Wah-Wahhhh

(That’s the “you lose!” sound, not the sound of me crying.)

No callback.

I know, I know, I’m going to have to get used to rejection, take my medicine, it’s good for me blah blah but it still BLOWS THE BIG ONE.  It’s possible that I may have been a little high on my horse – riding high on all my good feedback, my Zoni nomination – so high that I forgot I only have two credits on my resume.  That’s not terribly impressive to a director.  And maybe I just didn’t audition very well, I don’t know.  I’m sure I could use a lot more practice.

I just hope this rejection doesn’t portend a coming trend.

Getting in the car right after I got the “sorry, sucka” email, I decided to tell Moo the news, because I think it’s good for her to see that we all have to deal with disappointments and frustrations:

Mama:  “I’m a little sad, Moo.  I found out I’m not going to be in that doggie show.”

Moo:  “Your audition, Mommy?”

Mama:  “Yep, everybody auditioned, and they decided they didn’t want me to be in the show.”

Moo:  “Ohhhh, Mommy.”

Mama:  “It’s okay!  I’ll be in another show.  It’s somebody else’s turn this time.”

Moo:  “Maybe a real doggy, Mommy!”

Damn.  I should have gone full-dog.

No News is Good News

…Right?

Haven’t heard anything yet, but there was a second round of auditions Tuesday night, so I would guess the director wouldn’t let people know until Wednesday – actually, she said Wednesday afternoon at the latest.  And for a nice change, she contacts everybody by email, telling them yay or nay.  That’s nice!  I much prefer obsessively checking my email over constant silence from my taunting phone.

Between visits to my in-box, I spent possibly the most awesome afternoon of my life watching Michael Jackson videos with the choreographer of  “Mary Poppins.”  Even that sentence is awesome.  I visited my former director Mary because she was gifting me a copy of “Mary Poppins” (after I told her that Moo loves the music and we don’t have a copy).  Her house is plastered with pictures of the amazings things she’s done and people she’s met – she was even on the cover of Life Magazine!  (That one hangs in the bathroom – hee!)  There was also a picture of the 1993 Superbowl halftime show with Michael Jackson, which she choreographed.  !!!!!  Oh, I love this woman.  So we started talking about Michael Jackson, and then there we were on her couch watching Beat It, Thriller, Bad, and even the unedited version of Black and White.  But she saved the best for last – a performance from the 1993 American Music Awards which I’d never seen before.  We watched it three times. 

 

Seems like performers these days cram every damn thing into their live shows – circus acts, giant blow-up clown puppets, gymnastic equipment – but maybe all you really need is talent like that, choreography like that, and some cool lighting.  I think I’m just going to keep watching that until my email arrives.

*P.S. – If you can dance like that, I don’t give a shit if you lip-synch.

Up Yours With a 10-Foot Pole, Doggy!

So is it ironic or just plain sucky that on the day I’m auditioning for the role of a dog, I have NEVER HATED DOGS MORE IN MY LIFE.

I’m nervous.  I’m entering psycho-freakout stage.  But I know that once I get Moo into bed for her nap, I can prepare, re-read the play, and do what I need to calm my nerves.  Moo totally cooperates with this plan, falling asleep wham-bam on the way home from the grocery store.

But then - BUT THEN – as I’m scooping her out of the car (we have a carport), the dog next door starts frrrrrrrEAKing out.  I try to unbuckle Moo more quickly, but it’s no use – she’s awake.  The stupid dog continues to yell at us as I quietly sing to Moo and rub her back, and I want to KILL. THAT DOG.  I really, honestly do.  I even looked around for a rock to throw at it.  WHY DO WE NOT HAVE ANY LARGE ROCKS IN OUR YARD?  Maybe that’s a good thing.  I couldn’t even yell at it, because I was still hoping that Moo would fall back asleep.  So I just had to settle for flipping it off.  He looked confused for a second, and continued barking, even louder. 

And may I just point out, that this dog has lived next door to us for over a year?  We live here!  GET USED TO IT, you stupid smelly ugly dog. 

So now Moo is not-sleeping in her bed, I am furious AND freaked out, AND I hate the animal I am auditioning to portray, and there is no hope.

No hope, no hope.

TO THE DEVIL WITH YOU, DOG!

Shameless Self Promotion

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

 

Woof, Bark, Arf?

The quest continues!

