Never Heard That Before

As a traveling performer I've seen and heard and experienced a lot of wacky stuff. But in over 20 years on the road, I'd never heard what was uttered amidst the audience the other day at a performance of "Tangle of Tales" at the Gaston County Public Library.

Heck, I've seen a stark-naked child walk across the stage during a performance. Puppeteer Donald Devet was manipulating a character in front of our puppet theatre that was perched atop a large street festival stage one hot summer day. From backstage I heard a collective sort of gasping chuckle from the audience. I peeked out to see a young boy, let's say 4 or 5ish. He was completely naked as he casually strolled from stage right to stage left, inches from Donald and his puppet, Bruno, the ugliest man in the world. But then again, this was in Asheville, so what the hay.

Then there was the time in New York City when Death caught on fire. We were at the Asphalt Green Theatre doing "The Nightingale." In the Emperor's dramatic dying scene, he is surrounded by lighted candles as Death approaches. Death was a marionette. As I deftly manipulated Death past the candles and towards the reclining Emperor, I realized that I wasn't deft enough. Smoke and a small yellow flame appeared around Death's shinbone. I heard a woman in the second row, with a thick Brooklyn accent, say "He's on fye-yah." Alarmed, but keeping a stage face, I dramatically stepped on Death in hopes of extinguishing the flame. I removed my foot to see fresh flames and more smoke as strings began burning in two and Death was left dangling by his elbow string, the only one that remained. The woman in the second row spoke a little louder this time, "he's still on fye-yah!" I threw theatre to the wind and stomped on Death and finally extinguished the flames. I dragged him by his one string upstage and out of site.

But let's get back to the scene at the Gaston County Library the other day. Now, I didn't hear this, but I was told about it after the performance by the librarian. It seems that as the 250 folks filed into the theatre, security was summoned after an exchange between two mothers that went like this:

"If your child sits in front of my child, I'm going
to kick your ass."

Can you believe that? The affronted woman went to the librarian to tell her what had happened. The unflappable librarian replied, "Well, I suggest you sit over there, then."

So, there you have it. Another one for the books. Or the blog. As someone told me years ago, gee whiz it's just a puppet show!

Breakfast at Denny's

I have a real aversion to the hotel breakfast bar scene while on the road performing.

Maybe it's because I constantly find myself in uncomfortable, early morning situations. Like last month, when in the pre-dawn gray, I stood up to refill my coffee cup and loudly conked my head on a very low-hanging pendant lamp that was positioned perfectly at a mere 18" above my two-top. All of the other breakfasters turned as one to see the commotion. A woman seated directly in front of me lowered her Bible and broke out laughing. Moments later she appeared table-side and apologized. "Once I saw you were OK, it was just funny to me." I said not to worry as I patted the top of my head and then was a little taken aback to see a small drop of blood on my palm.

However, my distaste for the scene runs deeper than just this. I can't get the toaster to work. I can't figure out how to spin the fruit bowl cover thing. I burn stuff. I don't need a whole carton of milk for a single bowl of cereal. I don't like people who stand in front of where I need to be and just stand there. I don't like to talk to people early in the morning. I don't like people who pour a cup of coffee and then commandeer the entire coffee area while they concoct their delicate balance of cream and sugar.

Just last Friday, a gentleman saw my Grey Seal Puppets t-shirt while I was trying desperately to get two pieces of wheat to stay DOWN in the toaster and he loudly proclaimed that he thought I dated his ex-wife in 1982. The hotel clerk stopped checking someone out and started checking us out. GET ME OUT OF HERE!


So when Saturday morning rolled around I found the breakfast bar to be a real train wreck. A bus full of middle-schoolers had joined us at the hotel the night before and it was game on this morning. So, I jetted past the breakfast bar, into my truck and headed straight to a nearby . . . .Denny's.

Saturday morning breakfast places are a crap shoot for sure. Always too busy, sometimes smoky, sometimes just bad.

But not this Denny's. You could tell upon entry that this place had it going on. Quick, efficient, not too crowded. The host quickly led me to a nice booth. We hurried past a middle aged lawyer-looking guy who woke up that morning and decided to say good bye to his legal world for the weekend and dress in camo cargo shorts and a "I'm a Legend in Japan" t-shirt. He was diving into a perfect stack of pancakes as his pretty companion stared forlornly out the window.

