effing.
in Funny Stuff, Thoughts and Feelings
as Arthur, bikini, bladder infection, change, Guinevere, home, Jesus, jonathan, kind of hurt, New York, plastic flowers, something, tattoo artist, Tiger Woods, wicker basket, world
Even tattoos aren’t permanent, you know.
People always warn you about getting that gnome on the inside of your wrist; that maybe you won’t want to be holding your grandchild someday and reminded of the night you took those awful shots and then thought it was a good idea to get inked. And that somehow you found the one tattoo artist who specializes in gnomes. Specializes. As if gnomes are special.
But what’s the big deal?
Things change.
Because I knew a guy who had a naked lady tattooed on his bicep. But then he met Jesus and, I’m not sure if it was Jesus who said something or the other people he knew who had also met Jesus, but he suddenly didn’t feel so comfortable with that poor lady, exposed for all the world to see like that.
So the next time I saw him, the tattoo was different. And although it wasn’t exactly Amish approved, a bikini was something, and all the unfortunate people in the world who were walking around with gnomes on their wrists suddenly felt some hope that they, too, could find some kind of redemption.
Although I’m not sure that putting a bikini on a gnome is the answer.
But see? Things change.
And you know what is just hilarious in all this mess?
I’ve never dealt so well with change.
Not when I was twelve and skinny with legs that were too long for the length of my jean shorts and went off to Chautaqua, New York for a summer dance intensive.
By. My. Self.
I remember the small wicker basket of plastic flowers that I picked out at my parents’ suggestion; something to make my dorm room in which I’d be staying a little more homey. But if you’re trying to make something homey, then it’s all too clear that you’re not at home.
You’re just not.
And that change hurt.
The kind of hurt that had me ducking into the bathroom for a good cry enough times to probably make my mom wonder if she should pick up some cranberry juice for my obvious bladder infection.
And then there was the change that happened every time one of my brothers moved out of the house. Like lemmings, they went until it was just me and my sister left on the second floor; they went until it was just me walking home from church late Sunday nights all alone, my brother Jonathan no longer making the trip across the yard with me.
And I’d sing a song from Les Miserables, On My Own, to the stars and I know, can you say dramatic?
But those changes?
Oh, they were sweet changes, by comparison. Changes that make me think of soft bunnies, dolphins swimming, and slippers that are fluffy and bright yellow and basically perfect.
I didn’t know about the changes that could make you realize that nothing on this earth, not even tattoos, is actually permanent. That you can bet your life on a few words, even nail them to your wall, painted on a piece of wood so all the world can see:
I will always go to sleep with your name in my prayers and you in my heart.
And then it’s the world’s best and worst joke.
And it’s old and timeless because you’ve heard the story before. You know about Arthur and Guinevere and then along comes Lancelot who sucked then and sucks now. Not to mention the way that Guinevere fell from grace in her own sucky manner too.* But it’s not like the kinds of betrayals that end relationships are original or anything. It’s not like Tiger Woods tried out something brand new.
But well, it’s new to me. It’s like life is a knock knock joke that I thought I knew. And I thought I’d laugh at the punch line again, just like all the other times, but I wasn’t prepared for knock knock, who’s there? nobody.
That was shocking.
And a big um, effing, change.
Can I say effing?
Or should I try to make it better with a bikini, just like that guy did after he met Jesus?
No, probably saying effing while wearing a bikini would not improve my situation.
But I guess I’m still reeling from the change. I guess going into our old place, seeing some good guys carry my piano from our old home to my parents’ home once again, was symbolic of this change.
And that’s why I was once again ducking away into a room for a good cry tonight. Only this time there was no little wicker basket with fake flowers, no attempt to make anything even feel more like home because why even try?
Things change.
At least they do here on earth; at least they have for me.
*I’m sorry, but I must point out how in just two sentences I used three different versions of the word suck. Somebody get me a gold star. An effing gold star.
the time I had my first audition of the new year
in Funny Stuff, Performance, Thoughts and Feelings
as accompanist, audition room, book, director, I. Do, Michael Jackson, New York, something, song, televangelist, time, whole lot of nothing, whole slew
Today I went to New York and back.
It was time.
And for the occasion, I even got a new shirt complete with a big face on it that I first thought was Michael Jackson but then came to the conclusion that it was just some lady’s face. And then I sort of wore the shirt as a dress. You can do that when you wear leggings; it’s like magic, the way they transform a longish shirt into a very shortish dress.
But the reason I went to the city was to go sing for some people that have the power to cast me in a Broadway show. I’ve found that to be the key to getting jobs. Singing for those people, I mean. I enjoy singing for everybody, don’t get me wrong, but singing in my bedroom isn’t going to get me a show. Not unless those aforementioned people are in my bedroom too, but that just raises a whole slew of other questions I am not going to get into now.
So I go into the audition room and it’s just how it always is. A few people behind a table. An accompanist at the piano. A whole lot of nothing else. Except me, of course. Me and my book and my smile that says it’d be a really good idea to hire me, you know.
