Where was I? Oh yes, John Barrowman in Cheltenham. We almost overdosed on John on Sunday, sitting through both his sessions. The one with Russell T Davies I got out of the way yesterday, so let's concentrate on the other one here. The one with his sister Carole. They were in Cheltenham to talk about John's autobiography Anything Goes, which Carole wrote with him.

Having just read Anything Goes, it's quite interesting to see John's route to Doctor Who. I probably have less patience with the showbiz stuff, because it's not my scene, but the growing up and living and working in two countries I find fascinating. And it can be fun to look into people's private lives, up to a point.

With my interest in languages, and having had to change accents myself, I really like the way the Barrowman siblings can switch between Scottish and American. They call themselves bidialectical, which is a good made up word. They had some problems with it on Sunday as they speak Scottish with each other, but American with others. So, what do you speak when you're on stage talking both to your sibling and to the interviewer and the audience? And then there are the things you can only say in one accent.

There's the Glaswegian sense of humour, too, which thankfully has not been removed by the American Midwest. Carole and John behave much as brothers and sisters do, with friendly arguing and lots of laughs. It appears there was very little to shock Carole when writing the book and discussing her brother's life with him, although on occasion they had to stop and say "eugh" in unison, before continuing.

They related a supposedly true account of the night before Cheltenham, when John seemed to think he was having a heart attack in the early hours of the morning, while Carole assumed the shouts and moans originated from something entirely different, and felt the need to inform John that his walls are too thin. It made for good entertainment when retold, but maybe John should see a doctor? The GP variety.

(Photos by H Giles)

Radu Afrim ("Mansardă la Paris cu vedere spre moarte" de Matei Vişniec)

Cea mai bună interpretare masculină: 

Valéry Plancke ("Mansardă la Paris cu vedere spre moarte" de Matei Vişniec)

Cea mai bună interpretare feminină: 

Ramona Dumitrean şi Andrea Tokai ("Spovedanie la Tanacu" de Tatiana Niculescu Bran, în regia lui Andrei Şerban)

Cea mai bună interpretare masculină/feminină într-un spectacol de studio: 

Andi Vasluianu/Dorina Chiriac ("Jocul de-a adevarul" de Lia Bugnar)

(Premii oferite la cea de-a 14-a ediţie a Festivalului Dramaturgiei Româneşti de la Timişoara)

Acum regret ca nu am fost la niciuna dintre aceste piese. Daca "Jocul de-a adevarul" a fost exclusa din start din cauza datei&orei la care era jucata, pe celelalte doua nu le-am vazut din cauza unor prejudecati, cu toate ca aveau doar cronici favorabile. Macar sa ma invat minte pentru altadata!

----

La Concursului de Dramaturgie Românească a câştigat piesa “Bye, Bye, America” de Carmen Dominte, ce va fi pusă în scenă în stagiunea viitoare pe scena Teatrului Naţional din Timişoara.

Sper sa reusesc sa merg :)

Ok, I have to be completely honest, although the idea of Teen Witch as a musical is ridiculously funny from what I know about the movie, that isn't happening...yet. There is some sort of creepy musical version workshoping with a bunch of creepy kids out in California seemingly, but I don't really understand this strange website for the project. With the state of the Broadway show as they are today, it would actually be a more appropriate choice for adaptation than  most of the other schlock passing as theatre we continue to grow more accustomed too. I also have to  say that this statement has been made though I have never actually seen the movie Teen Witch.  Most of my time spent movie watching in the 80's and early 90's was was taken up by watching things that were animated and didn't involve real people.  I wasn't really interested in anything that slightly resembled real life.  From the looks of these two clips however, it seems to be a shame that i missed out in the case of Teen Witch.  These clips makes Snow White look like history class, and "High Ho" would have one hell of a throwdown against "I Like Boys."  I'd hate to have to choose sides.

"I'm givin' up my hopscotch to get a little boys. I'm puttin' on some lipstick to attract some boys." "I don't really give a ____ about tryin' ta' top that"

Things are evolving.  When I last posted I was explaining the Meisner Repitition exercise to you.  The observing of your partner, the noting of a characteristic.  The saying of the characteristic over and over and over and over again, until some other characteristic or attribute pops to the forefront of consciousness, starting the cycle one again.

We started with simple statements, like "nose", moved to "big nose"  then to complete sentences such as, "You have a big nose."  Then we started noting emotions and the physical expression of those emotions, known as "behavior."  This would be like "You are offended that I said you have a big nose."  Often this would just be shortened to "You are offended," for simplicity.  The person with the big nose would say from their point of view, "I am offended," and this would repeat until someone noticed another behavior.  And as noted before, the person can change the statement if it is not true for them.

Now we get to also take our response to what someone has said to us, and then put the it back on them.  It's probably just easier to give an example of what this means.

Bob: You have a big nose.
Alice: I have a big nose.
Bob: You are offended.
Alice: You offended me.
Bob: I offended you.
Alice: You offended me.
Bob: I offended you.
Alice: Your annoying me.
Bob: I'm annoying you.
Alice: You're annoying me.
Bob: You're boring me.
Alice: I'm boring you....

It goes on pretty much until some outside force stops it.  When we are in class, it is Robin, and when we are doing our practice outside of class it is generally when our alloted half hour is up,  when we spill our coffee haus beverage into our lap, or some other distraction breaks the flow.

