When God Shuts a Door...and All that Jazz

Blogging has become curiously intimidating.  I think about it all the time--like, at least daily--and am always somehow daunted by the idea of returning to the computer and purging my thoughts out into the interwebs.  But, to be fair, I have come really close to blogging and either been distracted by the enticing devil that is the Book of Face or scrapped a post that seemed too intimate, insignificant, or silly.

I don't really know if there's any point in catching you up with what I've been up to.  In fact, I don't know if anyone would continue to read this at all.  However, I've now had this blog for four years and keep coming back to it (sometimes--like today--with my tail between my legs after months of negligence) so I may as well give an update.

2010, as anyone who has read my posts from this year knows, has been an enormous struggle and landmark in my life.  I turned twenty one, lost my grandmother, a great aunt, and my dog, fell deeply in love, and came two semesters closer to finishing higher education.  (Did I mention that I lost my dog?  I guess I didn't.  Jackbear had been mine for 16 years--as long as I can remember--and we finally had to put him to sleep a couple of months ago.  This has been particularly devastating over the holidays when I've returned to my mother's house and seen our bare, sad, large empty backyard with an unnecessary doghouse as its only decoration.)  At any rate, many things that had seemed so unwaveringly constant in my life have disappeared and subsequently left me in a vicarious state--lost in its wake.

Fortunately, the old adage of "When God closes a door..." (and you know the rest) has been applicable in my life.  A little over a year ago, a very cute boy asked me to go to a concert with him, only sort-of asking me on a date.  Turns out, I was already invited to said concert by a dear friend, so I respectfully declined, but it marked the beginning of what has turned out to be hugely significant in my life.  I initiated the next meeting--inviting him on a semi-platonic(?) date to a play, and we went (slowly and cautiously) from there.  Through an excruciating dating/non-dating/we-were-too-chicken-to-call-them-dates-or-express-any-mutual-interest period, this boy became one of my best friends and, of course, in the process, I developed an enormous crush on him.  We're talking bang-your-head-on-the-wall-I-can't-stand-how-much-I-adore-you crush.  Fortunately, my feelings were reciprocated, and through a time of fumbling, giddy awkwardness we started to date.

Due to its overwhelming too-good-to-be-true-factor, I've questioned many times whether the level of my affection for him was out of necessity or just by virtue of the fact that he's just an incredible guy and a near-perfect (nothing's perfect, is it?) soulmate/companion. I have determined that it's the latter.  I've never been particularly prone to dependence on anybody (my mother will happily confirm this fact) but I find myself if not increasingly dependent on him, certainly more attached.  He's wonderful, and I miss him at disgustingly tiny intervals.  We've been told regularly that we're vomit-inducingly adorable and I don't deny it.  I never expected or really yearned for long-term companionship, but I really can't imagine my life without it now.  All the mushy-gushy Gershwin ballads about 'never finding a love like this' or 'not knowing what really was until you' all apply here.  I am constantly surprised by the broadening spectrum of feeling and emotion I experience with him and it's actually amazing.  He is very much my other half, and I really think whatever-higher-being-is-up-there--be it fate or God--had an enormous hand in bringing us together when he did.  I thought that the last love I had (prior to current boy--whom I have deemed "Manfriend") was it.  He was a boy who needed some serious fixing, and like any self-righteous too-smart-for-their-own-good seventeen year old, I determined I was the one for the job.  After putting up with now four years of this silly boy's shenanigans (he calls me after every breakup--as in this happened just a couple of months ago again only to have me--extremely frankly, I might add--tell him "too little, too late") that book is finally written and on the shelf and I am thrilled to bits to move on.  (Although the moving-on on my part ended nearly two years ago...but whatever.)

Manfriend has filled a void that was crucial in my life.  Until recently, I didn't realize how crucial that aspect of my life was.  I yearn for things that are good--kind, gentle, lovely, beautiful, passionate.  I tend to presume people to be ill-natured or boring unless proven otherwise (when I'm well aware it should be the reverse) but I really ache for wonderful people.  And love.  Grandmama fulfilled so much of what I needed--someone altruistic, good-natured, optimistic, unbelievably compassionate, and who unconditionally adored me--and in a non-one-generation-removed-Oedipal-kind-of-way Manfriend fulfills that.  I think I would have fared fine without the role for a while--although the grieving of my loss of Grandmama still stings.  However, seeing that kind of good nature in Manfriend has healed me--to an extent.  I can't believe two such remarkable people have graced my life, but I am immensely blessed to have had one present at all times.  Manfriend and Grandmama have many differences, and of course had vastly different roles in my life, but are--hands-down--the two most kind spirited people I've ever known.  It's unfortunate that things with Manfriend really started rolling after Grandmama passed, because I firmly believe they would have gotten along famously.  Manfriend, like me, is anachronistic in 2010.  He and I both would have fared better socially (not that we're cast-outs/introverts--but our standards of social behavior/love of culture were standard) in the 40s.  And so, I've begun this wonderfully healthy relationship with this perfectly marvelous guy and it has undoubtedly been the diamond in the rough of 2010.

School is still school.  This year has been far less painful than last year (and that is, in large part, due to a) not being the new kid anymore b) ridding myself of an especially selfish/unhelpful/rude professor c) Directing and History of Design classes.  I remain frustrated with taking classes I gain nothing from (which continues to be the majority) and dealing with narrow-minded perspectives (which I won't escape post-graduation) but that's life.  I graduate in five months (and can't even attend graduation--thank you Cabaret, and I mean that sincerely) and then I am blissfully and terrifyingly free.

I taught all semester at Lyric Stage--three delightful middle school girls with an interest in musical theatre.  It was one of the best (and most stressful) aspects of the semester but I loved (nearly) every minute of it.  I can't deny my love for teaching.

I've transitioned into a different groove socially as of late (one that I enjoy.)  After a year and a half/two years, theatre doesn't dominate my life socially as much.  I can't avoid (and don't really want to avoid) overlap, but I don't make an effort to hang with the who's-who of 20-something theatre would-be socialites.  They're good people, it just became tiresome with work(s)/school/I'm old/who knows.  When things settle in a new environment and I have my choice, I prefer to have a select group of very close friends (who may or may not be friends with one another) and go from there.  And of course, having Manfriend has altered things socially quite a bit--but singularly in a positive way.

I'm looking forward to next semester.  I'm doing Flora, the Red Menace at Lyric Stage and Cabaret at Dallas Theater Center.  They will both be challenges in their own way and I cannot wait for both of them.  Graduation is growing closer and simultaneously I am becoming more afraid and excited about the next stage of life.  Who knows where it will lead?

In the meantime, I'm just trucking along like the rest of y'all, better than just okay and grateful to have a largely fulfilling life with so many opportunities and glorious people filled within it.  Hope you're all (well, if anyone actually reads this) enjoying a wonderful holiday season and I wish you a happy new year (six days early)!  So long, y'all!

Some Perspective

I graduate May 14, 2010.
Fall break is in 2 weeks.
Thanksgiving Break is in 1.5 months. Then, I basically have 1 week of school until winter break. for 1.5 months.
When I come back, I essentially have 3.5 months until I'm done.

And then I'm done.  I'm not planning for the next semester.  I'm not buying five-star notebooks.  I'm not planning what tedious classes that have no relevance to my career/life but are necessary to graduate from university I need to take.  I can do musical theater freely.  I can travel.  I can keep the thousand odd-jobs I have now but make them my life--expand on them and add on more.

I am terrified of being financially independent.  I'm terrified of beginning a career.  But, I'm also ecstatic to be free to try the things I've been wanting to do for about 6 years now.  (My high school advisor/second mother Beth Wortley joked that I was ready to graduate from college when I was a junior in high school.)

I can't wait.

I am not Happy

I need to seriously consider scheduling some time for me to have a life/take time to do things that make me happy. I'm driving myself crazy (and sick) and I'm too young for these shenanigans.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

Our Town rehearsal last night: tucked away in my dark, tiny soundboard nook impatiently waiting my 5 total sound cues (which all occur within a span of approximately 7 minutes.)  We're on break; I check facebook.  I chat with a classmate whom I love and respect. We do a little catchup (since there's not much time for socializing during the class day) and he asks me about the shows I'm in.  I answer. I ask him if he's ready for his audition at a local professional theater (which he'd mentioned he was going to a few weeks ago.)  He says, "Nah. I think I'm going on vacation with my dad instead.  Besides, (insert professional theater here) sucks.  Until I see something that changes my mind, I maintain my opinion about Dallas theater."  (Subtext: Dallas theater sucks.)

