Up Yours With a 10-Foot Pole, Doggy!

So is it ironic or just plain sucky that on the day I’m auditioning for the role of a dog, I have NEVER HATED DOGS MORE IN MY LIFE.

I’m nervous.  I’m entering psycho-freakout stage.  But I know that once I get Moo into bed for her nap, I can prepare, re-read the play, and do what I need to calm my nerves.  Moo totally cooperates with this plan, falling asleep wham-bam on the way home from the grocery store.

But then - BUT THEN – as I’m scooping her out of the car (we have a carport), the dog next door starts frrrrrrrEAKing out.  I try to unbuckle Moo more quickly, but it’s no use – she’s awake.  The stupid dog continues to yell at us as I quietly sing to Moo and rub her back, and I want to KILL. THAT DOG.  I really, honestly do.  I even looked around for a rock to throw at it.  WHY DO WE NOT HAVE ANY LARGE ROCKS IN OUR YARD?  Maybe that’s a good thing.  I couldn’t even yell at it, because I was still hoping that Moo would fall back asleep.  So I just had to settle for flipping it off.  He looked confused for a second, and continued barking, even louder. 

And may I just point out, that this dog has lived next door to us for over a year?  We live here!  GET USED TO IT, you stupid smelly ugly dog. 

So now Moo is not-sleeping in her bed, I am furious AND freaked out, AND I hate the animal I am auditioning to portray, and there is no hope.

No hope, no hope.

TO THE DEVIL WITH YOU, DOG!

Cold Sweats

Oh shit.  Audition tonight.

I started out the morning feeling cool, figuring I’m getting better at this audition thing, because usually first thing in the morning on an audition day I have stomach cramps.  But now it’s after noon and I’m entering the catatonic fear-freeze stage, having skipped over the stomach cramps (although I’m sure they’ll turn up sooner or later).  This is where I wander around the house, sweaty and shivery, half aware of Moo playing happily in the corner. 

If she asks me to play with her I don’t know what I’ll do.  I am certainly not capable of playing “Dinosaur Train” at the moment.

Surely I am going to spontaneously combust at any moment.

I know, I’ll print out my new resumes (edited to add that nifty Zoni nomination!).  But I still haven’t thought of anything to put under “special skills.”  I can’t do accents.  Well, unless you count vaguely southern “Dinosaur Train” conductors.

Why why why does there have to be IMPROV??

Eeeeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuaaaack!

Thud.

Doomsday

Tonight is opening night!  Or, technically, preview night, which means the entire cast views this as opening night, and the entire production staff views it as a final dress rehearsal.  You say finahle, I say finaale, whatever – there’s an audience.  An audience FILLED with people I know, even though I thought I made it clear after the last show that people who know me are NOT allowed to attend opening night, because it usually kinda stinks a little bit.  But noooo, my parents are coming, and bringing their lifelong friends the Bensons, as in Mrs. Benson, who taught me high school English and who I always hope will be proud of me, because she’s the kind of person that when she’s proud of you, oooh it’s just the warmiest, fuzziest feeling.  (Next to my mom being proud of me, of course.)  AND my mom invited a whole gaggle of teacher friends, AND my in-laws are coming, AND Miss Kate of “Kiss Me Kate” and Aaaaaaaah!

And, AND – apparently a critic is coming.  Mary the director was not supposed to tell us that, but I think she felt that we weren’t trying hard enough (oh, but we are we are we are, Mary), and decided we needed a little extra pressure.

So, yes, I’m feeling the pressure.  PRESSHAHH! as Billy Joel would say, who I believe is in concert downtown tonight.  I wonder if he still gets nervous, after all these years?

I confessed to my mom this morning that it’s very likely that I will hit a few wrong notes.  I can sing those harmonies backwards and forwards in rehearsal, but when it comes time to walk out on stage, my brain malfunctions.  My mom pointed out that the audience won’t mind, because people are off-key on American Idol all the time, and Randy Jackson always just gently mentions that they were a bit “pitchy.”

It’s true, “pitchy” is such a nice friendly word, but somehow, envisioning Randy Jackson’s pity face does not calm me down.

So I sought counsel.

“Break a leg!  You’ll be great,” said Herbie.

“Just have fun!” said my Mom.

