(I meant to blog about January, because January turned out to be amazeballs, what with the Meghan L.A. adventures, and the Amy Disneyland times, and the Forrest beach gabbery, and the general Tony-ing, but then I got busy, and now it is lost to the ages. Oh well.)

I am all settled in at my little pre-fab house-on-a-hill, ready to be charmed by three months of rustic small-town living. Here, have this boring tour of my cottage:

Aaaaaaand that took so long to upload that now I have no time to do any more blogging, as I must forage for food before my first rehearsal this afternoon. More later! Unless I forget again! Which is incredibly likely! Exclamations!

2011 was…Christ, you guys, I don’t even know. It was amazing, and the best possible year for me in a lot of ways. It was the hardest year, that’s for sure. It was a year that demanded a lot of effort, which — to be completely honest — has never been my forte. And while my overall marks this year could hardly be considered perfect, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t proud of myself for the things I accomplished, both big and small.

But next year! Next year is WHERE IT IS AT. I don’t have resolutions for next year so much as I have stringent personal demands. Next year will be comprised of 100% excellence, across the board. The main component of that excellence? Travel. I want to do a lot of travelling in the coming year. It occurred to me quite suddenly that I kind of know people, like, all over the damn place. I do! And I’ve never, ever taken advantage of it. I’ve always thought of travel as A Big Deal; it requires airfare, and then hotels, and then some sort of concrete purpose to hold it all together. For some reason, I’ve never thought to go somewhere just because. It’s time that started happening.

That’s not to say my travelling this year won’t ever have a purpose. In fact, a lot of it will be quite overstuffed with it; positively regurgitating purpose, if you will (and you probably shouldn’t). I’m driving down to SoCal all by myself on the first weekend of the new year for Meghan’s fancy L.A. birthday party with all the skinny, beautiful L.A. people, and I will drink and chat and not freak out because honestly, who cares? A lot of my life has been spent actively avoiding social situations that put me in the vicinity of skinny, beautiful people, and that’s most certainly energy that could be spent better elsewhere. So. I will have a grand old time. I will stay with Meghan in her charming guest house, and I will maybe tool around a bit and visit the Hollywood Forever cemetery or check out the Chateau Marmont or just stare at the Hollywood Tower apartment building because it is my favorite. Then I’ll head out to Anaheim and visit Amy, and down to San Diego to visit Forrest. Delightful.

February through March will be spent living up in Sonora while I’m in Gypsy at Sierra Rep, and that’ll give me the opportunity for a couple of fabulous day-trips to Yosemite and Tahoe. As soon as Gypsy ends, it’s off to Manhattan for Reynaldi’s 30th birthday and a couple days of couch surfing. (WHO WANTS TO GIVE ME A PLACE TO SLEEP, COPIOUS NEW YORK FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES?) May, at the moment, is wide-open; no school, no shows, nothin’ but time. I’m thinking there needs to be some kind of wacky road-trip in there, filled with kitschy locales and mix CDs and montages of youthful shenanigans (before my youth DISAPPEARS ENTIRELY OH GOD I’M SO VERY OLD).

June? L-O-N-D-O-N. London, England. For a full week. I…can’t, you guys. I just can’t. If I even think about it for more than about five seconds at a time, I start waving my hands uncontrollably and going “EEEEEEEEE!!!!” until someone gives me a good, open-palmed slap across the face. They probably won’t even let me in the country, I’m going to be such a jabbering, weeping mess. Which is probably just as well, as I’m sure I’d be arrested within the first ten minutes for locking myself inside a phone-booth I’ve hastily painted blue, insisting that it is my TARDIS. Apologies in advance, England. Apologies in advance.

August will see me making my first-ever sojourn to Connecticut to visit Reynaldi at Yale, and watch his production of The Secret in the Wings at the Yale Cabaret. Then it’s probably Disneyland with Tony in September or October, provided he has not left me on account of the fact that I will apparently not be around at all this entire year. As for November and December? THAT IS ENTIRELY TOO FAR IN THE FUTURE. HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN? I AM NOT YOUR CLAIRVOYANT MONKEY, JEEZ.

