Superstar!

Eek.  Writing has been challenging this week:  sick Moo + rehearsal + cuddly husband = neglected blog.

But while my blog sits sad and lonely, I’ve been having a pretty great time at rehearsal.  We’re all getting more comfortable with Mary and each other, and as we stage the different songs, we’re having more and more fun playing off each other.  I love my cast members so much, I can’t help but wonder which is the norm – cast love like I’m experiencing now, or cast drama, which was so prevalent in Kiss Me Kate?

Last night, we spent a lot of time working on “Coffee in a Carboard Cup,” a song in which we get increasingly strung out on caffeine as we run around like Charlie Chaplin (“Charlie who?” asked Young Ricky), tossing coffee cups back and forth and gettin’ the shakes from all the caffeine.  It was during one such caffeine-crazed moment that I got a little too excited.

Sometimes, I just get a little too excited.

As we burst out of our circle, a-movin’ and a-shakin’, I guess I shook a little too aggressively, because all of a sudden I crashed right onto the keyboard, adding some unexpected chords to our song and scaring poor Fawna to death.   I think it looked a lot like Mary Katherine Gallagher tumbling head over heels on Saturday Night Live.  Good thing I wasn’t wearing a skirt, because just like good ol’ MKG, I was wearing some ugly granny panties last night.

Mary gave me The Stare after I recovered, and all I could say was, “Too much caffeine, I guess!”  That almost got a smile.  So far, my dream of Mary telling Chita Rivera about her great discovery (ME!) seems unlikely to come true.

This morning when I was getting into the shower, the first thing I noticed in the mirror (well, right after I muttered, “Must do sit-ups, must do sit-ups.”) was the large purple welt on my arm where I dove into the keyboard.  I made a mental note to wear long sleeves tonight and then I looked down – hey, where did that bruise come from on my shin?  And there’s one on my thigh – I remember that one, I’m always banging into our bed frame.  And there was another one on my arm, which could also be from the keyboard, but who knows? 

Good God…  am I a klutz?

Perhaps the conversation more likely to happen with Chita Rivera goes something like this:

Mary:  “Hooo-boy, Chita, you should see this total klutz I cast in my show.  I’m afraid she’s going to make a complete mess out of your song.  Last night she even tried to make out with the keyboard!” 

Chita:  “Ha. Ha. HA.”

At least Chita would still be aware of my existence – just not quite how I’d imagined.

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.

Moo and Herbie Go to a Show

Herbie is bringing Moo to our final dress rehearsal tonight.  We’re allowed to bring two guests, and I figured this was the best opportunity for Moo to see what this whole ‘rehearsal’ thing is all about.  And maybe since it’s still officially a rehearsal, people won’t be so apt to scold if Moo, you know, cries or shrieks, or yells “HI MOMMY!” repeatedly.  That’s what pacifiers are for, anyway, right?

I’m excited for her to come see me, but worried that such a strange new experience, with the dark theatre and people running around madly on stage, will scare her.  I hope they don’t have to leave right away.  I hope Moo at least gets to see me say a couple lines and perhaps dance a little bit.  For these past two months, she has queried me every morning, “Mommy go ‘hearsal t’night?” and sweetly waved goodbye as I drove away almost every evening.  So I’m just dying for her to have some sort of image to put with the idea of “rehearsal.” 

This morning Herbie and I told her that she would be going with Daddy to Mommy’s show, and she kind of flipped out, bouncing up and down and shouting, “OKAY!  YAY!  I go Mommy’s show!”  Then she had lots of questions.  “Costumes?  Mommy wear hat?  Mommy do showgirl walk?”

Oh yes, my dear, Mommy wears quite a hat.  And Mommy will definitely be breaking out her showgirl walk.  Maybe we should practice our showgirl arms again, Moo!

Oddly, I think I am quite nervous about both Moo and Herbie watching me perform.  I love these two people so much, and I want them to be proud of me.  I want to do right by them, after all they’ve done to support me during this quest.  Especially Herbie, not only because he has sacrificed peaceful nights, time off, and other nightly activities (ahem), but because Herbie is an actor, too.  He majored in theatre, even!  So even though I know that he will saaaay he’s very proud of me, I just dearly hope that I can do well enough so that he’s not just saying it.  I hope that he can look at me and say from one actor to another, “Hey, good work.” 

And I hope that he doesn’t read this before he goes to the show tonight or he’ll feel all kinds of awkward pressure and not know WHAT the heck to say to me!

