Summmmmer Tiiiimmmeee

  
  11 am   So last night and this morning, for just a few hours, I thought it was summer.
    I put the bike rack on the back of the FJ. G rode her bike up the street, albeit briefly. H jumped on the skateboard and coasted down the driveway.
    It felt like summer, I felt like I'd been asleep all of June and finally, I woke up and it was summer.
    Then nobody wanted to do anything today, Harper took my car and I cleaned the living room, did laundry and some IB training....just like every other day "off".
    Awesome.
    G is watching Breaking Bad, she's experiencing it for the first time. It's hard to watch since I know how it ends.
     The kitten is sleeping, the dog is panting even though he has done nothing today. He is just old.
      I offered to make G a grilled cheese, but we're out of cheese. I could go to the store in her car, but I hate her car. Nobody wants to go to the store in her car, including her.
      I kinda hate summer.
      It was okay when I was doing Hairspray, Jr. 'cause I was doing something. It'll be okay next week when I have the DCPA 'cause I'll be doing something. If you can't afford a vacation then at least you should be doing something. IB Training online is okay for a few hours, but it's mostly frustrating. At least it's doing something.
       G's job is only two days a week, and H has kinda given up on her gig. It's a long way to go to Aurora, even for $12 an hour. She's trying to find a "real" job here in Lakewood. 'cause a job is at least something to do.
       We dug hanging out yesterday at City Park, I suppose that counts as something to do. But you can't do that every day.
        So this was fun. Remember Diana how you said I should write a book 'cause I'm funny? Clearly that is what I should do...
___________________________________________________________________________________

  1 pm. Apparently I'm watching Breaking Bad with Genoa today.
  1.20 Tried to turn on the sprinkler thing. It won't rotate. Of course it won't. Why would it?

_____________________________________________________________________________________
7.19 pm.
              Went to the store in Genoa's car. We both hated it.
              Came home, put Breaking Bad back on. Poured a glass of wine. Went outside.
              It is no longer hot. It's a nice night.
              Made Genoa write two thank you cards.
              Put the kitten on her leash. Which is attached to the water can. Which goes "Clamp-CLUMP" every time she tugs on it, frightening her. It is funny to me.
              Outside is really nice. Wine is really nice.
              Walter White running over homies with his Aztec. He is not so nice.
               Clamp-CLUMP.
               This is nice.
                I tried to put on the sprinkler earlier, evoking summer. But someone stepped on it, it does not rotate. I got depressed and turned it off. I turned it back on. Who cares if it's broken? So am I.
                But if it's on, the kitten doesn't want to go to that part of the yard so much. Just to the grass where she can graze. Because she is clearly not feline, but bovine.
                 Clamp-CLUMP.
                 Sippy the wine. Ahhh...
                 The sound of our neighbor's toddler singing in her yard. Summer candy.
                 Clamp-CLUMP.
                 The sound of the water in the sprinkler. The hell IS it about that sound that makes it summer for me?
                  And of course it's broken, everything I own is broken. My freaking THEATRE is broken and it's not even mine. Well, it's not mine when the Principal wants it, but I think it's mine when it's broken.
                   Clamp-CLUMP.
                   Sippie.
                   Sound of neighbors behind me. They have a pool.
                   I hate them.
                   Neighbors on the other side, sound of guests chatting. Smell of bar- b- cue.
                   I hate them, too.
                   This is why I have no friends. And I'm ok with it until I have no friends and other people have friends. And a pool. And I can hear them.
                   Clamp -CLUMP.
                   Kitten has no friends. She just wants away from the terrible Tin Meanie so she can graze in peace.
                  kryssi has no friends so she listens to a drug cooking science teacher while torturing her kitten and hating her neighbors.

                     Yop. It's summer.

             

Community Theatre

   Tina Fey on her community theatre experience growing up: "We should strive to make our society more like Summer Showtime: Mostly a meritocracy, despite some vicious bacikstabbing. Everyone gets a spot in the chorus. Bring white shorts from home."

    Kryssi on community theatre: "Community Theatre is where young actors are born and where old actors go to die."

