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Thursday, October 20, 2005 Stratford #4 Last weekend I made my fourth annual pilgrimage to the Stratford Theatre Festival. This year's trip had the distinction of being the most relaxing, probably because in the end we only saw one play, and the cast of characters featured a nice mix of old and new personalities from each excursion. Mike D. made his first visit to the festival, while Melanie returned from last year and James returned from the trip two years prior, although he kept saying "last year," forgetting that he'd missed one. We left Ann Arbor on Friday evening and drove through the endless tedium of farms and fields to arrive in Canada via Port Huron. But where in the past that route seemed uninteresting, the conversation that filled the car was sufficiently energetic to alleviate any potential boredom with the scenery. None of the others had met before, so we made a road trip game out of my introductions, including facts that were and weren't true while the others guessed as to their veracity. It was like a narrative version of "Two Truths and a Lie." Continuing traditions, we stopped at a diner whose name I can't recall for dinner. It was no Betty's, but that restaurant cum gas station would have been impossible to find again. Our waitress kept apologizing for delays that we didn't notice and the water tasted like sulfur, but the food was good, if not healthy. Everyone except for James ordered items battered and greasy, and I indulged my addiction to fried chicken. A couple of hours later, we made it to London and Steve's new place, a friendly co-op. But this Canadian co-op was of a vastly different variety than the Ann Arbor species; instead of cramming as many (hippie) students into one house as possible, the co-op was a set of normal-sized apartments connected in a real community. Steve and his roommates don't believe in locking their door--apparently one roommate didn't even have a key for his first few months--so they have a constant stream of visitors, known and unknown. (Yup, that includes random people crashing on the couches in the living room.) We stopped at the store to acquire scone-making supplies (Steve's scones are legendary) and I was excited to find chestnuts, which I promptly bought and roasted (none of the others had ever eaten them before). Hours later, the guys made use of the couches at Steve's while Melanie and I made our way to Steve's neighbors' apartment and slept on the futon in their basement (much more comfortable, I'm sure). It's funny, we only met those neighbors twice briefly all weekend, but they were incredibly hospitable. The next day, Steve made his famous scones for breakfast and we visited the Bat Cave, an apartment full of girls who have a cardboard Batman rumored to be a wonderful cuddling partner. We made our way to Stratford and ate fish and chips at Molly Bloom's, another longstanding tradition, and continued another hapless tradition by being late to the theatre. This was the culmination of a number of small events: the food took forever to arrive (at least 45 minutes), though James, cheering on his team in the U-M football game, and Steve, trying to convince the staff to change the channel so he could watch hockey ("they have to, we're in Canada and hockey's Canadian!"), barely noticed, and then James was convinced that the show was at the wrong theatre. And since lateness always occurs when I'm involved, I'm sure the heavens conspired to make it so. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was mediocre--the production wasn't entirely engaging, despite Tennessee Williams's lyrical writing. Cynthia Dale's Maggie was overwrought; we missed the first ten minutes of the production, but when we entered she had already hit her emotional peak and had nowhere to go for the rest of the performance. The most notable feature of the production was the design; the set was beautiful, with a dreamlike, symbolic quality that was enhanced by the lighting. (Funny moment: after the second act, Mike thought the play was over and was confused as to why there was no curtain call.) After the play we drove back to London and visited a pizza parlor with perhaps the largest slices of pizza I've ever seen, and then made our way to the Symposium, an upscale café with wonderful desserts. We spent hours there in conversation before exploring the University of Western Ontario campus, where we stumbled across a group of students surrounded by dozens of cardboard boxes; they were raising money for the homeless and had committed to spend the night outdoors as though they were homeless. However, the house of cardboard boxes had blown over shortly after its construction and they'd given up on that idea, instead snuggling close to each other for warmth amid much laughter, guarded by a fellow conspirator in camouflage. We explored more of the school, tiptoeing through a tower that should have been locked, dancing on a stage in an empty auditorium (Melanie and I saw the stage and immediately and simultaneously ran to it and began performing to a non-existent audience), climbing the catwalk of the small theatre. Finally everyone was tired enough to head back to Steve's apartment, where of course we spent more time in conversation rather than sleep. The next morning, Melanie and I were awakened by Steve and Mike serenading us on guitar with improvised emo parodies. (Emo= angsty melodic punk. It's often quite good, but it's also incredibly easy to poke fun at--just be as melodramatic as possible while half-singing over power chords: "This solitude cuts like a knife / Like the knife you used to cut out my heart / And you're tearing me apart and I feel so alone.") We--the Americans, that is, since Steve had to study--drove back to Stratford and spent the rest of the day exploring the town and its culinary delights. And taking ridiculous photos. A sampling of quotable quotes:
Mike: Are you a Level Four enchantress? Because you're enchanting me right now. Steve: He's a business student--his cell phone's as ingrained to his body as his kidney. Mike: What smells stale? Dawn: Canada. ^ Top | 7:00 AM | | | 
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