Something's Bound to Begin

Music is church, dancing is therapy, the craft of theatre is school, and a theater is home.  I spend as much time making myself at home at "home" as humanly possible.  I am more comfortable and satisfied in a theater--dressing room, rehearsal room, stage--than anywhere else.  This time one year ago, I was falling in love with the musty, worn-in, safe confines of the Kalita Humphries upstairs dressing room.  I am enamored with that ridiculous building.  I love its windiness and likelihood of injuring me at any given moment.  I love that Frank Lloyd Wright designed it.  I love thinking of all of the talented people who preceded me in those dressing rooms.  (You can read my Kalita-love-letter from a year ago here.)  Perhaps one of the things I loved most about the Kalita, however, was knowing that Dallas Theater Center had occupied that space for fifty years.

Fifty.  Fifty years and hundreds of shows and millions of patrons witnessing theater in one space.  Isn't that wonderful?  

That space felt like warmth and magic.  I'm not a big "aura" or "energy"-word-user, but the Kalita truly has an identity; you can feel it.  (It also has a ghost, but that's a whole other story.) Backstage at the Kalita, there is a cement wall coated in actors' autographs/memos/random scribbles.  It's a wonderful, old-theatre-y tradition and a constant reminder of how prolific that space really is.  And during Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, it was a daily reminder that I was working in a space formerly (and still occasionally) occupied by Dallas Theater Center.  It set an expectation of professionalism, if nothing else.

During Dirty Rotten, the Theater Center announced their 2010-2011 season.  When I saw that they were doing a musical, my jaw dropped.  When I realized they were doing two, I thought I was going to cry.  When I saw that those two were Cabaret and the Wiz, I nearly peed my pants.  Truly.  I apologize for the unattractive image, but I really was stupefied.

And then I told myself that I would be apart of those shows.

Did I think this was possible?  Heck no.  Even a possibility?  Please.  But I hoped for it.  Even prayed for it.  Really hard.  In my head.  For a long, long time.  Just to get the ball rolling, I submitted my headshot and resume to the Theater Center with a cover letter expressing interest (and an apology that I couldn't make it to general auditions.)  I figured: what have I got to lose?

I--probably like every actor--have a seasonal "wish list" of the shows I dream of having something to do with.  I've been incredibly lucky in terms of realizing that wish list over the past 2.5 years.  Cabaret was on mine for about a year, but I never thought it would happen.  Fast-forward six months: auditions are announced.  Cue panic attack, song-selection, audition-outfit-selection, fretting, and endless dreaming.  Cue me hugging Jeremy Dumont so tightly at auditions that he nearly suffocated.  Cue us verbally telling each other that it would happen.

We both got called back.  Initial thought: YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Second thought: CRAP THERE'S MORE.

Callbacks go exceedingly well.  Fast forward a month.  Jeremy's heard/is cast. No word for me. SMU auditions happen. Go to their callback for Cabaret.  It goes well.  SMU cast list goes up.  I'm cast.  I cry. Happy, happy tears.

Fastforward six months. I begin rehearsals at the Wyly.  I am intimidated and confounded and instantaneously amorous of the cast/production team and wondering if my presence is a joke.  Or a mistake.  Strangely, it's neither and they really do want me (do I sound like Sally Field?) and I...belong...here.

The Wyly has its own magic (and very, very special weather-unfriendly elevators.)  The 9th floor terrace is the most ingenious architectural idea ever--particularly for a theatre.  The terrace is covered in covered in faux-grass, is outdoor/patio-y, and overlooks downtown.  If I could plant a hammock out there, roll a piano out, and hire a cabana boy, I'd never leave.  Heck, if I could, I'd never leave as it is.  And during a thunderstorm...oh, it's just heaven.  The dressing rooms, on the other hand, are still a little too pristine new and white. They scare me. I'm a messy person.  Or maybe I'm prejudiced.  Or colorist.  Whatever.

