This is the next section to the show that premiered at the 2006 Rogue Performance Festival.

To read the introduction click here. To read the first section click here.

NOTE: A couple of these stories first appeared on this blog as part of a Picture Daze and HNT post respectively.

Now, pull up a chair, read and enjoy!


There was a 2 year difference between Harold and Cuthbert. Here’s a sidebar … my mother and her sister eventually married my father and his brother. Oh, it gets better! On my mother’s side… my grandmother and her two sisters married my grandfather and his two brothers. Talk about a close knit family.

(Play the following Music… which continues to play under this section.)


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Now, I heard a story about my mother and father courting during the Japanese occupation of Malaya in World War II. Take careful note that they courted back then... not dated. Anyway, on one of their early "courts", my father rode his bike over to her house. And even though arrangements had been made 2 weeks earlier, and everyone knew about it, my father still had to knock on the door and ask my grandmother permission to take my mother out. She reluctantly agreed. See, that was the whole protocol to this courting thing.

They then got on their bicycles and rode to to town… on separate bikes of course. Sharing a bike would have been scandalous… that would have constituted dating.

The plan was to catch a movie… get something to eat and ride her home. Anyway, after the movie they caught dinner at a street stall. Big spender that my father was… movie and dinner cost him… 20 cents. But money went a lot further in those days.

I can only guess that this excursion went pretty well. On their way home my Dad suggested a little detour. They rode to one of biggest roundabouts in town and parked their bikes. This roundabout was decorated with products of the time - 6 foot wooden stakes that held up the recently beheaded - the work of the occupying Japanese force of the time.

They walked around looking to see if they recognized anyone. They didn’t… then they rode home and got back by 7:30 PM. Now, isn't that a charming romantic story? My Dad really knew the moves on how to get the girl. If beheadings were not illegal these days… I would be so hooked up.

(Music fades out. Stop music.)

Back to 1968… my 9th birthday was approaching. Because of the various jungle stories my Father told (which we’ll get to later) I had requested a blow-pipe for my birthday. My father was actually thrilled that I had asked for one. Sensing this, I seized upon the opportunity to suggest that we hit the road and go out to buy one. My father quickly said, no. I was confused but my 9 year old brain reasoned that he would present me with one on the morning of my birthday in a couple of weeks. I went to bed every night dreaming about the precious birthday blowpipe. On the morning of my birthday… no blowpipe… but there was something else to look forward to.

(Play the following Music… which continues to play under this section.)


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Now, most kids had birthday parties - I had birthday picnics in the jungle with my friends. My parents would pack us kids made up of friends and cousins into a couple of cars and drive out into the jungle.

Getting there was half the fun. 20 minutes outside the city - a hard left off the east-west highway onto a dirt road veered into the jungle for about half a mile. When the dirt road ended, we tumbled out of the car and hiked in several hundred yards heading toward the sound of a jungle stream. Monkeys would be jibber-jabbering in the trees as we hurried down the jungle path. The closer we got, the louder the sound of the stream... the less jibbering of monkeys.

Finally, the thick jungle around us would magically open up on our intended destination - tropical paradise with the crystal clear waters of a jungle stream weaving through it. A picnic spot would be picked on the banks. Mats spread and us kids excitedly jumped into the cold clear waters to frolic. My father would always caution us with the same instructions.

"If you need to kenching (pee) go downstream... don't do it in the jungle."

If one of my not-yet-hip-to-the-jungle friends would quizz "Why not the jungle?", my father would launch into a gentle lecture about "respecting the spirits." This would instantly ignite a barrage of "What spirits? Why?" among the kids. His eyes would twinkle and with a sly smile he would say, "I'll tell you after lunch." He always kept his word.

After lunch… tired from swimming all us kids lay on mats under the shade of trees. On the afternoon of my 9th birthday this is the story my father told.

(Music fades out. Stop music. The following is told without any underscore of music.)

