NaBloPoMo ’14, Day Five: IT 100% COUNTS


I blame Gilmore Girls for my tardiness. And American Horror Story: Freak Show. Television is truly the enemy of the written word.

(I honestly cannot tell you why I keep slogging along with American Horror Story when I know — I KNOW — that there is no plan. No well-thought-out story arc, no real endgame, nothing but a mess of concepts and ideas and aesthetics that appeal to Ryan Murphy’s ADD funhouse of a brain. It’s just so damn confusing, because it has all the correct setup to be a well-plotted genre show. And that’s how he gets you. You’re like “ooh, this seems to have the makings of an awesome, slow-burn, season-long narrative, I can’t wait to see how everything comes together in the end,” and then halfway through it’s devolved into Ryan being all “THE FANS SEEM TO LIKE THAT MICROCEPHALIC WOMAN WHO SHOWED UP IN THE BACKGROUND OF A FEW EPISODES, LET’S GIVE HER AN IMPLAUSIBLE, BIZARRE, FOCUS-PULLING STORY ARC” or “I MENTIONED STEVIE NICKS ONCE IN A THROWAWAY GAG AND THE FANS LOVED IT SO LET’S ACTUALLY PUT HER ON THE SHOW AND, LIKE, NOT JUST ONCE” and then he pretends that shit was his plan all along. What’s that, Ryan? All the seasons are connected, you say? You’re sure that’s not just something you’re saying now because it’s a popular theory that’s gained traction on the internet over the past couple of years? Okay, buddy. I believe you. Let’s just title next year’s outing American Horror Story: What Would YOU Like to See, Audience? I’ll Do Whatever You Want. I Don’t Even Care If It Makes Sense. Just…Just Please Love Me. PLEASE. *Muffled Crying Sounds* and be done with it. Or, if we wanted to actually solve the problem, we could force Ryan Murphy to have the entire season shot and done with before it starts to air, BBC-style, thus avoiding that aforementioned mid-season 180 when viewer feedback starts to have actual impact on the direction of the show and everything goes directly to hell. Ugggghhhh YOU HAVE SO MANY AMAZING ACTORS AND RESOURCES AT YOUR DISPOSAL, RYAN, AND YOU ARE WASTING THEM ON YOUR MEANDERING ADOLESCENT FAN-FIC NONSENSE. Jessica Lange deserves better.)

Sooooooo this became one long parenthetical aside about American Horror Story. But an entry is an entry is an entry, so peace out, y’all, I’mma get me right to bed.


NaBloPoMo ’14, Day Four: Aw crap, I’m gonna have to learn to do my hair fancy too, probably.

Tony just reminded me that I’ve scarcely an hour left to get in a post. Thaaaaaaaanks, Tony, you are cute and I like you.

Second rehearsal for Something for the Boys tonight, where our animated German director finally joined us and described his semi-immersive, show-within-a-show concept for the production, which will involve transforming the Eureka Theatre into the famed Hollywood Canteen to some degree. As a big fan of the overall aesthetics of that era, I’m really looking forward to seeing the finished product. Hopefully the costumer will be able to find a cute forties frock that fits me and doesn’t make me look like a downed barrage balloon from the Blitz.

I also got a chance to do some moderate German musical theatre-related geeking out with Herr Regisseur, who worked on some pretty big-ticket stuff over there before relocating to the US two-and-a-half years ago. And before you ask, I managed to make it all of five minutes before inquiring as to whether or not he knows and/or has worked with Drew Sarich. (Answer: Yes and yes. So now I’m only one professional degree of separation away from Drew Sarich. That fact definitely doesn’t reduce me mentally to a fangirling twelve-year-old. Nope. Nothing to see here but a grown-ass woman handling herself.)

Voice is still terrible, though it looks like I’ll be seeing an ENT a week from Thursday, so hopefully Blossom Hart will have that trademark Merman brassiness by the time we make it to tech. I mean, worst case scenario, I could probably lip-synch to the original cast recording. Or we could just turn it into an entire evening of me lip-synching Merman songs. Which would be amazing. And also probably look something like this.