The bottom line, folks, is that I want to go to all of the places next year. ALL OF THEM. Where do you live? Do you live somewhere cool? Want to let me sleep on your couch for a night? Because I will totally visit. You can show me the sights, and maybe we can get a slice of pizza, and then we’ll hit some cool late-night spot, and we’ll get all caught up in the excitement of the moment and I’ll end up letting you get to first base, and then things will be super-awkward, and I’ll have to leave the next morning and we’ll be all “so, uh, we’ll keep in touch,” but we totally won’t because we’re both too embarrassed.

IT’LL BE SO GREAT.

I sure am thankful though, NaBloPoMo. I am thankful that there is so much love directed my way from so many different quarters. I am thankful that every aspect of my existence is wrapped up in the doing and seeing and celebration of theatre. I am thankful for all the possibility that suddenly seems to lie front of me; all the exciting and mysterious yet-to-bes. I am thankful for my life.

I hope you are all warm and well-fed and surrounded by the people you love best; not just today, but always.

<3

GO. GO GIVE THE MUPPETS YOUR MONEY. AND BE GRATEFUL THAT THE FILM IS NOT IN THREEEEEEE-DEEEEEEEEE:

– John Neville died! Baron Munchausen! Man, I love that movie. I actually spent a significant portion of my childhood and early adolescence convinced that I had made that movie up. I saw it only once when I was very small, and it was so bizarre that the snippets of it I could remember in later years seemed like they must have been the product of some kind of pixie-stick-induced nightmare. (Floating heads on the moon! Card games in the belly of a sea-beast! Naked Uma Thurman in a clamshell!) And of course, this was before the all-knowing internet hive-mind could tell me otherwise. In fact, I don’t think I got actual confirmation of Munchausen’s existence until I met Jaime. Same basic story with Return to Oz and Flight of Dragons, too. Ah, the halcyon days of the 1980′s fantasy film. Truly, it was the most batshit of times.

– My fella went to New York for the very first time ever this past week! And he brought me goodies!

Gypsy Rose Lee’s autobiography, and a magnetic tribute to the greatest goddamn television curmudgeon since Archie Bunker himself. My boyfriend is kind of the best, you guys.

– As I walked out my front door this afternoon to head to rehearsal, I nearly tripped over a large cardboard box full of vegetables that had been left smack dab in the middle of our porch, because apparently we are now the kind of family who gets boxes of organic, locally-farmed vegetables delivered to their house. Who knew? Anyway, as I pushed the produce aside, I noticed another cardboard box nearby, addressed to yours truly. Inside? A shiny new copy of Look, I Made a Hat. Awwwwww yeeeeeeeah. It is now sitting beside me on the tutoring room table in full view of any passersby, and it has already been enviously fondled by a few of my co-workers. Theatre street cred: I has it.

– The Muppets opens tomorrow! The Muppets opens tomorrow and I have absolutely no time I could possibly see it until Monday, because the universe is cruel and unjust and there is no God. BUT CLEARLY I HAVE NO STRONG FEELINGS ON THE SUBJECT.

– There is a fluffy puppy at rehearsal. He is wearing a sweater. Everything else has ceased to be relevant. I repeat: there is a fluffy, sweater-wearing puppy at rehearsal. That is all.

Filed under: *NaBloPoMo '11 ]]> http://veritiesandbalderdash.wordpress.com/2011/11/22/tidbittery/feed/ 3 Heather Christine John Neville Gypsy Rose & Ron Look I Made a Hat PUPPY! http://veritiesandbalderdash.wordpress.com/2011/11/21/ive-made-a-huge-mistake/ http://veritiesandbalderdash.wordpress.com/2011/11/21/ive-made-a-huge-mistake/#comments Tue, 22 Nov 2011 05:06:45 +0000 Heather Christine https://veritiesandbalderdash.wordpress.com/?p=1152 ]]> I am living Waiting for Guffman as I type this. It is not as fun as you might imagine, NaBloPoMo. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, it is because I have done the only honorable thing and engaged in the ancient and noble act of seppuku. It is my sole recourse in my quest to avoid greeeeeat shame.