You might be thinking to yourself, why are we doing this?  What is the point?  What do you learn?

These are all good questions, and when I figure it out I will let you know.

Interestingly enough, I haven't come across a puppet production of Frankenstein on the web that wasn't aimed at an adult audience. That might just be circumstance of course this post is hardly a complete bibliography. I would imagine that there are and have been hundreds of productions.

The University in Maryland Department of Theatre presented an adaptation of Frankenstein. Conceived and directed by Colette Searls, with new music by Anna Rubin. The production features set design by Peter Wood, costume design by Celestine Ranney-Howes, light design by Terry Cobb, sound design by Erica Yeager and dramaturgy by Susan McCully. A young scholar makes an astonishing discovery: how to create a new human being out of other people’s dead bodies. Paper sculpture, floating masks, and eerie medical tools bring life to the inanimate in this ghastly tale of human transgression.
This production is not recommended for young children.(the above taken from http://www.umbc.edu/blogs/umbcnews/archives/art/index.html)

Open Hand Theatre's (Syracuse, New York) production of Frankenstein, November 1, 2002. The following is an excerpt from a review by Reviewed by Neil Novelli in the Post Standard.

"...adaptation written by Geoffrey Navias takes the imagination on a wild ride that links Shelley's story to modern technology and to the mysteries of ordinary life, like childbirth. And along the way, it tells a sort of ghost story that may or may not be true."

http://www.openhandtheater.org/Reviews.html

Terrapin Puppet Theatre's production of Frankenstein, director Jessica Wilson, dramaturg/concept development Anne Thompson, puppet design Graeme Davis, puppeteers Kirsty Grierson, Melissa King, Colin Sneesby; Peacock Theatre, Hobart, May 18-29 2004.

Frankenstein photo Glenn Dickson

http://www.realtimearts.net/article/62/7540

Frankenstein by Neville Tranter

concept, puppets and play NevilleTranter, text & direction Luk Van Meerbeke

http://www.stuffedpuppet.nl/re-frankenstein.html

The Columbia Marionette Theatre's production: Frankenstein, A Puppet Show

I believe the puppet was created by Lyon Hill the theatre's artistic Director . flickr.com/photos/puppetman/460661/

Je suis allé voir la pièce "Les gagnants" de François Archambeault, jouée par la Troupe Minute dans le coin de Ste-Foy. Un texte drôle mais d'un humour noir et acéré. On parle surtout du couple, mais aussi de la réalité souvent absurde de notre société capitaliste et consumériste à outrance. J'y allais voir un ami jouer. J'adore ces pièces de théâtre jouée en parallèle du circuit habituel, des petits salles, de petits publics, et des découvertes de comédiens visiblement passionnés par ce qu'il font pour le pur plaisir.

J'avais amené mon 30D avec une petit lentille fixe 50mm à grande ouverture. J'espérais pas trop déranger les comédiens avec mes clics ici et là. Mais je n'étais tout de même pas en train de travailler alors j'ai pris le temps d'écouter et de regarder. J'ai réalisé à quel point on n'écoute rien lorsqu'on prend un spectacle en photo, ou presque. On n'est concentré que sur l'image. C'est la même chose lors d'une cérémonie d'un mariage, mais pas toujours. Il y a des prêtres qui parfois vont dire des choses si ridicules à mon oreille que j'en perd ma concentration. Je m'en souvient d'un qui avait le ton qu'ont les parents qui réprimandent leurs gosses, moralisateur à l'os. Je crois qu'en général, les prêtres au Québec semblent avoir un grand complexe d'infériorité, ou alors je ne sais pas, quelque chose qui les met sur la défensive, probablement parce qu'ils sont en grand désavantage numérique. Certains prêtre pensent visiblement que la majorité de la population est en perdition (ce qui n'est pas complètement faux à mes yeux, mais la religion représente-t-elle le droit chemin pas du tout) et que c'est leur devoir, leur fardeau, leur chemin de croix de résister et de ramener les brebis égarée vers Dieu. C'est presque triste à voir, cet arriérisme, dans un Québec qui s'est défait de la religion depuis quelques décénnies, et qui malgré qu'il soit perdu, peut se retrouver sans avoir à revenir en arrière. Ces prêtres sonnent triste, sonnent anachroniques, sonnent fous. Enfin, à mes yeux et à mes oreilles à moi, non croyant, mais amoureux quand même de la vie, du monde et de mon prochain (la plupart du temps). Et ces mariés, qu'est-ce qu'ils font là? Sont-ils vraiment coyants? Ou alors se disent-ils, bon, un bout ennuyant à passer, le discours du prêtre, se mettre à genoux puis debout, manger une ostie, boire dans la coupe, dépêche qu'on puisse s'échanger les anneaux, s'embrasser comme dans les films et descendre l'allée tout sourire en se faisant applaudir, comme c'est supposé, même si en réalité j'y crois pas à ton dieu et tout le sens de ces petits rituels m'échappent? Et l'assistance, comme les mariés, quand je les prend en photo, j'aimerais pouvoir lire leur pensées, je voudrais savoir, combien de gens ici sont ici pour la forme et s'en battent du contenu?

Enfin, il reste les moments vrais, les sourires, les larmes, l'amour, qui srait probablement là sans toute ce manège.

