Day Fifteen: Plymouth - Blood and Fire

Photo: Orson joins Nick for a bite.

The schizophrenic weather of Plymouth kept us on our toes all day. The folks took a lovely boat ride in the harbor, while it intermittently pissed rain and shone bright, warm sun. Meanwhile, Kelly and I met Nick at the hall for tech.

It's a big room, the Salvation Army meeting hall, and Nick had high expectations. There were twenty seats purchased in advance, there were notices in local papers and he did an interview which was played several times, yesterday and today, on the radio station, Plymouth Sound.

I asked him what the pitch was, remembering the kind of comments which were made on BBC Lincolnshire. Nick is quite familiar with the show, having seen it last October at the AGM, and listening to the radio drama several times. Describing it over lunch (he helped us all find a great cafe near the boat dock where we were able to escape the rain) Nick made I HATE THIS sound like a gripping, exciting drama, one that anyone could get into. So that sounded great.

They'd set up chairs for maybe two hundred on the main floor, with overflow capacity in the balcony for another fifty. I know he was being cheeky when he suggested we might need all those seats, but I alos know he was holding out hope for a large turnout.

You can see where I am going with this. In fact, if you have any previous knowledge about the history of this production,the fact that the house was small shouldn't surprise you. It didn't surprise me, and I was not disappointed by it, I only felt bad for Nick and his wife Tracey, whom I knew had spent a lot of time and effort putting this together. I believe it was particularly upsetting that almost half the people who had made paid reservations did not show up, though there were a few walk-ups.

That included one very tall man (sorry I didn't catch the name) who had made a reservation for the Exeter performance, and called the day-of to ask for directions, and was surprised to find only that way that the event had been cancelled. He said he drove like mad to get here tonight.

It was challenging balancing the small crowd (I am thankful they were asked to move to the front of the house) and the large space. There were points where I stepped down off the stage and stood right in front of them (Memorial Day, The Future) and I was ready when they did not laugh at the "Cloisters" joke - as most do not. Sometimes I say, "Huh, they love that joke in New York."

Tonight I said, "Huh ... they loved that joke in Belfast."

I thought that was funny. So did Kelly.

Following tea and cake, our Q&A was almost like a group session, we treated it as one. Toni and I weren't up on the stage, we were down with everyone, talking about our stories.

That reminds me of an interesting thing ... yesterday, after we'd split into two groups, Nick and Kelly and I were wandering through Drake's Circus. Kelly went off to the loo, and Nick and I were just standing there in the middle of this busy mall.

I just blurted out, "So, Nick, what's your story?"

He blinked, inhaled, and told me about Sarah Louise. And that was good.

You know, over the course of the past two weeks, Toni and I took a little time to grow into our role as child loss ambassadors, or whatever you might want to call us. In Carlisle we were a bit too scattered to be as personable, or sensitive as we might have liked. I'm not saying we were impolite, but my interactions with Libby were very business-like - I need this, I need that, do you think these things can be taken care of by tomorrow - and we spent most of the intervening time relaxing, making sure the kids were adjusting, and so on.

We'd even showed up late that first afternoon, because we were enjoying ourselves in Glasgow, and didn't bother to call her to let her know.

Photo: The famous Plymouth King Prawn.

It wasn't until after the performance that I had a chance to chat with her husband Ian about their little boy, and then say something to her some time shortly before we departed for the evening. I can make excuses about being wobbly, nervous and uncertain, but I still wish I'd started off better.

And yet, "What's your story?" I don't think I'd ever asked anyone about their child so bluntly in my life. It didn't hurt that Nick (being so much, you know, like Nick) seems like aguy who you can talk to like that. I also wondered after the fact if it's because I don't usually ask guys about their children, I usually start with the women and the approach is much softer.

The discussion was very warm and everyone was very kind. There were an awful lot of men in that small crowd, and it was good to see them, sitting so stoically in their seats. But when the time came I heard what I am always glad to hear, that this story is like theirs, there is so much in common in my story to theirs.

Toni observed a few days ago that she sometimes feels it is odd, sitting up on a stage, talking about our loss, and having so many people ask us about it, as though our loss is more significant than theirs. I don't see it that way. Maybe I am the guy who stands up publicly to tell his story not because my story is more poingnant, it isn't, but it's a story, and I tell it and people can point to it and say, that's my story. Like, it makes their story more poignant, because of the great similarlities of emotion and circumstance, and they can share it with friends and say, see, that's what I am going through. That story is my story.

Day Twelve: Lurgan - Town Hall Meeting

The view outside our window this morning.

I make it a habit during long journeys never to log what will happen, but only what has happened. In that way I don't repeat myself ... or have to explain how something I said was going to happen, didn't.


Yesterday was not filled with the luck of the ... there were unfortunate incidents.

 While everything eventually worked out, there were difficulties getting the computer to recognize the projector. BBC Belfast cancelled our radio interview. And I seriously bonked my head on one of the low-doorways in our cottage, leaving a nasty egg on my crown.

I found a fairy princess in the garden.

Having said that, we had a very fine performance at Lurgan Town Hall. Steven brought his teenage son Matt in to take care of the computer difficulties (of course.) It was the first old-fashioned "stage" I have performed on here, instead of looking up at the audience, or straight out, I actually had to look down at them.

There were some seventy people in attendance. I have grown used to audiences not laughing, at all, at anything, during the performances this week. Maybe it is because of the language barrier (that ironic American humor, you know.) Maybe it is because of my delivery, who knows.

Last night, however, they were laughers. Not huge, belly-laughers, no one does that, not that kind of show, but they did laugh appreciatively. I might make some kind of sweeping observation about the Irish knowing something about dark humor, but, well, I guess I just did.

Feeding the ducks at the nature center at Lough Neagh

There was this one woman in the front row, she had these great glasses, she looks just like Toni's friend Andrea from New York (Toni said the same thing!) She was seated right in front of the phone, and was cracking up at the muzak - when "Lonely Boy" came on she was my anchor, she thought that was hysterical and I just smiled at her for several seconds before giving her the "I love this song," line.

Of course, I knew it was going to be a good performance when Steven introduced it as "Ah Heet Thass - a plee wi'oot tha baybeh."

One of the most interesting questions we received was, "What did you hope to get out of doing this?" Toni and I talked about it later, I think she was concerned at first that it was an accusation, but I wasn't. One thing that was great was that it was a question we could pass onto Steven, who joined us on stage. He had the chance to share the idea SANDS had for bringing me here, to raise awareness of the issue, and of their organization.

Toni also got to speak about the kind of fact-finding work we have been able to do, hearing other people's stories and making observations about the state of health care in different parts of the country - ours and theirs.

And for my part, I took it back to the beginning - what did I hope to get out of doing this, meaning writing it. Which was nothing but my own need to tell this story, as a theater artist. At first, I had no idea that this play would take me to such places. I didn't envision it being used as an educational tool, for nurse and doctors, certainly not to be a touchpoint for the parents of other dead children. I wanted to see if I could make my personal story into a good play.

# # #
Zelda came walking into the bathroom with a pair of underpants on her head. "I'm a butthead!" she declaimed.

"Hmn," I mused, "who made up that joke?"

"I did," Zelda proested, leaving the bathroom. "Kelly and I made it up."

If my four year-old is going to use correct grammar, she is allowed the occasional vulgarity.