Now, there is a lot of bad theater in town.  But there's also a lot of good theater.  I've done 22 shows here in the past two years.  The Dallas theater community is wonderful, supportive, and an excellent place to learn professionalism/basic aspects of theater.  In fact, I find a lot of Dallas theater to be really exceptional.  For instance, last week I performed My Fair Lady at Lyric Stage with a 38 piece orchestra (larger than the original Broadway orchestra) playing the original orchestrations.  It seems Uptown Players is constantly premiering some play or musical and one-upping themselves in terms of quality.  There are oodles of smaller theater groups (Broken Gears, Amphibian, Nouveau 47, Echo (and all the groups at the Bath House) putting out great new work. --this theater student had never been to any of these spaces.  There is a mentality at school that the only real theaters are the Theater Center and Kitchen Dog Theater. Oh, and Undermain.  These theaters also do great work, but they aren't the only theaters in Dallas.

I'm constantly struggling with the balance between creating "art" and commercialism.  Theater here singularly advocates "art."  This excludes most Dallas theater and generally all musicals.  Strangely, though musicals are a more commercially viable subset of theater, I find musical theater to be more artistically successful than most plays I've seen.  I have seen a very minimal number of plays that moved me in any way.  Whereas oftentimes musical theater gets flack for being egotistical/perform-y, I find it's straight theatre that often gets too big for its britches in terms of lofty didactic attempts at life-altering work.  I think my problem is that most of the time, I just want to be entertained.  Incidentally, most of America just wants to be entertained.  Subsequently, I think I may have an easier time making a career out of being someone who does musical theater than my peers who are only interested in "art"/straight theatre.

That said, I understand that I am in a program where we study plays.  Only.  I came here for a reason.  Acting is my weakest suit, and I knew I could gain a larger quantity of knowledge of technical theatre/design than I could in any musical theatre program.  As someone who aspires to direct, this is imperative.  Do I anticipate directing many plays? No.  I want to direct musicals.  But there aren't any undergrad musical theatre directing programs.  Plus, our new head of the department is a bloody genius and brilliant director, so I turn worshippy disciple of the almighty Stan every Tuesday and Thursday in Directing class.

All this goes to say that I think we'd all be happier if we got along, supported each other, and allowed some room for less lofty/more entertaining "art."  In the lyrics of the band War, "Why can't we be friends?"

So, this happened. And I am beyond flattered.

From the Dallas Observer's Best of Dallas 2010


Katharine Gentsch--Best Chorus Girl


If you attended any musical theater productions in or around Dallas over the past 12 months, you probably saw 21-year-old SMU theater major Katharine Gentsch singing and dancing somewhere just behind the lead actors. Since September 2009, she has appeared in a remarkable string of shows: as a "Hot Box Girl" in Guys and Dolls at WaterTower Theatre, in the chorus of Breathe at Uptown Players, playing the little sister in Sanders Family Christmas at the Bath House Cultural Center (a role she'll reprise this fall), singing and dancing in Lyric Stage's Showboat, inBye Bye Birdie at Richland College and in a different, professional production of the same show at Lyric, hoofing it in Uptown's Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and in Garland Summer Musicals' 42nd Street, and most recently in Lyric's big-budget My Fair Lady. When she's not onstage, Gentsch is tweeting about how much she loves musicals. One day soon she'll get that starring role, but until then save a little applause for the pretty redhead just out of the spotlight.

And Now Some Thoughts from Jack Kerouac

"Accept loss forever
Be submissive to everything, open, listening
No fear or shame in the dignity of your experience, language, and knowledge
Be in love with your life."

--From Jack Kerouac's essentials for prose

My First Lesson from Stan Wojewodski

Student: “I can diagnose the problems but I don’t always know how to solve them.” 

Stan: “That’s the difference between a critic and director.”

On the State of Musical Theater Today

I was 10 years old the first time my mother took me to New York City.  I was your cliche musical theatre dweeb of a child; I watched My Fair Lady and Hello, Dolly! back to back when my mother somewhat absent-mindedly put them on as background noise when I was 5 years old and I have been a smitten kitten ever since.  My first Broadway show was Annie Get Your Gun with Bernadette Peters and Tom Wopat.  Despite the fact that Bernadette seemed equally disproportionate life size as she did in the windowcard (see here) I thought it was magical.   Bernadette fit my image of a Broadway star--charismatic, as radiant as all get out, and unique.  I had grown up listening to old school recordings of the Pajama Game, Oklahoma, The Music Man, The Sound of Music, Annie, Bye Bye Birdie, Guys and Dolls and the like.  These vocalists/performers weren’t always precisely on pitch and they all had a unique sound.  Through subsequent visits to NYC and a broadening knowledge of college musical theatre programs, I began to notice a rift between the old school sound of my favorite shows and what seems to be favored now.  The last few of trips I have taken to the City that I have taken over the past couple of years have been disheartening in a sense.  I feel like the majority of the leading ladies I have seen (aside from Patti in Gypsy, Bernadette/Elaine/Angela in Night Music, etc.--but I'm speaking more of the younger generation) have been practically interchangeable.  The ladies are generally very thin, beautiful, smooth-voiced or hardcore belters, and relatively uncharismatic.  (There are a couple of exceptions that come to mind immediately—Kate Baldwin in Finian’s Rainbow and Laura Benanti in…everything she does.)  The dancers generally have the same plastered smile and dead eyes.  They can kick their faces, but that doesn’t necessarily make me want to watch them.  Do I have an unrealistic image of what Broadway used to be, or is there really an unfortunate shift in what it has become?

Last week, I finally watched Broadway: The Golden Age.  While hearing all the old tales and anecdotes from Elaine Stritch, Adolph Green, Gwen Verdon and oodles of other musical theatre legends fed my soul, it also confirmed my worry and frustration.  Broadway is so much less about art than it is about commercialism right now, and I don’t even think it’s doing a good job at that.

Something that I believe has a lot to do with this is the institution of musical theater conservatory.  Do I think it’s fantastic that there are places you can go and train in musical theater all day long for four years?  Absolutely.  Sounds like fun to me.  Do I think it’s a double edged sword and it’s also caused us a loss in terms of uniqueness and art? Yes.  We’ve made the job more competitive but perhaps not in a good sense.  We’ve made it streamlined (and therefore, I feel, boring.)  There are hundreds of insanely talented triple threats on Broadway right now, but I can’t tell them apart.  I think that’s a problem.  Where did the Gwen Verdons, Ethel Mermans, and Gloria Grahames go?  They probably didn’t get into a good musical theater school.  Or, if they did, they had the same voice teacher and acting professor as the Julie Andrews of the class and their uniqueness got beaten out of them.

Furthermore, what happens when you don’t get into the musical theater program you want?  I haven’t auditioned for any, so I can’t really speak personally, but I know several insanely talented out-of-the-norm individuals who weren’t accepted to musical theater programs.  Thanks to musical theater audition “coaches,” there’s now a pageant mom-like mafia that you can overpay who have individual relationships with big-wigs at every musical theatre conservatory in the nation.  Then, you can overpay the conservatory to sound like everyone else and look like everyone else in hopes that you can become a big star on Broadway.

Sound like art and perhaps what Broadway should and used to be to you?  It doesn’t to me.

The plague of jukebox and movie-turned musicals doesn’t really help matters, either.  Unless there’s a large amount of awareness raised and a real urgency (raised from producers and casting directors, I suppose) for something different in performers and in shows produced, the Golden Age of Broadway really was a grand yet temporary and singular time in history.  Besides jazz, Musical Theater is really the only truly American music form.  It seems a shame for us to maintain this overinflated over competitive under talented/charismatic uninventive state we are currently in.

So what do we do?

It's my Last First Day of School

After some unfortunate tossing and turning and utterly failed attempts at going to bed early, I’ve resigned to finally blog away the insomnia.  I’m back.  At lot has happened since I’ve written last and I’ve thought about posting on many occasions.  However, given the reaction over the ever infamous “Spring Cleaning and Such” post half chronicling my late grandmother’s then declining health and the debacle over classes vs. outside shows at SMU, I have feared posting anything.  It’s a really delicate and fine balance between being honest and saying what you want to say, and overstepping boundaries/offending people unnecessarily.  Another quandary I’ve had is that so much of the time since I last wrote has been spent with a person who has completely altered my life and I haven’t quite decided how much I want to share of our life.  (Our, as in a “we.”  Yeah, we’re already to that point.)  I have full permission from manfriend (coined name of said person) to discuss whatever I want of our life together on here, but we’ll see where this goes.  I guess we’ll work backwards—starting with today (tomorrow) and moving back.

