And The Oscar Goes To...

I know all one of you are waiting with baited breath to see how my audition went.  Well, I almost didn’t go.  I was sitting at home and had turned on a movie.  I had just finished vacuuming and washing the floor, when I thought to myself “Why bother?”  It wasn’t like me and a group of friends were going to try out.  I wasn’t letting anyone down by not being there – except myself.  Plus, I don’t think I could make myself do another thing if I did not do this, so I threw on my Emerald Isle sweatshirt and pulled on my Osiris sneakers (my confident “I am me” outfit) and grabbed my keys. 

I got to the audition with a few minutes to spare and walked in looking to see if there was anyone I knew.  There was!  One of the ladies I was in Fiddler with was there as well as the rabbi from Fiddler.  That kind of loosened me up a little.  Plus the piano player from several of the plays I’ve been in was there.  That was comforting because she introduced me to the director as my character from Fiddler.  As you can probably tell, I loved doing “Fiddler on the Roof”.  I really did.

They had us fill out forms with our information on it and what parts we wanted – character, chorus, or both?  I hemmed and hawed because I went for chorus but since I was there I decided to read for a part too.  What could it hurt?  I picked up one of the character’s lines and started reading through so I would be able to read it coherently on stage.  It’s really weird reading a small part of a play that you know nothing about because you have no idea where they are coming from or what they are trying to impart to their audience.  After I read someone else read another character that referenced the one I read and I was like “Ohhhhh, that’s why she sounds the way she does!” 

After I read I had to sing my “go to” song – which is “If I Only Had a Brain” from the Wizard of Oz”.  I think it was pretty good and I belted it out there – which is a big thing in the theatre, since they don’t normally use microphones.  At least in the plays I’ve been in they don’t.  When I finished I went back to my seat and curled myself into the smallest ball I possibly could.  Don’t ask me why.  I know I sang well, and everyone clapped, but for some reason I just get all self-conscious and collapse into myself.

We read a couple more times, trying different characters and then we were done.  Then the waiting began.  I kept checking my email but there was nothing.  All sorts of things went through my head – was the next day’s auditions better?  Was my singing that bad?  What if they don’t get in touch with me at all to even let me know I wasn’t picked?  What if I do get a part? What will I do then?  How can I memorize all that?

A week later, almost to the day, I get a phone call from the director.  She asks me if I would like to be in the chorus.  I tell her yes.  She tells me that practice will probably begin in December sometime.  I tell her ok.  She says she is looking forward to working with me.  I tell her I’m looking forward to being in this play.  We hang up.  I’m super glad that I got in, but a little disappointed I didn’t get a speaking role.  Even if I was offered one I could turn it down, but I didn’t get the chance. I think that’s part of my neurosis, because like I said, I only wanted a chorus part.  I read for a role as a lark.  But part of me…  Well, I guess part of me wants to be a star.  A supporting star, but a star nonetheless.

All in all, it went well and I’m happy to be part of this group.  I’m looking forward to making new friends and working with old ones, and singing and being part of something bigger than the little world I’ve carved out for myself.

 

 

 

 

Longing to Play...

I’m auditioning for a play on Saturday.  It has some musical parts, but I don’t think it’s a “true” musical.  I’ve been in my share of musicals – not a lot, but a couple.  Starting in grade school I was a flying monkey in “The Wizard of Oz” and the train conductor in “The Music Man”.  I was a nun in “The Sound of Music”.  I loved being in plays, dressing up, putting on makeup, but most of all, being part of a group.  I wish I had tried out for “Oliver” in 7^th grade.  At that point in my short career I realized I was drifting away from my friends, and I just couldn’t face it at the time.

 

Once I graduated from High School I thought plays were behind me.  My life was my boyfriend and college, then my job and my baby.  I tried writing, and I actually wrote a play.  I sent it out (to several publishers) and received one reply.  I can’t remember the wording but all I read was “not good enough”.  When my daughter was old enough to hang out with my best friend I tried out for “Where’s Charley?” through a community group.  To my surprise I got a bit part with a bit of almost solo singing!  It was so much fun to be part of the group again.  No one needed to know me, they just needed to know that I would be there and play my part.  I could be whoever I wanted to be on and off the stage.  After the final curtain fell so did the tears.  I would miss these people, these times.

