10 am
Uta Hagen has a book An Actor Prepares. I have a blog An Actor Neurotics. I read the script again, first time in thirty years. Watched the movie again. Again, was grumpy at how different the two are. There are no men in the play except to be discussed and alluded to. I have never loved this script, I feel like the women are stereotypes and they speak in platitudes. It was written by a man, and I don't like any man's female characters except Edward Albee. His women I understand. Steel Magnolias seems to be an extended stereotype intended to make women cry for monetary gain (ticket sales). It works, don't get me wrong, but it's transparent. And I'm judgy.
The men in the play are referred to as couch potatoes and neanderthals. Largely useless, beer drinking entities who do not help out at all. But when they made the movie they cast Tom Skerritt and Sam Shepard and well....they aren't going to play that now, are they? So the movie skews away from the man bashing in the original script quite a bit, allowing these sympathetic, and hard working husbands to emerge---albeit quietly. They aren't given a lot of lines. And that softens the blow a bit, and frankly gives the story a bit more balance.
Just my opinion.
The stereotype, however, is part of what makes it fun. Ouiser is a bitter old southern woman, the end. No need to dig too deeply. Truvy is pretty. Clairee is dignified. M'lynn is a mom. Shelby is an ornery child trying to live her own life but is ultimately a moron. Annelle is a "survivor", pulling herself up after the criminal husband leaves her. And Scene. They all hang out in a beauty shop and gossip about the town. Because that's what women do, apparently. It's really a play about drag queens, let's be honest. I volunteer to direct that version!
I used to feel the same way about Crimes of the Heart, until recently. I looped it into my Acting 1 class and got some really nice work out of the girls. Turns out there's more there than meets the eye when you work on it. Maybe that's my problem with Steel Magnolias, I just don't understand it.
I don't need to understand it or even like it to want to be in it. I can't explain why, it'd just be fun to act again.
So I had to drag out a monologue. Everything I have no longer works for anyone over 30, except for Aunt Maddy which is 10 minutes long. Not an audition monologue. So I pulled an old one from Soap Dish, as it can work with a southern dialect and it's short, and "ageless". It'll be fine.
I looked up the map, the theatre is 28 minutes from my house. Armed with this information I will still arrive 30 minutes early and end up sitting in the parking lot, texting Eric.
If callbacks are tomorrow or Monday, I can't go, I have auditions for Willy Wonka. There is no callback time listed on the audition notice.
I had a terrible nightmare last night, in it the person they hired to replace me as director took over my entire office and let choir kids hang out all the time. It was awful. So I didn't get a great night of sleep, which is good. I look older.
My lower back/hip has been seizing for a week, I overdid it last Saturday at the gym, so I walk with one hand on my back. I also tore up my pinkie toe breaking in shoes, so I limp. Again: good for age. :)
I look down at my hands. I have 4 remaining long fake nails from my last manicure adventure with Harper, three weeks ago. The other 6 have been broken off and hacked at. Another mess that is so me. So I clip two of the nails down and leave the longer thumb nails for balance. If they notice my nails, I've failed anyway, dunno why I bother. It's something to do I suppose.
I have nothing to wear. I coach "Don't dress for a role, dress nicely. Not prom nice, just church nice." I stand in my closet looking at the hodge podge of hand me downs and funky pants and maxi skirts and realize I don't have "church clothes". So do I go for it as me, since I already am Ouiser, or try to find neutral pieces to cobble together, that may look worse than just committing to poor taste. Or Nathan Lane? I can do Nathan Lane pretty easily. Dear God I cannot even dress myself.
Just messaged Eric, he recommends the heart ruffle shirt my mother in law gave me. I always get compliments from older women when I wear it, good call.
Jim made breakfast, I guess I'll go shower?
_______________________________________________
In the shower I realize it's a rant, not a monologue. I can alter my Carrie Fischer Postcards From the Edge in a way that it still works. I'll do that.
__________________________________________________
I arrive 30 minutes early. I text Eric about the tattooed young lady having a cigarette outside the theatre--which is in a strip mall that also contains other businesses. We decide she's the stage manager. An orange mini arrives, and a disheveled man carrying a pile of papers (clearly scripts), a brown to go bag, what looks like mike stands and his car keys in his mouth, stumbles to the theatre. He returns moments later, moves his car around the block, returns and parks in the same spot, emerges with more papers. He returns to his car a third time to retrieve something I cannot identify before it's time for me to go in.
I have identified the director!
The young lady, however, turns out to be an employee at another shop in the strip mall.
___________________________________________________________
I have been the wrong age my entire career.
In my 20's I read older, and rarely was considered because actors who were actually 30 were better than me. Then I took a decade plus off to be a mom and a teacher. Landing me here, a young looking 50, and still the wrong age.
The callback went well. Again, Nice People! And I nailed reading for both Ouiser and Clairee. He has a definite type in mind for the other roles that I do not fit, and that's fine. I would have liked to read for M'lynn but it was clear he had a specific type in mind.
It was a joy to sit there as an actor and watch the proceedings without my judgey director hat.