Tomorrow is my last first day of school.  I am petrified.  You would think that after many (20 or so?) first days of school the jitters would go away.

They don’t.

I also feel as though I’m in a particularly wonky position.  For reasons partially due to the fact that I had no earthly clue what I wanted to do (or maybe I did and I just didn’t have the guts to pursue it) when I graduated from high school, due to my aversion to Elvis Presley, and due to Wendy Welch and a rather eventful catchup conversation at White Rock Coffee, I’ve had an especially unconventional college experience.  This is the first year I have not been the new kid in college.  I was a freshman at Rhodes, the new kid at Richland/within Dallas theater, then the transfer sophomore/junior (shmunior?) at SMU.  Now I’m the junior/senior (jenior? Sunior?) at SMU and I actually think it’s going to be more difficult.  Maybe.

For those who have followed the blog over the past year, you know that this past year royally sucked for me.  It was undoubtedly the hardest year I’ve ever had in my life.  When you go through hard times, you aren’t always going to be quite yourself.

Side anecdote that relates. I promise.

I distinctly remember a couple of girls in around 8^th-10^th grade who suddenly became exceptionally catty and evil and unhappy for periods of time at Hockaday.  They alienated themselves by pushing away their friends.  In adolescence (and without any other experience), I assumed that they just decided to become bad people.  Not the case.  6 months or so later, these girls would inevitably subtly inform someone (who would kindly inform the other 100 of us) that their parents had just gone through a divorce.  When life throws you for a loop, you can become a monster.

I guess that’s what happened to me last year.  Or something like that.

Because I was somewhat “over” being the new kid last year (3^rd time in a row) and because I was in the purgatory of not really belonging to a specific class and because I already had friends in the Dallas theater community and because I was hellbent on getting my degree in 4 years, I decided to treat fall classes like a job.  And so I did.  I went to class, didn’t really bother to socialize much (but was by no means catty or anything other than amiable with classmates/professors), and went to rehearsal/went home.  Sure, there were things that bothered me about the system.  (The overpriced overadministrative confused bureaucratic establishment that is the American university is severely out-of-touch and out-of-date universally.  I’m currently reading “Higher Education?” because I heard an interview with the authors on NPR a week ago and just the fact that there’s a book on the subject makes me feel eons less insane for beings so frustrated with the system in general.)  Winter break happened.  I came back 2 weeks early to finish a practicum.  Was I happy about it? No. Did I do it? Yes.  No problem.  As Grandmama’s health declined, so did my sanity, state of soul, and overall disposition. (For those just checking in—Grandmama was like the ultimate hybrid of parental figure, saint, grandmother, best friend, confidante, role model, and beacon of all things right in the world.  We were beyond abnormally close for grandmother/granddaughter and her death taught me more than I ever wanted to know about grief and depression.)  So I entered second semester at SMU not knowing my peers or professors particularly well and then turned into a zombie (who regularly missed class to be with grandmama/the family) and then wrote this extremely frank and frustrated post about the way a school/show conflict was handled.  I was bound to make enemies (and garner an unfortunate reputation with students and professors I didn’t even know or with whom I’d never held a conversation.)

So, entering my last year feeling like Cady Heron at the gym in Mean Girls when she says the line (to the effect of) “You know how it feels when you walk into a conversation and you know someone has just said something bad about you?..Have you ever had that happen 100 times?” is not particularly appealing or inviting.  Is it my fault?  To an extent.  Is it anyone else’s?  Nope.  Fate and awful circumstances’?  Absolutely.  I guess I’m back to the mindset of treating school like my job (which it is, really) and trying to jump through the hoops as unscathed as possible.

Backtracking a bit?  I had a fantastic and obscenely busy summer.  In June, I dance captained Bye Bye Birdie at Lyric Stage (and played a teen/the sad girl in “Happy Face”) and taught/choreographed  Lyric’s kids production of Bye Bye Birdie.  Was doing Bye Bye Birdie 3 times in 6 months the smartest idea? I mean, not really.  I could definitely use a bit of a break from the show.  Was it worth it? Absolutely.  It was worth it for a multitude of reasons.  (I got to meet Charles Strouse—composer of the show!) Lyric Stage is—without a doubt—one of the best places to work in Dallas.  For my interests and passions, it fits like a glove.  Their goal is to preserve the great American musical in the manner it was first performed.  I think that’s the most glorious mission I’ve ever heard in my life.  I’m one of the few 21 year olds (oh yeah! I turned 21!) I know who would take a Rodgers and Hammerstein show over RENT any day of the week.  (And I just watched Broadway: The Golden Age and cursed the world for not being born 60 years ago.)  I lament the loss of charisma and storytelling dancing (it’s not all lost—Andy Blakenbeuhler’s (sp?) choreograph in In the Heights functions as contemporary Agnes de Mille-style ballets) and variations and color in voices. –For instance, manfriend and I were watching My Fair Lady tonight. Nobody sounds like Marni Nixon nowadays.  In fact, I don’t think Marni Nixon could get a job today.  But back in the day she dubbed over oodles of movie-musical stars. Being slightly off pitch and having a different sound a la Bernadette, Elaine, Ethel, Carol Channing, or any of the greats is shunned—unless you already developed a strong reputation when that was okay and honored.  I digress.  At any rate, it was a great experience.  Our glorious choreographer toured with 42^nd Street (the original tour) and taught me the original B’way choreography on breaks and our rehearsal pianist gave me mini-lessons on accompanying and reading scores.  Dance Captaining was a new and exciting challenge; it was an overall education.

July was frustrating in many ways, but it was also an education in its own right.  I moved out of my glorious apartment and moved home, turned 21, taught 8 year olds all month at the Dallas Children’s Theater, and played Anytime Annie in 42^nd Street at GSM.  Most of these events were insanely trying, but I’m glad to have survived them.

August has been blissful.  I had two weeks—one in Destin, one in NYC/Boston—of beautiful vacation with family and manfriend (respectively) and then returned to the sweltering heat in Big D.  I taught one more week at the children’s theater, and started My Fair Lady at Lyric Stage.  Again, working at Lyric is bliss and serving as dance captain is fantastic.  I’m not in too much of the show (for women, it’s basically Eliza…and Eliza…and…well, Eliza..) but I’m having a great time.  I also strangely started a shoe business (by total happenstance) but I am absolutely loving it.  Check out my website at www.kcustomkicks.com and shoot me a message on there under “contact” if you want more info/want some shoes.  (Shameless plug.)  I also (magically enough) got a new apartment that I absolutely love in a location very close to my old one.  I have certainly learned the value and importance of having one’s own space to function/think.

Now, I’m just focusing on maintaining sanity, goals, and happiness.  I’m gonna be like the little engine that could—I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.  Wish me luck.

I think those are really the highlights of what you’ve missed.  Questions? Comments? Concerns?  Wanna show some love or good wishes?  Comment, my friends!

Until next time—K.

2010, I Don't Hate You Anymore [An Amendment]

How much can change in three months?

A lot.

I'm spending my day camped out at White Rock working on my last paper and Final of my junior year of college.  (And really, how crazy is that?)  If you've been following for more than a month, you know how obscenely trying this semester has been.  If you've been following for all four years of the blog, you know that 2010 was pretty much the worst year I've had.  Ever.  But, if you've been following for more than a month, you may have noticed that I've started to get my groove back.  I have never been as unhappy as I was December-mid March, but I'm finally really starting to heal.  I finally feel like myself again.

In fact, remember that time in February I wrote a blog post that was an open letter to the year 2010 and its suckage?  You can go to the right-side toolbar and click on February's posts, or you can just read it copied here:

Dear 2010,

Why do you loathe me?  I came to you with an open attitude and a really fantastic 2009.  2010 was supposed to be a magical year--it contains the second run of Sanders Family Christmas, great job offers, and my 21st birthday.  Why do you insist on hatin' on me and bringing me down?  You took away my favorite person who made everything better.  You dumped a colossal pile of grief on me and expected me to know how to deal with it.  I do not.  I cry at unexpected times, I don't know who to talk to, and I constantly feel physically exhuasted.  My best friends do not live in Dallas.  I'm spending large quantities of time on projects that are not helping me grow but I still have minimal faith in my talents.  I need things to change.  I have been patient and allowed you two months of absolute crap. That is one sixth of the time I have with you.  Man up, yo.  Improve.  Seriously, my sanity needs it.

