what not to do at the stage door

          I don't know, there's something about a Sunday matinee in Greenville that brought out the crazies to gather around the stage door today.

           Picture this, though really, nothing beats having been there and witnessing it for yourself...

           A few of us walk out of the stage door, eager to try some of the Fall Festival delights that we hadn't yet been able to savor.  It's 4:30. We just finished one show, with another looming in the not-so-far-future.  It's Sunday. We're hungry.  We see many people waiting with programs and pen in hand, so we are gracious as we walk towards them ready to autograph and smile, maybe even pose for a picture.  But we don't expect the Smiths. How could we?  

     Thank God there is safety in numbers.  

      Mrs. Smith quickly converges upon me, Ian, Brandon, and Derek, asking for an autograph for her daughter that is silent beside her.  Her husband waits with a smile hidden behind a rather large mustache.

       The family looks a little like there might be some cousins who married not too far back in their family tree.  I'm not trying to be rude here, folks, just trying to paint a picture.  

       To begin with, Mrs. Smith has a beard.  It is obvious from some of the stubble spots that she did, at one point, attempt to shave it--perhaps for a wedding or a church event, maybe--but she has let it go now for a good three week's growth.  I look at this woman and can't help but wonder at what point you just decided to simply let the beard grow.  Are you combing your hair back from your face, choosing your outfit for the day, and pointedly ignoring the hair on your chin?  Are you relying on the poor eyesight of others?  Do you still push back the facial hair to apply some lipstick, or do you let that go, too?

    It occurred to me that allowing a beard to grow is a point of giving up that I hope to never reach.  

*reality*

    The first thing that Mrs. Smith sort of shouts to us is, My daughter's gonna be on Broadway!  

    Great, we say, Go for it! we encourage.

     Said daughter is awkwardly shifting back and forth, standing beside her mother.  She is large, with about four inches of roots showing before a bleach blond pony-tail takes over.  She is wearing open-toed low heels with thick stockings underneath, a longish skirt and a blouse.  She can't stand still, but keeps shifting back and forth, as if she can't decide how, exactly, to distribute her weight.  Her hands nervously fix the front of her blouse, over and over again, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.  

     Mrs. Smith then asks us what schools we went to, but it is apparent that she really isn't listening but is rather waiting till she can tell us something else about her daughter.  Her chance comes quickly, since we quickly rattle off our respective undergrads without commentary.   

   Well my daughter is probably gonna go to Julliard! Though the Princeton Review says it might not be the best match for her...At this, she looks at her daughter, who finally pipes up:

   It's more for people going to the Met, rather than Broadway. She says this still shifting, not quite looking at us, but not quite looking away.  Her hands are still moving, fluttering over the front of her shirt.  

   Ian jumps in and encourages her to look at bunches of schools, try the Midwest, don't overlook the smaller conservatories; they might be just what she needs.  

   Mrs. Smith then starts talking to us about her husband--a large mustachioed man with pants pulled up quite high, thick, square, tinted-glasses that might have been sought-after in the 70's, and a shifty manner that is similar to his daughter.  

    Well, he went to school for music, but more the instrumental-type.  And it's funny, he has been her, she motions to her daughter, only voice teacher so far.  She's won beauty pageants, singing being her talent of course, though she was marked off one-point for her skirt being too short.

   What can you say?  Congrats on the beauty pageant victory--too bad on the skirt being found too short; judges can be so strict...

  Luckily we don't really have to say anything, Mrs. Smith is quite happy to proceed as she then starts to prod her daughter, Sing something for them. Come on, sing for them...

   The daughter continues to shift and pull at her shirt, but is obviously entertaining the idea...

    Sing Popular (this is from Wicked)! Mrs. Smith demands.

    No, no, no, says daughter, I think I should, ah, sing something that is more fitting to my, um,  personality...At this point her hands are moving rapidly, up and down the front of her blouse and she is looking somewhere between eye-level and the ground.

 

    We stare, realizing that we are now in for a song.  The Festival feels very far away at this point.