I had the best time! I got to be an old southern grumpy and he read enough scenes for me to be funny physically, create a character, nail the meter in the text,and cry! I got to CRY I never get to cry! He was auditioning M'lynn's, you know "My daughter can't run to Texas....why is she dead..." and all I had to do was control my crying until Clairree shoved me down front "Hit her!"
IT WAS THE BEST ABSOLUTELY THE BEST MOMENT!!!
'cause I was actually crying, so I had to say "are you high" through tears and anger and surprise and WHO EVER GETS TO DO THAT?
Dang I MISS ACTING!
They have more auditions tomorrow, and I'm confident that I am too young to get cast. But I had such a great time, I'm going to look up more auditions tonight and go to another one.
I get it now! 20 years too late but still, I GET IT!
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Friday, June 3, 2016
3 June, 2016: The First Bunny Victim is Found
Gatos Diablos 16.
As I have posted previously, I am quite aware that I am not using Spanish correctly. I just find it funnier this way. I like the timber and syntax, and I can hear Martin Buchanan's "Monster Truck" voice when I write it. "Gatos Diablos".
The Devil Cats are back.
The first victim was stumbled upon at 8.35 am, MST, on the back patio. Its head was gone and its internal organs had also been removed, and were displayed next to the body. The head was not in sight. The victim, a medium sized Green Mountain bunny, looked like the other thousand bunnies running around. S/he had no notable markings other than the missing head. The murderer was curled up at the edge of the Tarantino scene, calmly awaiting her reward for saving our home from this fuzzy menace.
What she received, instead, was my yearly impression of a Jersey bodgea owner washing the blood off of the cement with the garden hose. With the added suburban element of keeping the dogs away from eating the intestines.
What do they do with the heads?
Every year I ask this question.
This year, the coyotes have returned--huzzzAH! And there have been fox sightings--also huzzah! Due to mange, we haven't had fox up here in a few years, hence the bunny menace and the morning power wash. The cats were simply stepping in where the fox and coyote left off. I thought, that since the natural predators had seemed to return, that the cats would have less interest, or competition, or less prey.
A few years ago, it was birds and mice and large rats. We had a family of fox living next door, and the cats would bring their prey to our porch, and drop it. The next morning, or later in the day, the dead had been removed. I realized that, with a family of baby fox next door, my cats should be disappearing. But they weren't, and we figured out that they had an arrangement with the fox family. The cats caught birds and mice, left them at our door, and under cover of darkness the baby foxes (foxes, is that right? Plural? That looks wrong) would retrieve their dinner.
AH-HA! The cats are smart! They were feeding the fox family and saving their own hides! Very clever, gatos!
But then there were no more fox families, no fox adults, nothing. And that was when the bunny corpses began to arrive.
Without a food chain-self preservation arrangement, I am at a loss as to why the cats A) escalated to bunnies and B) still leave them on the patio. That is when I formulated the gang theory. They are leaving the headless bunnies as a warning. But to who I still do not know.
One morning last summer---it's in a blog somewhere---I came out to what appeared to be two disemboweled bunnies on the patio and two more on the deck! That was a true Tarantino, you gotta get the body count up there. As usual they were headless, heads nowhere to be found. I stopped coming out on the deck in the morning to write as the stench was overpowering. See, I'll power wash the patio and deck, but that's it. If the dogs don't eat the remains, or at least move them, they just stay in my yard. A Big Bunny Burial Ground, except for the burying. It's just a body dump. My back yard is the Colorado version of the East River.
But today, there are fox sightings, and I hear coyotes. And I see thousands of bunnies daily, hopping everywhere, twitching their noses and flashing their tails. I feel like Anya "What's with all the carrots, why do they need such good eyesight for anyway?" They are kind of a scourge. Maybe the cats are doing a public service.
We'll see. This was only one victim.
Here is the murderous devil hiding behind the deck. Or awaiting her next prey....YES! She jumped on the dog as he passed! And returned to her spot and....YES! She lept upon a fellow Diablo who just wanted to pass through.
As I have posted previously, I am quite aware that I am not using Spanish correctly. I just find it funnier this way. I like the timber and syntax, and I can hear Martin Buchanan's "Monster Truck" voice when I write it. "Gatos Diablos".
The Devil Cats are back.
The first victim was stumbled upon at 8.35 am, MST, on the back patio. Its head was gone and its internal organs had also been removed, and were displayed next to the body. The head was not in sight. The victim, a medium sized Green Mountain bunny, looked like the other thousand bunnies running around. S/he had no notable markings other than the missing head. The murderer was curled up at the edge of the Tarantino scene, calmly awaiting her reward for saving our home from this fuzzy menace.
What she received, instead, was my yearly impression of a Jersey bodgea owner washing the blood off of the cement with the garden hose. With the added suburban element of keeping the dogs away from eating the intestines.
What do they do with the heads?
Every year I ask this question.
This year, the coyotes have returned--huzzzAH! And there have been fox sightings--also huzzah! Due to mange, we haven't had fox up here in a few years, hence the bunny menace and the morning power wash. The cats were simply stepping in where the fox and coyote left off. I thought, that since the natural predators had seemed to return, that the cats would have less interest, or competition, or less prey.