Et puis bon, c'est pas plus cool de se marier dehors sous les arbres et le soleil (préférablement avec un peu de nuages)? En tout cas ça l'est pour le photographe. :)

Well, in May 2008, I got to feed my addiction by attending the Rumble in the Rockies, a weekend-long intensive workshop in Denver. The Rumble happens about once a year (whenever its organizer, super-busy SAFD President Geoffrey Kent, finds time to put one together), and always revolves around a particular theme, culminating in a big mass fight scene, which is videotaped so we can share it with the world. This year's Rumble was (appropriately for Colorado) all about the Wild West, so I got to spin pistols, get tossed over bars, crack whips, brandish knives, and punch lots of cowboys. And, in the end, I got to be part of a giant barroom brawl.

The great news is that the video of our final scene has just been released on YouTube. You, and everyone else on the web, can now watch me get punched, get thrown over a bar, and have a bottle smashed over my head! What fun! You can also see my talented classmates doing all kinds of fun things—my favorite is the cute little saloon girl who jumps on the cavalryman's back and starts punching cowboys. Check it out, below! I'm the cowgirl by the bar on your left, in the 70s Neil Young fringed jacket and the light hat ... hey, does than mean I'm the good guy?

I love theatre.  I have for a very long time.  I'm talking about live theatre not the movie variety.  Movie theatres are sanctuary of sleep as far as I'm concerned.  Seldom, if ever. I'm able to sit through a movie without being jolted awake from a flying elbow from one of my children. "Wake up and stop snoring...you're embarrassing me" is often spoken in harsh tones.

My first foray into theatre was purely for utilitarian reasons.  We were told extra credit was available if we attended the production and brought back a program.  Initially, I went with the thought of grabbing the program and leaving. Instead, I found my seat and waited for the proceedings to begin.  Imagine my suprise when I found my attention going to the performers.  Imagine my shock when I started to follow the story.  Imagine my internal struggle when I started to cheer for certain characters.  What have I gotten myself into?

My first foray into acting came in the form of community theatre.  Another activity I accidently fell into.  Talk about jumping into the unknown with both feet!  After accepting the offer to participate in this venture I wondered if, in fact, I was completely nuts and worthy of being committed.  Maybe the guess work on my mental stability was an exercise in futility.

Some background for the uninitiated.  Community theatre allows everyone a chance no matter their theatrical background or lack thereof.  In our production there where some very talented and creative individuals who participated.  Instantly, I was intimidated and overwhelmed at the thought of measuring up to these local thespians.  Experience, even a very little, makes much difference in these venues. 

I'm by nature very comfortable in front of a crowd. Actually, my ego tells me to seek out opportunities that offers such a stage.  Some people would call me a ham.  Somehow I've managed to miss live theatre as such an opportunity.  When I first had to read my lines in front of the assembled cast...I froze up.  I couldn't get my breath, my heart was racing, I stumbled over the reading like the first time I read from my French textbook. 

Kind looks of acceptance from the cast look back at me.  Patience and understanding comes back to me from the director.  I try again only to somehow manage a worse effort.  "Ummm,  Sorry." No one acts impatient or angry.  All I sense is encouragement.  I try and fail again.

It's in moments like these that character is truly tested.  As a strong, tough, macho guy I could have simply stood up and stated, "This is stupid!" and left keeping my bogus pride in check.  As a traveler of life, I felt the need to fight the urge to walk away and work through this mess that I now was knee deep into.

I am told that my character will need to dance during an emotional scene with my stage (and real life) daughter (remember that stuff about not quitting?)  I'd have preferred dancing  be assigned to a more nimble man who could perform with great ease and grace.  I struggle with the Macaranna.  Really, me dancing in public during an emotional scene will destroy any attempt to make this anything but slapstick.

Different performers came to me and spoke words of enthusiasm and motivation.  Each said I was doing a great job and picking up the part really well.  When this was relayed to me I looked around first wondering if they had confused me with another.  Somehow it stuck that I didn't completely suck at this and this allowed me to feel the freedom to release my inner being and become one with this character I was to portray.

There is a very Zen-like experience that occurs when one lets go of self to assume the personality of another.  This is the magic of theatre.  It's a very transformative event that likens one to total freedom.  At this moment the ability to move, speak and react like another begins to unfold.  This was a very cathartic experience to a hayseed  like me.

I hear the introduction leading to my entrance...I'm sweating like a bricklayer.  My thoughts race through my lines.  I know how hard everyone has worked and really don't want to disappoint the cast, crew or musicians.  Damn, I can't go back.  I walk out to the sea of smiles and instantly feel a rush of warmth and confidence that both fills me up and covers me.  I see why people are so involved in theatre...this is a wonderful encounter, a moment to cherish.

By the way, I feel like I got a handle on the dancing.  The Waltz is actually quite lovely when you understand it.  Truth be told, I find myself waltzing around the house from time to time.   Somehow I was able to summon the emotional stength to bring the warmth of my character to life.  We never really know the depth of our resolve until we are tested.  If we never put ourselves in a position of challenge our capabilities are never tapped.

I met people during this show who have impacted me greatly.  I have made many new friends.  The words of encouragement, appreciation, and motivation will never be lost on me.  I am a better person for having participated. 

By the end of the run I was tired and worn.  But never lacked for want to perform just one more time.

Next year can't get here quick enough.

