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"The Board is acting responsibly to protect [donors'] investments in our success, and to promote the long-term health of our organization, " says WRT Board President Gregory Foote. Boyd is planning on going another round next season, however. "The season is being planned. We want to assure our season ticket holders, our donors and our audience that this 'intermission' will be brief," he says. Over the spring and summer, The Rep will concentrate on long- and short-term fund raising, organizational restructuring and long-range planning. The Rep is Eugene's only Equity theater and has produced Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, The Miracle Worker, Woody Guthrie's American Song, "Art," and The Comedy of Errors. Its educational outreach program has brought in more than 5,000 students, many from rural areas, to experience live theater, many for the first time. If you're interested in helping keep The Rep afloat, call 343-9903. So it's not R.I.P. Rep, but it is resting Rep. And that raises big questions. Any business, a new theater, restaurant or retail, must be prepared to lose money for the first few years. Does Eugene have the audience to support all the theater we've got? Unless more Eugeneans make attending theater a priority, probably not. Let's hope the organizers of two new start-up theater companies 4 The Amoeba Theatre, which had its first benefit fundraiser at Tsunami last Saturday, and one as yet unnamed that will begin forming this summer -- have their eyes wide open and their overheads low. No Chaps at the Hult, but they're strapped on tight over at Actor's Cabaret for Dorothy Velasco's world premiere, Cowgirl Heaven. It's a locally written, locally produced work that was a big hometown crowd-pleaser opening night. Although it's musical-lite -- one emotional pitch was established and maintained throughout, with the brief exception of "I Walk Alone" sung by Nancy West -- it is a foray into a little known part of women's history with the story of women rodeo performers in the 1920s. Velasco did a fine job researching the topic and presenting it in a format that can teach young girls there have always been tough women willing to break gender barriers. The ensemble of Kathryn Muller-Lorish, Nancy West, Hilary Gorsegner Heinz, Bethany Ford and Erika Jane Johnston features some lovely voices. Opening tonight, Thursday, March 15, is the Bard's zany Merry Wives of Windsor at Lord Leebrick. It's set in Palm Springs in the '30s and directed by the UO's Lisa Freinkel. More on it next week. And my St. Patrick's Day pick to honor the dude who drove the vipers out from Eire is Erotic Poetry Night at Foolscap Books with its theme: "Raising the Kundalini Snake." The evening is a benefit for Cauldron of Changes' big Beltane bash coming up in May. "It's a sensual atmosphere, low key, no pressure. Don't expect an orgy, although we can't control what happens off the premises afterward, but it's very fun," says co-organizer Shekinah Horowitz. "It's an evening of Eros for all tastes and genders," she says. The readings will consist of prose, poetry and song celebrating the sexuality of consenting adults. The Saturday evening event is also for those18 and over. Sign-up's at 7:15 p.m. and the words begin flowing at 7:30 p.m. Cost is $5-$10, ss, and you'll get $1 off for wearing lingerie, fetish clothing, or anything that doorman Brian Wilga considers sexy. You can also call the Cauldron of Changes line to sign up at 341-4696.
