Choose Your Own Adventure

Grandmama's house was magical. She made sure it was stocked with anything we could possibly want every time we came over. If she didn't have it, we went out and found it. This isn't to say that I required anything other than her company; her company was all I ever needed. Regardless, she typically had a stock of Hot Tamales (my favorite candy), pringles, mashed potatoes whenever possible, my favorite Disney movies, and books. Of the books, my favorites were always the Choose Your Own Adventure. Spontaneity and I are in love—we have been for quite some time. Thus, the Choose Your Own Adventure books were the best. You are in control of your plot. You have options every step of the way. Anything can happen.

There is nothing more thrilling to me than traveling without an agenda. I still find myself giddy over getting on a plane, bus, or train to a new place with no plans and minimal funds. (Okay, maybe I would be okay with a little more funds.) I need to find a way to travel and experience culture professionally. I could be like Anthony Bourdain—but with the arts and less scruff and snark.

I've had an overwhelming need to blog over the past couple of days, but have had absolutely no time...until now. Let me bring you up to speed on what I've been up to. Cabaret closed on Sunday night (which now seems like an eternity ago.) I start working from 9am-11pm everyday all summer in two weeks. I just graduated from college. All of these things added up in my head to vacation. Due to my incessant vicarious online traveling searches, I learned of a program AirTran has for people ages 18-22 where you can fly standby one-way for $70. Not bad, right? The three places you can get to from Dallas for $70 are Atlanta, Baltimore/Washington, and Orlando. Since Atlanta isn't terribly appealing, I don't have enough money to go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando, and I'd never been to Washington D.C., I figured now was the time. It also happens that several of my idols (Bernadette Peters, Jan Maxwell, and Elaine Paige) were in a production of Sondheim's Follies at the Kennedy Center. Why wouldn't I try to go to D.C.? I texted my pal Truett (whom I've known since birth but who happened to be in the same theatre program I attended at SMU) to see if she might want to be my traveling companion. She, too, had never been to Washington D.C. (she was supposed to go the year of 9/11 with school; I transferred the year to Hockaday the year after they went and the year before St. John's went.) She had also not taken a vacation since junior year of high school. We were both concerned about funds, but through the graciousness of my mother, the travel-budgeting-smarts she instilled in me at a very young age, some determination, and some graduation money, we made it work. We packed Monday night, took a brief nap, and headed to DFW airport at 3am in the morning. The first flight to Baltimore was booked, and our AirTran attendant informed us that all flights to Baltimore were oversold—as were those getting to Atlanta. She didn't seem to understand that I was going to go on this trip. Do not mess with me and my mischievous plans. After some negotiating, she begrudgingly put us on standby for a 7:00am flight to Atlanta and then a 10am flight to Dulles International.

We made both flights.

9 hours later, very tuckered but excited Truett and Katharine trekked into D.C. and took the metro to Columbia Heights where a high school friend's cousin lives. (Yep, we'll use any avenue possible.) I wish I had blogged about D.C. as we arrived—or shortly thereafter. I haven't felt as jazzed about a city as I did D.C. in a long, long while. I loved Quebec City (and would like to vacation there indefinitely) and I loved San Francisco (and have no doubt that I will return), but I now want to move to Washington D.C. It is perfect. It is the lovechild of New York City and San Francisco. For some reason, I had this strange impression that D.C. was this super corporate, distant, formal place. I was an idiot. D.C. is beautiful. Somebody up there must have wanted us to have a perfect adventure because the weather in DC was glorious. It seems like every neighborhood we visited in D.C. was more perfect than the last and I found myself wanting to live in every one of them. The city is pedestrian, accessible, diverse, friendly, but to the point. It is eclectic and artsy and not at all as serious as I had imagined. There are dogs everywhere. Ladies are either wearing jogging attire or sundresses. (I fit right in.)

