact that I'll be performing in Canada. Funny, I like to think of my summer as an "International Tour." But apparently Canadian audiences aren't REAL audiences. I mean, they're made up of Canadians. It doesn't really count until you get to America. Nothing counts unless it's American. Canada's just America with training wheels.
"Canada? What's that?"
OK, nobody actually said that. Sorry - that takes away from the fact that all the others are actual, verbatim quotes. I wish I could take it back, but it's too late now.
Meanwhile, I drive and drive and drive. Just me, in the van, driving. 36 hours worth, many of those hours still left to go. I wish there was something interesting to report. I have been listening to the music that you, the project-oriented reader, sent to me. Thanks for that.
Oh! I know! My friend Katherine loaned me a GPS! I've never had, or even used, such a thing before. Honestly, I've never even seen one in operation. Which is pretty sad, when I realize that the reason is that I never go anywhere that I don't already know how to get to.
It's really fun, though, and was especially good company while driving across Nebraska ("Go straight. Keep going strait. Continue to go straight.")
As I got closer to the border, I programmed in my first Canadian destination.
"Canada?" it said. "Why?"
6/2/08
Aspen, Colorado
I know, I know...I live in Aspen, Colorado, right? So how can I claim to be on the road while I'm actually at home? How can you be "on tour" when you're eating breakfast in your own kitchen?
The answer: To Do List.
I just got back from doing 7 performances of American Squatter at the Orlando Fringe Festival, and I now have one week at home before I have to get in my van and drive to Montreal - a 32 hour, 9 minute drive, according to Mapquest - but I can probably make it in 32 hours and 4 minutes, because I've got a bit of a lead foot.
But before that happens, I have to tame my enormous To Do List.
I'm a To Do List junkie. I really don't do anything unless it's on the list. And, if I do actually accomplish something that's not on the list, I write in on the list after the fact, then cross it off. It's all about that sense of crossing-off satisfaction. I've been known to write "Write this sentence on To Do List, cross it off," then cross it off. I realize that there are pharmaceuticals that correct this type of behavior, but then who would I be?
Generally, I can have a humble little To Do List that lasts me for a week or two, with items like "check mail" and "fix bike" smiling back at me, in no great hurry to be checked off. But this To Do List is serious. For example, "Memorize new show" REALLY needs to be done before the new show opens, otherwise I may as well add "Kill self" to the list, though that would be a hard one to check off.
That's why I get to claim to be "On Tour," because I'm not living a normal life at home at the moment. I'm focused, efficient and driven, and something about it feels significant.
Back when I used to work as an AV Guy, I used to have some very early mornings - out of bed by 5:00, out the door by 5:30, on the job and ready to go by 6:00. By the time 6:30 rolled around I was wide awake, alert, excited for my day. Inspired, even. And I'd always think, man, when I have a day off, I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna get up at 5:00, sit at my desk and write, draw, create, finish some project I've been thinking about. I'm going to creatively create the creative life I've always wanted to create! Yes!
The day off would come, five a.m. would tip-toe past, along with its cousins six, seven, eight and nine a.m. I'd get up at 10:45, shuffle around the house, maybe eat a banana, then be back in bed taking a nap by noon.
And so it went for years. I'd sit at the day job dreaming of what I could do with more free time, then the free time would find me staring at a three-item To Do List for weeks on end. Granted, one of the items on the list was "Stare at To Do List," so in a way I was making some progress.
But now, years later, I've done that thing that people tell you to NOT do - I've quit my day job. My job is now to be On Tour, even while at home, and my To Do List is my new boss. And yes, I actually did get up at 5:00 a.m. a few times last week and start working on it. So, after years and years, I've actually made some progress! This is great news! I can now check "Make some progress" off the list!
I can also check "Write To Do List column" off the list.
And, after that, I get to check "Check 'Write To Do List column' off the list" off the list.
(Next time: Barry goes to Canada, checks "Go to Canada" off list...)
