As official as reviews get of the shows up here at the Winnipesaukee Playhouse, this is our review for Around the World in 80 Days. Sadly, the man mangles my name (doesn't he have a program sitting in front of him? Sigh. He wins points for originality, this is the first time I've seen Margaret-Allen Jeffries in print). It's a great review though, certainly something we can all be proud of, especially after it felt like we spent a straight 48 hours in the theatre the two days leading up to opening (and the first real meal break we got was immediately before the opening performance). The audiences are laughing heartily, which is always so nice to hear, and I'm having a blast getting to play a stuffy English servant, what has become (thanks, grey wig and moustache) a wily old Newspaperman, and the Indian princess who turns out to be nothing of the damsel in distress that everyone expected. Pictures soon to follow.
http://www.caughtintheactnh.blogspot.com/
In other news, I officially have a New York address, and am getting very excited about some things falling into place for work in the city!
30-94 43rd St
Astoria, NY 11103
Jon moves in on the 1st, Matthew and I are flying from NYC on the 4th, spending a day and a couple of nights in Cincy packing up a U-Haul, and we'll be moved in somewhere between the 6th and the 7th. Now that you've got the address, send me a letter there. I'm planning on joining a local organic produce delivery service, and I'd love nothing better than to read a note from you while eating a nectarine that came right to my doorstep.
I'm starting some remote secretarial work for Josh's dad as a part-time day job (it's actually really fun, and no one will fire me for having a second tab open with facebook on my browser), I'm signing up with several promotional companies and emailing tons of Craigslist "event gig" posts daily, I have a couple of temp company contacts, our Passepartout from 80 Days is owed a favor by a friend who runs a dog-walking service so she's got my info for me to join her team, and a friend who's relocated to LA has sent my contact info to the families she babysat in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Additionally, upon my friend Jackie's suggestion, I'm planning to continue in the work-from-home (or on the road!) vein and get into social networking for local establishments. But any ideas or contacts for other jobs...I'll take 'em.
I'm excited about a couple of work-study opportunities, too...I'm going to be work-studying for a yoga studio in SoHo a couple of days a week in return for unlimited classes at the studio, and I'm planning on auditioning for a musical theatre performer work study at the dance studio my friend Marcia attends. I want to take as many classes as I can, and if there's some way to avoid money coming out of my pocket for it, all the better.
And then there are the auditions...already been searching the upcoming casting calls, looks like there are regional productions of 80 Days and Marvelous Wonderettes that are having calls soon, and our lighting designer from the Winni Playhouse has already submitted me for a NYMF show. I'm just hoping to hit the ground running as soon as I get to the city and not stop until...well, the thing about NYC is that you don't ever really stop. Scary AND exciting.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The mystery of Zumba
I'm sure I could make this really creative and informational, but I'm gonna keep it short.
This was worth reporting.
I went to a class at the gym tonight called Zumba. Apparently it's a big trend sweeping the nation's gyms...and I've actually been to lots of classes that have the same setup, they just weren't officially Zumba. Also called Cardio Dance, Ballet Aerobics, Latin/Hip Hop/Dance Aerobics, basically it's a cross between a high-impact (well, medium to high, MAYBE, if you get technical with the old-school definitions of aerobics that basically if you're ever totally on one foot or there's any hopping involved it's "high impact") aerobics class, and a pretty simple jazz/movement combination at a community theatre musical audition.
The followers of Zumba at The Fitness Edge in Meredith, NH range from 13-year old girls in matching little spandex shorts and tshirts from their middle school drama productions, to 16-year-old girls obviously on the high school dance team and potentially enrolled in the competition class at the dance studio, to the still-fairly-young women (I include myself in this category) who probably danced at one time in their life, want to go to a class, but can't quite bring themselves to go to Step, of course to the young moms, the older moms, that one lady who's 5'9, short spiky black hair, obviously like 50 but you know can tear it up on the salsa floor b/c when it comes time for the Latin-esque moves, this lady MOVES those hips, and there's even this INCREDIBLE 76-year-old lady named Dell who was the Feature Member at the Fitness Edge recently--check out her story here. Finally, there's the one man. The lone dude. Clearly not a ballerina in this lifetime, I get the idea he probably shows up under the guise of "ah, come on, man, who wouldn't like to be in the middle of a group of dancing ladies?," but he secretly enjoys breaking it down a bit himself. He had a pretty mean paddle turn going during "Jai-Ho" tonight; he was definitely singing along, and I think his eyes were even closed a couple of times during the song. I think he was imagining himself on that subway platform with Jamal and Latika.
Just a side note that I discovered as I was searching the gym's website for Dell's story: The Fitness Edge has an Old Fart's Club, a self-described "group of men over the age of 50 who are eager to learn about new ways to stay young and be active." Too adorable for words. They meet the first Wednesday of every month at 7AM. I just missed them this morning, we got there at 9, shoot! That would explain the
Dunkin Donuts coffee in the lobby, though.
You show 'em, old man. Ain't no arthritis gonna hold you back.
