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Mission: Relaxation June 21, 2011
Every afternoon of summer camp, the younger students are offered the opportunity to join me in the dance studio for a one-hour rest period. This part of the day is for the students who have been dancing and singing all morning to relax before their afternoon rehearsals. The only rules during this time are that the students must lay down and be quiet. Our goal is that they’ll fall asleep and get some much-needed rest. Their goal is to stay awake the entire time and ask me questions. The following is a transcript of a typical Relaxation Period.
Zero Minutes
All is quiet. The troops are laying down and settling in for their mission, defending themselves against the elements with blankets, pillows and snuggies. The lights are dim, the music is soft. No signs of imminent danger. It appears that Mission: Relaxation will commence as planned.
Four Minutes
The troops are settling in nicely. In this dark room devoid of stimulus, a few members of our battalion have turned to books or journals for recreational purposes. No obvious threats to our mission are present.
Nine Minutes
They have begun to have second thoughts about Mission: Relaxation. A few Officers are strategically chosen by the troops to approach me, their General, and ask for reprieve of some of their duties, namely, laying down and being quiet. All requests are denied. All is calm, yet there is a hint of tension in the air; a sense of ominous foreboding.
Fifteen Minutes
The troops are restless. They have begun to organize themselves into small groups, relocating without permission. I fear they may be planning some sort of coup, so I must remain vigilant and not allow my mind to give way to the ambient lighting and singing whales in the background.
Eighteen Minutes
There is grumbling amongst the squadron. I go into their midst on a light reconnaissance mission to learn of their tribulations. It appears that Shyla is staring at JoJo, Monique is trying to take Aspen’s pillow, and Kaspar just got a text from Madden saying that Li-Wan and Gerauldo aren’t friends anymore. As these problems are clearly in opposition to our mission’s goals, I order the troops to return to their bunkers at once and resume their ranks.
Twenty-Three Minutes
All was quiet, until a loud burst of laughter disrupted the battalion. Mission: Relaxation will never achieve success with this kind of behavior, and therefore it will not be tolerated. I quickly reprimand the group and return them to silence. The air is thick with the fear of failure if our mission is not completed in accordance to the law.
Twenty-Five Minutes
Another outbreak of laughter. Another reprimand.
Twenty-Seven Minutes
A third laughing spell. The perpetrator has been placed in solitary confinement. The others have been warned that similar behavior will be dealt with in the same manner.
Thirty Minutes
Due to the Laughing Episode, the troops are highly alert and fear punishment. They have forgotten the rules of engagement of Mission: Relaxation. As General, I have taken it upon myself to remind them of their duties to lay down and be quiet. They have complied with my requests.
Forty Minutes
All is quiet.
Forty-Six Minutes
My men are drowsy. It won’t be long now until the enemy appears. I must stand watch at all costs. Danger draws near.
Forty-Nine Minutes
The enemy has approached. With rations of reading material running low, the squad has resorted to counting ceiling tiles and making shadow puppets. Still, they battle on and amaze me with their overwhelming dedication to fighting the enemy; Sleep.
Fifty-Two Minutes
Aside from the singing whales, there is silence among the ranks. We are truly in the thick of our mission now, deep in the trenches of our selected task. Even as I write, I can see our platoon struggling as they fight Sleep with every ounce of their willpower. But they are strong and have been highly trained to evade Sleep at many Sleep-Overs and simulated Nap-Times. The battle continues.
Fifty-Eight Minutes
Just as Sleep was about to take hold, the Chief Hyper-Activity Officer let out a mighty sneeze, rousing the rest of his followers and leading them to victory over their drowsy foe. Still, their fight with Sleep was a hard one, and has come at a high cost. They are disoriented, bleary-eyed, confused as to the time of day, and they all have to use the bathroom.
Sixty Minutes
The troops successfully evaded Sleep for a full hour, with only a few minor snafus in the process. Thanks to their training and the exquisite leadership exhibited by myself, our mission is complete.