October 5 and 6, Tempe Little Theatre is holding auditions for “Sylvia,” a play by A.R. Gurney about a pair of empty-nesters and the dog that comes between them.  That’s right, a non-musical!  And since I’m a bit young for the empty-nester wife, I’ll be shooting for the role of the dog, a poodly mutt originally played by Sarah Jessica Parker on Broadway.  (A production, incidentally, that I saw while living in NY – Matthew Broderick was sitting in the row in front of me!  It’s good to have a roommate who works at the theatre putting on the play.)  SJP was delightful, and I have always remembered the line where she  looks adoringly at her master and says, “I think you’re God, if you want to know.”  The key to Sylvia is that Sylvia isn’t played as a dog running around on four legs.  She IS a dog, but she mostly keeps the doggie behavior to a minimum.  Instead, she represents the frisky new lady in her master’s life, creating a rather loony and fraught love triangle.

Of course, there’s the small problem that I am NOT a fan of dogs.  I mean, I can appreciate the idea of dogs, and I always cry during that scene in “Armageddon” where the mom and son are hiding in the little nook in the freeway tunnel and the dog comes leaping to safety over like five cars while a fireball explodes behind him.  Sniff.

But in fact, there are only two dogs I have ever liked.  One, Che, my childhood friend’s Doberman who must have been about 80-years-old and was the sweetest, most well-behaved dog I’ve ever known.  Two, Peekie, my Grammie’s little black poodle, also old and sweet.  I like old, sweet dogs who do not jump on me, slobber on me, growl at me, JUMP ON ME, or live next door and bark all the freaking time.

Confession:  I am a bird person.  So I guess my audition may be a little avian-based.  But as long as I remember not to flap my wings, I think I could capture a basic sort of petsy whimsy.  Right?

But here’s my real dilemma – the audition notice says that the audition will consist of cold readings from the script (I have the script in my hand and plan to read it at least three more times, so I’m not too worried about that) and… improvisation.  !!!!  The horror!  I HATE improv…almost more than dogs.  No, definitely more than dogs.  My crazy husband is so good at improvising that he was actually part of two successful improv troupes in Seattle – but me – I freeze.  I do not possess that just-let-go gene, which allows you to dismiss any cares about what people think of you and say and do whatever your instincts tell you.  Argh.  Right or wrong, I really do care deeply what people think of me, want them to like me, and tend to cower under a table whimpering when I think I’ve disappointed someone…just… like…a DOG??  HEY!  Hey hey!  There may be hope for me after all.

“How Can I Possibly Go On Without Alcohol?”

That’s one of my favorite quotes of the night, courtesy of Sonia, right after we discovered the theater bar was cash-only, and right before we filed into the theater and I realized we’d gone around the side instead of down the center where the red carpet and fake paparazzi were, and unless I wanted to look like an idiot and frantically back pedal and scootch around back to the center aisle to get my picture taken by a 20-year-old photography student, I’d better just mosey on in and take my seat.

And so I did, missing my fake red-carpet moment, and then I sat my butt down in the 2nd row (woo!) and didn’t move my aching ass for two and a half hours.  Ouch!

Also, I didn’t win, and am now seriously questioning my worth as a human being.  I mean, WHAT AM I?!

But Mary our director won for choreography, and Toby for sound!  And so we were well-represented, the show was great, and I enjoyed being in my dress and my fancy jewels, with my handsome man at an awards show.

Afterwards, Mary tried to give me her choreography award, “because I made it look so good,” and that pretty much made my night.  Then we went over to the restaurant, FINALLY found some alcohol, and schmoozed the night away.  I got to chat with all my theatre buddies, and remembered once again that one of the best things to come out of this whole durn quest is all the friends I’ve made.

Then I tortured myself awhile, because I should GET UP and schmooze with people I don’t know, like all the producers and directors of theaters I’d love to work for (hello, Theatreworks, Fountain Hills, ABT!), and so finally I dragged myself out of my seat and wandered the patio aimlessly until I saw Sonia again and escaped to the safety of her side.  And then, lo and behold!  I got to talk to the tap-dancing horse.  THE tap-dancing horse, from Hale Centre Theatre’s “Sleeping Beauty” production, the tap-dancing horse that Moo idolizes, her go-to character for most games of pretend.  I regaled the horse (actually a very talented young man named Skylar) with tales of Moo’s devotion and he seemed impressed.  After a discussion about the dying art of equine tap-dancing, I returned to Herbie and Julie.

“Where have you BEEN?” they asked.  “You just missed the directors of Fountain Hills Community Theater and Southwest Shakespeare.  I would have introduced you!” Julie said.

Oh, shit.

“Where were you?” Herbie demanded.

“Um… talking to a tap-dancing horse.”

They thought that was preeeetty hilarious, but it was all worth it, because when I picked up Moo this morning at my mom’s house, the first thing I told her was that I talked to the tap-dancing horse.  Her mouth fell open.

“You DID?!?!?!?”

And I told her how the horse hopes she takes tap-dancing lessons some day, and how he bets she’s a wonderful dancer, and she fell into my lap and giggled and giggled and giggled, and that made me happier than any new dress, fancy jewelry, or shiny gold plaque ever could.

