Art Critic

The musical I have been choreographing is opening (and closing!) this weekend, and things are getting intense. I have taught so many twelve-year-olds to sway back and forth, you guys. So many. It sounds easy, but it would blow your mind how difficult basic rhythm is for preteens. Seriously.

Lately I've been so tired that I keep feeling like my real life is a dream. The edges of my vision are kind of blurry, and the sound is kind of muted, and I keep wanting to jump off a table and fly around (something I often do when I know that I'm dreaming).

I am actually drinking a can of Cherry Coke Zero right now to help me WAKE UP!

WRITING IN CAPITAL LETTERS AND USING EXCLAMATION POINTS ALSO HELPS WAKE ME! DON'T I SEEM SO AWAKE RIGHT NOW GUYS?!!!

Anyway, clearly this is all an excuse as to why I have not been posting. I think about posting a lot; I just don't follow through. The other day I considered writing about the picture my son drew that looked like a weird penis but ended up being a catapult. But then I felt badly because he was really proud of the penis-looking catapult. And I don't want to mock my own son, no matter how hilarious I think it would be. I will say that, even now, I am fighting the urge to post the picture I took of the catapult. You guys would die laughing. Ugh. It's so hard to be a decent mother who doesn't publicly-mock her child's artistic ambitions!

And that's where I choose to end this Cherry-Coke-Zero-fueled nonsense: with a vague image of a phallic catapult. Go ahead and imagine what it looks like. Draw your own and send it to me. I will give whoever's drawing comes the closest to the real thing a can of Cherry Coke Zero. Promise.

An actual catapult, from: here.

TLSU's Guide to Tricky Situations

I wrote the following essay a long time ago, while reflecting on a strange experience I had in college. I've never shared it publicly because I thought it might be too weird. And chances are, if I think something is too weird, it's extremely weird.

Upon further thought, however, I decided that I don't care. I think it's funny. And funny is really the point here, isn't it? So there you have it. I'm going for it. 

Without further ado, I bring you:

WHAT TO DO IF YOU EVER FIND YOURSELF IN AN ACCIDENTAL ORGY

 

Do orgies really happen? The answer to that question is yes. And you need to be careful, lest you should happen to fall into one.

You should be especially careful when attending a theater party. It is ill-advised to wander into unknown rooms at a theater party, especially if said rooms are “upstairs” or “in the back.”

Say, for instance, you’re at a cast party. You’ve had some margaritas and are feeling very warm and happy inside. Suddenly, you notice some of your friends going upstairs. DO NOT FOLLOW THEM.

You may think, oh, I bet they are going to have a deep conversation about life and the arts. Or you may think there is an even cooler dance party happening in another room. This is highly unlikely. Even if you do happen to come across a secret, upstairs dance party, chances are it will soon turn to a secret, upstairs orgy. Do not be fooled.

But, for the sake of an example, let’s say you accidentally do follow your friends to their new location. If, for any reason, you are asked to remove your shoes, leave immediately. This is another classic warning sign of impending orgy. (People do not “do it” with shoes on.)

If you don’t recognize the warning signs, and you end up taking off your shoes and going inside, know that everyone will soon be sitting on the floor in a circle. They may express surprise you are there, like, “Whoa, Molly, I didn’t think this was your style!” You will find this odd, because deep conversations about the arts are most definitely your style.

They may also make comments to each other, such as, “Guys, don’t scare her, she’s from Minnesota.” This will insult you because MN has a thriving arts scene.

If even after all of this, you are still waiting patiently for a thoughtful dialogue to begin, you will start to notice a lot of touching and giggling. This alone is not uncommon for theater people, but if it is combined with a noticeable lack in conversation, monologues, and “attention-hogging,” you are officially in an orgy.

What to do if you suddenly find yourself mid-orgy:

First, avert your eyes. Someone somewhere may have exposed something and you do not need to see it.

Second, find your shoes. They may be in a giant fish bowl, so be aware you may have to leave them behind. It is better to go home shoeless than to go home “intercoursed.”

To avoid drawing any embarrassing attention, make up a white lie. One that has worked for me in the past is “I think I left my orgy stuff downstairs.” This will intrigue your companions enough to leave you alone.