This is one of the reasons I was too busy for you yesterday, NaBloPoMo:

See? Belting is an acceptable excuse for anything. Also, I sure am going to hire Samantha to do my hair every single day forever. And bake me cakes. She bakes a mean cake.

BACK TO WRANGLING! And then to the airport, to acquire a gentleman. As one does.

And don’t even get me started on the overall logic of this franchise. One of the main plot-points in Cars 2 revolves around fossil fuel. Fossil fuel. Which is identified — in the film – as coming from dinosaurs. Not dinocars. Dinosaurs. Dinosaurs apparently existed in this world. A world where cows are tractors and bugs are literal VW Bugs. I cannot even begin to imagine the sharp turn evolution must have taken in order to go from flesh-and-blood dinosaurs to metal-and-fuel cars; creatures unable to function in any way without the millions-of-years-old anaerobically-decomposed remains of said dinosaurs.

At this point, the only nearly-satisfying explanation I can come up with is that these movies are actually thinly-veiled Creationist propaganda. There is nothing in all of science which could account for a world wherein man-made machines come into being without man. So Intelligent Design has to be the answer. Except in this case, God isn’t so much an all-knowing blaze of magnificent omnipotence as he is a six-year-old boy who just likes things that go “VROOM!”

…that, or the films are prophesying that someday in the not-too-distant future cars will attain sentience and slaughter us all, becoming the planet’s dominant life-form. Either way…what the hell, Pixar? What in the actual hell?

But! Today will be a good day. I’m going to sing in Vocal Perf with Samantha and Tracy, which is basically my favorite thing ever, and then I’m going to hang out with the chilluns at Secret Garden rehearsal, and then, due to a surprise night off from rehearsal, I am going to head on out to San Jose to watch Adam be completely fucking fabulous in The Santaland Diaries, which I am pretty stoked about, let me tell you what.

In other news, Threadless just released a ton of awesome Muppet t-shirts, all of which come in both boy and girl styles, and I legitimately cannot pick which one (or two…or three) to order, because they are so awesome. Help a lady out, Internet. My money ain’t gonna waste itself!

School, wrangling, rehearsal. That’s all I’ve got these days. That is my whole entire life. And the only commentary I have about any of those three activities is probably not appropriate for a general audience. So. All I can offer you is this trailer for the new Pixar movie, Brave:

There are few things I love more in life than Scottish accents. There are even fewer things I love more than Craig Ferguson and Emma Thompson. Thus, it is safe to conclude that Pixar has hand-crafted this film specifically for me. Thanks, guys! It’s almost enough to make me forget about Cars 2!

ALMOST.

Wayne and I stopped by the mall today with the goal of swapping out our demon baby in Into the Woods for something a little less nightmare-inducing. We ended up acquiring an adorable replacement, for which Wayne generously paid before placing it in my care. Thus, at long last, and against all odds, Wayne has given a woman a baby. Our only regret is that we didn’t bring cigars to hand out to folks as we carried our little miracle out to the car in its plastic bag.

Hoo boy…it is only four o’clock, and my eyelids are already droopin’. I’ve still got two hours of wrangling and three hours of rehearsal to fight my way through before bed even begins to be an option though, which means I will probably just fall asleep mid-makeout during the staging of “Any Moment” tonight. Kinky.

We’re movin’ and shakin’, NaBloPoMo. Life can be such a funny thing.

(The TW education program is visiting. So yeah, a bunch of itty-bitties sitting in a line, watching raptly while everyone dances and does Indian chants. I maybe cannot stop smiling. Everything is adorable and great.)

