Thoughts From The Road - Part #1
It’s been a while since I’ve done live shows. For over a year I’ve stared down the barrel of a camera while presenting virtual shows from the comfort of my home studio. There are no mask rules or restrictions to worry about on Zoom, so I hadn’t considered what rules I might encounter on the road.
As travel starts picking up I begin to realize how silly the restrictions have become. You can be on one side of a state line and people will be wearing double masks when sitting alone in an outdoor space. Ten minutes away, on the other side of a border, people are living their life like it’s 2019.
Some shows I have to wear a mask the whole time. Others I only have to wear a mask when I have a volunteer onstage. And for many I don’t have to wear a mask at all.
I’ll do an entire show masked up, then people will come up to take a photo and we both pull our masks down. It makes no sense.
At one school they tell me they have the best vaccination rate in the entire state. Yet, they still have to wear masks. As the lights dim I see the students quietly lower the masks beneath their chins. They’re over it.
I’m not saying masks don’t work - they clearly do. But, the fact that the rules are so different across many parts of the U.S. really makes it seem meaningless.
And - not trying to brag - I’m double-vaxxed. Wasn’t the vaccine supposed to end this? Wasn’t I supposed to get back to my normal life once I got vaccinated?
I’ve been in places that require everyone to be vaccinated, yet we still have to wear a mask. It makes no sense.
It’s one thing to watch the news and think “My city is correct! I chose the correct colored state!” But it’s quite another to travel to all of these places and actually see it for yourself.
And that’s what I’ve been doing the past few months.
The fall schedule starts off in Florida, right when the only news you read is about Covid cases spiking there. But the truth is, it’s not that big of a deal. Some people are wearing masks, others aren’t. Everyone is minding their own business. No problem.
Tonight’s show is at a college. I arrive early, set up, and wait. I’m always early and I’m always waiting.
The show goes well. The students are fun. They don’t realize that I’m performing a lot of this material for the first time. It’s impossible to practice alone so I’m rehearsing here. Even so, they freak out at all the right moments.
After the show the kids line up for signed posters and selfies. I always stay and talk to everyone, no matter how long it takes.
At the end of the line a girl asks me to make a video for the school’s Instagram account. I nail it in one take. She asks me my handle so she can tag me in the post and I calmly explain that I don’t have social media.
“You don’t have social media? But how do you promote yourself?”
I smile politely and shrug, but I’m really thinking, “You’re here at MY show! Right now! What do I need social media for?”
But it’s not worth explaining myself. She’s already back on her phone, scrolling to the next post.
From Florida I head to Missouri. No one is wearing a mask anywhere near the campus but on campus everyone is masked up. I guess I’m wearing a mask onstage tonight.
Fuck.
I can’t speak for other performers but I don’t really like to phone it in. I like to perform with high energy and race around the room to make sure everyone feels involved. Sometimes I’ll run up the aisles to choose volunteers or jump up and down onstage to drive home a point. (One time years ago I leapt off a chair and ripped my pants. It was worth it.)
But wearing a mask really makes it hard to breathe. Just a brisk walk onstage to start the show is enough to have me gasping for air. Forget running the aisles or jumping off the stage.
And my glasses keep getting fogged up, which is very frustrating. I need my glasses. It’s not a wardrobe choice. I need them to drive and read, and get headaches when I go long intervals without wearing them. But, since I’m wearing a mask tonight I clip the glasses to my shirt and do the show without them.
The venue is beautiful, the audience is pretty fun. I know the new material is good because it just brought down the house in Florida. But, I can’t focus on any of that. I only think about this annoying mask and how hard it is to connect with people when there are so many obstructions in the way.
My show is dependent on reactions. Smiles, dropped jaws, gasps of astonishment. The secret to my show is that it’s not about the mind reading. It’s actually about the people onstage and how the show plays out on their faces.
I guess it was a good show tonight but I’ll never know, because all of those reactions were hidden, safely tucked away beneath those damn masks.
Back to Chicago for a virtual show. Yes, I’m still doing those.
I’ve got this down to a science.
Fifteen minute walk to the studio. My props are already laid out, ready to go.
Lights, camera, action.
I do the show without thinking. Not on auto-pilot, but with perfect muscle memory because I’ve done it over 300 hundred times since last year.
“That was the show! I’m Mark Toland - thanks everybody!”
The show ends and goes from 55 participants logged on to only me in a matter of seconds. No applause, no one coming up to the stage to say thank you, nothing.
I sit in silence at the studio and sigh to myself. A train passes the window and I hear a police siren in the distance.
I’m not sure which is worse:
Getting applause from actual people in-person but being alone on the road?
Or performing into the online void with no feedback but getting to go home after?
I can’t decide. But one thing I do know for certain: they’re both making me miserable.
Time to walk home.
5 am flight.
I’m up before the sun or the traffic. I make coffee, take a shower, pet the cats, kiss my wife, and hit the road. It’s going to be a long day.
Tonight I’m outside Philadelphia. Another college.
It’s a great room and a great group. Fortunately I don’t have to wear a mask so I can actually focus on the show.
It’s a great show and I fall asleep exhausted but proud.
My hotel room only needs to be two things: pitch black and ice cold. Tonight’s accommodations have both, yet I still wake up with a start in the middle of the night.
I feel around the nightstand for my phone and check the time. It’s 3am.
“Where the hell am I?”
I think for a few minutes but can’t remember. I roll over and try to fall back asleep.
“Oh right,” I think to myself, “I’m in Philly.”
I forgot what it felt like to be on the road, but it’s all coming back to me.