   I almost did  a show with Lakewood Players back in the day. Halfway through rehearsals the director quit. I never tried community theatre again, I thought that my experience was the norm:  All directors are prima donna assholes, and it's weird for a fourteen year old (me) to play "Electra" in Gypsy,( who is a stripper), with full grown women playing the other strippers. And mostly full grown men in the male roles. It was too weird, so I stuck to shows at school. Everyone I did shows with, however, had been in ACT shows and had warm, accepting experiences in community theatre. Even if Reno Sweeney was 14 and Sir Evelyn was 28.

   When I was hired to do Hairspray, Jr. as a two week summer camp for 7-12 graders, the age thing was not on my mind. Mostly on my mind was doing Hairspray in Highlands Ranch with one black kid, who was bussed in from Arvada. The hell? But I was willing to just go with it, as I seemed to be the only one consistently giggling when the white girl playing "Motormouth" sang "The night is black as my skin."

    During a final rehearsal we had a kissing class. 'cause Tracy and Link need to kiss, and Seaweed and Penny should kiss. Seaweed and Penny came to me during lunch,  Penny deeply concerned about kissing because Seaweed is "so much older than I am. He's four years older than me."

          And of course, the delightful demon in  my head began jumping and clapping and singing "And he's black! Mostly it's because he's black! You don't want to kiss the black kid!"

    To his beautiful credit, the kid playing Seaweed was very supportive of her and agreed he thought the age thing made it weird. Penny had not had her first kiss in real life yet. Rather than explain at great length that she's acting and stage kisses do not count, I let it go. In addition to the cavernous difference in their ages, he was about three feet taller than she was. That made him look older.

    Also, he's black.

    I kept trying to tell myself that she really was worried about the age thing, because it's HAIRSPRAY and the whole show is about race. Well, the whole whole show is about race. In the "Jr" version they remove huge chunks of story line, so truly, unless you're paying attention you could miss it, particularly when there is only one black actor.  So I smiled and made it work for them, and they were happy.

    Theatre camps are a thing now. When I was a kid we had community theatre. That was it. Theatre Camps were back east, or in the Catskills, where the richie rich kiddos went for a summer of theatre instruction and performance. I imagined they were like the movie, CAMP. (Which everyone in theatre should watch, by the way. Those are your people.) And those camps still exist, and they go all summer. But they aren't community theatre-esque. They are a different beast. They are expensive and full of truly talented, Broadway bound kiddos. Or so I imagined. I do not know for a fact since I never attended such a camp.

    Theatre camps seemed to have taken the place of community theatre. We still have community theatre, yes, but it's  moved toward young adults and adult teachers who do theatre over the summer. Teenagers get left out unless they are a true triple threat. Theatre camps have taken that spot. But you have to pay tuition for the camp, so it cannot truly be "community" theatre when many kids cannot afford to attend.

    Which reminds me of the immortal words of Edward Albee: "Theatre is too fucking expensive."

    I really dug the way things were set up with Hairspray, Jr.  It felt like a real community theatre, everyone got a spot in the chorus. But not everyone got to be a part of it, because it is tuition based. My friend Dr. Megan did several shows with ACT in high school, and she said they sent home what your costume needs were and your mom made it. Her mom drove her all over Lakewood for rehearsals, and after the shows they would all go to the Organ Grinder. It was truly community. Everybody got to do it and nobody paid tuition.
   
      Clearly I  haven't been "out there" in a while, as I'm struggling with the new definition of "community theatre" as it exists with theatre camps. I'm also struggling with the way working on this has altered my thinking about how I teach, in general.

     I was flabberghasted at how willing and eager these kids were to learn theatre. Since it's a "community camp", it's weird. The kids who sign up aren't necessarily theatre kids. Their talents are all over the map. I had assumed--and every time I assume I'm wrong--that because it is called a Performing Arts Academy, there would be a level of experience and talent among the kids. Nope. We had kids who had never been on stage before in their lives. And several who were practically raised in this program, who use it as their theatre outlet because they are in sports or clubs at school that prevent them from doing theatre. And everyone in between.

     And every single one of them was respectful. Kind. Willing to help. Excited to learn something new. Jazzed about being on stage. The camp runs two shows -Aladdin, Jr. was second through sixth grade and they shared time and lunch with Hairspray, Jr. So the older kids mingled with the younger ones, ate lunch and snack together. Started and ended their day as a big group. Everyone showed up happy and left happy.