To those who succumb to Sleep, or to those who live in fear of Sleep, I ask you to fear no more. Sleep has once again been vanquished, and Mission: Relaxation may be counted as a success. For today, at least.
The Element of Surprise May 29, 2011
___If I have learned only one thing in the past six years of working with kids (and it’s quite possible that I have learned only one thing), it is that children live spontaneously. At any given moment they could laugh, or cry, do a cartwheel, or wet their pants. Sometimes they will do a cartwheel, laugh about it until they wet their pants, and then cry because their socks are wet.
___I tend to see young children when they are at their most vulnerable; immersed in a strange, new environment without warning. They have been yanked from school, thrown on a bus, and taken to an old building that has purple and orange paint on the walls and a dragon coming out of the ceiling. Their teachers abandon them for two hours, leaving them with strangers who demand that they sing and dance to songs about history or grammar, all while wearing an oversized hat that smells like a mixture of laundry detergent and anti-lice spray. But every time, no matter their age or experience, those kids dive into our eccentric world and they triumph.
___There’s a reason that adults don’t go on field trips. No grown up in their right mind would submit themselves to that sort of kamikaze learning experience and live to tell the tale. Adults would never consent to dancing in public and singing songs about compost. Not without having a few martinis first.
___As adults, we tend to shy away from the unfamiliar. Especially if the unfamiliar includes over-caffeinated women like myself trying to get you to do the Macarena. “Hey, everybody! You don’t know me, but you’re going to do everything I say for the next two hours, without question! Sound like fun?! Great! Now act like a monkey on a roller coaster!”
___Kids, however, are made of heartier stuff than we are. They seem to genuinely enjoy the unexpected, which is good because there is nothing mundane about being five. I am constantly amazed at their ability to embrace life, and all of the change that comes with it. Pablo Picasso once said that “every child is an artist, but the problem is how to remain an artist when we grow up.” For me, the solution is to surround myself with young minds, overflowing with wonder and enthusiasm. And when that doesn’t work, I find a that a couple of martinis will also do the trick.
Magically Shrinking Actors May 3, 2011
___In addition to our proscenium stage, we have a small black box theatre that seats about 90 people. The stage is about the size of a postage stamp, but it’s really great for smaller shows, and is perfect for introducing small children to the idea of performing in front of an audience. When you’re a kid, standing on the floor and singing isn’t nearly as intimidating as standing on an elevated stage with bright lights, velvet curtains and a wall of stadium seating before you. Of course, as an adult, I prefer for the audience to be as far away as possible so they can’t see that I haven’t plucked my eyebrows in the past month. That, along with my dislike for the taste of crayons, is just one of the many things that makes me different from a six-year-old.
___Aside from being a great introductory theatre for kids, the black box is also a great place for us to practice our painting skills. Because of its size, we can try out techniques that would be too tedious to do on a large scale, but that work perfectly in a small space. Last year we painted hardwood floors for a colonial setting, but we took it one step further and did the whole set as a forced perspective, drawing the eye inward and upward. All of the set pieces were angled in, and the back wall was closed off to just one eight-foot section so the whole set looked like it was narrower at the top and wider at the bottom, even though the room is an even square. The painted floorboards began as narrow, three-inch planks, but got wider and wider as they approached the audience. All in all, the effect was pretty neat.
___I tell you all of this so that I can share with you a conversation that I overheard from two of my students. Student A is a brilliant bookworm; he can tell you everything about anything, but he has a wicked sense of humor. Student B has the brains of a flea, but is one of the most talented and dedicated kids I’ve had the pleasure to know. Here is their conversation about our scenic design.
Student A: Hey, did you see the set?
Student B: Yeah. It’s weird.
Student: A: I like it!
Student B: I don’t get why the floor is all messed up.
Student A: It’s called “forced perspective.” It’s used to draw the eye inward.
Student B: …what?
