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!

Making Up for Lost Time

All my life, I’ve been late.   My family and friends and dear husband can verify this – I have rarely been on time for anything.  School, jobs, interviews, blog updates, auditions, movies, dates, weddings, planes – I’ve been late to ‘em all. 

So it’s kinda funny that during both “Kiss Me Kate” and “The World Goes Round,” I was always early.  Not the first one in the theater, of course – that’s almost always the stage manager – but always the first cast member.  (Except that one time I got a flat tire.)

Granted, I’m not an idiot, nor am I really into self-sabotage - I’m just not going to be late for a show that I’ve been slowly striving toward for 14 years.  But our “call time” is always an hour before curtain, and I was always there about an hour and a half before that.

 I felt a little guilty telling Herbie and assorted babysitters that I just HAD to leave by 5, when really I didn’t HAVE to be there until about an hour or so after that, but getting to the theater first is, for me, one of the best things about the whole entire experience.

When I first get there, I flip on all the lights in the dressing room, saving those bright lights around my mirror for last.  I set up my makeup and plug in my curling iron, and then I slip out to the wings of the stage to gather up whatever costume pieces may have been tossed behind the props table during the mad rush the night before.  The stage is almost completely dark and silent, and it’s tempting to go leaping across it willy-nilly, but I know Toby is probably in the sound booth and might tease me about it later.  So I just stand there and let the quiet seep in and calm my racing heart.

Then it’s back to the dressing room, where I prop open the door so I can see and hear the slow trickle of people arriving.  Soon Toby switches on the intercom, so I can hear the backstage crew (a.k.a. very nice rich ladies) laughing and sweeping the stage, and later, the first few bweeps and bum-bum’s of the band warming up.  Julie is the next cast member to arrive, and we chat about our families while we slather on makeup.  Mary the director usually pokes her head in to say hello next, and then the boys arrive, shouting hello before they disappear to hunt for food.

Around this time there is almost always some sort of costume-related emergency – Norm has a mysterious bump in his shoe, ALL of our pantyhose and backup pantyhose have holes in them, all of our costumes are missing, all of our costumes have been attacked by a Bedazzler, I forgot my white bra, Julie’s bra is missing (she found it later in her driveway), you can see my “Britney” through my orange pants… and so on.  Amazingly, almost all of these crises can be solved with a single safety pin.

Next, Blaze arrives, having made herself up at home, and we’re all called on stage to warm up and test our mic’s.  At this point I do actually leap across the stage willy-nilly, as it’s my only chance to warm up my muscles, and also because there is nothing more enjoyable than leaping willy-nilly across a stage.

Warmed-up, we trot back to the dressing rooms, and I curl my hair and reapply all the makeup that has already worn off because I started getting ready so damn early.  Over the intercom, the band blares as they squeeze in a few last minutes of warm-up before Daniel opens the doors for the audience.  In the dressing room, we sometimes tell dirty jokes back and forth.  Sometimes we warm up our voices more.  Parrot calls work well – CA-CAW!  Sometimes someone appears in the doorway with roses from an admirer (thanks, sweetheart).

And then, suddenly, Daniel’s voice comes over the intercom and announces that we only have 10 minutes, and I have not even started getting dressed.  With the help of Spray Mount, I chemically bind myself into a torn pair of pantyhose and pull on my increasingly sparkly purple leotard and skirt.  Then I ask Julie to slide my mic pack down near my butt crack, and I ask Blaze to tape the wire to the nape of my neck (because she always gets it just right).  Now we can hear the low hum of the audience over the intercom as they start to take their seats, and I stick a couple bobby pins in my hair and spray it into submission (once grabbing the Spray Mount by mistake – close call!), slick on some ruby red lipstick, poke my favorite sparkly earrings through my ears, and put on the wrong shoes, which I will realize about four minutes before I have to go on stage.

We all gulp down water, clasp hands with Mary in the hallway, and shout “Kander and Ebb woo!” or “Yay pretty princesses!” or some such ridiculous thing.

“Break a leg!”  “Break a leg!”  “Break a leg!” 

And then Daniel’s voice commands us to take our places for the top of the show.

Sometimes I linger in the hallway for a couple minutes, my eyes going over the song list to try and remember what the heck it is I’m going to be doing in a few minutes.  And then I flap my arms back and forth like a goose, and clap my hands five times.

In the wings, it’s not quiet anymore.  Blaze is already singing.  The backstage ladies are whispering in each other’s ears.  Norm and I bump fists.  The band is swinging, and the lights are blaring, blue and purple and red.

Blaze starts building toward the end of her song, and I bury my face in one of the curtain legs and take deep breaths.  Then I gaze up into the endless heights of the stage – it just goes up and up and up.   I join Norm for our entrance, and I do a little dance to the last few bars of Blaze’s song, hips shaking, to get my energy up.  The audience applauds for Blaze.  Norm gives me a nod, and I pat him on the back.

And then we’re singing.

…If I had the keys to the building, I think I’d get there at the crack of dawn.

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?)

Apparently, People are Quite Sleepy on Saturdays

Bad news for The World Goes ‘Rounders – our Saturday matinee show was canceled, due to poor ticket sales.  Sigh.

I got a call this morning from Candy, the nicest box office woman in the world, telling me that she needed to move my entire family (because of course that’s the show they were planning on attending) to the Sunday matinee. 