Day Nine: Birmingham - Backtalk

I had an honest-to-God actor's nightmare last night! Great Lakes was producing The Importance of Being Earnest. I was playing Algernon. (Scoff if you like - I said this was a nightmare.)

I have never been in a production of Earnest in my life. I found myself backstage, fifteen minutes before curtain, almost entirely in costume, and I didn't know a word. I picked up a script in the valiant attempt to cram some lines, but they were incomprehensible. They certainly weren't pithy.

The first act was a mess. I remember at one point, during an awkward pause, D.A. stated rather exaggeratedly, "Maybe David Hansen would have something to say about it." I believe I had missed a cue.

Laura Perrotta was pissed. So was Eve Michaelson, but that was just normal.

Meanwhile, during waking life ... last night I realized I had come up short (no pun) on y-fronts. As a result, the folks here in Birmingham have pulled ahead of the pack in one very important respect: they did our laundry.

Ooh, that was lovely.

Photo: Camping out in Nottingham Station.

You see, the weather had turned the day we left London, and continued raining pretty regularly the entire time we were in Lincoln. We took the short train to Nottingham ... where we discovered our train to Birmingham had been cancelled. All the trains to Birmingham had been cancelled. The trackes had been flooded, or maybe it was just the electric signals. We sat around the station in Nottingham, making calls to our contacts in London and Birmingham, and waiting for the rail situation to change.

We began speculating on a night's stay in Nottingham when they suddenly announced a train would be going through, but by the time we arrived in Birmingham, all other trains had been cancelled. So in that respect, we were lucky. Except Toni had planned on spending the afternoon doing laundry, and now there would be no time, if we could even find a laundrette in the city center.

Lisa and Elaine, the two main organizers of our event here for SANDS joined us at the hotel for some late night libations ... and asked if someone couldn't wash my underpants.

The performance today was the end of the local SANDS conference, sharing the new Guidlines. There was a larger percentage of medical health professionals than bereaved parents, or so it seemed, and the Q&A included the first comment I have had on this tour from an offended nurse, one who didn't appreciate my presenting only the negataive aspects of our time in the hospital. It was a respectful exchange. I think everyone knows my opinion on this subject, the character I am playing the show is who I was at the time, and that's how I felt. I understand it can be harsh, the play is called I HATE THIS.

What was unique about this talkback was that not only was Toni joining me, but so was Connie. As a nurse, as a woman who trains obstetric nurses, as Toni's mother and as a bereaved grandparent, she offered a rich point of view to the proceedings.

As a result the discussion with the audience had nothing to do with the history of the play, less to do with our lives since 2001, and so much to do with caregivers, what assistance is available (or not) to parents who have lost children in both the US and the UK, and issues regarding grandparents and other relatives.

It was an intimate gathering, maybe thirty audience members. A lot of them knew each other, and aspects of the discussion were, not so much a debate, but a mutual agreement on certain points regarding patient care and communication. I probably said the least during this talkback than I ever had, and I think that was a very good thing.

Photo: Zelda loves to pose with otters.

In the five-year history of this play, I have never performed it many times in a row. The fringe festivals were five perfs each. And though I have performed this show for hospitals and conferences before, it has never been incorporated something like one help organizartion's two-week schedule of events. What this has done for me, and also for Toni, is to really challenge our participation in perinatal bereavement and counseling. The extended dialogue we have participated in through all of these talkbacks has thrown what we have accomplished, and what we still hope to do into some kind of relief. Today was particularly helpful in that regard.

The kids had a good day, we took them to National Sea Life, an aquarium which is so totally geared to kids. There can't be a fish tank without there's a ship's anchor in it, or a statue of a mermaid.

Day Eight: Lincoln to Birmingham - Children of Us

{SPOILER ALERT.}

While we were riding the London Eye, Adrienne and I had an uncomfortable conversation about the movie Children of Men. I think that, among other things, it is about how humans go insane when they can't have children. Adrienne says it's a dumb chase movie with a pregnant woman in it, and the guy dies at the end.

{END OF SPOILER.}

I was flabbergasted. I know Children of Men is not everyone's favorite movie, Toni and I were both not a little put off by John Ewing's condescending characterization of it. For those who are unaware, the premise is that people have stopped being able to have children. The last person to survive childbirth was born eighteen years ago. The very first action of the movie is the announcement that this person has been killed.

When Clive Owen's character, Theo, walks into his office, everyone in their little cubby is watching the news on their computers and quietly (or not quietly) weeping. All of them. And every cubby, especially the ones of the women, but not exclusively, are festooned with baby figures, ribbons, little mementoes of lost children. They are everywhere.

If director Alfonso Cuarón doesn't have some personal experience with child loss, all I can say is he did his homework. And once that world was set, I could clearly see what a world where no one could have children might look like. I see it in some small, manageable version every time I do this show. It's our experience, without end, times everyone else in the world.

So you will excuse me if I have little patience with someone who doesn't "get" that movie. In fact, I surprise myself at my reaction to people who don't "get" that movie, it makes me feel like they can't "get" us.

But then again, you know, it is just a flick with a lot of stuff blowing up.

From beginning to end our experience in Lincoln has been just fabulous. I've been here 36 hours now and I'm going to miss it.

Terry O'Toole Theatre

The show went extremely well, from a technical standpoint. It's a great, new black box theater. It's small, maybe two hundred seats, and it's kind of octagonal. The seats angle to the sides. I was thrust out into the audience, looking to my left and right during a lot of it, which was new and different and took some time to get used to.

Tech took a very short period of time, and we even had lights fade in at the beginning and out at the end. It was like a real play!

The performance was just a little difficult. There was virtually no sound from the audience. None. They laughed when I said sh*t, that was about all. And yet, I knew they didn't hate the show, just that they must be taking it all very personally. This silence no longer affects me in a negative way, only I adjust most "punchlines" to be less of a grasp for laughs, I just say them and move on.

However, this lack of vocal response normally translates into a brief, awkward Q&A. This was not the case in Lincoln. Our post-show discussion lasted maybe a half-hour to forty-five minutes. The questions kept coming, and they were very good questions. A lot of times the questions are about the show, and the show's history, but last night there were so many about the details of child loss - about our own experiences, to be sure, but then also about the exepreinces of the people in the audience.

A number of new, fascinating questions arose when they learned we have had two subsequent pregnancies. What was it like when you were in labor and giving birth to your first living child? Where do you tell them Calvin is? Have you thought of incorporating the fact that you have Zelda and Orson into the play?

This last was from a very meaningful woman named Tracey. I had to handle this question with care, because I remember all too well the strong reaction I got from other parents of lost children when it was suggested (thanks, Tony) that I had changed the play when my first living child was born. If I understood her correctly, the ending was so painful for her she wanted some kind of release during the play to let her know everything was all right for us. I explained, as well as I could, that I just don't feel like giving anyone that release during the drama, and she accepted that.

Besides, that's really what the Q&A are for.

I have been accused of being "dispassionate" in my performance, but when one mother shared that her living children believe their dead sibling is with the Man in the Moon, I almost teared up. It was something their grandmother had told them, and she didn't disabuse them of it. I wouldn't have, either.

We found out more details meeting people face to face afterwards. Julia's mom had made scones, and there were strawberries and coffee and tea, and we stayed in the lobby a long time, talking to so many people.