Student A: It’s just a visual trick. Because this is a small theatre, forced perspective gives it more depth. The farther away from the audience something is, the smaller it looks.
Student B: So “forced perspective” means getting smaller?
Student A: Sort of. I think it’s neat.
Student B: I guess. (Pause.) Are we going to get smaller?
Student A: …what?
Student B: I mean, when we cross upstage…are we going to…you know…shrink??
Student A: (Pause. He’s thinking this through. He comes up with an evil plan.) Yeah. Didn’t you get that note?
Student B: No. I don’t think I know how to do that, you know, at least not effectively.
Student A: (With an evil grin.) You should probably practice.
___And he did! He started walking all around the theatre, adjusting his posture to appear “shorter” or “taller,” depending on where he was standing on stage, until I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Me: Please make him stop.
Student A: But it’s funny!
Me: It’s hilarious, but it’s also mean. You have to tell him.
Student A: Okay, I will. Just five more minutes.
Scene. 
Window Treatments February 21, 2011
___Our business is in an old department store building that has been renovated to suit our needs as a children’s theatre; the shoe storage room has become our prop closet, the finance office has become our makeup room and the dressing rooms have become, well, really busy dressing rooms.
___What’s interesting about working in a renovated building is that everyone seems to remember the original design a little differently. Some people wax nostalgic about how there used to be an escalator in the middle of our lobby, while others reminisce about the cafe that stood where the concession stand is now. One patron even told me that the restrooms in the back of the building used to be for African Americans and that seeing the whites-only bathrooms replaced by our box office brought tears of joy to her eyes.
___There was never an escalator or a cafe, and there were never any segregated bathrooms, but you can’t argue with people about their own memories. There could never have been an escalator in the front of the building, because the front half is only one story. Also, I have no idea how or why we would have removed a whole escalator system. It would have been really convenient if there had been a cafe by the concession stand, because then there would probably have been a cafe counter and some plumbing, which would make things a lot easier. But there wasn’t a cafe, and there isn’t plumbing, and it isn’t easy.
___I tried to explain that the blueprints of the building indicated that there was only one set of bathrooms downstairs, and that they were intended for staff, but the crying lady just shook her head and told me that I was too young to know the truth. Really, our new box office used to be a set of fitting rooms, not restrooms. This was a small store, and they weren’t outfitted with fancy powder rooms or lounge areas. The restrooms were never segregated, and they also weren’t public.
___Still, people see what they want to see and remember things the way they want to remember them. One of the few things that everyone does seem to agree on is the row of lighted window displays in the front of the building, facing the street. Where Belk’s used to display the new season’s collection, we advertise our new shows with three-dimensional renderings of our posters. Some patrons say that they used to have in-store pageants and the winners got to be “living mannequins,” posing and modeling clothes in the windows for hours at a time. Then there was some scandal about teenagers posing in flesh-baring bathing suits who were forced to put on cover-ups to preserve modesty, even though the temperature in the windows during the summertime was well into the nineties. In my mind I see young women dressed in Barbie’s vintage black and white strapless bathing suit, coyly wrapped in sheer white robes. I don’t know if this is true, but it certainly seems plausible.
___While our window displays don’t feature live children in costume (yet), they are pretty amazing. We have some truly spectacular volunteers that dedicate dozens of hours each week to creating these large displays that can be seen all the way across the parking lot. They’re big, they’re colorful, and best of all, they’re cheap advertising.
___Of course, every silver lining has a cloud. Whenever we do a popular show like High School Musical or Beauty and the Beast, we get a ton of phone calls asking for the movie times, and a few people who want their money back because “that kid didn’t look like Zac Efron at all.” Once, we were doing a comedy called Lucky Dollar Private Eye, and we had someone walk in and ask to hire a private detective. Seriously. You can read the whole story here.