After quickly settling into our basement apartment in Columbia Heights (which was adorable...and oh, wait! across from the National Zoo...) we walked to the Kennedy Center. I love walking in cities, but I occasionally pay the price. Thanks to some super cute but unfortunately uncomfortable flats Truett let me borrow, I earned the blisters of the century. They were totally worth it. And thanks to an 8 buck Payless purchase, they are happily freed in my new, kinda ugly flip flops.

The Kennedy Center is stunning. It is enormous, grand, and lavish. There are a million performance spaces, fountains, and quotes everywhere of famous people discussing how wonderful art is. I was both in awe and at home. Follies was beautiful—but it was mostly so phenomenal to be in the space and be seeing that many Broadway legends on one stage. Pretty phenomenal.

The next day, Truett and I walked the city. (There isn't a better way to acquaint yourself with a city than by walking it, you know?) We had entirely too much fun. We went to the eastern market and grabbed some farmers-markety lunch, strolled around that gorgeous neighborhood, walked to the Capitol and National Mall, did some cartwheels, and headed to the bus station.

I'm actually kind of glad I didn't visit D.C. as a 6^th or 8^th grader—I wouldn't have nearly the same kind of appreciation as I do now. Goodness knows I would've been preoccupied with flirting with some boy or feeling awkward about my outfit and not at all paying attention to the city that runs our nation. As a 21 year old who has actually now been able to vote and care about who resides in these buildings, I was quite in awe of them.

After our tour of the monuments/buildings/neighborhoods of D.C., we headed to the bus station. For the first time ever, I was sad to be going to New York City. I have never had that feeling before. The bus was quite an experience. We only paid $20, and let me tell you: we got what we paid for. Our bus driver was truly bizarre and most unhappy to be doing his job. He got especially perturbed by traffic. After getting lost a couple of times, some weird detours, and 6 hours, we arrived in the Big Bad Apple. (As we got off the bus, he exclaimed to us, “Man! That was pretty good, right? You wouldn't even have known I had never driven a bus before!”)

….jaw drops. And it suddenly all makes sense.

In NYC, we met up with my dear friend who is letting us stay with them, went out, came home, and got some much needed sleep. The next day (yesterday), we met up with my friend Kristin. We went to Whole Foods, packed ourselves picnics, and laid out in the grass in Sheep's Meadow in Central Park. It was beautiful. We then waited in line for three hours for Book of Mormon standing room tickets, lost, and split up in a mad frenzy to find cheap tickets to a show with only 30 minutes before shows started. Normal Heart? No go. How to Succeed? No go. Jerusalem? No go. Sister Act? General Rush. Done. Was it silly and stupid? Yes. Did I enjoy myself ridiculous amounts? Absolutely. It was a total blast and Patina Miller is so talented it's stupid. And Victoria Clark....I mean, isn't she always brilliant?

I then met up with my high school bestie, Bayla, one of her Jew crew buddies Marcus, and Kavitha, another high school friend. We explored the Lower East Side and had a magical time. After introducing Truett to the wonder of cheap, delicious Amadeus pizza, we called it a night.

Today is its own adventure. I'm preparing to wait for hours and hours for Book of Mormon standing room (because I will see that show before we leave), but while Truett's grabbing lunch with a friend, I'm taking myself on a trip to Brighton Beach and Coney Island. I'm sure it's not nice, but I'm also sure it will have character.

So, here I am now, sitting alone on the B train downtown towards Brighton Beach listening to “I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City.” I am surrounded by people who look nothing like me all headed to a hundred wonderful places around this island. I am so incredibly happy.

On Magic, Kate Wetherhead, and Dragons

I'm watching How to Train Your Dragon for the umpteenth time.  This is indicative of two things:

1. I have graduated from college and am so petrified of adulthood that I am moving in retrograde towards infancy--like Benjamin Button, except less hot than Brad Pitt--and...

