tonight. whatever.

    I think I need to get better at pretending I am fine.  I am tired of people seeing right through me, of wearing my proverbial heart on my sleeve. 

    Sheesh.

     Tonight I walked home in the rain.  It was fitting, actually.  I didn't mind getting wet, didn't mind being chilly; it sort of worked for me, considering tonight was not my night.

    For reasons I don't care to get into too specifically, things just felt bad tonight.  My foot hurts. I feel like I get tons of notes for a song that I. DON'T. EVEN. SING. But really, I am not upset about that...most of the time...I am frustrated by well...something else, too...Can't really get into it.  But anyway.

   So I walked into my apartment building out of the rain, and was waiting for what seemed to be maybe the Guinness book of world record's longest wait for any elevator to date, when two very jovial gentlemen walked in.  

   Their apparent cheer only made me more annoyed, unfortunately; you know, misery loves company and all that.  I got into the elevator and I was lucky enough to have one of Pleasantville's own citizen's join me.  I asked, What floor? 4, he said.  Great, I thought (and yes, it is possible to think sarcastically), me too...He turns towards me and asks, How are you tonight? 

   I shrug my shoulders noncommittally and say, I'm...okay...

    Just okay? he asks, Why just okay?

   Perfect, I think, So he fancies himself Freud...But I say, Oh, I'm really fine. I even give a smile to prove the point.

   No, your not fine. What's wrong? he persists.

   Uh, nothing, I say.

   Not to be deterred, he presses, Come on, what's wrong?

   Relenting just a little, thinking maybe he will be satisfied with a slight admission, I say, I'm just...frustrated...

   With what? he asks, but I don't really answer, so he takes me by surprise by asking, Are you in A Chorus Line?

   Yeah, I reply, in shock (then I remember that I have an A Chorus Line bag strapped on...right...). 

   He points to the Jersey Boys logo on his bag and says, I'm in Jersey Boys.

   

   At that point, we'd gotten out of the elevator and he tells me, I'm going to put my stuff down and come knock on your door and we can talk.

   Uh-oh.  No, I don't think that would be a good idea, so I say, No, really, you're so kind to be concerned, but I am truly fine.  Really.

   He asks me how many shows I have on Sunday, I say one, he ends the conversation by telling me, Sunday night, I  will be knocking on your door...

    I pointedly do not respond to his statement and simply say, It was nice to meet you; have a good night. I say it kindly, though, because I do believe that he wanted to help me...

   It was kind of awkward, to tell you the truth.  And if I've learned anything at all, it is to not ever--no matter if they happen to be in a great broadway show--let a strange man into your apartment, especially when you are alone.  

   I also, from time to time, can find myself in a little bit of a dilemma concerning how clear I should be about my married status up front.  I am not sure that this guy would be knocking on my door if he knew there was no chance of anything more than a friendly conversation; at the same time, I don't want to assume that just because a guy wants to knock on my door that he is hitting on me.

 

   He very well could just be looking for conversation.  And I don't want to be vain in assuming that a guy would want more...

   Whatever. There are worse things in life, like the frustrating thing to which I alluded earlier in the post...

   

   But I think I will be practicing a nice firm, I am doing well to say to people who ask after me.  

   Even if I'm not, cause not everyone has to know.

don't be like the dishwasher

    Well, the good thing is that my apartment now smells like the 4th of July.

     How did I accomplish that, you may wonder? Did I light a sparkler?  Well, no--it's not so easy to find one this time of year, not to mention the fact that I am in Canada, so I wouldn't even know where to look.  What I did do is way easier: I simply grabbed a stick of still-wrapped-in-tin-foil butter, stuck it in the microwave, pressed start, and voila!  You not only have a spark; you get your own fire. Not too mention some very soft, spreadable (slightly ahem blackened) butter...

   And then it smells just like you had lit a ton of sparklers! Forget 4th of July candles from Yankee Candles--who needs em?

   I know, I know, you are all jealous that you didn't come up with it on your own.  Don't feel so bad, not everyone can be as good as me in the kitchen.  