A man named Atan had recently lost his job. After several weeks of looking and with his savings rapidly depleting he finally had to swallow his pride and ask a good friend for a loan.

They met at a local coffee shop and chatted about all sorts of things except the loan. At the end of the meeting his friend slid a folded up newspaper over to Atan’s side of the table - said his goodbyes and left. An envelope tucked inside the newspaper contained the money. Atan got what he needed and this simple but elegant maneuver on the part of his friend saved him some face.

Well these meetings took place the same way at the same coffee shop for about 3 months. At the last of these meetings his friend broke protocol and broached the subject of the loan. He apologized and explained to Atan that the loans would have to stop. Atan understood but a darkness came over him. They sat silently for several minutes. Suddenly his friend broke the silence.

“Atan, have you considered … going to the tree?”

“What tree?”

“You know the one… I pointed it out to you the last time you came over for dinner.”

“Oh yes… I remember. What about the tree?”

“I’ve heard many people have won the 4 digits lottery after asking for numbers at the tree.”

Atan listened intently as his friend explained.

That night, after parking his car on the side of the road, Atan headed for the tree. In his hands were 2 paper bags. In the moonlight he could see the various offerings other people had left at the foot of the tree and that the trunk of the tree was wrapped with a blue silk sarong..

He knelt at the foot of the tree. He pulled out 2 candles, lit them and pushed them into the soft earth. Then 2 sticks of incense were lit and stuck in the earth between the 2 candles. He then pulled out a sheet of brown paper… tore it into 9 equal pieces… wrote the numbers from 1 to 9 on each of them. Balled them up and put them into an empty cup. He then popped the cap off a bottle of beer and stuck the open end into the earth. As the beer drained out into the ground he shook the cup with the paperballs in them.

“Oh spirit of the tree… grant me the luck of fortune.”

As he said this 4 paper balls bounced out of the cup just as the bottle of beer was completely drained of its contents. He unraveled each paperball and wrote down the numbers in sequence. The next morning Atan invested 10 ringgit on the set of numbers from the night before at the 4 digit lottery kiosk.

Atan opened the papers on Saturday morning to discover that he was a big winner to the tune of about twenty thousand ringgit. He was elated. This provided more than enough to pay off his debts and have enough to live on for at least a year. He went out that very afternoon and bought, his daughter, Intan, a red bicycle. Red was her favorite color and this was a belated birthday gift that he could not afford 2 months earlier.

That night Atan had a dream. In it an old man in a blue turban knocked on his front door and said, “I want to marry your daughter.” In the dream Atan protested that his daughter was too young and closed the door on the old man.

Atan thought nothing of the dream. The next night… he had the same dream. The only difference this time was that the man seemed younger than the night before. Atan woke up in a cold sweat and told his wife about the dream.

The dream continued for the next 2 nights. Each time the man in the blue turban appeared younger and younger.

The check from the lottery by now had cleared. Atan had arranged to meet his friend at the coffeeshop. This time it was Atan who slid a folded newspaper across the table to his friend. However, his friend noticed that his Atan looked troubled.

After a little prodding, Atan finally told his friend about the dream. Upon hearing this his friend immerdiately asked,

“Have you given thanks to the tree yet for your good fortune?”

“Given thanks?”

“I told you that an offering of thanks had to be made within 7 days of you winning the lottery.”

In his combined elation and relief at scoring the winning numbers Atan had completely forgotten to do this.

That night he laid offerings of food and drink at the foot of the tree… a feast, in fact.

“Spirit of the tree… please accept these humble gifts in thanks for the good fortune you have given me.”

“The tree wants a mate, you know.”

Atan swung around and the toothless grin of an old man looked down at him.

“The tree is lonely.” The old man with a crazed look in his eyes cackled, “The tree wants a wife!”

Atan left there in a hurry. When he got home his wife informed him that Intan was running a fever. That night he had the dream again. This time the man in the blue turban appeared to be in his early 20’s. "I want to marry your daughter."