(You guys. I love this show. I love this show I love this show so much. The ending is guaranteed to make me cry, 100% of the time. Also, we did the finale of Into the Woods last night, and it turns out it is impossible for me to not get a little teary when I’m singing to the Baker, so it looks like I am going to be weeping nonstop for the rest of the year. YOU’RE GOING OUT THE SAME WAY YOU CAME IN, 2011.)

I wandered around outside Ralston Mansion for a bit after my vocal coaching yesterday. It was just rainy enough to be atmospheric rather than inconvenient, and I ended up finding a little grotto sort of hidden back near what I assume was the property’s carriage house. The stone sign below the statue of Mary promised me “one hundred days indulgence for every visit to this grotto,” as decreed by someone whose name I couldn’t make out beyond “his holiness” and what I think was the Roman numeral for 13. A quick Google of those terms together brings me to Lucian Pulvermacher, who was declared Pope Pius XIII by a small group calling themselves the “True Catholic Church” who operated without the authorization of the Holy See. So. I guess a benediction from him is about as useful and/or valid as a royal pardon from Emperor Norton. Thanks for nothing, fake Pope. THANKS FOR NOTHING.

Spent part of my afternoon in the unseasonable sunshine of The City, eating fancy sandwiches on the Yerba Buena Gardens stage with Travis and his mohawk. Conversation was both entertaining and enlightening. Boy is a rake of the finest sort, and I have missed him. A+

Weird crisis of confidence all of a sudden today. I know it’s just this cocktail of sleeplessness and hormones and, uh, actual cocktail messin’ with my brainy-bits, but I suddenly feel like I’ve got nothing much to offer, especially on the performance front. I sang in class, and it was supposed to be cathartic, but it was just weird and disconnected and mediocre. Everything’s kind of going off the rails. Saaaaaaad trombone.

Oh, whoa. Way to get to the crux of all my issues as I write this entry, tonight’s episode of Parks and Recreation. Eerie.

My family is plying me with cake, and in my weakened, delirious state, I hardly think I can resist. I throw myself on your tender mercy, baked goods. Whisk me away to sweet, diabetic oblivion.

Applause! Applause! A Grand Farewell to Brooke Knight - This Sunday night at 8:00 PM, Broadway by the Bay is hosting a fabulous farewell gala for their departing Artistic Director Brooke Knight at the swanky Four Seasons Hotel in Palo Alto. It’s a black-tie event, and tickets to the performance part of the evening are $40 apiece. Space is very limited, so contact Tyler Bennet at tyler@broadwaybythebay.org to reserve your spot. The lineup is basically a who’s-who of BBBay all-stars, so while I’m not sure how the hell I made it in there, you should definitely come check out all the fierce people from shows past singing their entire faces off in Brookie’s honor. It’s gonna be pretty great.

Voci! - NDNU’s bi-yearly vocal concert is back! We’ll be in Taube Center this time (directions can be found on my Into the Woods info page) at 7:30 PM on Saturday, November 19th. Admission is $20 ($10 for students/seniors, or $5 for NDNU faculty/staff/students) and tickets are always available at the door. I’ll be performing a trio with Samantha Bruce and Tracy O’Brien, so if you want to hear the full version of this fancy business, come on out and join us.

Into the Woods - I’ve been waiting to do this show since I was about six years old and made the decision to be Joanna Gleason when I grew up. At last, that dream has kind of come true. We’ve only got four performances of this bad boy (Saturday, December 3rd at 7:30 PM; Sunday, December 4th at 2:00 PM; Thursday, December 8th at 7:30 PM; Saturday, December 10th at 7:30 PM), and each performance only seats about 80 people, so head over to here to grab yourself ticket. $25 general admission, $15 students/seniors, $5 NDNU faculty/staff/students. (If you buy your tickets online, you can choose any price-point you feel best describes you. I, for one, tend to consider everyone a “student of life.”)

