It Actually Happened

Remember a couple of posts ago when I said “Have you ever seen a woman in stage makeup wearing a wig cap?  It’s a pantyhose on your head, and it’s NOT attractive.”

Apparently I’m psychic. 

Last night, right at the end of the big Hairspray number, my wig flat FELL OFF on stage.  I’m all dancing and singing and the next thing you know I notice my wig is on the stage next to me.  Good times.  I picked it up and finished the number with microphone in one hand and wig in the other. 

Which means the audience got a great big dose of this:

Gorgeous, no?

I Got Reviewed (And it was definitely less painful than that filling!)

In the world of theater I have always been fortunate (at least that’s how I felt) to NOT be reviewed.  I’m not big on reviews.  I think generally reviewers feel that they must find at least one (if not more) negative thing to say about a show.  Reviewers also typically come on opening weekend, which can be the worst time to see a show, since the actors have performed the show every single night that week without much rest in between.  The stress is high and things always go wrong.  So here in San Antonio I had to gear myself up for the experience that is “being reviewed”. 

On opening night, the reviewer from our local “culture” paper (SA Current)was at the show.  This guy has openly stated that he hates musical theatre, and is known for killing shows with his commentary.  On Sunday afternoon, the entertainment writer from the San Antonio Express-News was in attendance.  She has a reputation for writing nice reviews and then destroying a single actor at the end of her article.  I told my fellow actors that I wasn’t going to read the reviews, because I’m such a head case and I knew that anything negative would just get stuck and I’d spend years trying to overcome it.  They agreed to only tell me if it was good.

I got the call last night.  The Express-News writer LOVED the show.  In fact, she didn’t have a single negative thing to say!!  WOO-HOO!!  We haven’t heard from the Current, but at this point I don’t think any of us really care.  I am SO relieved. 

Even though I don’t really care about reviews. 

 Anyway, in the interest of complete self-exploitation, here it is.  Enjoy!! (I underlined the part about me so you don’t actually have to read the whole thing.) 

By Deborah Martin - Express-News Staff Writer

When Jane Haas — sporting a tidy beehive and a swanky red cocktail dress straight out of the ’50s — slides behind the keyboard at the start of “Forbidden Broadway,” that’s the first sign that the audience is in good hands.

Haas is a first-rate music director who’s also a sharp actress, so her presence suggests good things ahead for the Cameo Theatre production.

And the rest of the cast lives up to that promise.

The show, directed with a sure hand by Jim Zaccaria,is hilarious from start to finish.

The “Forbidden” franchise has produced several shows skewering the Great White Way. The version at the Cameo is subtitled “Greatest Hits Volume 1,” and it slaps around some of the biggest musicals of the past 20 years or so. There are spoofs of “Chicago,” “Wicked,” “Spamalot,” “Cats” and, naturally, a lengthy siege on “Les Miserables.”

Even the blocking of the “Les Mis” section is funny: The actors all enter with their backs to the audience and shuffle along in a circle as if they’re being rotated into place on the musical’s famed spinning set. The sequence includes a show-stoppingly-funny turn from Roy Bumgarner in which he pleads with God over the punishing key of one of the numbers: “It’s too high/The song’s too high/ Pity me/Change the key.”

And “Les Mis” pops up later, too, in a scene in which an actress playing the ill-fated Eponine (Jillian Cox) bides her time ’til she’s spun into the spotlight again by texting her boyfriend.

There’s also a bit on Stephen Sondheim’s characteristically difficult songs, including a sing-along that proves the tongue-tormenting nature of his turns-of-phrase; a sing-off between the “Phantom of the Opera” (Isidro Medina) and Ethel Merman (Haas); a grown-up Annie (Cox), cigarette in hand, hoping for a revival; a mid-show bit about Carol Channing and “Hello, Dolly” featuring a dead-on Channing impression by Katy Moore; and an all-cast goof on “Hairspray” in which the lyric “you can’t stop the beat” becomes “you can’t stop the camp.”

There isn’t a single dead spot in the show, which whips along at breakneck speed from one laugh-out-loud scene to the next. Don’t miss it.

Extra points if you can figure out which of my characters wears this wig.  I’ll give you few hints: 

1.  The actual character was blonde but the hair was nothing like this.

2.  The era of the wig is correct.

3.  The character has been featured in a band, a musical, and a movie.

Good Luck!!