This was worth reporting.
I went to a class at the gym tonight called Zumba. Apparently it's a big trend sweeping the nation's gyms...and I've actually been to lots of classes that have the same setup, they just weren't officially Zumba. Also called Cardio Dance, Ballet Aerobics, Latin/Hip Hop/Dance Aerobics, basically it's a cross between a high-impact (well, medium to high, MAYBE, if you get technical with the old-school definitions of aerobics that basically if you're ever totally on one foot or there's any hopping involved it's "high impact") aerobics class, and a pretty simple jazz/movement combination at a community theatre musical audition.
The followers of Zumba at The Fitness Edge in Meredith, NH range from 13-year old girls in matching little spandex shorts and tshirts from their middle school drama productions, to 16-year-old girls obviously on the high school dance team and potentially enrolled in the competition class at the dance studio, to the still-fairly-young women (I include myself in this category) who probably danced at one time in their life, want to go to a class, but can't quite bring themselves to go to Step, of course to the young moms, the older moms, that one lady who's 5'9, short spiky black hair, obviously like 50 but you know can tear it up on the salsa floor b/c when it comes time for the Latin-esque moves, this lady MOVES those hips, and there's even this INCREDIBLE 76-year-old lady named Dell who was the Feature Member at the Fitness Edge recently--check out her story here. Finally, there's the one man. The lone dude. Clearly not a ballerina in this lifetime, I get the idea he probably shows up under the guise of "ah, come on, man, who wouldn't like to be in the middle of a group of dancing ladies?," but he secretly enjoys breaking it down a bit himself. He had a pretty mean paddle turn going during "Jai-Ho" tonight; he was definitely singing along, and I think his eyes were even closed a couple of times during the song. I think he was imagining himself on that subway platform with Jamal and Latika.
Just a side note that I discovered as I was searching the gym's website for Dell's story: The Fitness Edge has an Old Fart's Club, a self-described "group of men over the age of 50 who are eager to learn about new ways to stay young and be active." Too adorable for words. They meet the first Wednesday of every month at 7AM. I just missed them this morning, we got there at 9, shoot! That would explain the
Dunkin Donuts coffee in the lobby, though.You show 'em, old man. Ain't no arthritis gonna hold you back.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Since I promised to start this up again in NH for Lauren...
No promises on how long (or especially how clever) this post will be, it's mostly an attempt to make a small start at regular blogs again and follow through on my promise to keep in touch and keep people up to date on where I am and what I'm doing on all my travels and my most exciting adventure ever thusfar...moving to New York.
But for now, I'm in Meredith, New Hampshire, working at The Winnipesaukee Playhouse.
A few key points, for those of you who don't know this already, or those of you who would enjoy the reminder:
1) While I'm up here, I am playing Lenny in Crimes of the Heart and Aouda, James Forrster, and Newspaperman in Mark Brown's Around the World in 80 Days.
2) Josh is working here too; it's his second season with the Winni, he's playing Allan (the Woody Allen role, go figure) in Play it Again, Sam (see the current Winni newsletter for his huge hair and Napoleon Dynamite glasses), Barnette Lloyd in Crimes, and Detective Fix et al in 80 Days.
3) We are living together in an adorable apartment-of-sorts in the basement of our artistic directors' huge house in Meredith. The perks of living here during the contract include being located only 2 miles from the rehearsal space, a big bedroom (with enough space for me to do yoga @ approximately 7:30 in the morning without waking Josh up), our own washer and dryer, internet, and a private kitchen and bathroom. The fact that the kitchen and bathroom are one room is actually not a drawback. The toilet is in a separate enclosed little room, the shower curtain is great so we really don't get shower runoff onto the floor in front of the fridge, and I personally love that the sink in which we wash our dishes is also the bathroom sink, so bathroom grossness like toothpaste doesn't collect in it.
4) We rehearse each show for approximately 10 days to 2 weeks, then one opens and we start rehearsing the next one the following morning. Crazy pace, lots of necessary homework at night, but it's a great experience.
5) You may notice that both of these shows are straight plays. That's right, no singing and no dancing for Musical Theatre Girl. This actually makes Musical Theatre Girl very happy. Good to shake things up, and only having to worry about navigating a unit set with a kitchen and big kitchen table is a far cry from the knee-abusing tap of Dames at Sea.
There's really no news to share here, nothing terribly crazy or exciting like the Bearcreek days, (the only time I ever long for those days is when I feel like I have no fun news to share in my blog) but I can tell you I'm tired from the fast-paced rehearsals, I'm exhilarated when I realize how much progress can be made in such little time on a scene, a character, and frankly how fast I seem capable of cramming lines (please note this is NOT a self-pat on the back, I really should've learned this stuff way before I got here), and I'm grateful every day that I get to come home for meals and after the long days, and Josh is right there with me.
