Hello, hello...
I know it has been some time since I last wrote. I also know about all the promises of weekly updates and of infusing these pages with juicy baggage details and adventures.
But, alas, I have discovered that "intention" is nothing more than my middle name.
After the shows in New Mexico, I decided to give the bags a break.
We were all tired and a little dusty.
The original idea was to spend some time in the desert. To bask on sun-baked rocks....the garment bag spread out like a lizard. But, it was not to be.
I felt a pull towards home. I needed to return to the South. I needed cheese grits and some time with my daughter.
I also needed to lick some wounds. Don't ask. Just know that wide-eyed and bushy-tailed often gets you caught in the middle of the road....under a semi.
I drove cross-country to North Carolina where I spent a lot of time in a rocking chair pondering this whole, crazy summer.
Truth is, I was a little depressed. Things had been tough; not at all the spiritual journey I had been expecting. I felt weighed down. Perhaps it was time to end the tour. Stay put. Go back to work. Put the bags in the garage.
I called my friend in Oklahoma City. The friend whose non-profit organization, Eden (a group that promotes and supports dreams) was bringing the show to town in one short week.
"I can't do this", I said.
"I'm tired. I'm defeated. This hasn't turned out like I thought"...
And then there was DEAD SILENCE as she scooped up my self-pity, only to roll it into a sticky ball, and throw it back in my face.
"Need I remind you I am bringing in your show because you are an inspiration?! THIS is NOT inspirational at all".
Point well taken. It stuck hard.
So.
I snuggled with my daughter a little bit longer, ate ample amounts of cheese-grits, washed them down with some sweet tea, and picked myself up by the boot straps.
I tied down the baggage, oiled the trailer wheels and gave myself a good talking to.
I then headed off to finish what I started: bringing the baggage to others.
As I drove up the gauntlet in Knoxville, across the bridge in Memphis, over the red-rocked hills of Arkansas and onto the plains of Oklahoma, I felt my resolve strengthen with each mile-post.
No one ever said this would be easy. Or that I wouldn't pick up more bags along the way.
In life, we just have to drive on...with, possibly, a little more junk in the trunk than before.
Love, M
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
In Las Cruces
Performing. More coming soon...
Just know the Heathen is in GREAT light here.
While Marlene is a little scared of the lights here.
They require a cherry picker.
But the view is beautiful. The baggage is happy. And all is well.
Just know the Heathen is in GREAT light here.
While Marlene is a little scared of the lights here.
They require a cherry picker.
But the view is beautiful. The baggage is happy. And all is well.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Did You Remember to Bring the Tarp?
We left Denver on Tuesday morning heading South on I-25 650 miles straight on to Las Cruces, New Mexico.
Little Suzy, as we have named the baggage trailer, handled herself beautifully, manuevering the desert plains like a champ.
The hot New Mexico sun beat down on the baggage and the Suby like dry blessings from above.
6 hours into the drive...
Wake Up Little Suzy!
There's a storm ahead.
It was about the time we saw the scene above, that Marlene turned to me and asked...
"Did you remember the tarp"?
...Maybe...I said.
Maybe being the universal other word for NO.
All was "good" until the lightning. Thick bolts flashing up from the plains. Beckoning the Suby to...come a little closer.
We both thought of the little orange flag sticking up from the baggage. The one that says, "Hey don't hit this" to cars...thinking it might be a different message altogether to something of the more electric variety.
The Heathen who insisted on riding inside the car (we slid her neatly across the roof) says under her breath, "Remember. I am not a lightning rod".
We hold our breath.
And drive on.
We stop 2 hours north of Las Cruces now too late (and too shaken) to arrive at our set destination on time.
Because Soccorro, New Mexico was the only town that had hotel billboards on I-25 (as opposed to "Stop at Next Exit to Purchase a Horse"), this is where we landed.
Once checked into the Rodeway Inn, the Heathen got out and stretched her fishnets.
I dried off the baggage with hotel washcloths and hitched it under the eaves for the night.
We all sighed.
And turned in.
And dreamt of arks.
Little Suzy, as we have named the baggage trailer, handled herself beautifully, manuevering the desert plains like a champ.
The hot New Mexico sun beat down on the baggage and the Suby like dry blessings from above.
6 hours into the drive...
Wake Up Little Suzy!
There's a storm ahead.
It was about the time we saw the scene above, that Marlene turned to me and asked...
"Did you remember the tarp"?
...Maybe...I said.
Maybe being the universal other word for NO.
All was "good" until the lightning. Thick bolts flashing up from the plains. Beckoning the Suby to...come a little closer.