    Nobody was a prima donna. Nobody was rude or tried to direct another actor. When Genoa came in to give them instruction on how to create hair and makeup for 1962 they were attentive, and excited and willingly did their research.

    They gave me candy and love notes. They asked if I was coming back next year. They thanked me.

     This "camp" was the closest thing I have ever experienced to a true community theatre. It doesn't mean that other programs do not exist, I just haven't worked for them. There were bumps and issues, mostly attributed to the fact that this program is growing. So what? Growing pains are not a bad thing.

     I'm not sold on a "no cut" show at the high school level, but I did love feeling appreciated. It was gratifying to see them work so hard, even if they did not have the talent to pull it off. Even if there was not enough time between class and performance for them to synthesize, they still did the work. I told Eric after the show that's what was frustrating for me, but I know what they learned on this show will show up the next time they do a show. An Acting Grenade. I pulled the pin, but it didn't quite blow up yet. That's ok. It's waiting to go off.

   If the lights in my own theatre do not get fixed, this is my back up plan: Work this camp and the DCPA. There is no retirement plan, so I'd have to teach Lit at LHS. My husband is very wound up about my retirement plan.

     Or I can just take what I've learned, and return to this next summer. If the lights at LHS do not get fixed, my kids can bring flashlights from home instead of white shorts.

      So I got that going for me.
    
  
    

Act 1: The Theatre Is Dark

    May 2014
  School has been out since 22 May. G's graduation was 23 May.
    It is promptly 2 June, and I'm presently aware that it is summer.
    In those 10 Days, Genoa has graduated from high school, I logged in my final grades, pulled my desk out of my office and did the first office purge in 3 years, went over the set design for "Hairspray, Jr.", worried about the set designs for Harvey and Beauty and the Beast, had a sad budget meeting with the department chair, attended "New Teacher Training" at the DCPA, attended the Bobby G Awards, received a phone call from our instrumental music teacher which began with "I can't get the theatre lights on and it smells like something is burning", threw Genoa a graduation party, started lesson plans for both St Luke's and DCPA, checked and rechecked my calendar to make sure I wasn't missing something...and oh ya...briefly wished my husband HAPPY 25TH ANNIVERSARY.

     In the tradition of Gruesome Playground Injuries by Rajiv Joseph, I will tell the story out of order. Broken. Like my memory. And my spirit. ;)

     
      Thursday afternoon, 29 May, as I was cleaning the house and watching Bar Rescue, my cell phone rang.
      "Hi kryssi, it's Don. I'm in the theatre and I can't get the stage lights on. I was wondering if I was missing something."
       EXPOSITION: The dimmers started failing in October. We walked in on Halloween to a completely dark theatre. Many light instruments had melted as it appeared there was a power surge right before the dimmer(s) popped. This event killed our Stage Manager box and three dimmer packs. Since then you have to switch on three dimmer packs, a newly installed "oven switch" hard wired to the house lights, travel to the lights booth to get the stage lights on and flip the master switches for the work lights.
       The dimmer packs are old and the company that built them is out of business. They cannot be repaired except, according to the theatre light professional trying to fix the debacle, by some phantom man who lives in Canada. He is referenced as "There's a guy who lives in Canada who can repair these", but then nothing more is said. Or done. It's neat. And that is the abbreviated exposition.
        Also Note: I am not an electrician. But I play one daily at school.
        I know Don knows this routine, so I suspect he's done everything except check to see if any of the fuses were tripped. This is a thing that happens when the dimmer packs go blooey. "Did you check the fuse box by the dimmers?"
        "Yes, one of them has been tripped. I should reset it. Also I smell something burning."
         My brain is yelling "shit" at this point.
        "Don, it sounds like the dimmers are going again. Maybe you should just leave."
        "I have marching band on stage."
        Okay...
        "Try the fuse box in the light booth, the one on the wall."
        "Right! I didn't try that one."
         "Or, just leave. Something is burning."
         "I'll go try the one in the lights booth. Thanks."
         Don is one of the most positive people I know. He will flip every switch and reset every fuse before admitting defeat. Even if he smells something burning. Not snow nor rain nor searing heat, nor something burning that is likely electric will stop marching band rehearsal.
         "Call me back if it doesn't work, k? See you tonight."