Currently I have my evenings off, because they're still performing Play it Again, Sam, and everyone in the current company except for me is in it. This means I get to go to the (totally free and totally great) gym (how can I explain to you just how fabulous treadmills and ellipticals with built-in TVs are? You'd be surprised how fast four miles go by when you're watching Top Chef) at night, cook dinner for us both, make my lunch for the next day, run my lines while J is in his show, and I have enough time to wind down and get to bed at a decent hour. This will change in a week or so, once we're working just on Crimes day and night, and especially once Crimes opens and we're rehearsing crazy crazy 80 Days during the 10-5 slot. Knowing the amount of exercise it seems I require in order to keep my anxiety in check, I wouldn't be surprised if I start attending the 5:45 AM yoga class at the gym, or running on dinner break and just coming to the show a big sweat ball. My character in Crimes is supposed to be dowdy and unattractive anyway, so I figure the worse my hair looks, the better.
In other news, I miss Louis to pieces (he's in Cincy with Lauren, Matthew, and Y until I come back to get him and put all my and Matthew's stuff in the moving truck for the one-way trip to NYC), and same goes for my friends in Cincinnati, North Carolina, DC, and all the other places far and near. The odd thing is that even with Josh here, at least right now, I'm still spending a lot of time by myself, and it gets lonely sometimes. I need to send out a batch of letters, that always makes the distance between friends easier for me. :)
A COUPLE of funny/interesting things from my time here so far, just for those of you who only read this to hear the odd stories:
1) The Halperins (Artistic Directors, whose house we live in) have a hairless cat. Seriously. Dr. Evil style. Its name is Semi...we wonder if it's called that because it's only half a cat without the hair. It is truly terrifying, and if its mere physical appearance weren't upsetting enough, it has the loudest meow I've ever heard. Ever.
2) There's a woman who comes to seemingly all of the yoga classes at the gym and in every single one, she feels free to let her natural gases flow. I've been to three so far. Every.Time. "...aaannnd, lift your right leg to meet the left, into the full expression of the posture, completing your Shoulder Stan---*pppppfffffffffffftttttttt!* Seriously.
3) Overheard (also at the gym) the other night: "Yeah, I spent all afternoon blowing up balloons for my grandson's birthday party this weekend while the rest of the world mourned a child molester." Rest in peace, Michael Jackson. Josh and I have been listening to Jackson Five before rehearsals, remembering the less notorious days of the poor man's life.
But for now, I'm in Meredith, New Hampshire, working at The Winnipesaukee Playhouse.
A few key points, for those of you who don't know this already, or those of you who would enjoy the reminder:
1) While I'm up here, I am playing Lenny in Crimes of the Heart and Aouda, James Forrster, and Newspaperman in Mark Brown's Around the World in 80 Days.
2) Josh is working here too; it's his second season with the Winni, he's playing Allan (the Woody Allen role, go figure) in Play it Again, Sam (see the current Winni newsletter for his huge hair and Napoleon Dynamite glasses), Barnette Lloyd in Crimes, and Detective Fix et al in 80 Days.
3) We are living together in an adorable apartment-of-sorts in the basement of our artistic directors' huge house in Meredith. The perks of living here during the contract include being located only 2 miles from the rehearsal space, a big bedroom (with enough space for me to do yoga @ approximately 7:30 in the morning without waking Josh up), our own washer and dryer, internet, and a private kitchen and bathroom. The fact that the kitchen and bathroom are one room is actually not a drawback. The toilet is in a separate enclosed little room, the shower curtain is great so we really don't get shower runoff onto the floor in front of the fridge, and I personally love that the sink in which we wash our dishes is also the bathroom sink, so bathroom grossness like toothpaste doesn't collect in it.
4) We rehearse each show for approximately 10 days to 2 weeks, then one opens and we start rehearsing the next one the following morning. Crazy pace, lots of necessary homework at night, but it's a great experience.
5) You may notice that both of these shows are straight plays. That's right, no singing and no dancing for Musical Theatre Girl. This actually makes Musical Theatre Girl very happy. Good to shake things up, and only having to worry about navigating a unit set with a kitchen and big kitchen table is a far cry from the knee-abusing tap of Dames at Sea.
There's really no news to share here, nothing terribly crazy or exciting like the Bearcreek days, (the only time I ever long for those days is when I feel like I have no fun news to share in my blog) but I can tell you I'm tired from the fast-paced rehearsals, I'm exhilarated when I realize how much progress can be made in such little time on a scene, a character, and frankly how fast I seem capable of cramming lines (please note this is NOT a self-pat on the back, I really should've learned this stuff way before I got here), and I'm grateful every day that I get to come home for meals and after the long days, and Josh is right there with me.
Currently I have my evenings off, because they're still performing Play it Again, Sam, and everyone in the current company except for me is in it. This means I get to go to the (totally free and totally great) gym (how can I explain to you just how fabulous treadmills and ellipticals with built-in TVs are? You'd be surprised how fast four miles go by when you're watching Top Chef) at night, cook dinner for us both, make my lunch for the next day, run my lines while J is in his show, and I have enough time to wind down and get to bed at a decent hour. This will change in a week or so, once we're working just on Crimes day and night, and especially once Crimes opens and we're rehearsing crazy crazy 80 Days during the 10-5 slot. Knowing the amount of exercise it seems I require in order to keep my anxiety in check, I wouldn't be surprised if I start attending the 5:45 AM yoga class at the gym, or running on dinner break and just coming to the show a big sweat ball. My character in Crimes is supposed to be dowdy and unattractive anyway, so I figure the worse my hair looks, the better.