We both thought of the little orange flag sticking up from the baggage. The one that says, "Hey don't hit this" to cars...thinking it might be a different message altogether to something of the more electric variety.
The Heathen who insisted on riding inside the car (we slid her neatly across the roof) says under her breath, "Remember. I am not a lightning rod".
We hold our breath.
And drive on.
We stop 2 hours north of Las Cruces now too late (and too shaken) to arrive at our set destination on time.
Because Soccorro, New Mexico was the only town that had hotel billboards on I-25 (as opposed to "Stop at Next Exit to Purchase a Horse"), this is where we landed.
Once checked into the Rodeway Inn, the Heathen got out and stretched her fishnets.
I dried off the baggage with hotel washcloths and hitched it under the eaves for the night.
We all sighed.
And turned in.
And dreamt of arks.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The World's Second Smallest (Baggage) Trailer
How does one prepare for a trip across county with 1000 lbs of baggage and a tiny Subaru?
By finding the perfect trailer, of course.
The quest began months ago.
In the dark of winter, holed up in my little chalet (actually, it was a trailer, itself) in the wilds of Breckenridge, I spent many-a-frosty evening in the dark caverns of Craig's List: relentlessly foraging the unforgiving tunnels of clue-lessness.
Without the perfect trailer...I am NOTHING.
But, I also...knew nothing.
A blonde who barely passed high school algebra, what did I know about the laws of physics??
Surely, I can pull a 25 foot flatbed behind me...it rolls, right?
My Subaru manual said it could only pull 1500 lbs.
I might as well have been figuring out how many sticks of wrigley's it would take to reach the moon.
None of the trailers I looked at knew how much they weighed. Pshaw! Wouldn't it be great if we could all say that?
The manual also said I would need to get hitched.
(Insert screaming and slamming manual closed here)
If you know me, you know my feelings about that word.
Based on phone calls with every farmer and good ol' boy trying to unload a trailer from Fairplay to Frankfurt...one ought to know the empty weight of any trailer...without asking.
And getting hitched was as simple as calling Uhaul.
Really...?
This drove me on through mutliple nights of no sleep and even more wine bottles.
Soon, however. I realized.
I was using the trailer as an excuse to drink.
Something had to change.
I decided to immerse myself into the world of trailers. To conquer something, one must know it, completely.
I bellied up to bars called JJ's on rural routes called CR 669 and 1/2.
Made small talk with the regulars.
"If you were to pull, say 1000 pounds of baggage, across the country in a Subaru, you know, just by chance, what type of trailer would you use"?
Ol' Grizzly Bob would scratch his chin, toss back another shot of jager, think deeply...
"Dang. That's a lot of baggage".
I drove crooked backroads in towns like Berthoud, Colorado. Seeking answers.
Pulled over in crooked gravel lots. Went into crooked trailer yards.
Scene: 5 crooked men sitting at 5 crooked desks. Crooked legs kicked up over rounded bellies in crooked boots. Licking fried chicken off crooked fingers. Crooked door swings open. Dust blows in off the plains. There stands a blonde, city girl...dumb as a crooked post...and lookin' for a trailer.
Ka-CHING!!!
Straight as an arrow they'd sit.
They had me convinced I could take out a second mortgage (or in my case...a first) to purchase one of their beauties.
But, it fell through when I found out they couldn't take baggage as a down payment.
Then, I found it. Back in the caverns of Craig's List.
She was a gem. Tiny as a sidewalk square, The World's Smallest Trailer. Must weigh less than 1500 lbs and was right in my budget of...$100.
The World's Smallest Trailer
Su-weet.
I drove to the Boulder turnpike. To an avacado green house inhabited by motorcycles and made my purchase.
Turns out the trailer had been used to tote the 1000 lb German Shepard, who was snarling at me from under the thing, across the country.
Perfect. My baggage has been known to growl.
Satisfied. I went to bed with a smile on my face and dreamed of happy, dancing baggage trailers.
Until. The DMV.
Turns out you can't register "hot trailers" in the state of Colorado. You know...ones with the vin number scratched off that have been reported as stolen.
Oh.
Really...??
Back to the avacado green house to demand back my whopping $100.
Turns out, the dog had already eaten the check. So, we were good.
Back to the caverns.
Where I found: The World's Second Smallest Trailer.
A little more expensive..this bad boy set me back $175.
But, aint he adorable?
The World's Second Smallest Trailer
I drove to the suburbs of Littleton. To a quaint little house. With flowers and trees and lawn sprinklers. No German Shepards. Just a little yappy dog who peed on the trailer as I looked it over.
I smiled as I ran my fingers over the shiny VIN number.
And said.
You did good, kid. You did good.
It was love at first sight.
And we got hitched immdediately.