Once you are out, stay out. Do not be drawn back in by promises of “just talking” or “meaningful experience.” Leave and do not turn back.

Finally, never speak of this experience again.

Announcement!

The Lazy Stand-Up is about to get un-lazy, everyone.

This Saturday, March 22nd, I am going to actually leave my house after 9PM and go perform live comedy! What? Can you even believe it?

The show is called: OMG: Before We Got Our Lady Bits and it's improv based on old middle and high school journals, diaries, and notes. I thought that sounded pretty much amazing, so I threw my name in the pool to participate, and here we are. It's GO TIME.

My main concern is not that I will be bad at improv (which, don't get me wrong, is a concern) but more that I will actually fall asleep on stage because the show starts at 10:30 PM. That's kind of late.

But anyway, if you're in the area and would like to see a bunch of female improvisors create funny scenes based on awkward tweenage angst, come on down! It'll be so awesome.

Informative link:
http://www.hugetheater.com/shows/omg-before-we-got-our-lady-bits/

Blasphemers

Check out my awesome new cup!

I got this last weekend when we went to see "The Little Mermaid" at the local dinner theater. It is awesome; I have been very hydrated all week.

The cup is awesome, no doubt, but the play I had some issues with. And since I am basically like a professional reviewer of the fine arts (I wrote about a TV show once) I am going to share with you my concerns regarding this production of the Disney classic.

Before I begin, let me say that I am probably the last person who should ever review a show based on "The Little Mermaid" because I am something of a expert.

And let me also say that I am an expert because I once watched the movie sixteen times in one day.

When I was nine.

Which totally justifies it.

Anyway, as with many things, you can blame this movie-binge on my mother because she wouldn't let me buy the movie when it came out on video. I could only get the 24 hour rental. So obviously I had to watch it as many times as I could within those 24 hours because I love mermaids so much.

Eventually it aired on TV and I was able to tape it -- which was a relief.

I was such a Little Mermaid freak in the early 90's that when my sister's 8th-grade class was doing the musical for their spring concert, I actually wrote them a script to use from memory. That's a fact. File it under "True Facts" because that's what it is.

What I'm saying is that I know the story of the Little Mermaid better than your average adult [who is not institutionalized], so I don't like when people change the story and make it weird, which is what they did in the stage production I saw this weekend. For example:

1. Flounder was officially in love with Ariel. They added all these lines about how he had this unrequited love for her, and it was uncomfortable for many reasons, not the least of which is that he is 1/6 her size.

2. All the humans in the play dressed like they were in India, so when I thought I was going to see Ariel in this:

. . . she was in something like this:

Which makes NO SENSE.

3. Sebastian had a Steve-Urkel catchphrase. It wasn't "Did I do that?" but it was in a voice exactly like that. I was not into it.

4. There was all this stuff about how Ursula and Triton were brother and sister, and how Ursula killed all of her other siblings but forgot about Triton, and how Ursula killed Ariel's mom, and it was a bit much. Get to the "Oh that blowfish blow!" already. 

5. And finally, Prince Eric had blonde, curly hair. Which is ABSURD.

In conclusion, the actors were talented and the theater was nice, but I give this musical two thumbs DOWN for messing with what should not be messed.

Also, maybe I should see a therapist?

Midwesterners: They're Just Like Us!

The other day my husband and I were watching a show in which the main character encountered someone from the Midwest. Here is a pop quiz.

The Midwestern character was:

   A) sarcastic and tough
   B) gorgeous and aloof
   C) pudgy and dimwitted

The answer is C. How do I know? Because it's always C. Whenever there is a character from "the Midwest" on TV or in the movies, they are pudgy and dimwitted.

(Option A is from New York City, and Option B is from Sweden.)

Here is the problem: I'm from the Midwest and I am sick of being misrepresented by people who have no idea what they're talking about. If these writers visited Minneapolis, or Madison, or Ann Arbor, or Omaha, or any Midwestern city, they would probably realize that the Midwest is just like the rest of America, only with fewer shark attacks.

I mean I get it. There are more farms here than in cities with their own "Real Housewives" franchises. But does everyone in the Midwest live on a farm? No. And besides, farmers aren't pudgy and dimwitted. Farmers could kick your ass.

