lordy

My niece, The Button is almost 2 1/2 now. She prays every night before bedtime. The other evening, my brother says, she was praying for “Gampa’s work.” (Gampa is grandpa from her mom’s side.)

She paused for a moment, then mused:

“I don’t work. I just read books and play with toys all day.”

I hate …..

…. having to pick up the slack for certain geeks at work who absolutely hafta, hafta HAFTA leave early to don their Darth Vader costumes and race on down to the freaky geeky zoo that is ComicCon International.

Watch out, world. They are storming the streets. In capes. And masks.

And tights.

friday follies

From the pen of Florenz Ziegfeld himself: Ziegfeld on his girls, starring his girls, edited by moi.

Morning Telegraph 1925

Beauty, of course, is the most important requirement and the paramount asset of the applicant. When I say that, I mean beauty of face, form, charm and manner, personal magnetism, individuality, grace and poise …

These are details that must always be settled before the applicant has demonstrated her ability either to sing or dance. It is not easy to pass the test that qualifies a girl for membership in a Ziegfeld production …

… but I am frank to say that once she has done so, much of the element of doubt is removed so far as the future success of her career before the footlights is concerned.

There is a prevalent impression that once a girl is enlisted under the Ziegfeld standard, her troubles are over and her hard work is ended …

What a mistake!

Let us hope that for many it does mean the end of trouble so far as earning a livelihood is concerned, that it means happy and comfortable home living honestly earned. But there are other troubles ahead for her, and plenty of hard work ….

A Ziegfeld production is no place for a drone or an idler. Often are the times when you who read these words are just opening your eyes in the morning or are enjoying your breakfast and the early news of the day, that the girls of a Ziegfeld production are busy as bees …

on the stage of an empty theatre …

if indeed they have not already put in an hour or more in striving to come nearer to the perfection …

which is expected of them before the footlights. Yes, there is plenty of hard work for them in addition to that which they do when they appear, smiling and happy …

when the curtain goes up. Giving a performance is the least of their worries.

Let us grant that a girl qualifies for one of my productions. It is interesting to note what follows. First, it is clearly outlined to her what she is expected to do. She may be impressed at the outset that the impossible is required …

but honest application and heroic perseverance on her part plus skillful and encouraging direction by experts very seldom fail to achieve the desired results.

But it is only through constant, faithful endeavor by the girl herself that the goal eventually is reached ….

lovely, really …

… but do I spy with my little eye something horribly awry?

(Does anyone else see it? And please don’t feel the need to explain it to me; I get it. I just don’t like it.)

rockstar supergrossa

This dude from Rockstar Supernova is freaking me out:

Because ……

He is clearly the secret lovechild of two actors I looooooaathe.

Billy Zane:

And — look away first — deep breath and — “gird your loins, people!”

Clint Howard:

faces

From Sheila who got it from Dennis, my gallery of just some of the faces I love. I think most will be faces you know, but I’ll be happy to tell you who they are if you don’t:

missed opportunities, really

Another repost from last summer’s drama camp.

_________________________

I thought/I spoke

Yesterday at the end of draahhhma camp, came this conversation:

Mother: Trevor is very upset. He says he’s NOT in the play!

(I Thought: Trevor is being a little drama queen.)
I Spoke: Trevor is in the play.

Mother: He says he’s not. He doesn’t have any lines.

(I Thought: Yup. That’s right. This is theatre; you gotta earn it.)
I Spoke: Well, no, he doesn’t have any lines. The kids were told they needed to audition if they wanted a speaking part or solo. Trevor didn’t audition, but he’s definitely in the show.

Mother: Well, I can’t believe that. He loves this sort of thing.

(I Thought: Hunh. Funny, I did NOT get that sense from his constant rolling on the floor.)
I Spoke: Well, that’s great. I’m sure he does. It would be great to see a little more of that.

Mother: Well, can’t you just give him a line anyway?

(I Thought: NO.)
I Spoke: I believe all the lines are taken by kids who auditioned for a speaking part.

Mother: So he can’t have a line?

(I Thought: NO! I’M NOT IN THE HABIT OF GIVING SOMETHING FOR NOTHING HERE, ESPECIALLY TO A KID WHO’S DONE NOTHING BUT ROLL AROUND ON HIS ASS AND BEEN NOTHING BUT A PAIN IN MINE.)
I Spoke: Well, if one of the lines becomes available, I’d likely hold “mini auditions” for it, so there’s always that possibility.

