A bit of theatre in India

As part of pretending that I’m still somewhat being productive on my trip around the world, I’m trying to see at least one play in each country that I visit. This gives the impression that I’m doing research and getting inspired for future projects.

Weirdly, I’ve been more successful in my non-mission of eating a burger in each place I visit (there will be a burger round-up in August).

After a failed attempt to see a play in Cambodia (on World Theatre Day of all days!) due to cloudy weather and nausea (thanks, malaria tablets!), I was keen to make up for it in India, a country with strong and vital theatrical traditions. So I saw two plays. Two! I win.

Man applying makeup.

Another man applying different makeup.

In Kochi, I got the chance to take a tourist’s peak into Kathakali, a type of classical dance-drama from the state of Kerala, at a lovely and air conditioned wooden theatre in the old city.

Usually very long (like, 8 hours), they cut and dumbed this one down for tourists, complete with a make-up application demonstration and a quick run-through of the gestures and their meanings. I read the synopsis in two languages and still couldn’t quite follow the plot and my mind wandered a bit.  But I got to see what I’d learned about in my World Theatre course in 2006 in action, so I felt pretty good about that. And the costumes were quite amazing.

In full costume, a type of demon boar.

The boar and the lady.

The main character, being egotistical (spoiler: at the end he’s enlightened and no longer full of ego).

And then, on my last day in India, I was treated to Gasha by the Indian Ensemble Theatre in the beautiful and sleek theatre space Rangashankara in Bangalore.

As the contemporary play was in Urdu, Hindi, and Kashmiri, all I understood that sometimes the two characters were at school (“If you concentrate, you will go far”) and that there was a dead dog at one point.

Though I was completely right on those two points, my friend explained everything to me afterwards and what I thought had been a joyful story of a friendship was quickly revealed to be about the horrors of the political conflicts in Kashmir.

I loved the use of the simple props and quick shift between characters by actors Bhat and Sandeep Shikhar. And the theatre itself made me feel so at home (Torontonians, it was very close to the Dance Theatre). But I guess with a play like this where accents and quick dialogue, it would make sense to understand at least one of the languages spoken…

World Stage

I’ve been away from home for almost 9 months now. Strangely, I haven’t felt homesick much. But there are things I miss. Mostly, it’s people (and most often my little nephews), but I also miss eating cereal at 10pm with fresh milk in my pjs, public transit I understand, and knowing where the good second-hand bookstores are.

I also miss things like the great theatre going on back at home. A festival I love and have done for years is World Stage at Harbourfront in Toronto (I clearly remember Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs starring none other than Cillian Murphy way back in 1998, and being totally in awe of it).

Jo Strømgren Kompani’s A Dance Tribute to the Art of Football (Norway). Photo: Knut Bry

As I travel, I’ve been trying to catch shows in every country I visit, but there’s nothing like having the best of the best from around the world gather in one place.

Between now and the end of May, World Stage will be presenting shows from Norway, Germany, Belgium/Portugal, Canada and the Netherlands.

Beligan/Portuguese duo Pieter Ampe and Guilherme Garrido/CAMPO in Still Standing You. Photo: Phile Deprez

 Up next is A Dance Tribute to the Art of Football (looks seriously awesome) followed by She She Pop & Their Fathers: Testament, Still Standing You, what we are saying and finally KAMP.

KAMP – photo: Herman Helle

For more information on this year’s festival, please check out www.harbourfrontcentre.com/worldstage

If you could go check these out and report back to me, that would be amazing.

Getting my performance fix in Ubud

Ubud, known the artistic capital of Bali, is the place to catch a traditional dance performance. Even the most modest of shows seems to be all gold and flowers and meters of colourful fabric.

Pretty, no?

Every night of the week you’ll find yourself overwhelmed by the choice of different dances and all the different troupes performing them in different venues.

Being edgy and adventurous, Yf and I opted for the fire dance. Fire means there’s no way the show would be dull.

They don’t call it the fire dance for nothing.

We bought our tickets from one of the many sellers around town and found our venue one the grounds of a small temple. Although the surroundings were beautiful in a more humble way than, say, the royal palace, I felt a bit like we were in a makeshift tent in a parking lot alone on our plastic chairs.

So many men making such strange sounds.

Luckily more audience members arrived and the show was stunning. No instruments to create the music- just about a hundred men going “chacka chacka chacka” and “op op op!”. I was very close to being hypnotised several times, but camera flashes from the audience snapped me out of it frequently.