2. The movies I watch repeatedly are not necessarily brilliant (although this one is pretty great.)  The movies I watch repeatedly are the ones that have the best scores.  A good plot is helpful; a brilliant score is imperative.  This score is perfect.  No, really.

You know how I keep fixating on the transcendent?  The score of How to Train Your Dragon is transcendent.  Download "Test Drive" on iTunes right now.  Then, watch this video:

I'm not a huge figure skating fanatic or anything, but I was in a very mellow, soul-searchy place today and "Claire de Lune" is always a go-to either to play on piano or listen to and this video came up.  Yu-na Kim floats when she skates.  It is balletic and gorgeous and perfect.  She transcends.

For the past month, I feel I have been a part of a work of theatre that is that ethereal and other worldly.  Joel Ferrell managed to re-conceptualize Cabaret in potentially the most accurate and compelling fashion ever, and I feel overwhelming gratitude to be a small part of it and complete admiration/awe over its manifestation.

You know who else is a genius?  I'll give you one guess.  If you've been following my blog, you know I'm ever so slightly enamored of Kate Wetherhead.  I want to be her when I grow up.  She is generous, she is stupid talented, and she is so smart it's ridiculous.  Sally Bowles is an icon, and I'd rather watch Kate as Sally than anyone else in the world.  She has re-invented Sally.  But you want to know her most endearing quality?  I suspect she is as in love with what she does as I am--perhaps moreso.  Granted, she's way cooler about her musical theatre affair than I am, but it's totally there.  She writes (and stars in) a webseries called "Submissions Only" about actors in New York trying to make it.  Youtube it now; it's pretty hilarious (and the guest stars are phenomenal.)  

Tonight, in the talkback following the show, a friend of mine got choked up asking Kate to discuss Joel's brilliant choice to have Sally stop singing in "Cabaret."  Kate began to respond, and as she started to articulate her thoughts, she became choked up herself.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I have to return to New York in a week and I won't necessarily get to do things like this there."  As Kate elegantly re-composed herself, I felt an energy shift in the room.  Joel is always talking about "feelers" and "receptors" and feeding off of audience energy; it's imperative for the Kit Kat kids.  As a result, I feel like I'm way more receptive to the energy of an ensemble at any given point.  At the point when Kate started to cry, I immediately felt two things 1. the instinct to hug her and 2. that this instinct was shared among the entire cast sitting onstage.  Kate and my co-actors are as in love with their jobs and this transient magic we're sharing as I have been.  They are as grateful to be apart of this as I am.  This cast, guys...

The artist's job is tricky.  I think regardless of whatever becomes of artists over time--whether we become jaded and cynical and over it or ultimately do it strictly commercially (and at some point, you have to consider finances/your livelihood, right?) we're tasked with creating magic because at one time or another we became enchanted by it on the other side.  Honestly, creating anything is intimidating.  This show hasn't merely been about people doing their job.  This show has been a gift in every way: from the writers, through Joel's lens, to the cast, then back to the audience.  A shared experience.  A blessing.

“You can throw away the privilege of acting, but that would be such a shame. The tribe has elected you to tell its story. You are the shaman/healer, that's what the storyteller is, and I think it's important for actors to appreciate that. Too often actors think it's all about them, when in reality it's all about the audience being able to recognize themselves in you. The more you pull away from the public, the less power you have.”

A Novelist? You will be most famous!

The human race may be compared to a writer. At the outset a writer has often only a vague general notion of the plan of his work, and of the thought he intends to elaborate. As he proceeds, penetrating his material, laboring to express himself fitly, he lays a firmer grasp on his thought; he finds himself. So the human race is writing its story, finding itself, discovering its own underlying purpose, revising, recasting a tale pathetic often, yet none the less sublime. - Felix Adler

Why The People Working Cabaret are Awesome

Here is why the people I work with are amazing.  This is what I came to in my dressing room--framed Carousel vinyl and two cards from my dresser and her daughter.

