Archive for the ‘Theatre’ Category
A Fate Worse than Relish
This whole bus thing is really cramping my style.
Okay, not my style, but my sleep, at least.
I want Haley back!
It was about 7:15 last night that Mike started to get nervous on my behalf. I hadn’t yet printed my resume, and the new printer’s drivers were not being quite so magical as we had hoped. But I was not concerned. I knew the place was less than five minutes away by car. And by 7:25 I was in the drivers seat of the box on wheels, with two resumes, as well as a script of The Skin of Our Teeth, just in case. The auditions were to be cold readings, but I wasn’t sure if they’d expect a prepared piece as well. My script never came out of my bag.
I tried two doors before I found the right one. There were a couple happy looking people hanging around outside the door killing their lungs. I confirmed that this was in fact the place, and went inside. Audition sheet, quick Polaroid (how quaint), and a brief introduction from the producer, and we were on our way.
The first piece they had me do was for a role I’m not technically capable of playing. That is, I’m not 50. But I don’t think they had a side prepared for the role I actually was hoping for – a small role marked as being very similar to this larger role they had me read for. I read the side several times before I was called on stage, and was therefore quite prepared. I was nervous, but I didn’t say so. No need to advertise. But soon, my reading partner and I were totally acting! After the first read, he gave us some background and a little bit of guidance.
After that, he had both of us do a line for a bit part that caught my attention when I read the role descriptions. Like I say, I’m not 50. So I marked my first two choices as the 20-something roles, first choice being a smaller role, second being the lead. My third choice, however, was this bit part. She was marked as a “towering presence who is felt before she enters a room, which is unfortunate for her, because she lives to eavesdrop.” At 6 feet tall, I am so a towering presence. So he let me do the line for that character as well.
A few other people did their scenes next. I took care to note the notes he gave to the people reading for the lead. I wanted to be prepared when my turn came for that. And when it did, I got to read against the non-sketchy guy who was there for auditions that day, which made me pretty darn happy. I did my best, and he had little to correct me on. That made me feel pretty damn good.
I also feel like when I was on stage, I had some rapt attention. That was neat. When I got back to my seat after my first reading, I grinned and said to the girl next to me, “That was fun!”
I’ll learn by the end of the week the results. I’m truly going to be okay if I don’t get cast at all, because I’m really just trying to get my foot in the door with this show. Whether I can get a small role or I end up working set construction, I’m certain I will be happy. And either way, I’ll get to meet some neat people and be involved in performance arts again.
That’s not to say I’m not a little titch disappointed that I didn’t get called back for one of the leads…
But it is nice to be relatively certain that callbacks are only for the leads.
So I think I still have a chance at one of the smaller roles.
Oh man… now I’m nervous!
In completely unrelated news, I’ve been reading some webcomics on occasion again. Not to my full addiction, but picking up a few here and there. I decided to look around some of the Questionable Content strips I’ve missed. I came across something that made me laugh so hard my diaphragm ached. The strip is here, but it’s really the last panel that I think you will enjoy:
Some Random Dude: “I hate to interrupt, but I ordered a latte.”
Faye (coffee shop employee): “And you got a carrot-pickle-espresso monstrosity. Have a nice day.”
Raven (another coffee shop employee): “Poor little pickle. That’s a fate worse than relish.”
– Questionable Content, by J. Jacques, August 23, 2006
Not Lost!
The streets go one way, and that one way may change, and it may not be the one way you want to go. The intersections have five streets converging, and no one street continues in a straight line. Highway exits have unmarked turns. Roads have multiple names. Highway entrances are in the middle of the road.
Why the hell would anyone drive in Boston?
Well, in our case, it was because church ran long. The student minister gave the sermon this week, and she’s kind of long winded. Okay, extremely long winded. Add to that all three choirs (children, youth, and adult) singing a song this week, where normally there’s one. Then, for the cherry on top, it was the day we were calling, accepting, or some other verb-ing the new lay ministers. Next thing you know, it’s 12:10 and we’re just getting home.
So, I grab the tickets, and we’re out the door. Mike asks me where the theatre is. I go back inside, and open up Silkierscarf, my laptop. A little google-mapping, and I’m confident. More or less.
I’m pretty sure I can get to the parking lot under the Commons. Since that’s our first goal, it’ll have to do. Just because I’ve never once managed to leave that lot without getting severely lost and ending up in some town I didn’t even know existed…
So, off we go. Of course, we were pretty hungry, so we stopped at the first rest area on the Pike to grab quick lunch. I was hoping there’d be a Fresh City, like there is at the first stop west of our house, but alas there would be no simple burrito for me. The Fresh City burritos have a magical quality where you can eat them with one hand and they don’t fall apart. This was not the case of my selected lunch – a quesadilla from Sandella’s. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Turns out… no.