     The daughter continues shifting and speaks quietly, under her breath, Remember the lyrics, remember the lyrics! Don't make a fool of yourself now!

     We pretend not to hear her so as not to intrude on this intimate pep talk she is giving herself.  And then she starts, Something has changed within me, something is not the same...

    Yes, we are getting a live performance of Defying Gravity (another song from Wicked, that apparently is more fitting to her personality than Popular is; and sadly, I can kind of see why) right outside the stage door.  Her parents are smiling, basking in the perceived perfection of this impromptu and certainly un-anticipated (on our part, anyway) performance.  

    Honestly, her voice is not bad.  A little breathy, maybe, but still, not bad.  However, the awkwardness of the moment pervades.  I feel like I am at a really sad audition for American Idol; I kind of wish Simon was nearby, just so he can do the dirty work of putting the uncomfortable exchange to rest.  And honestly, I never thought I would wish that. 

    She sings all the way through the lyric, Close my eyes and leap...And we start to clap, signaling that it is over.  But she continues, singing right into the chorus, It's time to try defying gravity...We stop clapping and settle in for some more listening, unable to stop from thinking how we should have been eating pumpkin cheesecake right about now, maybe even sipping on some good southern sweet tea.

   At this point, Mrs. Smith sees some more cast members exiting the stage door and aggressively grabs them for autographs for her daughter's program. She is busy reaching across, speaking quite loudly, even, and all the while her daughter is still just singing.  Though now she starts walking backwards a little, dodging behind her busy-beaver mother, but still singing.

   It is unbelievable.  

    She finally stops. We clap. Again.  We tell her to keep the dream alive. We thank her for singing and walk away--before Mrs. Smith can suggest her daughter perform a dance or something--mentally shaking our heads and making sure to avoid each other's gaze so as not to crack up laughing.    

    We wonder aloud to each other what, exactly, they were trying to accomplish. We are not casting directors; heck, we aren't even beauty pageant judges!  When we tried to give them suggestions on schools, they weren't listening. I suppose they truly just wanted to show off to us.  They were absolutely socially awkward, unable to sense what is appropriate and what is not, and uncomfortable to be around.  

   Perhaps we perpetuated their social misbehavior by being gracious, clapping, and even thanking the daughter for her song.  But in that situation, what else were we going to do?  

   We left there seriously grateful for normal parents who never made us sing for actors outside stage doors.  We were grateful anew for our mothers who were not bearded.  We were thankful that we had voice teachers beyond mustachioed fathers who did something instrumental.  

   And we finally got to the Fall Festival, confident that we had seen it all at the stage door.  

  

    That is, until the next crazy corners us.  

a challenge, for those who are up to it

This weekend has seen a large influx of people downtown, due to the Fall for Greenville festival that is taking place.

Those of you who are from my neck of the woods will know what I am talking about when I say that it is somewhat reminiscent of Newark Night, only bigger with--something I happened to discover today--better bands.

And oh, I tried something that I have always wanted to taste--at least, ever since learning about two best female friends, first by watching a movie, then by reading a book.  I can't say the title, cause it will give away what this picture is.  Any guesses? 

    First to guess correctly wins...uh...points!  Though this might be a little like Whose Line Is It Anyway, in that the points don't matter and there are no prizes.*

    Unless, of course, I randomly decide to give a prize.

     Well now I can just feel the suspense building...! 

     And one more clue: there is pimento cheese on top of the mystery food.  Maybe that helps; I don't know.

   *if I happened to have already told you what new food I ate this weekend, please refrain from cheating, er, guessing*

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    A small group of us wandered through the festival after the first show today, and between the 4 of us, we ate: lo mein, ribs, quesidillas, lobster cigars, ice cream, kettle corn, and a slightly warmed (which may or may not be due to the fact that it was sitting in an A Chorus Line bag all afternoon) homemade turkey and cheese sandwich.

   Any guesses as to who brought the sandwich? ;-)  But this one is not a contest, cause I bet you can all just figure it out for yourselves...