Win a 7-Day Resort Vacation!!!

When I was in high school I had a two-year relationship with a wonderful guy named Brian.  It ended when I went to Baylor, but we stayed friends.  When I was at Baylor I had an incredible friend/sorority little sister/roommate named Amy.  At some point these two were introduced, and as things sometimes happen, Brian and Amy fell madly in love, got married, and now have four children.  Crazy, no? 

Crazier still, Brian’s mom works for an adoption agency in Houston…the same agency we used to adopt Sweet Pea.  The whole time we were dating we would go to events to benefit the agency, but I never knew what a huge impact that place would eventually have on my life. 

Brian and Amy have now decided to add to their family through adoption as well.  They are in the process of adopting TWO (!) precious children from Africa.  Of course, this is a very expensive proposition, so they are doing all kinds of creative fundraising (hence the title of today’s blog) in order to get over there and bring these kids home.  Please go to Brian’s blog and read all about their family’s story.  I promise you’ll be blessed and encouraged!!

Have a great weekend!!

 

 

 

http://brianseay.wordpress.com/2008/09/19/the-unraffle/

For Women Only…Part Two

IF YOU ARE A MAN YOU NEED TO CLOSE THIS BLOG NOW.  DO NOT READ FURTHER.

No really, Dad, we can never go back, so close it.  I’m serious.  Your curiosity may kill you, but that will be a less painful experience than reading this VERY FEMALE story. 

Okay, is it just the girls now?

Really?

*********************************

(That line of stars is just to make sure there are NO MEN still reading this post.  Consider yourself warned.)

Okay, here we go.  This one’s a doozy.

Last week I needed to go to the dentist for a cleaning.  My dentist is right next door to the place where I get waxed, so I called ahead to set up an appointment for my eyebrows and bikini wax.

While I was at the dentist, they noticed a spot where an old sealant had apparently fallen out.  So my dentist, a very nice guy whose parents happen to own the liquor store by my house (I don’t know why that makes me happy, but it does) says that he’ll just fill it real quick.  “No need for Novacaine.  This won’t hurt a bit.”

At this point I should explain that until last January I hadn’t been to the dentist in probably 6 or 7 years.  It had slowly become a paralyzing fear for me.  Something about the sound of the drill mixed with an episode of Alias where Sydney got tortured by these guys who pulled her teeth out for not telling her true identity.  (Remember??)  But this year I finally got over my fear.  How?  Drugs.  My dentist does “sedation dentistry” which translated means “You take a little blue pill and a really nice nap and then you wake up and your teeth are fixed and you don’t even have a hangover.”  Better living through chemistry.

Back to last Thursday.  He says “No need for Novacaine.  This won’t hurt a bit.”  And I say “REALLY????”  And he assures me it will be fine.  So I take a deep breath and let them stick that darn bite in my mouth and he starts drilling.  Only the spot was actually deeper than anticipated.  I almost came off the chair before he was finished.  But he did it, and I survived.  One filling, no Novacaine.  Check.

I go next door, still a bit shaky from the trauma, and get comfortable on the waxing table.  She did my eyebrows, and my lip (good lord, it hurts to get your lip waxed!) and then we started to discuss the bikini wax.  Because I’m doing a show with lots of quick changes, I decided I wanted the whole “front” waxed off.  Do you get my meaning?  No need to go between the legs, just wax off the front.  To which she says, “Why not just do the whole thing?”  Um, because I’m not in the mood for the pain and the awkwardness, etc., etc.  And then she talks me into it.  I’ve done it before, I just wasn’t planning on it for this particular day.  But she sells me on the sugaring and before I know it I’m laying there frog-legged getting my cooch waxed.  OW!!  It hurts.  Hurts bad.  Hurts real bad.  I’ve already been too graphic with this post, but if you’ve done it you know there’s not a nook or cranny that goes unscathed in this process.  Holy Mother Of All That Is Good In The World.  What was I thinking?

After we finished THAT I decided that I deserved a pedicure.  Right??  So I got a beautiful shade of plum on my tootsies just in time for fall.  I sat in that massage chair and let all my worries go down the drain of that little foot tub.  It was good. 

But not quite good enough to make up for getting a filling without drugs and then a Brazilian all in one hour.  That’s an hour I’ll never get back.