A moment to gush about the cast/team.  I've never been so spoiled in my life.  Everything is labeled, everything is personalized, everyone is an adult, and everyone is lovely.  Most importantly, there's always coffee. How does this happen???  I had a costume built for me. For me. Tailored to my body.  There was a sketch and it had my body in it.  WHERE AM I??? Heaven: that's where.  Divas? Egos? Where? I don't see them in this cast.  I should also mention that I have never learned as much watching fellow actors as I have in this show.  The bravery and honesty in this cast--especially Wade, Kate, and Julie--is (for me) unprecedented.  I want to be like them when I grow up.  They're also three of the nicest people alive.  I first fell in love with Kate in Sarah, Plain and Tall at DTC.  She played a 12 year old and I was wholeheartedly convinced that she was one.  She singlehandedly stole the show and I thought to myself, "Good gracious, who is that amazing child actor?" (though in less formal jargon) and in the talk-back that I stayed after to watch (because--obviously--I'm a nerd) I discovered she was an adult.  (Whaaa???)  But it made me feel better about being so much less talented than a 12 year old.  At any rate, when Cabaret was announced I literally immediately hoped they would use Kate as Sally.  By that point, I'd had a talent crush on her for a year.  Over the past year, it's only gotten worse thanks to her hilarious webseries "Submissions Only" which she writes and stars in.  (a) youtube it. You won't regret it. b) People this talented infuriate me. But she's nice. And pretty. So the hatred stops immediately.)  Wade McCollum is our emcee and his bravery and versatility boggle my mind on a daily basis.  (Plus, he has a totally rockin' bod. It's reason enough to come see the show.  I promise.)  I'd heard the praises of Julie Johnson for ages but hadn't ever seen her perform/work with her.  She's such a smart actress--and so fearless of vulnerability.  It's such a gift as a young actor to be surrounded by these people and learn from them.  

I am thanking my lucky stars every moment.  

I'll gush about a couple more people and then I'll shut up, I promise. One of the most significant recurring challenges with musicals is marrying the music/scenes/dance in a way that doesn't seem like you're doing three shows...or, that there's scenework going on and then someone breaks out into needless song/dance.  (Hence why actory actors oftentimes dislike musicals.  However, I also find that actory actors who passionately hate musicals oftentimes can't sing or dance.  So I have a secret theory that they're just angry actory actors with musical theatre queens burrowed inside.  I digress.)  When you have the luxury of a (highly skilled) director/choreographer at the helm of a huge production, marriage of the three elements is much more seamless.  The whole production is cohesive and story driven--set, costumes, casting, music, choreography.  It's remarkable.  Beyond this, he's created the most fun, focused, and open process/rehearsal environment...which is an immense gift to a cast.  The biggest challenge for the director/choreographer is the need for a clone of oneself to do choreography while the other does scenework.  Fortunately, Joel has Kent--his mindmelded brother-from-another-mother who is sickeningly talented, driven, and brilliant to work with.  The music direction/orchestration/band are all genius as well.  (We even have an accordion.  If that isn't cramazing, I don't know what is.)

Essentially, this dream that I have somehow realized has infinitely superseded my expectations in every way. The good news is: I've learned insane amounts, I've fallen in love with a marvelous group of people and the Theater Center, and I'm truly proud to be apart of (what I think) is a solid and beautifully done production.  The bad news is: I'm spoiled for life.  I'm really not sure where "up" is from here, but if I can occasionally dabble back in this dreamworld now-and-again between my stints in the real world, I will continue to be thrilled and remarkably blessed.

Thank you, cast/production team of Cabaret and DTC for allowing me to grow and play with you.  It really has been a dream and I am so grateful.

What good is sitting alone in your room?

You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally where Harry just moans on the phone to Sally post-breakup?  He's wallowing. I was first familiarized with wallowing through Rory Gilmore via her first Dean breakup. In Gilmore Girls, wallowing consists of eating large quantities of pizza and ice cream and watching fantastic trash movies/rom-coms and crying endlessly.  I'm not much of a crier (although--trust me--it's happening regardless), and I'm about to be minimally clothed in a show (so no pizza or ice cream for me), but I am absolutely watching my quintessential comfort movies.  You've Got Mail is the current film of choice.

