Love, Chaos, and Dinner

Yesterday was my birthday -- thank you -- and it featured many of the same things I've come to look forward to every October first. It begins with a pre-dawn wakeup so I can have breakfast with Kristin before she goes to work, then moves on to a crusty-eyed opening of gifts that I'm too asleep to show proper appreciation for. The day consists primarily of me doing a whole lot of nothing, and always culminates with a giant slab of marzipan-covered raspberry and cream layer cake from Nielsen's Bakery in Seattle. This is my seventh birthday on the west coast and that cake has been the star attraction at every one of them -- we even brought it on an overnight mountain biking trip in 2005.

So yesterday was a fine day spent doing a little bit of work, some research for our RTW trip, and playing plenty of Pure. Kristin had gotten me a 16-year old bottle of Scotch and the book, "The Long Walk" by Slavomir Rawicz for gifts. I had never heard of the book, originally published in 1956, but it's a first-person account of Slavomir's flight across thousands of miles on foot from a Siberian labor camp in 1940. It sounds incredible and came highly recommended, she tells me.

But that wasn't all she had planned. Unbeknownst to me, she had also arranged for us to go to Teatro Zinzanni with friends of ours. The best way to describe Teatro Zinzanni is that it's a dinner-theatre with a heavy dose of audience participation (or, in my case molestation, but more about that later) and some impressive Cirque du Soleil-styled acrobatics. I had always wanted to check it out, but for one reason (the cost) or another (didn't want to go alone) we never did. In a word, it was fantastic and I'm really glad we went.

For starters, the food was fantastic. I'm told famed Seattle chef Tom Douglas designed the menu and every piece of the five-course meal was fantastic. Perfect serving size, excellent choice of paired wines and beers, and great service. You can see last night's menu right here -- I had the tuna. So the food was great, but I really need to back up and describe the setting. We're in a circular dining room with a luxurious high-brow "circus" feel to it. I know that makes no sense, but if you imagine velvet instead of vinyl and feather boas and masks instead of bulbous noses and suspenders, you should get the gist. The performance took place right in the center of the dining room floor, within feet of the tables and everyone is seated in a circle around the room so that they're facing the center.

Me, Kristin, Katrina, and Allan

Our table was on one of the aisles, right near one of the ramps leading "backstage". I was seated on the end which meant that I was continuously receiving attention from the performers and service staff (performers in their own right, to an extent) as they walked by.

We were there for the show "Quest for a Queendom" which featured a number of comedic performers and acrobatists from around the world and, also quite the Queen from the Seattle area as well. There was a fair bit of audience participation involved as the Queen's flamboyant tranny of a man-servant set out to find a new consort for the Queen. Later in the night, the cross-dressing Manchester decided he would become Queen -- and he chose me to be his new conquest. Earlier in the night he had stopped alongside our table, unbuttoned my shirt and proceed to rub my chest hair. I was a good sport so I guess he figured he'd be able to use me later in the show.

And used me he did.

I was center-stage for at least fifteen minutes, being slowly, deliberately, prodded, poked, and treated like the slab of man-meat Manchester was looking for. And little by little, he transferred his costume to me. First the frilly lace fan. Then the enormous 15-pound wig/hat. Then the enormous ballroom dress. Lastly some makeup. The audience was howling. Kristin was doubled-over laughing as hard as she ever did in her life. Manchester had unbuttoned my shirt, pulled the shoulders down over my arms and paraded me in a circle while rubbing my chest and grabbing my ass. What could I do but play along and have fun? So I gave him seductive glances, I held his hand, and when beckoned near, I ran as daintly as I could without spilling the hat, and leapt into his arms. It went on for a while and I even got to make some jokes that he'd repeat in the microphone. Each one got a huge laugh and I'm pretty sure they were laughing both at me and with me. Hell, I was laughing at me too.

Finally, Manchester and I were given the Queen's blessing and permitted to elope. We drank celebratory glasses of wine, arm in arm with the Queen, then paraded off stage to where a photo was taken of me, the Queen and Manchester. I then got to go back on stage again and take a couple of bows. Upon being instructed to bow towards my wife, Manchester took the opportunity to get in one more solid two-handed squeeze of my ass.

Come for the food, stay for the sodomy.

I'm going to regret this for years, but here's a look at what these heathens did to me.

