Waah wah wah

I probably shouldn’t start writing at nearly-midnight, because all I want to write about is how I am SO TIRED.  Which makes for incredibly captivating reading, of course.

I’m disappointed in myself for slacking on the blog.  My stamina is being sorely tested – as a mom, wife, and performer.   First, we are out of frozen waffles, and I’m pretty sure they can revoke my Mom membership card for that oversight.  Second, my husband spent all day mowing the lawn, repairing the roof, and then doing all the boring computer maintenance that I’m too lazy to do, and all I did tonight was lay on the couch and grumble. 

And finally - performing.  Oy, my aching bones!  This show requires vast amounts of energy – we are all on stage almost the entire show, and at this point, with rehearsals starting to feel endless, we can hardly tell our right foot from our left, much less remember if we’re supposed to bounce up and down or sway side to side.  Here’s a quick breakdown:

1) I sing a song and we all run around madly shaking bells.  At end of song, I am left for gawping for breath, hoping I don’t look like a dying fish.
2)  Ricky sings.  Whew!  A short break.
3)  Everybody else sings.  Hey, what am I complaining about?
4)  We all sing, bend our bodies into impossible positions, fall on the floor, and then dance with crutches.  Easy-peasy!
5)  Blaze and I sing about the grass being greener on somebody else’s weiner, pot roasts, and large whale sexual organs.  Or something like that.
6)  Everybody else sings again.  Short nap in the wings, perhaps?
7)  Money money money money and let’s all run around in circles with hats and oh shit do we take off our hats now?  Now?  What about now?  Yikes, ending pose, and…
8)  Zwooom rush off stage to whooosh rush back on stage and sing EVIL SONG FROM HELL, which surprisingly, every once in a while, just for a moment, is a little bit fun.  Try to paste look of ease and pleasure on my face instead of the face I make while pooping or throwing up, which would come more naturally during this song.
9)  And zwip! skitter to the wings to rrrrip! off skirts and fwoop!  fwoop! put on sparkly jackets while hoping that my ass doesn’t look huge in the green leotard and singing about how the world goes around and around and around and around and you get the idea…
10) and Bonjour!  We all sing in different languages to the tune of “New York, New York” while trying to remember whether our arms are at a 45 or 90-degree angle and how long do we hold “Yorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrk?” and man, I really do think my ass will look blubbery in that leotard. 

The End.

And that’s just the second act!

If I wasn’t so tired, it would be so much easier to remember that this is all so gloriously FUN.

Zzzzz.

The Broom and the Doom

As Herbie predicted (smartypants), I came home last night with a smile on my face, humbly admitting that he was right and I didn’t humiliate myself.  Not that it was easy.  For three hours, every muscle in my body strained and tensed in an effort to help my brain and voice follow the harmonies and hit the right notes.   I got a headache the instant I got back in the car to go home.  Poor tired brain.  Luckily, we were mostly all in the same boat (the S.S. Oh God What’s My Note Again?) as far as learning the music, except for Julie, who is blessed with an extensive background in singing and the vocal chords of an angel.

I have to say, when we all hit the right notes, it sounds pretty magical.  Even stupid “Cabaret.”  We spent almost a whole hour picking through Cabaret note by note, and I found out that I’m the lucky one who almost always get stuck with the wackadoo note in the chord (also called the “dissonant” note, but I prefer “wackadoo,” or even “effed up”).  I kept having to ask for my notes for “the broom” and “the doom” over and over again, until I felt that the Glare of Utter Disdain would soon shoot over Fawna’s shoulder, so I shut my mouth, and didn’t mention that I hadn’t been singing when we finished and Fawna declared, “Oh, that sounded wonderful!”

But that was just one hiccup in the evening.  Overall, I think I hit many more correct notes than painful-t0-the-ear notes.  Tonight, we have a pow-wow with the director and we also get measured for costumes, which means I must now throw myself to the ground and do 500 sit-ups, in hopes that my leftover baby-belly will disappear by 8:30 p.m.

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.

Life is NOT a Cabaret

I diligently worked on learning music last night, once while the termite guy inspected our house (buh-bye, $600), and later after Moo went to bed.  Here’s what it sounded like when I was alone:  {doom. gloom.}  And here’s what it sounded like when Herbie was home last night, except with curses replaced by the word “snack:”:  “What the snack!  Mothersnack!  This makes no snacking sense!  Snack snacking SNACKER!”

The song that really makes me want to snack is “Cabaret,” the hell song of Satan in five-part harmony.  I worked on it for over an hour and finally got to the point where I can sort of sing it if I hunch over in the fetal position with my eyes closed and my hands over my face.  That will look great on stage.  About 30 minutes in, the real problem occured to me – these notes – this crazy snacked-up five part harmony is NOTHING like a cabaret.  It does NOT make me want to taste the wine, or hear the band, or blow my horn and start celebrating.