   But that's not what I was going to write about tonight--at least, not until it happened.

    What I was going to talk about was something that, when the occasion calls for it, Drew and I tell each other, Don't be like the dishwasher.

    Yeah, I know, it's not exactly an idiom that you have probably heard before, so let me explain.  

    The other day, I was talking with Emily in the dressing room.  We were going over our usual recounts of the day up till we had to go to work and she said something like, My day was so fabulous; it was just full of relaxing and resting.

    Well, my day had been different--quite the opposite actually, since we had been rehearsing with the new cast all day, and I said, It feels like we are being punished or something, having to rehearse all the time, and we are the ones who decided to extend, making it easier for the company!

    Well, as soon as I said it, I had that niggling guilty feeling that comes when you know you are in the wrong.  And then I remembered, Don't be like the dishwasher. 

   Right. So, the dishwasher.  

    You might not know this, but I enjoyed (for lack of a better word) a career as a waitress at a pizza place in Delaware, called Grotto Pizza. It was perhaps not the most illustrious or long-lived career in the history of careers, seeing as I worked there for approximately two days, but still I learned a valuable lesson from the dishwasher.  

   To keep the turnover of clean dishes going strong, Grotto Pizza employed a young man to do one thing: wash dishes.  Let me just make this clear: he had no other purpose to be there, no other reason for his paycheck but. wash. dishes. That was his sole calling at this restaurant.  Thus, he was called the dishwasher.

   However, every time I bused a table and brought dirty dishes to the dishwasher, he would not only complain and bellyache so much that one would think I was asking him to stand on his hands and wash the dishes with his toes, but he would act utterly shocked that I would dare to have another dirty dish for him to wash.  So each time I went back there (and it happened a lot; it was a restaurant, after all), we would have a conversation that went something like this:

   Me: Got some more dishes here.

   Dishwasher: What?!?! Another dish?!

   Me: (trying to break it gently, now) Well, yeah, I mean it's probably gonna keep happening...

   Dishwasher: (loud sigh precedes) Ugh. (motioning to the sink in which one does indeed wash dishes) I guess you can just put them right there (he completes this with a total defeatist tone).

   Me: Um, okay, thanks. And ah, sorry about the dishes...

   And with that, the dishwasher would get to work, albeit reluctantly.  

    So, whenever Drew or I find ourselves complaining about something that is an inevitable part of life; something that we fully understood when we signed up for it--like the size of a paycheck, or rehearsals, or you know, going to work and actually working (shocking, I know)--then we tell each other:

   Don't be like the dishwasher.

news! and images...

*editor's update* I would like to give credit where credit is due: the last picture in the blog (me with the guitar) was taken by the lovely and uber talented deana marie kirsch--thanks, deana!!!

  

   Okay, so I have some good news...drum roll, please...

   Drew will be coming out to Toronto to play some of my friend, Clyde Alves,' music with him during the benefit we are hosting for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids on the 24th of this month.

   I am so excited about this, for many different reasons:

• Drew comes to visit. Enough said.
• Drew gets to play bass with a band (and I know he really misses playing with his band that is currently on hiatus, The Look Machine).
• Drew gets to be a part of my world; it's a meeting of two different parts of my life that I love. Drew gets to hang out with my tour friends, even play music with a few of them..

    And if you happen to read this and are anywhere near the area, the benefit show is Monday, November 24th, at the Gladstone Hotel at 8pm.  Come on out and support a good thing!!!

---------------------------------------------------------------

Now, here are a few images that I like and wanted to share...

    This one is a picture I took while walking to the subway on just a perfect fall day.  Bits of sunlight were streaming through the clouds, brightening the majestic colors of the leaves, and lighting the way for amiable dogs who kindly allowed their owners to tag along on a rambling walk...

  I wish I had a better camera; I wish I were a better photographer, in general, but here is just a glimpse of the peaceful suburbia where I am currently living.
  However, don't tell somebody here that this is the suburbs.  I made the mistake of telling a woman staying in my building how much I enjoy these suburbs.  She immediately stiffened a little and told me, This is not the suburbs; I can show you the suburbs. This is midtown.

