Shameless Self Promotion

I’m FAMOUS!  (In approximately 75-100 mailboxes across the greater Phoenix area.)

 

Best Navel-Gazing

I received a sweet surprise yesterday at Tempe Little Theatre’s end-of-season party – an award with a guy on it who looks like he might have a bad tummyache, but actually he’s taking a bow.  My name is engraved on it and everything!  I even had to make a speech!  I thought about thanking Herbie, but after all we were in a small community room, not the Shrine Auditorium, and I thought people might roll their eyes.  I won the award for best actress in a featured role, for my little role as the crazed stage manager in “Kiss Me Kate” last fall.

To drop the ironic detachment for just a moment – it’s just so incredible to me that for so many years, I believed the theatre world was as impenetrable as, oh…the UCLA Medical Center last Thursday?  Complete with angry guards ready to beat me down upon approach.  I have found the opposite – theatre groups that have welcomed me, encouraged me, and even given me awards to boot.  I’m trying not to think about all the years I wasted sitting at home thinking it was such a scary world.  I’ll just enjoy my little tummyache man instead.

Looking ahead, Herbie says that I should audition for as many shows as I like and not worry about him and Moo.  (Herbie is a pretty wonderful guy.)  But I feel like I should try to get myself on some sort path that would lead to making money, not that my hazy plan (writing?? oh yeah, big moneymaker) is a surefire hit.  I’ve been struggling the last few months, missing the security of having a quest, knowing my purpose and even having a handy-dandy set of rules to follow.  Now I’m twisting – enjoying Mommyhood but feeling a whole lot of blankness all around me.  What’s next, little tummyache man?  Do tell, do tell.

That’s Entertainment

Big theatre weekend for me – on Saturday night, Herbie and I miraculously made it to Katy-Molly’s performance of Man of La Mancha at Desert Stages, even though I was a lazy slug and waited to get tickets until they were sold out.  Herbie and I got showed up anyway, got on the waiting list, got tipsy next door at Coco’s and finally made it into the tiny theatre-in-the-round at the last second, although we didn’t get to sit together.  I sat in the front row, where (happily) I had the best possible view to watch Katy-Molly twirl beautifully, and (unhappily) smelled like sweaty actor by the time the show was over.  VERY small theater.

Then last night my Mom and I went to the Celebration of Dance performance and got to see dear beloved Mary the Director, who functions as sort of an Ambassador of Dance in Arizona.  The annual show consists of a wide variety of dance companies, schools and soloists who audition to take part.  We saw everything from belly-dancing to break-dancing, and I loved every second.

Some Lessons Learned During my Theatre Weekend:

1.  Don’t sit in the front row at Desert Stages Theatre.

2.  DO sit anywhere else - they do amazing things in a teeny tiny space.  Wonderful, creative staging!

3.  I know virtually nothing about the Spanish Inquistion.

4.  I wish I had a cool Spanish name like Aldonza (even though she’s a desperate trollop).

5.  Belly dancers have AMAZING bodies.  Am seriously considering belly-dance lessons.

6.  Celtic dancing – not as boring as you’d think!

7.  Apparently I have very firm opinions about dance.  Dear modern dancers:  are you running off stage and on stage, throwing yourself on the ground, doing small stacatto isolations, grabbing your head/knees/stomach, then running off stage again?  I’ve seen it before.  THINK OF SOMETHING NEW.  Please.

8.  Also – Dear dance studios of the world:  Please do not make your young dancers pull stupid faces.  They look like blowup dolls.

9.  Finally, someone else who believes that ABBA’s Chiquitita is long overdue for a dance tribute!

10.  Tap-dancing lives!!  I have a big, big crush on Mike Wittmers, who tore up the floor to a version of Sting’s “Walking on the Moon.”  He was by far the favorite dancer of the evening, receiving round after round of rousing WOO’s, especially after he danced with the sexy belly-dancer during the curtain call.