Behold: the greatest card I have ever received.

 The second card: equally amazing.  It also speaks.

Then, my roommates introduced me to the joys of "I wanna sexx you up" and Heavy D and the Boyz.

Best job ever.  Best graduation ever.

PS Lee Trull (Cliff) and Mattie (my dresser) have a radio show called "Jane Austen: the Early Years."  I  received a command performance of the show yesterday.  Mattie was brilliant.  Lee Trull requested to be in my blog.

In here, Life is Beautiful

“Are you a good playwright?”

“Well, um...I don't really know. I love writing. I'm a good writer. But I think my writing style would lend itself more to screenwriting.”

Fancy Theatre Man stares quizzically for a moment, then launches another question. He's been interrogating nonstop for five minutes straight already. The second I begin to answer a question, I watch the wheels start spinning in his brain preparing the next question. I think it would be exhausting to have his brain. I mean, I exhaust myself often—my overactive brain and lazier impulses are in conflict with one another on a regular basis. I think Fancy Theater Man's brain works about five times as hard as mine does. It's pretty remarkable. He's like the energizer bunny (and I know I'm not the first person to have said this about him.)  Fancy Theatre Man resides 5 floors above the performance hall in the Wyly.  I've come to believe that building serves as the best educational facility and church I've ever attended.  (Deacon Fancy Man does have a nice ring to it...)

Last night in the show (5 floors below Fancy Man), mid-Entr'Acte, I see this glorious smiling face on a golden-years-woman and I realize it is my 6th grade teacher, Trigger Butler.  Trigger Butler was the best.  She made every moment of every class theatrical.  She loved teaching.  She was the first person to ever put me onstage and make me "act" and a decade later she saw me in the biggest professional production I've been in.  How freaking cool is that?  I also had two girls from Hockaday (who I haven't spoken to in years) come see the show last night and we caught up and had a blast afterwards.  I have had people from elementary, middle, and high school come see this show. It is the coolest thing and it makes me so grateful to have such remarkable people in my life.

The show closes in a week. I am beyond devastated. This experience has been perfect—and that's not a word I use liberally. There isn't a single second I would have changed and there hasn't been a single moment I haven't been thrilled to be exactly where I was. I know I keep talking about it (and I'm sure you're sick of hearing it) but it just blows my mind how flawless the experience has been. I had such enormous hopes for this process and this show and they have been superseded in every possible way. I only hope I have the luxury of even a comparable experience in the future. I'm sucking it all up like a sponge—a very enthusiastic sponge. (Can sponges be enthusiastic?) This theatrical adventure I've been on the past couple of years has been an enormous learning experience; I've learned so much in a condensed period of time. However, pre-Cabaret, I felt like the train was beginning to slow down. I was learning exponentially less with every experience because there really wasn't much variety in each experience I was having. I now feel like I've picked up so much momentum it's more like a rollercoaster going downhill at warp speed.

A month ago, I couldn't fathom a single thing that would remedy my imminent post-show depression. It then occurred to me that the only thing that would save my I-miss-the-Wyly sadness would be to stay there. Thus, I had a new mission. After an email requesting to be coffee-runner/nerd-with-a-laptop/can-I-just-pop-in-on-rehearsals? I got a response asking me to be assistant director.

….um....heck yes.

My sequence of reactive emotions was similar to those following the Cabaret callback:

1. YES! YES YES YES! (I cried. I bounced. It was happy.)
2. OH GOOD GRACIOUS I AM UNDERQUALIFIED.
3. WHAT IF I SUCK??
4. WHAT HAVE I DONE?

I met with Fancy Man yesterday about the show, hoping that it would ease my fear a bit; It did not. My responsibilities are even greater than I imagined and the show is insanely ambitious. I am so excited I could puke. I am getting to work. I get to be challenged. I get to be terrified in the best way possible. I can't wait. (Okay, maybe I can. It means Cabaret will be over.)