The Secret Garden - I’m not in this one, just working behind the scenes, but this is one of my all-time favorite shows, and TheatreWorks is going to put on one seriously gorgeous production of it. We run all through December and possibly into January at the Lucie Stern Theatre in Palo Alto. Tickets range from about $30 to $50, but I’m sure it’ll pop up on Goldstar or Artsopolis or something as well. Keep your eyes peeled! This is going to be well worth seeing.

I also have a million friends in a million shows happening all through the holiday season, and while my schedule will most likely prohibit me from seeing any of them, you should feel free to pick up my slack by attending any or all of the following:

Oh, Kay! at 42nd Street Moon, Parade at Palo Alto Players, How to Succeed… at West Valley Light Opera, Hansel & Gretel at Notre Dame de Namur University, White Christmas at Diablo Theatre Company, The Santaland Diaries at City Lights Theater Company, Xanadu at New Conservatory Theatre Center, and Three Sisters at 42nd Street Moon.

What are you waiting for? SHELL OUT THAT MONEY, PEOPLE, AND SUPPORT THE FREAKIN’ ARTS.

Anyway. I love how smart this show is, musically. The judges are all serious musicians who know their shit, but are also constructive and goofy and fun, and the focus of the whole thing is actually talent. I mean, there are the standard reality-show sob stories, but they don’t seem to play any role in the actual decision-making. Hell, one of the first groups eliminated was a bunch of deeply-religious refugees from various war-torn areas of Africa. That’s audience-sympathy gold right there. But they were kind of lame, so off they went. Sorry, guys. We need those harmonies tight; you can’t leave room for Jesus in there.

(OH MY GOD. “SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY.” THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU’VE EVER DONE, DARTMOUTH AIRES. LISTEN TO THAT BASS-LINE. GODDAMN.)

Crap, it’s almost midnight. Well, off you go, little post. Our time together was brief, but intoxicating.

We have concluded that there is not actually a rat living in our garage. There is, in fact, a bear. A huge fuckin’ grizzly bear. Maybe with a bazooka. We’ve drawn this conclusion based on the way it managed to obliterate the lid of some industrial-strength tupperware in order to get at the quinoa housed therein. Like, there was more hole than lid by the time the beast was done with it. Definitely way more hole than was required to gain sufficient access to the food, which means that at some point, this creature stopped destroying for necessity, and began destroying for pleasure.

Hide yo’ kids. Hide yo’ wife.

In other news, Secret Garden is just going to be the prettiest dang show you ever did see. My heart is all a-flutter.

My friend Kirsten had a baby on Wednesday. A baby! A whole new person! I am too impressed to even deal with it. Also, because I am the oddest of ducks, I keep thinking about weird stuff; like the fact that this kid has been born into a post-Harry Potter world. The books are done, the movies are done…it’s totally not even going to be a thing for him. I mean, how crazy is that? He missed that entire cultural phenomenon. The thing people went apeshit over for a solid decade. And ten years from now, someone my age will be talking to him about it, and trying to describe what a big deal it all was, and he’ll be all, “oh, cool, I guess,” and then he’ll teleport to his holo-suite to play inter-dimensional photon chess with his android friend who lives on Venusian colony B59-K. I just don’t get your generation, Hypothetical Future-Kid. I JUST DON’T GET YOU AT ALL.

It’s my mom’s birthday today. She spent the bulk of it in rehearsal for White Christmas, where they brought her festive party hats and a banner, and she showed her gratitude by making them all tap-dance their feet off for a good five hours. Til cooked prime rib for dinner, and when I finally got home from my rehearsal, Mom and I sat by the fire and gossiped about our shows, and she made me try some terrible cheese, and I showed her my very first honest-to-god, not-going-away laugh-line, just to make sure the day’s whole “aging” theme really got driven home.

(I made a Hamburglar reference to one of my wranglees today, only to find out that he had no idea who the Hamburglar is. Because he was born in THE YEAR TWO-THOUSAND. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just take my laugh-line and my 1980′s fast-food mascots to a quiet corner where I can turn to dust.)