After my first spill, Mike hooked me up with a napkin in my lap. It caught several more spills as I attempted to eat and drive. Don’t try this at home, kids! I totally should have just gave up and got chicken nuggets. Those are totally car food. Oh well, lesson learned.
We got to the exit soon after I had finished the third quarter of my lunch. The fourth quarter was never to be reached, and I threw the box in the back seat for the remainder of the journey. See, the next leg was to be on Storrow Drive, and that road scares me.
Did you know that Storrow Drive is also Soldier’s Field Road? Yeah. See, this is something Google should tell you. Anyway, here I was on a road that was obviously Storrow Drive, hoping that it was also Soldier’s Field Road. We passed by BU, then more BU, and also the river. We took the appropriate exit to bounce over to Boylston Street, and I was back in familiar territory.
People are crazy. They just walk across the street, mid block, without a crosswalk, while I’m just, you know, driving! I was nervous, but we survived.
Finally, we could see the Public Gardens. Well, see, this is where Boylston Street decides to divide. Why? I don’t know. I guessed that I wanted to be on the left of the divider in order to get to the Commons. I was totally right, thank goodness, for at the next light there was that telltale blue background sporting a bright white P.
We went all the way down to the lower level of the garage, walked up the four flights of stairs to get back to ground level, walked out the door, noted that it said “Tremont Street,” and immediately started shivering. I was glad that I chose to wear my snow jacket (at least it’s getting some use…). We were heading for Washington Street, which is behind Tremont, so we headed towards the nearest road, figuring the Tremont Street Pavilion would be near Tremont Street.
Signs lie.
We found all kinds of interesting streets that weren’t Tremont Street before discovering we were at the exact opposite corner of the Commons than we actually wanted to be. So we walked. And shivered. And walked on slushy snow. And shivered.
We found Tremont Street, continued along Boylston up to Washington Street, and everything was going great. Until Mike twisted his ankle. He grimaced and refused when I offered to get him some Advil at the CVS we happened to be standing outside of.
So onward to the theatre!
Mike had never seen Les Miserables before. I could neither believe nor understand, so I made a mental note to get tickets for us months ago. Right, so months passed, and it was suddenly the day before Valentine’s Day… oops. I did get tickets, but the lady on the phone said they might be limited visibility.
When we got to the theatre, we were ushered along the audience’s right side wall, around to the front. The lady on the phone was full of crap. The seats were awesome and awesomer when you realize they were cheap due to their possibility of being limited in viewing. We settled in for an great show. If you missed it, too bad, because it’s already done being in Boston.
I love Les Miserables. I love the story, the characters, the spectacle, the songs… everything. I’d give my left leg to play Mme. Thenardier (though they would probably have difficulty casting me if I had only that one leg…). I’d cut off all of my hair to play Fantine (conveniently necessary!). But I don’t have to be in the show to enjoy it. It was a lot of fun.
I cried.
On our way back, we followed the piles of people over to the park. This time, we would not get lost. We walked straight for the Tremont Street Pavilion (which I reassured myself actually said “Tremont Street” not just “Tremont” – signs lie!), shivering all the way. Did I mention it was cold? I think I may have lost feeling in my cheeks. And my fingers weren’t thrilled either. I need new gloves.
We managed to get back to the car, finding it with no difficulty. We followed the signs up to the exit (and those signs didn’t lie), paid our $10 weekend fee, and went up the exit ramp to the street.
I had decided in advance that I would just take that first left and hope that the street would go far enough back to get me back to someplace familiar. Luckily, that random street just so happened to be Beacon Street. It took me to Exeter, the only street from which I have ever successfully found the Mass Pike.
I made my bizarre assortment of left turns to get to the Pru-tunnel, and we were on our way! I totally drove in and out of Boston, and never once got lost! Okay, so we got lost a little bit at the Commons, but it wasn’t that lost, we were still at the Commons… So, I totally drove in and out of Boston and barely got lost!
Yay me!
Maybe now I can call myself a Massachusetts local.
Probably not.
Ode to the Odor of Primer
Oh, Primer!
Your lovely smell greets me
as I walk up the stairs.
Your five gallon buckets
wave to me as I walk by.
My memory instantly takes me
back to the halls of Alden and Riley.
My scrappy clothes adorn me,
and adorning them is you,
Oh, Primer!
My hands look like they are
infected with a gross living thing.
My skin crackles under the drying
power of you,
Oh, Primer!
