There is some relief to be found in standing safely in the wing in my full length formal purple sweatshirt. Here, making it through the foyer, the cavernous lobby full of oily tango-ing people, and all the way down the stairs without being tasered is no small thing. I listen to Act I - The Curtain Speech and idly flap my giant brocade wings. I think about what a good television program "Gargoyles" was. I squint across the stage. I can see Dixon wearing his upholstery top. It is poking out in the front under his belt again, as all the boys' tunics are wont to do. Except for Alexander's, which hangs sleekly down and makes him look like Scarlett O'Hara after she didn't get a solid bath or shave for a couple of weeks. I can't see Melissa, which is odd, cause that wimple ought to stand out like a glowstick. I can see Dave. I wonder what he's thinking about. And why his boots are getting creakier and creakier. I consider going back to the dressing room or to 7-11 to kill time for the rest of the curtain speech. Jessica appears to be eating the same bowl of Noodles and Co. she's been working on since tech week. I decide not to question her about it. But I might question her about where she got those rainbow Aladdin pants she had on yesterday. HAS Sara Bernhardt played Hamlet? Cause I'm mad if I missed that.
Oh good, we're starting.
There is PLENTY of time to get to my place. I think about how I really am gonna one of these nights enter from stage right and still pull it off. But then I feel nervous about misbehaving in such a way. Before I sink too deeply into the hole of wondering about what that says about my psyche, lights up. I quickly un-purse my lips. For I feel I have resting pursedness and that's not very elegant or princessy. This is the second production in my career in which I have performed in the "Oklahoma" dream ballet, and it's always a good time. It would make more sense were it a ballet of "Becket," but here we are. I turn my head in what I fancy to be an arch, elegant fashion to watch Melissa NOT fall down the stairs. I note that with the costume addition of cloth booties we are now unable to see the boys' calves, which were nice calves. Well- I've never seen Alexander's calves. There is no concrete proof he has any. I go get the stupid crown that everyone's so worked up about. I also do not fall up the stairs and show my teeth in what I hope is a smiling expression as I lovingly place the crown on Dave's head in what is very likely the wrong position and no doubt putting unhealthy pressure on the lobes of his brain. Oh well, we're almost to the end of the Hallelujah Chorus and I'm supposed to be over stage left by then.
Now lights really up. I am instantly miffed and put out and huffy and puffy and squishing my crown together in my fists while I look out my "mirror" and wonder if all those "Reserved Seating" signs are made of paper or of vinyl. When they are hanging over Jackie Cook's arm, they look vinyl. I should touch one to be sure. Jackie always has such nice tops on.
Anyway, Dave is going on about something or the other and keeps trying to get close to me. We sit in the floor. I fiddle with his beard. I think I like beards. His damn necklace keeps flipping around, as does his right lapel. That's good because it gives me something to do. So, that scene is over and we flourish ourselves out up left amid a cheery titter from the house. This is going to a fun, light-hearted romp, they are thinking. We'll show them.
Evan's still wearing his pantyhose and leaning against the wall in the green room charging his phone, so all is as it should be. One time, we thought he was peeing against the wall. But he wasn't. Over on stage right I can see that David Plotnick is reading a very thick book. I consider examining the book later. I know Dave will be on time for our entrance because I hear what may as well be billions of sheets of bubble paper being popped one bubble at a time crossing behind the curtain. The audience cannot hear this. Nor, I think, can they hear the hail during the last scene snowstorm. We ascend the stairs as we hear Melissa teaching the boys a lesson about sex. If we have a block of twenty seconds to spare, we can do that here and allow the audience to understand that this was funny. Perhaps the word "sex" has thrown them for a momentary loop.
At the top of the stairs I squeeze Dave's hand and feel like I'm in "Mean Girls." I look snootily down my nose and then fall snootily down the steps. Such, my angels, is the role of 7 foot long rawhide shoelaces in HenShakes production of "The Lion in Winter."
Here begins a long sequence during which I blink a LOT so as to keep my contacts moist. I wonder to myself how Hannah Zold keeps her false eyelashes on with such aplomb and finesse. I think about how this current pair of false eyelashes looks like a couple of infant Persian bats, but am sure I look stunning even though Melissa couldn't glance at me without giggling. It is important to be stunned by one's own eyelashes. I am jerked out of my reverie by a black hole opening and sucking all the air out of the atmosphere to my immediate right/Alexander taking a deep breath. He takes these in this scene I think due to the high level of tightness with which he has cinched his leather maroon bustier. I tried to tell him that if he wouldn't insist on stuffing knives and hankies and the Aquitaine and all manner of what else in there it wouldn't be so bad. On this day, his breath is particularly deep and full of vibrato. He informs me after the scene that this is due to the Monster energy drink he downed just prior to curtain. This is my fault, but will benefit the pirates later on. You'll see.