A few years ago, it was birds and mice and large rats. We had a family of fox living next door, and the cats would bring their prey to our porch, and drop it. The next morning, or later in the day, the dead had been removed. I realized that, with a family of baby fox next door, my cats should be disappearing. But they weren't, and we figured out that they had an arrangement with the fox family. The cats caught birds and mice, left them at our door, and under cover of darkness the baby foxes (foxes, is that right? Plural? That looks wrong) would retrieve their dinner.
AH-HA! The cats are smart! They were feeding the fox family and saving their own hides! Very clever, gatos!
But then there were no more fox families, no fox adults, nothing. And that was when the bunny corpses began to arrive.
Without a food chain-self preservation arrangement, I am at a loss as to why the cats A) escalated to bunnies and B) still leave them on the patio. That is when I formulated the gang theory. They are leaving the headless bunnies as a warning. But to who I still do not know.
One morning last summer---it's in a blog somewhere---I came out to what appeared to be two disemboweled bunnies on the patio and two more on the deck! That was a true Tarantino, you gotta get the body count up there. As usual they were headless, heads nowhere to be found. I stopped coming out on the deck in the morning to write as the stench was overpowering. See, I'll power wash the patio and deck, but that's it. If the dogs don't eat the remains, or at least move them, they just stay in my yard. A Big Bunny Burial Ground, except for the burying. It's just a body dump. My back yard is the Colorado version of the East River.
But today, there are fox sightings, and I hear coyotes. And I see thousands of bunnies daily, hopping everywhere, twitching their noses and flashing their tails. I feel like Anya "What's with all the carrots, why do they need such good eyesight for anyway?" They are kind of a scourge. Maybe the cats are doing a public service.
We'll see. This was only one victim.
Here is the murderous devil hiding behind the deck. Or awaiting her next prey....YES! She jumped on the dog as he passed! And returned to her spot and....YES! She lept upon a fellow Diablo who just wanted to pass through.
WANTED
"STRUMPH"
RUNS WITH THE GANG "GATOS DIABLOS"
Do not be fooled by her small size or pretty face. She is the most lethal of the three.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Another Audition? the HELL IS GOING ON?
So...I really enjoyed auditioning again. When you don't really want the part and you know you aren't right for the show, there is real freedom in just going to play.
So Immma do it again.
I'm going to audition in Conifer on Saturday for Steel Magnolias. My friend Toddie and I used to re enact the bench scene with Ouiser and Clairee with much joy. I have always wanted to be Ouiser, and admittedly I am not old enough BUT, Shirley Maclaine was 55 when she made the movie. I can look and act much older than 50! Unfortunately, for me, I'm a young looking 50. But still it'll be fun! I had to dig out a monologue and do a southern accent. Which I love, I only get to pull it out once a year when we do Tennessee Williams, I may not be able to maintain it for a full monologue. But I'm kinda excited to try!
It'd be more fun if I didn't want the role, I know I'm too young for Ouiser but dammit, I am Ouiser and have been for twenty years! I'm too old for M'lynn or Truvvy,so I have it set up to be OK if I don't get cast. I can always hide behind the age issue. Go me. Control Freak: Party of One!
I teach and preach "YOU CANNOT CONTROL CASTING", but I do not practice what I preach. Why should I? I'm not an actor any more.
I have a vague recollection of auditioning for this show when I was in my late 20's. I was wwaaaaaaay too young for any of the parts I wanted, and a bit too old for the younger roles. They read me for Annelle, and I was fine. But another actor who wanted the role more and was right for the part won. I haven't thought about that in years. I knew at the callback whose part it was. For someone who spends her life teaching acting, I sure don't recall a lot of my own experiences. I figure the kids don't need to hear about how I'm a failure, they already know that: "Those who can't do, teach."
WHICH BY THE WAY I SAW A BILLBOARD DOWNTOWN THIS WEEKEND, THERE IS A SHOW ABOUT LOSER TEACHERS AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT IT. I think it's called Those Who Can't, and the billboard has adults in a bathroom drinking brown liquor.
I do not drink at school.
ANYWAY, that's all I can say about that.
So I will keep a fun journal of the audition Saturday. Eric is in Vegas, so I guess I can't text him. Well, I can, but why would he reply: he's in Vegas. But I will Find the Funny and joy in auditioning for the pure love of theatre. The business sucks, and can make many perspective actors exit stage "SCREW THIS IMMMA GET A LIFE". But it only sucks if you let it. I teach my kids the difference between love of the craft and the necessity of the business. Just go to auditions and tell a story. Have fun. You are in love with the craft, not the business. Eventually you will be right for a role, and you will be able to have your cake and eat it to. Until then, take classes, enjoy, explore, HAVE FUN. The day it isn't fun is the day you retire.
And become a teacher.
So Immma do it again.
I'm going to audition in Conifer on Saturday for Steel Magnolias. My friend Toddie and I used to re enact the bench scene with Ouiser and Clairee with much joy. I have always wanted to be Ouiser, and admittedly I am not old enough BUT, Shirley Maclaine was 55 when she made the movie. I can look and act much older than 50! Unfortunately, for me, I'm a young looking 50. But still it'll be fun! I had to dig out a monologue and do a southern accent. Which I love, I only get to pull it out once a year when we do Tennessee Williams, I may not be able to maintain it for a full monologue. But I'm kinda excited to try!