Brunch at our venue is the off the chain (very good, amazing, wonderful etc). Free food before a Sunday matinee=good thing. Susie rocks & shocks the house (old school hip hop call/response, please act like y'all know). Losing your bluetooth earpiece=bad thing. Knowing it's somewhere in your apt but not being able to find it so I have to go buy another=bad thing. Excuse the technology rant but hey, what can I say? Will gladly  accept bluetooth earpieces so I can have duplicates...... Okay, other good things: Chicken Tikka Masala, Vegetable Patties + Cocoa Bread, Chocolate Truffles I "borrow" from Buddy (lol), Gumby getting on this week to do his thing. YES! Spase's jokes! Chloe's surprise cookie gift hung on the rack like a fine garment. The Wopbop Master Fin saying Hi. 7:30. 

There you have it, for now. Some random thoughts, comments, and other ish. Okay Marc Jacobs was spotted at a urinal. 2nd shameless celebrity plug. Hey, I just report this stuff....lol. I'm sure there have been more but I only give you 100% confirmed sightings. I'm a serious journalist!!!! Stop laughing y'all, damn. So c'est la vie, and all that sort of stuff. yea, um...... well.......

As the focal point, actress Justine Mitchell plays the role of Hedda, a 19^th century frustrated housewife who through boredom wishes to manipulate and destroy the lives of those around her. In an effort to appear cool and calculating the character suffers from being slightly one-dimensional. For me she’s actually not really cruel enough. If she were, you would feel something towards her, namely contempt or satisfaction at her ultimate demise. But in the end, which is rather dramatic, you end up feeling apathetic towards her. She’s not quite the larger than life character she is supposed to be.

She is manipulative but she could have been so much crueler. Her idiotic and naïve husband George, played here brilliantly by Peter Hanly, is, on the surface at least, so trusting and loving that he could have been twisted into all sorts of shapes. Instead he is allowed to come and go; and although he is in the play quite a lot, it is only really for comic effect, which at times-although always funny-runs on a bit too long.

John Light as Eilert Loevborg, the focus of many ladies attention, doesn’t do much to demonstrate the reasons for their amorous consideration. And in many respects it is a pity that the sexual tension between Hedda and the Lawyer Brack, although at times somewhat adolescent, wasn’t developed more.

Andrea Irvine as Thea Elvsted is really the stand out performer here. This is in no small part down to her own talent and skill as an actress; but the fact that her character is the most complex of all the characters allows Irvine to play her part with greater depth.

The Gate is a wonderful space. This play is a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend two and a half hours and well worth going to. It just suffers from having too many characters whose complexities aren’t developed enough.

Michael Billington in the Guardian

Michael, you'll be pleased to hear, is much cleverer than you. While you might think this is a simple country house farce, he is 'reminded of the play's Chekhovian undertone... sad enough to evoke Lopakhin's final encounter with Varya in The Cherry Orchard' (pretty much any British play Michael likes gets compared to Chekhov, Pinter or Beckett, so you shouldn't be put off).

Charles Spencer in the Telegraph

Charles Spencer enjoyed the many, many interval drinks so much he was left 'physically helpless'. Not too helpless to lever in this week's first reference to the credit crunch, though. Otherwise, a typically elegant Spencer review, with an absolutely perfect description of Paul Ritter as 'wonderfully ferrety'.

Benedict Nightingale in the Times

Benedict Nightingale is a perfectly normal looking man in real life. In fact, he looks rather nice, and even handsome, if you like that sort of genial, long-lunching look. how much trouble would it really be for him to get a new by-line photo? (5 stars for the play, incidentally).

Hannah Bateman updates us on news from the tour:

I have just seen it's a month since I last wrote so I have some catching up to do! The week's run at the West Yorkshire Playhouse went very well and with hindsight I think I should have appreciated the scale of the WYP stage a little more! The next two venues we took A Tale of Two Cities to were Nottingham and Sheffield and although these are wonderful theatres with very warm audiences, they are not known for their stage size and are also raked (on a slope)!

This production was slightly unusual as we only had two casts. We normally work with three to four casts and the corps de ballet are interchangeable within each one. I only performed in the first cast so I had the rare chance to sit out front and watch the show as an audience member. I tried to sit and watch the show as if it were new to me and not just look at the part I also perform. The only time I was caught out was when I was sat flinching in preparation for the gunshots! I have to say, I really enjoyed the show: I thought it was a very attractive piece, the costumes and the lighting. For us on stage the lighting felt very dark and didn't allow for much sight beyond the orchestra pit but from out front it looked fabulous and there were moments when Georgina looked like she had been borrowed from the set of a Jane Austen adaptation.

The week after the Playhouse saw us back at base at West Park in rehearsals for The Nutcracker and A Midsummer Night's Dream and, for the girls, La Bayadere. We also had a few rehearsals for Rhapsody in Blue from I Got Rhythm, which is one of the pieces we are taking to Milan. David and Yoko weren't there for the whole of the week as they had both travelled to Slovenia to set David's Nutcracker. So, while we rehearsed in Leeds for two weeks, David and Yoko were representing NBT in Slovenia and Kenny and Keiko were representing us in Miami. Out of the many couples in Miami, from major companies around the world including the likes of Stuttgart Ballet and Royal Ballet of Flanders, Kenny and Keiko were one of only two couples to be reviewed very warmly in the press. It was a huge accomplishment to be invited there and to be reviews so positively is the icing on the cake. It seems that NBT is becoming internationally recognised, not just for its dancers but also its director and his choreography.