Evan comes in for a while and as he approaches the stage I beam lovingly at what I hope is him and not a patron's crotch. Evan and Dave practice their standingveryclosetoeachother move for when they get to really do it later on. Then Evan leaves, David calls for Taco, who rudely has yet to attend the show even though he calls for him every night, and Melissa and I perform our Act I dance break.
Let's see. What happens next.
Oh yes. Melissa and Alexander do a scene about cookies and spiders. I take a lots of deep breaths to make myself appear to have feelings. Melissa and Alexander do a scene about potentially inappropriate parental love and the legal ramifications of keeping all your financial records on your forearm. I remove my crown. Melissa and Alexander I'm sure do something else but by this time I have stopped listening in favor of playing Soda Crush.
During the last scene of Act I I don't do much but be privately jealous that Dixon gets to eat a piece of candy. I notice the boys are sweating and am grateful that I don't do that. Dave flings me at Alexander, which is a lot like being flung at the Great Barrier Reef. La la la, I make out with Dave in front of Melissa and then it's finally time to get back to Soda Crush: Level 74.
Intermission is a good ol' time. David Janosik- who is one of the dearest people so far in the world- allows us to watch festive television programming about friendship and hamburgers on his laptop. Dixon usually looks like an abject puddle of despair at the corner table until you realize he is just looking at his phone, which is in his lap. Evan is brushing his hair. A rule of nature- though he may have less hair, Evan will not brush it less. But I get it. It's very bushy, virile hair. Takes a lot to get it to stand straight up in the proper way. Emily walks by with her excellently turned out feet and shiny shoes and gives us places. Which is code for 3. Dave and Melissa are being responsible and professional and sitting in their dressing rooms doing God knows what. I suppose preparing for Act II.
I strip off my softest dress to reveal my extra-softest dress. I would wear these dresses everywhere. Including to my coffin. I don my shawl and pace around for awhile wishing I could be in the tapestry scene. I may as well be. I'd just hang out behind the tapestry. They'd KNOW.
Act II is off with a bang as the audience, without fail, seems to go out into the lobby during intermission and down a bottle of wine apiece. And also because Melissa is hysterical when she says the thing about her jewelry and her nipples.
Act II, Scene II goes like this:
1. David yells at Evan.
2. Dixon yells at David.
3. David yells at Dixon.
4. Evan says "Don't go" in a very fetching, coy manner.
5. Alexander and Evan stand so close together their noses' feelings can hold hands.
6. Evan yells at Dave.
7. Alexander yells at Evan.
8. Alexander yells at Dave.
9. Dave yells at David.
10. Dixon yells at David.
11. Dixon yells at Dave.
12. Dave yells at Everybody (including the Lord- hence the capital "E").
Phew. And see how it could've been so very nice and streamlined if not for that flirtation nonsense about halfway down the list.
That's pretty much the end of the show. I sing a song after that but Melissa is unfailingly kind enough to come in each night and remind me that this is NOT "Les Miserables," so I stop, offer Dave the dredges of my apple juice and huff away up the stairs endeavoring mightily not to sound like an ingenue from Medieval Hee-Haw. Sometimes after this, well, after I have gotten Evan to fasten me back into my gown (this was fair trade for when he was determined to wear my eyeliner every night. He stopped doing that shortly after I commented that his eyelids looked like a couple of trout, but that may not have been the reason. Regardless, he kindly continues to fasten my gown), I climb up into the top of the theater and watch Dave and Melissa argue from one of the cool secret rooms up there. Note: whenever one is sneakily watching dramas from private rooms in the grand tier, one should remember not to lean out over the audience while still wearing one's metal amulet, which will hit the railing and produce a resounding gong.
There is more kissing and deception and hollering and nausea and then I do one more scene with Evan for which I still have not learned the lines. Dave proposes marriage, I have a temper tantrum and then forget all about the marriage proposal for now I cannot stop thinking about how attractive my hair must surely be as it gleams in the lights because Melissa made the mistake of mentioning to me one day last weekend that my hair looks nice during that scene.
