Inevitable Punchlines: Keep 'em Coming!
This is what happens when I can't sleep.
And it's a weekend. When even the almighty D on "Saturday Night Live" can't hold my attention, you know it's urgent. I don't like this new backing band. There, I said it. I prefer the all-stars. And didn't they already go on "SNL"? When Matthew Broderick hosted and Natalie Merchant was on as well?
I know this because I wore out that tape in middle school.
I actually am rather guilty of sadly inflicting the D on my friends sometime between junior year of high school and freshman year in college. It was always something with my biggest musical obsessions, from No Doubt to the Assassins soundtrack. All things considered - I was pretty on the mark for those!
And I had some friends who cared. When I was obsessed with ND (around the time the Beacon Street LP came out), the whole world - as it seemed, a vague simulacrum of it - was totally into Bush. Perhaps one of the shittiest post-grunge bands ever prefabricated/assembled. When No Doubt finally opened for Bush on their Second Stone tour, I finally had an excuse to be around people I went to school with, albeit outside of school. For better or for worse. It was still my first rock concert, and I was more jazzed about the opening act anyway. I defy you to find a better rendition of "Excuse Me, Mr." than the one Mlle. Gwen and Co. did at the Kansas Coliseum those many moons ago. Or anything else, for that matter.
And it took me well over two years just to find people, anyone, who could sing the other parts to my tour-de-force of a reverse-gender bedroom version of John Wilkes Booth (still do). Happily, my best friend does a killer (no pun intended) John Hinckley, and another close bud professed a lifelong dream to fill Neil Patrick Harris' and Patrick Cassidy's shoes as the very first female Balladeer.
For those who asked, the job does not, by any means, show signs of me giving up on "the actor thing" or "the singer thing." If anything, it's strengthened my resolve. Par example, a certain local theatre company was having auditions for a role I've coveted pretty much ever since said play was written.
I decided not to go. I had class anyway, and decided that evening rehearsals would be moot if I wasn't doing something even remotely productive during the days. Especially if I had to take over an hour on the subway just to get to the evening audition time. What happens? They have an extra day of auditions, and the role I wanted was already filled. Meaning there are a lot, really, seriously - more than I could have ever assumed that there would have been - of early twentysomething postgrad aspiring professional actresses in New York City.
I mean, my idea of the fulfilled life, of the early twentysomething postgrad variety, would not include working at an investment bank (which, by the way, is every single response to our "Class News" section in the alumni quarterly). It would mean having a job. Having a life. Passion. That cool thing you do with a hip, downtown theatre company that loves you. And always, always working toward a goal. No matter how far-fetched that goal would seem to your parents. Or yourself. Or mere mortals. Or those around you who have fulfilled it and lived to show their own personal battle scars.
So what happens, in effect, is me getting totally excited for our annual fundraiser, because the author of said play (and a total hero of mine) is speaking at the event. Maybe I actually could tell him how I feel about his brilliant work without plotzing, but then, who knows who's going to even show up to that thing? We've just added two new performers to the roster, and who knows who else is going to have a ball come "No Show Monday"? 'Haps, maybe?
And I'm glad I get to spend Monday night partying and not rehearsing/performing/enacting a demonstration for the patrons of the arts. Or shlepping to the third area code to do a show I've always wanted to do that does not have any songs in it by Stephen Sondheim. If I get to play my dream role, I'm going to do it up right. And that means waiting until the next opportunity comes along. I don't care how long it takes. I am going to do a Sondheim show one of these days, even if it's in a Church basement in the outerborough.
Which is funny, because look who played Booth in their 1997 production of Assassins:
If that's not enuff pruf, guess who was young, healthy, and non-Equity when he played John Hinckley in the same show:
And it's a weekend. When even the almighty D on "Saturday Night Live" can't hold my attention, you know it's urgent. I don't like this new backing band. There, I said it. I prefer the all-stars. And didn't they already go on "SNL"? When Matthew Broderick hosted and Natalie Merchant was on as well?
I know this because I wore out that tape in middle school.
I actually am rather guilty of sadly inflicting the D on my friends sometime between junior year of high school and freshman year in college. It was always something with my biggest musical obsessions, from No Doubt to the Assassins soundtrack. All things considered - I was pretty on the mark for those!
And I had some friends who cared. When I was obsessed with ND (around the time the Beacon Street LP came out), the whole world - as it seemed, a vague simulacrum of it - was totally into Bush. Perhaps one of the shittiest post-grunge bands ever prefabricated/assembled. When No Doubt finally opened for Bush on their Second Stone tour, I finally had an excuse to be around people I went to school with, albeit outside of school. For better or for worse. It was still my first rock concert, and I was more jazzed about the opening act anyway. I defy you to find a better rendition of "Excuse Me, Mr." than the one Mlle. Gwen and Co. did at the Kansas Coliseum those many moons ago. Or anything else, for that matter.
And it took me well over two years just to find people, anyone, who could sing the other parts to my tour-de-force of a reverse-gender bedroom version of John Wilkes Booth (still do). Happily, my best friend does a killer (no pun intended) John Hinckley, and another close bud professed a lifelong dream to fill Neil Patrick Harris' and Patrick Cassidy's shoes as the very first female Balladeer.
For those who asked, the job does not, by any means, show signs of me giving up on "the actor thing" or "the singer thing." If anything, it's strengthened my resolve. Par example, a certain local theatre company was having auditions for a role I've coveted pretty much ever since said play was written.
I decided not to go. I had class anyway, and decided that evening rehearsals would be moot if I wasn't doing something even remotely productive during the days. Especially if I had to take over an hour on the subway just to get to the evening audition time. What happens? They have an extra day of auditions, and the role I wanted was already filled. Meaning there are a lot, really, seriously - more than I could have ever assumed that there would have been - of early twentysomething postgrad aspiring professional actresses in New York City.
I mean, my idea of the fulfilled life, of the early twentysomething postgrad variety, would not include working at an investment bank (which, by the way, is every single response to our "Class News" section in the alumni quarterly). It would mean having a job. Having a life. Passion. That cool thing you do with a hip, downtown theatre company that loves you. And always, always working toward a goal. No matter how far-fetched that goal would seem to your parents. Or yourself. Or mere mortals. Or those around you who have fulfilled it and lived to show their own personal battle scars.
So what happens, in effect, is me getting totally excited for our annual fundraiser, because the author of said play (and a total hero of mine) is speaking at the event. Maybe I actually could tell him how I feel about his brilliant work without plotzing, but then, who knows who's going to even show up to that thing? We've just added two new performers to the roster, and who knows who else is going to have a ball come "No Show Monday"? 'Haps, maybe?
And I'm glad I get to spend Monday night partying and not rehearsing/performing/enacting a demonstration for the patrons of the arts. Or shlepping to the third area code to do a show I've always wanted to do that does not have any songs in it by Stephen Sondheim. If I get to play my dream role, I'm going to do it up right. And that means waiting until the next opportunity comes along. I don't care how long it takes. I am going to do a Sondheim show one of these days, even if it's in a Church basement in the outerborough.
Which is funny, because look who played Booth in their 1997 production of Assassins:
If that's not enuff pruf, guess who was young, healthy, and non-Equity when he played John Hinckley in the same show:
That's right: Weird Al in the "White and Nerdy" video!
I make all of my sandwiches with may-o-nnaise!
posted by Gypsy at 12:09 AM
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