Most sincerely,

Katharine

2010, we are not completely back on good terms, but boy you have certainly made a valiant effort to regain (or gain for the first time, I suppose) my hope and affection.  And thus, some amendments.  Or a new letter.


Dear 2010,
I appreciate your commendable effort to make up for your first quarter of supreme downright suckiness.  I still have not and will not forgive you for taking away my favorite person in the world (at a particularly inconvenient time) and for expecting me to know how to deal with it.  I don't think anyone can be "good" at dealing with grief, but if nothing else, that experience taught me how to deal with grief better.  I have matured, grown, and learned at a crazy-accelerated pace this year and that is not necessarily a bad thing.  It means I'm becoming an adult.  That seems to happen to people.  I still have best friends in New York, Memphis, and Philly, but I now also have the most beautiful, compassionate, and wonderful pool of best friends in Dallas.  I love them more than I can express and I am so lucky to have found them (and have them tolerate all of my passions and quirks!)  You have also recently given me a project that completely restores my faith in my career and even a bit in my abilities within said career.  My desire to learn and challenge myself and succeed is back.  Getting out of bed is no longer analogous to climbing Mount Everest.  I look forward to the next day and many things within it.  I love my family and I love my friends.  I miss Grandmama; that won't change.  But as I grow up and lose bits of my family, I am finding more and more of my chosen family that help heal the little punctures in my heart.  Thus, 2010, we might be okay.  Keep up the good work.


A bit more affectionately,
Katharine

For the Love of the Kalita

Those who know me understand that I am the biggest dork in a whole myriad of ways.  My love of old buildings, vacant buildings, and churches is borderline obsession.  I'm not sure why I have such a fascination with old buildings/buildings with history/buildings with character, but it's a very real thing.  When I went to Nice, France the summer after my senior year, my half-French best-friend and I were wandering around the old town square in our little sundresses, just enjoying gelato and the sun.  We stumbled upon this gorgeous vacant church in Vieux-Nice that had been built in the 1300s (I think...I'm certain it was centuries old/pre 1500) and I suddenly found myself crying.  I was so overwhelmed by thoughts of the people who had joined together there so long ago under the unity of a belief, by its age, and by the eerie sadness that came with the sense that the building was now forgotten.  With this realization came a greater understanding of just how new America was as a nation and how insignificant my tiny unimportant life is in the grand scheme of things.  I have the most insane fantasy that when I am old, rich, and famous (which has been a subconscious desire since childhood...as I think it is for just about everyone) I will take a crazy-beautiful vacant church (preferably cathedral style) and turn it into an arts complex.  I want art galleries, a coffee shop, a black box, and a big performance space.  If you've ever been in Marty Van Kleeck/Ronnie Claire's homes, they pretty much reside in my ideal.  A Catholic school/church built around 1900 on Swiss Avenue that they turned into their respective homes.  They are gorgeous.

I really believe there is something as spiritual and holy in a theater as there is in a church.  I don't mean this in a sacrilegious way--simply that singing or playing music, reveling in the human connections found in theater, and dancing are the most spiritual and supernatural experiences I've had.  There's an Agnes DeMille quote that I've always been a bit in love with:

“When you perform you are out of yourself- larger and more potent, more beautiful. You are for minutes heroic. This is power. This is glory on earth. And it is yours nightly."

I fully believe this to be true.  When I think about all of the magic (because, really, what else could it be?) that has occurred in a theater--the heroism--I fall utterly in love with my craft and its venues all over again.

The history of theater buildings particularly fascinates me; this includes personal history--not just history in a larger context.  Carpenter Hall is the most glorious space in the world.  It's new, it's enormous, and it is beautiful.  And while I love the insane rush of performing there, there is something so warm and comfortable about the nostalgia of the Granville Arts Center in Garland.  I had my first dance recital there when I was three years old.  I did my first musical outside of school there.  There, I had my first audience.  There, my entire family occupied an entire row for every performance over the last 17 years.  For some mind-bogglingly beautiful reason, I have the opportunity to perform in both of these spaces this summer.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been performing in the Kalita Humphreys Theater.  I think it is perhaps my favorite space I've had the opportunity to perform in  I love the crazy-weird Frank Lloyd Wright architecture (despite it being responsible for the tumbles and subsequent bruises from bizarre winding staircases backstage), its location in Turtle Creek, but mostly the old-school prestige and history it has in the world of theater.

Frank Lloyd Wright designed everything in the theater on a 30/60 degree angle as it was in nature.  The only 90 degree angles in the space are the walls meeting the ceiling and floor.  The theater was built over 50 years ago in 1959--and is one of 3 spaces designed by FLW.  Upon researching the theater, I found that the basement is supposedly sometimes used as a blackbox.  (And thanks to this research, I'm now determined to make a performance happen down there. Any takers?)  At any rate, the theater was the home to the Dallas Theater Center from 1959-2009.  Since the DTC officially moved to the Wyly in the Arts District, Uptown Players (where I'm performing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels now) is using the space for their shows.  In the curtain announcement right before the show, the recorded message says "We're pleased to announce the rest of the 2010 Uptown Season will be taking place at the Kalita Humphreys Theater."  I don't know exactly why, but I get chills every single time I hear this.  It is so incredible that I get to walk through the stage door at the theater, initial on the sign in sheet, and walk upstairs to a glorious dressing room.  I can't believe I'm here.  I can't believe I'm lucky enough to perform in this space.  I can't believe I get to dance on a stage that has had hundreds of brilliant performers on it.  I really just can't believe I'm lucky enough to do this as (for now) a part time job.  I'm still just fourth chorus girl from the left, but the fact that I'm in this space is a mental catalyst that propels my theater fetish from hobby to career opportunity, and that makes me giddier than I can adequately express.  Bobby gets tickled watching me talk about theater/doing a show here.  I literally start squealing and smiling and giggling giddily just thinking about it.  Thank goodness he can tolerate my abounding silliness over it because I don't know who else could!

Besides the fact that this show represents so much for me, I've just never been able to just feel so much history in a space before.  At the risk of sounding like a very grateful broken record, I just can't believe I'm here after "trying out this theater thing" a year and a half ago.  I must be the luckiest person alive.

Well, it's just about noon on a Sunday.  Time to go soak up the haunting and glorious air in the Kalita, the genius of Bob Hess and company in the show, and make Mama Cheryl proud at the matinée.  I'm not normally much of a matinee person, but if I haven't made my association between theater and church already (as in theater is my church), what better way to get my Sunday going than to do a show?

Scoundrels: if you're reading this, I am so grateful to be sharing this with you.  Thank you all so much.  It really has been magical.

Apology

I know it's been forever. I am sorry!  Life has been insanely busy.  But very, very good.
I'm totally going to write a real post (and soon)...probably about dream roles and silly business like that...because it has been on the mind as of late..but for now, let me say:

1.  I am playing Anytime Annie in Garland Summer Musicals' 42nd Street.  Lots of tapping.  Lots of fun. Excited.
2.  I might be going to Peru for a week in May if I can scrounge up the funds.  I have a way to get there for $276, so I just need to find a way to have money once I'm there.  Really cool opportunity.
3.  Dirty Rotten Scoundrels has been amazing.  I am smitten in love with the history of the Kalita Humphreys, th stage, even the scary revolve, the beautiful and insanely talented cast, the dancing, the costumes, the wigs, the production team...etc, etc.  I am having a WONDERFUL time and I seriously don't want it to end.  (But when it does, I'll be three weeks out from performing in Carpenter Hall again so I seriously have no room to complain.)
4.  On that note, I am so, so in love with my job. More than ever.  I cannot express the joy performing/theatre/music/dancing bring me.  It is just ethereal.
5.  I have the most beautiful and wonderful friends in the world. I love them.  Life is really good, and I feel like myself again. Mostly.

That is all.

The Greedy Love Post

Just checking in with anyone who reads this thing...I've been getting some emails/texts this week from people I had NO idea read this today.  Want to post a comment just to say hi or tell me if I am utterly boring you or if the blog is worthwhile? I will super-heart you forever!

Thanks pals.

The Tiny Ways You Love Someone: Or Soft Feet

The finest inheritance you can give to a child is to allow it to make its own way, completely on its own feet. -Isadora Duncan

After two days of self deprecation, frustration, and general blue-ness, I have successfully de-funked.

I'm getting good at this.

