It’s one of those super crazy theater weeks where you play three different people across three days, then see if it pans out thru the weekend.
…I mean, who am I joking, of course I was gonna audition for Arcadia after all…who the hell wouldn’t if they could?
…So after a weekend of bouncing back and forth on the fence, I gave in, did some character brush-up and review, launching me into auds last night. Tonight, I travel north for our first table read n’ formal chat on the devised Chekhov piece for this year’s Seattle Fringe, and tomorrow: I launch back into [title of show]…unless it comes up cancelled due to lack of audience…in which case I double back south for Arcadia callbacks…leading hopefully (one must always be hopeful) to casting.
…If that’s a go, I’ll prob’ly be tag-teaming ‘tween it and [tos] come Saturday.
In or out, Wednesday performance or not, that’s still a three-atre full week…which is pretty super cool, and prob’ly the funnest thing to happen to me since downloading customer Bee Cha’s contract on Monday and saying it out loud for the first time.
(…Which, no doubt, isn’t intended to be funny…it’s prob’y even a family name…leading to a totally respected lineage of former Bee Chas…with Bee Chas to come…but I get precious few happy moments in this job, so gimme a damn break.)
…Anyway…what we I talking about?
Oh yeah: Cecil is super sick, so I did a drive-n-drop of supplies on her doorstep last night, full of all the things you use for colds, but minus the alcohol. She’s sitting at home now, after going to the Doc, and is itching to be doing all the things She’s “supposed” to be doing, and would be, had She not the plague. Being one of those people who hates to get beat (even by tiny bugs floating in her spit), I’ll bet She’s reading this right now…while pouting, with total lack of else to do.
…So I’ll write her a tiny terrible poem, in lieu of a “get well soon” card.
…And here it is:
O Cecil of sickness, so full of goo,
Wisht you felt less awful and sadishly blue.
The sun, it is shining, and wants you to play,
But you’d shrivel up in it, and blow all away.
Cuz your head-parts and face-parts and parts you can’t see,
Are cloaked by invisible bugs and gross things.
So you’re too busy hacking and snorting out goop
To even think twice,’bout that paper that’s due.
Which is good, cuz your eyes are all bloodshot and ouchy,
It’s best to just “jammy,” all snug on your couchy.
So this time next week, you’ll feel gooder than good,
And go back to the super “Cecil” you should.
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Gwen
~D