My favourite character. Also, the guys cracking themselves and each other up in the background when they thought no one was paying attention to them.

There were three dances for that night’s programme: the monkey dance (Kecak), the little girls’ dance (Sanghyang dedari) and the horse dance (Sanghyang jaran). The narratives were quite complicated and I didn’t follow the plot, but it was never dull.

Horse dance. Watch out! Those burning coconut husks are hot and they fly under the dancer’s feet.

A couple of nights later, I dropped into another dance show on a whim. This one was inside with glossy tickets and an opportunity to have your photo taken with the dancers afterwards.  I enjoyed the fact that the show and orchestra were all women, but it did feel much more tourist-satisfaction-driven, with many short pretty dances and a big barong beast and a bunch of little monkeys at the end. Fine, I’ll admit that that was cool. I do like elaborate costumes.

The stage was brightly lit so pictures were easy to take. I’m glad I saw it, though, to get a taste of the variety of shows and styles (this one was barong and legong dance, a classical and more ‘beautiful’ dance).

Everything that sparkles.

Monkey!

Little boys watching the performance and pissing their pants laughing when the monkeys came out. Maybe their friends were performing?

Knowing absolutely nothing about dance other than what I learn from TV and movies (namely Dance Academy and Center Stage, which doesn’t give me any credibility, granted) and even less about classical balinese dance, I think the best review I can give you is: if you have the chance to see the horse dance, go!

They burn a stack of coconut husks and then a guy riding a horse puppet (think a bit more basic than War Horse) dances on the embers in his bare feet. The programme notes explain it pretty well: “An entrance boy dance on a horse (jaran). Behaving like horse. He dance around a bonfire made from coconut busks. If the sanghyang song leads him to fire, then he will dance on the fire.”

Skip the glitz and go with the show with the horse. A good motto to live by, really.

Reaction shot:

Looks like we were quite happy with the experience, inspired to hold our fingers more elegantly in future, and just so slightly confused (manifested in the weird angle of the shot).

A bit of theatre in Sydney

I might be heading for an overdose. After nine weeks in the bush where I ended up addicted to Dance Academy (for lack of anything else and because it’s awesome), I arrived in Sydney starved for a bit of artsy-fartsy company.

 

With volunteering for the Arts Festival and as a workshop assistant at the Australian Theatre for Young People, I had my fill of theatre all day, every day, in one way or another. I haven’t had a moment to make it to Bondi beach yet (and I might skip it, actually, to go see some Shakespeare in the Blue Mountains).

Handing out flyers promoting the festival outside the train station. I met some interesting people, including the righteous king of Northern Ireland.

Walking from my swish hostel to my volunteer job on the wharf every day, I walk past Cate Blanchett’s theatre and rub shoulders with Sydney Dance Company ballerinas on their coffee breaks.

The Sydney Dance Company cafe.

I spend the day playing zip zap zop and telling kids to zip it. Evenings are spent checking out shows at the festival (when I’m not totally worn out). A wonderful perk of volunteering for the festival (or knowing generous artists- thanks Dan and Clare!) is getting free tickets to shows you wouldn’t normally rush out and spend $70 on when you’re a non-gambler on a backpacker’s (or artist’s) budget.

The first show I went to see was a on a sweltering 43 degree day. In the Eruptive Mode from Kuwait didn’t quite have me erupting into uncontrolled applause, but it did make me think about how I don’t know enough about the revolutions in the middle east and how you really need to have extraodinary actors if you show is made up of monologues. I did meet a nice Swiss stats major who accepted my extra comp ticket in exchange for a glass of wine that made me sleepy.

As I waited for the bus after the play, I considered how ridiculous it was that, at 10pm, I was sweating just sitting there in a wind that felt like car exhaust.

The next night, I went to Eraritjaritjaka with Patrick, a guy I met my first days in New Zealand (he took me to a bar that rotates where only tall European ladies are allowed to work and where I had a fancy drink with lychee and elderflower and basil- I like these free tickets in exchange for a drink things I’ve got going on).

View from the fancy rotating bar.

It was a lovely piece that I decided was about poetry to stop me from trying to figure it out and just enjoy the sound of Goebbels’ music and André Wilms’ mesmerizing voice, the fun lighting, inventive use of technology, and the bending of the audience’s expectations. I didn’t get it, but I was transported.

I got to end the week with a fantastic show at the Carriageworks (awesome venue!) by Die Roten Punkte and their hilarious and irreverent punk/comedy/clown/theatre concert. If ever these guys show up at a festival in your ‘hood, check them out and say hi for me. Rock bang!