It'd be more fun if I didn't want the role, I know I'm too young for Ouiser but dammit, I am Ouiser and have been for twenty years! I'm too old for M'lynn or Truvvy,so I have it set up to be OK if I don't get cast. I can always hide behind the age issue. Go me. Control Freak: Party of One!
I teach and preach "YOU CANNOT CONTROL CASTING", but I do not practice what I preach. Why should I? I'm not an actor any more.
I have a vague recollection of auditioning for this show when I was in my late 20's. I was wwaaaaaaay too young for any of the parts I wanted, and a bit too old for the younger roles. They read me for Annelle, and I was fine. But another actor who wanted the role more and was right for the part won. I haven't thought about that in years. I knew at the callback whose part it was. For someone who spends her life teaching acting, I sure don't recall a lot of my own experiences. I figure the kids don't need to hear about how I'm a failure, they already know that: "Those who can't do, teach."
WHICH BY THE WAY I SAW A BILLBOARD DOWNTOWN THIS WEEKEND, THERE IS A SHOW ABOUT LOSER TEACHERS AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT IT. I think it's called Those Who Can't, and the billboard has adults in a bathroom drinking brown liquor.
I do not drink at school.
ANYWAY, that's all I can say about that.
So I will keep a fun journal of the audition Saturday. Eric is in Vegas, so I guess I can't text him. Well, I can, but why would he reply: he's in Vegas. But I will Find the Funny and joy in auditioning for the pure love of theatre. The business sucks, and can make many perspective actors exit stage "SCREW THIS IMMMA GET A LIFE". But it only sucks if you let it. I teach my kids the difference between love of the craft and the necessity of the business. Just go to auditions and tell a story. Have fun. You are in love with the craft, not the business. Eventually you will be right for a role, and you will be able to have your cake and eat it to. Until then, take classes, enjoy, explore, HAVE FUN. The day it isn't fun is the day you retire.
And become a teacher.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Postcards from a Cooler Generation PART ONE
I kinda dig old men.
I like to say it's been going on the last few years, but when I stop and think about it, I've always had a thing about old guys.
I love their stories.
My High School Theatre teacher qualified as an "old guy" ---HE WAS OLD TO ME--and was a Vietnam Vet.
My grandpa was from the WWII Silent Generation. Those guys are awesome, because they don't want to talk about it. I cannot fathom going through something so traumatic that I won't talk about it. I had to travel to Hawaii, boat to the Pearl Harbor memorial, see my family name on the memorial, come back home, and trap my grandpa in a corner in order to learn that "RL Wyckoff" on the Arizona was his cousin.
I HAD TO ASK! THAT'S KINDA BIG NEWS FOR OUR FAMILY, GRANDPA, DON'T YOU THINK? He shrugged "He was my cousin, I didn't know him that well." And with that, he was done talking about it.
The last few years I have found myself milking stories out of my dad, my uncle Bob, and randomly crossing paths with Delightful Old Gentlemen! Some I get their names, some I do not. Some just offer me a seat, or comment on my coffee choice;" Ha, you have to wait, you gotta fancy one, didntcha? I got mine fast and I can leave: just coffee." They are all pretty much in their 80's, except for dad and uncle Bob, who are 70's Kinda Guys.
My dad, uncle Bob and uncle Leroy all drive to Frederick together to get their hair cut by my barber brother in law. It's beyond cute. Todd's shop is barely big enough for the four of them, yet I can imagine them all sitting along the wall, catching up on gossip and mishearing every other word. Todd is ex Army, my dad was Navy and I don't know if Bob or Leroy have military affiliations, but I am sure they do have opinions. When I sit with Bob, I just listen to whatever story he has in the moment, or ask him about being raised in Denver. I've never asked about military. Bob is the source of The Best Racist Stories Ever in my family. It was at his wedding (Bob is Hispanic, by the way. We are not) that an Aunt stood up and loudly asked "Who let in all these Mexicans?"I LOVE THAT STORY! I have no memory of that particular Aunt, and I think I was present at that wedding, albeit very young. However, if I was there I have no doubt that moment imprinted on my brain. He helped the stereotype along by threatening to cut off my ears and make tacos out of them, and wielding kitchen knives while saying "Mexican Credit Cards". I didn't get it. My cousin had to explain it to me. "He's saying he robs people with knives."
"Why would you rob people with knives? He has his own knives." Even at a young age I appreciated commas.
"HE ROBS PEOPLE. HE USES KNIVES TO DO IT."
"No he doesn't, he's in the kitchen,"
"He means Mexicans. Use knives. To rob people."
"Why?"
At that point I'm pretty sure I was punched, or tripped, or walked away from.
_________
One night at the pub, my dad told me stories of being a kid on the farm in Genoa. None of it had I heard before.
He told me my grandpa left home when he was a kid by hopping a freight. There were too many kids in the house during the depression, so he hopped a freight. Rode it to California. With a guy who died.
...."dad?''.....
"Ya, he wouldn't talk about it. Fella died on the trip I guess."
How John Steinbeck.