In other news, I miss Louis to pieces (he's in Cincy with Lauren, Matthew, and Y until I come back to get him and put all my and Matthew's stuff in the moving truck for the one-way trip to NYC), and same goes for my friends in Cincinnati, North Carolina, DC, and all the other places far and near. The odd thing is that even with Josh here, at least right now, I'm still spending a lot of time by myself, and it gets lonely sometimes. I need to send out a batch of letters, that always makes the distance between friends easier for me. :)
A COUPLE of funny/interesting things from my time here so far, just for those of you who only read this to hear the odd stories:
1) The Halperins (Artistic Directors, whose house we live in) have a hairless cat. Seriously. Dr. Evil style. Its name is Semi...we wonder if it's called that because it's only half a cat without the hair. It is truly terrifying, and if its mere physical appearance weren't upsetting enough, it has the loudest meow I've ever heard. Ever.
2) There's a woman who comes to seemingly all of the yoga classes at the gym and in every single one, she feels free to let her natural gases flow. I've been to three so far. Every.Time. "...aaannnd, lift your right leg to meet the left, into the full expression of the posture, completing your Shoulder Stan---*pppppfffffffffffftttttttt!* Seriously.
3) Overheard (also at the gym) the other night: "Yeah, I spent all afternoon blowing up balloons for my grandson's birthday party this weekend while the rest of the world mourned a child molester." Rest in peace, Michael Jackson. Josh and I have been listening to Jackson Five before rehearsals, remembering the less notorious days of the poor man's life.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Life on the Outside
There is a harsh truth to face. No way I'm gonna make it on the outside. All I do anymore is think of ways to break my parole. Terrible thing, to live in fear. Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all too well. All I want is to be back where things make sense. Where I won't have to be afraid all the time. Only one thing stops me. A promise I made to Jason Robert Brown.
I told him I was going back to my home state for my next job, and I'd be working for a real theatre again, doing a real show, so he couldn't mock me like he had been doing for some time now.
But now, friends, I must admit I don't quite know how to handle this life.
I'm starting a new show @ Temple Theatre, yes, in my home state of North Carolina, located in a small town called Sanford. The show is a 1960s-themed Christmas show, four girls singing in harmony, think Plaid Tidings with girls...called The Winter Wonderettes. The theatre isn't a full-on Equit
y house, but they usually have a couple of guest artist contracts per show...we only have one since there are only four of us in the show, but we live under all Equity rules.We take rehearsal breaks at regular intervals. We don't have to ask to use the restroom. There is a stage manager, a set designer, a costume designer, and the dressing rooms are climate-controlled.
The water IS potable. Right out of the kitchen sink.
I took a shower this morning in the house where we live....it was hot, the shower was clean, and the shampoo rinsed clean out of my hair. I was actually cleaner when I got out of the shower than I was when I got into it.
The housing is not only insulated and also climate-controlled, but it's this enormous old Southe
rn house where we each have our own huge bedroom with cable TV and wireless internet. I have a double bed...one big mattress, with box springs under the mattress, not just a big block of solid wood.Board members brought over food for us to our house last night after we moved in. Just-baked lasagna, french bread, apples, cookies....where are the mashed potatoes? The fried chicken? The vegetables with nutrients replaced with fat from butter and gravy?
We were released from rehearsal because we'd been working so hard today in music rehearsals. Wasn't there laundry to be done? Didn't anyone need me to call Elvis Bingo somewhere? Should I go run club with the big awkward guy who stares at me? I would've just wandered the streets looking for cows and Amish if I wasn't already carpooling with one of the other girls in the cast.
I don't know who I am anymore. The orange is disappearing from under my nails. The bloating from the Homestead food is going away. I walked with Louis for an hour today and the air didn't smell of sulphur OR sewage. My voice feels relaxed and healthy; I'm singing in my real range, and we are asked to be safe and careful instead of running things that we're getting right 30 times. I think we'll be paid before we've been here for about five weeks. The stage manager mentioned driving me to the astronomically-discounted gym in the mornings.
I'm gonna crawl into my giant bed now and pull the covers over my and Louis's heads. They were all right
of the dryer waiting for me when I got here yesterday. I don't have rehearsal until noon tomorrow, I was going to get up in the morning and do yoga, but it's gonna be way too weird to actually have the space to do it on the floor of my bedroom, and I won't be surrounded by dustbunnies and dead insects.Help!
Love,
ME
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Cougars, Tigers, and Bearcreek, oh my!
I figured that as my time on the farm is coming to a close, I should send one more installment of my "Bearcreek Travails Newsletter," as one friend called it.