For the opera purist, it is pure fluff and requires a bit of a stretch to relocate into its world. The Mikado is set in the imaginary Titipu, Japan. Absurd character names like Pitti-Sing, Peep-Bo and Pish-Tush are mixed up with English dialogue and Victorian references. This odd juxtaposition opens the work up for high and low comedic effects and satiric interpretation. The stage direction was fabulous. Its creator was the amazing Frederick Reeder who also played Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner in a most agile and endearing rendering. The "property" of choice for everyone was a large Japanese fan. The performers all learned to flip and flare them with military precision. Reeder's choreography was masterful, always moving, always clean, every gesture plotted for continual entertainment. He began and ended acts with strong and striking tableaus. The whole production was beautifully coordinated with a zany set designed by Don Carson, sizes and angles all askew, with colorful and appropriate costumes by the ever-inventive Lynn Bowers, wild wigs by Diane Trapp and all effectively lit by Craig McKenzie. This dependable team of skilled production artists, including chorusmaster, Marieke Schuurs and many others, comprise the unseen backbone of opera. Robert Ashens conducting from the pit worked at keeping the musicians and singers together through numerous tempi and style changes. The fun of extra speed on the patter songs, however, was missing. As performer, Reeder danced, pranced and jumped about the stage bowing, kneeling and falling down, adeptly using all levels and areas. Yum-Yum and Nanki-Poo, the young couple in love, were played by Julia Hunt and Joel Weiss. They both portrayed their characters convincingly, spoke and sang well with excellent diction. Exaggerated characterization was the norm in this performance, which too often sacrificed vocal quality. Many voices were chosen for light opera, but other than the young couple and the splashy Ko-Ko, projection and words disappeared out into the vast ether of the Hult Center. In contrast to this year's light lineup, next season's selections
are tragedies of realism. Beginning earlier next fall is the great dramatic favorite,
Tosca, followed by La Traviata at New Year's and then a stunning, but
not often seen piece of Americana, Susanna, by Carlisle Floyd. I call myself "Mr. Outside," although Jill just as often refers to me as "Mr. White Trash." I don't know what she complains about. It's not like we have money to spend on outdoor furnishings, or advanced lawn chemicals, or somebody to haul the debris. We've got to save money for Kevin's college, Kimmy's wedding, and my operation. Oh, I know Kimmy's only 8. My point is, there is just something so rewarding about doing things yourself, with your own hands. I see a whole world waiting beyond my screen door -- even if that door usually slides off the track and crashes into bins of recycling. Step outside and feast your eyes on the whole expanse. Go ahead, breathe it all in. Pads of lime green moss. Spotty tufts of high, thin grass shielding the muddy patches like the silvery strands of our insurance agent's comb-over. It's like poetry. You can almost feel that just-above-the-water table sense of imminent danger, like the whole damn thing could flush away with one good rain. Of course, it's still here. Just like the heap of clean fill Buddy left for us before he had to return that stolen truck back to Public Works. I've been meaning to do something with it; spread it around like mulch, or maybe use it to pack that crater where the septic tank exploded. I don't use the shed like I should, though I'm planning on getting it organized. I'll clean out the bicycle parts, the cotton gin, the benzene, the tackling dummies. I bet all the wasps have finally succumbed. Boy, it was a riot when the Orkin man came. How was he able to swat and wave and run and spray all at the same time? I'll never forget his words: "Get out! Before it's too late!" I don't know if he was yelling at me or the wasps. Either way, he was quite a comedian. Now is the perfect time to prune. I usually do the roses first, then the maples, then the peach-plum tree, the dogwoods and the oak, maybe thin out the arbor vitae. Jill calls the result "butchery." I call it "minimalist." Besides, the trimmings keep the bonfire going. She's hankering for Big Sur or the Portland Chinese Garden, and I don't understand it. Our yard is the perfect place for a contemplative stroll. Especially where Kevin used the brown rice from my Y2K stockpile to make his Zen rock garden. And his idea of sawing those turquoise 55-gallon drums in half to make planters was a chip off the old block. I've got about half of them done, only 20 to go. I bet I could make some extra cash selling those curbside. I don't spend as much time in the treehouse as I used to. It's the same as horseback riding 4 when you fall out of something that high, unless you get right back up there, you're gonna feel a little squirrelly about doing it again. But I can replace those rotten floor boards, and this time I'll put up a railing. It'll be just like the old days, perched up there, watching the neighbors. Even better than watching Jerry Springer! One of my favorite places to work, meditate, or just hang out is the compost mound. I like to remove stratified core samples from the pile, and based on the levels of biodegradation, imagine what I was doing when, for example, that banana was peeled, or this apple was cored, or that onion started to decompose, or this worm lost his casing. Sometimes I try to remember what movies I wanted to see at the time I bought the produce that the little stickers came from. And what about those raccoons? They've been so fun and frolicky since I've been feeding them. But my latest idea is to get Jill out here to play badminton. I have a set in the shed I picked up at a yard sale. I'll tie one end of the net to the basketball hoop and the other to my bleach-bottle totem pole. But she's got to promise to take it easy on me. At least until after my operation.
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