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April 2010
April 21, 2010
Kevin Six in the news, four years ago...
High Flyers
I've got this friend back in New York City, Suzi Winson, who flies regularly on the trapeze, and she's counseled me for years that I should take it up. "There's nothing like the trapeze," Winson has told me. "You'll feel so free." Winson's also a writer, and she publishes a poetry journal called Fish Drum.
But despite our friendship and common literary affinities, I'd never even half-considered following Suzi Winson into the air.
Until now.
Call it a one-third life crisis.
It turns out, of the estimated 50 places in the United States where you can learn the trapeze, one of the most acclaimed and successful schools is here in San Diego County. Trapeze High, it's wittily called, and it's just up the highway in the beautiful hidden valley of Escondido. I swung by the website (trapezehigh.com) to garner clues about whether I wanted to go through with a session of aerial acrobatics, and many convincing assurances caught my eye. According to the subsection "First-Time Students," I would be flying in safety lines in the very first class; their net was "not an old fish net," it was a real circus net; I would have instructors on the platform with me at all times; I'd be given individual instruction; and, most importantly, I read that "almost anybody can do this. All you have to do is try. Body type, age, and fear of heights are not acceptable excuses. You will see all ages and sizes flying. No one is more afraid of heights than Dave." I called Dave.
I rarely Yelp, But When I do...
Kevin S.'s Review: The Living Room in Old Town Sucks on ice!
I
used to love the Living Room. Now, I believe it is under new
management/ownership and, from what I know of the new owner/manager,
rudeness is the order of the day. Mind you, the coffee was good and
the cheesecake wasn't bad but the rudeness... Are you seeing a theme
develop?
I left my phone there. It fell out of my bag and ended
up under the seat I was in. I came back and asked if they had found a
phone and "Vijay" (I heard but didn't read his name so I don't know how
it's spelled) said "No."
He said this in such a way as to cause
me to doubt that I did indeed have my phone in my bag as I entered the
cafe and didn't have the phone in my bag when I entered. So it is with
bullies.
After going all the way home and ransacking bag, car
and home, I concluded that my phone was indeed somewhere under the
table. So I instant-messaged a few friends, two of whom called the
cafe.
One of the people who called is a licensed, practicing
minister and she indicated that the help she got was just little less
than polite. Translation from the Reverend: they were rude.
I am not a licensed anything so I don't feel right calling Vijay and his staff anything more than cretins.
I
told them as much 1/2 hour later as I entered the establishment and,
before anyone knew I was there, had asked the nice man who was sitting
in my seat if I could look under the table. I found my phone,
mentioned the cretinism (which rhymed with casserole when it exited my
mouth) and went home to write this review.
Never again will I
doubt my own memory. Never again will I let someone's "No" stop me in
my tracks and never again will I darken the door of The Living Room
Cafe and Bistro in Old Town.
Enter at your own risk.
April 20, 2010
April 17, 2010
Bad Kitty
So I was just about to go and surf. This is something I used to do religiously but have been slacking off on lately. I REALLY need to surf three or four times a week, man.
So, I'm on my way to surf and I can't find my phone! So I went back into the house to look for it. No phone. But, because it had been so long since I've surfed, I just put off looking for it.
The surf was fabulous, the weather perfect and, should I have drowned, the lifeguard beautiful.
When I got here (Coffee Bean in Clairemont), I resumed my search by going online and texting Jennie at work. Then I checked my e-mail and saw, send from my own phone, this:
April 04, 2010
My Car Ride With Craig Noel
I worked at the Old Globe Theatre (as it was then known, now it's The Globe Theatre) from 1984 to 1989. There I saw many things and learned a lot about how theatre works and how theatres work. And one day, I was the only one who could pick up Craig Noel and take him to his recently repaired car.
At the Globe, the powers that be were desperately getting Craig ready for retirement. Little did they know that he would never really retire and, probably on Monday, they will finally have the office space they've wanted since the 80s. I will never forget my 10-minute car ride with the most important single person in American Theatre.
It almost didn't happen. I was running late and sped into Balboa Park followed by an off-duty police officer who said that if he had his ticket book, I surely would have gotten a ticket with multiple infractions. How could I tell him that I was risking being late to pick up Craig Noel?
The conversation was pleasant enough. I didn't really want to bother him with the one million questions I had about his life, career and opinions on acting and actors. So I thought I'd get around to it by talking about the old days.
Craig had worked for MGM and, before that in Japan. We talked of those days but Craig talked mostly about his family. His mother and brother mostly. His mother was constantly having to deal with these unruly boys getting into all kinds of mischief in what must have been a bucolic 1920's New Mexico.
I never did get to ask the million questions I had but I'll never forget that car ride. The last time I saw Craig, four years ago, he called me by name and asked how I was getting along since leaving the Globe (in 1989!). A terrific man, a talented artist (whom I was honored to see at work) and a kind, gentle soul. I will miss him. But more so, I will miss his friend and assistant Raul Moncada who died on the dame day.
Raul was the founding manager of one of Craig's greatest theatrical efforts: Teatro Meta. Raul translated dozens of plays by Latin American playwrights; English plays into Spanish and ran the first program to put them all together for regional theatre audiences (at a major regional theatre). Raul also worked on outreach, in the education department and as a stage manager on nearly a hundred plays. He was kind and attentive and looked out for Craig like a mother hen looks over her chicks.
How oddly fitting that Raul was there when Craig died. Not in the same place: Craig died, I am sure, with many members of his Globe family close by and Raul died alone a few miles away. But I have no doubt that as Craig left this place and entered the other, there was Raul with a clipboard, a cup of coffee and a deferential smile. And I'm also sure that Raul helped Craig along the way.
These men who were gentle giants in American (and South American) theatre. These men who gave so much and asked for so little. These men whe were the epitome of gentlemen. These men whom I loved and never told them. These men will be missed.
All we can now do, if we are to call ourselves theatre artists (or human for that matter) is to live as a testament to their shining example. To Craig Noel, hero; and to Raul Moncada, quieter, less well-known but no different artistically and humanly; to these men I dedicate the rest of my career. You were loved, you continue to be loved and you will be missed. And you have made the world better.
I will prove this to you and the world with everything I do creatively. I will endeavor to entertain you and make you proud. With love.