“I hope you’re not hearing about the cancellation from me for the first time,” she said.

Uh, yes.  I am.

So I guess people are holding onto their wallets tightly these days, and we shouldn’t take it personally.  Certainly it’s not a reflection on the show, since a) The show is great! and b) There haven’t even been any reviews, let alone poor reviews to drive people away!  But it’s definitely a blow to my musical theatre soul to work so hard on something only to see an entire show get flushed down the toilet.

All that work for only six shows!

More Photos

Here’s the second installment of pictures from our dress rehearsal.  I call this series, “CRAZY FACES:”

“Coffee in a Cardboard Cup” – we would really like some coffee, please:

 
 COFFEE NOW!

Nobody tell Ricky I posted this one:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taking a little break to play beach ball:

 

 ”OHHHH no, two of our castmates appear to have expired.”

Attacking Norm with crutches!

 

 

 Don’t tell Ricky about this one, either.  CA-CAW, CA-CAW!:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wow, that really looks – I mean, just so you know, I am NOT, ummm:

Fringe A-Flyin’

 Heh heh…

Three Shows Later…

And I’m… sticky.

My boob has the tendency to try to escape one of my costumes, and Blaze had the cure:  Spray Mount!  No, not special Boob Spray Mount, but the stuff that you use on posterboard in high school presentations.  It worked very, very well.

So well that I could not get it off even when I scrubbed and scrubbed in the shower.  Then I went back to the show, sprayed some more Spray Mount on freshly scrubbed skin, and – OW.

At least my boob didn’t pop out, and my mother-in-law has now armed me with medical-grade adhesvie remover, so I’m all set for the next round of shows this weekend.

I think our first weekend went really well.  Tickets sold well, the audience seemed happy, and Moo – oh Moo.  Moo went to the Sunday matinee with Herbie, and luckily they were sitting near the back of the theatre and I couldn’t see them until the finale, or else I probably would have been crying through the whole show.  On Saturday night,  Herbie was sitting in the third row on the aisle, his head always RIGHT THERE in my peripheral vision, and I was a nervous wreck throughout the show.

But back to Sunday - as soon as I saw Herbie holding up Moo, both of them clapping, I teared up and choked through the last few lines of, “New York, New York.”  Then I ripped off my mic as quick as I could after the bows and rushed out to the lobby.  Moo and Herbie were waiting at the end of the hall.

“There’s Mommy!” said Herbie.

“Mommyyyyy!” called Moo, as she came running down the hall to me, arms outstretched.

Besides getting married and giving birth, I don’t think I’ve had a happier moment.  I scooped up Moo in my arms, and she began patting me on the chest, just like she did in Kiss Me Kate, as if to double-check and make sure this lady wearing the crazy costume and all the makeup is really her mommy.  Soon she began inspecting my sequins and hiding in my shoulder when all my castmates wanted to say hello.  But that didn’t last long, and in no time she was introducing everyone to Hop and critiquing our costumes (“Sparkly!”) and declaring her favorite songs (“The coffee song!”).  Later at the cast party, she even showed off some of her own dance moves, trying to impress Mary the director.  (Join the club, Moo!)

And now, a whole week until our final weekend of shows.  I don’t know how to feel – sad that it’s nearly over, happy that it’s nearly over – or just anxious about what comes next. 

Supposedly, there were two critics in attendance at Sunday’s show, but I haven’t found any reviews yet, so perhaps we really do have a waiting for Guffman situation here.  I have never been reviewed before, and I’m horrified at the prospect, and yet I google “world goes round review” about every 10 minutes.  …Okay, every five minutes.

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.

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!

Two Rehearsals To Go

Last Night’s Lessons:

1.  Last night was our first night with lights, and it hit me for the first time what a dramatic switch this is from “Kiss Me Kate,” for me personally.  In Kiss Me Kate, I was in the background, happily doing my thing and happily watching others in the spotlight.  This time, the spotlight is literally on me.  At first, it freaked me out a little, but then - ohhhhhh I basked.

2.  Wireless mics = I don’t have to sing loudly!  I’m so used to trying to belt as loudly as I can, I don’t know if I’ll be able to adjust for the mics.  Luckily, Genius Sound Man Tom will adjust me accordingly.  Still haven’t been brave enough to go to the bathroom while wearing the mic pack yet…

3.  It is impossible for me to have any kind of expression on my face whatsoever during the two harmony monsters, “Cabaret” and “There Goes the Ballgame.”

4.  Also, I don’t know what the heck kind of expression to have on my face while holding this pink ukelele during “Me and My Baby.”  (Get it?  It’s not a baby, it’s a ukelele!  Get it?  Get it?  Me neither.)  So do I go with daffy amusement?  Utter befuddlement?  Paranoid psychosis?  Do I really believe this is a baby I’m holding, or am I just being ironic?

5.  I am really blind and very likely to fall over repeatedly in the dark wings of the stage. Why do I not wear contacts?!  Oh yes, because they are stupid and annoying and I hate them.

6.  Don’t hold that note too long!

7.  Don’t slow down during that verse!

8.  Do NOT start on the left foot!

9.  Wait for everyone else before you stride on stage and start singing!

10.  ALWAYS BRING ADVIL.