I've also (as those who have been following know) been trying to figure out what to do with my life over the past month or so. (I'm still taking suggestions, by the way...) I've decided to apply to grad school (for next year.) I've applied for a fellowship outside of Dallas (which I won't get.) Beyond that, I have no clue what to do with myself. As Fancy Man told me yesterday, it's almost a burden to have such diverse possibilities as pursuing an MBA, acting, or teaching in children's theatre. It is both a terrifying and thrilling time.

All this goes to say...

1. I am having the time of my life
2. I seem to be into numbering things today
3. I super-heart working with people as passionate about what they do as I am
4. I always want to be challenged and stimulated; I know that happens here
5. You should probably tell me what to do with my life in the fall.

And on a super unrelated note...My mom got me an iPad for graduation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH! Yes. Which means, more importantly (I suppose)...

I GRADUATE TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I'm not walking. I can't actually attend graduation. I will be busy bouncing around with my favorite people half-naked in the Wyly Theater. But...

I WILL HAVE MY BFA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In here, life is beautiful.

Jane Austen Lied

Dear Jane Austen,

You are a liar.  You too, Charlotte Bronte.  You sinister witches connived millions of women into thinking that Darcy/Rochester-esque males exist in the world.  They do not.


Here are the characteristics of a Darchester (Darcy/Rochester):
1. Seems like an arrogant arse
2. Is remarkably intelligent.
3. Broods regularly
4. Is emotionally unavailable
5. Handsome in an unconventional way
6. Then, in a shocking turn of events, reveals his affection for the plain, smart girl who he has pretended to have not given a thought about/pretended to dislike.  Said girl is shocked, then pleased because (of course) she has been in love with him all along.  Then they kiss outdoors beneath an enormous Tim Burton-esque tree in the English countryside.  It then inevitably starts to rain.  The maids are shocked.  The siblings are shocked. The aunt disapproves.  They marry anyway and live happily in love ever after.

This is not real life.

I had a girls night in with one of my favorites tonight.  We painted our nails, gabbed, and watched BBC's Jane Eyre (so good, and so much better than the recent film.)  I fell in love with Rochester.  Bewitched by Bronte's/Masterpiece Theater's magic, I swooningly verbalized "I love boys" and released a giddy sigh.  I then came to--such silly thoughts are unlike me (and if I have them I never say them)--and unleashed a whirlwind of thoughts toward my unassuming friend.  I felt betrayed.  Tricked, even.

Stupid Charlotte Bronte, Rochester doesn't exist!  In real life, Rochester would totally choose Blanche Ingram.  Or, more likely, would be a homosexual.  No straight man would invest that much time in his perfectly coiffed hair.

Here's the thing.  The first 5 traits of Darcys/Rochesters do exist in the real world.  There is absolutely an abundance of the tall, sarcastic, oddly attractive pompous man who pretends not to care about anything. However, there does not come a point where they reveal their affection and/or insecurities/vulnerability and then a couple enters marital bliss.  It is always the case that either a) real-world-Darcy is incredibly insecure and turns into a puddle of feelings and needs you or b) real-world-Darcy is just not that into you.  Either way, stupid Jane Austen is responsible for deluding the smart, plain girl (read: me) into thinking that these pompous poopheads are valuable human beings that secretly care for us.  Unfortunately, they're just a waste of time.

So fie on you, Jane.  You too, Charlotte.  Saucy minx.

PS: Jane Eyre is an idiot.  If I started nannying in a castle and learned that there was a crazy Caribbean lady trapped in the attic trying to kill us all, I would run far, far away.  I would not protect the pompous Rochester, despite his wildly attractive manner/face. At least Elizabeth Bennett would be more sensible than to do something like that...

Where Do I Go?

I finished college today.  I get my diploma a week from today.

Let's take a second to enjoy how profound and wonderful this is. I am done. Done.

Now the question is: what the heck do I do with my life?