___________
They also lost an entire herd of sheep one winter. Before he had cows, my grandpa had sheep. A Lot of sheep. The number escapes me, hundreds. A storm blew in, and out there in Genoa there is no cover. It's all flat, a few ravines, which in my memory are just ditches. Sheep, it turns out, aren't the brightest of God's creatures. They all crammed themselves into a ditch, right up against one another, to stay warm or get out of the storm. They crammed so close they suffocated. Every last one of them.
An entire herd of dead sheep.
Dad said it was several trailer truckloads of sheep. They had to be removed.
So by the time I came along, grandpa had cows, and chickens, and a dog and no sheep.
_____
When grandma and grandpa got married, they had the plot of land in Genoa. No money to build a house, just enough for the land. So they dug a hole in the ground and set up housekeeping under a piece of plywood (dad says it may have been tar). Like prairie dogs. Until they could afford the house, which they bought and had transported to the land ---which is so cool to me---and had it placed over the hole in the ground. Which became their cellar, and is the place I remember going down into to explore as a kid. I still have weird dreams about that cellar, mostly about being trapped. They lived in the house for 30 ish years, and no tornado ever touched the house. Considering how dearly tornadoes love that corridor of eastern Colorado, I think it was God's way of giving them a break.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
audition at 50
GUESS WHAT I DID TODAY TO AVOID PANIC ATTACKS? I auditioned for a community theatre show. First "real" audition in...18 years?
I did a thing that used to cause me grave anxiety to avoid anxiety.
I can train a kid to nail this, but I cannot locate a decent photo of myself,a working printer or remember enough shows to build a resume. I sit in my office at school on my desk top, talking to myself after ransacking my sample resumes that I keep to teach kids, and realize none of them are mine. I have old headshots, but no resumes. I cannot remember anything I did 20 years ago. Was I in theatre? Did I do things?
I am also lazy, so I had to find a song I already knew in Farrell's stash. Eric tried to help by getting on his phone and looking up songs an old fat woman can sing, and I said "I can't do that" and he said "You pay $3 and hit print" and I said "No, I don't want to learn a whole new song, it's not Broadway, I'm just filling time." He replied with his usual "UGH" and I said "Yes, this is exhausting. This is why I quit."
I cannot dress like my type because it's changed and I dunno what it is. I dig out my culottes and a floppy shirt to ensure I look 30 pounds heavier than I am. I kind of look for some mascara but Harper has it all, so I leave the house without makeup. I did take a shower, I'm not an animal. I even wore my cheetah pointy toed flats that make me think I'm being fashionable. They are 15 years old, have gaff tape holding the edges together and clop when I walk. I don't dance so there is no reason to wear jazz shoes. Back In The Day I was a "mover" and I could execute dance moves taught to me. But arthritis is a bitch so I don't. AND YES ERIC WE ALL KNOW ABOUT CHITA RIVERA, SIT DOWN, I'M NOT CHITA RIVERA.
I arrive at the audition location 30 minutes early because I have too much anxiety to sit at home. I figure I'll get a Starbucks while I wait. Anxiety loves coffee. However, the audition location is in an old, sad, saggy strip mall with no Starbucks. No Mom and Pop Coffee. No Fro Yo. All dance studios and regular businesses. Best choice is to sit in the car and stalk the auditioners.
And text Eric.
Let the Snark Begin!
So many girls hoping to snag the lead, everyone watched the movie and they want to be Anne Margaret. I did this show in high school, and I wanted to be Anne Margaret but alas, even at 17 I was 80 years old and I was cast as the old mom. I watch their moms walk them in, they are clutching their binders of music, headshot and res tucked inside, short skirts bopping off their butts... I snap Eric photos for Snark Ammo. A ridiculous invasion of privacy, but I didn't invent the camera phone or Paparazzi, I'm just following the example set for me.
The Snark Fest is lighthearted, we mean no harm. We've directed enough to be kind and gracious, and auditioned enough to know the anxiety is real. It's just a way to pass the time. There are many "Ugh's".
Everyone auditioning is 30 years younger than I am because it's one of those 50's teeenage shows. I just wanna be a parent in the show. That's my type now, right? 'cause I am a MOM I can PLAY a mom?
That's hilarious.
So I'm in the waiting room, filling out my little sheet (I guarantee they cannot read my email address, and I didn't put it on my resume. See above "can't remember things to put on resume" and "arthritis") I'm seated next to a young lady in a very short blue dress. "Skater girl" dress, they remind me of Sally's skirt in The Catcher in the Rye every time I see them. Her very fashionable mom is chatting with the Stage Manager. Maybe she did shows, maybe they know the same people, maybe both. I tried to block it out: " COLORADO CHORALE, DENVER SCHOOL OF THE ARTS, OH YES WELL HE IS NOW WORKING WITH BANANAFACE MCQEEN ON BROADWAY". I text Eric, "I think this woman was in Chicago with this group, she must be auditioning for Rosie." I take in her manicured hands, her petite frame, her tight A line bob, soft 30 something wrinkles and all the crap returns from past years. Who are these people and what am I doing here? I'm on the wrong side of the door.