Dan kept us all busy and base with the help of Andria Hall. She is a great coach and soon had all the Snowflakes and Flowers under control, looking clean, crisp and very together. She also worked a lot with the pas de deux couples and I watched a couple of those rehearsals; it still amazes me that we have four couples who can all do the pas to such a high standard - not bad for a company of just 40 dancers, The fouettes at the end of all that work for the girls are so hard and they can all do them so easily and actually make them look fun and exciting! Yi Song has come into his own this season and looks very Prince like - he must have been inspired by the Olympics in his home country. It's a joy to watch someone's talent really start to blossom.

Our next venue on tour was Nottingham. I love this theatre as it holds special memories for me. I loved dancing one of the sisters in Beauty and the Beast there in my first year; dancing the Nurse to Chiaki's Juliet and I also danced my first Juliet there as well. But it is raked so Tuesday tech days are always difficult. You get to the stage after two days off; it's raked so you know it will take double the time to get back on your legs after the weekend. It's always amusing spotting the new members faces as they realise they have to negotiate the rake. Some have never been on a rake before and it's scary at first but you soon get used to it. There will always be those who don't get affected by it though - oh to be Keiko for a day! Also, because the stage slopes down, you must remember to use the brakes on props. We almost lost Scrooge to the orchestra pit one year as his bed went wheeling down. The audiences in Nottingham, while not huge, were warm and it felt like they were really captured by the piece.

The week after saw us in Sheffield, again a lovely theatre but raked and even smaller than Nottingham. We had to change some entrances and exits of people and props but I think it worked well in the space and provided an intimate experience. Space is so important to dance; it can make the atmosphere cosy or cold and also help or hinder our work. It did feel like we were doing Flintstone runs at times (where you run on the spot imagining you are running a great distance at speed) but Dan assured us we didn't and he was pleased with the shows.

We are back at West Park now for another week and in full Nutcracker mode as well as keeping A Midsummer Night's Dream ticking over. Midsummer will see all the new members of the Company on stage and by the time we open The Nutcracker in Hull I am sure they will be feeling a lot more confident and comfortable.

Milan this week for a lucky few of us so I promise to write all about that and I may even test my technology knowledge and try to include some photos! The end of last week saw a photo shoot for Wuthering Heights, Swan Lake and La Bayadere pictures for next season, which will be on us before we know it. In the back of our minds is the thought that this year we will be at home in Leeds for Christmas and not on tour. But that is far off - before that we have over 50 shows of The Nutcracker - that's a lot of snow!

Till next time. Hannah xoxo

Anyway, as I was saying, Cheltenham is nice. Daughter gasped when she saw the architecture and I had fears her camera would run out of batteries. (These days you can't run out of film, at least.) So, lovely town. Lovely weather, warm and sunny and the summer we never had. Literature festival. Also very nice. So much to do, and not enough time.

The first afternoon we ran like scalded rats between venues, taking in Darren Shan and Celia Rees as mentioned previously. Why can't they all be in one place? The advantage of these festival thingies is meeting all sorts of people, and it's particularly good for me to meet the people who work in the background and send me books and are generally helpful. Celia had Emma from Bloomsbury with her, providing me with more proof that the publishing industry is very pretty. Observed Ann Widdecombe being interviewed in the park, and wanted to dash over and discuss Jacqueline Wilson and unmarried mothers with her, but didn't. Mal Peet strolled past, unfortunately without Meg Rosoff, who I assume had gone home after their event the day before. Dinner was the slowest pizza ever encountered, before the dash to the race course for Roger Moore. The moon was particularly nice looking on Saturday night, in case you were wondering.

My last blog post was written in the middle of the night, while I perched on a pillow to reach the computer, swearing over slow hotel broadband. After a few hours of sleep, it was up at dawn for a rendez vous with Eoin Colfer and his biggest fan, Charlie. Ever the interfering busybody, I had leaned on Puffin's Adele Minchin until she tilted dangerously and said that "yes, of course, Charlie can interview Eoin".

So that was Charlie and family brimming over with excitement, and we all trooped into the Everyman theatre to wait. The interview will appear here, soon. Suffice it to say that it went very well and the whole Charlie family now love Eoin. The event was better than ever, which makes me wonder if Eoin was fibbing when he said minutes before it, that he didn't know yet what he'd be talking about. (His horrible brothers, since you ask.)

After refreshments in the Everyman Theatre's writers' room, we looked round Cheltenham, again. I think I saw Kate Adie near the Promenade. We went to the Times tent for our free Times reusable bags. In the sweltering October heat it felt incongruous to see our lunch restaurant urging their customers to book for Christmas, but there you are. We had wanted to eat outside, but so did everyone else.

Back out to the race course, for John Barrowman and his sister Carole. Daughter is a VERY big fan, so getting close to John was imperative. We scouted out the best route to the book signing and prepared with almost military precision. As we did this we saw Richard Attenborough, or Santa Claus, as Daughter calls him. He was there with Bob, Jacqueline Wilson's driver. John and Carole were great, and there'll be more on that over on CultureWitch soon. And the planning paid off, with Daughter getting to somewhere near the front of the queue.