This is a whole discussion that I could expound upon later, but when I sink into these boughts of mini-depression or sadness, I naturally become more introverted.  (This obviously isn't singular to me.)  I become more pensive and subsequently more artistically minded (generally speaking.)  Daily life merits innermonologues and constant semi-poetic narration (or at least I glorify it to be so) and every event qualifies as a subplot in an indie film.  I'm much more productive in a creative manner when I'm sad or alone--which helps elucidate why most artists/musicians constantly battled depression--that and the fact that they became dissatisfied with the mundanity of daily life; I digress.  Regardless, I've noticed a recurring motif (is that redundant?) in my life the past couple of days--water, cleansing, and catharsis.  (Said observation would not have occurred had I been the happy version of Katharine.  I would have been too busy being happy.)

This afternoon, I watched one of my favorite films: Big Fish.  It wasn't as grand or glorious as I recall it being when I was 14 (13?) but it was still thoroughly enjoyable.  I love Elfman's score, the whimsical nature of the cinematography, the vivid colors, the costumes, the slightly over-the-top nature of it all.  An overromanticized version of an extraordinary biography.  Anyway, for those who don't know the film, Albert Finney plays Edward Bloom--a man who is larger than life, a storyteller by nature--to the point where it's indiscernable what is fact and what is fiction.  The whole point, ultimately, is that it doesn't matter.  Fact or fiction, his stories are what characterize him.

Transition to my life.  Rehearsals continue to be fantastic.  However, all this delicious dancing has marked a triumphant return of what I call "dancer feet."  (This is not a pretty thing.)  This entails blisters, bruises, and callouses.  (Callouses are your friend. For realz.)  At any rate, they are no longer lovely buffed and pedicured; they are janky and unattractive.

(I promise this will all tie in together eventually...hopefully.)

Perhaps influenced by the water/catharsis/cleansing motif in Big Fish, I felt compelled to just soak my calloused, blistered dancer feet in the bathtub.  So I did. And as I washed my feet, poured lotion on them, lathered them, and rinsed them (minding my lovely new decorative additions) I had the strangest memory arise--my grandmama washing my feet, tickling them, and telling me how soft they were as a child.  I remember thinking back then that I wanted them to be well-worn--that I didn't really like the softness.  I always had a problem with being "young" (which is something I'll undoubtedly regret in a few years.)  This doesn't mean that I don't ever act my age or have oodles of immature moments and bad choices; I do.  But I always wanted to be a step ahead--be the mature one.  I was the kid you resented who immediately befriended teachers and your parents.  I hung out in the teachers lounge in kindergarten.  I'd rather sit at the "adult table" than with the kids.  Fortunately and unfortunately, life granted me my wish; I had to grow up relatively quickly.  And bizarrely, I somehow feel as though my feet are indicative of that.  You can tone and lotion your legs till kingdom come, but your feet are a bit more honest--they're bound to give you away.  I don't know that having "lived-in" feet is quite as romantic as I'd envisioned it when Grandmama played with my little soft five-year-old toes or not, but it definitely marks a change of sorts--and clearly represents an interesting bit of nostalgia.

I guess this is sort of a mini-20-something version of Nora Ephron's "I Feel Bad About My Neck" manifesto.  You can fix anything (surgery or not) to defy your age, but your neck is something you can do nothing about.  I suppose feet are the same way.  Alas, I suppose there's not much that I can do about it.  Besides write unnecessary blogs about them, and keep walking.

Heartbroken (Stupid, I Know)

For those following my vaguebooking (vague facebooking), here's what's been happening.

The theatre I've performed most in beginning at age 3 when I had my first dance recital is doing my favorite show with my number 1 ultimate dream role in it.  This is the theatre grandmama and pop took me to every year growing up.  This is the theatre I did my first show in outside of high school.  I found out they were doing dream show about eight months ago.  Since then, I've been doing my very best not to think about it or psych myself out.  Said theatre has a tendency to do the same shows the same way with the same cast over...and over...and over again.  Figured it was all precast with people 10 years too old (at least) for their roles.  Slowly, over the last couple of months, I've been hearing rumors that this isn't the case.  The three roles that I figured would be reprised by the actors/actresses who were too old to play them seven years ago (the last time the show was done) were all supposedly open.  Cue beginning of Katharine freak out.  I wanted it so badly.  Didn't think the odds of it happening were particularly great.  But a lot has changed in the last year.  I've worked in a number of professional theatres in Dallas, I've learned a ton, and gained some confidence.  This is a role I know I could do--well. I could surprise people.  I could challenge myself.

So I went to the dance call. It was very reassuring. I was feeling pretty good. Prepared for audition/callback.  Got called back for dream role. Belted for dream role. Danced for dream role. Read for dream role--well. Very well.  No one else read for dream role all evening.

I get to rehearsal last night, and a girl who auditioned for the season mentions how another actress is indeed precast.
It is silly, I know, but I am absolutely heartbroken.  Crushed, really.  I actually had a shot.  I could've done this show.  I could have done this role.  And not only did I know that, but the director/producer/choreographer/music director knew that too. 

I feel totally and utterly defeated.

And the thing is it's bigger than just this role.  It's the comfort of the theater, the fact that I could've stepped out of the chorus for once and shown people what I can really do, and the fact that I can't imagine me doing anything that would have made my grandmother prouder.  It makes my heart ache thinking about it and all of the attachments I had to this possibility. And the fact that I had it for a little while but I don't anymore.

I'm supposed to go to a couple of auditions this weekend.  This experience has rocked the boat a bit too far, and I have no desire whatsoever to go to these other auditions--at better theatres, mind you.  But it's just not the same.  If cast, I'll be fifth girl from the left (and I know I'm always waxing eloquent about my love for the chorus in a good show and it's true--I really do love it) but we're talking The Full Monty and Joseph and the Amazing Technical Dreamcoat.  This is not Rodgers and Hammerstein or Sondheim.  So we'll see if they happen.

In the meantime, I'm trying to get back the mojo I had going for the last few weeks.  They've been really good weeks, y'all.  Much better than I've had in a while.  I love my friends and I love my job.  SMU hasn't been as much of a beating lately (except for theatre history class today in which I was told "the fact that you love musical theatre is your least endearing quality" but more on that later)...but I've been happy.

I have since deeply delved back into the funk and am trying to put the pieces back together to climb out once again.  This will be a doozy: wish me luck.

The *Perfect* Quote of My Day

There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state to another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life. - Alexandre Dumas

George Bailey

Now, you listen to me! I don't want any plastics, and I don't want any ground floors, and I don't want to get married - ever - to anyone! You understand that? I want to do what I want to do. And Mary, you're....you're...

Tom Stoppard's "Travesties"

An artist is the magician put among men to gratify — capriciously — their urge for immortality. The temples are built and brought down around him, continuously and contiguously, from Troy to the fields of Flanders. If there is any meaning in any of it, it is in what survives as art, yes even in the celebration of tyrants, yes even in the celebration of nonentities. What now of the Trojan War if it had been passed over by the artist's touch? Dust. A forgotten expedition prompted by Greek merchants looking for new markets. A minor redistribution of broken pots. But it is we who stand enriched, by a tale of heroes, of a golden apple, a wooden horse, a face that launched a thousand ships — and above all, of Ulysses, the wanderer, the most human, the most complete of all heroes — husband, father, son, lover, farmer, soldier, pacifist, politician, inventor and adventurer.

Some Clarifications [Or Why I Love My Job]

It's a Monday, but delightfully enough it doesn't entirely feel like one.  I wasn't jumping out of my bed to get to school or anything, but the usual dread and fear that accompanies my 7AM alarm wasn't present this morning.  Baby steps.

I'm still trying to sort out my summer and a way to get to London in the near future.  Let's face it: my obsession with New York is officially unhealthy and I desperately need to broaden my horizons.  (Whatevs. I'm still going in July.)  We know I'm doing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels in May (though I need a job-job for that month) and Bye Bye Birdie at Lyric (did I mention that? I'm really excited...) in June.  July/August are very, very up in the air.  I'm working all July at the Dallas Childrens Theater, but I don't know if I'm doing a show then.  We'll know by next week.  Definitely not holding my breath for anything.

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is still going absolutely beautifully.  We did music all this week (and some principles/all ensemble is entirely off book for all of the music in the show already!) and last night we began choreography.  Last night was a glorious return to the post-dance rehearsal sweat and exhaustion.  I loved that my body ached all over.  I loved that my feet had blisters.  I missed that feeling so much.  This show is totally saving me.  I am so lucky.  Really, I am.