Queen, Queen, and Queen

In spite of the abuse I had taken, we had a fantastic time and I highly recommend Teatro Zinzanni to anyone who doesn't mind a bit of risque humor. It's definitely not a place that's very kid-friendly and you should dress up a bit for it. But if you have a special occasion coming up, and have plenty of room on your Visa, then get reservations and enjoy. The show was well-choreographed with dinner service and we were in the theatre for 4 full hours of entertainment (absolutely fantastic singing and music by the way) and food. When you factor in the five-course meal and entertainment and the length of time you're there, the $100/pp charge is actually quite a good deal. On the other hand, the photos, wine, beer, and mixed drinks hit our foursome for an additional $240 so consider yourself warned.

Maybe Musicals Don't Suck, After All?

Oh what a day Friday was. I woke early and camped myself at the nearby Starbucks so I could finally finish the essay portion of the grant proposal I've been working on for the South Fork Snoqualmie Trails project, then hurried home to work so that I could spare a few hours to take Kristin to the play Friday night. We were supposed to go on Saturday, but she had a combination bridal shower and bachelerette party to go to for a co-worker. The lady's wedding isn't until November and it's her second wedding at that; maybe it's just me but I would have held off the celebrations until the fall just to be on the safe side. I wish her the best of luck, but if they call the wedding off, she better give back those fruit-flavored condoms Kristin gave her. Unused, please!

So, back to the play... This month's play at the Taproot Theatre was Big River, a play about Huckleberry Finn and his pal Jim going down river on a raft. Now, you might be apt to call me poorly read or even possibly un-American for the confession I'm about to make, but I think in the interests of full disclosure I should tell you right now that I've never read "Tom Sawyer" or any of the other Mark Twain books for that matter. Too many n-words for the school system, I guess. I know, I know, I could have read them as an adult or on my own outside of school as a kid, but I didn't. And on Friday night, at the theatre, I was kind of glad. I might have been the only person learning the Huckleberry Finn story for the first time, but it was nice to not already know how it turns out.

That wasn't the only I thing I learned that night. I also learned that the "play" I got us tickets for was actually a "musical". I hate musicals. Maybe it's a lingering effect from having to watch "West Side Story" as a schoolboy, but the idea of people spontaneously breaking into song -- when they were supposed to be stabbing one another, no less -- is just preposterous. Nobody in real life just starts singing. There are no choreographed dance numbers at the office. Not at the grocery store either. And certainly not on the sidewalk downtown. If I saw this kind of behavior, I think I just might punch someone. In the face. Hard. To shut them up.

Spontaneous singers should be treated no better than smokers. They should be banished from civilized society and be forced to remain at least 25-feet from all places of employment, enjoyment, and err, yes, even cement too. Or any other -ments as well. No, they shall not even be able to unlock Xbox 360 Achievements!

Or, in keeping with the theme of Big River, be shackled together and forced to live in a barn.

Our tickets were front row on the corner of the stage. And when I say on the corner of the stage, I mean it. I had to continuously remind myself not to put my feet on the stage or stretch out, else I would have tripped an actor. This was particularly hard to do since I spent the first act asleep. The air conditioning wasn't working; I was pretty tired from working late the previous few days; and I was also pretty disappointed that I brought us to a musical. Let's see: tired, hot, and pissed-off. That's a great combination for sleep.

Except I couldn't really sleep because of all the damn singing!

And that was what finally woke me up. While the guy playing Huck Finn reminded me of Shaun White with better compexion (and shorter hair), Jim stole the show. Geoffrey Simmons was incredible. Everything about his performance was impressive. From his blank slave-stares out into the distance to his big dumb grins to his heartfelt sorrowful singing, every aspect of his Jim was amazing. Most of all his voice. Granted, I was sitting close enough to see his droplets of sweat splatter on the stage, but I had never been near such a powerful vocalist before. No microphones necessary, I'm sure the people in the "cheap seats" could even hear him well.

That's a joke, by the way, as all the tickets at this theatre are less than $25.

I downed a can of coke during intermission to help wake myself up and was really enjoying myself during the second act. The story and acting was great, and I must admit the singing was pretty damn good too. And not only Jim's (who apparently honed his craft singing backup for Mariah Carey... go figure) but also these two young teenage boys playing supporting slave roles. One of the boys was probably no older than 16, was thin and wiry, and had this incredibly deep baritone voice. It was amazing to see such a deep, mature voice coming out of this, well, this kid!

