May the road rise up to meet you...

...and may you make it back to work on time today.

Yesterday was a 3000-plus mile blur, and we thought for a moment about taking a group picture at the airport (because even though we meant to do it the whole time we were in Ireland, we never actually managed it). But everyone was so fried, and we all looked like we'd been partying the night before and then went on a 7-hour plane trip.

I'd meant to blog yesterday at the airport, but having to go through 3 layers of security changed that plan. When we checked in (after the first security check), we were shown a form that said if we hadn't cleared US Customs by 8:30am, our baggage would be removed from the plane. That put the fear of God; or the TSA into me, and I raced through the airport, bypassing duty free and hot coffee (I'll pick up a couple bags of Cadbury's on the way in as my offering to the office...it's traditional for us when we come back to bring a treat from where we've been.)

Then we cooled our heels in a rapidly-growing line at U.S. Customs, and the line grew and grew until around 7:45-ish, when they finally began to examine passports and ask questions. Then, five feet away from there, our boarding passes were examined by another security team and we were let into our boarding area. If we wanted to leave, we had to give them our boarding pass and they would hold it until we returned. Such is travel these days.

I spread out my coat & hat on the benches to save seats, and the rest of our party streamed in. We were all still kind of glowing and excited (if exhausted) from the party the night before, where we'd stayed til the last possible minute before we had to make reluctant goodbyes to the people we'd grown so fond of in just a week.

That's one of the reasons I like theatre so much; you tend to be thrown into intense situations with all kinds of people and are forced to work together for a positive outcome. And when it happens (which it does quite a lot, really), you either love 'em or hate 'em, and in a week, you've found a bunch more people you like and are sorry to leave.

I think we all enjoyed the last day (Sunday) so much because we knew it was just that, and our shows were over and we could just sit and be in a lovely city.

I moved hotel for the last time, traveling 3 or 4 blocks down Temple Bar to the Temple Bar Hotel. It's kind of a party hotel (you can tell by the groups of hen parties/bachelor parties checking out on Sunday morning, still wearing their pink-trimmed cowboy hats, D&G t-shirts, whistles round their necks, their eye makeup running a little, and trying to manage their wheelie luggage on the cobblestoned streets).

I blogged from the lobby of the hotel, watching the passing parade, then left my 'puter at the front desk (the Mac got many admiring glances; Apples are few & far between in Ireland), and went for brunch. We ate at the Mermaid Cafe, which Frommer's Ireland gives 2 stars to, and they are well-deserved. It's a beautiful sunny place with handmade wooden chairs and tables, art on the walls, and creative (but not in your face) cooking. If I lived in Dublin, it would be one of my favorite places. We also had a chance to talk about the shows we'd seen and talk like playwrights, actors and directors about their structure and what elements were added by each part of the whole. I'd missed doing that because the Dragon's a little LOUD for that kind of talk.

Before the gala, Steven & Brett came by to prepare Miss Fitt for her performance. Everyone dressed up for the occasion, and we all looked great. When Brett finished his transformation, we made the short walk from my hotel to the Button Factory (where the gala was being held) to the surprise of pretty much everyone on the Temple Bar. Brett chose the outfit with the hot-pink wig and black lace shortie, fishnets and high, high heels. I expect with heels on, he was about 6'8". I'm sure many a cellphone picture was taken and sent with the caption: you won't believe what I just saw!" We surrounded him all the way, just in case anyone took exception.


At the gala, we sat near the South Africans, who shared our space and our hearts. Some of the people from the short plays sat with the Irish ladies from their night.

The night consisted of performances from many of the pieces presented, and awards for some of the best work.

I got a chance to see a little bit of Jeff Key's "The Eyes of Babylon," about his tour of duty in Iraq. He talked about the children he saw, and about giving them candy, and doing what he could for them, and how he was "Americki" to them.

I wished I'd had a chance to see his piece, and the monologue from "Down Dangerous Passes Road," made me want to have seen that one as well.

Our own Miss Fitt sang "Cherry Dream" to great applause, and Joe, Kaolin and Kevin did a bit from "Tom Cruise, Get Off the Couch," that brought the house down. Kaolin was filming the ceremony, so if I can figure out how to post video, I certainly will.

I actually didn't bring along a notebook or camera (a sign to myself, perhaps, that I wasn't "working") Dumb move. I'm always working.

Anyway, I was quite surprised early on, when they announced the award for cultural exchange (or something...like I said, I didn't have a notebook!) and I heard my name called! I put down my bourbon and coke, and went to the stage, where I gratefully received it, gave Brian Merriman a big hug, and (I think) suprised John Pickering with another big hug. Professor Roy Sargeant, of Capetown, who is responsible for the great South African work coming to the festival, also got an ambassadorship!

It's a lovely certificate, framed, and says: "The International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival Gratefully acknowledges the outstanding contribution of Emerging Artists Theatre, New York (YAY!) . To the furtherance of the aims and objectives of the Festival, for their contribution to international gay theatre and the arts and is honoured to appoint Kathleen Warnock as an Official Ambassador of the International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival."

If that means being a nudge who loves to put people together to see what beautiful stuff they make, then I'll proudly accept.

The other awards (if I remember them correctly) were given out: Dalliances (our South African buddies) took home two: for direction and set. Best Man won best new writing. Gina Costigan (of the Countess and the Lesbians) won Best Actress, and Ricardo Melendez won Best Actor for Nijinsky's Last Dance. The nominees in every category got nice certificates and the winners got crystal trophies.

The Lord Mayor of Dublin, fabulous gold chain and all, stood up to give a speech, and it occurred to me that 10 years ago in Dublin that probably wouldn't have happened. There were more awards, one each for Brian and John (much deserved!) They closed with a rendition of "Seasons of Love" with all the volunteers on the stage and Brian leading it and pretty much everyone singing along.

We all proceded to the Front Lounge, for the after-party & sandwiches. I was sorry I hadn't been there til that night, because if I lived in Dublin, I suspect it would be my favorite bar.

I caught up with lots of people, and we exchanged cards and hugs. I want the Best Man guys to come to NYC, and hope the Corpus Christi company can come in the fall as they plan, and Jeff Key needs a New York run, and all kinds of things like that.

I reluctantly peeled myself away a bit after 1am, and went back to the hotel and packed every single thing except the next day's clothes. (I did a good job, except for socks).

And a rather fitful flight, and into my sweetie's arms and home for a good long nap. Last night, we went to dinner at our favorite small restaurant and saw Gerry, the waitress who's from Ireland and who wanted to know all about the trip. We chatted with her over our meals, and she talked about how much Ireland has changed since she was a girl. And how much her parents have; her father is a supporter of gay marriage now.

She said it's that everyone got a bit more money and got to travel and see the rest of the world, and bring new ideas back to Ireland. She was in the wave that left because there used to be no jobs. A lot of people went back when the economy got better. We asked her why she didn't.

"This is home now," she told us.

I understood.