It’s gonna be a KAH-RAZY week

I am opening a show on Saturday night in San Antonio called Forbidden Broadway.  Some of my friends think that means it’s “forbidden” like dirty.  No.  Would I do that?  No.  It’s a spoof on a bunch of Broadway musicals.  I play at least eight different characters, including Carol Channing, Rita Moreno, Mimi from Rent, Fantine from Les Mis, Tracy Turnblad from Hairspray…I’m so tired I can’t think of the rest.  There are three other VERY talented actors in the cast as well, all playing a variety of roles themselves.  It’s pretty darn funny.

Like I said, we open on Saturday so this is “Hell Week”.  We’ll rehearse from 7 until we finish each night.  Or until we drop with exhaustion.  Or until someone starts crying.  Or until someone storms out of rehearsal because they’ve had it.  (Well, that won’t happen with this group, but I’ve seen it before.  Where there’s actors, there’s drama!) I’m telling you, it’s good times. 

The worst part of Hell Week for me is the fear.  You NEVER feel ready.  You ALWAYS need another week.  There are so many factors that have to come together, and that usually doesn’t happen until the very last minute.  And with all the costume and wig changes in this show, it adds a whole other element of things that can go horribly wrong.  I could so easily not make a change and go out in the wrong costume or the right costume with the wrong wig, or worse yet, no wig at all.  Have you ever seen a woman in stage makeup wearing a wig cap?  It’s a pantyhose on your head, and it’s NOT attractive.  I’m getting nervous even talking about it.  Ugh.

Anyhoo, at some point the whole thing will magically come together and we’ll have a show.  And then it’ll be fantastic.  The nice thing about this show is that we run for four weekends, so there’s plenty of time to enjoy all the hard work we put in.  But for now? 

It’s gonna be a crazy week.

Tuesday Ten

I have been sick since Saturday, so I’ve nothing new or interesting to write about.  I even googled “meme” to try to get some ideas, but that produced nada.  So here is my oh-so-clever-and-unique (NOT!) meme for today.  It’s so pathetic I’m not even going to tag anyone. 

Ten Things You Probably Don’t Know About Me (Or maybe you do, in which case, just skip it.)

1.  I love Mexican food.  But I think it was better in Houston.  San Antonio is all about “mex-mex” and I like tex-mex better.  It has to do with the grease and the sauce.  (I love the grease and the sauce.)

2.  I love NY.  It’s almost obsessive.  Really.  Don’t even get me started on the joy of riding the subway, or busting through foot traffic on a busy street, or finding a cool little cafe to have a cup of coffee.  I love it.

3.  I love Disney World.  It’s my happy place, and I mean it.  There have been several difficult times in my life that were healed by a trip to Disney World.  I’ve always hoped Hubs would get transferred to Orlando so I could work there…I want to be Mary Poppins, or dance in the parades, or sing in the Hoop De Do Revue.

4.  I was a music major at Baylor before becoming a nurse.  I was planning on being a school music teacher.  After my brother’s death and my heart diagnosis I decided the fastest way to get in control of the situation was with information, and for me that translated into nursing.  I had always been terrified of hospitals and needles, etc., so this was a dramatic change of heart.   (Get it?  Change of heart?  I kill me.)

5.  Although I’m not at all OCD at home, in the Operating Room I was extremely OCD.  I even had to turn all the medicine bottles in the same direction and place them in size order.  Very bizarre.

6.  I still don’t know what I’m going to be when I grow up.  I toy around with all kinds of masters degrees:  education, music, nursing, psychology…who knows. 

7.  When my best friend and I were little we used to play “adoption agency”.  We would set all the dolls around the room and then one of us would be the agency lady and one would be the mom (with an imaginary dad, of course.)  We’d look at all the babies and then choose one to take home.  Strange that both of us ended up being adoptive moms.  And we’ve never met anyone else that played this game. 

8.  I am absolutely addicted to the tv show Mad Men on AMC.  It’s on Sunday nights.  It’s a drama about the advertising world on Madison Avenue in the early ’60’s.  It’s a fascinating look at life in the ’60’s…the men, their wives and families, their women.  The costumes and sets are incredible, and the acting is superb.  You should watch it.