         I did  not hear back from Don, but I did receive an email from our principal entitled "Theatre Lights: DO NOT USE" which began "Dear Friends". It ended with "Let's hope someone in the continental United States can fix this..." Somewhere in the middle of the email it is mentioned, casually, that there is ash by the dimmer packs, it smells of burnt "something", it appears one of the dimmers may have melted and the principal has now locked the dimmer cabinet.

         Now if you recall from the beginning of this post that this issue began in October. If you look at your calendar, it is June. In those seven months we managed to put up a musical, the seniors put up Lend Me A Tenor and we had Choir Pops, Instrumental Pops, Performing Arts Awards and Senior Convocation. We did it by turning on three dimmers, the oven switch, running to the booth, troubleshooting and backup planning when an electric failed, or turned itself on and off...and on again... and buying flashlights as a backup light source. Within days of school being over, the system decided to complete its death throes. Of course I can only hope that the district electricians shut down all power to the theatre before locking the wood doors six inches from failing, melting electrics.

       One of the reasons I had to clear out my office is that my floor is made of asbestos tiles. They must be waxed yearly, and according to the district environmental guy asbestos is misunderstood, and only dangerous if it is chipping, which my floor is, and waxing it yearly keeps the danger at bay. They haven't waxed my floor in three years. I can rest assured that if the theatre burns down, my office floor will be safe.

        So I got that going for me.


     
    

 
 

    Tonight is Genoa's senior prom night.
     Interestingly, I do not feel compelled to drag up my own Senior Prom Night Crap. Other than to say: It Was Crap. GMHS felt that in order to insure that kids didn't drink, the best choice was to have DINNER and PROM together at a hotel downtown. In your expensive prom dress, eating buffet. NEAT. For The Record: I took Jim. I had a recovering mohawk/mullet. We wore matching tuxes. I went because my mom said I would "regret it your whole life" if I missed my senior prom. It Was Dumb. I am not glad that I went. I regret not going.
      But Genoa is there. The LHS prom is at Coors Field. With her boyfriend, who lives in freaking Thornton for God's Sake, but whatever. Harp is not at prom, she is babysitting. Her choice: make money babysitting or spend money and go to  prom? Easy one for her. I can always rely on Harp to be pragmatic. I do love my kids.
     Becuase Prom is Fucking Stupid. Why am I the only one who sees this?
     I quote Buffy The Vampire Slayer: "And this isn't important? This happens to be the dance."
    "It's a stupid dance with a bunch of stupid people that I see every stupid day."

     And THAT is how I feel about the prom. Always have, always will. Scene.

     Now I suspect that Genoa feels the same way. However, she does have a need to feel like she is a part of something outside of theatre. God Bless her, she auditioned to be a graduation speaker, she's playing golf, she is really trying to branch out of her comfort zone. Which is THEATRE. And theatre is where everybody else goes to branch out. But Genoa, having been raised with The Beast of Theatre, has to work to fit in everywhere else. Her comfort zone is where others venture tenuously. Where others thrive and judge and snark and live- High School- is where she is uncomfortable.

    My girls grew up in theatre. With the crazies. The broken, the damaged. I said once that the symbol for theatre was the Statue of Liberty, paraphrased: Give us your broken, your crazy, your disenfranchized, your gays and your creative geniuses. Everyone laughed, but...it is true. It never occured to me that raising the girls in theatre would cause them to be uncomfortable in the main stream.
    And by "uncomfortable", I mean smarter.
    No judgment. But when you are raised around creative minds, honest emotions and playwrights who examine the human condition...you are a step ahead of your peers.
    And you do not, so much, "fit in".
    At least in the general population of a high school. What do they call that in prison? Gen Pop?
    Unfortunately, even inside a theatre you can be perceived as weird. In G's theaco there is fear and judgment and crazy entitlement and privelege.
     Sigh.
     Theatre calls you or she doesn't. In high school it's hard to hear her voice, to feel her loving arms because you have issues and think you have to prove something. So sometimes, you really aren't called at all. She does not want you, but you are determined, or angry, or think you deserve it or your friends are there or whatever your deal is.
     It is interesting to me that in the last ten years, I have watched my theatre department become "popular". I wish I was kidding. The theatre kids are perceived as "popular".
     The Hell?
     What this means is that I am inundated with many who have not been "called".
     And frankly, they are the ones causing problems for those who have been called.
     And that's why Genoa, who has been called, is playing golf and going to prom. Because the influx of High School has made its nasty way to my precious sanctuary.
     Or it could be that she finally just got enough guts to talk to the golf coach.
  