   And then, after we were finished stuffing ourselves, something serendipitous took place.  We discovered a fantastic band, The Civil Twilight. They remind me a little of Muse, since there are only three guys and they produce this beautifully powerful wall of music between the three of them, plus they have similar accents, though these guys happen to be from South Africa.  

   The lead singer (with a falsetto for days and inspiring lyrics) bounces back and forth from a keyboard, an electric guitar, and a bass; the other guy sometimes plays an electric guitar with a bow, with a pick, or plays the bass.  And the drummer just plays, well, the drums.  But they are truly great--reminding me of Radiohead, Coldplay, U2, and as I already mentioned, Muse.

   I met them afterwards and it turns out they moved to America some time ago--Nashville, specifically--but will be relocating to NYC soon.  And I bought their cd, a 14-song compilation for $5 dollars, which seemed like not very much. I mean, I would have paid more; I like to support artists when I get the chance.    

   And when I bought their cd, the merch person said that she loved our show (Kevin was with me)! Turns out she had come to opening night...It was nice to hear.

   So there you go--it was so fun discovering their music.  I just started listening to their cd, too, and it's good, just as I suspected it would be.  

Okay, now figure out what new food I tasted this weekend...If you can, that is!

this is supposed to be NON-revisionist history?!?

    I told you I would be visiting the Confederate Museum, and I made good on that promise today.  I couldn't find anybody to go with me, so I went by my little old self.  

   My, ah, little old Northern self.  

    Going to a very Southern Museum.  I mean, look at the sign...

   Isn't it quaint?  

    Anyway, when I looked up the website, I found this mission statement:

     This museum is dedicated to an accurate portrayal of the history of one of the most tragic periods in America's past: 1861-1865. We show the events as they were, without embellishment or revisionism.

  Well, good. Sounds fair, right?

  So, I walk up the stairs to the museum, between many different confederate flags--most pretty offensive, considering the issue of slavery, but well it's a confederate museum, what did I expect?  The Union Jack flying high? Not likely.   
    So, I try to keep an open mind walking into this place. I mean, maybe to a lot of these guys the confederate flag stands for something much less offensive, something like state's rights.  

   As in a state's right to secede.  Wait, that is still kind of offensive...

   When I walk in, a very elderly man quickly walks over to me (I'm guessing they don't see a ton of younger adults in this place) and excitedly asks me to sign their guest book.  I quickly scan the other signatures and notice that mine is the only one from Delaware; heck, mine is the only one from the North.  

   The man is standing right behind me, anxious to fill me in on his version of non-revisionary history.  I ask him his name, he replies, Jim. Jim Oakman. That's O-A-K-M-A-N (I guess not to be confused with all the many other spellings of Oakman that are running around nowadays). 

   I notice that someone on the guest ledger is from Anderson, so I immediately think of the notoriously renowned Southern POW prison, Andersonville.  I ask Jim if Andersonville is nearby.  Turns out Andersonville is somewhere in Georgia (it's me, remember? the girl who just doesn't get geography so well, so why are you surprised?).  My question seems to put Jim on the defensive, though, and rather than talking about Andersonville at all, he immediately deflects by saying, Well, have you heard about the Yankee prison, Elmira? Or what about Point Lookout in Maryland?  You think Andersonville was bad, uh-uh, no ma'am, it was nothin' compared to those yankee prisons! Why, I had a cousin who flat-out died in Elmira, just cause no Yankee officer would give him a blanket. Froze to death, my poor cousin...

   Well, either this man is at least 175 years old, or his cousin did not freeze to death in a Yankee prison.  I called him on it, very politely, as I said in exaggerated astonishment, Your cousin?!?

   A distant relative, he amended.

   Yeah, that makes more sense. 

   

   Once Jim found out I was from Delaware, a true Northerner, he shepherded me over to a glass case with a long rifle in it.  He told me that he loved to show this to the Northerners, and waited excitedly as I read this caption:

  "Upon finding his men cowering for protection behind their artillery, he addressed his men thus: "They couldn't hit an elephant at this distance." That very moment he was struck in the head by a Confederate Sharpshooter's bullet and fell from his horse." 