As a director, I'm always in the other room. I had forgotten this part of auditions. I text Eric "Ugh, this is exhausting. This is why I quit." Everyone is pretty.
The director emerges. He looks at me, says nothing, then turns to the fashionable mom and says "You're here for auditions?" and she demures, no no. He then gives me a sidelong glance and retreats behind the door. Awesome. I'm such a mom I can't even get cast as a mom, he thinks I'm just a mom. I'm too mom-ish to play a mom, get me? Soccer moms are moms, not mom/theatre teacher moms. There were other real moms dropping off their daughters, they looked like me. But they didn't have the audacity to audition. They know their place. They saw Fashionable Mom there with the SM and retreated back to the mini van with a book.
I suddenly have a flash of my own past experience at 15 ( maybe 16), when my mom took me to a Lakewood Players audition for Gypsy. I knew no one and mom came in with me. Unlike this audition, it was open, we all watched each other. I was surprised at how many people seemed to know one another, and how good they all were. And all different ages. True Community Theatre. I was cast as "Electra" and one of the other strippers was the choreographer and like 30 years old (when I was 15, everyone else was 30).
The young lady seated next to me--ostensibly my "daughter", so thinks the director- has been called in. Her blue skirt bounces off of her bottom as intended, and again I hear Holden "She wanted to go skating so she could rent one of those skirts her butt looks good in." Ah, Holden, you are still in my head after all these years.
I sit and listen, she's good. Pitchy, but who isn't at 15? All the girls here are wearing short skirts that are too short and heels that are too high, giving them the look of baby deer. I am still the only woman of a certain age, no guys at all, yet a late 20 something shows up. Same dress and heels as the 15 year olds. Dude. I'm dressed like Schleppy the Clown. Neither one of us here is dressed appropriately for our age. Well, I am. If I'm Nathan Lane.
That's when it hits me. That's who I look like! I should be strolling down a sidewalk in Miami Beach yelling I have no peds, why can't we go home?
The young lady emerges from her audition and begins to tell fashionable mom how she screwed up the beginning. We can hear you, dear, we know exactly how it went. And you were fine.
smile emoticonyou were fine. Fashionable Mom and deer exit. My appointment is in five minutes, nobody else has arrived. I think the SM will take me in early, but no. I hear singing from the audition room. The directors are performing for each other. UGH. I'm too old to think that's cute. The SM opens the door and asks if they are ready. She says she thought they had someone in there.... whatever.
smile emoticonyou were fine. Fashionable Mom and deer exit. My appointment is in five minutes, nobody else has arrived. I think the SM will take me in early, but no. I hear singing from the audition room. The directors are performing for each other. UGH. I'm too old to think that's cute. The SM opens the door and asks if they are ready. She says she thought they had someone in there.... whatever.
The SM ushers me in, and I'm suddenly Nathan Lane.
Pithy, gay, swooshy, and from New York.
My song is "Gorgeous" from Apple Tree. It's the only song from my old repertoire in Farrell's stash that I can pull off at my advanced age and weight. I haven't sung it in years. The accompanist gives me my starting note. I realize too late this song is structured in such a way that you only get the starting note, and you are expected to sing 4 more notes with no accompaniment, and land in the right place when the piano returns. I smiled and....I nailed it. Not bad for an old lady with a blown ear drum. Once the initial moment was secure,
I relaxed. Imagine Nathan Lane singing this song. I'll wait.
I relaxed. Imagine Nathan Lane singing this song. I'll wait.
That was funny, right?
AUDITIONS ARE FUN WHEN YOU DON'T HAVE TO PAY YOUR RENT!
The audition listed "Co Directors". One of them said
"Look for an email tonight" and I nodded, but of course they can't read my writing but whatever. They were really nice people.
Of course I didn't get an email. I only checked once, because to check more triggers my friend Kathryn Gray's voice in my head " What are you, a rank amateur?" She was referring to my compulsive need to check voicemail for callbacks, back in the day. It's fine.
There is not a part for Nathan Lane in this show.
But I'm glad I went. It was fun to do a thing again, and not have anxiety about casting.
And they were nice people. I could use more nice people in my life.
Scene.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Gall Bladders have an expiration date
This last Friday, about 2pm, my sister texted to say she was at the ER with my mom.
She texted again "they think it's her gall bladder, emergency surgery."
That was about 3pm.
I had to get to the show, and at 7 she texted "they can't find a surgeon, so may be tomorrow."
I asked about the definition of the word "emergency" and from there we had some fun at Kaiser's expense.
By 7 there was no surgeon found, OR they were booked, depending on mom's story or my sister's.
Ok, so surgery scheduled at St. Joe's Saturday at noon.
We arrive about 12.30 at the New Improved Jewish/St. Joseph's complex. It looks and feels very much like an airport.
However, unlike an airport or any hospital I've ever been in, it was empty.
Deserted.
Begin Walking Dead jokes.
Seriously. This enormous, spacious waiting area with enough seats for 75 people is completely deserted. Ther's a big screen TV with surgeon's names on it, but no patients. The coffee cove says "coffee at the front desk".
But there is nobody at the front desk.
