Our trip to Ashland was in honor of our 21st anniversary. Our one and only previous experience at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival was a fifth grade field trip with our youngest child. We were chaperons. It was not romantic.
This trip was different. The plays were a reason for our particular destination, but the real purpose of the trip had more to do with our relationship than any drama on the stage. I mention this because we did not plan the trip with meticulous attention to which plays we would see, who would take the lead roles, or even what the subject matter might happen to be. It was mostly a matter of two from column A and two from column B. If you know what I mean.
That said, we did indeed enjoy the plays. The first was A View from the Bridge, by Arthur Miller. The tension built steadily from when the action began in the first scene until just before the intermission. As it reached its crescendo--in scene that involved lifting an ordinary chair with one hand--I gasped out loud. I would have been embarrassed, but I was far from the only member of the audience who had become so caught up in the play.
That evening we saw The Comedy of Errors, by William Shakespeare in the open air Elizabethan Theater. Set in the Wild West, Will's hilarious story fairly bubbled along with several songs that borrowed language from the Bard so skillfully they did not feel like additions. I did not care for the characterization employed by one of the female leads, but she didn't ruin it for me. I was intrigued by role played by the male lead from A View from the Bridge. The same actor who had played the tortured, tragic father now appeared as a comedic snake oil salesman. I was virtually certain it was the same man, but I still had to check my program to be sure because his performance had nothing in common with the earlier role.
The next day we saw Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner, by Luis Alfaro. I had high expectations because I thought it was about food. I'm way into food. It wasn't about food. We weren't really sure what it was about. Still, bumkin that I am, I love to see a live show and thoroughly enjoyed the novel staging, costumes, and acting. Once again it was fun to compare the performance of an actor from the previous evening who had a very different role in this contemporary play.
Our last play was The Clay Cart, a 2ooo year-old play from India by Sudraka. The romantic comedy has aged well. The female actor I had not liked much from Comedy of Errors had the female lead again. Fortunately, her odd body language and incessant head-whipping did not recur. She was lovely as the courtesan who falls in love with an impoverished Brahmin with a heart of gold, although I could not buy her rendition of classical India dance. It looked a little to Hip Hop to me.
I'm sure the critics have found flaws in all these efforts. But I don't go to the theater to look for mistakes. I go to be transported. OSF does a great job of finding people willing to work very hard at making theatrical magic happen and I am a willing participant.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Before I Segue For Good
My Physical Terrorist--I mean Therapist--let's call him Wayne (again), says I'm likely to regain most if not all of my range of motion. The pain isn't gone yet but it's manageable and I'm completely free of narcotics and the lovely withdrawal symptoms that followed physical dependence. So I'm ready to move on from the whole incident. But, before I do, I feel compelled to list a few of the things you should consider before you decide to take a ride on a Segway:
How long do you think you could function without the use of one of your arms? Try wiping your bottom, zipping your sweatshirt, hooking or unhooking your bra, tying on your apron (never mind, you can't do any cooking), washing dishes (really, try washing dishes with one hand, even your dominant hand), driving, styling your hair, or putting on socks. I could go on. I could add other intimate activities that might prove embarrassing. But you get the idea. I want you to think long and hard. And if you decide to go ahead, that's cool, just be prepared to assume the risk. I did and it sucked.
How long do you think you could function without the use of one of your arms? Try wiping your bottom, zipping your sweatshirt, hooking or unhooking your bra, tying on your apron (never mind, you can't do any cooking), washing dishes (really, try washing dishes with one hand, even your dominant hand), driving, styling your hair, or putting on socks. I could go on. I could add other intimate activities that might prove embarrassing. But you get the idea. I want you to think long and hard. And if you decide to go ahead, that's cool, just be prepared to assume the risk. I did and it sucked.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Towns That Time Forgot
I'm just back from a quick car trip up to Ashland where we saw four plays. On the way, we stopped over at the foot of Mr. Shasta and spent two nights in a yurt. Our visit to the formerly thriving town of Weed established the theme of this entry.