We do a half-assed job of
applying you to flats and cubes.
But it does not matter,
Oh Primer,
for we will cover you with your friend Paint.
Paint will bring you color and design.
Paint will bring you life and texture.
Paint will bring you depth and brightness.
Paint will bring you to life.
Oh, Primer!
Together, you and I,
we will bring the audience
to a whole new world
of wonder,
of joy,
of agony,
of sadness,
of brightness,
of agelessness,
of happiness,
of time,
of day,
of place,
Oh Primer!
Lazy Friday?
I don’t sort my socks. Okay? I’ve said it. I don’t do it. My sister doesn’t either, so I’m not that bizarre. In fact, not only does she not sort them, she never wears a matching pair. If she accidentally picked out two that matched, she’d have to throw one back and pick out a new one.
I, however, prefer to wear ones that match. I don’t like the way it feels to have two different thicknesses of sock on your feet. I also think it’s weird to wear two different colored socks. Hear that, Sa? I said you were weird! HA!
Anyway, what happens in the morning is I make a general decision as to what kind of socks I’d like to wear, and then I go fishing until I find a matching pair fitting the description. This works, most of the time, although it can occasionally be frustrating. When I have ten or more different individual socks draped over my left arm, and I’m still fishing for more, it gets a bit out of hand.
Anyway, this morning, I got lazy. I’m wearing black pants (they’re pinstriped, actually), but I didn’t enforce the black sock description on my sock search. I wanted to get out of the house more quickly. So, the first pair of socks I found just happened to be mostly white. They do have a neat green and pink argyle pattern near the top, just above the ankle. I really like argyle.
I didn’t really think. I didn’t think that I’d care. I didn’t think that anyone would notice. I didn’t think about the cardinal rule of ΑΨΩ (okay, not the cardinal rule per se, but a biggie anyway). I didn’t think about the consequences.
I walked up the stairs and into our cube-farm. As I came in, one of my coworkers saw me, and I was still wearing my black fleece jacket. “Lady in black!” he chuckled (this particular man always seems to chuckle, it is his way). I smiled and said something about my pinstriped pants. “White socks, though.”
Oops. “I know, it’s so ghetto.” This led to a conversation with another coworker (one of the new guys) about the use of the word “ghetto.” He did not understand the context. I explained as best I could what I meant. Honestly, I probably overuse the word “ghetto.”
After that, I hung my head and sat down at my desk. I hid my feet under my desk, and even now, I’m covering up one of my ankles in shame. Shame, I say!
I was the induction chair of my cast of ΑΨΩ for two inductions. I was pretty good at it, if I do say so myself, and I do. I organized events and history searches and did my best to haze without hazing. It was fabulous.
Inductees and members are all expected to wear blacks on induction day. The inductees and any members who will be on stage (officers and the like) are required to, in fact, wear black all day, and wear formal blacks on stage. If you are not a theatre person, you might find it difficult to acquire an entirely black outfit for such occasions. But you should know that for theatre people, it is as simple as looking at one half of our closets.
I personally only have about six tiers of blacks. I have the long formal gown, which I wore at my induction and the inductions when I was an officer. I have the short cocktail dress, which is good for openings of shows I direct and also for inductions where I was induction chair. I have the long skirt and blouse combination, which is good for visible positions, such as house manager or director on non-opening days. I have the dress pants and blouse combination, which is good for working in the cafe, as house manager, or as an usher. I have the pants and long-sleeved tee-shirt combination, which is good for stage managing. Finally, I have the grungy jeans and tee-shirt combination, which is good for running crew, props, or any other backstage activity that requires lots of running around. Admittedly, some of these things don’t fit me any more (in the good way!), but I still have them all.
I’m not even that extreme. I actually know someone who has more on the order of eight or nine tiers. And he’s male. And not gay.
Anyway, one of the key things that shouldn’t have to be explained to inductees, but which always tends to come up, is the sock situation. It is just unacceptable to wear black pants, black shoes, and white socks. We tell all the inductees this. We remind the officers. We remind the members. I’ve reminded running crew when I was a stage manager. I’ve reminded actors who happen to be in blacks for a show. I’ve reminded my stage managers when I’m directing. I’m actually kind of obsessed about it.
I didn’t mention how much I love socks. I have so many socks they don’t all fit in my sock drawer. I have socks decorated with argyle, flowers, art deco designs, food, stripes, speckles, sparkles, and cute animals. I have pink socks, green socks, red socks, yellow socks, white socks, black socks, purple socks, grey socks, brown socks, and rainbow socks. I get socks for Christmas, and I don’t think it’s lame. And back to the black thing, I probably have at least six pairs of plain black socks, as well as six or more pairs of nearly black socks (black with flowers, black with sparkles, black with speckles, black with argyle, etc.).