___Last spring, we did Arthur Miller’s The Crucible (which you can also read about here and here, if you are so inclined), with an evocative display that caused quite an uproar. The poster artwork for our production was, in my opinion, brilliant. The background was burnt parchment paper, while the focus was a silhouette of a large hand with puppet strings extending from each finger and each string ending in a hangman’s noose with a body. It was very creepy, very cool and very likely to attract the 15-year-olds who were being forced to see The Crucible for extra English credit. I loved how the image captured the two primary punishments of the Salem Witch Trials (burning and hanging), and alluded to the political motivations of the play (manipulation and censorship). In short, I was in love with this design.
___Within thirty minutes of completing and installing this particular window display, our front office received an angry phone call from someone in the neighborhood wanting to know why the theatre hated black people.
Go ahead and read that last sentence one more time.
___We assured her that we didn’t hate black people, or any people, for that matter. Our irate caller demanded to know why our artwork depicted the lynching of five African Americans. She then threatened to call the news and protest outside the theatre if the display wasn’t removed immediately. Our office manager tried very hard to explain that they were not black people, they were blacked-out images of the victims of the Salem Witch Trials, and that if she looked closely, she would notice that the strings and the hand were also pitch black. No, the woman insisted, we were all hateful bigots who were going to rot, first in jail and then in hell.
___Though we knew the point was moot, we tried to reason with her. We explained that the bodies were silhouettes and that all silhouettes are black. We explained that our display of Peter Pan also showed silhouettes of children flying to Neverland, but that it did not insinuate that black children were capable of flight. No matter our attempts at reasoning with her, the woman on the phone just became more and more belligerent.
___After many rounds, it was decided that the window display had to be removed. Just like the woman who remembered seeing the segregated bathrooms that never existed, this woman could not see past the color of the paint to view the image as a whole. She couldn’t see the truth; she could see only prejudice.
___I hated that we were backing down because of the protestations of such a small-minded person, but I understood that her perception of the image was skewed. I hated that I understood the dozens of stupid diplomatic reasons why we had to change our display. Most of all, I hated that we had already spent hundreds of dollars printing full-color posters and fliers that couldn’t be altered or exchanged.
___Several hours after the phone call, when my classes and rehearsals had ended, I turned off the inside lights to the theatre, locked the doors and got in my car to go home. As I backed out of my parking space, I saw The Crucible’s new and improved window design, which was, alarmingly, the same as it had been that afternoon, with just one small change.
The silhouetted image had been whitewashed. Because it’s perfectly fine to hang white people, I guess.
___Seeing the colorful art in our windows continues to be one of my favorite parts of coming to work in the morning. The locals drive by our theatre just to see the displays and to stay in the know about our upcoming shows. Even if our patrons can’t agree on the fabled escalator or the location of the old jewelry counter, they all love to see the store windows filled with this season’s new arrivals, just like the old days. And if there’s ever a problem with the design, be it a young girl’s silhouette in a bathing suit or the silhouette of a hangman’s noose, it can always be covered up with something sheer and white.
UPDATE: After posting this, I decided that it needed some visual aid. Here is a photo of the original design for The Crucible window.
And here is a photo of the “acceptable” display. Sorry about the blurriness and the glare. As you can see, it’s quite watered-down, and not nearly as cool as the original. It also has a paper sign at the top that reads “The Story of the Salem Witch Trials,” just in case people were still nervous.
Here are some other silhouette displays that, surprisingly, did not outrage the neighborhood. Exhibit A: Flying Black Children.
Exhibit B: Gay Pride Dancers.
And my personal favorite, Exhibit C: Creamsicle People.
Update Complete. Thanks for reading!
Class Registration February 10, 2011
A typical phone conversation at the children’s theatre, here for all to enjoy!
(Phone rings.)
Me: Hello, this is Jenn. How can I help you?
Parent: Hi! I’m interested in getting my daughter involved in the theatre!
Me: Great! How old is she?
Parent: She just turned four. We had the best princess-themed birthday party! She pretended that she was a princess and bossed everyone around all day long!
Me: Wonderful. We have a class for PreK students that starts in a few days.
