May 13, 2010

floozing

Tonight, pre-show in the production office, we talked about the new flavor of Cheese-Its (pepper jack?) as well as a variety of yogurt-related topics. Upstairs in the makeup room, we talked about whether or not the Japanese are a tranquil people (?) and about the benefits and drawbacks of peppermint oil. Next to me in the dressing room my dresser is cursing at her knitting. Over the monitors, our Rosina is singing one of the most famous arias from the show: una voce poco fa.

There are four female supers in this show; two go on in the first fifteen minutes of Act I, and the other floozy and I go on most of the way through Act II. I laughed tonight, watching one of the first act supers get dressed. She wears the funniest, most saccharine-looking pinafore; it looks like something straight out of Babes in Toyland. She slips the dress over her head and POOF! She's done. My costume, on the other hand, takes me forever to put on. First I have to bandage my knees -- our costumes originally covered them, so we could wear kneepads, but they've since been altered to be above the knee. In order to protect the cartilage on my lower knees, I wear a pair of knee highs with the toes cut off, folded into quadrants and wrapped around my knee; then medical gauze; then an ace bandage; then medical tape. After that are fishnets and ballet slippers with pointe ribbons that have to be wrapped around the ankles and tied. Then a corset that of course is laced by a dresser; then pants that I can't put on myself because of how they latch. Then I have to get fake cleavage drawn on upstairs, and false eyelashes glued on.

Then I'm onstage for approximately 90 seconds! Ah, theater.

As much as I'm going to be SO RELIEVED to be finished the season, it's always bittersweet to leave the theater behind for a few months. In stress, frustration, and fatigue, it's easy to forget how lucky we are to be surrounded by what we love every day. Just listening to the principals warm up every show night makes me happy. I have to remind myself sometimes that most other people don't work in environments like this one. I was particularly reminded of this tonight when I came downstairs and everyone in the green room commented on my drawn-on cleavage. It was a completely hilarious, totally comfortable conversation that could not happen at so many other workplaces.

One more performance of Barber to go until we close. Take it away, Bugs:

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