So, today, I am a hypocrite, and I am ashamed. For I am wearing black shoes, black pants, and white socks. I should be banned from theatre.
Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes, Knees and Toes! (part two of a series)
Immediately following lunch, we had our one and only stage-time rehearsal. Our lines were in a pretty good state of known, and we were in a pretty good state of silly. When Eric(a) attacked me, (s)he leapt over a bench and I backed away before realizing that I was supposed to fall back. When I fell back, I was too close to the front row of chairs, and once again was attacked by a chair. Ow! “I’m fine! Let’s try that again.”
Between stage-time and tech, I managed to coerce Chris-with (not Chris-without, who was playing my boyfriend in the play) to help me learn my lines. She was a huge, huge, awesomely huge help for me when I had to learn the lines for Mrs. Antrobus in The Skin of Our Teeth, and she came to my rescue once again. She helped drill my lines with me while the other casts had their stage time.
Our tech began at 3:00 (only eight hours after I had arrived that morning and only six hours and fifteen minutes after the read-through). Everything was going quite well, until the end of the fourth scene. The scene ended, the stage went to a complete black out, and I exited. I got most of the way off-stage, and realized that I was also in the fifth scene and should have remained on stage. So I whipped around and ran back for the stage.
*BONK* Ow! “Who did I just bump into? I’m sorry!” Freddy replied, “It was me.” I apologized again, held up four fingers, and the tech went on. As soon as tech was over I begged our illustrious director to beg the techies for a less black blackout. We settled on a nice dark blue, and then I saw Freddy. The poor guy had a bump on his cheek just below his eye. I gave him a shiner! On the side of his face that he didn’t have an eye patch for!
I apologized and apologized. Some people laughed. His wife alternately threatened to take me out to the parking lot and asked me if she could take credit for it. I didn’t live it down. I’m still sorry! Freddy seemed to think it was funny… I hope so…
I promised Kelly, the tech director, that I wouldn’t hit my head more than five times. I’ll tell you now that I succeeded in that.
My knee hurt. I didn’t look.
Then, the waiting game began. Lines were rehearsed. The other two plays did their techs. Lines were forgotten. Lines were re-memorized. People who hadn’t gotten a single minute of sleep were walking around like zombies. Costumes were donned. Audiences arrived. The producer introduced the production and explained the insanity to the audience. And, we were on!
The audience laughed! Yay! The fight went relatively well, though I forgot to kick off a shoe and I did lose my hair band. A small thud may have been heard as I smacked my own head into the ground (while not even falling!). Diane still won the fight by hitting Eric(a) over the head with my shoe. I didn’t notice the pain.
We watched the two other plays, which were also very good. Then it was time to kick out the audience and clean up our mess. This went rather quickly, despite the overall lack of sleep in the room. I apologized to Freddy another twelve dozen times. I showed some people my dislocated kneecap. I accidentally relocated it while they were looking. They were not impressed. I felt a lot better.
And still, my ass hurt most.
We went out for dinner, a group of sixteen (which was about half of the people involved, the other half went to go watch some show or other or something). We amused and confused our nice waitress with our sleep-deprived humor. We went home. Sleep.
As I stood under the soothing hot water of the shower the next morning, refusing to move, lest the pain be too strong, I sang to myself, “Head and shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes!”
Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes, Knees and Toes! (part one of a series)
After dropping off my stuff in Riley Commons, the large room adjacent to the new Little Theatre, and picking up my script, I was told that we would not have access to that room after 9:00 AM. So I picked up my hangers full of clothes and my backpack, and went into the Little Theatre. It was pitch black with the exception of one light. I could spot someone shifting its cast around the floor, while a disembodied voice said, “Can you straighten out the bottom of that?” Ah… focus. Theatre is awesome.
I inched around the light’s cast and over to the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, I could see the glow from the ΑΨΩ ρκ Green Room. I rounded the corner half way down the stairs, just in time to see a glimpse of a hand closing the door. Of course, I was looking at the door, not my feet, and my next step sent my straight down on my ass. Ow! But I made no sound, clamored back up onto my feet, and reopened that door. I tiptoed around the overzealous cast that had already started their read-through, twenty minutes early, and hung my costumes on the rack.
It was barely 7:30 in the morning, I had gotten nearly four hours of sleep, I was freshly showered, and I had a freshly bruised ass. What a beautiful way to start the day!