"I shouldn't have coffee. I'm going to sleep on the plane."

Oh my gosh. They're calling our flight. So much for deathless prose at 8:17 in the morning. And I paid 5 euro for wireless!

More later...

Love, The Ambassadress of Soul.

So long and thanks for all the fish!

Tonight's the final gala, and already some people have left, back to their hometowns, or where they're staying. And of course, most of the first week participants are just a memory. 

I'm looking forward to the Gala, which will feature snippets from most of the plays, including a number from our own Miss Fitt (Brett Douglas). I will definitely need a disco nap this afternoon! 

As I learned from the people who live in New Orleans, it's a marathon, not a sprint, and I'm glad I've still got a little bit in the tank (at $4.06 a gallon...) for the last night.

Yesterday was an all-theatre, all the time day for me. I'd delivered my postcards, done what touring I felt like doing, and just wanted to sit in theatres all day and be entertained and moved.

I started at 3 with the matinee of "Best Man," a two-hander about a pair of young men from Northern Ireland who were once best friends, and whose paths cross in life-shattering ways as young adults. It was beautifully acted and heartbreaking in showing that the closet and self-loathing can kill, and keep us from the ones we love. If I run into them tonight, I'll tell 'em to bring it over to Midtown next year.

I went to a 4:30 matinee of Dalliances, the South African show that's been sharing space with us at the Teachers Club. Their cast & director & playwright, all young and very beautiful, has been nothing but nice, and a pleasure to talk to and hang out with. 

It's a fascinating piece by a strong new voice, Pieter Jacobs, and very well directed by Matthew Wild. They're all about 12 years old. I'm kidding. But not by much.

It's about young people trying to figure out what the hell they're doing with their lives; they're people with looks and smarts, and no idea how to be happy. All the performances were strong, and culminated in a wrenching goodbye to each other at the end, with their lives permanently altered, damaged or ended. And lots of drugs. Drugs kill, guys! Geez! (Seriously, we did not have the kind of shit people take now back in the day...and it's obviously giving people fewer chances to fuck up and get it all back. You can kill yourself much more quickly and easily with what's out there now, and addiction issues go hand-in-hand with self-loathing. Said the woman with a margarita in her hand, or at least I will have one or three tonight).

Back to the hotel for a bath and to change into a pretty outfit in honor of the EAT team. And back across the Liffey to see the show for the first time since Monday. I was touched to see the Dalliances company in the house; they wanted to see our show before their last show. (Late show people didn't have a chance to see so many shows; early show people could usually get to the 9:30 gigs, but the 9:30 people couldn't get to the 8 o'clock shows and still get to their own).

And our show has grown and blossomed and I still consider it a work-in-progress. Have to work on the scene endings in the full-length version. (I've actually written four more scenes for it, based on the stuff I realized is missing from this version). They were alive and beautiful & real and went for broke because it was the last night, and let it all hang out (Karen especially).

And then it was over, and the Dalliances people were crying (yay!) and I took off for my NEXT show, the 9:45 performance of "Slipping," from Chicago. They share the Smock Alley space with "Corpus Christi" and that show runs long, so I sat in the lobby for a bit waiting for that one to let out, and chatted with the director of Slipping and read the placards describing the history of the marvelous old theatre, which was actually built to be a theater, before it became a church, in the 1700s! The back wall of the theater is just that...stones and mortar and bricked up arches that have seen the likes of Sheridan and Peg Woffington and where casks of whiskey were stored and where some of the Dublin Catholics were allowed to form their own parish legally for the first time in the 1800s. 

The cast of Corpus Christi leaves through the house for their final exit, and as they poured out, I could see tears running down their cheeks, and they reached out and grabbed each other and stumbled toward their dressing rooms. The amount of emotional energy it must take to do that show every night is staggering. Brandon, aka Jesus, wept.

Then the audience came out, many also quite emotional, and I saw a familiar face or two from New York City...Juliet Mills and Maxwell Caulfield, a couple of fellow members of Mirror Rep whom I first knew 20-some years ago. (Am I dating myself?) And it turns out their daughter is in Corpus Christi, and they were there to see her. (And I was like: duh, Melissa Caulfield!)

I chatted with them for a moment and later at the Dragon, where they really had no memory of me (I was the just-thrown-out-of-acting school assistant and general dogsbody, and now it's a couple decades later and I'm a playwright in a festival in Dublin. Look at me in the middle of all this art, to paraphrase Frank O'Hara). I told them how much I'd enjoyed the Mirror production of Odets's Paradise Lost, which remains my touchstone for how I judge most of the plays I see. And how Geraldine Page was a mother to so many in the company (even the little assistants/especially the little assistants). And of course that's where I met Peter Bloch, who's directed at least five of my plays. There was something satisfyingly full-circle about it

And oh yeah, there was another play to go to! And at just past 10 o'clock, I sat down to my fourth show of the day, "Slipping," presented by The Side Project of Chicago. A teenager and his mother are in Iowa; having moved there from California. She's glad to be there, a professor at the university, he had to leave everything he knew behind, and his father is recently dead...we find out more about that later. There's a bit of Holden Caulfield in him (and you KNOW Holden would have dyed his hair green if he were around today). He meets a boy in Iowa, and tries not to fall back into obsessive, destructive habits. It was finely observed all the way round, and I noted there really is a Chicago style of acting, with its roots in people like Mamet and the Steppenwolfies. Good stuff. And in this play, the young guy actually grasps for hope & love at the end. 

And off to the Dragon! There was a valedictory feel to the evening, because it was some people's last time to mix and mingle, and some who had stayed in during their runs could come out and play. The Dragon was packed with the usual Saturday night crowd as well as the festival folk. 

I stayed out much later than usual as well; because this might be the last chance to talk to people, see them for awhile, exchange contact info, tell them they'd done good work and should be proud.

And now I'm going to see if my room is ready...I've been blogging this morning from the lobby of the Temple Bar Hotel...looking out on Temple Bar, watching as people check in and out, hearing all the languages being spoken, sitting on a comfortable couch and bone tired but happy.

"She kicks with the other foot, so to speak"

As I was dropping off postcards yesterday, I stopped in a shop that sells soccer stuff, and asked if I could leave some there. The proprietor said sure, and asked if I was in one of the plays; I said I wrote one, and he asked if it was the one at Liberty Hall, and I said no, but I'd seen it. "It's about the Countess Markevicz," he told me. "And her sister who (he paused) kicked with the other foot, so to speak." Of course, I told him. (Being goofyfooted myself). He said he'd read about it in the papers, and even though he was a man, he would go see it. Way to go, Carolyn!

The photo at left is the view from my hotel window today. Oscar Wilde looks longingly up at my floor-to-ceiling window and longingly down at the pretty boys.