And what is with the term Midwest? Logically, that would mean the middle of the West, like, Wyoming. But it doesn't. The real Midwest is actually just the top-middle of the country. It makes no sense.

No one knows for certain why it's called the Midwest, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that people from coastal states are terrible with US geography. Zing. (No, but seriously, if you are from one of the coasts, can you name each state in the above picture?)

Moving on. To illustrate the many untrue and unflattering stereotypes of the Midwest and its inhabitants, I have an anecdote. True story:

A few years ago I was in NYC visiting friends. We went and got cheap tickets to the musical "Rock of Ages" which, at the time, was starring Constantine Maroulis from American Idol. It was kind of dumb, but entertaining. I liked it.

Later that night we were back at my friend's apartment in Brooklyn, having a drink in his back patio when his landlord/neighbor came down to visit. He asked about our evening and I told him about the play, making an offhand comment about Constantine's performance.

Immediately this guy went off about how disappointing it is to see Broadway whoring itself out by putting reality TV show contestants in productions just to bring in a "Midwestern audience."

Translation: the only thing that would bring simple-minded Midwesterners to see a Broadway show would be the presence of familiar reality TV stars.

Perhaps I'm overreacting, but I definitely wanted to punch that guy in the face. I wanted to tell him that I don't even watch American Idol (except that one season with they guy with grey hair), but there was no point. Plus I was kind of tired.

And by the way, I'm sure noooo one in cool, classy Brooklyn watches American Idol. No siree. Not there. They are too busy visiting museums and drinking fine wine.

Barf.

My mission today is to set the record straight on the Midwest. We are a normal cross-section of Americans who are no more, nor less, stupid than the rest of the country. We have the internet. We have people of different races, socioeconomic backgrounds, religions and cultures. There is crime here. People do drugs. We have museums, and theater, and Greek yogurt. We know what sex is.

And the pizza is good, too.

Seacrest out.

Musical Theater Part II: WHY I WILL NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, JUMP ONTO ANYTHING. EVER.

[For Part I click here.]

My sophomore year of high school we did “Guys and Dolls.” In comparison to my audition for Bye Bye Birdie, I sang something less awkward but equally off-key, and was again cast in the chorus. I made it on-stage this time, thankfully, but humiliation came in a new form: I was cast as a guy. That is, a guy, not a doll. I was cast as a guy. Are you getting that? I was a guy in “Guys and Dolls.” It was a complete blow to my sense of femininity. While the other girls would be “Hot Box Dancers” dressed in frilly costumes, I went shopping for a suit coat and tie with my mother. 

There was an upside to being a guy in the play – I got to be in guy scenes, one of which was elaborate and required several hours of rehearsal with all of the cool boys that I liked. It was not a bad way to spend an evening.

At the beginning of "the crap game" dance, my job was to stand on the top of two large, wooden boxes painted to look like sewer pipes. When the music started I would jump (with flair) down onto another box, and then to the floor to start shooting craps with my fellow gamblers. It was simple and elegant, exactly how you imagine high-school theater.

One day in rehearsal I was jumping from box one to box two (with flair), when box two suddenly collapsed beneath me. I fell knee-deep into the broken wood and face-first onto the stage. It was incredibly painful. My knees were bleeding, there were splinters involved, and every person (keep in mind mostly male) stopped and stared in shock. I don’t remember whether or not they tried to stifle their laughter. Mercifully, I blocked the next thirty minutes out and the next thing I remember was being at home with bandages all over my legs.

The next day our director called me out of class and informed me that the box was built improperly and that is was not my fault it broke. Um, thanks? Apparently this was so important that I had to be called out of class to hear it. Maybe he was afraid I would sue. (I should have sued!) But litigation was not my concern at the time. I was consumed with the fear that it wasn't the slipshod the carpentry of a junior set-designer, but rather my own body weight that took down the box. Who could know for sure? No one. NO ONE! 

It should be clear by now that I am not totally over this. I bet someone out there is writing a blog write now about the time a chunky girl broke through the set during Guys and Dolls rehearsal and how he'll never forget how hilarious it was and how stupid she looked. If you read that story somewhere, please let me know.

Actually, please don't.