Although – that jewelry was kind of to-die-for.  Maybe next year I’ll have another reason to borrow it again.

The whole look (since I rambled on about it so much):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With Mary, beloved director/choreographer and Zoni award winner! (She can just add that to the shelf with all her Emmy’s and Oscars.)

With Sonia, after we FINALLY found some alcohol:

My date (we’re very misty/mystical out on the patio):

Back home at the laptop, refusing to take off my finery:

“And My Lawyer, And My Agent, And GOD…”

So here’s what I said after winning last night:

“Thank you so much!  I want to thank everyone at Desert Foothills, especially Meribeth and all the wonderful volunteers, my incredible cast, and Mary who I love so much even though I’ve only known her a few months – I’ve loved her choreography for so long, watching Sound of Music and Mary Poppins over and over again, it’s like I’ve loved her my whole life.  Thank you to my husband for supporting me, pushing me, making me laugh (and all the massages), and to my family and friends.  And I just have to tell you a quick story - I studied theatre, went to New York and did the whole thing, and was too chicken to ever go to a single audition.  And then I got to a certain age and thought, “Really? I’m just going to be a big chicken my whole life?”  And so I gave myself six months to get cast in ANY show, and one year later, here I am winning this award, and that is CRAZY.  And I don’t know why I was so scared of all you people, because I couldn’t have been more warmly welcomed.  I am truly honored to be a part of such a kooky, dysfunctional, deeply talented family of actors and artists.  Thank you!”

Isn’t that a good speech?

Yeah, I didn’t win.

And I really wasn’t expecting to (the award went to an actress from Nearly Naked’s “Blood Brothers” with a formidable voice and the most intimidating bosom I’ve ever seen), and the only reason I was hoping to win was because it would just make such a great ending to my story.  But I’m quite content to hold off on giving my story an ending at all.  I’m hoping there’s still a lot more adventure to come.

But isn’t that a good speech?!

One Year Old

Oh no, I missed my own anniversary!

September 8, 2008, I earnestly began my blog, and along with it my quest to rid myself of some theatrical baggage…  And good God, I must say I’m rather amazed and proud that I actually stuck with something!  For (over) a whole year!  Thanks for reading and sticking with me, my dear bloggie friends.

For old time’s sake, let’s celebrate in haiku:

Three auditions down
And I didn’t burst in flames
Gimme more, more, more

My quest is over,
My Moo is bigger, and now
The future is bright

(Except for dentists,
and getting older ugh ugh,
and dirty dishes.)

Umm, introspection?
Just not feeling it tonight,
Conan in my ear.

I think this calls for
A batch of rainbow cupcakes
And frosting (and booze).

The Dress

So after a week of wandering around feeling slightly stunned about receiving my Zoni nomination (a very annoying week in which I kept catching myself standing in the middle of the room, staring off into space while holding a bra/cupcake/bouncy ball in one hand), I’ve moved on to the really important business, namely, finding THE DRESS.

How divine, to have an excuse to buy a fancy dress!  Or fancy-ish - I think this is a cocktail-dress occasion.  Hell, even if everyone else wears jeans, I am wearing sparkles and spangles.  I have spent almost every night searching Bluefly, Nordstrom, even Saks and Neiman’s although I totally can’t afford those dresses.  It doesn’t hurt to look, and dream, and obsess, right?  Oh, Zac Posen, you silken genius, you…

Last week when my sister was in town, I dragged her and my mother to Macy’s to watch me try on dresses.  They were very polite about it.  My first mistake was believing I was about 10 pounds lighter than I actually am.  Here I was envisioning sexy cut-outs, fitted sheaths – no.  No, and also, goodbye sugar (except for that truffle I had at lunch…).  I made up a few rules: 1) No black unless the dress is really interesting.  2) Avoid wrinkly satin.  3) No, Mom and Herbie, I am not going to rent a dress.  I also learned a few things – 1) Strapless is not a good look for me.  2) I am getting older, and must carefully avoid “prom hag” syndrome, wherein I look like I’m trying to pretend I’m 16.  3) I am probably going to have to find high-quality boob tape.

I’ve tried on dresses at two more stores since then and obsessively searched websites.  I don’t know why finding the right dress is so important, but it is SO. IMPORTANT.  Herbie, I can tell (with each murmured “mm-hmmm” when I show him a dress online), does not really understand.  But this is easily my most important wardrobe purchase since my wedding dress.  Just with a much smaller budget. 

See, I do not expect to win an award.  There are 10 nominees and those that I saw were amazing in their roles.  Receiving a nomination is the highest honor I could hope for, the biggest celebration of my fulfilled quest, so in a way, this dress is my award. 

Here are some of my favorites, which I totally cannot afford, but quietly blow kisses to nonetheless, when Herbie’s not looking:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.