I believe the song arrangement is supposed to be some sort of homage to that delightful 80’s group, Manhattan Transfer.  Sure sounds a lot like them.  Rosalind had never heard of Manhattan Transfer, so maybe they’re not as well known as I thought (so then why do they deserve an homage?).   Hence, I present to you, Manhattan Transfer (I HIGHLY recommend starting at the 1:40 mark – it will brighten your day x 100):

 

Maybe it will help if I bust out some of those sweet dance moves?

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.

Dress for Movement

As per my experts’ advice, I called back my callback, who told me, yup, come dressed for movement.

What does that mean, anyway?

Well, it definitely means that I cannot, as Kate recommended, arrive wearing what I wore yesterday, because I cannot even sit in those jeans, let alone move in a dancelike manner.  I had to unbutton them just to drive there, and then of course I forgot that my jeans were unbuttoned until I was almost to the door and had to duck behind a palm tree to button up.

So what to wear?

I only have two pairs of jeans – very uncomfortable, can’t-sit-down jeans, and very comfortable jeans that stretch out after 20 minutes and make me look like I have a saggy bottom, or like I pooped in my pants. 

But I don’t think I’m supposed to come decked out for dance, am I?  AM I?  I don’t really have any cute dance clothes, anyway.  I think it’s going to have to be the poopy pants jeans.

Complicating matters even further, I REALLY WANT TO BE IN THIS SHOW.  “The World Goes ‘Round” – I have the whole soundtrack now, and I love every single song so much (except for “Cabaret,” which sounds like a cover by Manhattan Transfer).  I NEED to sing these songs.  Ohhhh I want it so badly.  And I’m dying to work with this director – I know I could learn so much from her.  I mean, remember that scene in “The Sound of Music” when Liesl goes leaping from bench to bench in the gazebo while it’s pouring rain outside?  I remember watching that movie as a little girl, watching Liesl leap high into the air again and again, and thinking, “I want to learn how to do THAT.”  And the choreographer of that moment is directing the show!  Oh, oh, oh. 

I want it too much.  I know I do.  It will hurt if (when?) I’m rejected.  But I guess it’s like the song goes - ”One day it’s kicks, then it’s kicks in the shins – but the planet spins, and the world goes ’round and ’round and ’round and ’round and ’round and ’round… ”

#2 – The World Goes ‘Round, Desert Foothills Theater

Hey!  That actually went a little better than “I didn’t die!”

In fact, that audition may have actually gone pretty well!

I was a complete mess beforehand, pacing back and forth in the hall, tap dancing nervously – and then I remembered Kate Winslet – “Gather.”  So I mentally grabbed the fragments of my mind that were flying all out of control and reined them in.  I took a deep breath, and then they called my name.

As soon as I walked in the door to the audition room, I felt fine.  Sure, I still didn’t know if I was going to be able to hit the right notes, but I remembered something important as the director and musical director greeted me:  People are generally nice.  These folks are not setting me up for failure, and they really don’t want to laugh and point fingers at me.  They want me to do well.

So I handed over my headshot and resume (“Nice headshot!” said the director - Thanks Rosalind!) and gave my music to the pianist.  The director looked over my resume for a minute, commenting on AMDA and my numerous dance classes.  “Gather, gather, gather!”  I thought.  I decided not to include 15-year-old theatre credits on my resume.  Instead, I put a little sentence at the top about how I was giving this whole ding-darn theatre thang (no, that’s not what I wrote) another shot, and included just “Kiss Me Kate.”  The director skipped down to the “Special Skills” section on my resume and laughed out loud.  “Listen to her special skills,” she said.  “Dancing in high heels, staying far away from backstage drama, making my 2-year-old laugh, rocky road brownies.”  They all laughed.  Whew!  I thought maybe that was too cutesy, but I’ll take a laugh anyway I can get it.

Finally, I sang.  I was doing pretty well, and then the keyboard shorted out right before my big money notes.  They spent a few minutes fixing the keyboard, and then asked me to sing the song again.  Then they asked me to sing another song.  And then the director said she’d like to hear me sing yet another song.

“One from the show?” I said hopefully.  “I’m pretty familiar with ‘Cabaret,’ or ‘Colored Lights.’”

They picked “Colored Lights,” which thank God I had downloaded just yesterday and listened to over and over again.  It’s a lovely song and in the sweet spot for my voice – I think I sounded – well, not bad.

“So what else do you do?” asked the director.

“I’m a mom,” I said.  “And…I write.  And take dance classes whenever I can fit them in,” I answered.  Pretty boring.  I should have said something witty.  Or I should have gushed about how I would be so excited to work with her (this is the woman that choreographed the movie Mary Poppins!  The chimney sweeps, for God’s sake!!).  But I just smiled and felt like I was 12 years old, and she asked if I was available for callbacks tomorrow night.