I realised I hadn’t seen any theatre for Sydney yet, though I tried to get the cheap day-of tickets for The Secret River several times and even tried to book very not-cheap tickets, but it was always sold out.  It’s apparently the new Australian classic- important in scope, production, and cultural/historical/political significance. I guess I’ll just have to read about it for now…

But I did manage to see Rust and Bone at Griffin Theatre. I felt at home instantly in the Monday rush-ticket line- unlike at the festival shows where I felt underdressed, no matter how clean my t-shirt was. The new Australian play was intimate, stark, horrifying, and hilarious all at once (and part of it was set in Red Deer). And at 70 minutes, it is my favourite kind of theatre (short and cut to the bone).

The Griffin Theatre lobby. My new favourite theatre.

Weirdly, in the lobby, I met a couple who had stayed at the retreat I’d worked at (I’d served them dinner and I remembered them because it was the first time I’d heard the term “amaze” to mean “amazing”). If that wasn’t coincidence enough, one of them is a theatre director and they are thinking of moving to Canada.

Sometimes you meet people whose paths your meant to cross and plays you were meant to see. Others, not so much.

I’ve got some real estate here in my bag

I’ve gone to look for America.

I’ve made it to California! I just calculated it and, so far, I’ve made it 6,056 km from home (not counting detours and trips back into BC). That’s 3,763 miles. That Proclaimers guy was a bit of a wuss, only walking 5oo (or 1,000) miles for the woman he loved.

From Seattle, I took BoltBus to Portland (similar to Megabus), avoiding the American Greyhound I’ve heard only sketchy things about. I don’t know- they’re fine in Canada (except when things happen that I don’t want to think about right now or ever).

The moment I got off the bus, I knew Portland was my kind of place. Even if I started my visit with a half hour uphill walk in the heat with my bag (how is it getting heavier and bigger already?), I could tell I’d love it.

Portland. Not everything has a bird on it.

I mean, even if they didn’t have any roses at all, Portland would still be awesome. It has a vibe, you know? It’s walkable (important for me since I don’t have a car and am pretty cheap so would rather not pay for busses. Wait, not exactly. It’s that I’m always a bit overwhelmed by new public transit systems and would rather walk than figure them out), it’s pretty (not everywhere, obviously. There is a quite a bit of concrete and sad parts of town), and has a tonne of nice places to look at or eat in.

But why do restaurants close insanely early in such a hip town? Some (which shall remain nameless, because come on), when the clock strikes 9:30, even have the server bring you a take-away box for your half-eaten sushi, tell you to cork the wine bottle and bring it with you as you are told, in no uncertain terms, that they are closing and you must leave.

But coolness (a healthy mix of earnest and pretentious coolness) wins this one.

Freakin’ cool buzzer at my friend’s apartment.

In cool places, people grow peppers on their balconies.

I spent a few perfect days with my friends in Portland. How lucky that an old university/theatre friend moved there a month before my arrival? That’s just enough time to know what’s hot and what’s not, but not enough time to have tried everything. Most of those things included eating.

Even though I was a boring person and ordered chocolate ice-cream, Salt & Straw lives up to its reputation and is well worth the wait in the inevitable line. The Pear with Blue Cheese was pretty good (but a little too intense for me), the Sweet Summer Corn Buttermilk Sorbet was tasty and strange (seriously sweet corn), and the citra hops and apricot was delicious. I like ice-cream and fancy-schmancy-artsy combinations of flavours.

Perfect vanilla ice-cream being dropped into espresso. And that’s how it’s done, kids.

A Canadian dog in Portland.

From Portland I took the Amtrak bus to Eugene. I’m sure Eugene is nice and fun. But not the day I was there- not for me, anyway. I only took 3 pictures: one of the hostel and two in the train station as I was leaving. That gives you an indication of the degree of my affinity for the city.

I did enjoy the Bijou cinema, housed in a church building, where I saw (for three bucks!) Beasts of the Southern Wild.

I don’t know who peed in my cornflakes that day, but I wasn’t in the mood for a place where almost every house has prayer flags and some type of installation art on their porches. I got my first twinges of homesickness, which worried me. I can’t start feeling blue so early on.

Unfortunately, the train, which had been so chilled out in Canada (or am I already being nostalgic about it?), didn’t help. While the seats were relatively comfy, I really really really wish these had had an armrest.