Manfriend and I broke up.  As upset and supremely lonely as I feel, I am most heartbroken to lose my best friend.  If there were any way to maintain our friendship (and there certainly isn't for the time being) it wouldn't be nearly as hard.

Breaking up is sort of equivalent to death--in a sense.  You've lost a huge part of your life (perhaps forever? though in this instance I certainly hope not) and a part of you kind of dies with that loss.  Though it's a lesser gravity of sadness (and in some ways--though not as different as I would have imagined--a different kind of sadness), the last time I was this upset was a year ago when Grandmama passed.  Loss just makes you ache. It makes you ache in that head-is-a-bowling-ball-hurts-from-ugly-crying-empty-inside kind of way.  It's truly wretched.

There's not much of an upside to any of this (although, in the long run, I'm sure my priorities will be more closely aligned to what they used to be and that will ultimately be a good thing) except that I have an incredibly strong support system of incredible friends and family and I'm in the best theatrical production I've ever been a part of in my life.

Cabaret has completely rocked my world.  Not only did Kander/Ebb/Joe Masteroff create one of the most stunningly heartwrenching/dense/potent pieces of musical theatre of all time (and Sam Mendes re-conceptualized it in an epic way), but the cast DTC has assembled is truly remarkable and the direction/staging is mindblowingly genius.

Losing such a huge helping of daily love/friendship is painful, but my love of theatre preceded it and I think will always supersede any human affection.  I am truly in love with theatre (and especially this production) and I think that love will save me.  I have a day off from rehearsal tomorrow and I am not looking forward to it.  I crave rehearsal.  I crave dancing and sweating and being stunned by the sheer genius of the principle actors and the remarkable staging of the director.  I love stretching and pushing my body.  I love getting blisters from leather heeled boots I wear as a Kit Kat Girl.  I love that I get to behave badly.  I love my co-actors.  I love constantly learning.  I love being happy.

I think there's something very Sally Bowles about my spirit; this kind of worries me.  I'm not ignoring the Nazi party and the outside world and having an abortion and sleeping around with random men (as Sally does) but I am totally similarly addicted to the high of performing--and living in a false, beautiful, enticing constructed world on a stage.  I'd frankly rather live there than in real life.  I think this will be a problem as I grow up, but I guess we'll take things as they come.

No use permitting some prophet of doom to wipe every smile away--life is a Cabaret 'ol chum, and I love a Cabaret...

On Auditions, Priorities, and Being 3 Months from Adulthood

I've been friends with adults/people 20-50 years my senior since I was a small child.  I was always the girl who was friends with her teachers rather than her classmates, friends with her "friends'" parents rather than the actual kids themselves.  I don't really know why this is.  People say I'm an old soul--and I guess that's true (whatever that means.)  My soul age is probably about 55.  It hasn't really aged too much since I was a munchkin, though.  The scary thing about my makeup is that I have the boundless energy of a 5 year old, the optimism and ambition of a 21 year old, and the occasional wariness/cynicism of a 55 year old.  It's a curious composition and I don't know that it always serves me beneficially.

At any rate, I have a pool of people who serve as my chosen family.  (Have to preface this by saying that I adore my birth family--but I'm now referring more to my theatrical family/best older friends.)  I sometimes generalize and just call them the "mamas."  (Although some of them have fits when I refer to them that way--one even insists that I call her Auntie Mame.)  Regardless, I love these women.  Yesterday, I had the opportunity to grab coffee with one of these women.  Now, I don't know if she's entered the mama/cool aunt territory, but she definitely serves as a Yoda-esque-been-there-done-that figure.  She's infinitely snarky and wise and has had about half of the various careers that interest me.  (I'll die before I reach 1/3 of the occupations I'm interested in.)  We had a glorious 90 minute gab-session regarding life/theatre/things we both want to achieve and it was totally liberating.  Not only is it always helpful to have someone older tell you that you're not insane and should pursue everything, but it's also nice to have a living breathing role model of sorts sitting in front of you.  And somehow, I seemed to have provided a small inspiration of sorts for her.  She compared being with me for 90 minutes to "plugging into a power grid" and said it was refreshing to see someone so excited about things.  It was nice.  I think I need to schedule check-ins with my various mamas/Yodas/aunts to help garner perspective on life every couple of weeks or so.  Or at least every month.

