Do You Know Why My Garter is White?*

Six shows = six garters that I fling out to the audience (rubber-band-style) during “All That Jazz.”  Let’s take a look at the statistics:

Garter #1:  landed pitifiully in the first row, where no one was sitting.

Garter #2: Aimed squarely at Herbie in the third row, but landed in the seat right in front of him.  Guy next to Herbie made a play to grab it himself, but Herbie claimed it first.  “Gonna go up to her after the show?” said the guy.  “Nice.”  “Well, actually, she’s my wife,” said Herbie.  “But good idea.”  Garter 2 now hangs on our headboard.

Garter #3:  Perfectly flipped into the lap of a man in the middle of the third row.  I rejoiced until intermission, when one of the ushers handed it back to me.  Rejected!

Garter #4:  The night of the Great Boob (Almost) Escape.  I was so angry about my costume malfunction, I took it out on the garter, fwanging it straight up instead of down toward the audience.  This turned out well, as the garter reached all the way to the 6th row and was not returned to me.

Garter #5:   Flipped respectfully into third row, right at an older gentleman.  After the show, the gentleman found me and handed me the garter.  “It’s a souvenir!” I protested.  “You can keep it!”  “I would,” the man said, “but I don’t think my wife likes the idea.”  Hee.

Garter #6:  My last garter, my last performance!  My whole family attended the show, and I couldn’t see any of them in the audience until the very beginning of “All That Jazz,” when I spied my dad sitting in the stage right section.  He looked like he was in about the 7th row, but I thought I could make it.  How fun, to fling it to my dad during my last show!  Everything was going so well – I eased the garter down my leg and over my shoe without falling over (always a challenge), spun it around on my finger, aimed and…FWANG!  “Noooo I’m no one’s wife!” I sang, looking for the garter landing out in the audience.  Wait a minute, where did it go?  I looked down – ACK! (which, apparently, I said out loud.)  There it was at my feet!  How did that happen?!  I could NOT end this way! ”But ohhhh I love my life!” I sang.  I picked up the garter like a hot potato, twirled around, and flung it like a frisbee out into the audience, where it landed in the 10th row, right in a very startled gentleman’s face.  Ha.  And no, he didn’t return it.

And allll….

that….

jaaaaazzzzz!

 

*Because everyone who’s passed above it has gone to heaven!

All That Boob

So there I was, shimmying over to Ricky at the beginning of “All That Jazz” last night, when all of a sudden I felt – kinda naked.

I looked down and saw that the strap of my costume had ripped off, and Left Boob was precariously close to popping out to say hello to the audience.  I don’t know how I kept singing.  I am told I DID keep singing, whew.  As soon as I could, I reached up and pressed the sequined flap of material to my skin, hoping some left over Spray Mount would keep me covered up for the next five minutes.

Thank God for Spray Mount!

But I was so angry.  Here I only had three more chances to perform a song I’ve always dreamed of performing, and suddenly, due to factors completely beyond my control, one of those chances was ruined.  It’s like somebody really wanted to teach me a Life Lesson, and I just really wanted to flip that person the bird.  I couldn’t shimmy, I couldn’t shake.  I couldn’t lean over or bend backwards.  I did a quick experiment in the possiblity of shaking one’s hips without shaking one’s torso, with some success.  And the whole time I felt sure that the audience’s eyes were glued on Left Boob, waiting to see if it would peek out for its own chance in the spotlight.

But after quizzing practically everyone in the audience after the show, absolutely NO ONE had noticed that my strap had fallen off.  No one!  Herbie and Rosalind just thought I wasn’t in a shimmying mood.

Fine, fine, lesson learned.

My mom and my sister spent an hour today reinforcing every strap on that sucker (and found about three other rips and tears while they were at it), and so by God, I shall not be naked tonight.

I SHALL SHIMMY!

(Did I just jinx myself?)

