The housewife and the ass
I've finally done my final Winnie the Pooh show for the Plano Children's theater. I was Eeyore the clinically depressed donkey, which at times, isn't much of a stretch. Winnie the Pooh was the children's theater spring show from last year, fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how broke, or tired we were, it became wildly popular, so the artistic directer decided to keep Pooh in repitory until what seems to be the end of time. What that means is we can go months without having to do a Pooh show, and then have on pop up on the calander. What's even more difficult for me is that I've given up on doing the children's theater shows, I quit at the end of last year, and no one has bothered to learn the critical to the plot Eeyore role.
The director wanted me to play Eeyore close to the vest. Simple, low toned voice, sort of like Brad Garrett meets Dick Cheney, and I tried it, but it seemed too boring. It seemed to bring the show to a complete stand still everytime I had a line. So I decided to do some character work. What if I were an old tattered frayed stuffed donkey? What if my parts were falling off my body,and I felt that everyone around me was apathetic toward me? What if everyone I knew was younger, more energetic, and I was the odd apple bringing down the group? Would I really be low talking energy pirate? I don't think so, I think I'd end up being a pissed off cantancerous ass... so that's how I ended up playing the donkey. He was mad. The tour manager, who just happened to by my buddy, Over Opinionated Girl, thought that at times I might have come off a little... too angry, but I didn't care. I looked like an old beat up convict who just stepped out of the gulag. My costume, like the character was falling apart, coming apart at the seams, it was held together with safety pins and iron-on patches, meaning I was endlessly getting poked by saftey pins which popped open. I had to crawl on my hands and knees, and about two months into the show my understudy lost my knee pads, so I've been going without knee pads for some time now. Method acting, the more miserable in real life, the more miserable onstage. Eventually Over Opinionated Girl started telling me to pull back on angry Eeyore, as she was afraid I was going to scare little kids... which is exactly what I was hoping for. The A.A. Milne book ends with Christopher Robin growing up and leaving his imaginary friends behind to rot away in the recess and crevices of his forebrain. Kids need to learn that life goes on, you grow up, you pay taxes, you fall in love, you get your heart broken, people die, cookies get burned in the oven, and that they are not going to always get the golden juice box that they want, and I don't think that two years old is too young to start teaching this all important lesson? And seriously, who better to teach them this hard learned life lesson than a disgruntled donkey with mild case of progeria.
My first line in the play is, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH!" a lound moan, which kind of became a primal rage yell, as Eeyore hits rock bottom in his pit of anguish. I loved it, but in a twist of either irony, or, "Well, that was obviously going to happen" Eeyore got his stubby legs cut out from under him, and his big moaning line got reduced to a mild wimper. No one respects the donkey, or what he's trying to say.
Anyway, I don't have to do it anymore. I've passed the role off onto Theater Guy who has agreed to take a weeks worth of shows next month. I could use the money, definately, but there's only so much felt I can take, and I've had enough to last me a life time.
I performed my last show earlier this week at this elementary school. There were two shows, unfortunately there was a good three hours in between the shows, so I had to kill some time. I sort of wanted to go back to the apartment and vacuum and make the bed, but instead I went to the mall with some of the kid actors and their mothers. I felt like one of the Clampets come to town, wearing old shorts, flip-flops, and an old Container Store shirt (my undercostume gear) walking into the very fancy Willowbend Mall, where any number of cute girls could have seen my and my horrific look.
I spent most of the time sitting in the food court with one of the mothers. We talked about life, and books, and being a single parent (her, not me... I hear you have to have sex in order to have a child, so... there hasn't been any danger of that for quite awhile much to my chagrin... well, not the child part... the sex part... I think you know what I'm saying). I will say this, our little "date" as we called it, brought back some memories of this relationship I had with an older coworker of mine a good eight years ago. The housemother who was an art major, was talking about how she really needs to go back to school in order to get motivated to keep working, which is something I'd been considering also, so it's nice to know that struggle for drive (should you not be naturally inclinded to drive yourself) never really goes away. It was a good talk. She tried to school me a bit in the way of life, and to... not fear settling, cause it's not horrific, but to strive for more. She's a smart girl who's been delt not the best hand but has made a good game of it, and what's even better than all that, is that she's still smoking hot, and I don't like being associated with unattractive people, so it was a good day, even though I had to wear that damned felt unitard one last time.