The more I think about it, the more I realize how suited I am to this lifestyle.  I'm irresponsible in some ways as far as everyday tasks, but I'm extremely dedicated and devoted to responsibilities in my job.  I love the rush of not knowing what my job exactly will be the next month (or if I will have one at all.)  I love the competition.  I love finding examples of what I aspire to be.  I love being a chorus girl. 

[enter tangent]

Friends and family, I know you think that having a role equates to something better than ensemble (and in some cases it does.)  But honestly, there is little I would rather be doing.  The ensemble is generally onstage more than each individual principle, they get to dance, they sing, they play a whole variety of roles in one show.  They inevitably get to perform the best numbers in the show.  This isn't saying that there aren't roles I want to play.  Peggy Sawyer?  Sally Bowles?  Janet Vandergraff? Penny Pingleton? Millie Dillmount? Little Sally? Susan/Heidi in TOS? Kathy Selden? Polly Baker? Even roles I am too old for/almost too old for--Anybodys? Louise Bigelow? Liesl Von Trapp?  Yeah, I could go on.  I definitely have my dream roles.  But if you notice...most of my dream roles are chorus girls who somehow got a chance.  (And thus, I am enamored of just about everybody in A Chorus Line)  People always ask me who I'm playing in the show...
"Oh wow! You got cast? That's great! What role are you playing?"
"Ensemble...Oh, but it's a relatively small ensemble.." (As if I have to qualify it.)
"Oh, well I mean, you're still new to theater and the community.  I'm sure you'll start getting roles soon." (As if they have to sympahize.)

Guys, you totally don't.  I genuinely love it.  There are some theatres (cough, cough *Lyric Stage* cough) where I would be ecstatic to be fourth spear carrier from the left.  (I mean, let's be honest, I wrote an entire piece on how excited I was to be third mask-wearing, squatting dog in The King and I.)  So when people ask me what roles I'm going for, I kind of just laugh.  I could maybe score some big roles I'm totally inappropriate for in not-so-great productions of musicals, but I would so much rather be completely insignificant in a fantastic, well-done production of a beautiful show.  I am still new.  I am still too young for most leading/supporting ladies.  I still read 17.  I still dislike my voice.  (Yeah, anyone who's worked with me knows my complex about this.)  But I also went to a hyperactive school full of legitimate geniuses, crazy-talents, and girls who inevitably will cure cancer and become the first female presidents.  You're bound to have an inferiority complex.

At any rate, I am GLORIOUSLY happy to spend my life singing, dancing, and waving my arms about enthusiastically for the next three months in Dirty Rotten and Birdie.  I don't really aspire to much more than the chorus (and all my SMU friends/comrades are probably wondering why the heck I'm in an acting BFA program now) as a performer.  My dream of all dreams is to tour in the chorus or be in a b'way chorus.  Life would be complete.  And then I would live in some closet in the City and write and travel and direct and critique.  (We're getting ahead of ourselves.)

Basically, I am happy just where I am.  I still have to pinch myself occasionally and marvel at how lucky I am to be doing something daily that I passionately love.  To anyone who reads this who had any part in this (I can't even begin to name you all...the list of people who have changed my life in the last year and a half--or even longer [Beth Wortley, Susan Hubbard, BonnieJean, Mr. Long, Mama Welch]--is endless...but you can refer to my Christmas thank you lists and you're likely on there!) thank you, thank you, thank you.  I appreciate it more than I can adquately express.

“The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.” - Mitch Albom

Well, hello again...

There's so much in my head right now I fear it might explode.  This probably won't be a particularly fun post to read...mostly just a strand of thoughts from my head (that is overpopulated with information, opinions, fears, guilt, confusion, and dreams on a Manhattan-like scale.)

Here's what's new:
1. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels started.  It is heavenly bliss every single night.  I love the score, I love the production team, and I love the people.  These are good people.  Good hearts, great talent.  They are keeping me more than sane.  I forgot what it was like to be in a show...or to have a reassurance that this is what I'm supposed to be doing.  In all honesty, this isn't really reassuring that this is what I'm supposed to be doing; I feel like I'm the least talented person in the show (there's a good chance this isn't me just being self-deprecating.)  However, I haven't been as happy as I am in rehearsal in ages and that reassures me that all the drama to procure this show was entirely worthwhile.  Musical theatre is real theatre.  Dallas theatre is real theatre.  Is it always good in either case?  Nope.  But SMU theatre isn't always good theatre either so everyone just needs to chill out and try being supportive.  Mazeltov!
2.  My toshiba (I have another not-so-friendly name for it...but we're not going to go there) from Hockaday that's 6 years old officially pooped out on me this weekend. As in...it won't turn on anymore.  It's okay.  I have a magical tiny wonder called an eeePC that is a VERY basic netbook but functions beautifully for school.  I'm still going to need something for movies/music/etc, but we'll deal with that later (and when I have more funds...ha!)
3.  Money is ever frustrating.  But I'm in college without a job (YES my theatre jobs count but they don't pay for too much more than the amount I spend on gas getting to rehearsal) so what can you do?
4.  I'm working at Dallas Children's Theater this summer. I am so excited!  Bliss!  I might also try to help out at DBC or St. John's...looking into it.
5.  Next NYC excursion?  Last week in July, baby!  And this time, I'm bringing the spacepod (my soulmates.)  Can't ask for a better birthday present than that!!
6.  General grief shenangians are still sucking my soul.  And it is still a rollercoaster.  Whoever said things would even out neglected to mention that it would take a long, long time for that to happen.  There are still mornings I don't want to get out of bed.  There are still times in class where I just start getting teary for no apparent reason.  I still lack motivation for everyday tasks.  I figure these things will pass, but I also know now that it will be a long time before that happens.  In the meantime, I'm proud of myself when I can just make it to class, do the work, and put one foot in front of the other.
7.  Friends are shifting.  I've sort of found my way (well, got a toe in) a group of people I flat out adore.  These people are tolerant of incessant texting, lovers of all things artistic, and big dreamers.  Also (and perhaps most importantly) I can't stop laughing around them.  I am very, very lucky.  I am so happy to have found them.
8.  For those who were keeping up, I lost "best featured actress in a musical-equity" in the Column Awards for my showstopping performance as third Dog from the left in The King and I.  I was tragically crushed, but I'll somehow move on.  (Dripping with sarcasm here, guys.)
9.  Thank you for reading this.  It's not always fun and it's certainly not always inspiring!  Thanks for letting me get some of the thoughts out.

Farewell all!

My Dreams are Bigger Than I Am

Sometimes, I get so overwhelmed by my ambition that I can't breathe.  It all seems so incredibly out of reach and unrealistic.  I feel like a talent fraud, you know?  I have this paralyzing fear that people will get to know me and then realize that I secretly am worthless and have nothing to offer.  But then I have these baby assurances, and amazing friends who tell me otherwise and--for a moment--I believe them and think it will all be okay.  This morning, I'm overwhelmed by my dreams but not afraid of them.  This morning I'm delusional enough to think they'll come true.

Reminder

Being academic is not synonymous with being intelligent.


In case you were wondering.

That's all.

we're at 38

Unless I've missed some (which is entirely possible) here's the current list:
Annie get your gun
Music man
Oklahoma
Swing
Fosse
Les mis
Spring awakening x2
November
Hair x2
Next to normal
33 variations
Exit the king
Mary poppins
Rent
Wedding singer
Drowsy chaperone x2
Love, Loss, and What I Wore
Night Music
Addams Family
Behanding in Spokane
9 to 5
Fela
Time Stands Still
In the Heights
Spamalot
Looped
View from the Bridge
Ragtime
Hairspray
Jersey Boys
West Side Story
Gypsy
42nd Street
Lend Me A Tenor
Next Fall

I'm leaving at 38. In July it'll go to 45!!!

200th Post

I am so enamored of this city.

Betcha didn't know that, did you?

Seriously, though. Project rejuvenation and catharsis has been a wild success thus far. I cannot wait to live here. The city doesn't scare me anymore--getting work does, though.