Fringe A-Flyin’

 Heh heh…

Opening Night

I was prepared for the giant Mothra-sized butterflies in my tummy, rearing up every 20 minutes or so.  But I was not prepared to suddenly start crying on the way to the show.

I was rehearsing one of my songs, “Colored Lights,” during which sometimes I get choked up, because the song hits so close to home.  It’s basically a woman singing about past relationships and how everything always seemed so perfect, and yet she felt so sad, because the colored lights of her childhood were missing.  In the original song, she’s singing about literal colored lights, because she grew up in a roller-skating rink (random), but when I sing it, I’m singing more metaphorically, about how everything is full of hope and light when you’re young (like when I dreamed of being on stage, and like when I still WAS doing theatre as a youngster).

So I often get a little teary singing that song, but I suddenly started really pouring out the waterworks on the way to the show.  It has been such a long journey back to being on stage, and the full meaning of being there suddenly crashed down on me – all the years of feeling kinda empty but trying to ignore it, all the support I’ve received after deciding I’d like to try auditioning again – well I was just a big weepy wuss.

So much so that I had trouble turning it off.  Even waiting in the wings before our entrance at the top of the show, I was fighting back tears, and had to tell myself sternly that I had a job to do.  So I pulled it together until the end of “All That Jazz,” which was just so much FUN – oh God, those drums!!  The number went really well, even though my garter sort of impotently flopped into the first row when I shot it out into the audience, not landing in anyone’s lap.  I was so – jazzed, forgive the pun – with the feeling of dreams realized, the tears started again, and Ricky sort of looked at me, alarmed, and escaped to his dressing room.

Overall, I think the show went well.  My loved ones and friends insisted they didn’t hear any off-key notes, and whether they were being honest or just nice, I’ll take it.  During intermission, the fire alarm went off (crazy wind outside), and the fire curtain came down over the stage, so there were about 15 panicked minutes as the entire production staff tried to figure out how to rid the stage of a giant sheet of metal.  We finally shed the fire curtain, and once the second act got going, the biggest issues were costume changes, fears of costumes falling off (I had three minutes on stage where I was convinced my pants were falling off), microphones going out (just for a second), and evil harmonies.

There were reports of a few people asleep in the front row, but everyone I talked to said they loved the show.  Of course, those people HAD to say they loved it, but I do think, regardless of scary harmonies and the need for a little more rehearsal, that it’s a very entertaining show.

And after “All That Jazz,” I didn’t cry again – well, at least not until my mom came running up to me after the show.  There’s just something about your mom looking really proud of you…

Evidence That I’m Not Making All This Up

Somebody was taking pictures at dress rehearsal!

We do a lot of pointing in this show.  We really, REALLY want you to pay attention:

 

One of the evil harmony songs in which I look like I’m being tortured:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I believe I am singing the word, “JAAAAAAAZZZZ!”: 

 

Roller skates!  That is genuine  terror on Ricky’s face:

 

My “Mamma Mia” costume!  This is the point in the song where I ask the audience if my thighs look fat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“He liked to throw the bull, but he was no matador!”

Norm Saperstein, my alter ego’s true love:

 

 

 

 

 

“The Grass is Always Greener,” in which apparently I make this crazy expression:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think that might be my favorite picture ever.

Tech Week, Day 1

Tech week, that glorious stretch of frantic freak-outs leading up to opening night, began yesterday.  It was our first rehearsal on the stage – the first time we got to see the theatre and stage where we’ll be performing (and roller-skating).  I got there early, trying to look my very best as a personal favor to Mary, who called and requested that I wear something nice, comb my hair and put on some lipstick, so that the costume designer might be convinced that I am not, in fact, a 12-year-old girl.  So I wore my highest heels and ruffly sexy tank top and blotted on some lipstick, and Mary gave me a wink that I think meant she appreciated the transformation.