The next morning Atan waited impatiently for the bank to open. He made a withdrawal of the complete amount he had won in cash.

Back at the foot of the tree that evening he laid the cash out in a pile.

“Spirit of the tree. I return your gift. It’s all here! Please take this and … leave my daughter alone!!”

He then struck a match and put it to the pile of paper currency… but it refused to burn. He went home dejected and afraid but was greeted with good news. His wife informed him that Intan’s fever had broken and she was resting comfortably.

That night with a sense of relief, Atan went to sleep. Then he had a dream. The man in the blue turban was now a boy of about 15. The boy ran into his house and ran out hand in hand with his daughter. Atan woke up his wife and they rushed into the next room only to find the lifeless body of his daughter in bed.

That evening after the picnic in the jungle and after dropping my friends at their respective homes… I asked my father if the story he told us at the picnic was true. He looked at me and smiled. I noticed he had driven past the turnoff to our neighborhood.

“Where are we going, Dad?”

“A little detour.”

We came by a local high school and he slowed the car down.

“Look to the left…” he said.

Just outside the perimeter of the wire fence that defined the school field stood 2 trees side by side wrapped in sarongs - one blue, one red.

And what may you ask happened to the blowpipe? After the events of the day any thoughts of my much coverted blowpipe had completely slipped my mind.

NEXT SECTION WILL BE POSTED APRIL 7

CLICK FOR PART 3

Excerpt from "Lies My Father Told Me" copyright 2006 Marcel Nunis.
Permission to use any part of this excerpt can be aquired by e-mailing the playwright at whoelse@marcelnunis.com

We got here to SF about an hour and a half ago. Had dinner and just took this shot!

Lame... but... hey I got something up... besides I'm out of town!

Cheers and Happy HNT!

Dropping Kien off at the airport for his trip back across the pond! Then the drive back home.

Now to hit the streets of the city and tear it up!

Labels: hnt

... as I'm driving Kien up to SF this aftenoon. If the hotel we are at has WiFi... we'll post from up there this evening. If not... there is a pic of my ass in the post below. Hope that counts. Cheers!

Where did the time go? Well, at least with this blog I have a chronicle of events that I never had before... many with picture evidence. It's really tomorrow... but I thought I'd post it tonight.

When I began blogging in March most of my postings were a bit of a bitch fest. By April a small blog pod had emerged among some people I know. They included Jade, APJ, Kien, Vert, my long lost cousin Lelly and SSM. (BTW... the picture on the right inspired SSM's blog name.) Thereminman has kept commenting but has refused to get a blog of his own.

For the most part my early posts were stabs at re-igniting my "write engine". I had been a playwright (who hadn't written anything new in over 5 years) and I was using blogging to get back in the game. So, it became a journal of sorts. I think it was in June or July that my "blog voice" so to speak began to emerge and develop. Since then I've participated in Half-Nekkid Thursdays, posted my own Picture Daze and snippets from Plays I Have Written (look in the sidebar for links to these) and even started a meme.

Along the way I have read and "met" many wonderful folk in blogland. Some have stuck. Some haven't. Some still float in and out. Through YOUR blogs I have been privy to joys, pains, confusion, elation, political discontent, personal triumphs, and some damn fine stories.

Through my blog I have reminisced about days gone by. I have recorded recent experiences. I have reconnected with friends and family. I have vented. I have posted pictures of my ass. Friends have on occasion half-jokingly accused me of "spending too much time," or "pandering to the masses." or " going off the edge" but I have continued with as much honesty and candor and (hopefully) fun as I can.

My 50th show was written and inspired by postings on this blog. For that I am thankful. For those of you who have visited and commented... a mighty Thank You! You have been (and I hope continue to be) my connection to all that is wonderful about life outside of my immediate sphere.