We took a particular delight in meeting Julia's girl Heidi, who is fifteen, and desperate to be a star. She hung out with us backstage before the performance and we made jokes about American and British accents and asked her about her plans. She's done a lot of theater in the Lincoln area, and will be a featured extra in The Golden Compass with Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig.

She does a very amusing American accent. But then, so do I.


Check out the new raincoat.
Luverly.

Day Six: London to Lincoln - Bad Busker

Photo: Royal College of Physicians performance. Big big screen.

Yesterday started well enough, with a well-anticipated 5 mile run. Things quickly soured as the getting-out-the-door ritual was unfortunately stressful. I was exhausted (hmn, going to be at 1 am and waking the next morning at 6 for a five mile run witll do that) and highly anxious about the performance at the Royal College of Physicians. But parenthood took precedence and we took the children to Coram's Fields.

As if the stroll to the park wasn't already stoked with thoughts of anger and indequacy (a rocking chair? hello?) Toni informed me that Coram's Field - a lovely playground (one with a policeman at the gate, to keep anyone without children out) with expansive sandboxes for the toddlers (like Orson) a wide variety of climbing contraptions (for people like Zelda) and even game captains to lead older children in more advanced play - was formerly the site of the Foundling Hospital. The bad historical juju, coupled with the sight of my own children playing without a care in the world made something inside of me crumble and I just had to sit and stare.

We arrived at the RCP in plenty of time to set everything up - including a lovely, wooden rocking chair. I didn't want to get into it with anyone, I was about to collapse. I realized I hadn't had anything for lunch, so Kelly and I breezed into the crowded hall where the food was, avoiding eye contact with absolutely everyone, loaded up a small plate, snatching an apple, a hunk of cheese, and bunch of grapes, and escaping back to the little room to the side of the stage.

There was a couch, some chairs, a table. I ate and whined about my life as Kelly, dutiful as always, listened patiently, and then went out to get everything arranged on stage and in the booth.

A large painting, a portrait, of Edward VII hung on the wall. He looked like my Dad, except for the suit.

Photo: The panel discussion.

I had never been so unsure of myself before a performance. And this wasn't even such an unusaul event, but I was so shaken, exhausted, overwhelmed and unhappy, I had no idea how I was going to be able to do this. Toni came backstage and we talked. I just resigned myself to my fate, the show would go on, of course. I just hoped it wasn't terribly awful.

The music started, Calvin's Theme, if you will (check my "Profile," it's there) and I stepped out and did something I never did before. The lights were on full, and I took my time walking to my place in the center of the stage. I usually just keep my eye on that spot, move to it, and look at my hands. This day I looked at everything. The table, the phone, the stepladder, I turned to look at the rocking chair. I took in this room of memories. It gave me confidence.

The room was a lecture hall, maybe three hundred seats, with an estimated 170 attendants, but they were spread evenly throughout the seats. The seats were steeply raked. I was mic'ed (I wasn't in Carlisle, they could hear me whisper in the back of that room without one) and when the opening music faded, I looked up and said, "WHAT?"

I surprised myself, and everyone else, by the volume. Good start, though.

And it was a good show, craning my neck up to the top, taking in the entire audience. Why has it taken five years to become so comfortable with this play? It's like something new, I am looking at the audience, not over them. I feel I am talking to them, not performing for them.

It was warm in there, some people were slouching a bit in their seats, but I didn't mind. The show was working. There were groans, laughs - the British jokes work.

It's become "We had a real English breakfast; eggs, bacon, sausage, turkey rashers, meat, meat and meat," as a complete list, not as commentary.

Photo: Nice shirt - and just in time, too.

The line, "Have you ever noticed, there are newborn babies everywhere ... even in Britain," always gets a laugh in London. It got a bigger laugh in Carlisle when I said, "even in London," which is what I will no doubt repeat tomorrow in Lincoln.

After a short break for coffee, there was a panel discussion about the entire conference, and Toni participated in that. After we stayed and shook hands with a number of folks, including some young couples - two couples each lost a child just this past November. They all impressed me with the way they had already incorporated their children into their lives, though they all had stories about how difficult some family member was being in ackowledging their lost babies.

The rocking chair thing, it turned out, was simply a last-minute error. The chair that they did in fact have at the SANDS office has recently been picked up, unbeknownst to those who knew they still needed it, by the owner who had since left "on holiday." The whole, "throw a blanket over an office chair" was a last-minute fix, an attempt to set things right, without realizing how important it was to me, or the show. A mistake, not some intentional (or even unintentional) slight. But hey, I get so few opportunities for diva fits.

For dinner we joined my brother and his family at a Giraffe close to our hotel. I was practically brainless, but the cocktails were scrumptious and I did my best to be personable. However, this 5 mile running, nervous breakdown having, solo performance acting twit was not through yet. I felt I had earned some joy, and so I left bedtime to Toni, and went out pub-hopping with Kelly and Adrienne. Adrienne finally got to hear the true story of how her sister and I hooked up, which seems creepy since I've know her since she was ten. However, as has been previously mentioned, she is now 23 ... which was how old Toni was when we started dating.

Oh Jesus Christ am I old.

Anyway, the pints were tasty, the conversation was blue, and I went to bed shortly before 1 am.

Photo: Zelda learns a fun magic trick from a complete asshole.

We caught the 5:50 out of King's Cross on our way to Lincoln, and I am writing this on the train. The day was spent quite liesurely, largely in Regent's Park. Con and Adrienne set off on their own the explore Westminster Abbey, and we just strolled through the park, paddled out on the pond to get a closer look at the baby birds, and took a nap under the trees.

We made a brief trip to Covent Garden where we saw the worst magician ever. I have seen buskers make fun of the crowd before for not applauding, but this guy was a legend. He actually stopped his act before it was over, to chastise us for standing around like dummies, and backed away without taking any money.

What a dick.

Day Three: Carlisle to London - Macking on the Dead

Last night Z. & O. treated us to their own rendition of To My Brother Russell, Whom I Slept With. Blame jet-lag if you like, it was irritating.

The performance at St. Cuthbert's couldn't have gone smoother. Technical considerations can be such a headache, we do not have a large operation and to make this work, every venue agreed to provide everything except me and Kelly and a disk full of cues. The set has to be cobbled together at every site, and they have to be sure to have PowerPoint capabilities.

Since the beginning, every site has needed to provide their own rocking chair, even if I bring everything else. As a result, it's always exciting to see what the chair is going to look like. Carlisle set the record for "Shortest Rocking Chair Ever," but it sure was cute.

Friday my biggest concern was the screen - the projector was no problem but there was no blank wall to cast them on. Libby tried very hard to find one and came up short. I was also concerned that the light fixtures, electric candelabras, were too dim. Lots of bulbs at the "stage" end of the room were burned out.

Well. Night of, Libby arrives with her husband Ian and sister Sue and co-group member Angela. Toni was also on hand and between them and Kelly and I, figured out every concern in short order (including dinner, which I always forget to eat on performance nights.) The room was set up with about thirty chairs, they did succeed in finding the only screen in Cubria so we had that to work with, and Ian "pinched" the lights from the fixtures in the back of the room to fill out those in the front.

There were something short of thirty people in attendance. I was feeling surprisingly relaxed in my delivery (Kelly said she could tell - whenever I am comfortable I "mess up" a lot of lines, but f*ck her, she's just the f*cking stage manager, what does she know. F*ck.) and I felt confident delivering some of my alterations to the "British" text.

I still feel stupid saying, "ice lollies" however.