Then we tried on costumes for the first act (love my sexy-back magenta leotard) and played around with some hats and props, before beginning the terribly slow slog through each number, re-blocking and getting used to the new space.

We’re all getting a bit twitchy.  We want to just get on with it, get this show up and going, while at the same time we’re desperate for more rehearsal time.  Mary is terribly worried about one of us getting hurt in the roller-skating number, and as a result I am relegated to the bench for part of the number, and I don’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.  We still haven’t staged the finale, but at least I’ve learned the German I have to sing in that number (I mean, I’m probably butchering it, but only my brother- and sister-in-law will know!).  I’d love to rehearse “All That Jazz” about a million more times, but at least now there’s an actual piano (as opposed to a keyboard) for Ricky to lift me up onto, and now I’m consumed by the desire to drape myself across it a la Michelle Pfeiffer in the Fabulous Baker Boys, but I don’t think that’s what Mary had in mind.

Mama, to Ricky:  “Have you ever lifted a girl up onto a piano before?”

Ricky:  “Well, not onto a piano…”

Hmmmm.

Tonight:  LIGHTS!  And wireless mics, and more costume fittings, and more re-staging, re-blocking, re-choreographing and re-configuring, until hopefully, on Thursday night, it all explodes into an orgasmic delight of musical theatre.

Or something like that.

Baby Steps

Last night we ran (well, jogged) through Act I, and while I felt pretty discouraged (a little flat sometimes, can’t remember which way to sway, cannot BREATHE), Mary the director seemed quite pleased.

My silver strappy 3-inch heels arrived and I wobbled around on those for the first half of rehearsal, pitter-pattering on tip-toe through the many songs in which we run frantically around the stage.  That’s really difficult in 3-inch heels.  It’s also going to get more difficult since the costume designer wants us to wear pantyhose.  Pantyhose inside strappy heels = I am going to slip and fall on my face.  I swear, I will glue individual rhinestones on my dance shoes if that’s what it takes to get the Powers That Be to let me wear them instead of stilettos.

Now that we all have our roller skates for “The Rink,” we also practiced roller-skating together for the first time.  It’s really kind of scary, especially since I’m now deeply paranoid about potential head injuries.  The idea was for me to use my lack of skating talent by having me careen across the stage and crash in the wings – but that means I have to actually make it all the way across the stage without falling over until I get to the wings.  Fake-careening, as it turns out, is a rather advanced roller-skating skill.

This afternoon I’m getting my hair cut and colored.  I’m going blonder!  Part of me keeps scolding myself for paying so much for a style that I wouldn’t particularly choose without the influence of the director and wig-loving cotume designer, but then again I do think it’s lovely to have an excuse to make such a big change.  Or, biggish change.  We’ll see how brave I am at the salon.

Rehearsal Update

Roller Skates:  I received mine on Friday night, really expecting roller skating to be easier than I anticipated.  I was so wrong.  My feet are so heavy!  Everyone keeps telling me to just lift up one foot and drag the stopper thingy to, you know, stop – but I don’t see how that’s going to keep my other foot from continuing forward and causing me to land on my face, since that’s the law of physics, isn’t it?  An object in motion stays in motion, or something like that?  “Tends to stay in motion,” Herbie chided me.  “Just use your leg muscles.”  I AM!

Fringe:  My “All That Jazz” costume is fabulous beyond words.  There’s so much fringe, in fact, that I may choke on a few pieces during the number, but hey, I worship at the Altar of Fringe, so it’s worth it, right?

Harmonies:  Improving slowly, if somewhat inconsistently.  If we start at the beginning and sing straight through the song, I can usually hit the right notes.  But if we stop to fix choreography and re-start in the middle of a line, I’m screwed.  At least there won’t be any stopping and starting when we actually perform.

Wig:  I may have to wear one.  I really do not want to (I don’t feel like myself, in a show where I am essentially playing myself, and Moo won’t even recognize me! …In fact, no one may be able to recognize me).  In an effort to avoid wigdom, I’m getting my hair cut before the show.   I was already planning on going blonder, so what the hell, I’ll go shorter too, and hey! why not throw in some bangs as well?