The final scene features a barrel and some silverware. There is a snow storm only in the backyard and Dave receives a gift from Melissa which he seems to like even though he already has one just like it, only better. After Melissa has blown her nose, we all stride grandly out for curtain call, which Dixon leads every night with great style- cankle and all.
*Adaline seems to be a sweetheart who, I just realized, is not featured in the bulk of the narrative only because I have not seen her do a single peculiar thing throughout this entire process.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Transvestites in the Dungeon on a Tuesday.
I pull up uncomfortably close to a potted ficus. I decide my car will most likely be broken into and that's ok. I also decide I really must spend more time downtown on Broad Street because just LOOK at all those sparkling pants and fake hair in those windows.
I mutter and curse under my breath at the cold and the new hazardous obstacles on the Broad Street medians which really do inconvenience one when one is trying to jaywalk. I arrive at the opposite side of the street and peep back over my shoulder at the glowing marquee of the Novempire. I think, "Hahaha. I am not at rehearsal." I then peep back to my front and realize that while I may very well be not at rehearsal I also have no idea where I actually am in relation to where I am purportedly going. Broad Street is mostly deserted and all I really know about the location I am looking for is that once during a birthday brunch in one of the upstairs apartments of that building Maggie Roop felt a deep confidence that she had observed a pimp transaction on the corner across the street.
So I look up the address on my phone because who needs to freeze to death outside of the shiny pants store on a Tuesday night when one has to die elegantly in a barnyard the next morning anyway. I locate the building. It looks like artistic things happen inside this building. You know the type. Cutesy little postcards being hip and clever scotch taped in interesting asymmetrical fashions to the windows, lots of lamps shaped in ways that you can tell are SUPPOSED TO BE CUNNING, an assortment of items that are colored pastel green, and- the largest most aggressive meaty lock I have ever seen firmly securing the front door.
So. Probably I'm not going in that way. I think about the fact that the place I am going is called "The Basement." While my friends are wise and clever and not at all overly literal I have been given reason to think that this might actually be, indeed, a basement. I had, after all, heard tell not three days prior that Nick Aliff had been spotted covered in white powder painting the poop pipes brown. Or black. Might have been black. Should be black. Nobody wants brown poop pipes, that seems to call too much to mind.
I pop around the corner and immediately spy a black metal gated rectangle concealing a flight of stairs DOWN into nothingness. Ok, it wasn't that dramatic but I began pretending at once to be in James Bond and Mission: Impossible and was spying it up for my own enjoyment. I was also wearing my blue crushed velvet dramatic evening coat which added a lot, I think, as it blew nicely in the wind while I twined my cold bony fingers around the metal grated door and squinted my eyes at my potentially dangerous surroundings. And that was a lot of fun for four or five minutes but then I realized Maggie told me the top-secret IDR was starting at 8:30 and that was coming right up. So I opened the latch (which also made me feel bad-ass because it's NOT obvious how one does that) and trotted down the steps where I encountered the most beautiful blue door I have ever seen. That made me happy so I updated my Facebook status to reflect such. The evening is off to a promising start.
Inside is a lobby which is, I predict, going to be very successful at being a lobby. Smartly designed, not crowded, the bar is in a good location and (I was later told) made of the ceiling. All the chairs and tables are different, which I appreciate, and there is a big old hard wood table that I couldn't figure out after ten minutes of staring if was made of old chairs or some part of a house, or like, the Mayflower.
Also featured in the lobby this particular evening are Annie Colpitts, Deejay Gray, McLean Jesse (who is always so lovely and who I am so sorry I didn't return her boots to in time for her to dress up like a smooth pink crayon and do a play about Rome and Katrinah), and some very familiar black curtains which I sewed for the Mill. Let it be noted said sew-age was only possible under the tireless and and unfailingly patient tutelage of one Tom WidtheventhoughhestillbegrudgesmedietSunkistsinamannerwhichIfeeltobeunfair.
I sit in a chair and play on my phone and watch a passel of girls drinking out of bags at one of the tables. Then I help (read- make everything much more difficult) McLean with trying to hang up all of TheatreLAB's publicity clippings with garrotte wire and s-hooks on what appears to be a chunk of pier stuck to the wall. Or maybe that was the table. I'm pretty hung up about that table.
That goes well, and then Maggie comes out and tells me we are going to start soon. House is opened. I am told almost immediately that no, I may not be seated in the brown leather chair onstage, so I take a seat in the back row by the sound board where I am pretty confident no one will sit next to me because I like to go to things by myself.