Overall, I have to say that having this blog has given me both an honest and creative outlet. Looking over the posts over the last year ( and reading the comments) the statement I made when asked about blogging still stands true...

OK... found this yesterday. Thought you may enjoy it. You can find out more about these folk at http://www.improveverywhere.com . More later.

Oh yeah... tomorrow is my Bloggiversary!

... "I've had it! Bring on that cold!" It started with the raspy throat and so I stayed in bed all day yesterday! It was as if my body just needed the down time (and I agreed with it.) So, down time it was.

Yet the last few days were quite eventful. I'll update later in the day with pictures.

more later...

EDIT: Oh... there is a new post below... and check out FOXY's NEW TAT... and make sure you tell her that you love her!

And if you have not yet checked out the first installment of "Lies My Father Told Me" ... it's a couple of posts down.

... but a friend sent this to me via EMAIL... and I thought I'd share it.

TO ALL THE KIDS WHO WERE BORN IN THE 1930's 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's !!

* First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.

* Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.

* We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.

* As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.

* We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle. We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.

* We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we weren't overweight because... WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!

* We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.

* No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O. K.

* We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

* We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!

* We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.

* We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.

* We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.

* We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!

* Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!

* The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!

* This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!

* The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.

* We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!

* And YOU are one of them! CONGRATULATIONS!

You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good.... and while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.

Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn't it?!

Today I begin a weekly series posting excerpts from the show I did at the 2006 Rogue. I have re-edited the original text to approximate what was actually done and spoken on stage... including soundtrack selections.

I'm treating this as a fusion of styles between Picture Daze and some of my Epic HNT's.

A continuing section of the show will be posted every Friday until completed.

So, pull up a chair, relax and take it in.

BTW... the entire show was done ala Spaulding Grey... with me just sitting in a chair without getting up to "physicalize" the story.

Cheers!

(Play Music.)


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(The stage is dark. The music plays for several bars and suddenly stops. In the darkness we hear…)

You have got to be kidding! Do you really expect me to believe that? What do you think I am… some gullible wide eyed 8 year old kid? Come on… there is no fucking way that story is real. You stole that from a movie! You stole that from a goddamn fucking movie!

(The music continues and plays under the following to it's end. Lights up. The teller wearing a pith helmet is sitting in a rattan chair. A small café table to his right on which sits a Keris.)

OK… first thing… I never really said that. That basically is the PG 13 part of the show. Just had to get that out of my system. Anyway, the year was 1967 and I was a gullible 8 year old kid in Malaysia. My cousins and I were sitting around the bed just as my Father had finished off one of his stories. Not just any story mind you… but the mother of all stories! But we’ll get to that in a while.

First let me introduce you to the man who spun all these tales. Harold Carlos Nunis. Born April 14, 1918… right at the end of World War 1 in Seremban, Malaysia. 4th child of 12 born to Mauricieu and Scholastica Nunis… a good Catholic Eurasian family. Don’t you just love these names?

Anyway Harold was educated at St. John’s Institution, Kuala Lumpur Malaysia - where he was captain of the soccer team. field hocky team, tennis team, swim team and the cricket team. OK… my Father was a jock. Wait, it gets better.. He was also School Captain. Now, St. John’s was one of the 2 premiere schools in the city and was also my alma mater … do you know how much pressure that put on me? Every morning on the way to class I walked up the grand staircase past these big hefty wooden plaques that bore the names of my Father and his brother Cuthbert. Yes, Cuthbert was his real name. Any Cuthberts out there?

Here is a Harold and Cuthbert High School story.

Both brothers had decided to tryout for the school soccer team. Tryouts were in a month and they decided to get into shape by going for a jog every morning. You do have to understand that the Nunis family would wake at 5 in the morning to say the family rosary. I suspect that getting out of the rosary was probably more of a motivating factor than shaping up for the soccer team.