9.  Hubs and I play a game whenever we go out together.  We turn on XM to the ’80’s station.  The first person to name the group singing the song wins a point.  We keep a running tally all night.  He usually wins, but every once in a while I pull one out – usually the one-hit wonders (I get Debbie Gibson and Tiffany every time.)

10.  I can’t think of another one.  So 9 will have to suffice.

I’m off to take more drugs.  I actually think that if someone could lop my head off I’d feel significantly better.  I asked Hubs to do it last night, but he wasn’t willing. 

Achoo.

Are you on Facebook?

YOU’RE NOT?????

Well it’s time.  Join the revolution!!  Get with the program!!!  Welcome to 2008!!!!

Actually, it’s not all that.  But what it is will make you very happy.  I promise. 

In the last three weeks I have found or been found by at least 50 friends from my past.  We’re talking elementary school, junior high, high school, college, friends from my youth group, friends of my brother’s, my parent’s friends…it’s insane.  And really fun.

It’s an online reunion.  And every day there’s more…I’m telling you, it’s a nonstop party!

Don’t be intimidated.  And don’t be all “well I don’t want to do it just because everyone else is.”  DO IT. 

And then find me…Katy Stafford Moore. 

Let’s be friends!

You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide

I hide alot of stuff.  Not like bags full of new clothes from Anthropologie that I don’t want Hubs to find.  Stuff.  Painful stuff.

Hubs would probably disagree.  He would say I’m out there telling everyone our business, and to some extent that’s true.  I blog, obviously, but that’s certainly a carefully constructed picture of our lives.  And yes, I usually tell people about Sweet Pea after only a couple of meetings, because I don’t want them to think that we’re just awful parents who have a spoiled only child.

Still…I hide alot.  I hide it so deep I don’t even know I’m doing it, but I think it’s the reason I’m so irritable these days. 

So Sunday I’m sitting in church and our pastor says the most stunning thing:  “That which you want to hide, God wants to take”.  Now I’ve been going to church since 9 months before I was born, and I’ve spent plenty of time listening to great preachers and I’ve even taught plenty of lessons myself.  So it’s rare that I hear a thought that is completely new.  But I’m telling you, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. 

Since I do believe that God loves me, and takes care of me, and has a plan for me, why am I still hiding all of this pain??  Is it because I don’t believe deep down that he’ll take it?  A lack of faith?  Or is it because I believe he’ll take it and I’ll still be in pain?  More lack of faith.  Is it because I really wish he would’ve already taken this pain away without me even having to give it to him?  He knows I’m hurting.  He sees our tears and our frustration EVERY DAY.  Does He really need me to actually give it to him? 

What this boils down to is a confession:  I’m angry with God.  I’ve been angry.  Totally and completely pissed off.  (Excuse me.)  For about 6 years now.  He didn’t have to burden Sweet Pea with a hearing impairment and a brain full of chemicals that are so out of whack she doesn’t know when it’s morning and when it’s night.  It’s not fair.  And we had already been through the pain of my heart disease and the loss of even the option of pregnancy.  Did our adopted child have to come with all of these issues?  Wasn’t the adoption alone enough for us to deal with??  And of course she has to deal with it too;  “You’re not my real mommy and daddy”…”You can just sell me if you don’t like me”…and on and on and on.   And since we’ve been attacking this for the past six years, why can’t we seem to make any headway?  It’s not like we’re sitting around acting stupid about it; we’ve sought medical help and psychiatric help and psychological help and relationship help and it still STINKS!!  I firmly believe that at any point God could take this all away from us, but He’s choosing not to.  Why??  Because it’s making me stronger?  Well, I beg to differ.  At this point it has only made us all weaker.  I’m mad.

I know that God can handle my anger.  But more than that, I know He wants me to quit hiding it and just give it to Him already. 

So here you go, God.  Here’s a plateful of anger and frustration and tears and foot-stomping and fists flailing.  Here’s my lack of faith.  Here’s my brother’s death and my heart disease.  Here’s the pregnancy I never had and the adoption that is still so difficult.  Here’s the void between Hubs and I that we just can’t seem to break.  Here’s Sweet Pea’s hearing loss, and her messed up brain, and her tantrums and inattention and inflexibility and irritability and impulsivity.  Here’s the whole mess.

Please take it.  I don’t want it anymore.

And God? 

Thank you.