The director wanted me to play Eeyore close to the vest. Simple, low toned voice, sort of like Brad Garrett meets Dick Cheney, and I tried it, but it seemed too boring. It seemed to bring the show to a complete stand still everytime I had a line. So I decided to do some character work. What if I were an old tattered frayed stuffed donkey? What if my parts were falling off my body,and I felt that everyone around me was apathetic toward me? What if everyone I knew was younger, more energetic, and I was the odd apple bringing down the group? Would I really be low talking energy pirate? I don't think so, I think I'd end up being a pissed off cantancerous ass... so that's how I ended up playing the donkey. He was mad. The tour manager, who just happened to by my buddy, Over Opinionated Girl, thought that at times I might have come off a little... too angry, but I didn't care. I looked like an old beat up convict who just stepped out of the gulag. My costume, like the character was falling apart, coming apart at the seams, it was held together with safety pins and iron-on patches, meaning I was endlessly getting poked by saftey pins which popped open. I had to crawl on my hands and knees, and about two months into the show my understudy lost my knee pads, so I've been going without knee pads for some time now. Method acting, the more miserable in real life, the more miserable onstage. Eventually Over Opinionated Girl started telling me to pull back on angry Eeyore, as she was afraid I was going to scare little kids... which is exactly what I was hoping for. The A.A. Milne book ends with Christopher Robin growing up and leaving his imaginary friends behind to rot away in the recess and crevices of his forebrain. Kids need to learn that life goes on, you grow up, you pay taxes, you fall in love, you get your heart broken, people die, cookies get burned in the oven, and that they are not going to always get the golden juice box that they want, and I don't think that two years old is too young to start teaching this all important lesson? And seriously, who better to teach them this hard learned life lesson than a disgruntled donkey with mild case of progeria.
My first line in the play is, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH!" a lound moan, which kind of became a primal rage yell, as Eeyore hits rock bottom in his pit of anguish. I loved it, but in a twist of either irony, or, "Well, that was obviously going to happen" Eeyore got his stubby legs cut out from under him, and his big moaning line got reduced to a mild wimper. No one respects the donkey, or what he's trying to say.
Anyway, I don't have to do it anymore. I've passed the role off onto Theater Guy who has agreed to take a weeks worth of shows next month. I could use the money, definately, but there's only so much felt I can take, and I've had enough to last me a life time.
I performed my last show earlier this week at this elementary school. There were two shows, unfortunately there was a good three hours in between the shows, so I had to kill some time. I sort of wanted to go back to the apartment and vacuum and make the bed, but instead I went to the mall with some of the kid actors and their mothers. I felt like one of the Clampets come to town, wearing old shorts, flip-flops, and an old Container Store shirt (my undercostume gear) walking into the very fancy Willowbend Mall, where any number of cute girls could have seen my and my horrific look.
I spent most of the time sitting in the food court with one of the mothers. We talked about life, and books, and being a single parent (her, not me... I hear you have to have sex in order to have a child, so... there hasn't been any danger of that for quite awhile much to my chagrin... well, not the child part... the sex part... I think you know what I'm saying). I will say this, our little "date" as we called it, brought back some memories of this relationship I had with an older coworker of mine a good eight years ago. The housemother who was an art major, was talking about how she really needs to go back to school in order to get motivated to keep working, which is something I'd been considering also, so it's nice to know that struggle for drive (should you not be naturally inclinded to drive yourself) never really goes away. It was a good talk. She tried to school me a bit in the way of life, and to... not fear settling, cause it's not horrific, but to strive for more. She's a smart girl who's been delt not the best hand but has made a good game of it, and what's even better than all that, is that she's still smoking hot, and I don't like being associated with unattractive people, so it was a good day, even though I had to wear that damned felt unitard one last time.