I started to feel like I had less stories to tell after a while, that maybe less funny things were happening, less interesting people were cropping up around me, but now when I think about it, it seems I just got used to my surroundings. This place, these people, the everyday situations around here…they seemed normal. But…upon further introspection and looking back, I realized: just like Brooks Hatlen, this has somehow just become an acceptable life to me, and perhaps I have lost touch with the outside. I can only hope that I will be able to rehabilitate myself and not have to relocate to a beach in Mexico like Andy and Red; there are several places in my previous life to which I plan to return as soon as possible.
A couple of weeks ago, our entire cast was invited to have dinner w/ the Amish family whose daughters work for Housekeeping on the farm. They gave us a tour of their farm, their great farmhouse, and we sat around their giant den, exchanging names and hometowns. All 14 of the children in the family were there, many with spouses and two or three children of their own, plus eight of us from the show and the parents of the family…the den was more than full, though cozy in the gas lamplight. We sang songs for the Hilty family from our show, and they sang their German folksongs for us, complete with four-part yodeling. They had made giant chocolate chip cookies and coffee for us, and though we found it odd that none of them ate any of the cookies (we wondered if they didn't eat food that was intended for the English, but we just let that go), it was a great night. Sean, the shortest of three guys in our cast, got schooled in basketball outside in the yard…he was at an obvious disadvantage, being accustomed to depending on electricity to see in the dark. Those Amish dudes were all over it. They do have battery-powered headlamps, but they didn't even need them.
Last night, one castmate and I were invited back to the Hiltys' to help feed their baby cows. They run a beef cattle farm, and they had just received about 80 new calves a few weeks ago. Brett and I helped mix the powdered milk, hot water and vitamins, we filled the bottles and placed them in the pens, and watched the calves drink the milk as if they were still fighting their brothers and sisters for sustenance. They had a limited number of bottles, about 15, so once one row was finished, we'd pry the empty bottles out of the calves' mouths, refill them, and hit the next row. It was hilarious to watch the baby cows turn to their next door neighbor and start licking the milk off of his or her face. The basic process of Calf Dinner Time is this: drink bottle, make out with your sister, pass out. Sounds more like something that you'd think happens in West Virginia, now that I think of it…but it didn't seem nearly as dirty with cows.
This past Saturday, I had a day that few actors probably have on the job. At 10AM, I was called to our Garden Room in the restaurant to co-host Elvis Bingo. Guests played Bingo, but they were aiming to make shapes that loosely resembled things related to Elvis, such as a shoe, a church, or a lightning bolt. As one might imagine, Elvis was the main host of Elvis Bingo. In our case, this was David Goins, my very awkward next door neighbor, who comes by the back door of my apartment to ask to borrow random things so much that it's starting to get wayyy too creepy. My castmate Sean caught him standing in front of my headshot during load-in for a concert, his face inches away from "mine," just staring. Mr. Goins is a performer, technically, but he's been employed here as a guitarist in two shows this season, though he's a veteran Bearcreek "performer," but he has seemed to gain too much weight to be considered a viable singer/dancer. When he came out to begin Bingo and sing some Elvis karaoke, a guest called out "wow, looks like Elvis has had too many Peanut Butter and Banana sandwiches!" I responded, over the microphone," Wow, ma'am. That was out loud. We could all hear you." Poor guy…I felt bad for him, calling out, "O-67, Oooo—hhhh, sixteh sevennnnn…attempting the Elvis waver in his voice….that is, until he'd stare scarily at me after announcing each Bingo call. Someone reported that I did so well, they want me to come back and co-host with him again for six hours this weekend. I don't think I've got it in me.
Later that morning, a castmate competed in a Barrel Racing contest at the horse show at the farm. Yeah, we have a horse arena, they have shows and competitions there, and Olin Davidson, tall, slim singer/dancer from Seymour, Indiana, who has been known for calling out, "Jesus, Mary, my tailbone is KILLIN' me from all this horse mess….well, we're gonna warm up to Beyonce today, she'll make it all better. Haaaaaaaaeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy!," won a gorgeous second place red ribbon for his barrel racing skills. Both of these events occurred before our matinee. It was a banner weekend indeed.
During my tenure at Bearcreek, I also played Beer Pong for the first time in my life. I guess I sheltered myself from it in college, too many rehearsals, Park Scholar leadership summits, and biochemistry and British and Holocaust Lit papers, maybe. They have a whole setup at the Pit Stop, the local bar that all the Bearcreek staff frequents. I won't go into the story, but I shouldn't have to explain the insane sanitary conditions of this game. I didn't drink the Bud Light, as it reminded me way too much of being 18 (sorry Mama, the theatre big brothers made me do it, you remember Matt Woods), but I got better with my aim as the games went on. As I'm not a frat boy, I don't think I'll be playing again, but now I can say I did it.
Even more interesting than the events I've survived here are the people who've passed through my life. I've mentioned several already, but there are a whole slew of colorful characters who you've not yet met.