Toni joined me for the discussion after, and we met some lovely people over tea and cake following that. I had neglected to ask our contact about her own experience - I sometimes need to remember, when dealing with bereavement groups (as opposed to, say, medical institutions) that many of the people I am working with have also lost children. And even when I do, well, I guess I wait for them to bring it up, shame on me.

Libby and Ian lost a boy named Kiran just shy of one year ago. I had a long talk with Ian about the boy, and about the way he has dealt with it. Saying our good-byes I wished Libby a good day on the 28th and that's when the tears started. I felt bad, the way people do, for "bringing it up," which is ridiculous when you think about what I have been doing for the past six years. It also goes to show how ingrained these reactions are.

St. Cuthbert's is a great little church. The sides are lined with old tombstones that, for all appearances, were uprooted from the field next to the building. It's a nice, open space, walled-in. The entire time we were there, all evening, there were young people lying about, eating, drinking, making out, on that space.

I thought it was odd, that they had moved the stones, to make that field. "Why?" Toni asked.

So many of the stones included references to babies that died in infancy. I heard Philip Roth on Terri Gross last week, talking about his book "Everyman." The subject was cemeteries, and he noted there how many stones were for children in the old days, and that you don't see that much anymore, because it isn't as much of a problem. I like Philip Roth, but he's been around too long to be that dumb.

Kentuckianaland

Lovely performance last night for the Consoling Parents Support Group in Louisville, KY. Our hosts have been really wonderful, among other things they brought in dinner from this great local seafood grill place before the performance, and there was childcare for the kids who were there. Z&O had the chance to play with other children for the first time in a few days.

Due to a last minute conflict, Nick couldn't join us to run slides and sound - but he did spend a lot of time in the past couple of weeks updating the entire PowerPoint program so (ta-da) Toni was able to run it herself. Her connection to the show (which she must have seen a dozen times already) made her a little nervous about it, but she exectued everything perfectly.

The performance was held in the Beargrass Christian Church - one of the best spaces I have ever worked in! They recently expanded their facilities, adding a new, state-of-the-art sanctuary. The "stage" was solid hardwood, they have two large projection screens, and automatic shades to cover the stained glass windows. The sound system was okay.

I have found I have three kinds of audiences. Theater or "Fringe" audiences (which I have not performed for in almost three years), medical professionals (nurses, midwives, doctors, etc.) and bereaved parents and the people how love them. I usually know what to expect from any of these audiences. People there for theater find it "interesting." Medical practioners, even those who are affcted by it (and most are) treat it like a learning experience - and don't laugh. And the bereaved see themselves in large parts of the story and gasp, laugh or groan in expected (or not) places.

Last night was different. I knew it was a bereavement organization. Turnout was modest, which can effect reaction. Also, I was not wearing my glasses. This messed up the second line of the show, I said it but muffed it a little, which freaked me out - until I realized I was using part of my brain to focus, to make out faces. So I relaxed, stopped trying to do that, and actually felt a strange peace and relaxation I don't normally feel performing this show, because I had nothing to go on - I could look straight at them without wondering if they were sad, terrified, or just hated me.

But they were very quiet. I think Amy did the most laughing, and - I think, I can't be sure, I couldn't see - her 13 year-old daughter. I was surprised. Maybe concerned. A little worried.

We held a talkback after, and Toni got to join me onstage, which is alwasy good - betterm really - than me doing it on my own. People always have questions for her. And there were a few. Very few. The talkback lasted maybe five minutes, there was mostly a lot of soft talking and pauses.

I had an explanation afterwards, at the reception. What I was stunned to learn was how many of the audience members were fresh in their grief. I met so many women who had lost children in the last six to eighteen months. No wonder their response was muted, they were still in this, deep in the middle of the feelings, the pain, the confusion I go over in my show. In fact, by the end of the play, Toni and I were further along than a number of those in attendance.

I am glad I get the chance, after each performance, to meet so many of the people who come to see it, I would find it very dizzying and uncomfortable to just go backstage, change and leave. I think this is why New York was so difficult. I'd do the show, change, and hit the sidwalk, and everyone would be gone, onto the next thing. Even in Minnesota there were usually a few hanging back to say something.

This has been a very good experience, the folks here have been too kind. Even the hotel's really good (big ups, Courtyard Marriott.) There's even talk of returning, and I think we'd all like that.

What are we supposed to say?

Working backwards, let me say the performance went over very well. Most appearances get planned maybe ssix months to a year in advance. Many of my appearances have been for medical health professionals, nurses, midwives and doctors. This was one of those.

My appearance at this conference in Warrensville Heights this past Friday was arranged by Carrie C. - the original Nurse Angel. She is the first nurse I portray in the show (as opposed to the resident and midwife, who were present when we got the news) the one who breezes in like a whirlwind, rattles off a list of awful decisions we need to make, and then breezes out again.

Her role is sometimes misunderstood. She's not meant to come off as callous, but she did have the unevniable job of telling us everything we needed to know and what we needed to think about. I like to think she is presented as efficient, direct and compassionate - in less than thirty seconds.

She was present for the performance. She brought her mom. Toni and I love Carrie.

THE FIRST QUESTION

I could tell the performance had gone well, because there was applause, and a lot of crying. And honestly, I was surprised. It is always difficult to reconnect with this play after a long break. Seven months, in this case. Afterwards someone remarked on how I can remember all those lines. I said it's easier than memorizing a play, because it's my story, I can make stuff up if I want to (more on that later.)

Anyway, I was surprised. The performance was in one of those big, corporate dining facilities, with state-of-the-art sound and video. Last year, both performances in London and even the one if Chicago were marred by hours of tech beforehand where Kelly and I were just trying to figure out some of the most basic stuff. Something was not compatible, and either the sound or PowerPoint would not work until maybe fifteen minutes before curtain.

For the first time since 2003 Nick was on the case. He has merged the sound into the PowerPoint (the way it always should have been, I guess) and our tech on Thursday lasted about five minutes. I was able to waltz into the space a scant thirty minutes befor the show on Friday.

However, as is usually the case in such facilities, it's lights up the whole time. Which means I can see everyone. And it's not a happy happy show. People look sad. Or maybe even bored, it happens. Or ... hostile. I've encountered that before. Feeling insecure already, I simply couldn't tell how the show was going over. There are funny parts, and usually that's my only gauge. If they laugh when they are supposed to, then I know they are with me.

Very few laughs. There was one table, down left, that seemed to have everyone under the age of thirty at it. They laughed. They were my anchor when I thought I was truly sucking, I looked at them.

Apparently this was all in my head, however (and there's a good reason for that, wait for it) maybe I had simply forgotten the difference between the medical practitioner audience and the bereaved parents audience. The bereaved parents - they laugh. Because they know where the jokes are. Heck, sometimes they know when the jokes are coming.

One day, however, I do need to get down to business and write that FAQ for after the performance. I like the Q&A that follows, but we could save some time if I headed off some of the questions beforehand. Because, as sure as an actor is going to be asked, "how do you memorize all those lines," the first question a nurse is going to ask is this:

"What are we supposed to say?"

One time, a few years ago, it was truly aggressive. I opened the floor to questions, there was an icy silence (which was a neat trick, as it was about ninety degrees in the room) and then someone said, "Well, you told us everything we've ever done wrong, what are we supposed to say?"