     Meh. Have another glass of wine,  kryssi.

 

     

    


 

The Main Stage

      As I watch Genoa twist and squirm as she tries to make her college choice, and as I myself twist and squirm as I try to stay out of it, I am forced to reminisce about myself. And nobody wants to hear me talk about myself, so I'll write a blog.
      I was never a "Main Stage" Kid. At least in reality. In My Own Head it was always about Me, yes. But in the real world, not so much. In high school I was fringe. My GPA was pathetic and I liked choir and theatre and lit. I have no recollection of ever doing homework, but I know I felt like garbage when the kids who did do their homework went to College: Ft. Lewis, ASU, Somewhere In Iowa, CU, UNC etc etc. By the Grace of God and the Will of K.Starkey I enrolled at Metro, thinking I'd be a lit major and teach English. I had decided, you see, that theatre wasn't going to work out for me because I couldn't afford to go to New York. But that is not the point of this story.

     I switched from Metro, to UCD, to the University of Houston, to CU Denver (they'd changed the name by then) to Metro for my teaching certificate. At UH I worked with Edward Albee in the Black Box, and took a  class with Jose Quintero, but never made it onto the Main Stage. I just wasn't talented enough crack that proscenium. Or so I thought. Now I believe it was just a round hole and I was a square peg. Fringe. Not Fit For The Main Stage.  I loved my time at UH, and to this day if someone asks me where I went to college I say "UH". But I was not a Main Stage kid. Like the kids we called "lobby rats", I scuttled around the edges and learned what I could from those willing to teach, but ultimately, I left no impression. I was not a star.
      Now I work for the "Mane Stage", named before I arrived since we are the Littleton Lions, and I run the joint. I scuttle and schlep and galumph around the edges, poking actors and yelling "Commit!", stitching buttons or hot gluing hems. Waving my arms at the kid in the grid as I explain 45 degree angles and bastard amber. Even occasionally walking the set with a drill. (It is NOT a good day if I have to walk a set with a drill. Someone is fired at that point.) I design or try to, teach design or try to, unlock doors, keep the stage manager on task, offer a shoulder for the weeping and a Mohawk for the annoying. I take away fridge privileges and supervise as the dead microwave is smashed to pieces. I yell at them to go to college: "I don't care where, just GO!" and preach "You get out of college what you get in. Do not go for a NAME stamped on your diploma. Follow your heart, find the program that feeds your soul and will not bankrupt your family."
       And then I cannot practice what I preach, because I was never hand picked for a conservatory program and offered a scholarship, but my daughter was, so she HAS to go there, right?
       Oklahoma City University has turned out to be one hell of a powerhouse department. Who knew? And Genoa was all about it, but it's a degree with a double emphasis in Theatre Costume design and Set design. No stage time as an actor. Internships and a guaranteed job at the end. But a double major is impossible, and minors are not recommended.
       Genoa was sold up to that point.
       So she decided to visit Ft. Lewis. She likes Durango, they have a solid liberal arts program, are kinda hippie-tastic without being too annoying and the theatre had offered her a scholarship.
       So we visited.
       Ft. Lewis could not be farther away from OCU if it was on Pluto.
       She could double major in theatre and poly sci and pick up a minor in anything else she wanted. She thinks maybe she'd like to go to law school. She could work in theatre her whole life, she doesn't see that going anywhere, but is not ready to give up being an actor. Ft. Lewis ain't OCU. There is no stellar architecture, stained glass or three stages. No BFA with connections and only 3,000.00 students on campus. She cannot say she was "hand picked" for a degree program that has 35 kids in it if she chooses Ft. Lewis.
       Ft. Lewis' theatre is smaller and possibly older than the one she is in now.
       She's a slam poet. She decided to play golf senior year. She is a Makeup and Hair designer with an interest in costume and set design. She lights up when she talks about religion or philosophy. She wants to study abroad. She gets distracted by history and literature, and has entertained the idea of being a teacher.
       In a nutshell: she truly has no idea what she wants to do with her life. Only that theatre will be a part of it.
       And she says "I'm waiting for a sign to tell me where to go."
       And I have to stand there, on the fringe, and watch her twitch on the Main Stage and be supportive and try not to point out that, the sign is there.
        Are you listening to yourself?
        The answer is there.
        But mom...me...must stay out of it.
        She was practically drooled on by the Ft. Lewis Dept Chair who sounded like he'd give her full tuition if he could. He Loved Her. And She Loved Him. He talked to her. The OCU department chair--who is my new best friend --talked to me.
        But that was not a sign.
        Keeping my own shit out of my daughter's life has never been easy. But man, it sucks right now.
        She has to make her own choice. And I want her to be happy.
        And I don't want her to go through what I did.
        That is the American Dream, right? To give your kids the chances you did not have?
        I had to attend Metro because my GPA was a joke. I transferred to UCD as soon as I could because I thought it would look better on my transcript. Moved to UH because Jim moved to Houston and enrolled at UH because it was there. No research at all. I literally wandered onto the campus and enrolled. I had to leave UH when I ran out of money, and returned to Denver to re-enroll at CU Denver to finish my damned degree, once and for all. I worked 2-3 jobs regularly while attending all the schools, got married, had everything I owned stolen, owned cats, acted and auditioned everywhere, all of the time.
        12 years after I graduated from high school, I had a B.A.
        Financially we'd have to take a second on the house to make OCU work, even with the generous scholarship. But I would do it, because...
        Well, she's been given that chance.
          Right?
          She'd have a shot at the Main Stage.
          SIGH.