Before I knew it I had a mushroom and Swiss eggwhite omelet with above-average grits and fresh sourdough toast right in front of me. It was a great breakfast with a great server in a great place. The only momentary hiccup was when the kid across from me began slamming his body into his chairback as his father obliviously ate his waffle. Not to worry, after the 4th or 5th time, the older man who was receiving the body blows on the other side of the chairback growled "cut it out" without even lowering his News and Observer as his wife pursed her lips and all was calm again.

When I'm on the road performing, I like to start the day with a good breakfast and today Denny's came through. I strolled out into the bright Carolina sunshine, past a mini-van with a "Synthesizers are Musical Instruments too" bumper sticker and into my truck. I pointed my bow towards the Southeast and took off for Fayetteville and a performance at the Museum of Art.

"Write What You Know" - Mark Twain

I had a great trip down to Orlando last week for performances co-sponsored by the ultra-awesome City of Orlando Puppettroupe and the equally awesome Ibex Puppetry. It was a blast doing "A Show of Virtues" there as well as catching up with friends in the hopping Orlando puppet scene.

My trip took me from Charleston to central Florida. It was a beautiful ride through South Carolina's Ace Basin, Georgia's endless coastal savannas on into Florida's billboards. I was excited to pass the Wienermobile on 1-95. The Wienermobile has some power, maintaining a solid 75mph on down the road. That's one fast Wienermobile.

I stopped at a swanky "McCafe" for a Java McGrande. While climbing back into my rig, I noticed a raven-esque blackbird in the parking lot. The bird was eyeing a fry, baked to super-crispy in the warming Florida sun. As I looked closer I was amazed to see the bird had only one leg. How curious. The bird seemed to handle the handicap in stride. I watched as bird and fry ascended to a power line and marveled how he or she landed and steadied on the single appendage with little trouble. Ahh, life's little dramas.

My constant companion on this trip, as often is the case, was the music of Jimmy Buffett. For years I've waged a quiet crusade for this man's body of work; over 30 albums, novels, short stories, a kick-ass musical! My heart falls when people equate him with such pablum as "Cheeseburger in Paradise." Leave this silly fun to the escapist parrotheads that flock to his concerts in grass skirts and coconut shell bras. It's the deeper cuts of the album where I find solace.

I feel buoyed enough to openly share these comments here after none other than Bob Dylan recently tagged Buffett as one of his favorite songwriters, naming Buffett's "Death of an Unpopular Poet" and "He Went to Paris" as specific gems in the repertoire. What an affirmation! Long overdue!

So, I leave you with the lyrics from a Buffett masterpiece, inspired by the above-mentioned Mark Twain. Twain wrote in his classic "Following the Equator" about the tragic Remittance Man who was paid by his family to stay away from them. So, here's a little "mental floss" for you, to use another classic Buffett image:

THE REMITTANCE MAN, by Jimmy Buffett

Sinner on the mainland
He's a sinner on the sea
He looks for absolution
Not accountability
How many destinations
Oh God he's seen them all
He collects his precious pittance
Never a port of call

Remittance Man
Blacksheep of the family clan
Broke too many rules along the way
Remittance Man
So far away from home
No they'll never understand
The Remittance Man

A man of empty pockets
From jingling his change
The idleness and grieving
For all that he retains
By the harbour lights of Sydney
Or the Bora Bora moon
He recites his sad confession
To the seagulls and the loons

Remittance Man
Blacksheep of the family clan
Broke too many rules along the way
Remittance Man
So far away from home
No they'll never understand
The Remittance Man

Well you can claim that you were born a prince
But you're the only one you can convince
Survivor with no livelihood
That you could ever make it good
But still you dream of what you can pretend

An unexpected passenger
Boarded in Marseilles
An angel full of tenderness
She gave her heart away
She was but a gypsy
He was just a stray
They almost made a miracle but it slowly slipped away
So he follows the equator
With a wish to run aground
It's a very vicious circle
Goin' round and round and round
And he watches from the fantail
As the mainland disappears
Just like the Flying Dutchman
He's a prisoner of his fears

Remittance Man
Blacksheep of the family clan
Broke too many rules along the way
Remittance Man
So far away from home
No they'll never understand
No they'll never understand
No they'll never understand
The Remittance Man

A Place I Go

When I have a few days free of performances and obligations here at our studio in Charlotte, there's a place I go in the Low Country of South Carolina. It's a secluded place, the perfect spot to do some writing. There's no phone, no TV and no Internet.

Last week I had three concepts to present by Friday. It sounded like a good time for a few days "in the Village," to focus on the task at hand.