That's not what I got on Friday. What was asked was concerned and direct - but it was the same question. I truly believe I answer that question in the course of the play, though I am very interested in how readers of this blog would answer that question; "What are we supposed to say?"

WHAT I GOT WRONG - or - THE PLAY WITHOUT ANOTHER BABY

Here's the thing. I work very hard to get this story back up to speed after a long break. But it's very hard. I get surprised sometimes by things that I have forgotten, things that are second-nature. And sometimes I feel I have done it so many times I have locked up a little, and that I am missing out on an opportunity here, to let the play grow with repetition.

And I thought I was doing all right. And sometimes I miss something, like when I didn't mention that my brother lives in London in the first sentence of that scene - I just said it a moment later, where it made sense to include that information. That was odd, but no one could tell.

But then there's the second "Julie" scene, where she calls to apologize for the first phone call. It was all right. I bobbled a line, forgot where I was a little bit, which is odd, that scene is usually solid. But I thought I got it out right. Just felt strange.

Very strange. And as I hung up the phone it occured to me (no, wait, that song comes later) but as I hung up I thought, what is the point of that scene? She just called to apologize? That's it? That felt a little flat ... and I put the phone back in its cradle, and I think, SH*T! I didn't say she was pregnant!

So I spend most of the rest scene flying on automatic, trying to say my lines at the same time I am trying to figure out exactly how much I have destroyed this performance. It took about a minute to realize (this is while I am playing one of the more difficult scenes for me in the entire play) it will just come up at Christmas, it will be a surprise then, but no less significant, and that's all that can be done about it. Can't go back, must move forward.

"Two households, both alike in Verona, in fair ... I'll come in again."

TOOTING YOUR OWN HORN

This past weekend we were in Athens, and checked out a package of short subjects at the Athens Video + Film Festival. Some were good, some were not. The worst piece was The Girls of Elizabeth Street (the promo mats claim it was inspired by Truffant's "Les Mistons" but who gives a f*ck) which wasn't merely pedestrian and poorly made, but was prefaced by a rolling list of all the places it had won awards and all the numerous festivals it had been accepted to.

We just watched as the list went on and on, and I couldn't help but saying out loud, "Well. It better be good."

I don't know what bothered me more. The fact that it was set in 1976 and yet the kid had Star Wars figures, or the fact that there was narration AND numerous title cards, or the fact that the filmmaker had absolutely nothing original or interesting to say about being a pre-adolescent boy. None of these things would have bothered me nearly as much, however, if it hadn't been prefaced by a list of major awards.

Which is how I was feeling right before I went on, when Carrie graciously mentioned to the audience that I HATE THIS had been recongized by the Plain Dealer, the New York Times and the Ohio Society of Professional Journalists.

Well. It better be good.

And so I stepped out, feeling like I had set myself up for mediocrity. And I neglected to mention Julie was pregnant.

I have more to say about this, much more. But it's taken forty-five minutes to get this much out. Excuse me if I sound churlish. As performances of I HATE THIS go, it went very well, all around. Everyone was extremely kind, and I did give them (mostly) the same performance everyone gets. I believe this is more than I have ever said about what goes on in my brain when putting on one of these shows, and I am simply hoping it doesn't reflect too poorly on what I'm doing.

And, oh yeah - "What are we supposed to say?"

Dropping the F-Bomb

Click on for larger image.

Today's performance at the Ohio AWHONN Conference was exceptional for a number of reasons, all of them cause for celebration.

First off, it was just a really good experience. There was no time to hold a Q&A afterwards, so Kelly and I just hung out around the food, ate fruit cocktail and an awful lot of nurses came up to me to talk. I was only planning to stay maybe a half hour before we hit the road for home, but too many people wanted to talk, and that was really great.

My contact, Jennifer D. was remarkably helpful in getting everything set up, making sure the rocking chair arrived, etc. I owe her a lot for bringing the show there, and talking it up so well prior to our arrival.

The real Nurse Angel, Carrie C. was in attendance - this was the first time she would ever see the show. This made me even more nervous than usual, the idea of performing her in front of her (that usually does) but I was a little distracted by the fact that I had to use a lav mic, and so while I was moving around the "hospital room," check the pulse on her wrist (though nurses don't need to do that anymore) or manually pumping the bloo dpressure guage (though nurses don't need to do that anymore) I was also swinging a mic cable over and around the stoll in the middle of the performance space. Considering this was done without practicing it once, it wasn't a problem, nor something I worried too much about.

One major change in this performance was my dropping of all offensive language (unless you count one use of the word "suck" as offensive.) Before all of my champions start crying foul, I have to explain. I always thought the swear words appropriate, and most who have walked this walk agree. And four-letter words and blaspehmies are entirely acceptable at fringe festivals and to those who perform midwifery, it would seem. But after my last experience in front of an audience made up entirely of nurses ... I mean it was hot that afternoon anyway, and the air conditioning was on the fritz, but the moment I let fly with the c-bomb, I could feel the crowd get chilly.

Colorful language had been removed from the radio drama, for obvious reasons. And when I performed in London, I was in a church hall, and chose to respect the space and also altered the langauge accordingly. But I had already decided to just keep it that way even before Jennifer gently requested that I take it easy on the effers. I got so many negative remarks from that event based soley on the talk, I just don't want it to be an issue anymore.

Once we checked into the hotel last night, Kelly and I went out with Julie - the real Julie, my girlfriend from college who figures so heavily in the performance. Unfortuntely, she was not able to attend today, though she did listen to the radio version the day before. She thought it was very odd hearing someone reading her own thoughts ... but I think it would have been weirder to watch me. At least Magdalyn didn't perform her with a speech impediment.

It was beautiful catching up with Julie, we went to this wine & tapas place after walking some fifteen blocks from where we parked - great walk, great wine, great talk.

And I am very glad to be home.

Notes from the Fringe: Day Nine

What's On David's iPod?
Dilemna
Nelly w/Kelly Rowland
Nellyville
(Shouts out to the boys in THE PRECINCT.)

The Fringe continues. We went home. Sarah arrives in New York today (or maybe it was yesterday) and her run begins on Wednesday. 4 MINUTES TO HAPPY. Do not miss it.

I believe this is the first time I have left New York City in better physical condition than when I arried.

Toni and Simeon went off to catch DOG SEES GOD, upon my orders, and Liz, Harris, and Zelda and I went to the Carousel. Could I spare some time, before heading Downtown, alone, to run lines before the matinee, to ride the carousel once with my daughter? And what kind of father would I have been if I hadn't?

We attracted our requisite fifteen audience members for our closing performance. It was a good show. They were with me, as I was with them. The set was struck with a minimum of fanfare - the rocking chair and monitor returned to Harris' place of work.

And we left. Brian and I drove nine hours, pretty much non-stop, to get back here by 3 am. I will pick Toni and Zelda up at the airport this afternoon.

And how do I feel? Hmm. Good question. I was asking Toni in the kitchen yesterday whether or not this entire experience had been worth doing, and that should give you an idea of how much I had lost perspective.

If there is a mission with this play, it is to share the story of child-loss, a story no one wants to hear, with the widest audience possible. And so I have, in three major cities now. And people came, and they heard it.

... Why is he telling an audience about this? My guess is that Mr. Hansen, who laments that there is no term in the English language for the father of a dead child, believes that the best way to handle tragedy is to talk about it. And it is to his credit that he makes you listen.
-The New York Times

After Minnesota I spent my last days lamenting the lack of press in spite of good attendance. Here I have been lamenting the lack of attendance in spite of outrageous press. A pack of blessings light upon my back.