 Biggest lesson learned – Phoenix is brimming over with talent.  After my last few theatre outings, I am convinced that the Valley (and its sister cities) is filled with incredibly skilled dancers, actors and singers.  It makes me wonder why so many of the professional theaters still bring in outside talent from LA, when they have so many wonderful options right here in town.  Buy local!

So Now What?

Moo is still sleeping.  The house is cleanish.  I’ve watered the plants and fed the bird, checked all the celebrity gossip sites and even caught up on the news (yikes).

Also, I went to three auditions, performed in two shows, and turned 35.

 My quest is officially over.  So now what?

People keep asking me, “What’s next?”  And I keep asking myself the same thing.  I know that I want to take a break over the summer.  I know that this is an ideal time in our lives (economy notwithstanding) to try and add to our family.*  I also know that I don’t want to stop.  I obsessively check all the audition updates, and the local theaters’ web sites to see if they’ve posted their 2009-2010 seasons yet.

I dream of Sweet Charity, City of Angels, Oklahoma… and I dream about baby names.

I thought I would get to the end of my so-called quest with some kind of huge revelation:  A-HA!  You suck!  Give it up, get over it, and throw yourself into mommyhood!  Or A-HA!  You do not suck!  Directors are beating down your door and now you’re a professional actress!

I mean, I didn’t really think either of those exact situations would occur, but I did think that I would find – clarity.

Maybe I should review the questions I posed to myself at the beginning of this adventure.  After 14 years of letting fear get the best of me, I wanted to know the answers to these questions:

Do I have what it takes?

 - Well, that’s kind of a lame question, Mama.  Do I have what it takes to get cast in two community theatre shows?  Yes, apparently I do.  Do I have what it takes to get cast in a professional theatre?  Dunno.  Doubtful.  Definitely need some singing lessons.
 
Do I have the guts to try?

- Just barely.  Three auditions = three imaginary stomach flus, three nervous breakdowns, three episodes of extreme rudeness to husband.  But I did it.  And I learned that unlike when I was younger and believed that for success to count, I had to DO IT ON MY OWN, it’s okay to accept the support and encouragement of your friends, family, and kind blog-readers.  So from the bottom of my heart, thanks for the kick in the ass.

Is this still my dream, or is it time to let it go?

Definitively, it is not time to let go of my old childhood dream.  I love theatre as much as I always have, and maybe even more.  Even more, because this time around I’ve introduced Moo to theatre, and together we’ve become intoxicated by the joy of running around in circles, singing showtunes, waving your arms in the air, and (especially) wearing sparkly costumes.  Herbie, too.  Well, except for the sparkly costumes.  I’m proud that I’ve ushered Moo into this joyful world, thrilled that she loves it so much, and so happy that I will never have to hang my head when Moo asks me why I studied theatre but never performed, because I did find courage, I did perform, and I did get to see her clapping for me in the audience.  Maybe one day I’ll be clapping for her.

But as for what comes next?  …..?????……

I have always longed for clarity.  I remember once, many years ago, I was starting a new job as a waitress at Houston’s and I was scared to death, intimidated by the wall of liquor bottles, the towering plates I had to carry, the potential sneers from angry customers.  I sat on my bed working myself into a nervous frenzy and finally decided to lay down and try to rest before my shift began.  I had just moved to LA from New York, fleeing my floundering dreams and a bad relationship, and I was always on the edge of a panic attack.  As I lay back on the pillows, I repeated over and over, “I just want to be happy.  I just want to be happy.”

I had a dream that I was sitting at a computer, writing.  I paused to look over my shoulder and saw the man I loved with all my heart still sleeping in the bedroom.  Then I looked out the window and thought about the dance class I’d be taking later that afternoon.  Then I went back to typing.  I was perfectly happy.

I held onto that dream for a very long time, trying to find the right combination to unlock that fleeting vision of pure happiness.  I tried different jobs, different men, different colleges, different wardrobes, diets, outlooks.  I finally found the right man.  And it was only recently that I realized that no where in that vision of so-called happiness was there a little Moo.

 Maybe clarity only comes in timely little bursts, a peek through the window, not as a sustained state of mind.   And when I pause now to gaze out the window in the midst of my typing  – the child I love with all my heart sleeping down the hall, the man I love with all my heart puttering about the house – I realize that I am full, I am hopeful, and I am happy.