And for some reason I decide not to sing my whole song. I cut it down to 24 bars or so and those 24 bars go well. My only problem is that I am never quite sure where to look when I am singing about 4 feet away from the casting people. I mean, if I stare right at them, it’s creepy; if I look above and just past them, it’s reminiscent of some kind of televangelist who is conjuring up their future or something. Might as well just roll my eyes into the back of my head while I’m at it.
I compromise: I look at the tops of their heads.
And when I stop, they ask, Is that all? Can you sing more? Something else maybe?
Now this is a good thing and I know this is a good thing. Nobody ever wants more of something they don’t like. Especially not a casting director who has already sat through tons of hopefuls and let’s be real, it’s only 11:30 am.
The problem is I’ve committed the classic rookie mistake. Everybody knows you should only put music in your audition book that you know and can sing at the drop of a hat. But still, I have music in my book that I don’t know. That I don’t even remember putting in my book, actually.
I can sing Natural Woman for you, I suggest, hoping they’ll take this since it’s something I have and something I know.
Nope, he says. Needs to be broadway. Legit. A standard, he emphasizes.
Which is when the accompanist lands on something in my book, She has The Man I Love.
I do? I think, wracking my brain for that song, realizing that I don’t know it.
Uh-oh…Because I. Don’t. Know. It.
Great, the casting director says, Sing that.
I start walking towards the piano and as I do, I apologize. I’ve been on the road with A Chorus Line for a long time, I explain. I haven’t looked at my book in a while and I don’t really know that song.
That’s fine, the director says kindly, You can sight sing for us.
Great, I think. Sight singing. Just what I want to be doing in front of the casting director. Ugh.
But he starts playing and luckily the melody isn’t so tricky. It’s actually a little bit bluesy, this song, and I appreciate that. I’m having a good time, singing it pretty well. The verse gives way to a chorus and I try to pretend like I know it. It actually goes smoothly. Kind of. It ends low, on a D, and I’ve always gotten along well with a D and I’m also happy it’s over.
The director says I have a beautiful voice and I am going to be honest, compliments make me happy. He asks me how my dancing is and we talk a bit about being on the road. Then he tells me, I am going to ask you one more thing.
Um, anything! I think.
Seriously, directors can ask anything of auditionees and by goodness, we will do it or die trying. I once saw a guy do a tumbling pass to impress a director who had asked for anyone who can tumble to demonstrate. He might have overcompensated though, because this guy’s last back handspring landed on the production team’s table, knocking over some coffee and almost sending him right out the open window.
And can you believe that the poor guy didn’t get the job?
But the director asks me to sing the end of All that Jazz. It’s a big brassy belt. It’s hot and I’m excited to do it. I practice once and my voice forgets how to belt. The pianist looks at me and says, This is pie for your voice, you’ve got this. So I do it for real this time and it feels great. Like singing in the shower great. They all nod like I am the horse they were betting on and I have just won and didn’t they tell everyone I would win? It feels good.
As I leave I tell them that I like that song, The Man I Love, that I think I am going to learn it.
We all laugh and they say, You should; it sounds really good on your voice.
I walk out having no idea what, if anything, will come of this audition. But it sure does feel absolutely worth it to feel like you’ve at least made a good impression.
And I wasn’t kidding about The Man I Love, either.
I am going to learn it, since it’s already in my book and all.
when you find out the sky is not blue
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Performance, Thoughts and Feelings
as blue sky, color, fuchsia, God, isn, light in the darkness, New York, purple sky, self deprecating, sky, something, time, Trenton
There are things that I know to be true. Self-evident, like it says on that famous declaration. It’s simple, like the earth being round. Like our blood being red. Like God and how he said something once to turn on the light in the darkness and how that still holds true for me now, literally [...]
28 shows
in Performance, Thoughts and Feelings
as A Chorus Line, cast, Chorus, chorus line, Detroit, drew, first wives club, God, Japan, Line, misty eyes, morning bus, New York, ready to go home, sentimental/inspiration, show, theater/tour, time
I have 28 shows left of A Chorus Line. Even as I type this, it’s hard to really comprehend. Already, there are some misty eyes in the cast as I look around the stage during the show. If the last few times we’ve had closing performances for cast members are any indication, I will probably [...]
back on the road and a shoulder clap gone dreadfully wrong
in Funny Stuff, Performance, Thoughts and Feelings
as clap, drew, exit signs, God, golden ticket, humor, M. Night, magic hour, memphis, music, neon signs, New York, night parties, opening night, shoulder, shoulder claps, show, tonight, tour
So I’m back. And it’s really okay. Better than okay, actually, if how I felt on stage tonight is any indication. It was a blur of bright lights, too-red EXIT signs, the glare of all the many people who watch us with their glasses on, and the already prevalent ache in my feet–but beyond that…this [...]