Now, to figure out how he's gonna carry ALL that baggage. Sigh.
By finding the perfect trailer, of course.
The quest began months ago.
In the dark of winter, holed up in my little chalet (actually, it was a trailer, itself) in the wilds of Breckenridge, I spent many-a-frosty evening in the dark caverns of Craig's List: relentlessly foraging the unforgiving tunnels of clue-lessness.
Without the perfect trailer...I am NOTHING.
But, I also...knew nothing.
A blonde who barely passed high school algebra, what did I know about the laws of physics??
Surely, I can pull a 25 foot flatbed behind me...it rolls, right?
My Subaru manual said it could only pull 1500 lbs.
I might as well have been figuring out how many sticks of wrigley's it would take to reach the moon.
None of the trailers I looked at knew how much they weighed. Pshaw! Wouldn't it be great if we could all say that?
The manual also said I would need to get hitched.
(Insert screaming and slamming manual closed here)
If you know me, you know my feelings about that word.
Based on phone calls with every farmer and good ol' boy trying to unload a trailer from Fairplay to Frankfurt...one ought to know the empty weight of any trailer...without asking.
And getting hitched was as simple as calling Uhaul.
Really...?
This drove me on through mutliple nights of no sleep and even more wine bottles.
Soon, however. I realized.
I was using the trailer as an excuse to drink.
Something had to change.
I decided to immerse myself into the world of trailers. To conquer something, one must know it, completely.
I bellied up to bars called JJ's on rural routes called CR 669 and 1/2.
Made small talk with the regulars.
"If you were to pull, say 1000 pounds of baggage, across the country in a Subaru, you know, just by chance, what type of trailer would you use"?
Ol' Grizzly Bob would scratch his chin, toss back another shot of jager, think deeply...
"Dang. That's a lot of baggage".
I drove crooked backroads in towns like Berthoud, Colorado. Seeking answers.
Pulled over in crooked gravel lots. Went into crooked trailer yards.
Scene: 5 crooked men sitting at 5 crooked desks. Crooked legs kicked up over rounded bellies in crooked boots. Licking fried chicken off crooked fingers. Crooked door swings open. Dust blows in off the plains. There stands a blonde, city girl...dumb as a crooked post...and lookin' for a trailer.
Ka-CHING!!!
Straight as an arrow they'd sit.
They had me convinced I could take out a second mortgage (or in my case...a first) to purchase one of their beauties.
But, it fell through when I found out they couldn't take baggage as a down payment.
Then, I found it. Back in the caverns of Craig's List.
She was a gem. Tiny as a sidewalk square, The World's Smallest Trailer. Must weigh less than 1500 lbs and was right in my budget of...$100.
The World's Smallest Trailer
Su-weet.
I drove to the Boulder turnpike. To an avacado green house inhabited by motorcycles and made my purchase.
Turns out the trailer had been used to tote the 1000 lb German Shepard, who was snarling at me from under the thing, across the country.
Perfect. My baggage has been known to growl.
Satisfied. I went to bed with a smile on my face and dreamed of happy, dancing baggage trailers.
Until. The DMV.
Turns out you can't register "hot trailers" in the state of Colorado. You know...ones with the vin number scratched off that have been reported as stolen.
Oh.
Really...??
Back to the avacado green house to demand back my whopping $100.
Turns out, the dog had already eaten the check. So, we were good.
Back to the caverns.
Where I found: The World's Second Smallest Trailer.
A little more expensive..this bad boy set me back $175.
But, aint he adorable?
The World's Second Smallest Trailer
I drove to the suburbs of Littleton. To a quaint little house. With flowers and trees and lawn sprinklers. No German Shepards. Just a little yappy dog who peed on the trailer as I looked it over.
I smiled as I ran my fingers over the shiny VIN number.
And said.
You did good, kid. You did good.
It was love at first sight.
And we got hitched immdediately.
Now, to figure out how he's gonna carry ALL that baggage. Sigh.
Review by David Marlowe
"Ms. Funkhouser is one of the brightest stars currently rising on the horizon of Colorado regional theatre. Go and see this superb new talent."-David Marlowe, Out Front
Murphy Funkhouser and Christopher Willard prove to be an unbeatable combination in the creation of “Crazy Bag,”the one-woman-show over at Vintage Theatre that is written and performed by Ms. Funkhouser. Christopher Willard directs the piece with his usual professional panache. Willard is that theatre genius whose work Denver theatre goers get to see all too infrequently.
Recently he decided to direct this script penned by Murphy Funkhouser. Willard’s direction of “Crazy Bag,” allows the actor/playwright’s memories and issues to live with vibrant urgency. The play itself has a good deal of comic material at its beginning, and then takes on a more serious tone near the end.