  Oh, sorry...My real point was just that I liked it here; I hope she got that, despite my apparently insulting reference to it as being suburban.

  Sheesh. You really gotta be careful about what you say when talking about cities...;-)

    Oh, and here's just a black and white shot of us on the line...Before the change over:

   And this is a shot that makes me look like I can rock out any Indigo Girls song you can throw at me on the guitar.  The truth is I can't; but I sure do enjoy playing the 5 chords I know...

That's all tonight!

he won!!!

     America, America--

      God shed His grace on thee

     And crown thy good with brotherhood

      From sea to shining sea!

      What a proud, noble time to be an American. I understand that not everyone might agree with Obama's policies, but still, THIS is history.  A country that first enslaved African-Americans, then told them they weren't allowed to vote, then made sure that their vote counted for only 3/5's of one vote, has now elected an African-American to be our Commander in Chief.

    Amazing.  

     It gives me hope for us; gives me hope to see that people can shed their prejudices as they realize that more than not, we are the same.  I feel like it's going to be one of those times that you never forget where you were when you heard the news...

     Because I don't believe that anyone can disagree with me when I say that this dear country of ours needs to veer off the path it has been on for a while now.  I pray that Obama does this for us; that we become a true help to the nations that crowd this earth of ours, rather than being seen as a tyrant abroad.  

    Here's to taking care of our resources, protecting what has been entrusted to us so that our children's children do not need to visit the museum of natural history in order to see a forrest; here's to the arts being elevated and encouraged in our schools; here's to education being revered and respected, our teachers being treated well and given all of the necessary resources; here's to a plan to get out of Iraq in a responsible and expedient way; here's to an economy that will turn around, that will stabilize under a new leadership...

  And here's to (this is a good one) a well-spoken leader of the free world!

   Let's all pray for Obama as he rises to this challenge...cause let's be honest, that job is no walk in the park!!!

    

you're great! no, you're terrible...

      I know that some actors, as a rule, just don't read reviews. Period.  I, however, do find them very interesting.  Especially when they are so contrasting--I mean, who is correct?

      Probably the person who thought you were great, right?

      Right.

      Anyway, I read this review from a blog called Rave and Pan today, and literally laughed out loud:

      "The comical song, "Sing!" is burdened by a Kristine (Jessica Latshaw) and Al (Colt Prattes) who try a bit too hard to exude the vibe of lovers and who don't quite master the fast-paced snap required by their duet."  

      I particularly enjoy the line, exude the vibe of lovers--I mean, we don't have any sort of romantic scene between each other, anyway; what exactly did she see us doing (and trying too hard at, to boot!) during an audition to prove that we are, indeed, lovers?!?!

     And as to us not mastering the fast-paced snap required by our duet, well, maybe she came to the show in which Colt forgot to sing the word wing and I started scatting unintelligibly.  If so, then I would have to completely agree with the assessment...

    But for every bad review, there is a good one. I found this from Cleveland's Star Reporter:

    "Finally, Jessica Latshaw was hilarious as Kristine, the tone-deaf chorus girl.  Throughout her song, "Sing," I couldn't help but picture Pierce Brosnan being in the same situation when he sang in the movie, "Mamma Mia!" Ms. Latshaw is a very talented dancer and provided great comic relief.  And I'm sure she really is a wonderful singer."

   See, what'd I tell you about Cleveland having some truly wonderful people?!?! And how kind of her so say that I am a wonderful singer, on good faith, no less (since I can guarantee you she didn't actually hear it!).  

    Anyway, like I said, you can't really pay too much attention to reviews because they always seem to contradict each other and you could get your brain in a knot trying to decide which one is right...

    But still, it is so nice to hear a kind word:

  

            "Oh, but when it's good, it's great. High energy numbers like "Sing!" and "Dance: Ten: Looks: Three" are sung and acted with huge amounts of appeal and vivacity by Jessica Latshaw, Colt Prattes, and Natalie Elise Hall, and stay with the audience long after the next performers have taken center stage."

