4 June
A miracle occurred at rehearsal last night.
No, really, it was as extraordinary as Jesus walking on the water.
Okay, let me start from the beginning. First we did a line-through, i.e. just seeing if we actually know the lines, (which, seeing as we open tomorrow, sure would be nice) and Polly called for line about twenty times, setting my teeth on edge.
On break I went to the bathroom and, running into Vicki, said "If she calls for line one more time, I'm slapping her!", and Vicki, sweet Vicki, looked me right in the eye and said with a big smile "I really like the work you're doing in this show! You're doing a great job!"
Then we did a run, and that's when the miracle occurred.
It was actually good! No really, it came to life for the first time (not to mention just in time). It wasn't mistake-free, but I'm beginning to think that perhaps we will not be embarrassing ourselves in the worst abortion ever to appear on the American stage.
Which would certainly be nice...
During my monologue, she's supposed to interrupt me several times, which she never gets right, nor did she break that streak during the run.
At one point she threw me a line from several pages ahead, and I said "I'm not going to answer that, but I will tell you this," and I answered what she should have said, and was prepared to go on, when she apparently went insane and backtracked throwing me the correct line! So I said, in character "I've already passed that bit!" and prepared to go on again, and she improvised back, for some unknown reason, so I turned to her and said "I don't care what you're doing, shut up, I'm telling this story now!"
Afterwards, Ronnie told me that perhaps I was a little curt with her, and I told her that if she didn't know the line, she should just say nothing, because I know what to do if she skips it, but I'm rather at a loss if I get entirely the wrong line!
My major screwup was at the top of scene two, where I have a line that goes: "I think a glossy print of that informal photo, dispatched under plain cover to the Society Department of the Cockaloonie Gazette should ensure a better tone to the write-up!"
But what I said was: "I think, uh, a glossy print of, uh, that candid, uh, picture, dispatched under, uh, plain cover to the, Cockaloonie Gazette, should, uh, make a friendlier, uh, thingy."
And hoped that she would say her next line. Which she did.
Afterwards, Ronnie suggested gently that I glance over that speech.
Spent the day listening to Cherry Poppin' Daddies' Zoot Suit Riot, which is just the swellest album. I am really digging this New Swing. Then, when I got home I listened to Four Bitchin' Babes, which didn't rock my world, but I'll give it another shot sometime.
And, as I write this, I'm listening to Christine Lavin's Good Thing He Can't Read My Mind, and I had forgotten exactly what a wonderful album this is.
It was actually the first of her albums I ever got. You see, a long time ago a friend recorded a mix tape and included her "Shopping Cart of Love", and said that that was her only good song. I, being the sheep that I am, believed him, so it took me a good deal longer before I discovered her properly.
I was in a record store, you see, and for only the second time in my life I listened to a song playing overhead and ran to the desk, crying "I must have that album immediately!" the first time being Violent Femmes' Hallowed Ground.
The song was "Mysterious Woman", which is actually a joke song, a take-off on Suzanne Vega, whom I adore, but I didn't realize that, and because it sounded like Suzanne, I grabbed it with both hands.
It makes a great first Christine Lavin album, guys, if anyone's planning on taking the plunge...
One year ago today:
Christ almighty, my life is a living hell.
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