I spent a lot of yesterday getting postcards out, but still found time to get a brief massage (of course) and buy some presents. Two museum visits: The Dublin Writers Museum, which was quite enjoyable, and let me completely geek out at the Stuff from Irish Writers on display, ranging from typewriters to tuxedos, as well as a VERY LOUD acoustiguide. As I went through, I made note of Maria Edgeworth, and Elizabeth Bowen and Lady Gregory and...not a whole lot of other women. After awhile, it kind of began to hurt.

In the bookshop, I picked up several cool presents, and fortunately, there was a decent selection of women writers, though all were pretty much modern. I bought Nuala O'Failan's "I Am Somebody." She died last week and all of Dublin mourned (though I note she'd mostly lived in Brooklyn in the last several years), and from the way people talked about her, I thought I should pick up her first memoir. I was glad to see in the papers that they mentioned she'd had long-term relationships with both a woman and a man. (Somehow I don't think they would hae been so specific even a few years ago). So far, the book is quite good and bleak.

Then to the Hugh Lane, which I'd been saving for a treat, and which turned out to be...not so much a treat. I was all psyched to see the lovely Impressionist collection, because I can sit in front of a good Impressionist painting and get all warm and fuzzy. But they are about to celebrate their centennial...NEXT month, so almost all the galleries are closed in preparation and all the really famous paintings are being prepared for the centennial exhibit. But I'm here NOW! So boo! I had a good chat with a couple of the guards, though. They'd heard about the play with the Countess. It's so awesome to have regular people in the street talk about theater as a regular part of their lives. (Neither the guards nor I were really into the Sean Scully exhibit. I liked the original fireplace in the room, though). And Fiona Shaw was on the acoustiguide. My favorite Medea/Aunt Petunia.

I had some fish & chips & attended Mass. Yes. I do that every now and then. I rather miss it. I lit a candle, and listened to the boys' choir and laughed when the priest began to talk about Pentecost and two pigeons suddenly burst into flight above us. They really wanted to get busy. I could tell. I'm from New York. I was brooding a bit about the Church and why they essentially threw me away when I came out, and thought: it's their loss. I was such a GOOD Catholic. That sounds like the first line of a play to me. We'll see.

And stopped by the Sinn Fein office (and souvenir store) on the way to the Teachers Club, and saw a picture of the Countess Markevicz for sale. I asked the guy if I could leave my postcards, etc. I was a playwright and: are you the one who wrote the Countess Play? No, but I saw it, and it's wonderful. It's written by an American you know, he told me. I know! And he asked where I was from and I said New York City, and he said he'd lived there too, and I said what part, and he said, oh, you know, in Queens. And I said Woodside? He said Astoria. So mostly likely we were neighbors in the last decade or so.

Then over to our theater to see everyone; I miss them terribly during the day!

I was soaking up their company so greedily that I realized I had to BOOK to get back across the Liffey to make the curtain for Corpus Christi. (Teachers Club & Cobalt Cafe are the 2 northnermost venues, with most of the others on the Temple Bar/South side). I JUST barely made it, and it was worth it. I missed the protesters (there were two of them the night before), but there was an announcement made before the show about it.

This is a highly re-imagined version by a group out of LA. First of all, the cast is mixed gender (as opposed to all-male) which only enhances the play. The people in it are of various ages and sizes, and ethnic backgrounds. They played the story of Jesus, as a gay man, in Texas. You could tell how deeply they were devoted to it, and each other. There was a lot of beautiful individual work as well as an organic group feeling. And the whole last bit is the Passion, read from the Bible and acted out by the players. I was a wreck. I mean head in my lap sobbing. The fellows next to me looked worried. I had to go away for a bit afterward to collect myself.

I caught up with most of the cast at the Dragon later, and got to tell them how much it had moved me, and find out a little bit about them. It started as a 4-week gig...two years ago, and is still going strong. They are trying to come to NYC in time for the play's 10th anniversary, and I'd love to see them there.

And most of the rest of the EATies turned up, and David and Moe, and I saw how we all stood in groups that were made up of people from everywhere. One guy's arm around the cute young guy from Brian's play, the South Africans chatting with the Angelenos and New Yorkers, and I get the feeling there's going to be a lot of cross-cultural contact (and probably some international travel) coming up after this for a lot of folks.

I cabbed it back to the Clarion and took a bath in the lovely tub with a bath ball I'd bought from Lush, and went to bed fragrant and smooth.

And to the Eliza Lodge this morning, where Oscar Wilde looks out over the Liffey, and I'm off to at least 3 shows today! (Maybe more...)

Boat Races on the Liffey & Ulysses

I was on the Skype this morning with my sweetie and I heard drums and cheering outside my window. Hold on a minute, I said, and ran to the terrace to see...these sort of gondolas racing side by side, oarsmen stroking away to the accompaniment of drums beating out the time. They raced to the bridge then began again.

I think they raced to the James Joyce Bridge...or perhaps the Sean O'Casey. I was told last night there is a Samuel Beckett Bridge under construction. If they really want it to be perfect, they should never finish it.

I had an encounter with Joyce himself last night (or a reasonable facsimile). Over on the Temple Bar, one of the "living statues" was recognizable as Joyce, and probably standing near some place that was mentioned in Ulysses.

I was rather pleased that someone chose to be a living statue of a literary figure, and stopped to watch as he slyly tapped his foot on his standing box, making a booming sound that made the tourists jump. (I am not a tourist. I am a visiting artist!) I dropped a euro in his bucket and he sprang to life and snapped open his book and said: here, take a bit of my book. And I pulled out a slip of paper and asked if I might take a picture, and he said yes, in a manner that was much more charming, I am sure, than the original.

I looked at my slip of paper and it read:

Episode 7. Aeolus (The Newspaper)

Before Nelson's pillar trams slowed, shunted, changed trolley, started for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Conskea, Rathgar and Terenure, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Sandymount Green, Rathmines, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross. The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off:
- Rathgar and Terenure!
Come on, Sandymount Green!

And in a flash I saw old Dublin, with the streetcards going up and down O'Connell Street, and people climbing on and off and I heard the clanging of the bells and thought, now this is a city.

Beckett crossed my path as well yesterday. I did a tour of the Shelbourne Hotel, newly refurbished. In their reception area are two large murals on opposite walls: both of Vladimir and Estragon; both paintings of famous productions of the show...they told me the names of the actors.

Beckett also made the papers with a scheme by the Abbey to mount Godot (or GODot as they call it here, as opposed to GodOT where I'm from) in 40 towns in Ireland. The press conference was interrupted by a heckler who begged to differ from the official story of how it all began, and there it was on the second page of the newspaper this morning.

Last night's adventures included a stop at the Chester Beatty Library to look at ancient manuscripts (not that I could even make out a bit of the writing on the fragments of the earliest extant books of the Bible...my four years of Ancient Greek at UMBC was a pretty long time ago!) But I adored the illuminated manuscripts, and the huge green lawn out front behind a stone gate on the precincts of Dublin Castle.