On their run in the dark of the morning they would always run past this humungous mango tree that fanned out on an abandoned property just off the main road. This as they soon decided was the perfect place to stop and rest a bit as it was the half way point of their 5 mile run. Every morning as they shared a cigarette one of them kiped from the old man the night before, they would look at the tree knowing that the fruits would soon be ripe enough for the picking. Every morning as they jogged back they would plan the caper to pick the mangos as soon as they achieved supreme ripeness.

Two weeks into their routine, their father, impressed with their determination to make the soccer team, surprised them each with a new pair of canvas jogging shoes. You have to understand that this was 1930’s Malaya. The average person owned 2 pairs of shoes. One pair of leather shoes for special occasions and another usually made out of canvas for work or school. So, this was a big deal for both the boys

Two mornings after they received their new jogging shoes … as they approached their usual halfway mark they picked up the aroma of sweet ripe mangos. They looked at each other and quietly decided that this was the morning those mangos would be picked. They whispered excitedly as they climbed the fence about how they would return home as conquering heroes when they presented their booty of mangos to the family at breakfast.

Part of their elaborate plan was to take off their shirts, knot up the bottom end… tie the sleeves around their necks and fill the shirts with as many mangos as they could the opening of the collar.

It was the morning of the new moon and the overcast skies made everything that much darker than usual. Once they had made it over the fence they stumbled their way toward the mango tree. Just then Harold stubbed his toe on something and cussed up a storm.

“Bugger!”

They looked down and it was a ladder. They looked up but it was too dark to make anything out. They guessed that someone had been there before them and all the mangos on the lower branches had probably been stripped. But the ladder lying on the ground was a convenience they had not counted on. There was a 12 foot climb before the first branch. So, they had to climb up higher to get to the fruit … so what? Besides, everyone knew the sweeter mangos were always on the higher branches.

They set the ladder up against the trunk. Cuthbert went up first. As Cuthbert disappeared up… the tree suddenly shook dropping several mangos to the ground. Harold looked into the sky and spotted the 6 foot wing span outlines of 3 flying foxes, fruit bats take off into the night sky. Cuthbert called down to Harold.

“Flying foxes…”

“I saw.”

“We’ll have to feel the mangos before we pick them… make sure they’re not eaten through”

“Will do.”

Up the tree both the boys were filling up their makeshift shirt bags with mangos. At some point Harold gets slapped in the face by a foot. Harold calls up…

“Cuthbert, watch where you’re stepping! Your toe nearly poked me in the eye…and your feet are cold!

“My feet? Your shoulder is cold!“

They continue picking the ripe fruit. Harold gets slapped in the face again.

“Cuthbert, you slapped me in the face again!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“I didn’t even feel you… “

Harold looks up.

“Cuthbert…”

“Harold… “

“We are getting off this tree.”

“My shirt is only half full.”

“You are going to drop your mangos and you are going to climb down this tree calmly and carefully.”

“Don’t tell me what to do… I’m the older brother here and…”

“Cuthbert, drop the mangos and climb down the tree NOW!”

Cuthbert drops his mangos and climbs down ready to deck Harold.

“What is so important?”

“Where are your matches? Strike a match!”

“What???”

“Strike a match!”

Cuthbert strikes a match.
They look up. In the glow of the match they see the legs of someone hanging in the tree. Further up they see the face of a man… rope around his neck… eyes bugging out and his now purple tongue sticking out down to his chin.

The boys drop everything, jump the fence, run a mile down the road to the police station and report that someone has hung themselves up the mango tree.

Of course the police investigate … but they also hold the boys for half a day for questioning. They get home to find that the headmaster has contacted their father who is furious that they missed school. That evening each of them recieve 6 of the best from their father. 3 for missing school and 3 for losing their shoes.

Plausible? Sure. Now here’s the other part of the story.