I have a writing table that looks out over a marsh and a small creek. It's very inspiring. Seated here with the salted breeze on my face, I can watch the marsh activities throughout the day. I see an osprey pluck a spottail out of the creek and soar skyward while he turns the fish in his talons to parallel his own body to better his aerodynamics. An egret stalks silently upstream and cormorants swim underwater. A giant pileated woodpecker drums on a pine tree while mullet jump three feet out of the water. Stoic blue herons stare out from the marsh grass. Amazingly, a bald eagle occasionally criss-crosses the marsh with a piercing scream to announce her arrival. Watching this wetlands smorgasbord, I tap away on my laptop.

As darkness falls, the writing intensifies. I have a bottle of Beaujolais tucked away. Bastille Day is a few months off, but I figure what the heck. As Buffett says, "I'm a Frenchman for a day." The Beaujolais is full-bodied and wonderful. It fuels the creative spirit. A draft of the three concepts is completed.

I spend the rest of my time in the Village editing and tinkering the piece. There's time for sitting on the dock and staring off across the marsh as the flag above pops in the prevailing breeze. The osprey checks back in and another mullet jumps. I'm sad that my time to leave is fast approaching. It's time to get back on the performance road.

I pack up and head out for some shows in Wake Forest, NC. My truck windows are open as I roll down the dirt road, I hear the bald eagle scream above the marsh and I look back for one final glance.

Day Trip to Aiken, SC

I love days like yesterday, which found me on the road at a reasonable hour for a mid-day performance and then back home, also at a reasonable hour! Added bonus? The destination was an ultra-cool little Southern town, one of my favorites, Aiken, SC!

I hit the road at 7:30am armed with some Home brew, sliced "Gala" apples and a burrito I made with fresh eggs from Marybeth across the street. The tunes were locked on XM 55.

Heading to Aiken always reminds me of when I was a teenager and I would take my horse, Nikki, there for schooling shows. It is a horse town for sure. I remember sleeping in the barn there and hearing the horses make their horse sounds. Lying on my back I would watch the bats in the rafters and breathe in the smells of hay, woodchips and manure. For me, a more savory, sensory concoction just doesn't exist!

I rolled into Aiken on US 1 to see a palette of huge azaleas that were resplendent in every color imaginable. Standing guard over them were dogwoods with blooms so luminescent they seemingly glowed on their own in the bright morning sunshine. I love the South! It was so beautiful.

I eased through downtown Aiken-proper, headed down Whiskey Road and turned into Hopelands Gardens. This was my third year doing this event, so knowing where to go and how to get there is always a comfort. This was an outdoor performance of our show called "A Show of Virtues." The performance space is a neat amphitheatre with a nifty creek between the stage and the audience. Alicia Davis, with the Aiken Parks and Rec. Department, always does a fantastic job of getting a huge crowd and perfect weather for this mid-week happening. Folks come and spread their blankets out and picnic during the show. The Easter Bunny cajoles about while Bufflehead Ducks swim in the creek before me. It is a bucolic place to do some puppets!

The show went well! Not always the case with an outdoor performance, which present their own set of problems; is the music loud enough, will that crow stop cawing and who is that walking out on the stage sort of stuff. Also, there was this little problem of no windscreen on my mike which led me to play a lot to stage right, thus enabling me to use my head to block the breeze that was terrorizing the microphone. In the calm moments, I would overplay it back to the left, hoping to keep those folks in the loop as well! Despite all that, I plowed in to the performance with optimism. In an effort to hold every one's attention, I ratcheted up my pacing a tick, raised the energy level and puppeteered away. The audience laughed and cheered and we all seemed to have a fine time.

I packed up the show and rolled it out to the truck. The load out area backs up to a barn that's on the grounds as well. As I shoved the last crate on board, the smell of hay and the soft nicker of a large Bay completed the day. Man oh man.

There's Somebody Doing That

I had a swell time in Greenville, South Carolina recently. Librarian Eva Putnam brought Grey Seal in for a performance as part of their Family Fun Series. The library in downtown Greenville is gorgeous and the room where the performance was held was large and spacious. Our production called Tangle of Tales was the perfect show for the occasion. A sell-out crowd provided a wonderful energy for the evening!

As Tangle of Tales begins, an abstract green hand/sculpture puppet begins moving around the stage. As the character began moving at this performance, I heard a small voice in the audience say, " there's somebody doing that." The tone of the voice was not definitive, it wasn't 100% sure about its statement. It was as if the voice was trying to at once convince and reassure itself.