See, it’s a little disconcerting to be seated next to a 60-year-old surfer who drops a few too many inuendos and full-on confessions that they wrecked their sister-in-law’s computer by downloading porn. Needless to say I didn’t sleep too well- I had to watch that that hand of his didn’t cross into my side of the seats.

Bye bye, Eugene! Sorry I had to be with you on my down day. Ì’m sure things would have looked better in the morning…

So I was glad to leave and be greeted by such a friendly face as Ann-Marie’s when I made it, after an anxious 14-hour train ride and calmer 1-hour bus ride, to Santa Rosa, California.

Oh California. I’m going to see the folks I dig, I’ll even kiss a Sunset pig, California I’m coming home (of sorts).

Seattle in colour

It is quite a travel day to get to Seattle from Port Angeles if you’re cheap and don’t want to pay the $40 for the direct bus. It’s quite a day if you’d rather take the #30 from Port Angeles to Sequim, then the #8 to Port Townsend, the #7 to Poulsbo, and finally the #90 to Bainbridge to then catch the ferry to Seattle.

It’s worth it, though, because you meet people including a guy who also randomly went to the same university in Norwich, UK. And you save $36.

I imagined Seattle grey.

Arriving in Seattle by water.

The windows of the Pacific Northwest Ballet.

The Seattle gasworks, just before I got completely lost.

The troll that lives in Fremont. Not pictured: the three billy goats Gruff who are just down the street.

Downtown Seattle.

Artsy tree at the Olympic Sculpture Garden.

Across the water.

Dude eating his lunch as I creepily take a picture through a window (Pike Place Market)

Stairway in Seattle (with man).

Foutain in the Seattle Center.

Turns out, though, that Seattle is wonderfully colourful.

Pike Place Market with Peter.

There’s a fair!

The EMP Museum.

Also the EMP Museum.

I  caught Dirty Story by John Patrick Shanley at the Intiman Theatre Festival (thanks for the comp, Peter! Sorry you were sick!)- I’m not 100% convinced the play makes sense, but I know it’s really me not totally grasping this level of satire. Fun night out, though, and I managed to find my way and navigate the Seattle bus system.

Also, you cannot bring your gun to the theatre.

The entrance to the beautiful 5th Avenue Theatre.

My friend Peter (who I met at the Toronto Fringe Festival two years ago and who said to let him know if ever I was going to be in Seattle and I remember things, so I ended up crashing  on his comfy couch) and I went to see Rent(flashback!) gun-free.

Rent at the 5th Avenue Theatre- Photo: Mark Kitaoka

I enjoyed seeing Rent, but the more I think about it, the more I think it’s because it made me feel 18 again- it brought me back to the end of the millenium. While the cast really gave it their all (Brandon O’Neill as Collins was exceptional), the pacing was wonky (I appreciated a pause to breathe here and there, but sometimes the action was dropped only to be rushed through later). But this is me pulling at threads (“if you want to destroy my sweater”-type deal) and the whole thing could come apart if I keep going. I truthfully liked seeing this production, though they have the hard task of living up to the original. I miss Mark’s stripped scarf.

On another note, Seattle has the biggest chocolate croissants you’ll ever see. To give you an idea (if you’re from Montreal), it was roughly 4.5 Figaro croissants.

One heck of a chocolate croissant. I could not finish this chocolate croissant.

Victoria

I’ve had my passport stamped for the first time since I left and had a bunch of questions about my life, plans and bank account sternly thrown into my face. I pased and took the ferry from Victoria (British Columbia) to Port Angeles (Washington).

My time on Vancouver Island began and ended on a boat, which makes sense seeing as it’s an island.

Sun on the ferry from Horseshoe Bay (Vancouver) to Nanaimo (Vancouver Island).

Ferry from Victoria to Port Angeles.

Victoria was sunny and beautiful and, most importantly, was to be explored with my friend Caitlin (beautiful Caitlin whom I hadn’t seen in 3 years).

Caitlin having tea at the trendy little restaurant we went to in Victoria.

We explored Victoria, especially the frozen yoghurt shop. Those little bubbles of fruit bursts you can sprinkle over your frozen yoghurt are amazing and weird.

Caitlin told me about totem poles, their meanings and uses and the way they were pretty much stolen, thinking it was a way to remember cultures that were assumed to be dying.

Totem pole at Thunderbird Park, Victoria.

We noticed many problematic depictions of the First Nations and weirdly normalized colonialism. Most of them in souvenir shops, but many around the city too:

Was this the Hudson Bay Co’s slogan? Even so, it’s weird to have this hanging in a mall. Even weirder, it was put there in 1990.