Wednesday Dress Rehearsal Stats

Costume Changes: 7

Lipstick Shade: Red velvet

Do I Have Lipstick On My Teeth?:  Yes, you do.

Number of Times I Dropped My Flask On Stage: 2

Number of Times I Adlibbed a Line: 2

Sneaking Suspicion That I Will Be Adlibbing a Line Almost Every Night?:  Mm-hmm.

Glorious Costco Bounty Provided by Gina: Red Vines, Rice Krispie treats, animal crackers, BBQ chips, dried fruit, granola bars, Oreos!

Did The Object of my Anger Leave Early Again?  Yes.  GRRR!  But not by much.

Hey, Is Your Hat Supposed To Look Like That?:  No, it is falling off my head.

Number of Scene-Change/Prop Screw-Ups:  Approximately 9

Motivational Sign Posted by Director:  “Be Smarter!  Be Faster!  Be Funier!”

“Too Darn Hot”: Mildly warm but getting warmer

Speed At Which I Must Run From Stage Right to Stage Left in Time to Make It On Stage For My Bow:  72 mph

Hallway Floor Upon Which I Must Run:  Oil-slicked, clearly a dastardly plan by Wile E. Coyote.

Rehearsals Left Before Opening Night: I don’t want to think about it.  (Okay, one. AHHHHHH!)

A Touch of Anger

Rehearsal went a little better last night – we had more fun, and getting into our silly costumes helped a lot.  As Rosie the Stage Manager, I have a super boring costume – man pants, man shirt, man vest (I am a woman!!) - but hey, at least it’s comfortable.  And as part of the “Taming of the Shrew” chorus, I have an enormous, ridiculous hat with fake hair attached that sits on top of my head like a giant, hirsute pastry.

But mostly, last night was all about trying to stifle my anger toward one particular actor.  I have striven to be kind and positive on my  blog, lest cast members find it and feel betrayed, but frankly I’m just too angry.  Maybe there are extenuating circumstances – making working two days a week and being in school full time is just too much of a burden to be able to memorize your lines, listen for your cues, and, you know, show up.  But then maybe you shouldn’t have accepted the role in the first place.

It happened during a lonely moment backstage during Act 2.  I was clicking through pictures of Moo on my camera, missing her deeply.  Our show is fun and silly, and also flawed, and looking at Moo’s face, I wondered about my own choices – was this worth it? – and at that moment, it really didn’t feel worth it.  Costumes, makeup, flitting about twirling a ribbon on a stick - it’s all so silly.  My baby’s face – that’s real.  That’s love.  Why am I voluntarily missing even one second of it?

Then this actor came in and started changing into their street clothes.  Well, clearly you know it’s a girl if I’m sitting there watching her change, who am I kidding?  Another chorus member asked if she was leaving, and she said yep.  She had homework to do.  She only had one line left, anyway.  She asked the director, and he said it was okay.  I envisioned a hand held up in her face and a cold, “Fine.”  Because, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sweetheart, I don’t know if it has occurred to you, but the rest of us have ZERO lines left, and alllllllll of the rest of us have homework, or jobs, or sweet sleeping angel babies waiting at Nana’s house for their mommies to come take them home, and ALL OF US ARE FUCKING STAYING PUT.

No, I didn’t say any of that.  But I did storm out.

After some reflection, I thought, who knows?  Maybe it takes years of living, learning, and regretting to care so much about how this show turns out.  But that’s not right, because there are 16-year-old chorus girls in this show who care more and are more conscientious than this actor, who has plenty o’ lines, not to mention a whole song to herself.  So it’s not her young age.  I think she simply doesn’t care.  Doesn’t care about letting down the entire cast.  Doesn’t care about letting down the entire show.  Doesn’t care about letting down the paying audience.  Doesn’t care what people think.  Doesn’t care, apparently, about much… although she is deeply committed to her homework.

Again, maybe I don’t have the whole story.  I would so like to think I don’t have the whole story.  She is basically ostracized from the entire cast, and when I see her standing alone and ignored, I feel terrible.  But then she misses another cue, or leaves rehearsal early.  And I think of my Moo’s face, and what I’ve given up to commit myself entirely to this show, and I envision my foot kicking her ass.

Ba-dum-bum

Awww, we’re all grown up!

We had our first rehearsal with the entire band last night (and it was their first rehearsal together, too – I guess musicians are super-smart and can pick things up really quickly).  We have a trumpet, a saxophone, a French horn, a pianist, a flute, a bassist, a drummer, and a guy that plays something sort of long and skinny (an oboe?).  We even have a guy rockin’ a porkpie hat, just like Mr. Jazzman in that Sex and the City episode.

