The Fringe Diaries

One of the things that keeps performers slogging away at careers that sometimes feel like a curse, rather than a calling, is the idea that your big break, is just around the corner. That an important person will see your show, recognize your genius and further your career.
Today marks a change in the dynamic of our days. My mom, Janet Oian and our daughter Mabel, arrived here this morning. For three weeks, it's been Glenn and me, and our routine. Today, it all changed. Not better or worse, just different.
I have developed a super power while here in Edinburgh. The minute I put a stack of flyers in my hand and approach a stranger, there's a 75 percent chance I become invisible. Since I have no control over this invisibility, it cannot be depended upon.
urry in a Hurry was on our agenda for lunch, and we were able to fit in a nice walk to the French café on West Bow (by the castle) for supper. Carrot and fennel soup and an amazing veggie sandwich on toasted bread, was a perfect meal for a rainy Scottish evening.
He said "Tickety Boo." I thought I'd stumbled onto a set of Call the Midwife, and overheard Chummy explaining something. But no, it was the box office guy telling us how things worked, and then he said "tickety boo." Toto, we are so not in Kansas anymore.
We were at Fringe Central, which is the building where performers who are registered with the Fringe can hang out. There's wi-fi, a copy machine, café area, and helpful people who are in the same boat as you are (if you're putting a show on this year).
When the 47 Republican senators made fools out of themselves, I suggest that the better strategy was to let the world see just how foolish their behavior was, because they stood against something important for the national security of the United States, and the peace of the world.
There's a time and a place to see The Lion King, and a time and a place to sit in a small theater, inches away from a great actor, who brings you face to face with nature, red in tooth and claw.
The Big Lie has made the vast majority of our college students feel like failures, and may be keeping them from actually getting a real education.
Maybe you've been there as a playwright, as I have. Maybe you've been there as an audience member. Maybe you've been there as part of a system of "new play development." Maybe it's been working against the creation of vibrant and exciting new theater. I am speaking of the Talkback.
What would you give to have an intimate Skype encounter, a personal performance given directly to you, by three different actors from around the world? For the price of a decent New York City lunch, you can have that experience by attending PopUp Theatrics' Long Distance Affair.
What is this man's problem with me? I can only assume he is an irrational person, a sexually frustrated man who really dislikes Neil Diamond, or, perhaps, a bible thumping evangelist who wishes everyone lived according to his rules.
Leaving Edinburgh is difficult. We share stories and fall into a deep sleep as the plane takes us home. But home doesn't mean that the journey is complete. On the contrary, the journey continues.
The opportunity to be able to perform in the Edinburgh Festival Fringe was beyond my wildest dreams. It was the first time that I had ever been a part of a touring show, and producing After Orpheus was no small feat.
What you've done become eclipsed by what you won't do, because there's no way to come to the Fringe and expect to experience even half of what it has to offer.
If you don't get press or reviews, how will the audience know that you, little David, are out there somewhere giving a performance?
When we arrived in Lexington, we all realized one thing: we finally have an audience, and none of us knew what was going to happen next.
Imagine, if you will, the following scenario: You are at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. This is your fifth time in the city, yet somehow you have only just discovered that this event exists.
Years and years ago when I was a wee improviser in Chicago, I expected that I would one day perform at the Fringe; I just never imagined it would be as a vowed celibate.
After the second sketch there was mock applause. During each sketch there were "hushed" whispers that my deaf-in-one-ear grandfather wouldn't have had much trouble hearing, though the accents were so cartoonishly thick that he would have had trouble deciphering.