++++++++++++++
5/26/08
Orlando, Florida
When you get chosen to perform in a Fringe Festival, there's some paperwork involved. The selection process is by lottery, meaning that no matter what kind of show you want to do, if your name comes out of the hat, you get to do it. However, for the sake of audience members, the festivals ask you to provide certain information to include in the program:
"Please be as open and honest about your show content as possible so that parents of young children will not be surprised by, oh, let's say a simulated stabbing and disembowelment of a clown during your show. Providing us with that information will help your show attract people who hate and fear clowns."
Seriously. That's what it says. I didn't make that up. I love the Fringe.
For the record, I neither hate nor fear clowns. In fact, at this point I can honestly say that some of my best friends are clowns. If you do a summer-long Fringe tour the same thing will happen to you.
On the same form there's a laundry list of potential warnings for you to tick off, also intended to go in the program.
- Violence
- Cartoonish Violence
- Nudity
- Sexual Content
- Adult Language
- Strobe Lights
- Gunshots
- Smoke/Fog
- Religious Content
- Other
My goal is to create a show that includes many of these as possible, including combinations - Cartoonish Sexual Content, Nude Language, etc. Alas, for my "American Squatter" show I was only able to check "Adult Language." But only 'cause it's too hard to travel with a fog machine.
One show, by a performer who's new to the Fringe, listed "Gay Themes" as a warning in her program description, not realizing that at the Orlando Fringe in particular this is not a warning - this is more like a given.
It's taken me a while to find my audience this year in Orlando. Last year, my "Jesus In Montana" show (Warning: Religious Strobe Lights) did very well, and I expected people to be clamoring to see my new show. That wasn't the case early on. Several times my show was scheduled at the same time as a show called Bathhouse. Here's part of that production's review from the Orlando Sentinel.
"Start with a gay cliche. Ok, EVERY gay cliche. The male ones, anyway. Beginning with the title and setting--Bathhouse, where bathing is optional. Put your cast in towels. Whip up a few songs, with an ear for the funny and the familiar. And you've got one of the can't-miss shows at this year's Fringe."
And it's true. Even during a late night Tuesday slot, I'm waiting backstage looking at the monitors for the Bathhouse show, and it's packed. Packed! In the monitor for my theatre I can see that there are 9 people in the audience. Nine. I counted. Several times. And if theatre is all about creating illusion, then these 9 people are doing a great job, spreading themselves out evenly, giving the illusion that there are exactly zero people there. Awesome.
Next door are attractive and talented young gay men in towels, singing and dancing and snapping each other's asses with towels. How am I supposed to compete with this? Sure, I could do my show in a towel, but I don't see how this would help. (WARNING: Pale Skinny Straight Guy.)
Oh, and what little chance I had of whipping up some theatrical magic was thwarted by the fact that the house lights were not working that night. They were stuck in the ON position. So, bright room, straight guy, fully and not very fashionably clothed ... talking. For an hour. Bor. Ring.
OK, it was a bad night. But it happens. And it will again, I'm sure. My next show, three nights later, was as good as any I've ever had. Packed house, enthusiastic crowd, even a standing ovation. And the Orlando Sentinel picked my show as one of the handful "can't miss-es" to see during the final weekend of the Fringe Fest! So yay, right?
I'm feeling it...after a winter of being hunkered down in front of the computer I'm back on the Fringe roller coaster! I can already see where this will be yet another summer of highs and lows, successes and humiliations, ego bruising and ego stroking! Sometimes all within the same hour!
And I'll be here, each week, telling you all about it.
(WARNING: Potential For Self Indulgence.)
++++++++++++++
5/19/08
Orlando, Florida
Here's how my things have turned out so far - a few years ago I wrote this comedy show about my time spent in a religious cult. It went over pretty well. I performed it in New York and won an award. So I thought, hmmm, how can I do more of this?
The answer, or at least the current answer, is "Fringe Festival." A Fringe Festival is an unjuried theatre festival. You fill out an application and your name goes in a hat. If your name gets drawn, you get a slot in the festival in which to perform your show, whatever your show is - music, dance, drama, stand-up, puppets, juggling, telling the story of how you lived in Jesus's basement, whatever...