The adorable Murphy Funkhouser is one of the most expressive and charismatic actors you will ever see. She has a smile that lights up the room! Her comic timing is superb. The playwright envisions herself as a woman with “baggage.” Emotional baggage! We have all got it! The way she deals with it is through humor … and a few tears. So Mr. Willard has assembled a wide array of suitcases, valises and well, crazy bags which surround the central character. Their contents point to issues and memories of the past. There are a couple of moments in the second half of the show which get a little heavy. You will see what I mean when you get there. One wishes for a bit more of the comic to lift the viewer after one feels the devastation of the issues lying hidden in the bigger trunks.
Ms. Funkhouser is one of the brightest stars currently rising on the horizon of Colorado regional theatre. Go and see this superb new talent. The show has already been extended once. Don’t miss it.
Murphy Funkhouser and Christopher Willard prove to be an unbeatable combination in the creation of “Crazy Bag,”the one-woman-show over at Vintage Theatre that is written and performed by Ms. Funkhouser. Christopher Willard directs the piece with his usual professional panache. Willard is that theatre genius whose work Denver theatre goers get to see all too infrequently.
Recently he decided to direct this script penned by Murphy Funkhouser. Willard’s direction of “Crazy Bag,” allows the actor/playwright’s memories and issues to live with vibrant urgency. The play itself has a good deal of comic material at its beginning, and then takes on a more serious tone near the end.
The adorable Murphy Funkhouser is one of the most expressive and charismatic actors you will ever see. She has a smile that lights up the room! Her comic timing is superb. The playwright envisions herself as a woman with “baggage.” Emotional baggage! We have all got it! The way she deals with it is through humor … and a few tears. So Mr. Willard has assembled a wide array of suitcases, valises and well, crazy bags which surround the central character. Their contents point to issues and memories of the past. There are a couple of moments in the second half of the show which get a little heavy. You will see what I mean when you get there. One wishes for a bit more of the comic to lift the viewer after one feels the devastation of the issues lying hidden in the bigger trunks.
Ms. Funkhouser is one of the brightest stars currently rising on the horizon of Colorado regional theatre. Go and see this superb new talent. The show has already been extended once. Don’t miss it.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
3 STARS- Review-Denver Post
"The particulars of Funkhouser's life story aren't what make Funkhouser particularly remarkable. She's a minister's daughter who got kicked out of Bible college. She partied too hard, lived out of her car, got pregnant and straightened herself out. Not an altogether uncommon tale. Life can be a very self-destructive undertaking.
It's the young woman who emerged from all that — (adorably) damaged and yet ferociously ebullient. It's also that Funkhouser is a solid writer and expert comedian who knows how to pen and pack a punch line". -John Moore, Denver Post
It's the young woman who emerged from all that — (adorably) damaged and yet ferociously ebullient. It's also that Funkhouser is a solid writer and expert comedian who knows how to pen and pack a punch line". -John Moore, Denver Post
Monday, June 23, 2008
Side Note to Denver: Marketing Pride Day (or...having no pride when it comes to selling tickets)
Yesterday, My girlfriend, Jackie and I donned fishnets, black mini-skirts, covered ourselves in "Junk in the Trunk" bumperstickers and headed down to join the Denver Pride Parade.
Our mission? BAGGAGE PRIDE, baby!
Meaning: To sell more than a few tickets to the show.
In 95 degree weather we pounded the streets of Denver handing out fliers (ok, so we bribed the crowd to take them by offering free spray downs with water).
We worked the crowd. We joined in the fun. We had photos taken with fabulous boys in sequins. And covered ourselves in stickers and ribbons.
Overall, I gauged the event a success when a woman rode by on a uni-cycle, her top covered only by one of my bumper stickers.
Su-weet.
Then, we took station on a street corner and got down to the real business at hand. Giving out 2 for 1 tickets to the show after the parade was over.
People were hot. People were tired. Their hands were FULL of fliers.
And I was out of water in the spray bottles.
Eep.
There are over 300,000 people here today! This is a once-in-a-lifetime marketing opportunity. They are drunk. They are happy. I must give out every last flier...sell every last ticket.
Oh NO!
Suddenly, it hit me. The key to PRIDE is to have no pride. Relinquish all inhibitions. Throw these and all other silly fears into the sea of confetti.
I stuck a wad of tickets between my non-existent breasts and yelled out as loud as I could over the crowd...
"2 for 1 Theatre tickets and 6 free pairs between my breasts!!!"
And they came running.
We got mobbed.
Whether or not they will actually see the show?
I don't know.
But, I celebrated the day...
By being proud of me.
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