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.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
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
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.”
Monday, August 23, 2010
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 8th-10th 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 (3rd 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 42nd 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 42nd 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.
Monday, May 3, 2010
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:
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
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
Sunday, May 2, 2010
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:
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.
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.
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