         So Genoa just came home. "I've made my choice."

               ...



              
      
       

OOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAKLAHOOOOOOMAAAA where the wind ...does something something something...

And here I am, looking up at the grid at OCU that drops down to you when you do a light hang.
I almost wept. This is their proscenium. Their other stage is a 3/4 where they are doing Picasso at the Lapin Agile. They also have a black box. Three working spaces. Three.


Things I Learned In Oklahoma City:
-It's actually a real city. Just like  Houston, I was unaware that cities exist outside of Denver, Chicago,NYC and California.  Yes, I am an incurable SNOB.
-They proudly call themselves "Recession Proof", and all evidence points to this being true.
-Oklahoma City University is a real school. Like...A conservatory within a university that still makes you take Gen Eds.
-The highway system is just as stupid as Houston.
-It seems flat until you are leaving, and then it is downhill.
-The OCU school of Music and Dance is one of the top ten in the country.
-The OCU Theatre has degrees in both Acting and Production and Design and the 60 students in both programs are hand picked.
-90% of OCU D&P grads are working in their field after graduation.

So I've wandered from Oklahoma City to OCU. Clearly. We chose not to see much of OKC as the highway system stymied us and there were margaritas just around the corner from the hotel. And after spending a day on the campus, I was ready to write a check. Speaking with the authority of a high school theatre teacher (Limited Authority), who did most of her training at UH (Excellent Training) and finished at CU Denver (Minimal Training) and has guided many students through their college choices ( from Rich Kids to Poor Kids to "I Wouldn't Be In College If Not For My Theatre Scholarship), I say: There Is NO school in Colorado that promise and deliver what OCU can.

    The kids must do an internship to graduate. The culture dictates they do one every summer.
    They are awarded internships in NYC, Chicago, Cirque du Solei in Vegas, professional companies in OKC...there is a long list.
    Summer NYC is mostly for the performance majors, but nothing says a techie can't go perform for the summer in NYC and meet agents, network and take workshops.

     I must say that most schools with big price tags (which OCU has, make no mistake) ride largely on Their Name On Your Diploma. "Shmah Shmah look at where I went to school I Paid  A Lot". But those schools, in general, do not have profs who make personal phone calls to get their kids jobs. Which is much easier to do when you have only 35 kids in your program.

     Did I mention they are all hand picked?

