Last night I was very tired after rehearsals and just did the minimum on the computer before trying to go to sleep at 11:30. Leaky toilet kept me up. Must remember to phone the manager and have them replace the flush mechanism which is failing.
Dress rehearsal with makeup and mikes. The monitor for the orchestra was loud enough for us to hear onstage, so things worked a lot better for me this time. For my solo the nice conductor added my first note to the underscore, so i was actually able to hit it. As predicted, there is no way the actors can hear the orchestra through the audience's speaker system, but that's a moot point now.
The mikes were a big WTF. The sound guy just handed them out. No instructions, no clips or tape or straps. No nothing. I've only used mikes twice before, and both times they were attached by experienced sound crew. Since we can't hear the audience sound system from the stage, I have no idea if my mike was even on. I don't need it - the one time I have to sing over the orchestra, it's just a snare drum, a piccolo and a bassoon. If the day ever comes when I can't drown out that small of an accompaniment, it'll be time to put me in a box, shove the box into a rocket and shoot the whole thing into the sun.
Nice surprise at work yesterday - Moto gave us all a little stock grant. Not an option, this, but free stock. All we have to do to have it dumped into our brokerage accounts is stay employed here till this time in 2012. Getting free stock is nice, being given the hint that they want us to stick around for 4 more years is even nicer.
**I met crowblog toward the end of 1973, or the first week of 1974, when The Daily Astorian, of which I was layout editor, backup photographer and arts & entertainment contributor, sent me to the Lewis and Clark Theater with orders to audition for the community theater production of You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, and write a first person article about what it's like to try out for a part at the local theater. I'd been in several plays in high school and college, I'd directed two plays, and had been A&E editor of my college paper for a couple of summers, so this was right down my alley. Since I did not think of myself as a singer (I played lots of instruments, and had always looked down at singers as slackers) I was sure this would be a case of "don't call us, we'll call you" for this musical. On top of that, I had a beard, which also should have ruled me out, since there are no adults in the dramatis personae for Charlie Brown.
Arriving at the theater, a bare stage, painted black, there were a couple of other auditioners, an accompanist and crowblog - she would be directing the show. I can't remember if we read from the script, but I do remember that I was asked to sing, and since I had not brought any music I thought I would be able to duck that sordid task. I told her I couldn't sing. But no, they had some song books full of songs I knew, and she did not believe my excuses, so I stumbled through one. Ms. Director looks at me and says, "You can't sing? Hmmm. Can you try another one?" They kept playing, I kept singing. I thought they were teasing me. Mocking the afflicted. Making fun of the handicapped. Somehow auditions segued into a walk down to the piano bar at the Fiddler's Green restaurant, where we delighted in the pianist's rendition of Rubber Duckie and I think we closed the bar.
The next day (I think), I'm writing my article (or something), and crowblog calls. She wants me to play Charlie Brown. She said she was blown away by my singing. She was serious. So in February I was onstage, sans beard, in a sweater with a zig-zag stripe across the bottom, singing. It was a truly fun experience.
Since then, crowblog has moved north, and is Grays Harbor County's official bird rescue person, one of the rare individuals certified by the state (she doesn't work for any government agency for this, her home is a bird rescue sanctuary). She has raised crows and kept them as pets for a long time. Drop by her LJ and say hi.