A year later the property had been bought over by someone else. The story goes that plans had been drawn up to develop the property. Those plans did not include the mango tree. One afternoon, in a fit of do-it-yourself frenzy, the owner tried to take an axe to it. The first cut… a red thick liquid oozes out of the cut … the owner freaks and runs away. A bulldozer is commissioned for the job. Within 3 feet of the tree… it dies. Apparently it took a Hindu and Catholic priest as well as a Buddhist monk and an Imam to pray at the tree… to appease the spirit before it could be knocked down... at least that's what my father told me.

O.K. would you buy that… especially the last part? I did… but I was 8 at the time.

NEXT SECTION WILL BE POSTED APRIL 30.
CLICK HERE FOR PART 2

Excerpt from "Lies My Father Told Me" copyright 2006 Marcel Nunis.
Permission to use any part of this excerpt can be aquired by e-mailing the playwright at whoelse@marcelnunis.com

so, the first installment of "Lies My Father Told Me" will be posted sometime later today.

... today is Thursday - and I'm only happy because tomorrow is Friday. I really should be happy every day... no matter what day it is. Happy just to be alive with all the opportunities being so affords me.

more later...

and later may be tomorrow...

EDIT: 1:20 PM:
Dammit... let's just make it today... it's too nice to wallow in any kind of funk!

I was just smiling inward with the thought of the few friends I have who accept me for who I am instead of what I do. There is a special comfort in that. The kind that speaks volumes silently sitting at a cafe with nothing to say... or the feeling of having to. The kind where favors are asked and given without a second thought. The kind that comes with knowing no matter how long you have not seen each other... it's just playing "catch-up" and not "where do we stand." Let's not take these special folk for granted. Let's all celebrate them in one way or another with a sly little gesture of thanks for... just being.

Cheers!

EDIT: 1:48 PM:
I've figured out how to share the show I did for the Rogue with you. Check back here tomorrow for the first installment.

I'm still a little out of it. But check out Lelly's.

Labels: hnt

barking dog - not mine

My dogs have been at it lately so, yesterday I had to go out and get a couple of anti-barking collars. Decided it was time before the neighbors organized a lynching party in my honor. Got one shock collar and one spray collar. Figure I'd rotate them just to keep the pooches guessing which they are gonna get. I may even get a sonic collar next week just to complicate the equation in their doggy minds. But these are only for the night-time... the day time they will be collar-free!

Went over to my coffee haunt this morning with Kien. None of the usual suspects were there. Actually it was a refreshing change to sip on the java without talking and having to listen.

more later...

it's later...

I'm making my students watch The Medici: Godfathers of the Renaissance. I love PBS. I keep telling my students that watching PBS is a free education. Of course, they would rather hang with their homies in the hood discussing how much of a badass Tupac was when he was alive... or how the new "beats" they kiped are gonna make them tons of money. I suppose they would rather not become a font of useless information like me.

Hmmm... you know that song from "West Side Story"... "Something's Coming"... I just kinda feel like that today. I'll just have to restrain myself for the rest of the day from snapping my fingers while walking down the street. LOL!

EDIT: I want to know when blogger is going to fix their servers. Blogging of late (especially posting pictures) has been quite the challenge of late.

... the California High School Exit Exam is that I can breeze into work at 11. The best part is that I get to do it tomorrow as well. Yay!

more later...

It's later...
So, this morning I had the luxury of going over to my old coffee haunt to just sit and gab. It's something that I haven't been able to do for months. Cafe philosophers are funny. I'm convinced that the usual suspects collectively suffer from ADD. I have yet to hear the proposal of an idea for conversation to ever get further than 2 minutes of discussion before the topic is jumped by something else. Perhaps it's the caffeine.

It's too nice a day to stay indoors. We are experiencing San Francisco weather. Clear skies, sunshine, cool temperature and a slight breeze. One of those days that's perfect to drive out into the country for a picnic away from real life. A basket of food with a couple of bottles of wine all leisurely consumed on a blanket in a quiet private nook of nature. OK... that's it... I'm declaring a "perfect picnic day" holiday! Now go out and enjoy! LOL!