While waiting for that last Doctor Who event, we took our M&S sandwiches outside and sat by the fence near the entrance, looking at people passing by. Daughter fantasised about seeing someone she knew, but it was the witch who found her colleague Karen, from Eurocrime. Who says it's lonely blogging?

(All photos by H Giles)

Unforeseen, uncontrollable events are happening all around us. The last two weeks have seen tumultuous developments that even the most cynical pundit could never have anticipated.

Yes, the Whingers have been going to the theatre and actually enjoying themselves.

Phil has experienced an unprecedented run of six shows (De Profundis, Creditors, Waste, Now or Later, No Man's Land and Six Characters in Search of an Author) which despite the odd cavil about staging (Creditors) and a degree of ambivalence at the interval (Waste, Six Characters) he would thoroughly recommend.

Andrew has been almost as lucky. His run of satisfying theatre has been broken only by No Man's Land, but as it's Pinter that was completely expected and so doesn't really count. But even he appreciated the acting of Michael Gambon and David Bradley.

And Andrew has delivered another enthusiastic report on Finn Kennedy’s How To Disappear Completely And Never Be Found which was in a fringe theatre for heaven's sake!!!

In fact, since they've returned from their Great German African Adventure only two shows have tainted their theatre going experiences: one third of The Norman Conquests (glowing reviews, including 5 stars from The Sunday Times but which left The Whingers with faces as frozen as an Icelandic bank account) and The Walworth Farce. Were they bitten in the bush by some strange airborne insect that has rendered them peculiarly magnanimous or did the malaria tablets addle their brains?

What is going on?

Yes, London theatre's looking rather healthy, despite a spate of articles moaning about the lack of straight drama and plethora of musicals. True, some of this theatre is in off-West End playhouses which would normally stage plays anyway, but Ruperts Goold's (the Pinter and the Pirandello) productions are both in the West End and the Whingers haven't even squeezed in Ivanov (the first in a season of Donmar in the West End) yet. Sonia Friedman is even bravely (or foolishly) promising to produce more Pinter much to Andrew's chagrin.

The Whingers are off to the National tonight to dip their toes into Sophocles' Oedipus (don't tell their mothers. Or their fathers, come to that). Andrew's already adopting a Panglossian view, having heard that it was 1 hour 40 minutes at the first preview he enthused uncharacteristically, "I like it already". It also features two of The Whingers favourite actors: Clare Higgins and Jasper Britton. What could possibly go wrong?

Watch this space.

I haven't watched the original, so this is just my observations. This time the version departs from the original monologue, involving between 1 to 9 women for each 'chapter' of the play. Among them a woman who couldn't say the word 'Vagina', a know-thy-vagina camp (led by a cartoonish French accented sergeant), a transsexual looking for acceptance, and a bunch of drunken housewives telling stories of abuse by their husbands.

I applaud their effort to localise many of the contents by including references to local heritage such as the inclusion of an Indian woman, Malay, Chinese, and Eurasian. Although I think some parts still seemed a little too American.  In emphasizing the local flavor they threw in some local phrases (Hokkien, Malay, Singlish, Tamil) that made it sound a little school-theatrelike to me. But they drew laughter from the audience nonetheless. It seems that local curses or exclamations is one of the best recipe to entertain Singaporean film-watchers and theatre-goers. There was even pole-dancer that showed off a bit of her skills. But left me with "What was that for?". But some of the scenes are genuinely touching and funny and do work most of the time. Could do a little better on the costume for the 'dominatrix', tho. She looks more like a Panic at The Disco fan than a dominatrix.

I did cringe badly once during the show. There was a chapter where the actresses in school uniforms were acting as teenage girls who talked about their first period while running around the first few rows of audience and showering them with tampons and sanitary pads. Then one of them took a huge bottle of Vagisil (the production's sponsor) and shrieked "I WANTED TO USE VAGISIL!" followed by some corporate advertising catchphrase, echoed by the other girls. Ugh.

Anyway, it was much entertaining and seventeen bucks well spent. (This cheapskate bought the cheapest available)

Cabins In The Forest blew me away once again. I’ve only seen them once before, a couple of months ago, on a random week-night at Tings ‘an Times (Pretoria). I can remember being so irritated with pretty much everyone in the club, for not paying any attention. The noise of these drunkards were drowning out a really inspiring performance of two oblivious guys on acoustic guitar. It reminded me why I stopped doing solo Watermark High shows back in the day. As soon as you’re not a full “electric” band with a drummer or whatever, people in bars instantly consider you as “background”. Fucking idiots.

These two dudes came a long way. They actually sold out all their albums tonight and I am so stoked for them because they absolutely deserve it. Technically and creatively, they are geniuses. It’s like they’ve taken the acoustic guitar, or the perception of an acoustic performance, and just completely re-invented it -really heartfelt, inspiring stuff, in a very unique way. After Cabins finished, there was a brief intermission…just long enough to down about two beers (no bottles/drinks were allowed in the theatre).

Then Fink (Fin on guitar and vocals and bassist, Guy Whittaker) started and just struck a chord in me. They played a really good mix of both albums, "Biscuits For Breakfast" and “Distance and Time”. They were a lot less technical than Cabins, but emotive as fuck. This dude just knows how to write an "every man" lyric and to put it over just the right basic chords. It once again showed how a simple, sincere voice, decent lyrics and some chords can be so incredibly powerful. I mean, Fin looks like a borderline chav, but he had me hanging on every word. Just shows you...