 

 

Several years after that I auditioned for “Colorplay”.  It was a play with actors ranging from small child to elder adult.  I don’t remember much from that experience except this – my daughter was in it with me.  She had a good time but it was because there were other kids there with her to goof off with.  I did not have a good time because I was constantly monitoring my child as well as the other kids whose parents just dropped them off.  I decided that I would never work with children again. 

The last play I was in was “Fiddler on the Roof”.  I loved this play.  Besides the music the actors were great!  The story line was beautiful, annndddddd I had a real role!  I was grandma Tzeitel!  I had a solo!  I was a dead grandma in a dream sequence but I stole the stage for a brief moment and it was awesome!  All eyes were on me and they loved me!

 

              That was over ten years ago.  I tried out for a regular play this past spring.  I didn’t get a call back.  They had their regular players.  Once in the room with them I could tell they had previous relationships.  I tried, I read with the emotion and precision the character needed, but I knew walking out that I wasn’t getting a call back.  I’m hoping that when I audition this weekend that I’ll see some new faces as well as some familiar ones. 

All I want is a chorus part.  I want to be part of the cast.  I want the feeling of creating something bigger than all of us.  I want the grueling practices, the grumbling about the director.  I want the feeling of elation when we finally harmonize and keep going and finish with amazing clarity.  I want the butterflies and the dry mouth that comes before the show, the comradery where we look out for each other.  And then when we hear the opening score, and the audience settles in their seats and the lights go down and the curtain goes up and all of a sudden you are there.  You are just there.  I want that feeling in my chest at the end of the show where I feel like I love the world and it will never end.  I want that.  I miss that.  I need that.

The song I’ve chosen to sing a Capella for my audition is “If I Only Had a Brain” from The Wizard of Oz.  I was trying to find something more modern, from a more recent play, but this one has been rolling around in my brain for days and it needs to be sung, so sing it I will.  Now I’m going to try to break a leg…

Novel November - continued

I'm keeping these short but I feel like sharing.  First of all, one of the ladies on google+ shared this postcard the other day and it's given me the nudge to get moving on my novel:

 

Last night I cracked open my thumb drive and got reacquainted with my characters.  It was a reunion!  I forgot how much I liked them, and I recalled some of the plans that I had for them, and I was horrified by the amount of time that I had kept them locked up!  Over a year has passed since I started working with them.  I can't believe I was so neglectful! 

I have decided I am going to try to visit with them every day - whether it is to continue writing the novel or to flesh out the characters a little more - I am going to make room for them in my life. 

Yes I want to write a novel!
I have three thousand words today.
I am committing me to write
A few words most every night
and maybe some dur-ring the day...

That's all I have for now! 

Novel November

Why did I just hear about this, this year?  Well, I'm dusting off the novel and continuing.  I thought I could write it to 90's alternative because I feel good and creative but it's not working, so I'm going to go to my trusted and true Wallflowers cd if I can find it.  Wish me luck brothers and sisters, I really need to get this novel up and running.  So many ideas and now I have to get them to work!  

Barbie Vs. Meth

Another Barbie drama…

Ok, we’ve heard it all before – Barbie is bad for body image.  For anyone, but especially for girls.  I played with Barbie when I was a kid.  I loved taking her and her friends and Ken outside in her camper and creating worlds of stories that entertained me AND my brother and sister for hours.  Yes, my brother played Barbie with us.  There was no way he couldn’t – we were thrown out of the house together every day and there was no one else to play with except his sisters.  He was cool about it.  We would play with them in the backyard, in the woods, in the flower beds.  Barbie had great outdoor adventures, and when it rained we hung out in our bedroom and played there – turning bookcases into mansions.  We nailed blocks of wood together and covered it with old carpeting to make custom furniture for her.  Old boxes, Breyer horses, milk cartons, etc.  We reused and recycled before it was the thing to do.  Even the pets came into play.  Cats and dogs were monsters we played around. 

One thing Barbie did not do was throw up or binge eat.  We did get her pregnant a few times, by Darth Vader – not Ken, but she was just a regular girl with some good friends.  Barbie did not give me an eating disorder and I suspect this rings true with a lot of girls.  She did not skew my body image.  No, I learned my bad body images at school, music videos, and people who thought it helpful to point out that I was chubby or pleasantly plump.  These images and phrases can bring fresh pain if I let it, but I am not going to let it today.