I rubbed my ass as I hobbled back up the stairs, through the Little Theatre, and back into the Commons, where my director and fellow cast members were hanging around reading the scripts. I had already given mine its first read, and knew I was in for a wild, wild ride. I wondered allowed, “Do you think there’s a highlighter in the office?” to no one in particular, while walking up the stairs into the sketchy hallway. I peered into the Masque office, making sure no one was passed out on the sofa or carpeted floor. It was unoccupied, so I started rummaging through the desk drawers.
I saw a hint of bright orange, and grabbed at it. Victory! I marched out of the office, around the corner, and down the stairs into the Commons holding my conquest high in my left hand. I took it over to a table and began my highlighting.
Soon, we were all ready. I pulled my boots back over my calves and we all went on over to the dressing rooms next door for our read-through. We each played characters with our own names, which made things somewhat easier.
Diane is a mental health professional and caretaker of Freddy. “Freddy thinks he is a pirate all of the time.” Freddy’s brother Chris is dating Diane. Chris’ best friend Eric has split personalities. The dominant personality loves football, action movies, beef jerky, and nachos. The other personality is female, goes by Erica, and is a southern belle. Erica thinks she’s been dating Chris for several years. Chris doesn’t believe a word of it. “Freddy does miscellaneous pirate things.” Erica thinks that Chirs is a man she is “willing to give [her]self to.” Erica and Diane have a bitch-fight over Chris. Diane wins the fight, but Erica wins Eric’s body. Freddy “be a might confused.” Chris wonders who he is “going to drink beer and watch porn with.” Diane “like[s] beer.” Freddy helps up his new “playmate” Erica, and carries her offstage. “What kind of games are they going to play?” “Shivering the timbers.”
The play is hilarious in every way. It’s too bad you missed it.
Anyway!
We did a couple read-throughs before we had to move on to a different rehearsal space. The second space was the ΑΨΩ ρκ Green Room in the basement of the Little Theatre, which isn’t much larger than the dressing room we had just come from. But we started moving around anyway. The real blocking began in rehearsal three (which started forty-five minutes after the read-through ended… we move fast!).
Our first attempt at the bitch-fight was a lot of fun and games… until I smacked my head down on the ground. Ow! It hurt, but not too much not to try it again. Tuck in the chin. Don’t fall straight back. Victim is in charge of the battle. Stage fighting 101. I caught on pretty quickly, and learned how to fall and attack without getting hurt or hurting anyone else.
We took a break, during which I noticed that I had a nice rug burn on my left elbow. I decided I was glad I had a long sleeved shirt to wear on stage, and vowed to not take off my sweatshirt for the rest of the rehearsals. At our fourth rehearsal (two hours and fifteen minutes after the read-through ended) we did the first four scenes off book. It was pretty awesome. Between the fourth and fifth rehearsals, I tried to memorize the fifth scene (where I had the most lines). Due to my odd mechanisms for learning lines I didn’t learn the middle of the scene, but only the beginning and end.
Our fifth rehearsal is back in the biggest rehearsal room, so we resume practicing the bitch-fight. A chair was left in an inopportune place. My shoulder and my head clunked on it as I fell to the floor. “I’m fine! Don’t worry!” Ow! We work out some awesome funniness just the same.
Lunch followed that rehearsal, and I ate food that was really, really not good for me. I took a bruise count. It was high. But I didn’t feel any pain. Well, except for my ass. That still hurt from the early-morning stair incident…
For the Sake of My Laziness
I’m posting this because I’m too lazy to make a separate web page to put these pictures up. I’m going to be acting in a Show in 24 Hours this weekend, but I will not be available for the “auditions.” The “auditions” in this case involve people parading around in costumes and the writers and directors seeing the costumes and looking for inspiration. So, these pictures are the three outfits I’ll be bringing with me on Saturday, so that the writers and directors can get inspiration for writing the show.
Yes, that’s right, the show is not yet written, and will not be complete until early in the morning on Saturday – at which point I will get a script and learn my lines by 6:00 PM. This is my third year of acting for these, and I think it’s a huge amount of fun. If you are interested in seeing a play that did not exist twenty-four hours before it was performed, check us out at the Little Theatre at WPI at 6:00 PM on Saturday. One performance only!
Now down to business.
Here we have a sundress with bright pink flowers and green stems and pink and green ribbons for a belt:
Here we have a “going out” outfit – red pants (they are actually much redder than the picture shows, I used my cell phone to take the pictures, forgive me) and a black boob shirt:
And here is the “work” outfit – kakhi colored dress pants and a purple, blue, green, and white striped buttondown shirt:
Fabulous.