... with the sense that something is amiss? Everything appears normal... but there is this strange inkling that something is missing or is about to happen. I woke up feeling like that today. It'll be interesting to see how the rest of the day unfolds.

I did as little as possible this weekend and it felt good. Saturday I drove Jade to Avis so that she could rent a car to go out of town. Kien left with her at about 10 for SLO. I stocked up on munchies and holed myself up watching all 6 hours of the Broadway documentary that I have the DVD's of. Boy, it felt good just wasting the day away.

Edit: Well an anvil has not fallen from the sky... yet. But the day is not over.

The big decision I have to make now is... "Do I cook or buy dinner?" I may just cook because it's something I have not done in ages. This will also afford me the opportunity to clean out the fridge... something else I've been meaning to do for the last 3 weeks. Whoa! Talk about exciting!

I've been walking around like a zombie for the last few days. It hasn't been as bad as in previous years... but it's still there. All of us are experiencing it in one form or another. Intense activity and stimuli overload... then the event is over... your body is still in forward motion but your brain has totally shut off. This is now known around these parts as the "post rogue syndrome." Time for a de-roguing barbecue.

What is interesting is the process of getting back to real life. Not that real life is bland but after a few weeks of being a rock star... it can be quite the jolt. It doesn't affect me as badly now... but it's fun observing the stupor of the gang as they try to make sense of the mundane.

Anyway... have a great weekend!

To read the first part CLICK HERE!

March 4
I had let it be known to all the Rogue Core that I would be unavailable until after my show at 7 PM. Headed for a shot of caffeine at the local coffeeshop in the morning and got a mess of viddles for Mum. I then spent 3 more hours going over the show.

By early afternoon I transported the props for "Junkarella" behind the theater and bopped around checking on the venues. Caught snips of the other shows. At 3:30... loaded "Junkarella" in for their 4 PM show then locked myself in my truck until 6:30 and went over the script again.

It was one of those shows which I knew would have to be cooked infront of an audience a couple of times before it would be "ready". Zonthar came by at 6 and we discussed where and when the soundtrack would be used in the show. He kept trying to reassure me as any good director would do.

I did the show. It was a little klunky... but I pulled through it. It didn't help me that I saw the reviewer in the audience... but I pulled through it. That night... I partied... but not too hard as I had to perform the next day.

March 5 - 11
Not going to bore you further with the rest of the day to day blow by blow of the festival. Suffice to say that for the most part (from the inside) things went quite well. Here are pics to prove it.

Despite the weather most of the venues were doing well. The party was a blast... with picture evidence.

The following is from the final day.

Kamotion had flown in from New Jersey on Wednesday and the night before ScarySquirrelMan had trained it in from Washington. It was old home week for the Rogue as a growing group of lovable "has beens" were in town to celebrate what we had collectively built together over the last 5 years. One of my oldest friends, Kien, was in town from London doing the Festival. This "head-scratcher of a festival" we had cultivated was bearing fruit and creating fertile ground for more. I could now leave it to thrive on it's own legs. What more could a guy ask for?

My last performance was to be at 5:30 PM, Saturday. I had been holed up in my truck since 3 going over the script. We were having weather and it was bloody cold. Earlier it had hailed. By the time I got into the theater at 5, I was convinced that the performance would be poorly attended.

I sat in the dark backstage getting into my show "zone"... going over what I had done before and considering some edits and changes. The coda to the show had never been set in stone which gave me the opportunity to try different endings. Suddenly, the coda I used the night before hit me.

"My Dad died when I was 12. We were not wealthy people so there was no inheritance... just these stories. But I have these stories and they have made me a richer person. (PAUSE) What do you have?"

For the next 5 minutes I sobbed quietly in the dark and solitude backstage as the audience filed in. The truth of those lines finally hit the teller. Part of it was knowing that this could be the last time I do this show. The passing of those stories to me from my father... would probably end with this audience.