I went out for a wee bit after the show tonight with some castmates/our director to see a friend's band play at Jack's Backyard.  (PS Go. Go to Jack's Backyard.  They have oversized jenga, twinkle lights, and an eclectic demographic. More Austin, less Dallas. Really cool.)  Director asked, "So, Katharine, you're done with college. What do you want to do?  Do you want to stay in Dallas?"  It was loud and smoky and hectic and without thought, I said something along the lines of, "I want to get out for a while."  But you know what? I don't know how I feel about that.  The problem with saying what I want to do in a year is that...I feel like that almost limits me.  I want to do everything.  The mantra of my career/life has been "everything happens for a reason."  It has always worked out exactly as it needed to.  I hope this will continue to be the case.

Do I want to leave town and explore EVERYTHING? Yes.

Do I want to entertain going to grad school for arts admin? Yes.

Am I totally in love with my city and committed to bettering Dallas through art?  Am I so excited about Dallas blossoming as an arts community? Yes, yes, and yes.

So what, then?  Do I just apply to everything and audition for everything?  Do I move to LA? New York? Chicago? Portland? Seattle? Boston? London? Stay here?

I'm faced with the most wonderful problem: I have endless possibilities.  Come September, I am sans-commitment.  It is at once terrifying and gloriously thrilling and liberating.

New York scares me.  I've dreamed of living there for over a decade now...but I really don't know if it's right for me.  I'm watching You've Got Mail now for the probably 500th time and yearning for the magical depicted New York lifestyle.  I want to be Meg Ryan, own a charming bookstore in the wealthier (though fashionably tragic) late 1990s, live on the Upper West Side (sigh), and fall in love with Tom Hanks via email.  Instead, if I pursued this, I would end up a penniless hobo crying outside an Upper West Side apartment and then get stalked and killed by the creeper I innocently tried to befriend online.  It's a scary world.

You know what else?  New York weather is terrifying.  I need sunshine.  I need sundresses.  What is this thing called snow?  And in a town that is entirely pedestrian?  How does one survive?

Here's another question.  How can you possibly leave consistent work in one city for a waitressing gig and constant rejection in another?  I fear theatrical unemployment.  It hasn't happened to me for the entire 2.5 years I've been pursuing it (knock on wood) and it would be the end of me if it happened.

If I pursue an Arts Admin masters, will I still be able to perform?  Is it a cop out?  Is it a brilliant idea?

If I pursue an internship/fellowship in another city, am I screwing myself out of valuable acting gigs?

Why doesn't glitter come off in the shower?

Help, y'all.  Were you me, what would you do with your life?  Do I move?  Do I stay?  Do I apply? Do I audition?

All sage advice/comments welcome.  Please and thank you.

This is glory on earth, and it is yours nightly.

During our performance last night, an actor who I love and respect stopped in me in the hall before I headed upstairs to do the final scene of the show.  "Katharine--I just have to tell you something.  I learn so much watching you in this show."  (Blushing begins.)  "No really, it's been an incredible lesson for me.  Because when you're onstage you just have this enormous smile on your face that isn't fake or cheesy--you just look like the happiest person in the world.  Like there's no where else you'd rather be.  And when you're watching an ensemble of people, you can't help but immediately be drawn to that.  So thank you."  Feeling much like Fraulein Schneider having received a pineapple as a token of affection from Herr Schultz, I was overwhelmed.  I inadequately thanked him, ran upstairs, got ready for end-of-show-naked-time, watched Kate Wetherhead be brilliant in the final moments of the show.  It was another "Wow. How freaking lucky am I to do what I do?" moment.  Those moments happen daily in my current environment.