Parent: Aww! What do they do in class?
Me: They act out a different storybook each day, and they make a theatre craft project based on that book, like a puppet or a costume piece.
Parent: That’s perfect for my daughter! She just loves acting out. She’s very dramatic.
Me: Well, she’ll fit right in. Would you like to register her for this class?
Parent: Maybe. Will she be the lead?
Me: Pardon?
Parent: In the play. Will she be the lead?
Me: The PreK class doesn’t put on a play. They memorize and act out storybooks.
Parent: Why don’t they do a whole play?
Me: Because they’re four. This class focuses on creative play and imagination.
Parent: But she should be in a play. She sings along to Glee all the time.
Me: Our pre-kindergarten class is an introduction to theatre…
Parent: My daughter is smarter than that. She already knows how to draw stars.
Me: …they explore how to use their bodies and voices to tell a story and express emotions.
Parent: My child doesn’t need to express her emotions; she needs to be on the stage. What other classes do you have?
Me: We only offer one PreK class at this time.
Parent: How old do you have to be to be the lead in a play?
Me: (Sigh.) The students begin staging short musicals in 2nd grade.
Parent: Great! I want her to be in that class!
Me: I’m sorry, ma’am, but she’ll have to wait until she’s old enough. She should begin with the introductory class. It’s a wonderful foundation for…
Parent: She’s smart enough to be in second grade! In fact, we’re having her tested this summer to see if she can skip Kindergarten and go straight to first! If she can skip Kindergarten, can she be in that other class?!
Me: No, ma’am. She needs to be in second grade.
Parent: But you don’t understand! She’s brilliant. I mean, she acts out everything she sees on t.v. Like those insurance commercials! She and my husband act them out every night at the dinner table! He’ll say “do I get all the dag-nabbit coverage I need?” and she’ll say “name your price!” and then we all just laugh and laugh! She doesn’t need a beginner’s class. She’s advanced!
Me: Has she had any previous theatre experience?
Parent: I just told you. She acts things out at home all the time.
Me: If you really want your preschooler to become involved in theatre, I suggest you start with this beginner’s class. It’s the only program that we have for her age group, and it is a very good introduction to live theatre.
Parent: But she won’t be the star.
Me: In order for her to have the skills to audition for a leading role in the future, she will need to understand basic concepts. Like listening…
Parent: What if she doesn’t want to take a class? What if she just wants to be the lead in a play?
Me: Then she will need to wait until she is old enough to audition for one of our children’s plays.
Parent: Okay, what do you have to do to audition?
Me: Depending on the play, you learn a song and a dance, and then you read from the script.
Parent: She can’t read. She’s only four!
Me: Which is why she can’t audition for a play until she is in second grade.
Parent: This is ridiculous! My child has dreams! She wants to be a star, and she wants to be a star now! By the time she’s in second grade, she might not even want to do this anymore!
Me: Then perhaps you should keep her interested by bringing her to some of our plays and enrolling her in our introductory PreK class.
Parent: Listen, I don’t think you understand. I have a very precocious, very demanding, very dramatic little girl who wants to be in a play. She won’t stop bugging me about it and I don’t know what else to do!
Me: I do understand. Unfortunately, the only thing I can offer you is a spot in the 4-year-old class.
Parent: Alright, fine. I’ll sign her up. Anything to get her out of the house.
Scene
Everybody Wants to be a Princess February 8, 2011
___Recently, you may have felt a tremor in the earth, or seen the sun go dark for a few moments, or noticed the scent of sulfur lingering in the air. The snowstorms, fires, plagues, and even those mysterious flocks of dead birds were all due to one singular cause; our casting of the musical Cinderella.
___You might think that I’m overdoing it a bit, exaggerating the perfectly normal sadness that might accompany this sort of thing, but no! The country was turned on its ear with this decision, even causing the signs of the Zodiac to reorganize themselves.