     I was ready to write a check right there.

The space where Picasso at the Lapin Agile , all student designed and acted, will perform in April.

    The D&P prof, Jeff, is my new best friend.
  
    He said these things:
    -This is hard. This is really hard. We're like a conservatory but you have to take Gen Eds.
   - You are going to hate me. And when you are homesick you will be in my office.
   -I know each kids' name, their history, where they went to high school. I know what they did over spring break and where to find them if they don't come to class.
    -This is a small school, we have 3000 students total. If you want the big school experience, that's great, do not come here.
    -This is hard. We do not have a wash out rate. You will succeed and you will graduate in four years. I have had one kid who had to leave for family reasons. That's it.
     - This is hard.
     -We prefer that you do internships in other cities. I had a girl who really wanted to move to Chicago, so she did an internship in Chicago this summer. She decided that Chicago was not what she expected it to be. Good thing to know before you move your life out there.

     Jim liked the words: "jobs", "employment", "this is hard" and "we don't train you to just do theater for theatre people, there is a world out there."

  The lighting prof, Aaron, is from NYC.
  He makes phone calls regularly to get the kids internships---paid and unpaid---and jobs.
  He asked Andy and Genoa what they worried about the most for college. They said "Money". He took it in stride. "It's expensive, but you'll work." His attitude was "Whatever, want a good education? Pay for it."

         AHHH!!!!!!
  
       I am a monetarily poor teacher, no raise in last three years, furlough days and no chance for a "hey you're cool" raise. With a husband who has been either unemployed or underemployed for years.  And our daughter was given a scholarship to this Oasis. Not enough to cover everything, and maybe not enough to not require student loans.
      But guess what? WHO CARES about student loans if you are working in your field after graduation????? My fear is she'd go ...anywhere else...and get her degree and work as a barista at Starbucks.
      NO WAY that is happening at OCU.

    Thom Uhl tells Genoa to Follow Her Bliss. He says Take Out Student Loans! Go!!! Follow!
   
    Usually I like to mock Thom, but know what?

    Follow Your Bliss! Take Out Student Loans!!
    (it'll be okay if you can get a job!!!)

      A Moment in History: I have only been taking kids to ThesCon for five years. In that time we have had some crazy success. This year they received 130 callbacks between the 9 of them.  I have kids who have received money to attend Pepperdine, SMU, Evansville, Stephens, St. Marys...but none at OCU. OCU was always unattainable. The rumor was that they only called back DSA kids. So I was kinda snarky toward them. Then two years ago, I met Ashleigh. She is the costume designer at OCU. She was headed to the auditions and was early. So she and I sat outside of the meeting rooms waiting for the acting auditions to end so she could start the tech portion. I sat and listened to her for about an hour. She is magnificent. A Set designer by trade, she switched to costumes when she wanted a Better Job and moved to OCU. She said they hadn't had any Colorado kids in a while and were considering not returning next year (which would be 2013). I spoke little, just listened because she was clearly My New Best Friend and more talented and magnificent than I.  I did have an actor called back last year, but since she was tech I kept it to myself. However I did my best to market OCU to that actor, but she was not ready to leave the state. Which is fine.

    Then the tech auditions began and she got up and left. She had firey red hair and a stunning blue ensemble with excellent shoes I could never wear. A Costumer who knew how to market herself. AH! Such Bliss!
  
    I had said nothing because A) Possible conflict of interest, I am a theatre teacher after all  and B) I wanted her to talk and I wanted to learn. I had no hard core tech kids auditioning that year, but still didn't want to be all "Hey, pick my kids!" So I never really introduced myself. She got I was somebody's theatre teacher, somewhere, what other adult would be hanging out at ThesCon?
    Anyway, I took everything she said and put it into prepping the tech kids for this year...and three of them were called back to OCU.
     And one of them was my daughter.
    If you were paying attention at all, you know I have had NO TECH kids ever called back to OCU.   And only one actor.

      So.

    The moral of the story:
    Oklahoma City is a real City.
    Oklahoma City University is a school on par with SMU, Pepperdine and Evansville.
    Shut up and listen.

  

                                               And this is one part of their shop.

                                                         And this is Genoa, ready for college.