I never want those moments to stop.  I never want to be onstage and not look like I'm having the time of my life (when the role can use that, that is.)  The second I look bored or over it onstage, slap me in the face.  I'm not kidding.  I've recently had the experience of spending a great deal of time with someone who is so disgustingly jaded and over her career; it kills my soul every time she opens her mouth.  Me to actor: "Aren't you excited for opening night?" Actor: "I'm excited not to have to (insert expletive here) rehearse anymore."  Okay, I feel that you're tired and we've been working hard...but really?  It's constant rain on my very emphatic parade and I've had quite enough of it.  Regardless, the point isn't to bash said actor.  The point is that if I ever become that cynical and jaded, just kill me.  Or tell me to find another career.

I am obsessed with what I do.

Literally, I have been spending the last hour watching musical theatre dance videos online studying what people waaaaay more talented than I am are doing to look so remarkably transcendent when they perform.  A lot of people just "do" their job.  You watch them, they're satisfactory, and the scene's over.  Other people transcend the work and morph it into something incredibly unique and truly unearthly.  I feel this way about Wade's emcee or anytime I watch Jeremy Dumont dance.  I wish to be this way.  Receiving that compliment from a co-actor was like the most enormous cookie anyone could possibly give to me.  When I'm onstage, there is truly nowhere else I'd rather be.  Ever.  If I can parlay that sentiment I feel to the audience and help them feel a fraction of the glory I do, then I have done my job.

I went out with a couple of my favorite people last night who'd seen the show and we were discussing life issues etc. and I explained my feelings about romance and the theater.  "There will never be a man who supersedes my passion for theatre.  It's just a fact.  It's nothing personal, but there will never be a human being that I could love more than I love theatre, music, and dance."  The ladies chuckled and made remarks about how I hadn't met the right guy and I was young and blah, blah blah.  Granted, they're four decades my senior and probably know infinitely more about love and life than I do.  Still, I can't imagine feeling more passionately (or even equally as passionately) about a person as I do about performing.  I never feel more alive (I know it sounds stupid and cliche but it is so, so true) than I do when I am onstage.

The easiest place for me to enter the transcendent is dance.  It just happens the most naturally.  I'm technically not the best dancer--not even a great one.  My body isn't built for dance.  My feet are horrible.  These are things that cannot be remedied.  This is why musical theatre dancing was such an enormous epiphany for me when I discovered it.  The first time I sort of experienced it was junior year in high school with Anything Goes.  Lots of tapping.  Totally my thing.  (I'm a musician first; dancer second.  Tap is about rhythm and music and translating that to an audience--not about lines or how high you can kick your leg.  My feet have always just known what to do.)  But the epiphany hadn't hit.  I was still just smiling and tapping.  Senior year, I was Bonnie Jean in Brigadoon.  Featured role, but a dancing one.  She has a solo to "Come to me, Bend to me."  (It's a shame Brigadoon is so stupid, the music is so stunning.  Oh, Lerner and Loewe.)  Anyway, it's more lyrical/ballet (which scares the bejesus out of me) and I remember rehearsing on my own in the dance balcony just feeling so silly and lackluster.  I felt very strongly about the music and had significant musical impulses inside, but it hadn't occurred to me that I could transfer those into my body.  Then, I played the music again, stopped scrutinizing myself in the mirror, and allowed my body to do the steps as they pleased.  The music dictated my movement.  And suddenly--the dancing was like breathing.  It had life.  It wasn't responding to the music--it was communicating through it.  It felt almost gratuitous--it was just so easy and natural.  But when I came back to rehearsal and saw my teacher's face after we ran the number, I knew what I'd learned wasn't silly; it was right.  I love to move my body, but I love music even more--and the ability to express music through dancing is truly ethereal.

The thing that's wonderful about (most) musical theatre dancing is that it's story/character-driven (when done right.)  God bless Joel Ferrell; he is a master of this.  Agnes De Mille is the mother of this.  She didn't have the build or body to be a ballerina.  But there is no choreography more gorgeous than hers.  I want to take her Carousel ballet behind the bleachers and get it pregnant.  I'm becoming way too old to play Louise, but that is a role that calls for more dancing as communication/joie de vivre than any other.  Anybodys in West Side is another.  (Jerome Robbins is a more contemporary example of perfect musical theatre choreo.  That man was just a genius. Ooh, and Gower Champion.  42nd Street ballet....sighhhh.)  I digress.