There are many people striding around looking mildly concerned and very industrious because this is a big new project with a lot of elements which is having its first audience. So all this makes sense. I say hello to the costume designer Emily who is awesome and to Anthony. He has on a red shirt. I don't remember what color Emily's shirt was. Probably because every time I talk to her I start thinking about how much I liked that green dress she got for me to wear in "The Importance of Being Earnest" and trying to devise ways in which I might persuade the VCU Theatre Department to let me just, you know, have it.
I am wise to "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" because about a year ago Adam and Maggie and Matt and I made burritos in my kitchen as we are wont to do and watched the movie. I also watched a recording (which I'm not sure if I'm supposed to know exists) of the Firehouse Theatre Project production starring JB Steinberg over at JB's apartment one night when we were planning to watch "Anne of Green Gables" but then Hedwig came out, Robyn O'Neill came over, wine got opened and Steve Perigard got a questionable voicemail instead. So, I was not surprised when members of the band started milling about. I didn't know any of them. One of them had red hair. One of them looked like a cross between John Story and Jason from Hardywood who I see on Matt's front porch with some regularity. That one, incongruously, had a glitter in his hair. But I think this was secret glitter. Secret mostly from him. Starlet was there, looking fab, and then, as per usual, the drummer was kept in a plastic box over somewhere out of the way so he doesn't damage people. There was another fellow wandering around as well, who I noted, after a passing observation, had a very attractive section of himself between his hips where his jeans cross his private area. I guess you'd call that a groin. It was Bianca. So that was good- well played TheatreLAB and Spin, Spit, & Swear.
I get a suspicion that Matt Shofner is going to make his Hedwig entrance FROM THE BACK. This suspicion has nothing to do with innate sensitivity to coming events and more to do with watching Maggie and Annie cut their eyes to the back of the house in surreptitious manners. I can't remember if there was a curtain speech. I was tired.
Suddenly, IT BEGINS. Matt Shofner makes his entrance from the back of the house, as predicted, looking like an elegant pastel eagle Superman kind of thing. He has wings. He and Maggie have been raving about these wings and how great the costumes in general are, for weeks, so I am not surprised, but yes. Fabulous. He floats himself- I should say herself (I met Hedwig and realized she was an actual person one night at Hardywood while we were all wearing black and sweating while we sang Fleetwood Mac on a pile of old rugs and I told (who I thought was) Matt where I had placed his cup of water. Matt did not answer. Hedwig did. I liked her. She didn't even get mad at me when I lost her $100 pair of wood sunglasses)- right up onto the stage where she brilliantly doesn't knock any of the mic stands over with her wooden arm extensions. There is a number performed. I don't remember what it was; I think because there was so much to look at. But it sounded great. Under the wings, Matt is wearing a denim onesie he apparently lifted from a Cabbage Patch Kid and some fishnets. I made a note in my brain to point out the glaring run in said fishnets along his upper left inner thigh. But he knew. Apparently it's an acting run and is there on purpose.
There are some parts where Hedwig goes over to an offstage door and opens it. It's supposed to be that what is beyond the door is outside, and I must say the sound and light effects here are A+. Truly, technically, actingically, visually, this show is VERY WELL DONE.
I knew all the words Matt was going to say due to my sitting in a chair in his living room one night two weeks ago and running lines with him while he made fried rice. I also knew all about how he was going to look because I get the daily rundown from Mr. Paul in the barnyard every morning when he reports to me how many hours of his night were spent working on needlepoint for Hannah and how many spent sewing, caressing, spraying and coercing Matt's fake hair into big shapes that have feelings. And that after the first draft of fake eyebrows, they were to be lower in the future.
Things I did not know about: how perplexing it is to wonder about WHERE all of the boy parts go when the boy parts become invisible. Maggie and I drove the entire way home from Party City in the West End last Friday discussing all the potentially available options for where one could stuff things. Or- how admirable and effective it is to see a performer pick one spot on the wall with their eyes and STICK TO IT for an entire ballad. Or- how very very pleased I would be when I saw HedMatt spit water onto a person and then choose NOT to do that to me, thusly preserving our friendship.
Bianca has what I've determined to be the greatest role in all of musical theater as her responsibilities include 1. sitting on a barstool and 2. eating sunflower seeds. Begrudgingly. Or so I thought that was the extent of her responsibilities. Oh no. In addition to acting her groin off, Bianca left at one point and came back looking like a Holiday Barbie Spectacular: Gold Edition.