  He got a good long cackle in once it dawned on me that I was reading about the death of a Union General.

  

  I just stared.

  I also saw a good amount of references to the Civil War as being simply, "Mr Lincoln's War:"
   As if everything would have been just fine if Lincoln hadn't decided to break up the sweet little tea party everyone had been having just a moment before and start a full-on war!   

  Jim had quite a few little gems to share about President Lincoln, as well, the foremost being that Lincoln "sure did break the constitution left and right. Why, he had folks arrested just for disagreein' with him!"

   Not so sure about that one, Jim.

   He also walked me over to a picture of John Wilkes Booth, as well as a replica of the pistol he used to assassinate the President of the United States. He looked at me and said, When people ask me who my favorite actor is...Well, I don't pay much mind to the tv, I just always tell them John Wilkes Booth!!!

   Again, he laughed and laughed while I just stared.

   Another few anecdotes from Jim:

   Now, once Reconstruction set in--and that wasn't somethin' done with hammers and nails, ya know (Oh really? I had no idea...), it was more to do with politics--the North started settin' ex-slaves and other scalawags and men of low repute to bein' govnors and statesmen. They started takin' our land, breakin' up plantations and givin' it to these characters, till finally, the white people decided it was time to take South Carolina back.  Now back then there was no way to figure if a person already voted or not, so we came up with a plan.  We spread the word for every able man to ride hard, from one county to the next, and vote as much as possible.  Well, we won that vote.  We took back our land.

  He said all of this very proudly.  And then went on to say,

   Now if America goes down this course that it looks like it could go, there might well have to be another revolution, hate to say it, but it's a fact.

   What course might you be referring to, Jim?  The possibility of an African-American president?  Assassins not being revered?  The Union, in general?!?!

    Jim Oakman was definitely a proud Son of the Confederacy.  Both of his great-grandfathers fought in the war, along with a ton of great uncles, and of course, the cousin-turned-distant-relative who died in Elmira for want of a blanket.  The Oakmans, it seems, have a quite a legacy, having been in or around Greenville since 1740. And the brothers and sisters in the Oakmans kept marryin' the sisters and brothers in the Harrids that lived across the way, in Cherokee County, Jim told me.

 Wow, that is impressive.  I have no idea when my ancestors got here, let alone what county their respective spouses came from!  

  Concerning the facts of the Civil War, or rather that silly Lincoln's War, Jim did tell me that I may have heard things differently, simply because, as he put it,

   The North did win the war, and whoever wins gets to write the history. 

   Yes, I have heard things differently.  It astounds me to meet someone who shares a country with me and views the world so very differently.  Jim seems to still be grieving the South's lost Cause, which only makes sense since his daddy heard it from his daddy, and his daddy actually fought the battles.  And lost the war.

  However, meeting Jim makes me grateful anew that the South did not win the war.  The idea as simple and startling as equality--or at the least giving it a fighting chance--is too precious a commodity to risk, simply because a way of life was built around the necessity of slaves.  The idea of sticking together, even when we disagree--especially when we disagree!--is too important to simply let a state say I'm leaving, or else! Cause, simply put, you don't walk away from family.  You just don't. 

  But this is not to say that there weren't some amazing Southerners that fought, defending their homes, and fearing a federal Gov't that had gotten too big for its britches, or could if given the chance.

  It was complicated and sad, prejudiced, noble, and hot-headed.

   Kind of like Jim.

   I begged Jim to take a picture with me, but he begged off saying that he didn't want to break my camera.  He insisted he take a photo of just me, with a nice backdrop of them rifles, there, so here it is:
   Amazing, right? Amazing and a little scary...Oh, and when I say amazing and a little scary I am referencing my trip to the Confederate Museum, in general, not the picture of me...

sorry, but I just couldn't keep this to myself.

    Okay, a conversation took place tonight that I just have to share.  