I tell everyone what a joy it is to perform this show, and it is. What's hard is everyone's reaction to it. Last year I resolved to do something light and funny after the MN Fringe, and I did, and that helped. I don't think I have time for that now.

And next year? Well, we have a new show in the works called THE BIG GAY NUDE VAMPIRE MUSICAL. We think it's going to be a hit.

I began this summer overwhelmed by all the different events I had on my calendar ... staging THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, participating in and reporting on the Spencer Tunick installation, walking around Cleveland dressed as William Shakespeare for Great Lakes Theater Festival, taking a road trip to Maine, and finally this. Actor-teachering begins again in a few weeks. I get a couple of free days with my family before it starts all over again.

Yes, I should be depressed. Another great adventure has reached its conclusion, and that deserves some reflection.

I have to thank Kelly for being a spot-on stage manager, especially during a personally difficult time. Josh's grandfather passed away, and she headed down to Baltimore for the funeral on Saturday, and came back on Sunday - with Josh. It was great to see him there.

And Harris wasn't even aware he was getting paid for this. Thanks for being our Guy In New York, for getting that chair, the monitor (or two) and for running those slides.

And Brian? What can I say? You totally rock, man. So much work, and once again you get to stand in the background. I was spending afternoons relaxing my voice, whining, drinking tea, taking jogs in the park, and just being a total diva, while Brian charged around the Village, putting up posters, handing out postcards, spreading the good word ... and he spent the first several nights on the couch at Erin's so I could sleep in the bed.

And thanks for all the dirty stories driving home last night. Those really kept me awake. I won't tell Donna.

Thanks to all of those who made the FringeNYC trip possible, with your donations, your time, and your kind words of support. Once again, we have been overwhelmed by all the goodwill towards this project, and to our theater company.

And thanks to you - for reading all of this. I hope I gave some realistic impression of what we did there. It has been an awesome adventure.

New I HATE THIS Photo Gallery

Notes on the Fringe: Day Seven

Zelda slept on the flight in, and so was totally wired by bedtime. Where are we? What is this? Look at all the wonderful, dangerous stuff Harris and Liz have left out for me to play with! She fell asleep by one a.m., the morning was a slow affair.

This was our girl's first visit to New York, and our first with a small child. It's a different world. Of course, I never took into account how much there is for children to do here, and how many playgrounds. We went to the Central Park Zoo - stopping by the childrens' zoo first. We had last been to the zoo when we visited Harris in July, 2001. Then we had pointedly avoided the childrens' zoo.

Zelda has been delighted. After a nap in the early afternoon (I took one, too - not much sleep the night before and a 10:30 show ahead of me) we visited Harris at work. His office is in the Chelsea Market, a place which is too cool for words. I mean, its let's send up the fact that it used to be a warehouse asthetic is very early 90s but it's still a beautiful place to hang out or shop or eat or work in. We had cardamom ice cream and sat around in the delightful air conditioning.

Oh that's right - the weather. It's been rainy and relatively cool the entire time we've been here, until today. It was suggested we walk from the market to the East Village to meet Simeon for dinner, but I vetoed that. Taking the bus make take as much time, if not longer, than walking ... but it isn't walking. Besides, unlike the busses in Cleveland, New York City busses are pleasant to sit in.

We ate at a decent Italian place (no hot tea? what the hell?) but I was distracted and headed off early to get my head together for the performance.

After last night I was dedicated to putting on a good show. And expecting a low turn-out, which is what happened. We had fifteen people, which was an improvement - and a very lively crowd for a late-night show in a hot theater. They were definitely on top of what was going on, and it made me quite loose and free with the delivery. I can't tell from Brian's reaction, but maybe I was a little too cheerful, I do not know.

And yes, I did the show in a t-shirt, forgoing the sweater. You could not have blamed me.

Notes from the Fringe: Day Four

Sporting my new FringeNYC cap.

What's On David's iPod?
Brand New Colony
Postal Service - "Give Up"
(A long distance dedication, going out to the one I love. Awwwww yeah.)

It feels as though we have been here forever. And yet, only today has the Fringe truly begun for us.

It was a good morning. yesterday was depressing. Yes, it was good that I stayed home. I needed the rest ... and today was not without its additional stress. 

But I felt like I was missing the party. Brian returned late last night to report he had seen two awesome shows. Meanwhile, I had discovered, much to my horror, that when I eat alone ... I talk to myself.

Okay, okay, let's move on. This morning I ran the reservoir. Me and a million others, it was liberating, actually engaging in exercise, I don't think I have ever done that in New York. Not just walking, but running. My entire body thanked me.

Kelly our stage manager (SM)
Harris, our General Organization Director (GOD)

Tech Rehearsal

Our tech rehearsal was scheduled for 12:30. We had two and a half hours to run through all of the cues and get everything straight. It's a simple show, this has never been a problem.

Today, it was a problem. I won't say what was the problem ... okay, to be honest, there's some confusion as to exactly what the problem was. 

It was enough to say we put Grundik in the awkward position of having to kick us out at 3 p.m., with a lot of questions in the air as to how it was going to look for our 5:45, premiere performance.

Kelly and I limped back to the Village to check Fringe Central and which shows were sold for the evening, and to relax in a rather baroque cafe, sip tea, and count our blessings as regards to our significant others.

Sunflowers for Calvin. Thank you, sweetheart.

Opening Performance

Brian warned me it would be a small house. And indeed, it was. Every show I have seen at the Fringe so far has attracted a respectable crowd. But I have the show no one sees without being urged to see it by someone who already seen it. You can understand the Catch-22 involved.

The bad news is we only attracted 10. The good news is that half of them were critics. The people who run the Fringe - the people at SpinCycle - are obviously in my corner.

Yes, I was very tense before it began - I kept hitting my head on the ceiling of their subterranean dressing room. But I thought it might be a good show when Grundik, the venue director, introduced it in his somewhat broken manner:

"... The exits, in emergency are there and there ... you can get in shows for free by volunteering ... once again we thank you all for coming ... I hate this."

And then he just walked off the stage, getting a big laugh. I want him to introduce the show like that every single time.

Too hot for the sweater.

I flubbed some lines, and I wonder how the revised Sept. 11 scene goes over with a critical New York audience. But the response was strong, I felt good, relaxed ... and Brain said I did my boy proud. That was probably the sweetest thing he could say.

So. One down.

After we had some celebratory pub food at the White Horse, and then Brian and I dashed off to see the only show we could possibly catch in the vicinity - the boys from Elephant Larry performing their new sketch show, THE PRECINCT. People who know me know how I am not a big fan of improv of sketch humor. 'Cause it's not usually funny. These guys are funny. We laughed a lot.

And now I have a day off. Should I go into the Village, sell my show, pass out flyers? Should I visit the Cloisters, the Met, do laundry? Run, sleep, play?

I don't know. And tomorrow, I think that will be okay.

UPDATE:  Playhouse Square presents the premiere of the video adaptation of "I Hate This (A Play Without the Baby)" by David Hansen, directed by Chennelle Bryant-Harris and performed by James Alexander Rankin, in the Westfield Studio Theatre on Saturday, October 15, 2022. 