The announcements were made and I went on stage to a well attended house to tell these tales one last time. I had a grand time doing it. It was grand sharing my inheritance with friends and strangers.

Right after the show, I pulled up in my truck in front of the Starline (another Rogue Mainstage). As I got out a friend called out, "Congratulations on a successful production! Wonderful show!" . The people standing in line turned to look at me and spontaneously broke out into applause. It was complete.

March 2
Woke up at 4 to do a TV live remote for the morning show. It was a good thing that I took off work. What I thought was going to be an easier day turned out to be a harried run-around, putting out fires before the event even began kinda day.

By the time evening came I made the opening of HNT @ the Rogue my first obligation. Javawava was packed and folks were milling looking a little stunned by what was on the big screen. It was great for Monkey to take the time and trouble to come by. Performers were also coming in on rotation to shill their shows and this only added to the already crazy carnival vibe.

I hopped on to our other Rogue galleries at 7:30 ish and finally ended up at Full Circle Brewery where their stage was used as a "Rogue Sampler" for many of the acts. Our circus had spread downtown.

Then it was time to close out the night under the tent at Veni Vidi Vici with bites and drinks.

March 3
I woke up knowing that today was when the madness would really begin. I managed to sneak a little time to go over my show but was constantly interrupted by phone calls. I finally gave up and went out to deal with harried venue managers. There was also a fair amount of last minute printing that had to be done.

By the time the first show began things were still a little crazy. I finally decided that it was time that people handled their own responsibilities. I bounced to all our venues making sure that our volunteers were doing what they were supposed to do. Then I get a call and find out that Saturday's "Late-Nite" DJ had double booked himself. Scramble again... but I manage to find a replacement.

I hit the sack early... at midnight because my show was opening the next day.... and as of the moment I have only had 2 hours of rehearsals. Yipes!

more to come!

The Rogue closed Saturday night with a righteous party. Just wanted you all to know that I'm still alive.

I also want to Thank ALL OF YOU for participating and supporting the festival... in all the ways you have... You Guys ROCK & ROGUE!

There are still Rogue matters to clear up over the next couple of days... after which the usual irregular programing here will continue.

You can read all about it from today's papers here!

Here is a multimedia clip from the Beehive.

And of course... even more photos from Wednesday's shows.

And tonight at 7 PST we kick up HNT @ the Rogue again!

HERE!

EDIT: O.K., it's been a while since I've blogged... apart from posting updates, etc. Thanks to all of you for coming by with kudos and congrats. Tomorrow the Rogue once again kicks off for it's final run for this year. What's sucky is that we are expecting some "weather" at the end of the week.

The HNT @ the Rogue exhibit kicks back up at 7 PM Pacific time on Thursday... and goes frpm 5 - 9 PM on Friday. We will attempt to coax visitors to comment and chat with you who are participating... however, if you do not get that many comments... please know that your work is still being viewed and appreciated by a still-not-hep-to-blogs audience. For many of them this is their first exposure to something like this.

MORE PICS FROM SAT. & SUN...

HERE!

Oh, and tonight I did a shameful plug on www.fresnofamous.com

Here is a review of my Rogue show from the Fresno Bee.

There are other reviews from the Bee too of a few other shows that played this weekend!

And here are "citizen" reviews.

Cheers!

HERE!

HERE

... this morning...doing a live TV remote for the fest. I'll update in the morning with more pictures. Here are a couple to hold you over.

The first is Lecram, Solitaire and Monkey at HNT @ the Rogue.

The one below is me moments before going "live" for the local CBS affiliate

Still rehearsing my show but... here are my submissions for the first week of the festival... for tomorrow!

ROGUE THANG!

Thanks Os... for the mega plug!

Happy HNT to all of you!

Now back to rehearsals that Zonthar is directing! Ouch! Beat me some more!

And if you are turning up for the rogue... email me and I'll give you my cell.

Labels: hnt