And dinner at the aforementioned Shelbourne with Paul, where we feasted on oysters and champagne (at least I did), asparagus pistachio soup, a rack of Wicklow lamb, and accompanying wines. I had a lovely Italian pinot noir that smelled like bananas, and a strong Italian red, a blend, from le Marche (see! I edited Frommer's Italy! And MTV Italy!)

They gave us some lovely chocolates and bonbons when we told them we could not stay for coffee & dessert. I raced down Grafton Street (which I can't walk down without thinking of the Nanci Griffith song "On Grafton Street") and I was too late for the curtain of "Best Man" at the New Theatre. (I booked a matinee for Saturday so I can still see it). So that's when I had my encounter with the estimable Joyce, and handed out more postcards.

I made it back in plenty of time to see Steven Fales's Mormon Boy, It played a long run in NYC and I never got to see it there, but finally did here. Steven and I had run into each other earlier in the day (twice) and I kidded that I am his stalker. (The festival volunteer who introduced the show is the same one I've had four consecutive nights, so I'm his stalker, too).

I loved Steven's beautiful piece about growing up a 6th generation (DNA) Mormon and struggling against being gay; having a family; and finally allowing himself to be himself. And a voice still telling him that he was loved for who he was. It's a very polished and beautifully theatrical piece, and well-done. He's performed it all over, and published it as a book. The Dublin audience was alive and caring, and he reached them completely. Though there was SOMEONE to my left whose iPod was still on through the first part of the show, and constantly playing pop music at a level just loud enough to hear, until Steven said from the stage: does someone have a radio or phone on? Would you please check? We have a long journey tonight, and I'd like to be able to take you along fully. And the dude (who was sitting immediately to my left!) turned off his music. And the rest of the piece went swimmingly.

It's a journey I'm most interested in; a lot of the writers I know and care about are people who grew up in houses where the religion was strong and oppressive. (One of my favorite DCW nights was "Come to Jesus Speech" with Rich Merritt (Bob Jones U & USMC); Marty Hyatt (who grew up in a charismatic evangelical church) and Angela Himsel (Church of God). The religion can break someone, or they can see through the structure and still have some kind of faith (and artistry).

When I ran into Steven at the info center yesterday, I asked where he lives and he said Salt Lake City, and I asked why, and he said my children are there, and I said of course, and I said, but isn't it still so difficult? And he said, I feel like the creator has a purpose for us all. Which I can't disagree with. So far I've seen in this festival a reference to the Great Lesbian Goddess, a drag queen dressing up for his wedding, and a gay Marine wearing the dogtags of a dead buddy (that was in real life). Rich Merritt (who guest hosted DCW last night in NYC for me) sent word to Jeff, the Marine: Semper Fi. (I am also wearing my dogtags at the festival, given to me by the lovely Tina. They are stamped with a quote from Beckett: I can't go on. I'll go on.)

And, of course, last night at the George, where I was distributing postcards and having a conversation with an impossibly young boy and his drag queen friend (who promised to put me on their Bebo pages) they were playing George Michael's "Faith."

There's something brewing in the subconscious right now...we'll see what kind of thing grows from it. Next year in Dublin?

Oh, this is a bit of the lyrics from "On Grafton Street"

"The buskers sing by candle light
In front of Bewley's Store,
And a young nun offers me a chair
At a table by the door.
And I feel compelled to tell her
Of the sisters that we knew,
How when they lit their candles
I'd say a prayer for you."

A Word on Promoting

See the pretty Oscar Wilde flags that greeted us on our arrival in Dublin's City Center?  The same logo was all over the place, even on garbage cans at the airport.  I was quit pleased and a little surprised at how well advertised the festival is.  I guess I'm a little jaded from living in New York where theatre is constantly happening.  I have to admit I take it for granted a lot of the time...the posters, the subway ads, the billboards.  I've never been in a show with a flag.  It's a little hard to tell from the picture above, but it's an image of OW with a green carnation in his mouth, which is a "former secret symbol of same sex love with and association to the theatre" (thanks Festival website!). Karen initially thought it was just "some random gay guy with a flower in his mouth." She found it quite offensive. I explained who it was, we had a laugh, and we now refer to him as "the pervert with the rose in his mouth."  The whole concept is hilarious especially after 48 hours of sleep deprivation.

However, as much visibility as the Festival has, I regret that we don't have a poster specifically for "Some Are People."  I really love this show and I wish our audiences were bigger.  This is all 20/20 hindsight stuff, and you learn a lot from experience. The last thing I want to do is sound whiney ("I'm doing theatre in Dublin and the weather is beautiful! boo hoo! poooooor me!") but if I had to do it all over again I would have personally made a kick ass poster that featured the two beautiful girls I am in the show with.  It seems like every other show in the Festival has posters plastered all over Dublin, and almost all of them feature evocative images of mostly naked men. Our show deserves to have that too (but featuring the hot ladies, of course). If I were a lesbian I would see the posters that are up now and think "what about us? Don't we get a show?" I feel partly responsible since I could have made it myself. But, like I said, live and learn. I guess I could be standing on the street corner right now and passing out post cards to passersby instead of blogging. Or going to medieval churches. Or seeing the book of Kells.  Or going on the Guinness tour.  Or having lunch with Karen  and Ron.  Or going to the Molly Malone Statue and the Oscar Wilde Statue to make goofy pictures with Karen and Ron.  Which brings me to my favorite picture from that afternoon...

If that wouldn't sell tickets, what would? 

"Anyone can catch a cake"

Good advice from a drag queen.

(And the woman at left, of course, is not a drag queen, but Lynn Rafferty, one of the actors in Carolyn Gage's play "The Countess and the Lesbians," which I saw last night.)

I am, of course, a great fan of drag queens (and if you ever put one in a play, she will steal the show!) so last night, I was quite pleased to see not one, but two performing at the George. They did lovely artistic versions of Divinyls "I Touch Myself" (which I saw Christina Amphlett perform live when she & Joan Jett were touring Australia), and a killer (so to speak) version of Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer." I'm just an '80s girl at heart, I guess.

We ended up at the George after we closed down the Dragon. Working in reverse chronological order, we had drinks at the George with the usual suspects arriving in from their shows; I got to say hi to Steven Fales ("Confessions of a Mormon Boy") who looked at me like: I know you, how do I know you? And I said "from Zuni on 9th Avenue...we were at Doric Wilson's birthday party." He said his show is doing well, and I am going to try to see it tonight or tomorrow. I've actually got a good idea of stuff that people are talking about, and that I'm going to make a point to see. I also MUST see Dalliances (the South African show) because they are sharing the Writers Club with us and are beautiful, sweet people, and I am hearing very good things about it.

Of course, if I had a two-button mouse, I could copy the photos from their pages and put them in this blog, but I remain without a camera cord AND a two-button mouse. So I may resort to putting up pictures of my dragons and turtles.

At any rate, I saw two shows last night, both eminently rewarding. Even though I know David Pumo & Moe Bertran from NYC, and have seen their full length ("Auntie Mayhem" and was even in a festival with it several years ago in its nascent form), I had not yet seen "Love Scenes." (Come to Ireland to see a New York play...go figure).

