Tuesday, February 26, 2008

  • It Was Made Of Leather And I Don't Regret Taking It.

    My soul was consumed up on stage today.  So much so that I came home and promptly went to sleep on the couch in the basement.  Being a child who stays up until the wee hours of the morning, this scared the living shit out of me.  And so, long about two am, I plugged my camera in and tried to justify a late update.  A later than usual update.  For reasonable people.  If you scroll to the bottom, I promise it will be worth the wait.



    Our stage crew is falling apart like a small asteroid being burnt away by the earth's atmosphere.  They are unguided, confused and their leader can't decide if he's homosexual or not.  This is Monday, three days before Thursday we're talking about, and the set is only forty percent completed.  The above picture is off their new "idea" to built stuff faster: build everything out of foam.  Good idea in theory, but one doesn't lean on a foam wall, they go straight through it.  And so today our fearless director found someone else to lead the crew and put her in charge, effective immediately.  There was some tears, some laugher, but we're still doing the goddamned foam idea.



    The Dance At Gym scene looks fairly wonderful, compared to other elements like the set and the pit.  It's what happens when you do the same thing over and over until the people onstage lose any hope that they'll get over any time soon.  I was originally cast in that scene, but they ran out of ladies.  In the beginning, I was so furious that I took it as a personal insult to my acting and dancing ability.  Now, after watching grow and evolve for two months, I can honestly say it's more fun to make snide remarks at the people dancing instead.  "Oh my gawd.  Do you see her dress?  She looks like a transvestite!"

    I have still yet to figure out why the sky is sideways.  And on a slightly sour note, I can't understand why the pit is terrible.  Our school decided to blow the rest of the fund for everything on a professional pit, on people who can actually play the parts in ninth position on their personal violins.  But the entire pit continues to fall under pitch and run at half tempo.  It sucks the energy right off the stage.  How am I supposed to get hyped about stabbing Puerto Ricans if your first chair horn player is fucking up the melody line?  This does not even address the problem that the music is slow enough the audience is going to fall asleep regardless of what crazy dance we're doing.  And the pit conductor only directs in two.  Up down.  Up down.  Up down.  "This is five over eight, why aren't you following me?"

    I resort to taking pictures with captions like these:




    "This is your brain on reality."  Kind of bleak and ugly right?




    "This is your brain on crack."  Notice that although everything is blurry, it's much more colorful and everyone is smiling.  Makes reality look pretty damn bitchin'.

    The director informed us at the end of practice today that on Wednesday and Thursday we're excused from all of our classes for a super emergency two-day rehearsal.  We cheered.  I'd conjecture that there's a point in the human psyche where we begin to rationalize suffering.  Certain processes get a degree of necessary evil and when one process can be used cancel out the other, we seize the moment.  That fact that this is my last musical at the high school has not dawned on me yet.  I keep repeating the mantra, "three days" but I don't think I really believe it.  Photography has distanced me from the reality; it has made me believe that I can exist as a casual observer.  And although I'm missing the experience, the hilarious captions always seem to be worth the sacrifice.  Case in point:




    "I'M IN UR BALCONIES, STEALIN’ UR HATSZ!"

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