But it was a beautiful, sunny few days (though that wind off the water can be quite chilling) and walking around aimlessly was just the thing to do.

Victoria

Where one might take high tea at the Empress Hotel. We obviously didn’t, but we did run around the hotel pretending we might.

For a blog about theatre, I haven’t written much about it recently. Summer is pretty slow for regular theatre seasons, but we were really lucky to catch a good one in Victoria.

The Little Shop of Horrors at the McPherson Playhouse in Victoria (Blue Bridge Rep Theatre)

Although I really didn’t have opening night attire, I pulled together a (relatively) clean t-shirt and the one skirt I brought so we could attend the opening of Little Shop of Horrors (thanks again, Jer, for the tickets!). I didn’t know the show at all- I only knew that it featured a special type of venus fly trap. But when I noticed that a couple of cast and creative team members had been involved in Ride the Cyclone, I knew it was going to be ok. Or better than ok.

When I saw that Kholby Wardell was in this, I knew we were in good hands. Here with Damon Calderwood and Sara-Jeanne Hosie.

Actually, it was a really great production and I couldn’t stop smiling the entire time. The design going from black-and-white to colour as things liven up may be a bit predictable, but it was done so smoothly and beautifully and cooly and I loved it gosh darn it. The whole thing was fun and excellently performed, and perhaps with a tiny bit more accent work for a certain character, it would be the absolutely perfect way to spend a Victorian summer evening.

Fringe Fest Fun (and other alliterations)

July is here again (already?) and that means one thing. Actually, a few things: Canada Day, real summer vacation-time, and festivals of all kinds including the Toronto Fringe Festival.

For those of you who may not know, Fringe festivals happen across the world and showcase a whole whack of unjuried theatre pieces by anyone whose name gets pulled out of the proverbial hat.

In Toronto, that means 10 days of hurried, sweaty chaos as you bolt around Bathurst street trying to see as many of the 155 plays as possible.

At least this year I don’t also have a show to promote and worry about (although the past two summers of presenting shows at the Fringe have been absolutely amazing and I’m not going to lie and tell you I don’t miss that stress just a little bit).

I’m not a critic or reviewer, but I did want to announce that I have not seen a single ‘bad’ play so far (granted, I’ve only seen 6). So if you’re in town, you might want to check out some of these diverse theatrical experiences (in order of me seeing them):

ENGLAND

Jenna Turk and Celeste Percy-Beauregard in ENGLAND by Tim Crouch

I liked this one. A lot. It made me feel weepy in that “I’m so inspired and sad and happy” way that I haven’t experienced often. Was it just seeing my friend Jenna’s simple and stirring performance that made me teary? I don’t know. I don’t think so.  I think it was also walking around the beautiful bright 401 Richmond Gallery, the repetition of the word “look,” and the clever, economic, poetic (and yet very real) writing of Tim Crouch. As we were led around the gallery by the actors, they’d say stuff like: ”I look at these things and I don’t really understand them. I like them, but my boyfriend would understand them. He says that good art is art that sells.” I hope they sell out the rest of their shows.

OF MICE AND MORRO AND JASP

Clowns Morro and Jasp get the economic downturn to turn our frowns upside down. Photo by Alex Nirta.

A Fringe favourite, these clown sisters are back! It’s always exciting to see Amy Lee and Heather Marie Annis on stage (and off), and here they are adding their messy charm and pee-in-your-pants hilarity to the old classic I never read in high school (but let it be known that I read and loved The Pearl (my heart still hurts for you, Coyotito!)). Lots of fantastic moments (and also just the whole premise) keep me in constant awe of these theatre-makers.

WITH LOVE AND A MAJOR ORGAN

Julia Lederer and Robin Archer play strangers on the subway

A sweet play that speaks directly to our time (Google-everything + nostalgia for cassette tapes) in Julia Lederer’s own quirky, imagistic voice. Fun and oh so true, even if set in a world where organs can be lent freely- but not without consequence- to a stranger.

THE BALLAD OF HERBIE COX

Victoria Chiu and Roland Cox

An original mix of über-casual story-telling and precise, evocative dance, this Melbourne duo (trio?) kept me holding my breath. I can’t wait to get to Australia- maybe there’s more performance like this?

BUFFERING…

Shauna Wootton and Amy Cunningham as Princess and Witch

Funny, smart rhyming verse that spins fairy tale tropes into a web of fun and fancy. So much potential here, I can’t wait what this group writes next. Who knew there was still something original to do with fairy tales? Apparently there is.