The play also had its funny parts... especially when playing up the 19th century rivertown hicks from Mississippi, but it's not a play that's supposed to be funny and primarily wasn't. The director didn't shy away from showing the perceptions of slavery from both sides during the play and while the idea of buying/selling other humans can be uncomfortable for today's audience, as is hearing people call one another "nigger", you got a sense you were seeing the world through Mark Twain's eyes, as it was. Nothing about Big River seemed sanitized for 2008, but rather as an honest telling of a fictitious pair of lives on the Mississippi River in the 1840's.

It was very well done and, in the end, I wound up enjoying it. This isn't to say I welcomed the singing, but rather that I was so greatly impressed by one or two of the actors abilities to sing. To be honest, I wasn't even paying attention to the words, but more their presence and power. It was, well, it was very impressive.

But no, this doesn't mean I want Taproot adding a bunch of musicals to their line-up for 2009. Hell no.

To Grandmother's House We Go

The great thing about being an American is you can move two thousand miles from family and still be in the same country.

Kristin and I went to see the play Over the River and Through the Woods last night at the Taproot Theatre in Seattle. It's about a young Italian man named Nicholas who lives alone in New Jersey -- his parents are in Florida and his sister in San Diego -- yet remains very close to both sets of grandparents. He joins them every Sunday, without fail, for dinner. They are a very traditional pair of Italian couples; they are first-generation immigrants who retain much of the customs of the "old country" and believe that the only measure of a good life is being able to marry, have kids, and provide food and shelter for them without dropping dead in the process.

Nicholas is the only member of the family who has stayed close by and is all that keeps them from feeling cast aside and forgotten. Nicholas just received an incredible promotion at work, but it requires that he relocate to Seattle.

Over the River and Through the Woods is a fantastic two-act play that evokes a wide range of emotions. The first act is laugh-out-loud funny. The actors playing the roles of the grandparents did a marvelous job of aging for the parts, but of also capturing the idiosyncracies of easily-distracted doting grandparents. Always with the food. The two grandmothers were like watching an aged version of my own mother. I can't tell you how many times Kristin and I looked at each other laughing uncontrollably, and commenting between the hearty fits of laughing that it was like watching my mother.

Photo from the Seattle Times, Erik Stuhaug

Case in point: Nicholas finally manages to corral the four grandparents into sitting down so he can make his big announcement and just as he's about to begin one of the grandmothers jumps off the couch, realizing she forgot the coffee cake in the other room. And before Nicholas can try and get her to sit back down for two minutes, she hurries off into the kitchen and the topic is switched yet again. This is but one example of dozens in which it was like watching my mother on stage. There were many other moments that reminded us of Kristin's grandmother. These moments usually involved one of the grandmother's making a rather offensive comment about someone's appearance or what they eat. Of course the grandmothers -- fictional and real -- don't realize how inappropriate those remarks are, and that's what makes them so funny.

Naturally, the grandparents don't take the news well. At first they think Seattle is "by the shore off of Exit 94" (that would be the town of Seaside, but close enough gramps) then they realize it's in Washington "and not the close-by Washington, the one near California." But rather than try to guilt him into staying, they instead try to fix him up with the neice of a friend and invite her to join them next Sunday for dinner. Hilarity ensues.

The second act was not nearly as funny for us, as it hits a little close to home. Nicholas was still trying to get everyone to understand why he was leaving and why it was good for him, but the pain he was causing his family brought tears to the eye. I can tell you from first-hand experience, it's not easy to explain to your family that you're moving 3000 miles away, especially to a mother who lives in a house 10 minutes from the one she grew up in and whose only time travelling more than a couple hours from home was to visit her son (me) in North Carolina, where I lived before moving to Washington.

Rather than risk spoiling any of the other developments for those who get a chance to see the play or read the script, I'll just say that there are some other trying moments in the second act that are pretty emotional. The actors at the Taproot have once again done a fantastic job, and this is easily one of the best plays we've seen in the few years we've had our season tickets. I highly recommend checking it out, especially if you've ever done a similar move or had family move away from you.

The play is running through June 14th so hurry over and see it, it's definitely worth it. But don't take my word for it, check out the review at the Seattle Times.

And if you live elsewhere and want to read the script instead, you can get a copy pretty cheaply right here.

Earnest Goes to Nepal

The final play in the 2007 Taproot Theatre season was Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest and it was fantastic. And worth the nearly 14 years I've been waiting to see it. I remember reading part of the play in a drama class I took in high school, but never actually saw it performed. I couldn't even remember what it was about other than to say it was about two guys lying about their names for the sake of being with a woman, but I knew I thought it was hysterically funny.