Crutches:  Apparently we’re going to be dancing with those.  On purpose, not because Mary expects us all to have broken limbs by the time we open.

Hats that Light Up:  Are also going to make an appearance.

Breathing:  Is very difficult when dancing, juggling coffee cups, and roller skating.

Ticking Clock:  17 days until preview night.  Eep.

Shimmy-Shake

Things are looking up.  (I’m pretty sure that’s from a musical – Crazy for You? Anyone?)  Starting Saturday, rehearsals have left me smiling instead of pouting.  I decided to put the whole bye-bye-one-minute-of-my-song issue behind me and focus on my job as an actor – selling the song.  So I did all my actory work and showed up to work on the song with Mary the director.  I sang once, I sang twice, I sang the song three times, and at the end I had my arms reaching out to the audience.  I looked over at Mary, who waggled her fingers at me.   I waggled my fingers back, thinking she wanted some finger-waggling at the end of the song.  “No, no, come here!” she demanded, so I scurried to her side, and she held her arms out to HUG ME.

Oh bliss!

Then we started working on “All That Jazz.”  The choreography is a little simpler than I had perhaps imagined, but I should really just keep my mouth shut because I’m already struggling for breath trying to sing the lyrics while just doing a simple touch-step, hip-hip shimmy.

I do a LOT of shimmying and shaking.

Last night I tried on my costume for the first time, and it is freaking fringetastic.  And as if the black-and-electric-blue fringe wasn’t enough, I also get elbow-length fingerless blue gloves and a fancy beaded choker.  AND a garter that I get to remove and shoot at some fella in the audience every night.  So TAKE THAT all youz guys who believed I could only be quirky on stage and not sultry.  Ha-HA!

Well I guess I should keep the I told you so’s on hold until I see if people react to my shimmying and garter-shooting with oooohs! or huhhhhs?

Today I turn 35.

More on that later.

Chita: The Legend!

One more night of rehearsal and then a blissful break.  I think we just might make it, although Moo decided to make the challenge a little harder by running a 102 fever yesterday.  She slumped on the couch watching the Oscars with us (Hugh Jackman opening: thumbs up; Hugh Jackman/Beyonce musical number: way to kill the comeback of the movie musical, guys), zonked out on Herbie’s chest for an hour, and finally fought through the fever and slept 12 hours.  Whew.

As for rehearsals, we’ve finished our music rehearsals, which I guess means we’re supposed to know the music down pat (um, no).  Things sound fairly decent though, except for the times when everything falls apart, but I must admit when we get it right, we sound pretty great.  Friday night I went out for a glass of wine with Duckie and Blaze and decided that I love them deeply and we will be friends forever.  Granted, that was right at the end of a hefty glass of merlot.  But I still adore them.

Tonight we start staging Act I, and even though I should be completely burned out and desperate for a break, I can’t wait.  I love this.  I love this.  And it doesn’t hurt that we’re led by the slightly intimidating, but imminently worshipable Mary, who decided she’s going to call me Kit-Kat, and nonchalantly mentioned yesterday that Chita Rivera is her best friend, at which point I shrieked and melted into a puddle on the ground.  No, I didn’t, but I did clutch my chest and sway a little.

CHITA.

Chiiiiiita!  Be still my heart.  Chita, who made “All That Jazz” famous.

 

 

I wonder if Mary choreographed that?!  Here’s what I can’t stop thinking:  what if Mary and Chita were talking on the phone (because apparently they frequently do), and Mary said to Chita Rivera, “Oh, I’m directing this show and I’ve got a girl doing ‘All That Jazz.’  She’s doing a pretty good job.”  THAT COULD HAPPEN. 

Daydreams like this get me through those 102-fever moments.