VIC HARBOUR

Andrea Grant and Matthew Gin as Alice and Jimmy

I didn’t think I’d laugh so much during a ghost/abuse/drug/lighthouse story, but the two young characters are pitch-perfect, especially in the first couple of scenes. The atmosphere of a small town on the bay was palpable and inspired me to revise some of my short stories.

There are so many other plays I need/want to see, but with the departure date for my trip ‘around the world’ being only a week away, time is tight with finishing up my last week of work, preparing for my garage sale, meeting with friends for one last lunch together, and mentally preparing to leave (this includes watching Master Chef, I’ll admit).

Ottawa: nice enough, but no need to stay more than a night or two

Ottawa, Canada’s sleepy capital, seems to get nicer each time I visit.

The canal.

It might even get a little more interesting.

Photo from the Extremely Short Play Festival at the Arts Court Library taken from CBC Website. As in all festivals, a couple of pieces were fantastic, some were very good, and some were not. The transitions between plays were pretty cool, with bits of script projected on the stage (see image for example of effect).

This time, I was there on a lightning-speed visit to give a photography workshop to a classroom full of brilliant teenagers for Brila [check out the work of last year's group here].

While the class was out and about around Ottawa making their own snapshot narratives, I took a couple of pictures of the eeriness that is an empty classroom.

And all was suddenly quiet.

Light on seats.

Works in progress.

…and then we jumped in a car and drove to Montreal (stopping in a parking lot to eat sundaes and salty fries).

Just your typical road-trippers.

London (!) Ontario (.)

After rising at a ridiculous hour for a Saturday, I met up with Trenna, my friend who, it turns out, had been up shooting all night long and hadn’t actually slept yet. So no complaints about 6am on a Saturday from me.

We were awake to take the bus to London (Ontario) to embrace harmony and understanding (ie: see Hair).  And we weren’t the only ones on our way to the great metropolis: we literally got the last two seats on the Greyhound. We puttered away, leaving a dozen people in the dust. I hope they got to where they were going.

The Toronto bus station is depressing.

After some lunch at the Church Key and a bit of window-shopping on Richmond Row (I found a shop that reminded me exactly of my favourite one in Norwich), Trenna went back to our hostel for a much-needed nap and I walked around.  ACBB is a cute, friendly, and central house, though lacking in heat and hot water this weekend.  They gave us extra blankets, though, and it ended up being a relatively toasty night.

Seller of stuff.

London getting ready for a race.

This is a tree. You can find it in London.

Other native plants of London grow neon and sturdy.

On my walk, I found the Canadian Medical Hall of Fame attached to the tourist office. I got to read all about important Canadian medical pioneers and learned a great deal in the short time I was there.  Did you know that the “Drake Clip,” used to cure aneurisms, was designed by Dr. Charles Drake, the Chairman of the Department of Clinical Neurological Sciences at the University of Western Ontario (ie- a Londoner!)? Note: when you Google “Drake clip,” video clips of songs by that Degrassi kid come up first.  

The first pace-maker.

Covent Garden Market.

But enough with pictures of London- we were there for Hair, long beautiful hair (long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty, oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen, knotted, polka dotted, twisted, beaded, braided, powered, flowered and confettied, bangled, tangled, spangled and spahettied hair!)

Hair at the Grand Theatre in London, Ontario.

I didn’t know anything about Hair, really, except that it was about hippies letting the sunshine in. Turns out it has nothing to do with Five Man Electrical Band’s song “Signs.”

The play’s script is messy and makes no sense (which is fine because it just kinda made me feel like I was stoned too), but the songs were mostly amazing, the performances rocked the house, and the set/costumes/look/atmosphere were great.  We were given daisies at the end and then dragged on stage to dance with the cast singing Let the Sunshine In.  I can put that on my resumé, right?

We left on a high and waited like groupies at the stage door.

Leaving with flowers in our hair.

And we took more embarrassing pictures:

Posing with posters- this makes us real “Hair-heads,” right?

Me and Paul (poster version)

Me and the über-talented Paul Dunn (star of the stage!), drinks-after-the-show-at-the-Church-Key version.

Things I learned about London, Ontario:
-There is vomit under the bridge. A lot of vomit.
-You will wait a long long time if you respect traffic lights.
-They name things after London, England (from the Thames to Covent Garden).
-Their parking lots are colourful (see below).

Pretty parking lot.

Trenna is an alien.