There's Wendell, the kitchen worker who's trapped in a rural Indiana Catholic closet during the day, though his friends call him Wendy when he's at the bar at night, and when he's in his cups, the truth comes out—and so does Wendell. He leaves the trucker hat at home and spikes his hair up, wears colorful clothes, and speaks—often slurs—his mind. At The Pit Stop on Beer Pong Night, I sat down next to him at the bar, and he leaned over to share something with me…
Wendell: IIIIIIIII donnnnnnnnnnn lllllike yerrrrr hairrrr.
ME: What? I'm sorry, what do you mean?
Wendell: Itttttssssssssss not red enough.
ME: Oh yeah, it's usually more red than this, the lady who did it dyed it too brown. I'm only here for a few more weeks, though, hardly anyone will see it except y'all, it'll be OK.
Wendell: I dunnnnnoooo, it looks prrrrrretty bad. I hate it. You ssssshould wear a hat or something. It'ssssss not you at alllll.
ME: Thanks, Wendell, I'll keep that in mind.
Then we have Matthew the bartender. We noticed he would talk about his wife a lot, but that he wasn't wearing a ring. Then a more astute observer noticed he wasn't just missing the ring, he was missing the entire fourth finger on his left hand. Apparently he caught the wedding ring on some sort of slicing machine in the kitchen a few years back, and after having that finger removed, he decided it wasn't worth it to wear the ring on another finger if it meant risking losing that one too.
Every small town has a town drunk—Mayberry has Otis Campbell, and Bearcreek Farms has Jack James. Jack claims that he is "Director of Public Relations" at Bearcreek, but he actually has no official title. The word on the inside is that he has some dirt on the general manager, so he's pseudo-blackmailing them to let him stay around and get paid to do nothing. He knows lots of the regular guests, but he mostly floats around the farm during the day, trying to "help" people actually doing their jobs, but usually just getting in the way. In the evenings, he walks around the farm with a 44oz big gulp of a mixture of Mountain Dew and what smells like Vodka. He lives on the farm and has been issued (unofficially) a golf cart that he joyrides around the grounds on the weekends. We keep wondering if we could get him arrested for a DUI on the thing, because it would keep him from being able to come in and disrupt evening events.
My boss is a self-proclaimed "cougar, and proud of it." She is easily 45, and she talks about dating 25-year-olds, "if she could just find a good one around here." When my friends came up from Cincinnati, we went to Pumpkin Fest in town, which was basically a country fair based around pumpkins, with attractions such as a petting zoo, garage sale, and a tractor-pulled hayride. Our tractor driver was a seemingly very nice young man, and my friends basically dared me to give him a piece of paper with our show schedule and my phone number on it with the promise of a free ticket, for driving us around and talking to us on our hayride. This guy came to be known as "farmer townie boyfriend," just in comparison to a guy in town that a castmate had actually been involved with during her last contract here. Let me be very clear that the farmer and I had no involvement whatsoever other than the fact that he did come to the show—when I wasn't in it. I came down with a severe bacterial infection, and the second day that I was quarantined on my couch, not even allowed to go down to the restaurant for soup, he came to the show, asking the others if we had one missing. But when my boss came up to bring my soup, she informed me that said farmer had been at the show, and that her next door neighbor had been trying to set HER (my boss) up with this same young man. Small town drama at its finest. My castmate Brett and I have taken to calling her "Cougs."
I am wary to mention this, as I know how potentially offensive it is…but here goes anyway. There are several groups of developmentally disabled adults, work rehab programs, etc., who come to our shows. Our boss affectionately (offensively) calls them "tigers," mostly from the likelihood that there could be vocal outbursts from them that could potentially disrupt the show. So if we get a call with "places" that says "tigers in the audience today," we know what it means. These audiences are often our best, though, most responsive, if nothing else. In our opening number the other day, we had a 'veritable zoo' as it was put, and 20 of the 40 were dancing in the aisles to the opening number. It was pretty awesome.
So I look back on this 14-week contract with great amazement that it actually happened, thinking back on all I've seen and done. Yes, I've begged to be taken away several times. I've lamented to my friends and family about the water, the food, the trailer where I live, and all aspects of the "show" I've been doing. I've called out to the Heavens, "what am I DOING with my life?!?!?!?" Admittedly, my positive attitude has been chipped away. I have a hard time smiling during the "show" about anything other than my inner countdown of the remaining performances. However, I'll take these insane experiences with me for the rest of my life with great humor and no regret. This contract came along at a great time when I needed to save money and have an excess of free time to finally finish my Masters' Thesis. I'm not done yet, but I'm 80-something pages in, and I will be done soon. Unbelievably enough, here at the end, I'm pretty thankful.