Back to Dobama

This past evening we held our one-night only "preview" at Dobama Theatre on Coventry. This, I believe, went very well.

Okay, the truth is, I thought I didn't do the best job, I was very nervous and the stress made my voice poot out a little. But I have made a number of changes - not just lines, though there a number of those, but also in delivery. Toni noticed this. She was a bit hesitant to say the show has improved ... probably because I think I have done the show enough that there's more actual acting going on.

I am less earnest in places, and a lot more comfortable in others. There were a lot of scenes tonight where, since my tone was less heavy, the audience felt freer to laugh. They knew I was making fun. As usual, I ws surprised at some of the places where the audience laughed - but I am never displeased when this happens.

Anyway, BLAH BLAH BLAH - let's take your eyes off your navel for a moment, what happened? One of these days I am actually to attend a Coventry Street Fair - Dobama Theatre is located in a residential shopping district, the former home of Cleveland's bohemian fringe, and the primary stomping grounds for Harvey Pekar, for those of you who saw AMERICAN SPLENDOR. They have been hosting these monthly street festivals, and apparently they are packed. Vendors, outdoor patio dining, live bands and street performers, it just sounds like such a treat.

It was a coincidence we scheduled our performance for this night, but it was a plus, not a minutes, a number of people were dragged down into the basement that is Dobama Theatre - and reportedly were glad they did. Toni was amused by some of the comments she heard from audience members. Tom explained to the audience how, because I would be performing in New York on a postage stamp, they had marked off the stage to the size of the postage stamp. "Ooooooh," someone sitting by her whispered, "that's a good idea!"

I had asked Gina to make a survey, expecting a nice turn-out. We had about seventy-five people. And just as I had suspected, this morning's Plain Dealer piece attracted a lot of them. Gina, as usual, was wildly helpful, this night by getting everything set up and oragnized.

I was very glad to see my old Great Lakes partner Mariah there, and her mother Diane. And Tommy's mom Helen - always a big supporter of our work. Amy came from MOCA, and one of our good friends whose name I cannot mention because she is pregnant and hasn't told everyone yet. I may have suggested she not attend, sometimes I discourage pregnant mothers rom coming, but she really wanted to and I did want her to see it. Apparently it did shake her a great deal.

And, oh, wow, I know another person who was there - and pregnant - who I can't name for the same reason, but she didn't seem upset by the show.

God, I am kind of at a loss here. There is so much more to say about the show but my mind is a blank. Perhaps because it is 1 AM. In a little over twenty-four hours we leave, and that has me a little wigged. It is finally sinking in how painful it is going to be to leave Toni and Zelda for a week. I mean, that's going to be hard. Hopefully I will be too busy to notice, but it would have to be really, really busy.

Thank you, Minneapolis, and Good Night

Nick is on the road for Cleveland, Denny and I are going to see HERETIC this evening at 6. Toni got to see STAGGERING this afternoon ... and I did my last performance. Forty people in the house, a strong Sunday afternoon showing - Clayton the ONE-MAN HAMLET man was in the house, and his lovely wife. Our widwife's daughter made the show! And there were rumors ... maybe Matthew Everett made it (and his mom) and apparently David Mann was there. Maybe he heard we dissed the cantaloupe. I am grateful for the attention.

I had the opportunity to introduce 156 more people to Calvin over the course of ten days. I had a major crisis of spirit last night, walking a very wide awake Zelda up and down the hall in the stroller at four am. What did I think I was doing with this show? In spite of my delight in telling it, it is not the feel-good hit of the summer. And I took box office poison and made it the cult following of the Fringe. The fringe of the Fringe. Beyond the Fringe. We had everything stacked against us. And they came and saw it, anyway.

I am looking forward to getting back to Cleveland, getting back to work with Great Lakes ... and maybe acting in something dumb and funny.

Last Day of Camp

Yep, it's hard to shake that metaphor, even when you are your mid-30s. Yesterday was an act of pure desperation - went to see SABOTAGE: IN FINE FORM at Hey City (okay, all you pikers, now that's comedy) and then rushed my butt up and down Hennepin (in Denny's black Mustang convertible, which would have been funny if you could have seen me make it stall a few dozen times) driving in the bus lane (no one told me about the bus lane) so that I could get lost running around the MCTC campus in 80 degree heat trying to get to THE ART OF RUTH DRAPER, which I also enjoyed. I may not have made time for that yesterday, except the actress in question came to see IHT on Thursday.

... with, apparently, everyone else. Okay, that's not fair, I did have 35 people last night. And I thank all of them. But I have to admit this has been disappointing, especially with "Fringe attendance up!" as they say, and "Lots of shows selling out during the final weekend!" as they say.

My show is just this bastard step-child of the Fringe. I could blame the lack of print media - I have seen the dumbest shows getting reviewed, shows you would just look at the description of and say, hmn, no, I wouldn't see that even if I were getting paid to write about it, even if the kid's father is an editor at my paper - but that isn't correct. I'll tell you why. I will tell you in no uncertain terms why people have avoided this show, in spite of very strong word-of-mouth, w-o-m I couldn't have bribed myself into getting, and in spite of mine and Nick's hardcore meet-n-greet campaign. I will tell you why, despite of all of this, I expect to get (I hope) twenty people at today's matinee and closing performance.

Duh, you already know why, don't you? The show is about STILLBIRTH. Who wants to see that?

That and the crowd that did join us (oh, another influential member of the Twin Cities media was on hand, too little, too late) was another one like opening night. It's very hard to do this show when I make some kind of amusing comment and everyone sighs a little, like "ooh, yah, that's so sad." But at least the show goes faster.

Afterwards Nick, Denny and I went to see ONE-MAN HAMLET at Bryant-Lake. That kicked ass, the man is a FREAK, and not only that, but a CANADIAN freak and we sat in the dark eating cheeseburgers and drinking pints of Summit and watching this guy charge around the stage with music stands with balloons on them representing all the different characters, it was a whoot.

One of the two closing night parties was last night, and it was really great. I only got to chat with a few people ... one conversation was with a Fringer artist, who had seen my show that night - the conversation was very personal and I won't write about it here. But she was torn up about a review she received in the weekly paper, and I think I said all the rights things for her to put it in perspective. I mean, the show isn't for the CP's readership, that and the style of the day of being a complete smart-ass in as few words as possible, a trend which is also popular among the local papers, gives writers the chance to vent all kinds of prejudices, against content, against experience, against, well, absolutely everything. "Your show isn't hip," I said, "my show isn't hip. You know people like your show, they've told you, and that's what matters, when you come down to it."

Well, Amen.

Amy Salloway says she's coming today. I write this in my blog to shame her if she doesn't. ;)

What I Will Take With Me
I asked Leah Cooper via email some time ago how many programs I should bring. She said, how big is your house and I said 110 and she said think positive, bring 500. I thought realistically and brought 100. I thought, if I get 20 people a show, I will be doing all right. I have already beaten that, and today will be a bonus. I had to print more programs.

I met a midwife last night, who came because she read about it and had to see what I said and how, and she and her friend loved it, she said she is so glad to hear I will be performing it for a conference of Nurse Midwives this fall in Cleveland.

I will never forget the spontaneous ovation I got when I walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the Red Eye on Thursday. That's never hapened to me, and it is apparently not some kind of tradition.