So we slowly, slowly muddled through all the songs with the band, and I even got up the nerve to pester Paul the music director about those notes that many of us just can’t find.  He went over some of the harmonies, and now, for the next week, I am going to be quietly and constantly repeating to myself:  “DolCHAY DA MOR-ay, DolCHAY DA MOR-ay!” (That’s Italian, dontcha know.)  That’s my only hope of remembering the right notes.   By the time the show opens, all my loved ones will probably be able to sing along.  DolCHAY DA MOR-ay!  We could use the backup.

Five Rehearsals Left, Aiiiieeee!

I think I’ll blame Joel for not even starting to work on my blog until 2:45 this afternoon.  Our old friend Joel spent the night last night, so I had to shut down the laptop early so he could crash on the couch, and I couldn’t POSSIBLY venture into my scary office to work on my perfectly good computer, no, no.   At least I got more sleep than I’ve gotten all week.

So.  We have a music rehearsal tonight (thank God), and then four run-through’s next week before we open a week from tomorrow.

Holy shit!

Some people still don’t know their lines.  Dear Fred had the NERVE to skip over three of my precious, precious lines (that’s like one-third of my lines!), and I had to throttle him afterwards.  We all definitely still don’t know the harmony on most of the songs.  J the director is madly cutting – half a song here, a dance section there, and admonishing us not to be so “lugubrious,” his word of the day.

But on the bright side, we’re having a lot more fun.  I remember the last Tempe Little Theatre production I went to (about nine years ago) - it wasn’t the most perfect production of Hello Dolly, but the cast’s joy was infectious.  They were having so much fun on stage that it spilled over into the audience and tickled our funny bones until we were having a blast as well.  I hope that’s what happens with Kiss Me Kate.  The cast bonds more every day, and I pretty much just adore every single person in the show – especially when they tell me I’m funny!  We are working our asses off on Too Darn Hot, to the point where I think somebody may have to drag my old bones off stage at the end of the number, because with all the woo!-ing and yow!-ing we do during that dance, I can hardly breathe by the time we collapse at the end.  I am feeling all 34 of my years, but happily, I have noticed that my jeans are kind of baggy this week – hooray!

Or as they’d say in Kiss Me Kate times, that’s righteous!

After rehearsal last night, a group of the over-21ers were planning to go out for a drink, and I wanted to go but chickened out at the last second.  I don’t know why – well, there was Joel back at home, waiting to keep me from working on my blog (damn you, Joel!), but that wasn’t it.  I had a sudden rush of insecurity, familiar from our early rehearsals, and I wondered whether they really wanted me to come along or if they were just being nice.  Which is so stupid.  I really like these people, and I want to leave behind that part of my life where I isolated myself at home.  All that got me was too much time running around inside my own head, wondering what I was going to do with my life.  Now I AM doing something with my life, something I can’t, at this point, imagine abandoning again, and I should enjoy every minute of it – especially when it involves alcohol.

Fiona and Clara

When my sister first told me she and her 4-year-old daughter Clara might come to the show, I told them, “Ohhhh geez no, don’t trouble yourself – that involves a plane flight and everything, and I only have a very small part.”

Then as we started to rehearse, I realized that even though my part is quite small, I’m on stage often, and I began to hope maybe they would come.  Luckily, Fiona didn’t listen to me and called to let me know that she and Clara are coming for the first Sunday matinee.

And now I’m a little worried.

I’ve been paying more attention since I got the news that Clara will be in the audience, and certain things stand out… like how many times Kate utters the word “bastard.”  That would be about seven.  At least when she says it, we’re all very shocked and horrified.  Then there’s the song Tom, Dick or Harry, with the lyrics, “A-dick-dick-a-dick, dick, dick, a-dick-a-dick, dick, DICK!”

What else?  There’s the part where Fred tries to strangle Kate while simulating fornication on a table, the part where Fred spanks Kate, all the times Kate slaps Fred, the song Kate sings about how women are subservient to men, not to mention all the gyrating in Too Darn Hot…

My mom says not to worry- Clara’s growing up pretty liberal, attending gay weddings and even MORE far-out, Wiccan weddings!!  So certainly she can handle a few “bastards.”  Or maybe I can just let Fiona know when to cover Clara’s ears.