I'll miss my Amish friends, the Hiltys. I'll miss the pickled eggs and the occasional steamed vegetables that the kitchen guys made upon my request in our restaurant. I'll miss Louis's ability to roam around outside off of his leash. I'll miss The Olds who seem to renew their patriotism and faith in young people just by seeing our ridiculous show. And Rich—the dishwasher/cook with the ankle monitor, I like to believe that your statutory conviction was just really unfortunate timing, I just know that you and your 14-year-old girlfriend were deeply in love. You mock me with the other guys for being a hippie liberal actress from North Carolina, but you pass me your copy of The Nation under the dish line, knowing if the guys knew your most hidden secret, that you're onmy side of politics among these rural Indiana Catholic ultra-Republicans, it would destroy your rep and masculinity among them—I think I'll miss you most of all.
Love to all, and I'll be back in North Carolina in a few weeks to start the Christmas show @ Temple Theatre in Sanford. Probably not nearly the thrilling stories from there, but I bet at least the water will be potable.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Aliens, Sexual Harassment, and Missing Digits, or How I Learned to Love the Reception Line
Hello everyone...I know a couple of you didn't get my first couple of emails about life at Bearcreek Farms Country Resort and Goodtimes Theatre (oh yes) but I created a group for all these silly updates. If you don't want to get them, if my life is too pitiful for you to want to hear about, just let me know and I won't delete them, but as some of you asked to be ADDED to the list after reading the previous emails from others (they're good for a sympathetic laugh, I hear), I'm hoping I can keep it interesting for you.
So here we go...the latest.
So here we go...the latest.
One of the less-than-common practices here at Bearcreek is the " 'joyed it" line, or what I've come to call the Awkward Reception Line. At the end of our curtain call (wherein we step downstage one by one and say our names and hometowns, as of course there are no programs), we run up the aisles and stand in the back, while the audience files out, shaking our hands one by one and telling us how they 'joyed it.
A few standouts:
"You look just like my granddaughter/daughter/niece/
"You ladies have nice legs, I like that."
(Old man in overalls and John Deere trucker hat) "You girls need any help making all those dress changes back there? (Me) Um, no sir, thanks, we've got it…and it's complicated and pretty fast (Old Man) I'd work really hard, I promise I wouldn't make too many mistakes. (Old Man's Wife) I'm sure you wouldn't, Harry.
"It's exhausting to watch you girls make all those changes. We thought we'd come here and be so bored we'd fall asleep, but just counting all the dresses kept us awake. Thanks!"
******************************
Now we haven't gotten any negative feedback, but I am realizing there is a certain spectrum of comments we can receive. I'll put a few in order for you.
1) Thank you kids so much, this was the best show we've seen here in 10 years!
2) You all have such beautiful voices, and it's so exciting to watch you up there!
3) (Said to Kari, the high soprano who stands next to me in the line) You have a gorgeous voice.
(to me) I enjoyed your dancing.
4) You sure do have a lot of energy!
5) You just keep smiling, don't you?
6) You look really pretty in all those dresses.
7) Wow, you sure do change clothes a lot.
******************************
We also come across characters of all sorts in the Awkward Reception Line. Our typical audience is 65+, pretty typical Midwest couples, dressed in cotton coordinates and comfortable (often orthopedic) shoes. Every now and then, someone a little more memorable will step through the line.
**A few days ago, a lady walked by with her arms crossed, then quickly stepped up to shake our hands. I came to realize she only had three fingers. It was a little disturbing, but I was glad I didn't react visibly. My friend and castmate Brett called it the "sneak attack" and will often help me to relive the experience backstage just before we go on. Whoever says I'm laughing through the opening number is lying, I'm just really really that proud to be an American, it fills me with joy and laughter.
**Last night, an old lady had dentures that were perhaps set really low, or maybe they just needed Fixodent, but they were so low in her mouth, she looked exactly like the aliens from Mars Attacks! (see right).
**Yesterday afternoon, though, I experienced something I had no idea was possible in the A.R.L. A quiet, middle-aged lady came through the line, barely said anything, and after she shook my hand, I realized something was left in my hand. It was a bill. She didn't even seem that excited about the show, but there it was, passed to me Mafia style. I hope she doesn't expect me to kill someone for her. I assumed it was a $1.00, but when the whole line had cleared (as I figured it would be tacky to look at my folded cash while still shaking hands of passing elderly), I opened it. FIVE DOLLARS, people. This raises the grand total of money I've made at Bearcreek Farms to $7.38, as my half of the tips Mary and I made from housekeeping that one Friday was $2.38.
All the best from the cornfields. Now that we're in performances, my schedule is finally becoming regular. I get up at about 7:30, make breakfast, drink some good coffee (thank you, Whole Foods of Cincinnati, Red Sea Blend brewed extra dark...being a three-year Starbucks employee doesn't allow the foolishness of the lame stuff they call coffee in these parts), walk with Louis for about an hour in the mornings--he is fascinated with the baby cows and the horses we pass on the country roads--do some writing work in my apartment, go to lunch w/ the farm boys at 11, wamups and first show, go into town to work out, email, and shower, dinner at my apartment, second show, back for more work and whatever blessing has been bestowed on me by Netflix if the mail is running on time that day. Kinda boring at times, kinda isolated, but I appreciate the regularity of it at least. We're down to one meal a day in the restaurant now, but I found the farmer's market in town, so I actually have some vegetables in the fridge. Maybe next week I can buy some cottage cheese. I've been here for three and a half weeks, and we're getting paid for the first time on Friday. That's right. Maybe I should take it up with the stage manager. Oh wait, we don't have one of those. At least they gave me a window air conditioning unit this past weekend. I had to beg the guys at lunch.
and the second...