And now, more Gilmore Girls for me. Fly, little nothing of a post! Flyyyyyy!

NaBloPoMo ’14, Day Three: How old is too old when it comes to taking up mime?

Heeeeeey, has anybody seen a nice, solid mix laying around anywhere? Ranging from, like, a Bb to about an F? Really clear and well-supported? Possibly hanging out with an unstrained belt that goes from G to (on a very good day) C#? ‘Cause I have misplaced both of those things. I have misplaced them SO HARD.

Yeah, things are not going too well down in the ol’ larynx, boy howdy. Of course, I’m convinced it’s nodes, because when you’re a singer, you are always convinced it’s nodes. A little hoarse today? Nodes. Throat feels tight? Nodes. Accidentally cut your finger while prepping dinner? NODES. But for real, you guys, I’m worried it might be nodes. I put my voice through the ringer on Yeast Nation in a really, markedly unhealthy way, and this hoarseness hasn’t really let up since it first appeared back around October 5th.

(Allergic reaction to a bee sting? NODES.)

All this would be a little less distressing if tonight hadn’t been the first rehearsal in what will be a whirlwind three weeks of prep for Something For the Boys, leaving me with exactly zero time to shut up and recover. So now begins the process of hunting down an ENT; though in order for that to happen, I must first call Anthem tomorrow at dawn, regain access to my online account (because I locked myself out tonight trying to answer my “I forgot my password” security question), figure out what my used-to-be-a-PPO-but-now-is-something-useless plan covers, and then see if there are any singer-focused otolaryngologists in the area who’ll take said insurance and see me within the next 48 hours. Adulthood: Where sometimes the best possible outcome involves trying not to vomit while a stranger shoves a rod-shaped metal camera down your throat and then charges you more than you earn in a month for the ordeal. Also maybe you get some steroids. Wheeeee!

(…car accident? NODES.)

NaBloPoMo ’14, Day Two: Now away with us, to our individual goings-on!

There really isn’t anything quite like a closing night cast party to remind you that no matter how much you still feel like you’re 22, you are, in fact, thirty entire years of age, so maybe cool it with the rum-and-Cokes and the not-getting-home-until-4:00.

(Other good age-reminder: Collapsing full-force to your knees on the hard, wooden stage floor during your death scene for five straight weekends, without kneepads. Keep an eye out for my upcoming Indiegogo campaign to fund my bionic patella replacements!)

(Ray of Light sure does like having me collapse and die onstage in their shows.)

(Heather Orth as Tony in Ray of Light’s West Side Story, Fall 2015.)

So yes, Yeast Nation was here, and now it is gone. Though we had a five-week break between our informal workshop and the beginning of actual rehearsals, it was still a project on which we’d all been working as a group since the first week of June. That’s a long, long time to live with a show/cast, at least at the community theatre level. And I won’t lie…the last couple of weekends became a bit of a slog for me. It’s hard to be on a stage giving your all and not getting much in return from your audiences; in my case in particular, to be absolutely shredding my vocal cords with my ill-chosen character voice for tiny houses of onlookers who were generally apathetic at best. I wish more people had seen it. I wish more people went to theatre in general. I wish we had gotten reviewed more, and by reputable publications that utilize crazy things like copy editors, proofreading, or some recognizable form of the English language. I wish the cow was full of milk, I wish the walls were full of gold, I wish a lot of things.

I will always be grateful, however, for the opportunity to have worked on a new, evolving piece of theatre, and for the time I got to spend with the pair of affable, Tony-winning geniuses responsible for creating it. Also, this cast was full of some bomb-ass folks with maaaaajor pipes, and I’mma miss ’em hardcore. Also also, I’m looking into what it would take to get our stage manager, Laraine, to stage manage my entire existence. Lord knows somebody needs to.

First rehearsal for Something For the Boys at 42nd Street Moon tomorrow, and then our first performance three weeks after that. Woo! And also yikes. But mostly woo.