High-and-Lowlights

Thursday  night we made an attempt at running through the whole show – we started at 7:30 and at 10, J the director cut us off – we made it about three-quarters of the way through.  I think that’s not-so-terrible, considering it was our first run-through.  Some of the highlights and lowlights:

Lowlights:

* We still have no idea what we’re singing half the time.  The director admonishes us about not knowing when to sing – but actually, we do know when to sing, we just have no idea what notes to sing.  I just cannot find the note, I try and try, and I’m afraid I have that notorious I-may-throw-up expression on my face while I’m trying to find that F or G or A or whatever it is I’m supposed to sing, all while singing lyrics about the gods above singing of nothing but love.  Love gods, I think, do not usually look on the verge of puking.

* Our dear Fred seemed terribly embarrassed at forgetting, well, most of his lines.  He seemingly got sucked into some sort of evil memory-evaporating black hole, and by the time he got to his big soliloquy in Act 2, every “Line? Line? Line?” he uttered made his face turn an even paler shade of mortification.  Don’t worry, Fred, you’ll get it!  All I have to remember is, “Half hour! Places! On stage!” and if I forget, I can just mix the words around and still be mostly right.

* A few numbers in which actors just gave up and literally stood there looking around, not knowing what the hell to do.  Yup, that includes me, but luckily I almost always have Rosie-the-Stage-Manager’s handy-dandy stool nearby to perch on or, even better, my trusty Stage Manager Clipboard to study carefully.

Highlights:

* Baptista.  Baptista Baptista.  The actor who plays the father in Taming of the Shrew, the play-within-the-play, is just absolutely hilarious.  I adore him.  I’ve watched him do his scenes maybe 50 times now, and every time I always giggle to the point of near-disruption. 

* Man 1 and Man 2, the two gangsters who sing “Brush Up Your Shakespeare,” will probably steal the entire show, if Baptista doesn’t do it first.

* My scene with Fred after Kate slaps him (and she’s really slapping him, eeyowch!).  This is my personal favorite - although I love every moment I have with Fred, especially when I’m annoying him to death by poking him repeatedly in the shoulder, which I do quite often.  I think I’m pretty good at being an annoying pest – I really perfected shoulder-poking growing up, during my tenure as Little Sister.

* Dancing in “Too Darn Hot” – ohhhh I do love to dance.  I don’t how the number looks as a whole (the director has a suspiciously stone-cold expression after this number), but I do love performing in it.  My knees, feet, and 34-year-old muscles, however, do not share my enthusiasm.  Don’t worry, team, I’ll drink your troubles away…

Show information coming soon….

Getting Serious…and Getting Shoes

Tonight we move from our smelly basement rehearsal rooms upstairs to the theatre – however, not the theatre where we’ll actually perform – we move into the shiny new Tempe Center for the Arts in one week.  ….Aaaand then we open four days later.

ACK!

Herbie and I are definitely feeling the strain, and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.  He just came in here and gave me a big long hug goodnight, headed to bed alone again while I work on the ol’ blogola.  We have this one more week of semi-normalcy (macaroni and cheese dinners, a quick hello/goodbye at 6:15, and staying up too late), and then next week – whoo.  It’s going to get tough.  The call time for the cast is 6 p.m. every night that week, which means I am going to be leaning heavily on my parents and in-laws to help with Moo, because there’s no way Herbie can get home in time.  And I know that I am going to miss her deeply, and kiss her a thousand times, and feel my heart break when she protests, “Mommy NO rehearsal!”  And I know I will probably cry in the car on the way to rehearsal.

But I also know that once I’m there, my fretting will melt away, and I will once again feel myself fill up with a sort of joyful focus, trying to remember lines, entrances, dance steps, and that pesky little actory thing called character motivation (Why am I prancing around with a giant showgirl headdress, again?).

At tonight’s rehearsal, we get SERIOUS.  No scripts allowed on stage.  No breaking character.  No stopping.  No big huge fuck-ups, hopefully.  And no flip-flops, which means I made a trip to good ol’ Dee’s Dancewear on Saturday to buy my first pair of character shoes since 1991.  I dug out my trusty old beat-up pair, the ones so worn down and soft on the soles that they always guaranteed me a few extra pirouettes if I spun on a smooth floor.  But carrying Moo around for nine months made my feel prone to swelliness, and even though I tried cramming my foot in there, I only got about as far as Cinderella’s ugly stepsister made it with that glass slipper.

So now I’m the owner of new black T-strap character shoes, and I suppose we’ll get along all right.  I probably should have gotten the one-inch heel, due to all the running around on stage and the swelling issue, but I’m a high heel girl (or at least I was before my life revolved around a baby), and I went with the two-inch.  I’ll see how they treat me on stage tonight.  Be good to me, new shoes!