We were in no particular hurry when we set out to make our way north from Oakland on Route 5. Hunger pangs hit about two hours from home near the town of Arbuckle. The town consisted of about 12 buildings including three Mexican restaurants. We chose one and enjoyed an unremarkable but perfectly acceptable meal of tacos (me) and enchiladas (Phil). If they hadn't overcharged us I would probably be giving the place at least a lukewarm recommendation. But, alas, they'll never see our yuppie faces again.
It looked like Arbuckle's claim to fame is a big rice processing plant. There certainly isn't anything else there to attract attention.
We continued up the road until we decided we needed fuel. During our fill-up, I noticed a sign directing traffic to the "historic district" of Cottonwood. I persuaded my traveling companion to take the small detour into town. We found a nest of buildings linked together by high cement sidewalks reminiscent of the wooden ones you'd see in the Old West. I even noticed large iron rings embedded in the cement that appeared to be for tying up horses.
We spent a few minutes peeking into windows on one side of the street--a large former barn is now a fitness center, there was also a hairdresser, automotive parts store, quilting shop, and western gift shop. But the biggest concern in Cottonwood (other than a restaurant on the other side) was a multi-room gift shop full of huge decorated Christmas trees, a few antiques and lots of pottery, linens, and home accessories that no one really needs. The trees had distinct themes but I only remember one. It was layered with ornaments in shades of olive green and lots of glitter--mushrooms, dragonflys, lizards, salamanders, knomes, and fairies with scary faces and lots of claws. The decorations were so thick you could see very little of the artificial tree underneath. There was nothing remotely Christian about it. Instead it exuded the very essence of pagan.
The proprietor of the shop was friendly and talkative. She asked us where we'd come from and how we happened to visit Cottonwood. "Did you see our new sign?" she asked. "It's just there since April." I ended up spending some money in her shop (not on Christmas ornaments) so I guessed it works!
We took a drive into Weed from our yurt in the woods the next day. Public works was busy resurfacing the road, but the place still looked pretty depressed. Many of the shops were clearly closed for good and we saw very few people.
A sign on North Main Street directed us to the Weed Historic Lumber Town Museum. But we were hungry again. A local resident gave us two options when we asked about a place for lunch. Ellie's was the place for gourmet coffee, espresso drinks, and sandwiches, but for "something a little more substantial," he recommended the Hi Lo Motel and RV Resort coffee shop. We eat gourmet in Oakland so we were instantly sold on the HiLo.
One excellent meat loaf and one pulled pork sandwich (with onion rings) later we proceeded to the museum. We were greeted by Sam Catalano, age 87, a lifetime resident of Weed and 47 year veteran of the lumber mill that once employed the whole town. Sam told us stories drawing from his own experiences, bonafide history, rumors, and tall tales. We learned a lot about the once lively town and left feeling as though we had broken ranks with typical tourists who skip Weed altogether in favor of the town of Mt. Shasta. We took the road less traveled and learned to tell the tale!
Next up: yurt living!
We were in no particular hurry when we set out to make our way north from Oakland on Route 5. Hunger pangs hit about two hours from home near the town of Arbuckle. The town consisted of about 12 buildings including three Mexican restaurants. We chose one and enjoyed an unremarkable but perfectly acceptable meal of tacos (me) and enchiladas (Phil). If they hadn't overcharged us I would probably be giving the place at least a lukewarm recommendation. But, alas, they'll never see our yuppie faces again.
It looked like Arbuckle's claim to fame is a big rice processing plant. There certainly isn't anything else there to attract attention.
We continued up the road until we decided we needed fuel. During our fill-up, I noticed a sign directing traffic to the "historic district" of Cottonwood. I persuaded my traveling companion to take the small detour into town. We found a nest of buildings linked together by high cement sidewalks reminiscent of the wooden ones you'd see in the Old West. I even noticed large iron rings embedded in the cement that appeared to be for tying up horses.