Lyric Stage--oh, beautiful Lyric Stage--announced their magical 2011-2012 season, and y'all, I nearly peed my pants over it.  They're doing Gypsy, Rags, Kismet, and Oklahoma.  Sounds like heaven, right?  And get this: they're ALL in Carpenter hall.  They're ALL with a full orchestra. (Cue Katharine passing out.)  I was expressing how remarkable the season was to my middle school musical theatre class yesterday, and the girls promptly called me a freak for being so enthused.  It's probably warranted.  I don't know anyone else who gets so giddy excited about musicals STILL after encountering oodles of theatrical folk for the past couple of years.  Then again, I don't know anyone quite as enamored with Lyric as I am, so there ya go.  Most 21 year olds want to do Rent and Next to Normal.  I salivate over Gypsy and Oklahoma.  It's just how it goes.

This leads me to..........auditions. Oh, auditions: you wretched, fickle foe.  I hate them.  I hate that months of prep work can be squandered by a cold or a brain fart over 60 seconds in a very cold rehearsal hall.  I hate that you have months to get excited about prepping for a show, and after those 60 seconds all that excitement can be obliterated.  I hate not knowing if you'd ever be considered for a certain role.  I hate not knowing exactly how a director feels about you.  Unfortunately, there's no show without an audition, and there's no Katharine without shows.  Herein lies the problem.

I've been a chorus girl for as long as I've done theatre.  Well....sort of.  I've never had consecutive voice lessons, I've had two semesters of questionable acting training from school, and I technically quit dance training in high school.  And yet--somehow--I've found myself in the musical theatre business.  Anyone who knows me knows that I've been a huge musical theatre nerd since birth; that's undeniable.  However, it didn't even occur to me that I could maybe do it until 2 years ago and suddenly I felt completely behind.  I was auditioning with people who'd done pageants for years, and taken all kinds of lessons for years, and gone through ten rounds of Camp Broadway or Camp We've Got Talent or Theatre School or Musical School or who knows what and I felt completely outleagued.  Somehow...the nerdiness elevated me to a place where I could somehow sort-of compete with these people.  I was such a freak for so many years watching and rewatching the Rodgers and Hammerstein shows/Lerner and Loewe movies/and every high school musical put on in the metroplex that whatever knowledge I gained by watching others somehow infiltrated into me.  I'm hugely grateful.  (This is why I am so passionate about teaching.)

Anyway, breaking out of the chorus is something I have incredibly mixed feelings about.  On one hand, I'm growing increasingly attracted to roles (and specifically arcs of characters.)  I'm growing more confident with my singing (bit by bit...and gosh darnit if I don't start taking lessons soon...)  I haven't stepped out much (I've only had a couple of roles--and they're mostly the glorified chorus girl/secondary dance-y couple roles) but I've really enjoyed it so far.  That said, there are shows where I may be right for a role but would still HAPPILY (perhaps even more happily) be in the ensemble.  If there's spectacular dancing, you bet your bottom dollar I'd rather dance captain than be the star.  Still, I have this silly burning desire to push my limits and see what I can do.  Now that I've learned that I'm a decent enough dancer to make it into professional ensembles, I want to move forward.  This is terrifying. And exciting.  The worst part is putting myself out there and prepping for roles that may be completely out of reach and not at all what the director/producer/choreographer are looking for.  I guess it can't hurt anything (besides my pride/ego/self-esteem) to just prep and learn everything about a character in a show.  In fact, regardless of result, it would probably be a wonderful learning experience in a myriad of ways. So do I prep for roles that may be out of my league?  What would you do?