I thought a lot about that statement on the drive home. As puppeteers, isn't that what it really all boils down to? Sure, there IS somebody doing that. But it is our job to create the illusion of life, through movement, if only for a moment. The wonder in the simple statement was a great thing. The fact that this little voice wasn't committed to believing one way or another was the perfect testimony to what puppet theatre is all about.

I love that this all happened during non-verbal movement of the character as well. That little statement was a microcosm of all my puppet philosophy; succinctly uttered in a mere moment. There's somebody doing that. There is somebody doing that whenever a puppet is manipulated. Through the mere movement of a puppet we can non-verbally create a thought-process, a mood and a tempo. We can create conflict and resolution. We can make our audiences feel something, some emotion. They may want to laugh, they may want to cry. All without the need for words. How great it that?

So, indeed, there was somebody doing that. But hopefully, at least for a moment, we can convince ourselves that there wasn't. Suspending reality and creating belief that a little hunk of foam and fabric is alive, only for a moment; that's our job and therefore we should be doing just that.

Quick Philly Trip

Last weekend I made a quick trip up to Philadelphia for two performances of The Emperor's New Clothes. I drove up from Charlotte on Saturday, spent the night in the heart of the City of Brotherly Love, did the shows on Sunday and buzzed on back home right afterwards. It was great. I love the life of the puppet troubadour!

I left Charlotte around 9:00am, equipped with a K.R. Special from Owen's Bagels, three litres of Raspberry Lime Sparkling Water, some Stacey's TexArkana Hot Pita Chips and a recently downloaded album of Lord Kitchener, King of Calypsos.

From the onset I had several altercations with Eva, the nice girl inside my GPS. She was hellbent that I go up I-85 and I was just as hellbent to take the laid back, pastoral trip through the Shenandoah Valley via I-77 and I-81. I finally convinced her.

The trip up was great. I can never get enough of the bucolic wonder of those gentle hills that roll through Virginia. I saw an amazing vertical line of cows grazing up the side of one hill and thought of my father telling me when I was a boy that mountain cows were bred with their legs shorter on one side so they can stand on the mountainside just right. I believe him.

I drove on and thought about the performances coming up tomorrow and marveled at whoever the clever person was to book The Emperor's New Clothes in conjunction with a Textile Exhibit at the museum. That's just hilarious to me.

Just like that I was there and checked in and wandering around the Avenue of the Arts on a Saturday night, and Valentine's Day no less. I thought of my Valentine Peggy, who was home alone with our dog Jessie. Then I realized that dinner might be a problem; swooning couples were streaming, arm in arm, into every eatery in sight.

I peered through the windows at an Italian place right next to my hotel and saw what I had been searching for; a lone seat at the bar. The Traveling Man's Shangri-La! I had my newspaper pacifier folded neatly under my arm as I strolled confidently inside the welcoming confines of Sotto Varalli.

I sat down and order a nice glass of Montepulciano. I scanned the crowd, noting the different temperatures of the Valentine Lovers around the bar. Some were new and excited, others where assured and complacent. Two old black guys played the piano and upright bass off in the corner and the place was filled with their wonderful crooning. It was nice.

I chatted with this guy Mike who was waiting with a party of 10 couples for their table. He was a physicist. A fusion (not fission!) physicist no less. Quite a guy. Then I chatted with the couple on the other side of me. I told the gentleman that he looked like a cross between Bil Baird and Anthony Hopkins. I was amazed when he responded, "who is Anthony Hopkins?"

After more observing and another glass of the Red, I left with some gnocchi for the room and a good night's rest before the shows the next day.

The performances were a blast. Everyone at the Museum was fantastic to work with. The houses were full and the audiences had a passion that was great. The Emperor's New Clothes relies heavily on 5 volunteers from the audience and both shows provided excellent "townspeople."

Before I knew it, I had struck the show and the truck was headed South once again. Some more pita chips and sparkling water and another tank of gas. It was a quiet, uneventful trip highlighted by my iPod on a full shuffle of all the music on there. What a wild ride that was. It would go from a Beethoven Sonata to Todd Snyder to Lucinda Williams to the aforementioned Lord Kitchener to Jimmy Buffett to Charlotte Church to etc. etc. etc. Man, it was something.

Towards the end of the trip, some beautiful snow fell in the mountains of Virginia, just before crossing into North Carolina. I pulled back in front our our house at midnight and all was well. Great trip!