___It might be good to note that I am not directly involved in this production, yet this has still put a damper on my spirits. I have been barraged with countless phone calls, texts, emails, and the like, all trying to goad me into a response, each trying to get me to comment on the injustice of the world of amateur theatre. Our little community is in an uproar over this one casting decision, behaving as though this girl is Kate Middleton and will actually turn into a princess because of this play. At first I tried to assuage the situation by telling people that “everyone deserves a chance to shine.” After three days, I switched to my mother’s “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Now, two months later, I have moved on to that good ol’ country-western classic: “cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it.”
___I fully expect angry tears at the announcement of each cast list. I expect for teenage girls to cry and eat pints of Ben & Jerry’s when they don’t get to play everyone’s favorite princess. I have experienced this same sadness myself, many times; once with this same show. When I was 17, I was called back twice for the role of Cinderella, and was then cast as one of the ugly stepsisters. It ended up being one of my favorite roles to play, but I was mortified at first. Me? Ugly?! What?!?
___For the past six years, I have had the opportunity to be on the opposite side of the audition room, critiquing the performers. Casting a show is always trying, but the difficulty increases tenfold when children (read: parents) are involved. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t cast every single red-headed cherub as Annie, or every pale-skinned boy soprano as Oliver Twist. And no matter how many pep-talks and hugs you give, you just can’t convince crestfallen children (read: parents) that, even though they didn’t get the part they wanted, they are still valuable and worthwhile human beings. As an actor and a new director, I can guarantee all auditioners of one sure thing: just because you aren’t cast in a particular role doesn’t mean that the director hates you, doesn’t take you seriously, or thinks you smell. It just means that, at that moment, for that play, someone else seemed slightly more like a fictional character than you did.
___We operate a community theatre, not professional, and we must cast from the talent pool that we are given. Believe me when I say that we want everyone who auditions to be brilliant! Having a slew of good actors, singers and dancers to choose from makes our jobs as directors ten times easier. With that in mind, it is important to note that the director absolutely cannot allow for emotions or personal attachments to interfere with casting. But no matter how detached and fair you try to be, accusations are made about each and every decision. Here are some of the most popular rumors in the mill:
The “Favorite”
___If you cast the same person as a lead multiple times, you are accused of playing favorites. Consider this: If the same young actor presents themselves well, makes strong choices when auditioning, and is the best overall, why shouldn’t they be cast? We certainly can’t punish someone for being talented. Their auditioning prowess, preparation, and consistency ought to be rewarded. And before you tell me (as many have before) that there should be a limit to how many significant roles one child should be given in a year, or that we should cast by drawing names out of a hat, just save us both some time and put a sock in it. I prefer the old system of casting by merit, not chance.
The “Newbie”
___If you cast a new face, you are accused of taking a risk and not rewarding those who have “earned their stripes,” so to speak. So should new people be dismissed immediately because they aren’t “members of the club?” I think not. Without new talent, there can be no growth and no expansion of a theatre’s profile in it’s community. Also, by not casting the new and re-casting the familiar, we are brought back to the accusation of “favoritism.” Next.
The “Political”
___Time after time, we are rumored to cast only the children of families who give a lot of time or money to the theatre, but nothing could be farther from the truth! The logic is positively backwards.
___The children who are frequently enrolled in our classes gain a stronger set of skills faster than students who participate only occasionally. By rehearsing more, these kids get more experience and become better at auditioning and performing than their more casual peers. Just like sports, the more you practice and play, the better you get, and the more opportunities are opened to you.
___Now consider this: if a child is allowed to spend all of their spare time at the theatre, then their parents obviously see the value in it. The parents who allow their children to become so engrossed in musical theatre clearly notice the positive impact that performing arts education has on their children. Often, these parents become involved as well. They volunteer their time, their talents, and whatever resources they have available to show their support, and to bond with their child through a shared experience. Parents that are artistic give of their creative talents, like painting, sewing, or building, and others become invaluable donors, sponsors, or even board members or front-of-house employees.