Hearing Rik Reppe pimp my show hard after his near-sold out perf. of STAGGERING TOWARD AMERICA earlier in the week. That man is a hair's breadth from signing some kind of deal with HBO or something with hiw show, I am not kidding, he has to be, and here he is shedding light on me. Very cool.

Watching Zelda push herself onto her knees the other day. She's trying so hard to crawl, we can all taste it.

The kids from MXTW. Their director, Jim Hamilton, wrote me a very kind email, thanking me for the support I had given the students - and apologizing for the fact that they weren't able to fir my show into their schedule. I can't say I wasn't disappointed. But it must be difficult to wrangle over a dozen teenagers to even half a dozen shows. They were just amazing, and I am glad I caught their work. After years with the Night Kitchen, I know how much disrespect teenage actors can get, especially when they are attempting work with substance (can we all say "hey kids, let's put on a show!") Those people were just great.

I'll get more thoughts and memories down, I hope. Right now ... well, hell, the Fringe isn't even over yet. And I got a show to do.

And now that I have gotten past last night, it appears we are truly in the home-stretch. This is kind of sad. I HATE THIS has been (and will continue to be) such a bittersweet journey. The fact is, I love this show. I never dread performing it - the way I inevitably end up dreading to perform everything else. It is difficult, but not really, not difficult in the way I love telling it, the way I love sharing our story, mine, Toni and Calvin's, with so many people. It's a mission, I suppose. Is it hard to watch? Sure, but not hard like going-to-church-hard, I have been stunned at the way this show opens people up, it turns people on, it has destroyed a few, but they all have such amazing things to say about it - especially the destroyed ones.

I HATE THIS SCRIPT - a brief history
I began conceiving of it as early as August, 2001 - driving home from the New York Fringe.
I told myself I wouldn't begin writing until 2001 was OVER.
I began writing in January, 2002, and had a first draft before Calvin's first birthday - which I revised shortly after his birthday.
The staged reading was at Dobama in August, 2002. This is where I discovered that the play isn't mere self-abuse, but a good play people enjoyed hearing. And that I could play it.
The reading was attended by the artistic director of CPT, who invited me to participate in BIG BOX at the end of February.
In December, 2002 I get accepted into this festival.
February 28 - March 1 & 2 we do the BIG BOX run.
The rest is pretty much covered from the beginning of this blog.

So how long does it take to create a play? Two years? One? A couple weeks? I wonder how long I will be producing this.

One show I neglected mentioning was TYRANNOUS REX which was stunning. Not only the extent to which diminutive Nicola Gunn is a freakish changeling, but the use of music and lights is nothing short of miraculous. The woman jumps in and out of characters - and thoughts and time and space. It was fabulous.

Today we saw Laura Park in PARK N RIDE at the Brave New Workshop. I was a little nervous at first, we had been looking forward to her show after meeting her first at the end of the out-of-towner showcase last Thursday (oh so long ago) and then again the next night at VOICE-IN-HEAD. The beginning of the show was a little slow for me, I coudn't tell if this were a story or just stand-up, and she is a tremendous physical performer, I fretted we would be bogged down in Wisconsin jokes.

Shortly after that the ride really took off and I was delighted. The characters - her bizarre roommate Jen (I think her name was Jen) that was an excellent turn, and the Gap business, the truck driver ... very good, a very talented performer - and she's got a HUGE face! I am very glad I saw that.

Then Denny and Nick and I saw CRITTERS, we'd seen a bit of that at Balls last Saturday. I liked most of it, especially the subway part. This was my only dance show this week - people have been carping about the lack of dance coverage in the media ... but then people have started to carp about everything. I think they're all just afraid to say good-bye. I know I am.

The Fringe Is Now Open

Onstage at the Red Eye Theatre

Damn, what a long day. It began much too early, shortly after midnight, with the girl waking up, and thinking it was playtime. I spent an hour or so walking her up and down my brother Denny's long, hardwood hallways, or pushing her around the apartment in the stroller.

So we slept in a little, had muffins and the NY Times and tried to nap a little before Denny, stage manager Nick and the wife went off to see our first show of the week, HELEN GURLEY BROWN'S SEX AND THE OFFICE, which they said they enjoyed all right.

You will notice I did not join them. I had a full night and so spent the afternoon with the girl, walking up and down Grand Avenue, getting smiles from everyone.

Nick has taught me to be a bold promoter - there was the crowd of "young people" standing in a circle, talking, outside the Grand Ole Ice Cream Shop. I went up to one of them, the one who looked like the leader (because he looked like he was my age) to begin handing out postcards, and when he found what the show was about, he told me about a professor at St. Thomas up the street who has written a book about his experiences when he and his wife lost a child through stillbirth. I have tried to contact this man already.

Opening Night
Our house was very, very small. It was a difficult show for me - I have never performed it without at least a few audience members who know who I am. No one laughed much, The tiny house contributed to this, I am sure, but I just couldn't tell if it was flying.

Afterwards I just sat in the dressing room a few minutes, trying to pull it together. I mean, tonight's show was one of the hardest things I have ever done, ever. Ron, the lighting guy for Red Eye (wait, isn't that the name of that new make-over show on Bravo?) came in and told me how great the show was -- he'd only seen fragments during the cue-to-cue.

He said I was really articulate which made me laugh because that was my biggest problem tonight, articulation, but that's not what he meant. I told him how I felt about the audience not laughing ever and he said, "Oh, that's just a Minnesota thing, you don't laugh at someone else's problems," and that just cracked me up, he totally brought me out of my funk.

And most of the audience, a small crowd, was waiting for me outside when I emerged. They were all very taken by the show. It felt great. We will spread the word about Calvin and this show, a person at a time. And more ...

Industrials
Nick, Denny and I then went to see one of the most-hyped shows in the Fringe. INDUSTRIALS are the scripts from five personal health/propaganda films from the 50s, perfomed by actors. It was oversold, they couldn't fit enough extra chairs in the space. And it was quite funny. And yet, I kept thinking it would be funnier to watch the original movies, which is usually the case when some theater company chooses to reenact something from film or TV on-stage. That's just my opinion. But parts of it were very, very funny, and I can see why it is going to be a big hit.

Nick and I ripped out of there when it was over and handed postcards to everyone in this sold-out crowd. People really dig the cards.

Voice-In-Head

Nick, Denny, myself, and a creepy puppet in "Voice-In-Head"

Then up the street to perform in VOICE-IN-HEAD, which was WAY better than I thought it was going to be! First off, it wasn't just me, some others who were signed up dropped out, and so not only did they enlist Nick, but even Denny, to perform. We all put on silly costumes, and our headsets. I was crowned with a hat made of dangerously arranged drinking straws - and I got a malicious hand-puppet, which freaking rocked.

The fifteen performers did what ever was told of us on our headsets - and we were each given 90 seconds to plug our shows. I did one of the phone bits, and some "crappy Shakespeare."

Nick gave some sincere speech about me, who I am, what my show is, and why you should come ... or at least I think that was what he was doing, I was getting detailed instructions on the next act (a witch hunt) and so missed the entire thing. Denny surprised me no-end by doing a very funny monologue about the differences between Minnesotans and people from Ohio.

And we handed out more cards. Tomorrow's show is at 8 PM, on a Saturday. It goes without saying I hope the word is spreading .. and of course, I am praying against hope for a critic. This show is good, it's very good, and I know that better than I know most things. Some attention in the press would be a real coup.

"I Hate This (a play without the baby)" is now available for Amazon Kindle.