I worry about my Geegsters. This week has been one of a great deal of alarm, some warranted, some not. Though I am willing to concede that this past week was a menstrual one for most of the cast, and I fully admit that my monthly turns me into an emotional wreck looking to pick a fight, I think the fact that our numbers appear to be dwindling gives me a little reason to fret a tiny bit.
Last night's show was super kick-ass though. Shark Tank: The Musical saw a touching grandfather/grandchild scenario, filthy kitchen staff singing a three part song about peeling potatoes, a team of maniacal scientists giving human powers to a shark, followed by a couple of gruesome shark attacks, with the shark itself singing the finale. Brava! During warm-ups we also had a really kick ass song that could be our new rehearsed opener. It went something like:
DYNAMITE!
FEELS ALRIGHT!
HOLD ME TIGHT!
DYNAMITE!
Looks simple enough, eh? That's what hits are made of. And we can remember that.
Then, Bob, Mike and I kicked it to Coldtowne with none other than our refrigerator salesman Jeff, who we met at Sears earlier that day, in tow. In a bizarre Austiny turn of events, the dude in the appliance section of Sears came out to see our earlier shows and followed us to the other theater to watch Tankprov. Jeff appears to have just moved to town from SA, where he knew the likes of local godfather of improv D. Lampe.
Tankprov can be adequately described as BASSPROV in a WWII German tank instead of a lake in Indiana. Again, Terp + crew took the victory. That dude is mad talented and mad funny for sure, but I still feel like the rest of us are stuck in the nutscratching conundrum. Us trying-hard folks don't stand a chance against the charisma bombs of the world, a lesson I learned all too well in college.
We then went to Star Seeds for some post-performative nutriment, where they were playing some music that intrigued me, sort of a lo-fi hippie jam band meets D. Garza-esque canciones singing style, but with more drugs. Turns out it was the early incarnation of T. Rex, as in Bang-a-Gong T. Rex. I have spent much of my morning hunting down this album on the interweb. Here's what I'm talking about: www.myspace.com/tyrannosaurusrex68
In other news, I hit 72,000 words on the novel and am feeling like it's almost done. I was told by a professional teacher of novelizing that a first draft should be roughly 100,000, but I was told by the professional J-Rat that extending the novel just for the sake of making it longer is stoopid and that if I'm done, I'm done. I did a rough word count of Elinor's last novel and if my calculations are correct, that novel is around 100,000 words. I think I might add a couple of things I think the novel needs, which will probably be around 10,000 extra words and see how that goes. It's just a first draft!
By contrast, Doug's Eleanor Rigby appears to clock in at 72,000 words. For the record, Doug is in town for the Fuck-By and this non-passholder does not get to professionally starfuck him until tonight, when (hopefully) he'll be at the US premiere of his movie, Everything's Gone Green.
I worry too, we have one girl out of town and wounded, one girl in town and ill, one girl out of town and in love, one girl getting married, one girl having surgery soon and the rest of us are just dealing with regular life.
I think that there has been a general level of weird stress in the entire AIC and we are also feeling stressed and tired.
I know my home life and kid/mom/work issues don't have anything to do with not wanting to play, but they have made me feel kind of ill in general. I feel like crap today. I'm run down and shaky still.
None of us like the feeling we get when we know we have to choose between rest and letting other people down, especially those we care about. And I think we need one or two other women around consistently.
Its an issue we must talk about at the retreat.
Also, I'm glad you had an awesome show! You rock, Ms. D.
Posted by: jules at March 10, 2007 01:30 PM