I'm still learning how to communicate that musicality through singing and that inclination to tell a story through acting.  Singing still terrifies me.  I know it's something I need to work on.  I'm not confident enough with my abilities yet to allow those impulses to dictate the sound.  My scenework has improved...and I have fallen much more in love with a desire to storytell...but I still feel like my feelings about scenework serve as sloppy seconds to music and dance.  Which isn't fair.  And is ultimately counterproductive.  ...things I'm working on.


It feels almost silly how fulfilling Cabaret has been--how much I get to learn from my castmates on a daily basis.  Kit Kat Kids have the luxury of watching many of the scenes/principal songs from our "voyeur" stations onstage.  I completely drop my Kit Kat demeanor (don't tell Joel) watching Julie (our Frau Schneider) sing "So What?" to Cliff.  I can't help but be turned into an audience member.  I've seen it dozens of times and it is still fresh and new and so vocally stunning that I just turn into another audience member in awe.  I watch Kate (Sally Bowles) sing Maybe This Time from far upstage and a similar scenario unfolds.  I try against all odds not to turn into a great overindulgent puddle of a human being (and thanks to a curtain in front of me/dim and hazy lighting, it's hopefully/most likely not even noticeable) but it is a constant battle.  The magical saxophone in that number is so darn seductive and soulful and stupid Kate Wetherhead is so talented and magical and vulnerable that it's a losing battle for me to attempt to maintain any semblance of normalcy.  I digress again.  (Big surprise.)  Point being, I love this job.  Dear Dallas Theater Center, please make us a permanent fixture or take us on tour.  I'm not sure that any experience could possibly top this and I'm only 21.  I am thoroughly spoiled and dreading May 22nd more than you know.  In the meantime, I'll be the chorus girl downstairs silly giddy about her job.


I'll close with my favorite quote of all time from one of my favorite people...

“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.” - Agnes De Mille

What a privilege to pursue a career in which this is the task.  I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Untethered

I'm feeling a bit blue.  Or lost.  Or something.

Maybe it's the weather, and maybe it's because this is my last week of school (ever), and maybe because my alarm literally didn't go off this morning and it cost me 20 points of my overall grade in a class, but I'm feeling straight up lackluster.

I also feel like I really haven't learned much since I've been in college.  I'd like to be snarky and over-it and too-cool-for-school (literally) and say that I just didn't try...but the sad truth is that I felt like I didn't need to.

At times, I absolutely appreciated this.  After all, I've had multiple outside jobs 3 out of 4 years of college.  Furthermore, I have learned a ton outside of school--and in the meantime a whole heck of a lot about managing seemingly multiple lives.  I just wish I had felt intellectually challenged and stimulated in more than one class.

Maybe I'm just being lazy.  Maybe college is singularly about self-education.  Should I have read more?  Should I have plummeted into debt to spend another year taking different kinds of classes?  Gone into further debt to study abroad?  What am I missing?

I have a week left; if you guys tell me what I've done wrong or what I've been missing, I'll remedy it as best as I can as quickly as possible.

It's not like my life education is over.  I'm sure, in fact, that this is where it's supposed to begin.  In reflecting over my college career, though, I just feel a little bit...apathetic, lackadaisical.

Hockaday was a constant uphill climb.  English classes, particularly, shredded me to bits and reassembled me in a much more cohesive and solid writer. I miss that.

I crave learning.  I have an unearthly fear of failing (which has always been my demise) but I really want to learn.  I feel like I have learned copious amounts over the past four years--but relatively little from actual classes.  Is that what college is supposed to be?

Advice, please. Sage words.  All appreciated.