It was worth the trip! Moe was absolutely riveting in all the different characters he played, all in search of (or in service of) true love. From a young hustler to a speaker at a PFLAG conference, to a drag queen in love, he just slayed me. I was crying in the last scene (in a good way). It made me miss my sweetie (see yesterday's post).

Everyone from "Some Are People" came to see the show, as did Ron B. They told me that Brian had come to see our show that night, and given a beautiful curtain speech. I also heard he mentioned us in a radio interview earlier in the day. The attendance is still lagging, and now that I am here and getting the lay of the land, I realize there are things I could have done before that would have helped, and I'm trying to play catch-up to a certain extent now. Next time, we'll know better!

Of course, if you are in Ireland and reading this, get your ass to Some Are People! Also England and Scotland. You have cheap flights, use 'em!

I kid. But not really.

The first show I saw last night was Carolyn Gage's "The Countess and the Lesbians," which got another great review in the Metro. It was a sold out house, and an audience that was rather "mixed" in terms of locals who wanted to see a play based on Irish history.

(Of course I presented our postcards to every member of the audience, and the curtain speech also mentioned Some Are People, so yay!)

I'm a great fan of Carolyn's, and we've been buddies since Saints & Sinners three years ago; we never get to see enough of each other, and in this case, I'M in Dublin for the world premiere of her new work, and she's in Arizona for a workshop of her Babe Didrikson musical.

I emailed her this morning and told her she should be proud of this production. It's really beautifully written, skillfully weaving in the actual words of the historic figures with a modern story of three lesbians trying to put on a play about Countess Markewicz and her sister, Eva Gore-Booth, and Eva's lover, Esther Roper. The modern story anchors the historical one, and each feeds the passion of the other.

The cast is uniformly solid (and beautiful) and the directing is sharp and focused.

So I have to book my tickets for tonight, and figure out how to best use my dwindling days. I still haven't actually done any "tourist" stuff. All I've done is walk the city and meet its people, and see good theatre, and eat lots of good food. So, you know, I don't feel like I've been wasting my time.

My Room for the Night (actually 2 nights) is a gorgeous one in the Clarion IFSC, the first modern business-style hotel I've been in. My room actually has a wraparound terrace overlooking the Liffey, and I can see all the cranes in the sky, working working working to make Dublin a 21st century city. I can also see the spires of the churches, and old Victorian domes, and hope they leave room for some of them in the new skyline.

So, the opening quote...the drag queens last night called up a girl onstage ("you know she's a lesbian...look at that haircut!") and it was her birthday, and they made her sing Happy Birthday to herself. Then they brought out a fancy cake and had her blow out the candles, and proceeded to threaten to throw the cake into the audience.

"It's like a wedding bouquet, they said...the one who catches it has the next birthday!" And damned if they didn't throw it into the audience.

And damned if some guy didn't catch it perfectly.

On a sunny day in Dublin...

...I am missing someone. I did not use to be that sort of person.

It's been an achy sort of day. I cabbed over from the Abbott to Number 31 this morning. It's another OH MY GOD, I'm staying HERE? YAY! sort of room. It's a beautiful, lovingly restored Georgian house & carriage house, with (literally) beautiful people answering the door and all your needs. They brought me coffee and homemade fruitcake when I checked in, and I'm told the breakfasts are legendary.

I sat down for a bit to collect myself and figure out how best to use the day. Two hours later...well, there was a bit of a nap in there...but I had my postcards written, taken care of various email business, and burned a CD of pre-show/intermission music for the short plays. (Not all women rockers; I have other things on my iTunes). Mostly women singer/songwriters. I want to go to the Hugh Lane Gallery, but I need to start out earlier in the day for that.

Then I wrote out postcards for friends and loved ones; I know we can talk to each other in an instant (and I did talk to my sweetie on the Skype), but I think there's nothing like getting a colorful picture with a foreign stamp in your actual mailbox.

Ordered some tickets for tonight's shows (The Countess and her Lesbians; Love Scenes) and noted with pleasure the good review for Carolyn Gage's play (The Countess) in the Irish Times.

And left the lovely room to walk across St. Stephen's Green for whatever.

I like this part of town; it's very different and much more posh than yesterday's neighborhood. Hotel hopping is exhausting, but it does give you a feel for a whole city, rather than just one neighborhood.

On my walk, I spotted a large magpie on a rock and reached for the camera and it flew away. Then I saw a Buddhist monk in saffron robes sitting across the way, and the sun was shining on the fountain's waters and it was a lovely picture. So I pulled out the camera and took it. Continued on my way to the other side of the park, and in a block or so spotted a postbox and went to pull out my postcards. They were gone. Had I dropped them when I took the picture? Or even before? Maybe they are back at the hotel, but I doubt it, as I remember putting them in my bag.

And I wanted to cry. And I realized I'm only halfway through the trip, and I miss my home like crazy. Not my apartment (if you've been there, you know it's not that much to get worked up about), but the person who makes it a home, who is not with me here, who is at home taking care of our little creatures. And for a couple of days keeping baby raccoons in the bathroom. But they are gone now, and I am still across the ocean.

I used to just leave and shut the door and not even think of things I left behind until I unlocked the door again. (Wrote some pretty good stuff along those themes, too). And I'd drop into a town without knowing where I'd stay, and take the bus tour, and happily tootle along on my own for days on end, as long as I could get away with it.

And now I sleep in luxurious beds...on my usual side, guiltily taking all the pillows , half-expecting to have them pulled away, along with the cover at some point during the night. I know exactly how we fit together when we spoon, and where my arms fit around her shoulders, and hers around my waist.

I'll be fine in a minute or an hour. I'll walk and see something interesting, and I'm going to like both the plays, and catch up with the others afterward, and give out more flyers, and talk Paul into coming to the (very nice) dinner I'm invited to tomorrow. And work and plan and be the mind that never stops.

But right now, I'm homesick. I never used to be, but that's because I didn't have a home.

Stependipity

My first blog (finally). 

The above pictures are the best I had from my iPhone, which I am obsessed with and has many wonderful features.  A decent camera is not one of them.

These pics are from Sunday night after being thrown out of the theatre promptly at 7:00 (we thought we could stay until 10:00).  Steven, Derrick, Karen, Janice and myself wandered into a bar/restaurant called Murrays after Karen announced "I need pub food."  