I defend Barbie.  Yes, she’s pretty, she dresses well, has every accessory under the sun and has lots of great friends.  Barbie can be a stay at home mom or she could be a doctor.  The thing is, Barbie could be anything.  She could out deal Walter White because Barbie excels in everything she does, and if he tried to shoot her and stuff her in his duffle bag that his doll comes with, well I’m pretty sure she would be able to wrestle the gun away and take him down like a good cop would, because Barbie would make one damn tough cop.  I’m sure she could even eat a doughnut or two without gaining an ounce.

I think the mom who did the on-line petition was justified in her actions.  We need more figures like Barbie and less heroes like White.  I think it’s too bad that people are lashing out against her for it.  I also think they are idiots if they want their kids to play with a meth dealing doll.  Lots of great imagination-play right there.  Maybe they’ll be able to get a chemistry set and create their own meth recipes.  If you have no clue what I’m talking about check this out:

http://www.msn.com/en-us/tv/news/%e2%80%98breaking-bad%e2%80%99-doll-drama-aaron-paul-trashes-barbie-in-defense-of-shows-toy-line/ar-BBaQqvx?ocid=U220DHP

            And for the record, I do have body image issues.  They came from the girls in my class and the classic “you know you’re fat when” tests.  The one I remember was if you put your legs together and you can’t see daylight between your crotch and thighs.  Then you were fat.  I was also told by a boy I had a crush on that I was pear shaped.  It just sounded bad.  Barbie had nothing to do with it.  I was beyond her at that point.

            Let’s cut the doll a break.  I really don’t think she’s as evil as a lot of people would want one to believe.  And let’s not buy our children meth making dolls this holiday season.  It just seems very, very wrong.

Crossword Puzzles

             I do love crossword puzzles.  If I’m bored and there is one nearby I am on that puzzle!  As long as they are easy I am happy.  I love totally finishing one without having to look up clues.  The satisfaction of seeing it finished correctly makes me want to wave it in the air and brag to all my non-puzzle loving friends.  They won’t get it.  You do, if you love your puzzle.  It doesn’t have to be crossword.  It has to be something you need to complete, though. 

The empty puzzle calls to me – “fill me in!” it cries plaintively.  My trusty pencil in my hand, sharp, but not too sharp to rip the paper as I start my small printing of letters.  Slightly lighter on the clues that I’m not too sure of, just in case I need to erase.  Newspaper doesn’t take too kindly to erasing.  It usually smudges pretty dark. 

I used to carry a puzzle book with me wherever I went. I kept it in my purse, or sometimes in the glove compartment of the car.  When my daughter got old enough she would sneak it away and do puzzles of her own.  She likes the word search mags and books.  When she was locked up I would send them to her so she would have something to do with her brain while she figured out where her life was going. 

Yes, when I need to unwind, to take advantage of quiet time but can’t sit still, I’ll take that crossword puzzle.  I will take it and I will rule it!!!

 

 

Wrong Number

Several weeks ago I got home from work and listened to the messages on my answering machine.  There were several from the same person, and at first I couldn’t understand her.  She had a very strong Brooklyn accent, and although I grew up with those accents, coming from an unfamiliar voice made it a little less decipherable.  I did decipher it, however, and this woman was calling from a hospital, where she had just been admitted, and wanted her friend to call her back as soon as she got the message.

 I ended up calling her and explaining to her who I was and why I was calling.  I told her if she gave me the name of her friend I would look up the number for her so she could get her to come visit her.  She said “But this is the number I call her at all the time!”, then she recited my phone number.  I told her that it was mine and I would help her find her friend if she would like.  She finally decided she could be wrong and gave me the name.  I looked it up and she was one number off.  I read it to her and she got quiet and then she apologized.  I told her it wasn’t a problem.  I just wanted to help.  Wishing her a speedy recovery, we hung up.

This has happened to me before.  Not the messages but a wrong number caller.  There’s a little old lady who had a stroke some time ago, in the next town over, who calls once in a while.  Her eye site is going and she can’t see the numbers so well.  Sometimes she’ll ask for someone, sometimes she will just start talking.  This is how I learned Robin Williams took his own life.  She called and very quickly told me what she had just seen on CNN, that she couldn’t talk right now, but we would talk later.  Then she said good bye and we hung up.  I didn’t see the point of telling her she had the wrong number.  What good would it have done?