And when I lamented to Mary that Chita would not have the problems I’m experiencing, she proclaimed, “Oh no - Chita messed up ALL the time.”

Hey, that IS comforting!

…Curtain up!  Light the lights!

First Rehearsal – The World Goes Round

AAGH.  (I wonder how many posts I’ve started  with this Cathy-like cry of despair?)

Two hours until our first rehearsal for “The World Goes Round,” and as expected, I am kind of a mess.  We’re starting with a music rehearsal at Fawna’s house, and I must admit I find her a tad frightening.  I’m afraid if I don’t excel off the bat, she will hit me with her Glare of Utter Disdain and tell the director I’m going to ruin the show.  (This fear is not totally unfounded, but that’s all I’ll say about that.)  I’ve been working and working on the music and lyrics, and just when I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on the harmonies, I try to sing with the Broadway recording and cannot find one single correct note.  The last time I tried, Moo frowned and said, “Ehh, Mommy.  Not too good.”

Even my biggest fan is disappointed.  That is not a good sign.

Da Da Da Da Daaa Da Oof, Ick

I realized yesterday that I have a LOT of work to do over the next two weeks if I am going to “learn” all this music by the time rehearsals start on February 16th.  I say “learn” because when I sat down to work on a couple of these songs last night, it became clear that some of these harmonies are simply impossible and make no logical sense in the realm of musical theory (because clearly I am an expert in musical theory), and so certainly the powers that be will soon realize this as well and just let us all sing in unison.

This is sort of what that realization sounded like, or what I imagine it sounded like to Herbie, sitting in the next room: “Life izzz a ca-buh-ray oh God raaay oh shoot raaay? old chum, come to the- um COME oh crap come to the ca-aa-aaaack oh shit buhhh buh?? BUH! ray ray ray RAY? ray ray?? RAY oh WHAT THE *$&*#&! BWAH-AAAH this makes no SENSE boo hoo hoo… Herbeeee!”

And so on.

Right about the time I started weeping in self-pity, I remembered the conversation I had with my friend Snow White last week.  Telling her about the show and these songs with crazy harmonies, I asked if she remembered much from our time in Mrs. Murphy’s high school choir.  I seemed to recall we sat next to each other.

“Yes,” Snow White said.  “You were always asking me for the right note.”

Oh no.  That sounded very, disturbingly familiar.

But this time, I will not have Snow White to tell me the right note to sing, since a) Snow White is not in the show (a minor detail), and b) I will be the ONLY one singing those particular notes.  I am on my own.

I am screwed.

Feeling Fluish?

I completely convinced myself that I had the stomach flu on Monday, the day of the callback audition.  I had no idea that I had such power over my own stomach.  The day started out fine – nerves, of course – but there was nothing I could prepare for the audition, so all I could do was play with Moo and wait for 7:30 p.m.

As that time grew closer, my stomach started turning cartwheels.  A volcano began to rumble inside my small intestine.  I got dizzy and shivery.  Moo and I ended up spending most of the afternoon in the bathroom, and I kept warning her – “Mommy might throw up in the toilet, sweetie, but it will be okay.”

Finally, Herbie got home, and I clung to him, moaning.  “I know you probably think it’s just nerves,” I said, “And I wish it was, but I really think I have the flu.”

Herbie felt my forehead.  “Am I hot?”

“Maybe…” he said.  I could tell he wasn’t convinced.  I didn’t know if I wanted him to believe me or not.  If he could convince me it was just in my head, maybe it would just vanish and I wouldn’t have to worry about passing out or throwing up at the callback.  But at the same time, I didn’t want him to think I was crazy – plus, I wanted him to feel sorry for me.

The nausea increased.  “I have to lay down,” I said.  Herbie’s brow furrowed.  I wasn’t trying to get out of going to the callback.  I desperately wanted this ickiness to go away so I could do my best, but I just knew that I had picked up a big bad virus and might not be able to make it through the audition.

Somehow I managed to get dressed and curl my hair.  I kissed Moo and Herbie goodbye, clutching my stomach.

“You can do this,” Herbie assured me. 

“Oookay…” I whimpered.

I sang all the way to the audition while my stomach continued to flip-flop dangerously.  Finally, I pulled into the parking lot.  A friend of mine greeted me while I climbed out of the car, trying to shake off the feverish shivers.  We walked toward the building, I opened the door,and -

It went away.  Poof!  I felt perfectly fine.

