Piccolo Spoletto
Well, here I am in one of the places I've just realized I wanted never to be -- Charleston, SC, historical sea port of the Old South, major marketplace of the slave trade, home to the Piccolo Spoletto Theatre Festival. And now I know what Hell should be like for me.
It is very hot and very humid, almost tropical in feel, with Palmetto trees to help complete the ambiance. It's an old city, so the streets are narrow, there's little parking, and thus everyone walks everywhere. "Yea!" say the spirits of my parents, "You could use the excercise." "Fuck you!" say I to those self-same spirits, "Motherfuck you! You're not the one staggering down theses street, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, in the land of no benches, lugging a guitar in one hand and props in the other, trailing behind the rest of the group like 'the kid who was picked last,' when it's hotter than Hell!" (Notice the return of the Hell reference so soon. It's never too far away, I assure you.)
We got in yesterday, moved into our housing (dorm rooms with the College of Charleston, presenters of the festival), went to the theatre, rehearsed somewhat, and then did a show that night. There were eight people in the audience. Half of them were reporters. Let's hope they all have good things to say about us.
So now, I have to get my big fat ass out and see if I can locate a grocery store somehere nearby so I can get some basics. My roommate has a laptop, which he says he'll let me use to check email and such, so I should be contactable. Oh, and just to end this off right ... Hell! Motherfucking Hell!
It is very hot and very humid, almost tropical in feel, with Palmetto trees to help complete the ambiance. It's an old city, so the streets are narrow, there's little parking, and thus everyone walks everywhere. "Yea!" say the spirits of my parents, "You could use the excercise." "Fuck you!" say I to those self-same spirits, "Motherfuck you! You're not the one staggering down theses street, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, in the land of no benches, lugging a guitar in one hand and props in the other, trailing behind the rest of the group like 'the kid who was picked last,' when it's hotter than Hell!" (Notice the return of the Hell reference so soon. It's never too far away, I assure you.)
We got in yesterday, moved into our housing (dorm rooms with the College of Charleston, presenters of the festival), went to the theatre, rehearsed somewhat, and then did a show that night. There were eight people in the audience. Half of them were reporters. Let's hope they all have good things to say about us.
So now, I have to get my big fat ass out and see if I can locate a grocery store somehere nearby so I can get some basics. My roommate has a laptop, which he says he'll let me use to check email and such, so I should be contactable. Oh, and just to end this off right ... Hell! Motherfucking Hell!
posted by - caj at 10:54 AM
2 Comments:
Wait--I thought you *liked* hot weather...?
Not true! Not counting the ushers, there were 14 people in the audience. Unless you are one of those theatre people who only counts sold tickets as people who are actually there.
Which would be odd, considering you're not a producer, you're a director! Actor! Writer! Singer! Songwriter!
And it is cooler weather this year than last year. Count your blessings, not your curses, and everyone will be happier...even you.
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