Matt spent some time later in the show laying on the floor upstage center in the dark by a movie screen. I wasn't sure what he was doing- I mean, I knew he must be tired, and maybe Maggie had allotted optional nap time if needed- but then he stood up with a silver X on his face and I was reminded that he is VERY ATTRACTIVE. Which I thought, well shoot. Now brunch at Joe's will be awkward. But it wasn't.
I mutter and curse under my breath at the cold and the new hazardous obstacles on the Broad Street medians which really do inconvenience one when one is trying to jaywalk. I arrive at the opposite side of the street and peep back over my shoulder at the glowing marquee of the Novempire. I think, "Hahaha. I am not at rehearsal." I then peep back to my front and realize that while I may very well be not at rehearsal I also have no idea where I actually am in relation to where I am purportedly going. Broad Street is mostly deserted and all I really know about the location I am looking for is that once during a birthday brunch in one of the upstairs apartments of that building Maggie Roop felt a deep confidence that she had observed a pimp transaction on the corner across the street.
So I look up the address on my phone because who needs to freeze to death outside of the shiny pants store on a Tuesday night when one has to die elegantly in a barnyard the next morning anyway. I locate the building. It looks like artistic things happen inside this building. You know the type. Cutesy little postcards being hip and clever scotch taped in interesting asymmetrical fashions to the windows, lots of lamps shaped in ways that you can tell are SUPPOSED TO BE CUNNING, an assortment of items that are colored pastel green, and- the largest most aggressive meaty lock I have ever seen firmly securing the front door.
So. Probably I'm not going in that way. I think about the fact that the place I am going is called "The Basement." While my friends are wise and clever and not at all overly literal I have been given reason to think that this might actually be, indeed, a basement. I had, after all, heard tell not three days prior that Nick Aliff had been spotted covered in white powder painting the poop pipes brown. Or black. Might have been black. Should be black. Nobody wants brown poop pipes, that seems to call too much to mind.
I pop around the corner and immediately spy a black metal gated rectangle concealing a flight of stairs DOWN into nothingness. Ok, it wasn't that dramatic but I began pretending at once to be in James Bond and Mission: Impossible and was spying it up for my own enjoyment. I was also wearing my blue crushed velvet dramatic evening coat which added a lot, I think, as it blew nicely in the wind while I twined my cold bony fingers around the metal grated door and squinted my eyes at my potentially dangerous surroundings. And that was a lot of fun for four or five minutes but then I realized Maggie told me the top-secret IDR was starting at 8:30 and that was coming right up. So I opened the latch (which also made me feel bad-ass because it's NOT obvious how one does that) and trotted down the steps where I encountered the most beautiful blue door I have ever seen. That made me happy so I updated my Facebook status to reflect such. The evening is off to a promising start.
Inside is a lobby which is, I predict, going to be very successful at being a lobby. Smartly designed, not crowded, the bar is in a good location and (I was later told) made of the ceiling. All the chairs and tables are different, which I appreciate, and there is a big old hard wood table that I couldn't figure out after ten minutes of staring if was made of old chairs or some part of a house, or like, the Mayflower.
Also featured in the lobby this particular evening are Annie Colpitts, Deejay Gray, McLean Jesse (who is always so lovely and who I am so sorry I didn't return her boots to in time for her to dress up like a smooth pink crayon and do a play about Rome and Katrinah), and some very familiar black curtains which I sewed for the Mill. Let it be noted said sew-age was only possible under the tireless and and unfailingly patient tutelage of one Tom WidtheventhoughhestillbegrudgesmedietSunkistsinamannerwhichIfeeltobeunfair.
I sit in a chair and play on my phone and watch a passel of girls drinking out of bags at one of the tables. Then I help (read- make everything much more difficult) McLean with trying to hang up all of TheatreLAB's publicity clippings with garrotte wire and s-hooks on what appears to be a chunk of pier stuck to the wall. Or maybe that was the table. I'm pretty hung up about that table.
That goes well, and then Maggie comes out and tells me we are going to start soon. House is opened. I am told almost immediately that no, I may not be seated in the brown leather chair onstage, so I take a seat in the back row by the sound board where I am pretty confident no one will sit next to me because I like to go to things by myself.
There are many people striding around looking mildly concerned and very industrious because this is a big new project with a lot of elements which is having its first audience. So all this makes sense. I say hello to the costume designer Emily who is awesome and to Anthony. He has on a red shirt. I don't remember what color Emily's shirt was. Probably because every time I talk to her I start thinking about how much I liked that green dress she got for me to wear in "The Importance of Being Earnest" and trying to devise ways in which I might persuade the VCU Theatre Department to let me just, you know, have it.