Jack: I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to her.

Algernon: I thought you had come up for pleasure?... I call that business.

Jack: How utterly unromantic you are!

Algernon: I really don’t see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to forget the
fact.

The play is set in the 1890's in England and tells of two friends -- one from the city and one from the country -- who have each created an imaginary sickly friend that they must care for as an excuse to sneak away on weekends. The trouble begins to enter the picture when Jack actually takes on the persona of his fictitious brother "Earnest" whenever he's in London and finds the woman of his desire reluctant to marry someone named Jack. How positively boring a name that is, after all. She's in love with a man named Earnest, not Jack. But Jack's friend Algernon complicates matters when he pays Jack's sexy teenage ward a visit while pretending to be the fictitious Earnest. It's not so much a love triangle as it is a love intersection with two women convinced they are both about to marry a man named Earnest. But there is no Earnest. The scenario Wilde dreamed up is far more complicated than I described, but I'm trying to gloss over it so as to not spoil it if you haven't seen it.

And yes, I do realize I'm trying to avoid spoilers on a 112 year old play.

Jack: Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth. Can you forgive me?

Gwendolen: I can. For I feel that you are sure to change.

You can read the script here, and apparently Reese Witherspoon and Judi Dench were in a 2002 film adaptation that you can probably rent from Netflix or Blockbuster. Probably not as good as the play, but better than nothing.

But, Doug, in the title you mentioned Nepal. Why? Thanks for the reminder; I'm glad you asked...

On the way to the play, Kristin and I stopped at the Annapurna Cafe on Broadway Avenue in Seattle for dinner. It's a Nepalese and Tibetan restaurant in the basement of some other shops and it was fantastic even if the Yeti beer, brewed in India, tasted a bit like Busch Light. I believe we had some Naan bread stuffed with yak-cheese, Kristin had a curried chicken dish and I had a mixed grill plate with chicken and lamb. It's a little no-frills place with a pretty robust menu of food from the Himalayan region of Asia and the staff is really friendly and the prices were pretty good. Sounds like they get a pretty good lunch crowd from the local colleges, and every table in the place was filled at dinner. If you're local and go, definitely get the Tensing Momo, the Tibetan-style chicken dumplings were awesome.

Seven Keys of Baldpate

It was time once again for another trip to the Taproot Theatre in north Seattle. I believe this was the fifth play we've seen there and, being the creatures of habit Kristin and I are, we have a nice little routine down on play night. We're also starting to feel a bit like regulars at the playhouse which is nice.

Anyway, this time it was to see the comical mystery Seven Keys of Baldpate. The play is set in a "summer mountain resort during the winter" in the early 1900's and is about a pulp fiction author who heads to the Baldpate Inn, presumably with the only key to the place, to try and write a novel in a 24-hour period to win a bet worth $15,000. His efforts to work in absolute solitude come apart at the seems as it turns out that his key is just one of seven. A safe in the inn becomes a drop point for $500,000 worth of bribe money for a local politician and his cronies and a host of back-stabbing crooks parade through the inn to try to get the money, all the while the star of the play is trying to work on his new book. Or is he?

The play was indeed very funny and, once again, the acting was superb. One of the things Kristin and I enjoy most about attending so many plays is that we start to recognize some of the actors from previous works and it's really neat to see the range of emotions and character types they can perform.

As for Friday night's play, however, there was one aspect that completely stole the show. It was announced minutes before the start of the play that the star of the show had to tend to a family emergency and couldn't be present. They announced his replacement and both Kristin and I figured it was simply the understudy and that this happens more often than we'd expect. So, the play starts, and out comes the backfill for the main character of the play with a script in hand. At first I refused to believe we were actually paying to watch someone read the script. I was actually getting kind of annoyed because it was such a jarring break of the suspension of disbelief. Then it occurred to us that this is a small community theatre, albeit in Seattle, but that there probably wasn't a true understudy. Our instincts were correct. The man on stage, script in hand, was the director's husband. He was actually the scene and sound designer and was literally filling in as an emergency.

And you know what? He was awesome. Sure, he had to glance at the script every few seconds, but he somehow -- miraculously -- had the part completely dialed otherwise. He was fantastic with his body language, facial expressions, and blocking. And the role he played was pretty active and was by far the largest speeking part in the play. The fact that he was actually the scene and sound designer and had been thrown on stage at the last second and was able to give such a great performance is truly outstanding. We never clapped as hard at the end as we had when he came out to take a bow. I was truly impressed.