    It was during a rehearsal that I was having with our musical director, John, right before the show.  Astoundingly, I don't even sing my duet with Colt (which is actually called Sing), save for a few terribly off-key notes; I speak it mostly, but I still manage to wrack up quite a few notes on it anyway.  I think it's kind of funny that I can get so heavily noted on a song that I don't even sing...But the truth is it's a patter song, where rhythm is everything, so we have to just give it a tune-up every once in a while, which I really don't mind.  

   I just can't help but wonder if it is even possible to get more notes on a song that I actually sang. I'm just saying.

   Anyway, today was one of those tune-up days.  And basically the whole premise of the duet is that Colt, who plays Al (my husband), finishes my train of thought.  I mention this because John, the musical director, was talking to me about the rhythm that Colt and I have to bounce off each other, how if one of us gets a little off it affects the other.  Makes sense, right? 

   So anyway, John was referring specifically to the lyric that I start and Colt finishes:

   Me: Oh, I know you're thinking what a crazy...

   Colt: ...Dingaling...

 

   And apparently when Colt sang dingaling he was a little off.  Because John very seriously looked me in the eye and said in a low voice:

    Well, Colt had a very long and strange dingaling last night.

    He said it just like that.  As if it wasn't a terribly funny, if not somewhat inappropriate thing to say.  As if discussing how Colt's dingaling is either long or strange or even both is a totally normal thing to do with one's music director.  

    I couldn't help it, I started to giggle.  But after I saw John remain absolutely serious, with all the humor lost on him, I stifled the laughter, cleared my throat and immediately agreed as I nodded gravely and said, Uh-huh, I noticed that, too. 

   I couldn't believe that nobody else was with me to share that moment.  You better believe I let Colt know about what John said about his dingaling.  Colt's response? He should see it on a two-show day...

   Anyway, I laughed about it again during the alternative scene.  But just a little.

look, mom--I'm on a billboard!

  Well here it is, folks! Me. On a billboard.  Sure, it's with a whole bunch of other people, but hey--I'll take it!  I am the eighth from the right (in case you are not my mother and so cannot distinguish me in a crowd of people, all in the same position wearing just about the same thing).

   Exciting, right?!

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   Anyway...I watched some of the debate last night and does anybody else think that Senator McCain has rather short arms? Maybe that's just me. And no, that is not the only thing I took away from the debate.  I was paying attention; I also noticed that Obama has a nice smile.  

   Kidding.  Well, Obama does have a nice smile, but you know what I mean. 

  I called Delaware today--er, the voting hot line, I mean (if I could call Delaware, what would I say? Way to go at being first! Or maybe Nice beaches! Or even, It's okay, I know you're a state, no matter what anybody else may ignorantly say...) Anyway, I called the voters registry thing and made sure that I was indeed registered (round of applause for that one).  Then I found out how I can send in my absentee ballot, since I will be in Toronto during the election.  Turns out it takes a notary.

  A notary?!

  So now I have to find a notary here in Greenville to verify that I will indeed not be able to vote in the fine state of DE come November.  And I will probably have to pay $5 to do it.  Why do they make voting so difficult? I imagine there will be many people who do not vote absentee because of the whole notary issue. Or maybe I am just lazy.

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

  Today I went to the gym.  And for a large portion of my time there it was me, a fellow cast-member, Pilar, and a man dressed in camouflage talking about "jest goin' trout fishin' down in  Beaufort," I kid you not.  He dropped down on the floor and proceeded to do some stretches in his camo and denim attire--after he removed his boots.  Lucky for him, if there had been any hunters in the gym they would have missed him entirely. Lucky for us, there were no hunters in the gym. Perhaps I should invest in some camouflage for my workouts. You know, just in case. 

  I love the South.  

 There is a Confederate Museum right near me.  I have asked a few people in the cast to accompany me, and so far almost everyone has said no.  John told me it sounded hideous and then asked me if I wanted to learn how to enslave black people.  

   No, I don't.  I just am fascinated by the Civil War. And anyway, I am a Yankee! Duh.  

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   One more thing: anybody want to explain "pork barrel spending" to me?  It's getting thrown around a lot lately, with these debates and everything, and I would like to a). know what it is and b). make sure I am not participating.

  In the words of my friend John, it sounds hideous.