There we were, having drinks and eats when lo and behold real live for real Irish step dancers starting performing right by our table.  Turns out we were sitting on the "stage" portion of the dance/dining hall. It was really cool to watch, and the dancers were quite talented.  There were 2 girls and one boy.  The boy served as the dance captain/emcee/dj.  He wore all black and had bouncy dirty blonde curls and the girls had pretty dark pink dresses on. You can sortof see them in the above photos.  It was really cool to see something that I had only really been exposed to on shows like Riverdance and Lord of the Dance, and had honestly always assumed was an "American-ized" version of something Irish.  It was my favorite part of the trip so far. I took Tap 101 in college and barely made a B.  I have always be thankful that I did because even though it didn't teach me a enough to be a decent tapper myself, it taught me enough to be able to really appreciate how hard it is to make all that music with your feet.  The boy especially had really crisp sounds and when all 3 of them got to stomping and tapping, our table was jarred hard enough to make the silverware rattle.  It was awesome.   Oh yeah!  And there was an audience participation part where they asked Karen to get up and join them.  It was hilarious but I didn't get any pictures because Derrick did that with Karen's camera.  

Karen? Blog much?

Just around the corner to the light of day (hey hey hey)

Upright & functional at 10am, I consider that a triumph. And did my good deed for the day. The Spanish couple who were checking in yesterday when I was were down at breakfast. The breakfast lady was speaking to them in way that you talk to people who don't speak your language: LOUDLY. Trying to ascertain how they wanted their eggs. I inserted myself in the conversation and said: the Spanish word for eggs is huevos. Ah, huevos! They said. Scrambled or fried asked the breakfast lady, and I was at a loss. Fortunately, someone ELSE spoke Spanish, and the egg dilemma was shortly solved.

The sugar packets at the table all had little Irish sayings on them, with the translation. The first one I picked up (for of course I read the entire sugar holder) read: "Ni haon maith a bheith ag caoineadh nuair a imionn an tsochraid," which means There's no good in keening when the funeral has moved off. (Keen!) Then there was: "Is giorra cabhair De na an doras" which means God's help is nearer than the door. A comforting thought.

I had a chat with the managers in the lobby; one of them was at the top of a ladder, carefully removing the dangly bits from a chandelier to wash them. My sister used to have a chandelier in her dining room, and it was a half-day job to wash the crystals in vinegar and water and put them all back. They have 3 chandeliers. The managers are , in fact, very houseproud, and it does the place good. I was told that the staff has mostly been there many years, as opposed to the seasonal workers who flit in and out (quote unquote) at places like, dare I say, the Travelodge. (I've been hearing about it via everyone else in the company, and the reviews are mixed).

I meant to talk a little more about the shorts last night (before I lost the battle with sleepiness). They were at the Cobalt Cafe, which is essentially the drawing and front rooms of a beautiful old Georgian mansion. It was a very simple playing space, with our own Aimee and Ryan trading off on running sound and lights between the first and second acts. Steven, Ron and I grabbed seats in the front because the stage was pretty much the front of the room. Someone went to move the piano from a corner and was immediately stopped, and I thought: They have to work around the piano. Just like the Duplex! The room was packed, probably 40 or more people.

There were six pieces, the first a short verse play called "Blind Mating" written by Vicky Curtis, who performed it with Rose E. Markowitz. It was a sweet piece about internet dating (and its pitfalls) and I loved Vicky's outfit, particularly the oversized boxers with the legend "MY LUCKY PANTS" and a shamrock sticking out over her jeans.

"Emily Breathes" was up next, and Hunter Gilmore & Greg Homison played beautifully to the intimate audience. I wish Matt Casarino, who wrote the piece, could have come over to see it. But he should be proud.

Brian Merriman wrote Tumbling Down, a "family" piece set in the late 80s about a young gay man telling his gay "parents" about truly falling in love for the first time. It was filled with local slang and references that were perfectly readable in context, and gave a serious but hopeful picture of gay life in Ireland when it was still criminal to be queer.

Mammy's Boy was my favorite piece of the evening: a woman and her sister go to the fancy restaurant where her son has just gotten a job as a waiter. Hilarity ensues. Beautifully written by Suzanne Lakes and performed by her, Ciara McGuinness and Elijah Egan, it was funny and true and I laughed like a maniac.

Then there was EAT's Tom Cruise Get off the Couch, and fortunately, Kevin Brofsky will have a chance to see his play later this week. The boys (Jason, Kaolin & Joe) brought the funny on a couch that kept moving and a giant sort of duvet stuffed with pillows for the dog bed.

Finally, we saw Connubial Celt, by Shawn Sturnick, a surreal piece in modern dress set in the days of Brian Boru, featuring his gay son, the son's Viking lover, a lesbian Druidess and the ghosts of the son's unborn children, played ably by paper bags and voiced by two actresses. It finished with a song and dance something like: because we're Irish, we're only happy when we're unhappy. Lovely.

The piece ran past 9:30, so I couldn't hit a second show, but I'll remedy that tonight. Wish me luck! Off to change hotels again...

It's 2am, do you know where your children are?

I don't. But I assume they all got home safely.

I'm being a Gemini in that I like being alone AND I want to be with people.

Today, after leaving the lovely Clarence, I cabbed it over to the Abbott Lodge (with a taxi driver who totally thought Beckett DID NOT deserve the Nobel Prize), which is more of a budget arrangement, but a nice one. It's in an old Georgian building, which still has many original touches. It's kept up in a very cheery way, and the staff is friendly and outgoing. It's located on a street lined with low-cost B&Bs and backpackers; our author singled this one out in the Ireland book because of the attitude, which is very house-proud and a good value for the money. Having in stayed in plenty of similar accommodations over the years, I concur that attitude is everything, and enjoy the reproduction of what looks like a Victorian-era painting of girls in a library on my wall, some nice molding on the very high ceilings, and look forward to a cooked breakfast, including in the 65 euro pricetag. (On Priceline, no less!)

There was a semi-organized outing to Wicklow, which I didn't take part in. I saw lots of pictures AND lent Kaolin my USB cord to take back to the Travelodge, so everyone can UPLOAD THEIR FREAKIN PHOTOS AND BLOG ABOUT IT.

Aimee Howard (director of Tom Cruise, Get off the Couch) said that everyone was taking pictures and saying: "Oh! This one goes on the blog." From your lips to the series of tubes known as the internets, people!

After settling in at the Abbott, I went down to the corner internet cafe and saw how the rest of the world was doing, then went back and worked on my Joey Ramone play, then sent it to the director. Followed by a nap. Naps rule.

And wandered out to explore, took some pictures (but, you know, I lent the USB cable to someone...), ran into Brett on the street (I'd just bought him a present). And he took me up to their hotel and I chatted with Steven, who was also writing (a story for the Times), and made plans to meet him & Ron Bopst to see the short plays later.

And a little more wandering, which I like, and met up with the guys and saw the shorts...it was a very successful evening with a good range and style of work, and one play I must track down because I want to know the author (who was also in it).

I planned to catch up with our gang at the Dragon, but hadn't eaten, so I hung back with Aimee and Joe and we ate at a Chinese place and by the time I got to the Dragon...it was closed! (It was only just after midnight).

I realize that while it's enjoyable being on my own, I really have no way to contact anyone else in the company except email! Hey guys, how you doing?