So far I've seen Fela--amazing costumes and choreography, but it's a hot mess of a narrative/functional show and it is terribly structured. I will be an angry, angry faux New Yorker/theatregoer if it wins Best Musical
Valerie Harper in Looped--i love me some Tallulah Bankhead, and I LOVE me some Valerie Harper. Some of you know this, but I have a huge thing for old school sitcoms--the first one I became addicted to was the Mary Tyler Moore show. And I LOVE Rhoda (the character, not her sitcom.) Anyway, Valerie was gorgeous and fabulous and every bit worthy of a Tony nom.
Addams Family Musical--Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, Carolee Carmello, Terrence Mann, Krysta Rodriguez, Jackie Hoffman... (How may Broadway stars can YOU cram into a musical?) At any rate, the show's definitely flawed..a couple numbers don't really work and I really disliked Bebe Neuwirth's performance (surprisingly) but (even more surprisngly) I LOVED the show. I found it entertaining and I loved the sets/score. Plus, the cast was unreal. Second time to see Nathan Lane...saw him in November (ewww) two years ago. He was brilliant as Gomez.

Tonight, I'm seeing Christopher Walken, Sam Rockwell, and Zoe Kazan (all whom I love) in A Behanding in Spokane. Tomorrow I'm seeing Laura Linney, Eric Bogosian, Brian D'Arcy James, and Alicia Silverstone in Time Stands Still. Very excited about that one. Not sure about Saturday's show--gotta see what matinees are happening.

Anyway, it's been quite the triumphant excursion. I am, however, exhausted. Definitely a trip. Definitely not a vacation!

rejuvenation

Today (hopefully) marks the beginning of a cathartic rejuvenation. If you've been following me at all, you know that I've had a rather hellacious 2010--namely losing Grandmama--favorite person, role model, mentor, alter ego, other mother, and best friend. There are (as you know) days where I haven't been able to get out of bed. There have been days when the slightest irritation is a catalyst for immense anger and frustration. This is not how I desire to live. People are always "happiness is a choice." People, you're wrong. I have chosen to be happy through the first two months of this year and had it end in abysmal failure. This is something larger than me. This is something I cannot control.

What I can control is an overall effort to be better--to, on the days that I can, put one foot in front of the other, rejoice in small blessings, and embrace the multitude of opportunities I've been given. These two months have uncovered who my true friends are--who can handle the venting, the crying, the shutdown, and the unnecessary anger, and who can pick me up and lift my spirits. To all of you who fall in the aforementioned category, thank you and I love you. I know it is not easy to be my friend right now and I appreciate that you know this isn't me and you know I'm trying. I will be more than happy to return the favor if or when something falls apart in your lives (which, let's face it, is just inevitable at some point.)

Right now, I'm on a plane miles high in the sky. I have a very romantic view of travel; this is one of the reasons I am so enamored of Up in the Air. I love new beginnings, adventure, exploration, possibilities (but not necessarily uncertainty), and a vaguely unsketched agenda. I love being surrounded by strangers, and then finding my friends at the end of it.

In twenty minutes, I touch down in gorgeous Manhattan. A perfect 55 degrees, partly cloudy, and a week full of theatrical previews. (For the non-theatre folk--a show enters 2ish weeks of previews before opening officially on Broadway. Because professional rehearsal periods are so short, a lot can change in previews before opening.) Today, I choose rejuvenation. I choose unexplored possibilities. I choose to uncover more beautiful nuances in the landscape of my favorite place. I choose to challenge myself as a critic and actress. I choose progress and I choose change.

I've got my purse, a messenger bag (stuffed with clothes), my Texan girl cowboy boots, a 1940s vintage coat from a friend, and Manhattan's skyline. I'm good to go.

I'd Missed Being Happy

I really had the loveliest day today.  My two morning classes were cancelled, I had afternoon class, visited with some of the kids in my class, then played showtunes on the baby grand at Hockaday for three hours.  I'm really satisfied and happy.  It feels so good.

My Head and Heart are So Full

But I can't articulate what it is that I need or want.

I don't think there's anything worse than being ordinary.

Stuck

It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in.

All I Want...

Is to study abroad in London this summer.  It works out perfectly with the show I want to do in June (the program is in July) but I have no moneys.  So...do I sell an organ, grow a money tree, or dive spectacularly into colossal debt?

On Directing

"When we seek to discover the best in others, we somehow bring out the best in ourselves."
-William Arthur Ward

Hodge Podge

I fell asleep watching this last night: http://www.earthcam.com/usa/newyork/timessquare/?cam=lennon_hd
It's been snowing the past day, and I find it incredibly beautiful and comforting!  I cannot wait to be there again (so soon!!)

Birdie has been a trying experience in a myriad of ways.  Though I love performing, tomorrow will bring much relief.

I'm still not feeling at all like myself.  It's tricky, too, because I'll have full days where I feel fine and glorious and other days when getting out of bed is analogous to climbing Everest.  I am determined to beat the funk and keep plowing forward with life simultaneously.  THIS is the challenge.  My patience for people is thin--and when you're in a community heavily based in false/political friendships, this is an issue.  I think Spring Break will be really good for me.  I still really want to surprise Laura and go to Memphis, then come home, then do NYC.  Traveling gluttony?

So we've established I'm a private individual.  (I mean, I have a blog, but I don't discuss intensely private matters--aside from the Grandmama thing--on here.)  I'm a best friend person.  I need my best friends.  Well, Bayla's in Arizona, Laura and Andrew are in Memphis, Lindsey and Steve are in NYC, and Kim and Kevin are in Philly.  I need some Dallas peeps.

In Dallas, it is the land of the mamas.  I have a plethora of theatre/arts mamas that save my sanity as well as a theatre sister--to whom I owe any semblance of happiness this week.  Anyway, I freaking love my friends.  They are all geniuses (no, really. it's ridiculous) and such lovely souls.  In times like this, you really learn who your support system is and just how lucky you are to have them.

Poohbear

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."”

I have a handful of Piglets to my Pooh, and they are responsible for my general well-being right now.  I love them more than words can describe.

You Were Warned: Song Lyrics Post

Dear Billy Joel, thank you for writing "Vienna" with me in mind.

Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day

Too bad but it's the life you lead
you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong, you know
You can't always see when you're right.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride
but don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?

Paralysis

She's been in my dreams the last two nights. Both nights, there was some reason why she was there. Both nights, I had just misunderstood and she really was still alive. (I'm guessing this is the denial phase.) Yesterday, this caused insomnia. Today, it just caused me to not move. Woke up late. Can't move.

This is the weirdest experience. It is totally exhausting. And it hurts.

The Sucky-Year Formula

I'm going to see Next to Normal again I think.  It's been almost a year since I first saw it, and I really think I might find it bizarrely cathartic.  Moreso now than I did a year ago.

I kind of have a history of alternating good and sucky years.  Maybe it was time for a bad year.  I had a really fantastic 20 month streak there....

Dear 2010

Dear 2010,

Why do you loathe me?  I came to you with an open attitude and a really fantastic 2009.  2010 was supposed to be a magical year--it contains the second run of Sanders Family Christmas, great job offers, and my 21st birthday.  Why do you insist on hatin' on me and bringing me down?  You took away my favorite person who made everything better.  You dumped a colossal pile of grief on me and expected me to know how to deal with it.  I do not.  I cry at unexpected times, I don't know who to talk to, and I constantly feel physically exhuasted.  My best friends do not live in Dallas.  I'm spending large quantities of time on projects that are not helping me grow but I still have minimal faith in my talents.  I need things to change.  I have been patient and allowed you two months of absolute crap. That is one sixth of the time I have with you.  Man up, yo.  Improve.  Seriously, my sanity needs it.

Most sincerely,
Katharine

3D loser

My ambition exceeds my talent and I don't have the work ethic to make up the difference.

Some Days, You Just Feel Like a Screw-Up

For unknown reason, my phone decided to completely turn off last night (dead battery) and thus I had no alarm this morning.  I missed class.  My funk returned with vengeance, and I'm having supreme difficulties getting myself back on track. Womp womp.  Grief is lame. And I think it might be making me sick. Or a hypochondriac.  One of the two.

Some Quotes

The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca


We cannot banish dangers, but we can banish fears. We must not demean life by standing in awe of death.
David Sarnoff

What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.
Albert Pike   

Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm. - Winston Churchill
   

I Totally Lied

Today is a day where I would have loved nothing more than to stay home to cry and wallow.

Definitely a process.

ready for the spring

Today was the best I've felt in maybe two months. I'm not fully 'back' (I'm smart enough to know that this is going to be a process and one good day doesn't signify normalcy. At any rate, I'm grateful for the good day.

My theatre history professor is magical. I'm seriously enjoying that class. Acting has become progressively less daunting, and I get to write a paper on "The Philadelphia Story" in Text Analysis. Life is good.