We spent a few minutes peeking into windows on one side of the street--a large former barn is now a fitness center, there was also a hairdresser, automotive parts store, quilting shop, and western gift shop. But the biggest concern in Cottonwood (other than a restaurant on the other side) was a multi-room gift shop full of huge decorated Christmas trees, a few antiques and lots of pottery, linens, and home accessories that no one really needs. The trees had distinct themes but I only remember one. It was layered with ornaments in shades of olive green and lots of glitter--mushrooms, dragonflys, lizards, salamanders, knomes, and fairies with scary faces and lots of claws. The decorations were so thick you could see very little of the artificial tree underneath. There was nothing remotely Christian about it. Instead it exuded the very essence of pagan.
The proprietor of the shop was friendly and talkative. She asked us where we'd come from and how we happened to visit Cottonwood. "Did you see our new sign?" she asked. "It's just there since April." I ended up spending some money in her shop (not on Christmas ornaments) so I guessed it works!
We took a drive into Weed from our yurt in the woods the next day. Public works was busy resurfacing the road, but the place still looked pretty depressed. Many of the shops were clearly closed for good and we saw very few people.
A sign on North Main Street directed us to the Weed Historic Lumber Town Museum. But we were hungry again. A local resident gave us two options when we asked about a place for lunch. Ellie's was the place for gourmet coffee, espresso drinks, and sandwiches, but for "something a little more substantial," he recommended the Hi Lo Motel and RV Resort coffee shop. We eat gourmet in Oakland so we were instantly sold on the HiLo.
One excellent meat loaf and one pulled pork sandwich (with onion rings) later we proceeded to the museum. We were greeted by Sam Catalano, age 87, a lifetime resident of Weed and 47 year veteran of the lumber mill that once employed the whole town. Sam told us stories drawing from his own experiences, bonafide history, rumors, and tall tales. We learned a lot about the once lively town and left feeling as though we had broken ranks with typical tourists who skip Weed altogether in favor of the town of Mt. Shasta. We took the road less traveled and learned to tell the tale!
Next up: yurt living!
Friday, September 5, 2008
SRD ??? - Bored now
I just reread Season Eight of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (it's in comic book form) and was reminded of what the brilliantly evil Willow said just before she flayed Warren. "Bored now." I too am bored.
The closest I could get to flaying anyone was a carefully crafted letter to various people at my HMO. I told the alarming tale of being blown off THREE times upon asking for help detoxing from Percoset, to which I had become physically dependent. Many of the details of that experience are included in earlier posts. I won't bore you with them now. It's over. I'm finally withdrawn. If I'm having any symptoms today they are easily confused with my usual allergy attack at this time of year. My arm is still a bit sore and it will be months before I regain all of my range of motion and strength. But that process is bound to be a bit of a snooze too, so it is time to move on. At least for the purposes of this blog.
I am trying to be greener. It is not easy to change habits of a lifetime. Turning off lights when I leave a room. Remembering to bring bags with me to the market. Staying out of my car unless it is absolutely necessary that I drive.
Today I took my recently acquired wire shopping cart and went shopping for several items that would otherwise be too heavy to bring home on foot. It was a splendid success. I saved a little gas, prevented a tiny measure of CO2 to accumulate, and got a bit of exercise without having to skimp on the number of cans of soup and juice I purchased.
Okay, less boredom. Greener is good.
The closest I could get to flaying anyone was a carefully crafted letter to various people at my HMO. I told the alarming tale of being blown off THREE times upon asking for help detoxing from Percoset, to which I had become physically dependent. Many of the details of that experience are included in earlier posts. I won't bore you with them now. It's over. I'm finally withdrawn. If I'm having any symptoms today they are easily confused with my usual allergy attack at this time of year. My arm is still a bit sore and it will be months before I regain all of my range of motion and strength. But that process is bound to be a bit of a snooze too, so it is time to move on. At least for the purposes of this blog.
I am trying to be greener. It is not easy to change habits of a lifetime. Turning off lights when I leave a room. Remembering to bring bags with me to the market. Staying out of my car unless it is absolutely necessary that I drive.
Today I took my recently acquired wire shopping cart and went shopping for several items that would otherwise be too heavy to bring home on foot. It was a splendid success. I saved a little gas, prevented a tiny measure of CO2 to accumulate, and got a bit of exercise without having to skimp on the number of cans of soup and juice I purchased.
Okay, less boredom. Greener is good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)