I hate not knowing how the show went, but I had wanted to get to know the other people on the trip a bit, and it was nice having dinner with Aimee and Joe. Two down...10 or 12 to go or thereabouts. (I'm kidding...) It's funny being in a company with around 125 people. There are some I haven't met, or know only by sight or by their work.

It really is 2 in the morning, and I really have no new photos. So I am going to bed.

Well, I'M back from the bar...

...and I was one of the early ones. When I left the Dragon, at something around 1am, the place was packed with revelers from the festival, and show after show came down and everyone headed straight for the club. I had a very nice time, and caught up with (and thanked) Festival Artistic Director Brian Merriman and Producing Director John Pickering and Development Director Gary Tiernan and so many others. I handed out our postcards, and Janice put some in the ladies room, and got some tips on other places to take them, (Where my lesbians at?)

We saw our NYC buddies David and Moe (Love Scenes) and got a chance to chat with the South African company that's in our space right after us (we left them a bottle of bubbly as an opening night present). I got to preach the Jetthead gospel to some of the lovely young volunteers, and even dance for about 3 minutes.

What can I say about my play, which I have entrusted into the hands and craft of some of my favorite artists? It was lovely. We made it happen. I sat in the back row with Mark and Steven, watching Paul & Derek run the show, and Karen, Brett & Janice do that thing they do so well.

Afterward, we came back to my room and had champagne and Mark gave notes (!) before he gets on a plane tomorrow and goes back to Ho to the Bo, as we call the Mile Square City.

I have more "tech" pictures, but frankly, I'm bored with them, and you probably are too. I'll open an account on Picasa so you can all see pictures of couches being hauled on and off stage. Everyone else had their cameras out and was clicking away, so now that we are open (and heard great reports from our two other shows at the Cobalt Cafe), I will demand that someone ELSE (as many as possible) start posting and blogging.

Well, it's time to pack up now, as I am hotel-hopping for the rest of the week.

Most of the gang is going on a half-day trip to see a waterfall tomorrow (details escape me. It's 2am here). Once I move, I plan to find a little coffee or tea shop where I can sit with my faithful 'puter and do some rewrites on another piece of mine that's going into rehearsal in NYC this week. And you know that is my idea of a good time.

Peace out!

Another opening...another show...

In Philly, Boston, or Dublin, Eire...

With a full Irish breakfast in me, I feel MUCH better! Toward the end of yesterday, it was rather like being in a waking dream: on 30-plus hours or so without any meaningful sleep, all of us had a thousand-yard stare, laughed hysterically at the slightest provocation, and began to lose cognitive function. You know, when you're walking and the sidewalk seems to be moving a bit, or you look at a word and think: "wait...I know that word...what does an "E" look like?"

So we were there by mid-afternoon yesterday, when I showed up at the Teachers Club for our tech. From the front, the Teachers Club looks rather like any beautiful old Georgian building. When you get in, you go down a flight of stairs with MIND YOUR HEAD signs on the rather low ceiling, and into a small, lovely black box theatre. We waited in the hall for the South African company ahead of us to finish up their tech, and exchanged greetings as they left and we moved in.

There were sandwiches and other snacks waiting for us, and we caught up with each others' days as we ate. The group on the earlier flight had gotten to the hotel far too early to check in, and spent the morning wandering until it was time to tech the other two shows, which are at the Cobalt Club. I was told that there'd be a runthrough of those shows around 6, and Ryan Hilliard and Greg Homison (the director and half the cast of "Emily Breathes") came along with us to see if they could help before they had to head back. Ryan told the story of How He Got the Prayer Bench, which I have asked him to blog for us. (It involves Presbyterians and 30 euros).

Along with Paul Adams (Artistic Director) and Derek Jamison (Associate Artistic Director), we were also lucky enough to have Steven McElroy with us. Steven directed my own 'Rock the Line," for which he will always have a special place in my heart, and he's along as Brett's partner. Some vacation, huh Steve?

In the theatre, Mark Finley (my director) quickly placed the (minimal) set, and the actors went backstage to run lines. (It's a nice big dressing room).

As we (well, I mean the tech staff, it's not like I know anything about lightboards) waited for some news about the lights, Steven went up to the booth and said: this doesn't look too hard to figure out. And between Steven, Derek and Mark (Paul went to the other runthrough), they managed to do the light cues. Midway through, a lovely fellow named Graham from the festival turned up, and said that the board was kind of wonky and we'd done exactly the right thing. Though he's going to "have a word with" the fellow who usually runs the board this morning, and see if there is any way to program the cues, or we'll just have to set 'em up and run 'em ourselves ("our" being the royal we, of course).

Also in there, Naiorse (pardon my spelling) the TD turned up, and though she was in great pain from falling over a box she was carrying, she asked what we needed, and Graham had just come by, and she had found us a mic and stand at the Outhouse (a bar) which I am to pick up a little later today and return to the George on Saturday for the jazz show.

Festival Director Brian Merriman also turned up for a look-in, and welcomed us all, and had a word with us about what we can do to promote the show. it was kind of grand to be able to introduce him to Mark and Derek and Steven. It's one of those moments when you say: wow, I guess that idea I had two years ago about bringing a play to Ireland is actually going to happen...ready or not! (And with the help of thousands).

Mark proposed doing a cue-to-cue, once the lights were set, but then (actually, to our great relief), we were thrown out of the place. We set a time for the cue to cue today (1pm) and then a runthrough...and then we open at 8pm!

I had dinner reservations (!) for 8, so it all worked out. I brought Mark along with me back to the Clarence; like me, he's doing a little boundary blurring because we both work for the same company (he's in a different department, but a large part of his job is planning and executing events). So we were invited to dinner at the Tea Room, one of the finest restaurants in Dublin.

It was the perfect way to end the day: in comfy, elegant surroundings, presented with this choice or that of fresh local food, lovingly prepared. The menu has a "molecular gastronomy" bent, so we were presented with an amuse bouche of a shot of pea soup topped with foam, and a tiny ramekin of a blue cheese sort of pudding with nuts on top. Mmmm..

I started with the asparagus appetizer with a poached duck egg; Mark had the scallops. We both went for Beef Rossini as our main, and it was delightful, topped with a little piece of foie gras, surrounded by some kind of lovely reduction and wild mushrooms, on top of a potato/onion patty, with potatoes Dauphin as a side.

For dessert, I had a lovely concoction that was like a (very) alcoholic lemonade, and Mark had the chocolate sphere, which emerges from the kitchen as a...chocolate sphere, and which molten chocolate is poured over to reveal an even sweeter, more luscious center, accompanied by banoffee. (That's banana toffee, I informed Mark. How do you know that, he asked, and I realized it was because I was queried on it when I last edited the Ireland book. Probably for the Tea Room entry!)

Then they came round with a wooden box and I wondered if we were going to be presented with cigars, but no! It was handmade truffles! All but weeping, I selected a passionfruit and a pistachio. Mark had the strawberry and peanut butter.