                      And now I have to go. Carol Burnett is on the Big Interview.

John Denver and GTA5

31 December 2013

   No end of year reflections for me.
   I just need to burn off some blogs, it's been a while and I'm behind.

   Today's topic is John Denver.
   I grew up listening to specific vinyl records my mom had:  Elvis---specifically Blue Hawaii which was on blue vinyl and we weren't allowed to touch. The Everly Brothers, who I credit with my love of harmony. The Smothers Brothers, who are the source of my early understanding of humor along with my dad's extensive collection of K-TEL 40 Funky Hits. The Carptenters, God Bless Karen Carpenter, everyone could sing along in her vocal range.
    And John Denver.
    In addition to the vinyl exposure, my mom learned to play guitar. In my memory, she learned it from a PBS show, like the guy who teaches you to paint. But  mom learned to play guitar. She would sit in front of the TV with her guitar and follow along. I'm told by mom that my memory is "weird", so that may or may not be accurate in reality. I also remember her watching a show about a guy who could bend a spoon with his mind and trying it in our kitchen. Anyway, she played guitar a lot, and part of the 1970's Guitar Club Membership  was to know songs by John Denver.
    I know every song by heart. I know the harmonies and even though I haven't picked up a guitar in years, I could probably figure out the chords.
    When my own children were small, I played neither the guitar or John Denver. I blasted The Beastie Boys as we pulled into the elementary school parking lot, and the girls developed a personal love for Queen, specifically Bicycle Races, and for Jane's Addiction- the song they called "The dog barking song." They needed more variety than just the XM kids station, however, thanks to XM Kids I still listen to John Lithgow's children's songs. "Big kids scare the heck out of me, big kids scare the heck out of me, whenever I see them gosh oh gee....big kids scare the heck out of meeeee."
    When we moved out of civilization and away from our walking distance preschool, park, library and coffee shop, I realized that suburbia has no place to walk to that is cool. So we started driving to Evergreen a day or two a week, for no reason. It was pretty. We found what we decided was a marmot playing in the creek and named him Ted. The following summer we discvoered Ted had a friend, so we named her Tina. Fourteen years later and we still refer to driving to Evergreen as "going to visit Ted and Tina."
    Part of the gig on the drive was to listen to John Denver.
    I am unsure how this came about, but it made sense and the girls enjoyed it. Drive to see Ted and Tina, listen to John Denver. Life was simple.
    Yesterday, the girls and I decided to drive to Evergreen. I said "for no reason" but of course it was to see Ted and Tina, even though it is winter and they are not home.
     Genoa was riding shotgun and therefore was DJ. I asked about John Denver and got a flat "No, I don't have him on my phone."
     But on the return trip, Harper was DJ and Country Roads began to play. I smiled and she said "You tube".
     All the way home she played John Denver and all the way home we sang along.
     My children know all the words.
     And I have the harmonies so drilled into my head I can't even try to find the melody line.
     And sitting in the backseat, singing along, was Genoa.
     Harper kept turning up the volume, and I thought she wanted to blast John Denver as we descended from Evergreen, but I think the truth is she was trying to drown me out.

      Last night, while Genoa was at a friend's house and Jim and I were watching Breaking Bad, Harp curled up in her chair and started playing her "Hookers and Cars" game (she got Grand Theft Auto 5 for Christmas. This is an amusing and entertaining game when you have the correct demeanor. Harp has the correct demeanor).
      I thought I heard strains of John Denver floating down the stairs, barely audible over the sounds of hookers and stolen cars and gunshots --her game, not Breaking Bad. I came upstairs and looked at Harp, who smiled sheepishly. "What?"
     "Do I hear John Denver? With hookers?"
     "No." Smile. Back to the game. Puts hand over phone playing Rocky Mountain High. Runs stolen vehicle into a lamp post.

     Harper plays guitar. She's been playing since the second grade. But John Denver is not played on her guitar, he is played during botched car theft attempts (Harper is terrible at this game, she runs the cars into cement walls and alleys, mows down pedestrians and spends more time dressing her character than is befitting a car theft professional).
    And also he is played during car rides to Evergreen, to get a coffee at Java Groove, check the stream for Ted and Tina. That is also when John Denver is played.