Anyway, I already own “Distance & Time” so I bought “Biscuits For Breakfast” (Fink’s debut album) and managed to get it signed…awesome. Thanks to my buddy Jordi for joining me even though he hadn’t heard of either of these bands and ended up buying a CD of each. I feel good because I’m inspired. Can’t wait for my breakfast with biscuits in a couple of hours…

A theatre performance about "youth, restlessness and rebellion" will be staged this Thursday (16 Oct) to Sunday (19 Oct), with two lecture-demonstrations at Galeri Petronas on 1 & 2 Nov.

The interesting thing about the performance and the festival that it accompanies - Emergency Festival - is that it's first and foremost about Malaysian & Malayan history, but equally important is the connection that young Malaysians are trying to establish with our Malayan past. Since the restive present is so intricately linked to how the social, political structures were constructed near the end of the colonial era, such a project as this seems an apt endeavour, and more projects such as these could be initiated.

Of course, one could be claimed to be touting one's horn, so I won't discuss the merits/demerits of this project further. Instead, I invite all who can make it to come to the Annexe Gallery at Central Market (and their temporary wordpress) starting 16 Oct all the way through to 26 Oct to witness the making, re-making, and re-imagining Malay(si)an histories!

16-19 Oct 2008, 8.30pm @ Annexe Gallery, Central Market
1 & 2 Nov 2008, 5pm @ Galeri Petronas, KLCC (Lecture Demonstrations)
Entry by donation: RM20 (adult) / RM10 (student)
For more info please contact +6012.2811150 or visit Five Arts Centre.

"Make it personal, tell the truth, and then write, 'Burn this,' on it."
—Lanford Wilson

One item on my list of blog entries to write is entitled, "Conceal. Inveigle. Obfuscate". It has the potential to be a pretty interesting / entertaining / horrifying piece whenever it is actually finally written, all about memory, family, deceit, trust, friendship, homosexuality, molestation, and writing; how I choose to write about the things I write about now, and why I write about them the way that I do. Its primary star is my first diary. A fetching white and pink Sanrio Hello Kitty number, replete with flowers across its shiny vinyl cover, it was purchased for me by my mother when I was five years old, during one of our regular weekend mother and son shopping excursions to Marshall Field's on Chicago's State Street. I wrote in it religiously every evening, capturing my experiences and thoughts of each day onto its allotted page, before closing the diary, snapping locked its sparkling silver padlock, and slipping it between my bed's mattress and box spring. It was mine. The words and thoughts contained within it were mine. And I adored it.

Until I set it on fire on the private Lake Michigan beach behind our house, seven years later.

What led up to the burning is part of another, well, "Concealed. Inveigled. Obfuscated." story. What is pertinent to note here, now, is that those words that I had written and had once loved so much, those innermost thoughts that I believed I could record for myself, and treasure later, those very pages, began to feel dirty to me, tainted, no longer extensions of myself to savor, and to cherish, but dark pieces of myself that should be hidden, regretted, shamed. I did not cry, as I knelt there on the beach under a gathering summer storm rolling in over the water, watching my diary burn, until the image of Hello Kitty herself on the diary's front cover caught the flame, and her once serenely blank face contorted sinisterly as the vinyl warped and melted before my eyes.

I can still smell that acrid scent to this day, over twenty years later.

I bring all of this up now because I experienced a similar feeling this week, as I was migrating pieces of writing from my old blog to "Curious Affairs". Similar. But strikingly different. This official shutting down of my previous blog has taken a remarkably long time to accomplish, due to both the sheer amount of its content (over 2,000 entries, from early 2003 to the dismal conclusion of 2006), and to the emotional fortitude I expected would be required of me to actually go through all of the entries and decide which ones to move and which ones...well, to burn. It was, without a doubt, since I started the blog during my tenure in Honolulu, the single biggest thing I wanted, needed to accomplish before leaving here.

And it is now accomplished.

This figurative burning of my old blog was similar to my quite literal diary burning of twenty-three years ago in that I was able to take a long, probing look at the snapshots of the person (or rather, people) I had been before, in a way that I have written about but not, I do not believe, ever truly done before. Sorting almost painfully slowly through each blog entry not only allowed me to decide which ones to burn and which ones were "Curious Affairs Worthy", but also to revisit, again, the entitled, profane, bitchy fag; the epic rage alcoholic who concluded nearly every entry with, "All right I need another cocktail like pronto."; the melancholic, lonely single homosexual, pretending that being single and fabulous was actually fabulous when it was, at that time, rather the opposite; and, finally, the scared, orphaned little boy who started it all just weeks after the death of his mother, and months before his own thirtieth birthday, nearly six years ago.

And it was strikingly different, because this time, I did not shed a single tear.

I may have cringed, at the period of time during which I apparently believed that every other word should be prefaced with "f**k", and also apparently was attempting to emulate e.e. cummings' with my all lowercase typing, although I had never been a huge fan of his poetry. I may have laughed at the evil and sometimes artful epic office rants, at the sheer depth of my rage at times. I may have smiled wryly at certain entries that made me remember, "Oooooh, that's why [Redacted] called me pretentious and hates me so much that he wants me dead," or, "Oooooh, that's why [Redacted] called me 'toxic' and cut me out of her life." And I may have taken a moment to stare off into nothingness after reading some long-forgotten habit or thought or quirk of an ex-lover. But I did not cry. And all of those above-referenced entries survived the burn and the migration to "Curious Affairs". Because they are people I once was, parts of who I am today, different permutations of the Atherton Bartelby Of Now. And they are not tear-inducing. Nor are they things that any longer inspire shame. For they inspired nothing in me, today, now, other than pride.