Ten things I bet you've never heard or overheard at YOUR job, but they're quite normal at mine.
1) Oh yeah, they're burning down the old zoo. The fire isn't exactly controlled, it took down a wall of a building they weren't sure they were going to keep, so it's not that big of a deal, but if that environmentalist comes back we'll probably get some kind of citation.
2) We're rehearsing in the Elvis museum again today.
3) Whether or not you will get a lunch break tomorrow is currently on a need-to-know basis. If Brett can remember all of his cities in "Wander Indiana" in the run this morning, then we will THINK about bringing over some fried chicken for most of you and some hard-boiled eggs and steamed broccoli for Margaret-Ellen.
4) M.E., Jen, and Sean will be working with Housekeeping on Friday morning, since Roy Clark is coming so we're overbooked, and it's a big Amish Family Reunion weekend. You'll only have to strip beds and make them up, and possibly do some dusting. Mary in Housekeeping will clean all the bathrooms; she actually enjoys it.
5) Girls, watch out for the little guy in the kitchen with all the hickies on his neck. He's really friendly, but he's been asking which of you have boyfriends.
6) GUY WITH HICKIES: Hey there, how you doin'? I noticed you really like those pickled eggs, I can save some for you if we're ever lookin' like we're gonna run out and you guys aren't comin' in until after the show.
7) I'm sorry I'm late to call, I was heading back from checking my email at the gas station and I got stuck behind two buggies and a line of Amish children all holding hands, then that chicken that's always loose just before 350 North ran right in front of my car and I almost hit it.
8) OLD LADY AT COFFEE SHOP "IN TOWN": Yeah, I figured you were at Bearcreek, since you're young and little and cute and wearing yoga pants, and you don't look like...a farmer.
9) SEASONED BEARCREEK PERFORMER IN MY CAST: I'm just waiting 'till Saturday, that's Grand Buffet night, which means we get fried corn nuggets and little weenies in barbeque sauce. It makes all this 80's choreography totally worth it.
10) ARTISTIC DIRECTOR: I'm in a hell of a mood today, people, a bull charged me in the pasture yesterday afternoon, my horse nearly threw me again, and then I fell through my porch last night. *pulls up pant leg, displays extensive bruises*
None of this was fabricated or embellished in any way. They're all direct quotes. I've been taking notes.
Love,
ME
1) Oh yeah, they're burning down the old zoo. The fire isn't exactly controlled, it took down a wall of a building they weren't sure they were going to keep, so it's not that big of a deal, but if that environmentalist comes back we'll probably get some kind of citation.
2) We're rehearsing in the Elvis museum again today.
3) Whether or not you will get a lunch break tomorrow is currently on a need-to-know basis. If Brett can remember all of his cities in "Wander Indiana" in the run this morning, then we will THINK about bringing over some fried chicken for most of you and some hard-boiled eggs and steamed broccoli for Margaret-Ellen.
4) M.E., Jen, and Sean will be working with Housekeeping on Friday morning, since Roy Clark is coming so we're overbooked, and it's a big Amish Family Reunion weekend. You'll only have to strip beds and make them up, and possibly do some dusting. Mary in Housekeeping will clean all the bathrooms; she actually enjoys it.
5) Girls, watch out for the little guy in the kitchen with all the hickies on his neck. He's really friendly, but he's been asking which of you have boyfriends.
6) GUY WITH HICKIES: Hey there, how you doin'? I noticed you really like those pickled eggs, I can save some for you if we're ever lookin' like we're gonna run out and you guys aren't comin' in until after the show.
7) I'm sorry I'm late to call, I was heading back from checking my email at the gas station and I got stuck behind two buggies and a line of Amish children all holding hands, then that chicken that's always loose just before 350 North ran right in front of my car and I almost hit it.
8) OLD LADY AT COFFEE SHOP "IN TOWN": Yeah, I figured you were at Bearcreek, since you're young and little and cute and wearing yoga pants, and you don't look like...a farmer.
9) SEASONED BEARCREEK PERFORMER IN MY CAST: I'm just waiting 'till Saturday, that's Grand Buffet night, which means we get fried corn nuggets and little weenies in barbeque sauce. It makes all this 80's choreography totally worth it.
10) ARTISTIC DIRECTOR: I'm in a hell of a mood today, people, a bull charged me in the pasture yesterday afternoon, my horse nearly threw me again, and then I fell through my porch last night. *pulls up pant leg, displays extensive bruises*
None of this was fabricated or embellished in any way. They're all direct quotes. I've been taking notes.
Love,
ME
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