After an hour ---the surgery was supposed to take under 2 hours---Harper and I broke into the desk. We located hot chocolate but no coffee. Harp came up with the idea to look for a KEY to the cabinet below the Keurig. We returned to the desk and Harp found the keys in a pen holder. SCORE. We opened the cabinet and VOILA, coffee! We made some, returned to our seats and waited for the coffee police. There are no people in the hospital, but we did see security cameras. No one emerged. We made two cups of hot chocolate and three cups of coffee.
After two and a half hours I called the number I was given from a waiting room phone and was told they had no information, she was still in surgery.
After two and half hours and thirty seconds, my sister got a call from someone saying mom was in recovery. She could not get a human when she called back, so she had to try several times. Once she got a human, she was told "Just kidding, she's still in surgery, it's taking longer than they thought."
So to recap, we are three hours in to a 1-2 hour surgery, and Karie and Harp go downstairs to find a cafeteria of some kind. While they're gone a surgeon appears--he is twelve years old-- to tell us the long story of mom's now removed gall bladder and an errant gall stone that found its way into a tube it was not supposed to be in, and that the tube is too small for their instruments. So...after trying to fetch the stone with a surgical instrument larger than the tube for an hour or so, they decided they couldn't get it. A Gastro Bannaist has to be consulted. And he will go through mom's esophagus to fetch the stone. Look at a map of the human body, your esophagus and gall bladder- and attached tubes- are no where near one another. I just smile and say "Ok", because I did not go to medical school. He repeats "In conclusion, we need a Gastro Bananaist to perform the procedure because our instruments are too big and we are not allowed to play with their instruments. So we have to find one."
..... I'm thinking....we had such luck "finding" a surgeon for an "emergency", this should go well.
So Mom cannot eat Saturday, because on Sunday the Gastro Specialist will do the procedure, and she cannot eat.
They 're looking for a guy....
They're looking......
Ummmm..... in layman's terms: "We can't find a guy to do it tomorrow, so stay here in the hospital and wait until MONDAY when we think we can find a guy."
So she stays Saturday night and they let her have some broth, because she hasn't eaten since Friday morning.
And Sunday she just chills in the hospital all day, alone, because nobody works there.
Today we went to pick her up after her procedure. They Found A Guy. She was done at 12.30, we got there about 1.15. We're told they're getting her paperwork together. At 2 nobody had come in to check on her, or explain anything, so Karie, Tracy and I got some lunch. We got back at 3 figuring surely she'd be ready to check out....funny. That's funny. We waited another 30 minutes for paperwork, by then mom was dressed and ready to walk herself out. She determined she was too woozy and needed a wheelchair. Which we waited for for 40 minutes. We then waited for the prescription that had been called down two hours before and was "waiting for you" for ten minutes.
So, to sum up:
-Nobody works at St. Joe's.
-There are no patients at St. Joe's.
-No surgeons work for Kaiser, particularly on a Sunday.
This is not a single or isolated incident. This is not an unfamiliar story. Ask a physician or nurse, and they will apologetically tell you that this is how it is now.
According to one nurse, Costa Rica is the place to go for surgery, that's where all the surgeons have gone.
And other sources report that KAISER will pay your med school bills if you agree to come work for them.
They got that idea from Maurice on Northern Exposure.
And there you have that.
Scene.
She texted again "they think it's her gall bladder, emergency surgery."
That was about 3pm.
I had to get to the show, and at 7 she texted "they can't find a surgeon, so may be tomorrow."
I asked about the definition of the word "emergency" and from there we had some fun at Kaiser's expense.
By 7 there was no surgeon found, OR they were booked, depending on mom's story or my sister's.
Ok, so surgery scheduled at St. Joe's Saturday at noon.
We arrive about 12.30 at the New Improved Jewish/St. Joseph's complex. It looks and feels very much like an airport.
However, unlike an airport or any hospital I've ever been in, it was empty.
Deserted.
Begin Walking Dead jokes.
Seriously. This enormous, spacious waiting area with enough seats for 75 people is completely deserted. Ther's a big screen TV with surgeon's names on it, but no patients. The coffee cove says "coffee at the front desk".
But there is nobody at the front desk.
After an hour ---the surgery was supposed to take under 2 hours---Harper and I broke into the desk. We located hot chocolate but no coffee. Harp came up with the idea to look for a KEY to the cabinet below the Keurig. We returned to the desk and Harp found the keys in a pen holder. SCORE. We opened the cabinet and VOILA, coffee! We made some, returned to our seats and waited for the coffee police. There are no people in the hospital, but we did see security cameras. No one emerged. We made two cups of hot chocolate and three cups of coffee.
After two and a half hours I called the number I was given from a waiting room phone and was told they had no information, she was still in surgery.
After two and half hours and thirty seconds, my sister got a call from someone saying mom was in recovery. She could not get a human when she called back, so she had to try several times. Once she got a human, she was told "Just kidding, she's still in surgery, it's taking longer than they thought."