And I’ll just wait and see what comes next.

 

 

*Henceforth, if anyone asks me (ahem*family*ahem) about this particular issue, I will pretend that you have asked me about the weather and will answer thusly.  It IS getting hot, isn’t it!

Swing Your Razor High

Yesterday Herbie and I, our friend Abner and his new lady friend Daisy went to see “Sweeney Todd” at Theater Works in Peoria.  Yes, the one I unsuccessfully auditioned for in January.  But I can say, without bitterness, that the production was terribly creepy, which is a compliment for this particular show!

My old friend Fred played the foppishly evil Beadle, and a host of other spectacularly-voiced actors did great justice to Sondheim’s challenging score.  Standouts included Tracy Payne as Mrs. Lovett (a role made famous by Angela Lansbury), Ken Goodenberger as devil-incarnate Judge Turpin, and whichever female ensemble player was flawlessly hitting those impossibly high notes.  The lighting hit the perfect mood of a London filled with despair and dark alleys, and the two-tiered set design made the action flow easily, although there were times I was worried that little Chelsea Groen as Johanna was going to fall off her shaky second-story bedroom set, which would have given poor vengeance-filled Sweeney a whole new set of problems.  I thought Sweeney himself could have used a little more intensity, but he sounded great and looked like someone I’d run away from screaming if I encountered him on a dark London street.

After the show, our foursome went for post-theatre drinks at Corbin’s.  We sat on the patio and starting chowing down on artichoke dip, when Abner realized that his neighbors were sitting at the table next to us.  He went over to say hello, and as we eavesdropped, it became clear who was dining with the neighbors:  Mr. B, the artistic director of Phoenix Theatre, one of the big-time professional theaters in town.  Abner didn’t know him personally, so he couldn’t quite call me over, but he did point me out and mention that I was in “Kiss Me Kate” recently.  I waved and grinned, and then fidgeted in my seat for the rest of dinner, wondering if I should go over and chat him up.  Because, when you’re a sort-of aspiring actress and the Big Cheese of a local theater sits down 25 feet away, shouldn’t you DO SOMETHING?

But I didn’t.  Even Herbie seemed ambivalent, and what would I have said?  No idea.  But I was left with the nagging feeling that I missed an opportunity.  Maybe the problem is that I don’t really know if I am an aspiring actress.  I don’t know what comes next, or what I really want, so I certainly don’t know how to shmooze Mr. B.

Maybe I should just console myself knowing that he enjoyed his martini without being hassled by yet another annoying actress who really needs her roots retouched.

I’d Like to Thank My Agent and My Lawyer…

Yesterday we attended Desert Foothills Theater’s end-of-season party, and I have a little bragging to do – I won an award!

DFT gives “Annie awards” to actors and productions voted on (I think) by the audience and the artistic committee.  And I won the (favorite? most pizzazziest?  most blonde?) Actress in a Musical award!

Okay, so DFT only put on one musical this year, but still!  I was very excited.  I mean, I tried to act cool, but I think the last award I won was 3rd place in my 4th-grade relay run, and I didn’t get to wear fringe for that, so let’s just say I enjoyed this one a bit more.

Thanks DFT, and thanks to all my friends and family who probably stuffed the ballot box!

The Reviews Are In

So it turns out Guffman – two Guffmans, actually – did show up to our little show, and they published their opinions of our attempt at creating musical theatre magic.

Review #1:  A rave!  We’re so amazing, Godiva should sell us in chocolate.

Review #2:  The critic seemed rather confused by the concept of a musical “revue.”  Complained that there was no plot.  Um, no.  Music revues, by definition, do not have plots, my dear madam.  Also, she did not like our tamborines. 

Comments about Mama:   Ahem.  I have, apparently, “pizzazz, spunk, and sparkle.”  Also, I am “leggy.”

Personally, I have always felt very pizzazzy.  It’s so nice to have this confirmed by an impartial third party.

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?)