And so that is why, as I engaged in the blogger equivalent of melodramatically burning my diary on a windy and desolate beach, by handing over the empty shell of my previous blog to my blogging BFF to re-sell on the Blog Black Market (Hey, why shouldn't we profit off of it? That was some fine bit of Web 2.0 real estate in its heyday!), I was smiling. And even more committed to my writing and development and growth here at "Curious Affairs", because now all of my writing and experiences and memories are here to help me, as I wrote way back at the beginning of this past summer, "see the education of myself as a blogger, as a writer, and as a person, to see the arc between what and who I once was, and what and who I have become."

All of this is, of course, nothing more than an Atherton Bartelby Trademarked way to excessively and narcissistically remark on "Curious Affairs'" 1,000th blog entry anniversary today, and on Atherton Bartelby's five month sobriety anniversary later this week. And to ultimately note that I no longer believe, as I once did, and for quite a long time, that no one ever changes. If nothing else, this protracted journey down my previous blog's proverbial Memory Lane has inspired me to revise that belief and make it a bit less hard-lined and generalized. Most of the time, very few people ever change. But every once in awhile, sometimes, someone does change.

I should know.

I did.

Both online...and off.

Don’t complain about ticket or concession stand prices. 

A Modern Lady knows that the movie theatre borders on extortion by charging five dollars for a bucket of popcorn… but she keeps her complaints to herself. One can demonstrate their anger by not purchasing any popcorn at all. 

A Modern Lady doesn’t speak during a movie. 

She complies with movie etiquette by turning her cellular phone and mouth off.  Silence is indeed golden and it is important to be a golden beacon of silence during the movie.

The space under the seat is not used as a trashcan. 

A lady is careful to clean up behind herself in most situations (with the exception of Hotel Etiquette) and makes the job of movie attendants easier by throwing empty water bottles and candy boxes in the trash at the end of the movie.

The Modern Lady uses the bathroom prior to viewing the film. 

A Modern Lady refuses to be the unacceptable shadow that runs across the film screen because they left their movie etiquette at home, and did not “refresh” themselves before the film began.  The phrases “hold my seat”, or “tell me what I’ve missed” are never used.

Being fully clothed when going to the movie theatre. 

Perilous germs plague the seating of theatres.  If necessary, a Modern Lady will bring a towel to place on the seat to avoid butt crumbs and other bodily substances that were left behind by others. She is cautious. Cautiousness maintains the health of the Modern Lady.    

In the play, Mama says, "Child, when do you think is the time to love somebody the most? When they done good and made things easy for everybody? Well then, you ain't through learning--because that ain't the time at all. Its when he's at his lowest and can't believe in hisself 'cause the world done whipped him so! When you starts measuring somebody, measure him right. Make sure you done taken into account what hills and valleys he come through before he got to wherever he is."

When I read this, I thought about the times I have been guilty of judging someone without considering the "hills and valleys he come through before he got to wherever he is." I thought about the times I have been guilty of loving someone when things are good and not loving them when times are bad. I thought about what a difference it would make in someone's life if I loved them when they were at their lowest--at the end of their rope--and had no hope to carry on.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves. Love never fails." 1 Corinthians 13:4-8a

Love IS all of these things. Love is ALWAYS all of these things. Love is always ALL of these things. If someone is hurting and grieving or if someone makes a mistake, love IS ALWAYS, even in the hard times and bad times.

I think about the song, "Seasons of Love" from the movie "Rent." There are no seasons to love. Love is continuous and unconditional. It never fails. Only God's love can be so perfect, but I pray that God would let His love flow out of me for His glory.

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us" (1 John 4:7-12, NIV).

Jessica, the best children's book illustrator in all of Brunswick West, just wants to get the job done. Life starts to unravel when her secret is revealed to her new boyfriend, Edward, and her new client, Mr Wong - Jessica has a talking vagina. A 'fou fou' named Frank. And Frank has dreams to rival Jessica's. After a hairy life repressed in Jessica's hightop knickers, he's not about to shut up.

Written & Directed by Michele Lee

It was part of the 2008 Melbrourne Fringe Festival and my friend was in it. I try to make it to some of his shows but I'm not really much of a theatre going anymore so usually excuse myself one way or another.

But I was really glad I went last night and it was the closing night as well. I never know what to make of play titles or their blurbs so I tried not to think too much of it and go into it with an open mind, pardon the pun.

Anyway, the play was excellent!!! The small cast played to a full house and there were belly laughs applenty. The humour was clever (if not a little dirty but hey, that's the subject matter). Actually, it was right up my alley (again, pardon the pun!). The set was minimal and effective, with fairly seemless scene transitions.

All the main characters were funny, especially Mr Wong (nice Mandarin) and of course my friend Daniel Rice who played Edward, the boyfriend. His comedic timing and physical acting was spot on. He also played a girl character disturbingly well!

The play was short and sweet and with laughs throughout. Left with a grin on my face.

Alison Pargeter, when asked to name her favourite co-stars