I am wise to "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" because about a year ago Adam and Maggie and Matt and I made burritos in my kitchen as we are wont to do and watched the movie. I also watched a recording (which I'm not sure if I'm supposed to know exists) of the Firehouse Theatre Project production starring JB Steinberg over at JB's apartment one night when we were planning to watch "Anne of Green Gables" but then Hedwig came out, Robyn O'Neill came over, wine got opened and Steve Perigard got a questionable voicemail instead. So, I was not surprised when members of the band started milling about. I didn't know any of them. One of them had red hair. One of them looked like a cross between John Story and Jason from Hardywood who I see on Matt's front porch with some regularity. That one, incongruously, had a glitter in his hair. But I think this was secret glitter. Secret mostly from him. Starlet was there, looking fab, and then, as per usual, the drummer was kept in a plastic box over somewhere out of the way so he doesn't damage people. There was another fellow wandering around as well, who I noted, after a passing observation, had a very attractive section of himself between his hips where his jeans cross his private area. I guess you'd call that a groin. It was Bianca. So that was good- well played TheatreLAB and Spin, Spit, & Swear.
I get a suspicion that Matt Shofner is going to make his Hedwig entrance FROM THE BACK. This suspicion has nothing to do with innate sensitivity to coming events and more to do with watching Maggie and Annie cut their eyes to the back of the house in surreptitious manners. I can't remember if there was a curtain speech. I was tired.
Suddenly, IT BEGINS. Matt Shofner makes his entrance from the back of the house, as predicted, looking like an elegant pastel eagle Superman kind of thing. He has wings. He and Maggie have been raving about these wings and how great the costumes in general are, for weeks, so I am not surprised, but yes. Fabulous. He floats himself- I should say herself (I met Hedwig and realized she was an actual person one night at Hardywood while we were all wearing black and sweating while we sang Fleetwood Mac on a pile of old rugs and I told (who I thought was) Matt where I had placed his cup of water. Matt did not answer. Hedwig did. I liked her. She didn't even get mad at me when I lost her $100 pair of wood sunglasses)- right up onto the stage where she brilliantly doesn't knock any of the mic stands over with her wooden arm extensions. There is a number performed. I don't remember what it was; I think because there was so much to look at. But it sounded great. Under the wings, Matt is wearing a denim onesie he apparently lifted from a Cabbage Patch Kid and some fishnets. I made a note in my brain to point out the glaring run in said fishnets along his upper left inner thigh. But he knew. Apparently it's an acting run and is there on purpose.
There are some parts where Hedwig goes over to an offstage door and opens it. It's supposed to be that what is beyond the door is outside, and I must say the sound and light effects here are A+. Truly, technically, actingically, visually, this show is VERY WELL DONE.
I knew all the words Matt was going to say due to my sitting in a chair in his living room one night two weeks ago and running lines with him while he made fried rice. I also knew all about how he was going to look because I get the daily rundown from Mr. Paul in the barnyard every morning when he reports to me how many hours of his night were spent working on needlepoint for Hannah and how many spent sewing, caressing, spraying and coercing Matt's fake hair into big shapes that have feelings. And that after the first draft of fake eyebrows, they were to be lower in the future.
Things I did not know about: how perplexing it is to wonder about WHERE all of the boy parts go when the boy parts become invisible. Maggie and I drove the entire way home from Party City in the West End last Friday discussing all the potentially available options for where one could stuff things. Or- how admirable and effective it is to see a performer pick one spot on the wall with their eyes and STICK TO IT for an entire ballad. Or- how very very pleased I would be when I saw HedMatt spit water onto a person and then choose NOT to do that to me, thusly preserving our friendship.
Bianca has what I've determined to be the greatest role in all of musical theater as her responsibilities include 1. sitting on a barstool and 2. eating sunflower seeds. Begrudgingly. Or so I thought that was the extent of her responsibilities. Oh no. In addition to acting her groin off, Bianca left at one point and came back looking like a Holiday Barbie Spectacular: Gold Edition.
Matt spent some time later in the show laying on the floor upstage center in the dark by a movie screen. I wasn't sure what he was doing- I mean, I knew he must be tired, and maybe Maggie had allotted optional nap time if needed- but then he stood up with a silver X on his face and I was reminded that he is VERY ATTRACTIVE. Which I thought, well shoot. Now brunch at Joe's will be awkward. But it wasn't.
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