   So, according to that guy, who reviewed us on the Broadwayworld. com message boards, I guess our duet wasn't lacking the snap that its fast-pace required. 

   I'm just saying.

   But then on that same message board, another guy writes this:

   "That whole entire A Chorus Line tour is a wreck. Nikki Snelson is pretty much the only redeemable quality from the cast. Here's to hoping they get people who can actually keep the steps when they replace the others."

   Ouch.  A whole group of hard-working professionals easily dismissed with a few strokes of a keyboard, just like that.  And come on now, we really can't even keep the steps?!?!

   Uh-oh, my parents aren't going to be too happy about paying for all those dance lessons if, years later, I still can't keep steps...;-)

     

   So, my conclusion is this: everybody has an opinion to which they are entitled, and it just so happens that some people's opinions get published as fact when the real fact is that they are still just opinions.  

   There's not so much of a science to measure good art, anyway, since it is so subjective and differs according to the eye of the beholder.

    But still, at the end of the day, it is so nice to hear a kind word. And when it's not especially kind, it can still be entertaining...

bye bye bye

        And I thought yesterday was hard.  

        Funny how the present always feels like the worst, when really the worst might be just around the corner, or in this case, the uh, next day.  Because that's when you perform the last show with the original company. Or at least, that is what happened today.  

       It started early, actually.  Jay scheduled a brunch for the whole cast at this kitschy little diner that's been around since the mid 1800's, so we met there around 11:00 am.  On the way over, I shared with a couple friends how I started crying the night before when I saw John take his shirt off off stage and they thought that was really funny.  So once we got to the diner and John walked over to say a friendly hello, Ian innocently told me to tell John about the impetus for my tears the night before.  

     I started to tell the story, but then my throat just closed up.  I couldn't talk anymore.  I sat there, amid all the breakfast eaters and surrounded by friends, staring at John and starting to cry.  I did manage to say, I can't tell the story...in between sniffs and attempts at composure.

   

     Of course John hugged me and called me a sweetheart and of course others tried to tell me to cheer up.  But the truth is today was not a day for cheer; it's sad and it's okay to acknowledge it.  

    So through the whole breakfast I was just eating my french toast (which I devoured, practically leaving the plate clean and saving the dish washer a rinse and dry cycle) and crying.  My friends got used to it.  And each time another person got added to the mix, someone would inevitably say, Be careful how you drink your orange juice; it might make Jessica cry.  Or Don't ask her to tell a story about John taking his shirt off; it will make Jessica cry...

    I continued to be all weepy while warming up.  I applied make-up over wet, teary cheeks.  But I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, I was getting all the emotion out now, so that when I go on stage I can, you know, do my job and not be a basket case.

    Good idea.  Great idea.  Didn't happen.

    I hold hands with Jay (who is leaving) to walk onto the dark stage and set for the top of the show.  We grabbed hands and both began to cry. We were sniffling as we walked onto the stage.  My face was hurting during the opening because I was trying to compose it...

    I kept thinking I would stop crying, that there has got to be a point when the tears run out, but no. Because then I would see John or catch Jay's eye or think about Emily and my insides would just melt all over again.  Oh, and you don't even want to know how much snot was flinging out of my nose during any turns that I did. It wasn't so pretty, folks.

    I can only imagine what the audience was thinking.  Either they took us to be some of the most melodramatic, over-the-top actors on the face of the earth (you know, just sobbing cause we need the job so badly--how's that for an acting choice?!), or they figured that someone very close to us had dropped dead right at the places call.  

   How did I manage to get it together for my monologue and song?  Easy.  I thought about some rude comments that an anonymous poster has been leaving on this blog.  Don't try looking for them because I deleted them, which I shall continue to do should they keep coming, but as I thought of them, I got mad and the tears instantly dried up.  

   But only for the duration of my scene with Al.  Because right after, the waterworks started again...

   By the last scene literally all of us were crying on stage.  We were wiping our eyes and noses, and had become a nice little bunch of puffy-faced hot messes.  Poor Colt sits beside me as I stand at the end of the show, and I made the mistake of lowering my gaze and simultaneously succeeded in dripping snot all over him.  