Mother: Well, he’s just so upset.

(I Thought: (BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!!!!!!)
I Spoke: Well, perhaps you can talk to him tonight about why he chose not to audition and encourage him to do so if another opportunity comes up.

I moved my mouth, hoping to find the shape of a smile. I doubt that I did. Mother stared at me, confused; walked away, confused. I could read her mind:

“What?! I don’t get what I want just because I want it, I really, REALLY want it?! Waaaahhhh!!!”

Whatever.

Drama queens.

traumatic flashbacks

I wasn’t able to do drama camp this summer. The facility we normally use just jerked us around, wanting more money than they’ve ever taken, and it became too late to find another location. I’m quite sad about it, actually, but I suppose there’s always next summer.

So I thought I’d give some of you who might be newer readers a little retrospective on LAST year’s insanity. (And “retrospective” is really just street for rerun. All da peeps are sayin’ it. True dat.)

So let’s start with Day 1 of last year’s camp. Here’s the post if you missed it.
______________________________________________________

“if you can’t act, BEHAVE!!”

Can I say this? I rather dread the first day of drama camp. And today was the first day of drama camp.

There’s always too much drama.

There’s always the Poor, Fretful Chile who didn’t choose camp; it was chosen for her. Not sure which one she is? Oh, well, she’s the one coming unglued over in the corner. And is that her mother with her, consoling her? Nope, that’s me, trying to brainwash this child into believing that “drama camp will be fun, fun, fun and it’s just the ticket for a jittery kid like you!!”

Then there’s always the Bratty Boy; the boy that says, “Ew. There aren’t any boys at this camp, only girls. Eww. I don’t wanna do this. Ewwww. This SUCKS.” So where is Bratty Boy now? Oh, he’s lying down over there in another corner. Guess he’s just plumb tuckered out from all that participatin’ he’s doin’. Or he’s drunk. Frankly, I’d rather he lie there than bother the rest of camp.

Then there’s always the Little Girl in Floozy Makeup, the one whose naturally beautiful, shining face has been frosted and glossed and rouged past innocence into a macabre rainbow of wrongness. So where is the little rainbow now? Well, I wish I could say she was in the bathroom with a washcloth, making the world right again, but, alas, she’s loudly centerstage, frosty and glossy and rougey.

Of course, there’s always the Parent Who Never Leaves, the one who can’t separate or won’t separate or won’t let the child separate or some other combination of raging parent/child emeshment. Interesting. It’s usually the little rainbow’s mom.

Then there’s always the Parent Who Treats You Like A Babysitter: “Um, so, this is Fancy’s overnight bag. She’s spending the night with little Kiwi, so Kiwi’s mom needs to get this stuff, m’kay? And (eyeing our Goldfish and pretzels suspiciously) these are Fancy’s special snack-ums. I want her to have some healthy snacks, so you can just give her these Honey Crusted Wheat Germy Soy Sticks, m’kay?” Interesting. It’s usually the mom of the sickliest looking kid at camp.

Then there’s always, always the Parent Who Cross-Examines You About Why Little Blandranelle Didn’t Get The Part She Desperately Wanted — And Do You Know She Cried All Day and All Night, Too?!?

But then, ah, then, there’s always The Boy Who’s My Hero, the one who is sure enough about his emerging masculinity that he can go to football camp or baseball camp or basketball camp and STILL come to drama camp. And where is this boy, you ask? Well, he’s the one onstage right now, fearlessly leading the charge before all the other boys and getting up to audition, opinions be damned.

Finally, perhaps best of all, there’s always the Kid With Grace, the truly talented one who didn’t get the part she’d hoped for, because, much as you’d like, you can’t give every kid the lead, can’t make every theatre dream come true. So where can one find this Kid With Grace? Well, she’s the one on the phone with me now, listening as I offer her the choice of two other parts, neither the part, but still oh-so-important. And she’s the one hiding her disappointment with a poise belying her tender years. And she’s the one who breaks your heart when, again, you ask which part she prefers and she says, “Well, which choice would make it easier for YOU to do the best possible show? That’s the part I want.”

Come to think of it, dread is not the right word. Not the right word at all.