___These same parents develop deep and lasting friendships with other volunteers, and the theatre becomes a place of true community, fulfilling it’s ultimate purpose! It is not the children of our most involved volunteers that are cast the most frequently; it is the children who are cast the most frequently whose parents become our most involved volunteers.
___All of this boring explanation leads me to my main point, which is that casting has nothing to do with who you are, or how much money your parents make, or how much the director likes to hang out with you. Casting is based on audition performances alone, not on personal relationships or outside contributions. An audition is a competition, and because we live in an imperfect world, there can only be one first-place winner.
___If the world was perfect, there would be no disappointments for anyone! Every child would get the role they most desired, everyone who auditioned for us would be a powerhouse triple threat, and the set pieces would just build themselves. Oh, and we’d have a custom-built performing arts center with a laundry room and a fly system. And a minibar.
___There is a reason that our first disappointments as children come in the form of not making the soccer team, or not getting the lead in a play. High school disappointments are difficult because they are some of the first that we experience. They are the training wheels for the future, where we may face harsher rejections in the form of college applications, job interviews, or the perils of online dating. They are also teachable moments.
___It is my deepest fear that this generation of young people are not being properly prepared by their mentors to face disappointment. In this age of entitlement and superior self-esteem, children and teenagers are not learning to cope with failure, even on the most basic level. What’s worse is that their parents do not seem willing or able to lead by good example. The parents, in fact, are the ones acting the most shamefully; crying in the lobby, calling other people’s children names, writing angry emails, and saying hurtful, vengeful things about the cast and the director’s choices. All because of a difference in opinion, and the unfairness that their child didn’t get the grand prize.
My wish is only this; that when young people face disappointments, their parents will use those moments as opportunities for growth and maturation. Teach them to recover from a fall. Teach them to accept defeat with grace. Teach them to hold their heads high and walk with dignity. After all, it is your character in life that matters most; not your character in the play.
Snow Day? January 11, 2011
So CEMA announced a “Winter Weather Warning” lasting until ten o’clock this morning, due to “potential for black ice” and “possible inclement weather.” The city of Savannah has ceased to function; government offices are closed, schools were delayed until 11am, and grocery stores are sold out of bottled water, toilet paper and ‘lite’ beer. Children of stay-at-home moms are celebrating Savannah’s version of a snow day over homemade waffles and hot chocolate, while working parents are suffering through an impromptu bring-your-kid-to-work-day. Naturally, it is a beautifully crisp winter day, with nary a snowflake or raindrop in sight.
Where does this leave me? My morning field trip was cancelled because of the school delay, and I have found myself with four hours of nothing to do. Okay, not “nothing.” I have plenty to do, but I’m refusing to do it on the grounds that I wasn’t planning on accomplishing anything extra during my field trip. I am considering the next four hours to be the weather system’s way of telling me to take the morning off from all work-related activities. Oh, the possibilities!
It is during times like these that I realize why I have so little time to myself. I haven’t done any laundry or exercise videos, and I haven’t taken down my Christmas tree (don’t judge me until February) or cleaned out my car. Instead, I have made and consumed a pot of coffee, read everyone’s status on Facebook, finished yesterday’s crossword puzzle, and watched a construction crew build the frame of the house behind me. They may very well be the only people in the city of Savannah currently doing their jobs.
My job is, thankfully, indoors. This month I get to teach over sixty hours of dance, perform twelve different field trip musicals, choreograph a teen production of Pippin (which might sound really lame, but these kids rock the house) and, you know, generally inspire the youth of America to great artistic achievement. How cool is that? But I don’t have to do any of it until tomorrow, which is even cooler.
Southern Comfort and Joy December 27, 2010
’Tis the night after Christmas, and it’s snowing! I’m watching the snow fall through my living room window, all dotted with colored reflections from the lights on my Christmas tree. I have a mug of spiced cider and a slice of homemade rum cake, which is the perfect compliment to the smoldering yule log in the fireplace. This, my friends, is holiday bliss.