I am, in fact, a crazy person!

Help!

I really think I’m going to throw up.

Oh God, oh God.

I am not emotionally capable of handling two auditions in one day, especially when I am still not sure which songs I’m singing, and if I can actually hit any of the notes in any of the songs, and even especiallier because I might be vomiting while trying to sing.

Oh God, oh God.

It’s just singing, right?  It’s just like karaoke.  EXCEPT WITHOUT ALCOHOL.

Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!!!

I’m going to crumble into pieces.  I’m going to spontaneously combust.  I am going to melt into a pile of humiliated goo when they look at me with their sad pitying eyes after I totally mess up the songs.

I DON’T WANT TO GO!

Sunday Approacheth

So yes, I did actually get around to picking up the damn phone and making those audition appointments.  Hooray?

This Sunday at 2:10, I audition for Desert Foothills Theater’s production of “The World Goes ‘Round,” a Kander and Ebb musical revue (they’re the guys that wrote Cabaret and Chicago).  It’s only a five-person cast, three women, two men, and they’re looking for “singers who move well.”  I think I can safely say I’m more of an actor/dancer who can sing sorta okay.  I think I could bump singing up on the totem pole if I had (lots of) lessons (perhaps from my dear Kate, the bonniest Kate that ever was?), but for now, I’ll just have to give it my best shot.

Three hours later, at 5:15, I have an audition for “Sweeney Todd” at Theater Works.  I think I’d have a blast in the ensemble, if we were blessed with a music director who gave us a little more instruction then just suggesting we “find a note.” 

So I’m all set to get my audition on (aw yeah), but the only teeny tiny problem is I have no idea what I’m going to sing.  Freaking singing.  I wish I could bust out “Old MacDonald.”  I really do a divine chicken squawk.  But no – Desert Foothills would like a ballad AND an uptempo song.  Theater Works would like a song written by Stephen Sondheim (the mad genius composer of “Sweeney Todd.”)  So like a good little auditioner (auditionee?), I made the trip to the central library downtown and poured through all the music books.  I had my list all ready of the songs I needed – but unfortunately every single score I needed was checked out – clearly I have an unknown nemesis out there who is trying to sabotage my quest.

So I am at a complete loss.  I have no idea what to sing.  If I think about it too long, I start to panic, but if I don’t think about it, I will find myself standing in front of the auditioners (auditionators?) with nothing to sing.

What the hell am I going to do?!?!

Three Rehearsals To Go…

…And I may owe some of you refunds for the cost of your tickets.

I thought things might improve once we got into the actual theater (which is beautiful), but…

There are no words.

Well, maybe a few.  Let’s make a list:

Cons:

“Cantiamo” might be cut from the show (the one song where I have a sorta-kinda solo part!).
I was so excited to be in the dance section of ”Too Darn Hot” and now there’s no room to dance.  
People are still forgetting their lines.  A lot.
The word “shit” was actually uttered onstage during a song.
I got whipped in the eye three times during the twirly ribbon dance.
I covered an actor’s missed entrance, and then got blamed for pausing too much during my lines (which were actually ad-libs).

Pros:

Nobody fell off the stage.

Scene 1: Post-Rehearsal, Ext. Carport

I pull into the carport around 10 p.m., and there’s Herbie glaring up at the sky.

Mama:  What are you doing?
Herbie: Trying to figure out what’s circling around up there?
Mama:  A police helicopter with its searchlight on.
Herbie: Oh, nice.

We LOVE our neighborhood.

H:  How was it?
M:  *Deep sigh*
H:  Geez, you’re like this (Herbie makes universal rollercoaster hand motions)
M:  We got the schedule for this week - I have rehearsal Every. Single. Night.
H:  What?  Not Friday.
M:  Friday.
H:  What?!

Seriously - maybe we didn’t think this through well enough.  I feel slightly panicked. I just didn’t think – well, first of all I just thought Fridays were off-limits – aren’t Friday nights protected by law? Didn’t Bush get that passed?

Apparently not.  Which puts a lot of things in jeopardy – our anniversary outing, Herbie’s birthday celebration, our sanity…

Am I going to have rehearsal five nights a week for the next two months?!

Or for the next SIX months, if I keep this up?!

Oh no.  What have I gotten myself into?