These festivals exist in the US, Canada and Europe, each city producing their own version of it independently. Canada, in its quiet wisdom, has decided to make their Fringe Festival season into a consecutive ordeal, such that someone can start in Montreal in June, then head slowly west, hitting city after city, festival after festival, all summer long, until they get to Vancouver in September. For this, and other reasons, Canada is very cool. I think the two of you would really get along. I hope to introduce you some day.
Last year I did this very circuit - Montreal to Vancouver - 9 cities, back to back. And I wrote about my adventures in this here column.
And guess what? I'm doing it again this summer!
I know you were hoping I'd say that.
This year I'll be touring my two solo comedy shows, "American Squatter" and "Barry Smith's Baby Book" across the Great White North. 9 cities, 4 months, over 70 performances, 10,000 miles of driving.
This is where the reader participation comes in.
With 10,000 miles of driving to do, I want some new music to listen to while doing so. Specifically, I want some new music from you. Yes, I think we've come to the stage in our relationship where its time for you to make me a mix tape.
No, seriously. Last year a few of my friends spontaneously made CDs for me before I left, which was the only thing that kept me from listening to the same Rage Against The Machine album over and over again - a good way to get speeding tickets.
There are no parameters to this humble request. I'm just hoping to hear lots of music that I've never heard. I'll be a captive audience. I tend to like not-very-commercial music - you really can't find music that's too weird for me. And that's not a challenge. I'm not a fan of modern country, but if there's something you think I need to hear, I'm all for it. If your CD has to have a theme, make it, "Driving 10,000 miles and too cheap to go out and buy new music."
Or old music. Or music you made yourself. Doesn't matter. You make it, I'll listen to it. I promise. Even if it literally is a mix TAPE - I have a cassette player in my van. CDs would be better, though.
But this request has a deadline. I'm leaving soon. Real soon. June 5th. So I'll need to have it before then, otherwise I'll have to listen to it next year.
So, if you want, mail it to me, PO Box 4441, Aspen, CO 81612.
Thanks in advance.
[NOTE: BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS, I’M ALREADY ON THE ROAD, SO PUT YOUR VINYL AWAY.]
---
Meanwhile...
I'm in Orlando at the moment, performing "American Squatter" at the Orlando Fringe Festival. After I'm done here I'll fly back home, pack up the van, and hit the road. No need for a mix tape in Orlando. Everyone here just hums "It's A Small World After All" all day long.
Since each festival hosts around 100 different acts, all the artists print up their own post-card-like flyers with their intriguing pictures and logos, then hand them out like mad, hoping they'll convince people that their show is one of the ones to see. Yesterday I handed out my first flyer of the summer, a summer which will involve handing out lots of flyers.
Five minutes later I walk around the corner and see the flyer - my flyer - the first and only flyer I've handed out - folded in half and laying in the middle of the floor! The flyer handee is nowhere in sight.
This must have some significance, right? It's clearly a sign, I just don't know what it's a sign of. Does it mean that handing out flyers is a useless activity? If so, this is a good lesson to learn early on. Does it mean that I need to embrace rejection? Or, even worse, dismissal? Either way, still a good lesson to learn early on.
Except that I fear I'll be pondering this well into the summer. Driving along, listening to your music, pondering the significance of tossed aside flyers.
Irrelativity is © 2008 by Barry Smith. All rights reserved. No commercial use may be made of the material without prior arrangements with the author. And so on and so forth. If you want to put one of my columns on your web page, or include it in your employee newsletter, or use parts of it in your speech before the U.N., it would be so cool and considerate if you would email me about such things beforehand so we could discuss it.
Barry Smith’s “IRRELATIVITY” appears weekly in the Aspen Times.
Click here to have it mailed to you, spam-free, each week.
Hi there. I’m currently on tour (May-Oct ’08), so I thought I’d write about - get this - being on tour. If you want to read some of my other columns, ones that aren’t about being on tour, click here.
-Barry