Sort of. The snow is really just a light flurry, but there are white crystals whirling around outside, making me nostalgic for a kind of White Christmas that I’ve never really experienced living in the south. My Christmas tree is fake, but that’s okay because I have an evergreen-scented candle that makes it smell like the real thing. And even though I don’t have a fireplace, I do have 24-hour access to the Yule Log channel on cable during the month of December.
Before you lose all faith in my Christmas reverie, I need you to know that the rum cake I’m eating is actually homemade from a family recipe that Vann’s mother gave me. A family recipe that she found on bacardi.com. Still, I love my 21st-century, manufactured Christmas, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it!
I wasn’t sure that I would be able to find my Christmas spirit this year, what with all the literal hustle and bustle of my holiday season, but here it is, at last. When you work in the entertainment industry, bringing Christmas cheer to paying customers day after day, it can be really difficult to get yourself into the holiday spirit. When the songs that you hear in the shopping malls are the same songs that you sing every night, or when you know the guy playing Santa Clause, the whole season seems to lose its lustre.
For the past five years, I’ve been going to see a wonderful Christmas review at a theatre that my friends own and operate. This musical extravaganza is filled with carols and comedy, and brings me great joy to watch. Their performance always lights a smile on my face, and gets me in the holiday swing. This year, I was fortunate enough to be asked to join the cast, and after working some magic with my schedule, I was able to put my dancing shoes to use as a performer, instead of a teacher. It felt wonderful to actually do instead of teach, and though I was far from perfect, I think I was pretty good. As a performer, it was good to tread the boards again, and of course, I always love wearing false eyelashes. As a teacher, it was an excellent reminder of how difficult it can be to actually learn a new routine, and returned my perspective to that of a student’s, which is a role that I really needed to revisit.
With a few exceptions, I’ve pretty much been dancing my own choreography for the past four years. Having to adapt to another’s style after developing my own was quite difficult. Of course, the choreography that nobody can teach you is the subtle ballet that happens backstage; the way you have to step over stretching limbs, or dodge quick exits, or zip and velcro other castmembers into their costumes, just in the nick of time. Of course, by the time I was really getting the hang of things, Christmas was officially upon us, and the show had come to an end.
The most frequent comments that I got from audience members were that I was “very bouncy” or “very enthusiastic,” to which I could only reply ”yes, well, I do children’s theatre.” My husband likes to joke about how I landed a gig at a theatre for adults, but I’m dancing around in a fuzzy reindeer suit with bi-forked gloves. Should it come as a surprise to anyone that playing Dancer the Reindeer was my favorite part of the show? I think not.
Donning a reindeer suit every night and bringing Christmas cheer to audience after audience was a wonderful experience, one that I wish could have lasted for a few more weeks. Since Thanksgiving, I’ve been dancing in a Christmas review, being paid to put others in the mood for the holidays. The trouble is, when you see Frosty the Snowman walking around backstage without his head, or Santa playing World of Warcraft on his laptop, it can be a little tricky to find that holiday joy for yourself. The artificial snow that makes you cough, and the reindeer antlers that cut off the circulation to your ears can make the whole holiday seem so…manufactured.
It’s a good thing I’ve got my HD-TV fireplace, my fake tree and my scented candle to put me in the mood.
I’d Like to Thank the Academy… February 16, 2011
Tags: blog stats, comments, thanks
Typically, I write a blog post, publish it and let it be. It’s sort of like putting a message in a bottle and setting it adrift on the sea of the internet. I don’t really know who reads it, except for my mom and a couple of my dearest friends who follow me on Twitter. So imagine my surprise when I logged on this morning and noticed that my last post had 70 unique hits! Wowzahz! I know that 70 views isn’t a whole lot in the grand scheme of things, but it’s about 65 more than I ever anticipated. So thanks for reading, whoever you are!
P.S. You should leave me comments. You know, if you want to.