“YES,” I said, dripping saliva.

And for a moment, I really thought she was going to tell me to come to callbacks right then.  But instead, she kicked me out, “So we can talk about you.”

Well.  Whew.

Unlike the last time I left an audition, I did not feel the immediate need to stuff my face with jelly donuts.

That’s got to be a big improvement, right?

Off to Audition #2!

And Now, Back to our Regularly Scheduled Programme

I don’t know why I did the two “m’s,” one “e.”  Sounds more fancy.  Maybe that will be my official new year’s resolution:  Be More Fancy.  Like Nancy!

So anyway, with all the cookie baking, and cookie eating, and Bailey’s drinking, I almost forgot:  I have a quest!

First step:  stop baking and eating and drinking so much.

Next:  headshots by Rosalind.  We might get those done this coming week, even though I desperately need a hair cut, highlights, and (admittedly) an eyebrow wax.  Those things are all expensive and time-consuming, plus I’m still on the hunt for a new hairstylist.  So hopefully Rosalind can work her magic and make my hair look free of split ends, and my eyebrows free of stragglers.

Then, in two weeks – two auditions.  Ack!  One for ”The Graduate,” which I don’t really think I’m right for (not quite young enough for Elaine, not quite old enough for Mrs. Robinson, rather disturbed by the idea of appearing naked), but all you people told me the experience would be worthwhile and (sigh) I suppose you’re right.  The other audition is for “The World Goes ‘Round,”  a musical revue of the songs of Kander and Ebb, the fellas that wrote “Chicago” and “Cabaret.”  Honestly, I’m dyin’ to be in this show.  Which means I should select a better audition song than my last choice, as well as find a monologue, memorize it, and try to remember how to sing and act. 

Back to work!

Stripper Song

I wonder if maybe I should have sung my stripper song at the audition.

In addition to the grand-poobah musical theatre showcase, my last year at AMDA also included a cabaret showcase, which turned out to be the highlight of my time at AMDA.  I always thought of cabaret as some slinky woman with a cigarette sitting on a piano singing sexy songs – and actually, that’s pretty close.  Cabaret theatres are super-tiny and packed with people getting drunk.  As it turns out, drunk people are my ideal audience.

In rehearsal, I ran through a few options that were all received tepidly by the teacher.  Then the semester break came along, and I left on a road trip to Maine with my visiting parents and no song in place.

Luckily, riding in a Chevy Malibu with my parents was somehow the perfect inspiration for me to write a parody song about wanting to be a stripper - to the tune of “Part of Your World,” from The Little Mermaid.   You know, the one where she swims around in a cave marvelling at spoons.  My song was similar, I just marvelled at silicone implants instead.  My parents helpfully suggested rhymes for “tassels” and “pasties” (Mom: “Hasty? Tasty?”  Me: “Ooh, that’s good.”) and in no time the song was complete.

A few weeks later, I performed at a club called 88’s and all the drunk people laughed – LOUD.  I felt drunk myself, high off their approval and knowing that not only did they like my song – I even wrote the damn thing! (Well, some credit must go to Alan Menken I suppose.)  After the show ended, I tried to scramble out the door, because small talk with strangers is around number 3 on my Big Fears list (after whales and auditions).  But I didn’t get far before a small man with gray streaks in his hair stopped me.  His name was Graham Brooks, television producer.  He gave me his card and told me he wanted to meet with me, not about my singing but my writing.  He wanted to see more, and discuss possibly developing a show with me.

I was twirling circles around the moon for about 20 minutes before my boyfriend Daniel told me he obviously just wanted to have sex with me.  I mean, I sang a song about wanting to strip, so that MUST be it, right?  My potential writing skills could not possibly be enough – it must be my body that he really wants.  

I’m ashamed to say I let Daniel’s jab affect me and wondered every time I met with Graham when he might make his move.  He never made a move – he just encouraged me and brainstormed with me and told me to send him more, more.  But I kept thinking he was going to drop the whole thing at any second, so if he didn’t call right back when I left a message, I was afraid to call again.  Now I know that’s what it takes – as Rosalind always reminds me, it all comes down to persistence.  Time passed by, I got distracted by men, and eventually I let Graham drift away.  I moved away in 1996 and never saw him again.

He started working for “Sex and the City” in 1998.

So yes I have buried my head in my knees and moaned quietly, imagining all the dinner parties I should be having with SJP and friends, drinking Cosmos and letting Patricia Field plop weird hats on my head.  But if I had, what? - No Herbie?  No Moo?  No.  No, I wouldn’t change a thing.

But I couldn’t help but wonder - if I had worked for Sex and the City, would I have come up with a line like this?:

“Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate.  Without them, what would shape our lives?  Perhaps if we never veered off course, we wouldn’t fall in love, or have babies, or be who we are.”

Nah – I probably would have just written something about strippers.