So to recap, we are three hours in to a 1-2 hour surgery, and Karie and Harp go downstairs to find a cafeteria of some kind. While they're gone a surgeon appears--he is twelve years old-- to tell us the long story of mom's now removed gall bladder and an errant gall stone that found its way into a tube it was not supposed to be in, and that the tube is too small for their instruments. So...after trying to fetch the stone with a surgical instrument larger than the tube for an hour or so, they decided they couldn't get it. A Gastro Bannaist has to be consulted. And he will go through mom's esophagus to fetch the stone. Look at a map of the human body, your esophagus and gall bladder- and attached tubes- are no where near one another. I just smile and say "Ok", because I did not go to medical school. He repeats "In conclusion, we need a Gastro Bananaist to perform the procedure because our instruments are too big and we are not allowed to play with their instruments. So we have to find one."
..... I'm thinking....we had such luck "finding" a surgeon for an "emergency", this should go well.
So Mom cannot eat Saturday, because on Sunday the Gastro Specialist will do the procedure, and she cannot eat.
They 're looking for a guy....
They're looking......
Ummmm..... in layman's terms: "We can't find a guy to do it tomorrow, so stay here in the hospital and wait until MONDAY when we think we can find a guy."
So she stays Saturday night and they let her have some broth, because she hasn't eaten since Friday morning.
And Sunday she just chills in the hospital all day, alone, because nobody works there.
Today we went to pick her up after her procedure. They Found A Guy. She was done at 12.30, we got there about 1.15. We're told they're getting her paperwork together. At 2 nobody had come in to check on her, or explain anything, so Karie, Tracy and I got some lunch. We got back at 3 figuring surely she'd be ready to check out....funny. That's funny. We waited another 30 minutes for paperwork, by then mom was dressed and ready to walk herself out. She determined she was too woozy and needed a wheelchair. Which we waited for for 40 minutes. We then waited for the prescription that had been called down two hours before and was "waiting for you" for ten minutes.
So, to sum up:
-Nobody works at St. Joe's.
-There are no patients at St. Joe's.
-No surgeons work for Kaiser, particularly on a Sunday.
This is not a single or isolated incident. This is not an unfamiliar story. Ask a physician or nurse, and they will apologetically tell you that this is how it is now.
According to one nurse, Costa Rica is the place to go for surgery, that's where all the surgeons have gone.
And other sources report that KAISER will pay your med school bills if you agree to come work for them.
They got that idea from Maurice on Northern Exposure.
And there you have that.
Scene.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Volunteer
So this year, when Harp asked what I wanted for Christmas, I said "Nothing. I just want to contribute." mbnhm,
It's 2 January and I've done nothing but clean out my closet and give clothes to the ARC. Way to be.
I adopted a rescue dog for Harper in October.
My Thespians bought food for the Littleton Families in need over Thanksgiving. I bought stuff.
Harp bought blankets and food to take downtown, I reimbursed her.
Ya, none of that is relevant. I did nothing. I contributed nothing.
Mazda now how this commercial running, take a test drive and they'll donate an hour of their time to a charity.
And I thought "Why isn't that a thing, always?"
Why doesn't Mazda just have a calendar with employees names slotted in for their time at a charity every month? Part of your job is to contribute else where. To give back.
That is why Thespians started contributing, I told them they have to. That being an honor society that doesn't give back is self indulgent bullshit. So they go downtown and make sandwiches and hand out blankets and water, they contributed to the Thanksgiving Baskets. 'Cause I'm a bitch who made them.
But I don't contribute myself. Which is why I Suck.
You can't make teachers volunteer on top of their jobs 'cause with our pay scale, it's pretty close to volunteer work, anyway. And everything we do for students outside of the school day is relevant. but does that excuse me from contributing elsewhere?
NOPE.
I have a co worker who runs a whole Big Thing for Thanksgiving, feeding families at Thanksgiving. Hundreds. She's a teacher with four (soon to be five) kids of her own. So...ya, there goes the "I'm a TEACHER I'm EXEMPT theory."
Happy New Year. I suck.
It's 2 January and I've done nothing but clean out my closet and give clothes to the ARC. Way to be.
I adopted a rescue dog for Harper in October.
My Thespians bought food for the Littleton Families in need over Thanksgiving. I bought stuff.
Harp bought blankets and food to take downtown, I reimbursed her.
Ya, none of that is relevant. I did nothing. I contributed nothing.
Mazda now how this commercial running, take a test drive and they'll donate an hour of their time to a charity.
And I thought "Why isn't that a thing, always?"
Why doesn't Mazda just have a calendar with employees names slotted in for their time at a charity every month? Part of your job is to contribute else where. To give back.
That is why Thespians started contributing, I told them they have to. That being an honor society that doesn't give back is self indulgent bullshit. So they go downtown and make sandwiches and hand out blankets and water, they contributed to the Thanksgiving Baskets. 'Cause I'm a bitch who made them.
But I don't contribute myself. Which is why I Suck.
You can't make teachers volunteer on top of their jobs 'cause with our pay scale, it's pretty close to volunteer work, anyway. And everything we do for students outside of the school day is relevant. but does that excuse me from contributing elsewhere?
NOPE.
I have a co worker who runs a whole Big Thing for Thanksgiving, feeding families at Thanksgiving. Hundreds. She's a teacher with four (soon to be five) kids of her own. So...ya, there goes the "I'm a TEACHER I'm EXEMPT theory."
Happy New Year. I suck.
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