Yo y mi hermana

*This post is made possible in part by the fabulous photography of Christine Robinson*

   Just wanted to post a few pics of me and my sister, Jenna.  We were both bridesmaids in our friend, Laura's, wedding this past weekend, and you want to know the really exciting thing?  We were wearing matching outfits--something that hasn't happened since I was Lead Arabian and she was the Arabian Toy in the Nutcracker Suite, many years ago.  

Plus, we now have the same color hair, which only makes it better.

My mom was so excited, that she just had to have us pose for some pics and really, you can't blame her.  Matching outfits are always wonderful, whether you are two or one hundred and two, right?

Oh, that's not right?  

Huh.  

Well anyway, here we are:

And you know we just have to get down every once in a while! 
   Oh, the term get down isn't cool anymore either?! Gosh. Can somebody get me a manual or something?!

  Anyway, the wedding was lovely and a ton of fun, with the bride and groom making a beautiful, happy couple.  

 

   And of course, me and Jenna (and about 8 other women) got to wear matching outfits!

   

I'm back, WITH my one bag, thank you very much

*Update* So, I got to the theater and had a reimbursement check waiting for me...That means a trip to the bank is in store for tomorrow. Yay!

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  I think I have a good amount of cherry almond granola clusters loose in my purse. Actually, I am sure of it--since I just accidentally tipped the bag over into my purse. But right now that is the least of my concerns.

   I am at the airport, having just landed from one flight and about to take another, en route for Greenville, SC. This, in itself, is a bit of a miracle.  

   See, due to some unforeseen circumstances (our mortgage was taken out of our account a week early, I was underpaid by my work which will not be remedied till next paycheck, we loaned out some money, and Drew and I both had the pleasure of being in our friends' wedding, but of course it costs a little extra...), things became really tight this week.  And by really tight, I mean that we kind of ran out money. And by kind of, I mean...we did.

   This became even more of a problem when we realized that my flight back to work was with US Air--and they charge an extra $15 if you check even one bag. Well, I am not going to be home for two months, so you can be sure that I have to check one bag (I had been thinking about bringing two, actually!).  That did, however make my decision easy; the second bag would have been another $25, so yeah, I decided to just pack one...

  Because last night at midnight, Drew and I were looking literally on the floor, in pants pockets, in old boxes--anywhere, really--for loose change.  Between the two of us, we had 6 dollar bills, so we had to come up with $9 worth of change.

   And we did it!!!  I had it all counted out and sealed in a small box, ready to go in my purse.  I was confident that I could check my one bag.

   But then the morning came (too soon, as it usually tends to do), and Drew and I were stuck in terrible traffic (something about a huge dumpster overturned on I-95).  The normal 45 minute trip to the Philly airport took an hour and 45 minutes, which made me miss my flight.

   Well, actually, I wouldn't have missed my flight if I hadn't needed to check my one bag (that's right, that one bag which forced me and Drew to scrape together some much-needed change from our empty pockets to put into the already cushy, deep pockets of US Air. Not that I am bitter or anything.).

  Ugh.

  So, the guy behind the US Air counter rebooked me to a non-direct flight that went through Charlotte, which is where I am now. And the good thing is that the US Air rep had told me on the phone that I would be charged a $25 rebooking fee, which would not normally be such a big deal...But this week, well...You already know about the $9 in change we scraped together...Anyway, the guy didn't charge me. No fee!  All I had to pay was the $15 bag check-in fee (which you know I already was ready for, with my little box and everything).

  At the counter, I took out my little box, opened it up, and sheepishly explained to the US Air guy that it was a tough week and I had to give him this change--all with a smile, or course.  He didn't say was sorry, didn't try to reassure me by saying that it was okay because change is money, too, didn't even smile back at me. He just laboriously counted every last penny.  It was kind of funny, actually, but I think he failed to see the humor.

  Payday is Thursday and I am really looking forward to it.

   And I will, I guess, have to root out all the granola in my purse. Eventually.

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   I got into Greenville.  Have a show in a few hours and a party after that...Thank God I made it.