I told a classmate today that Grandmama's funeral was yesterday and she was appalled I was in class. Although I will still be grieving for quite some time, I don't need to miss class to do it. Missing class to spend time with Grandmama? Legitimate. Missing class to cry and wallow? Not legitimate.

That said, I did just randomly (and discreetly) start crying in acting class. But it passed and I went on. Maybe I'm an unusual griever. Hm.

Anyway, that's my day. In the meantime, I'm looking for a violin. I'm serious about learning to fiddle for next years Sanders Family Christmas. Anyone got any leads?

Pen Pals

I'm a letter writer (and a journaler, obviously) and less than a month ago I proposed to Grandmama that we become penpals through email.  I was planning on a standing date on Friday afternoons, but I'm still finishing crew hours for now and knew it'd be a month or so before I could actually see her.  The solution? Pen pals.  We already emailed a good bit, but here was her response to my proposal:

That sounds like a good plan to me. I don't do anything interesting, but I

always want to know any big or little bitty detail in your life. So mine

will probably be a "hello" and you jot me a quick note about your events. I

usually check every day. My exciting news of today was a trip to the

dentist. I did get a good report so I guess that counts for something.



Oodles and oodles of love to you, also. You're so wonderful, and I'm crazy

about you.

Grandmama

I love her.  Off to get ready to celebrate her life with many, many wonderful people whose lives she has beautifully influenced.  Smiling for Uno.

Totally Random, but Made Me Laugh

It's funny how people view you.  When I was with Grandmama, she always reminded me of Julie Andrews.
Beautiful without effort, put together, very clean, extremely humble, endlessly compassionate, and rather regal.

I was just chatting with my cousin on my mother's side on Facebook, and she said Grandmama always reminded her of Piglet on Winnie the Pooh..."i think i told your dad once she always reminded me of piglet:) soft spoken, always the peace maker."  Also, a strangely appropriate description.  She definitely deserves a real life alter ego as well as an animated one. 

Made me smile, either way.  Cheers :)

Today, i feel as though it might be okay.

Grandmama's graveside was today. As she wished, there was a brief service at Restland followed by a family gathering at her house. Strangely, I not only found myself at peace, but in happiness at both. Grandmama greatly disliked people talking about her or complimenting her. Today, we all could do so freely. That was strangely exhilirating and glorious. So, though goodness knows she'd prefer the service not to mention her at all (seriously) we have acquiesced her in a sense; this has become more of a celebration than a mourning.

I have to take a second to discuss my extended family. Grandmama, as supreme matriarch of the family, distilled so much love in each member of the family that we all couldn't help being incredibly close. I truly think my family is an anomaly in current times. How many extended families live in the same country or state--letalone the same metroplex? Furthermore, we gather for every holiday, birthday, set of Olympics, and girls game nights. Haven't had enough yet? Never fear! Head over to the Durbins' fajita friday. Otherwise, random drop-ins are more than welcome. I can't believe how lucky I am to have a family like I have. (Did I mention that this is also true to an extent on my mother's side of the family? Yeah, crazy lucky.)

One of the huge perks of my decision to come back to Dallas for Richland/the theater tryout thing was proximity to family. And considering how little time I had left with Grandmama, I'm believing that conversation at White Rock coffee with Wendy Welch was fate in more ways than one. This is also the reason moving to New York (whenever that happens) will be such a challenge.

Anyway, I'm enjoying the copious amounts of family time (and knowledge of absolutely fascinating family stories) regardless of circumstance.

I'm sure I'll have a post-service post tomorrow. Until then, I hope your Valentine's Day was as full of love as mine was.

Happy Valentine's Day, Y'all

I suppose it is sadly appropriate that on the day of love we recognize the life of someone whose life revolved around it. Grandmama loved many things--mostly her family--and today I choose to try to acknowledge that alone. I will celebrate her life and be immensely grateful that I had her in mine rather than mourn the loss of her. Twenty years is a long time to spend with someone so beautiful and compassionate; her loving ways were bound to rub off on me.

So, here's to the day of love and those who daily celebrate it in the way they live.

[No Subject]

I keep repeating to myself "Grandmama's dead" and it surprises me every single time. At the mall shopping for funeral clothes. The mall is miserable. Valentine's Day+All Star Game (and celebs roaming around) makes for a ridiculously chaotic north park.

Dad says this is going to become a landmark in my personal history and establish the end of my childhood. Ie "oh, that was before Grandmama died..." "Well, Grandmama was still alive then..." I believe him. It's still such a huge concept, though, that I'm having a hard time digesting it.

I think that's really the problem with all of this--even though she was really sick for three weeks (and it was literally all I thought about) I am still in absolute shock and despair. My body/mind have never had to deal with feelings and events this huge before. It's kind of terrifying. I'm a control freak. I'm a perfectionist. I NEED to be in control.

I really just need Grandmama to still be here.

All this said, I'm extremely grateful for blogging. Seriously, though. Writing is part of my way of digesting. Yeah, I'm spilling my guts out on the internet and yeah, you get a really intimate view of how I'm coping with this, but it's really helping me. When my parents were going through the divorce and I didn't talk about it, I was in big trouble. Completely lost and without control. When I started writing and talking and getting it out, I was able to rationalize and compartmentalize the events. It wasn't some giant overwhelming nebulous cloud of confusion and hurt--it was a story and it made sense. And then it was okay.

Anyway, all this to say I'm grateful for the www, the blog, and you lovely readers/friends. It is all really quite helpful.

Bandaid

My favorite person died today and I am absolutely devastated.  Walking into Grandmama's house without her there was unbearable--everything has Grandmama in it...the furniture, the family photos blanketing walls and shelves, the piano from the Keoun piano shop, her choice in artwork, the way the table's dressed, the note on the phone that is years old that says "We love grammy!"  It was so bizarre to smell her in the house but have my dad just say "Goodnight dad."  And that was it.

I really can't believe it.  I think in my head there was the sick Grandmama and well Grandmama.  Sick Grandmama needed all our love, prayers, and attention.  She was the Grandmama we could endlessly compliment without some retort or "No, you're the beautiful one!"  Sick Grandmama died, but well Grandmama didn't come back.

If I magically get cast in my dream role in my dream show this summer at the theater she and my grandfather have taken me to every year for as long as I can't remember, she won't be standing quietly smiling behind the rest of the family as I come out the stage door, prouder than anyone else.  I won't get anymore random "I love you" phone calls.  If I feel like I'm an awful person, I can't have the reassurance that the best person in the world unconditionally adores me.

I remind myself of this reality, it is like ripping a bandaid off.  Everytime.  And that cliche-d thing you hear people saying--a nightmare you don't wake up from?  Also applicable here.  I half expected her to walk into the room from her bathroom or the den as I sat soaking it in in her bedroom.  Nope.

I'm certain I've scared the dickens out of my mother.  Tonight was the first time in a really long time she has seen me cry; I could probably count the number of times I've been upset in front of her on one hand.  For a theater major, I am one of the least vulnerable and heart-on-your-sleeve people you will meet.  I never get emotional in front of others.  I hate it.

This reality is going to take a long time to sink in.  I have no idea when it will be okay--when I won't just ache.  I am certainly not okay now.  This is not okay.

Grandmama was absolutely supposed to be invincible.  I knew she thought she'd at least make it through the summer a few weeks ago...Grandmama was always first to hear of my mischievous travel plans, and I'd tentatively planned to live in NYC for three weeks in July.  When I told her this, her face dropped and she expressed how upset she was over this news.  I know she knew she didn't have a terribly long time, but I really didn't think she anticipated the brevity of the remainder of her life at that point.  She wanted me to stay in Dallas in July.  And the second I saw that face drop, I'd immediately changed my mind and resolved not to go.   Now, who knows what I'll do?

I am in dire need of some re-assessment time.  Who do I want to be friends with?  What are my priorities?  How do I avoid depression while not halting my life and obligations/responsibilities?  What do I want to focus on (theater? acting? family? writing? music? dance)?

Now is a good time to rebuild and I would like to do so healthily.  I can strive to be more Katharine-esque (in the first Katharine sort of way) but I need to stay myself.  Part of why she loved me is because I am so different.  I need to remember that.

The most important thing I can do is talk about her to the kids--Kalli, Daniel, Jake, and Heidi--and keep her legacy alive.  Everyone should be lucky enough to spend two decades with the best person on earth.

I love you Grandmama and I miss you more than anything.  I am sure you will be a stellar social chairman of heaven.  I am also certain you were meant to be my guardian angel and that you will do a flawless job at that.  Praying to you tonight.