Mark came up and checked his email, to find that the OTHER show he is directing, (Elizabeth Whitney's Anita Bryant piece) which had opened in New Orleans the night we were flying in, had made a great hit. He'll see it again next weekend at One Woman Standing. If you're in New York City, you should see it too!

And now I must be off, to blur some more boundaries and meet with the hotel folks and tell them how much I have enjoyed their place, and to get a microphone and stand, and see what else needs doing.

And, of course, having fun and enjoying the hell out of whatever life throws in my direction.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

My body says: it's 9am...my clock says it's 2pm. My internal clock says you can't get much sleep curled up against a window in a packed jet, even with a pretty blue neck pillow. I did not watch the movie, which was "PS I Love You" because I tend not to believe Hillary Swank playing a femme.

At any rate...we were a bit late getting in, and there was a long line at Customs, so I didn't roll out of the airport til 10am, caught a city bus and made it to my hotel, The Clarence . Yeah...U2's hotel! I dropped my bags and headed over to the panel on gay theatre, which I will post a bit more about later...I also connected with the festival's artistic director, Brian Merriman and PR director, and we discussed ways to sell tickets. The advance is not great, so if anyone in Ireland is reading this, buy a ticket! We have plans to send Brett (aka Miss Fitt) over to Drag Bingo at The George tonight. If this happens, I will definitely take pictures.

Now, it's off to change clothes for the first time in around 24 hours and maybe even take a shower. There is a bottle of champagne and a plate of chocolates waiting for me, but they must continue to wait, as we open tomorrow, and you don't get to go back and figure out how to promote the show better afterwards.

Wouldn't you buy a ticket to see this guy do a cover of "What About Love"? I know I would!

Greetings from Newark!

Where I'm sitting near gate C136, waiting for the 9:45pm flight. We got to Newark in plenty of time for the 7:05, and every one of the EAT team also got there in good order. I went to see if I could try to get on that flight standby, and they just laughed. There were, I was told, 8 people who were ticketed who didn't have seats. And then a standby list after that. Who knew a Saturday night flight from Newark to Dublin was the hottest ticket in town? I was also told the 9:45 was similarly overbooked, but I do have my boarding pass for that.

So I hung out with the gang (picture above: Joe, Kaolin, Karen), handed out mango altoids and bid them adieu.

And I'm camped here with my New Yorker & Vanity Fair; I could even do some work-work (I brought my flashdrive).

I'll see you all on Sunday, my colleagues!

Why am I at the computer?

I'm not packed yet! The sweater I want to wear isn't dry! I need coffee! And the next time I sleep will probably be tomorrow morning.

Ah, overnight flights. They get you there in time for a fresh new day when you're still wilted old you. We're departing at 7:05pm tonight from Newark. At least most of the team is. I booked the next flight because by the time I could buy my ticket, the price had gone up too much. But I'll see if I can get onto the earlier flight as a standby. We can hope that there aren't too many people flying to Ireland on a Saturday night.

The reason we're doing it this way is twofold: the festival provides housing for the company, starting TOMORROW night. And tomorrow is our load-in (which they call "get-in") and tech. In two theatres! So we'll hit the ground running at around 7am Dublin time (2 or 3 am US time). The actors/directors/artistic directors will most probably go directly to the venues. There's a panel at noon I'd like to attend on gay theatre.

It was two years ago that we were in Ireland on a long weekend that I found out that there was such a thing as the Dublin International Gay Theatre Festival and went to check it out. I attended the panel on gay theatre, and I introduced myself to some of the organizers, and swung by the box office, and managed to see a show or two, including Emma Donoghue's "I Know my Own Heart," and to chat with Nic Patricca, who had a play, "Oh Holy Allen Ginsberg" in the festival that ended up winning a prize for best play.

(If those two plays sound familiar, it's because we read them this year at the Robert Chesley/Jane Chambers Playwriting Series at TOSOS2). I came away from Dublin two years ago determined to find a way to get something of mine in the festival, and thanks to at least a hundred people (you never do anything solo in the theatre, not even solo shows!) we are leaving tonight.

And I am not packed.

Ooh! We're on the YouTube!

This is the video posted by the festival about the shows...you can catch a glimpse of ours in there. I hope to see a bunch of the other plays & musicals, and search for prospective goodies for TOSOS2 as well! (I'm the director of the Robert Chesley/Jane Chambers Playwrights Series).

Too much to do!

Being a travel editor and actually traveling are two different things. My job is actually to edit manuscripts that are designed to help people have fun on their travels: the minutiae of choosing a hotel, changing money, using a cellphone, getting through the airport. And as a company member working to get the project off the ground and to Ireland, I cross back and forth between editor and point person on EatinIreland so often that the boundaries become sort of meaningless.

Then I spend 20 minutes in midtown (this afternoon) looking for a place to get a handful of euros, because my own advice to others is to have a little walking around money in the local currency when you get off the plane, rather than hope the ATM will work, or pay the very high rate for currency exchange at an airport. I still don't have any euros.

One time, when I went to Australia, I knew I had no money in the bank, but that my direct deposit (of my paycheck at my dayjob at the time) was going to hit sometime while I was headed across the Pacific. So I landed, went to an ATM and voila, Australian dollars came out. Because, travel editor or not, I've been on enough roadtrips to know that no matter how stuck you are, short of serious injury, arrest, or death, you're probably going to be able to figure a way out of it if you just stay calm.

(Ask me about the time I nearly got arrested by a German policeman who thought I was a shoplifter).

I'm not really packed yet, and there's a lot to do between now and Saturday night, both in the office and to arrange the trip, but I'm ready to go. The waiting really is the hardest part.

Oh, and Happy Birthday (May 9) Karen Stanion (Lydia in "Some Are People.") She's the blonde on the LEFT in the photo above.

Counting down the days...

Welcome to the EATinIreland blog. We leave for Dublin in two days, taking THREE (count 'em) shows to the International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival. Take a look to the left. That's the postcard designed by our wonderful friends at Hottlead.com (Michael Broderick & Rory Tyler). It's stills from the three shows we're doing in Dublin.

From left to right, there's Karen Stanion (the blonde) kissing Janice Mann in "Some Are People," by me (Kathleen Warnock). Next to them is a weary-looking Greg Homison, one of two characters in Matt Casarino's "Emily Breathes." And to your right, the three gentlemen are Kaolin Bass, Joe McDougall and (now sans beard) Jason O'Connell, who just got back from Arkansas, and boy are his arms tired...

I'm going to post throughout our trip and I've already "suggested" to the other members of our party that they pass along their thoughts, ideas and photos to be posted. 

We had a meeting at the EAT offices this evening, and the topics ranged from adapter plugs (for North American appliances into Irish outlets), to meeting new friends (which may involve fitting more North American appliances into Irish outlets). 

So bear with me as I get used to this blog thing about 10 years into the phenomenon. I'm sure we'll find the right tone, style and verbal shorthand. Travel with us (virtually) to the Emerald Isle for a gay old time.