Can you tell my brain is going a million miles a minute?

(SUBTEXT: I GRADUATE IN 3 MONTHS WITH A BFA IN THEATRE WHAT WILL I DO WITH MY LIFE?)

I want to do everything.  I want to choreograph, teach, music direct, play keyboard in the pit, star, support, feature, dance captain, direct, write, blog, paint, produce, cook, live inside a theatre.  I don't know how to do this sustainably.  I don't even know that I can do this.  I just know that I want to.  Badly.

Plugging into a power grid, indeed.

Enough crazy-Katharine-thoughts.  Here's what's happened:
1. I graduate in 3 months.  I keep getting emails about caps and gowns.  I'm not going to graduation.  But I'm still graduating.  Instead, I'll be in a performance of Cabaret at Dallas Theater Center.  That's totally more appealing anyway.
2. I'm currently in performance of Flora, the Red Menace at Lyric Stage. (Oh, Lyric Stage)  It's a wonderful experience.  It's an ensemble of 9 actors and we all work our butts off (I don't get any sitting/dressing room time and I play 4 characters) and it's oodles of fun.  It's a great theatrical workout.  It's fantastic to have a role. Fantastic and scary and fine.
3. I'm giddy over next season.
4.  I want to do theatre all over the country.  I missed the application deadline for SETC (big general auditions.)  Help.
5. I want to get out, but I'm not interested in waitressing in New York and becoming jaded and disenchanted by a theatrical lifestyle at 21.
6. I just want to work.
7. I can't wait for Cabaret.
8.  I have senioritis: College Edition.
9.  Stan Wojewodski, Jr. has revolutionized my SMU experience for the better.  My sentiments about the program have improved 200% this year.  I am so grateful for this I could cry.
10. I have discovered I'm enamored of cooking.  And painting.  Although that news is not as new.
11. I haven't slept in 2 days.
12. I'm a frustrated artist.
13.  I'm an artist largely in love with my artistic life.
14. I'm just terrified of the future.

And how are you today?

Love Actually is All Around

You know what I've learned this Valentine's Day?

That I've been stupid and cynical all along.
That love is actually better than they portray it in the movies.
That bickering happens, but if you have someone you communicate well with and respect enough to sort it out, the result improves your relationship.
That a very messy and fly-by-the-moment girl can fall in love with a regimented, responsible boy.
That life is better with company.
That contrasting expectations are natural.
That plans will conflict.
That that's okay.
That if God takes away a certain amount of daily love you receive from someone, he'll give you an opportunity to replenish it in a new way.
That a terrible day can easily be turned wonderful if you have someone wonderful.
That even Katharine Gentsch (dos) can be a huge sap.

One year ago today, I was at my grandmother's graveside.  It was one of the saddest times I've ever had.  I wasn't having such a hot Valentine's day 2011 either, but this time around I had a smart, handsome man to cheer me.  I feel imminently better, just by virtue of the fact that someone cares enough to have an interest in cheering me.  I lost love in February 2010, but I found it there, too.  (Bobby unknowingly first asked me on a date the day grandmama passed away.)  Life goes on, love goes on.  And, as aptly written by Richard Curtis and said by Hugh Grant, "Love actually is all around."

Happy Valentine's Day, dears.  Hope it's as kind to you as it has been to me.

Gypsy and Queen Mum

Spending a great deal of time analyzing people who were born into/married a celebrity/performative status and initially didn't want it but then grew not only to accept it, but also to love it.

It fascinates me.

Thoughts?

Back to the Future

I'm on vacation.  And still, all I can think about (at the moment) is the future.  I'm terrified for school to start again, but I'm even more terrified for it to be over.

What will I do if I'm not successful?

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!