  Nice guy, he only gave me a squeeze and smiled.  He didn't even wipe it off.   

   I have never felt this way about a group of people I have worked with before. I am exponentially blessed to have been a part of this company, and for that I am truly grateful.  

   We had a send-off party tonight and there were quite a few toasts given.  Almost all were heartfelt and transparent, filling our hearts with words of love and honor and devotion to our craft as well as to our friendships.  

  I had just a small toast to add once the weighty moments had passed, so I raised my glass and said, To Cleveland! Since I am so obviously Cleveland's favorite person, I felt like it was appropriate.  And well, we laughed.  

   Tomorrow is a much needed day off.  I have no definite plans as of yet--other than not setting my alarm and definitely working on my music...Oh and not crying, which after today, seems like a novel idea.  I think the five hours or so I spent crying today should have me set for a good long while...

tears...

          Emotional.

          Unduly so, actually.

           Now how about I start using actual sentences and explain that those two sentence fragments aptly describe me this past day? I bet you would like that, huh?  And I can guarantee that I will still be riding that emotional train tomorrow.  

           Let me start from the beginning, though.  In the last month or so, the character of Kristine's singing has gone from bad to well, worse.  Now, don't get me wrong, Kristine is supposed to be a really bad singer--that's her whole schtick, actually.  

          But when I was just a bad singer, people didn't seem to think it was so funny.  

           And then when I became a truly terrible singer people started to laugh.  And let me tell you, it feels really good to get a reaction like that...Maybe my insecurity is what makes it feel so good, but I am just being honest when I say that a responsive audience lends wings to the performer--at least, it does to this performer. 

          Turns out the higher-ups are not happy with my new-found notes and have decided to "reign me in." I met with my music director today and had kind of a difficult rehearsal.  He was very kind, don't get me wrong, but it makes me sad to think about letting go of this path of comedy that I have found.  

      Because here is the thing: my number with Al is all about how horrible my singing is.  So when it comes time for the audience to hear me actually sing, they've built up some expectations, and I feel like I need to deliver.  Like I need to show them that Kristine may be a fierce dancer (if I uh, do say so myself...), but she cannot sing her way out of a paper bag.  

   But when I hear the words "reign in," it just scares me a little.  However, I am not above a note--especially one from my boss--so I am going to try to do whatever it is that they want.

   So right, I left that rehearsal in tears and felt even more stupid for crying about it.  Then Ian and John and Anthony and Derek and Emily wanted to know what was wrong (not necessarily at the same time, though) and so the tears started coming. Again.  

   And then it was 15 till places and I was like, Great, who needs make-up when you have tears and snot all over you face?!   

  But then the show started (with my face appropriately cleaned up) and it was great--really fun--and I honestly did try to reign in my bad notes.  But we will see if it was reigned in enough. Who knows.  

  Fast-forward--I am doing fine...the show is almost over, I haven't needed to blow my nose since the opening and I am ready and anticipating game night with friends afterwards.  But then I look at my dear John, just having left stage and taking off his shirt to get into his finale costume, and I lose it all over again.  

  Part of it may have been seeing John's horribly out of shape body (he was taking off his shirt after all) and those of you who have had the pleasure of seeing him will know just what I mean (wink, wink); but I think most of it was that it's just so sad to say good-bye to such a close friend. 

  Anyway, I am tired. I need to make some more cards for my friends leaving tomorrow.  

  Let's end on a good note, shall we? I am grateful for the extra hour of sleep we all get to enjoy tonight.  Fall back is a lovely invention, I must say.  I am also grateful for the game, Buzz Word, which a small group of us got to enjoy tonight (and by "enjoy" I mean be extremely competitive with each other, me being the ring leader).   No, actually it was really fun. And actually I was really competitive.  

  I just like to win sooooooo much.  

  But I am missing the point: I am grateful. Even when I don't win (lost by 4 points tonight).  

   Still grateful, though (just might be a little more grateful had I won).

    Just kidding (kinda).