There's a Judy Garland-Fred Astaire movie, I believe it's Easter Parade but I'm not totally sure, in which Fred plucks Judy from the chorus to be his new dance partner after hearing her sing a song, bucket in hand and apron on, with a chorus that goes "That's why I wish again that I was in Michigan, down on the farm."
We started off in Michigan nowhere near a farm, but rather in Detroit. I received this lovely email from my mother:
"Did you really play Detroit today?
Did you get to see 9 mile?
Lots of love,
MOM"
I think she was referring to 8 Mile, as in the Eminem movie. Although we didn't see 8 mile, we stayed on 14 mile, which is, like, almost twice as hardcore, I bet. Check out www.motopera.org - we played the absolutely beautiful Detroit Opera House to our personal-record-setting audience of 3,000 kids. I know - awesome, right?? Even more awesome, in my opinion, were the big comfy leather chairs in the dressing room. They looked like something that escaped from the men's club/cigar room Rose's evil fiancee, Cal, would have frequented in Titanic.
From Detroit to Kalamazoo, we actually did see some farms. I went jogging through a wetlands preserve (I saw two white-tailed deer), then out past the farms. From Kalamazoo to Saginaw, the farms only got greater in number, and prettier. The drive was perfect: a gorgeous fall day, sparkling blue skies, endless corn fields, and the Siawassee Nature Preserve for a jogging adventure when I arrived. I'm thinking of publishing a guide: Nature Trails, Targets and Cheap Strawberry Margaritas: The Midwest, Stephanie-Style. Seriously: the only way to survive tour is to escape the strip, find beauty in nature, and happiness at the bottom of a 5 dollar margarita.
I bet my guide would sell pretty well. Actually, in the van yesterday, someone made a comment about how he wished he could buy his very own Stephanie, to just have around all the time to spread sunshine and joy, etc.
Stage Manager: Where would you buy her? Steph-mart?
Me: Oh, please, not a mart. Exclusive boutiques only.
Other Actress: She'd come complete with little pink pillow, letterman's jacket and party heels.
Me: Maybe Target. I'd sell myself at Target.
(entire van snickers)
Me: Wait, not in the hooker way! Dammit!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
One Tequila, Two Tequila, Three Tequila, Floor
Ah, the weekend.
Friday dawned bright and early (actually, dark and early - touring actors rise before the sun, like migrant farm workers) in lovely Grand Rapids, Michigan. Our Quality Inn featured a parlor with fireplace, conservatory with birds (SQUAAAAAWK) and a terrace dining area with hot breakfast buffet. It was all decorated in a sort of faux-victorian manor-house style. Kinda like Clue, actually. The show itself was pretty painless. We were in a performing arts center attached to some sort of arts tech high school. The arts center has different shows come through, like us, Footloose, Bye Bye Birdie, and right before we were there, Church Basement Ladies! A Heavenly New Musical. Yeah...this meant we had a crew of highschool tech kids, who were beyond awesome - way more efficient and knowledgable than a lot of our union crews, and they were all really sweet kids. And apparently, according to the highschool tech boys, we were much better behaved than the Church Basement Ladies, who offered the boys blowjobs for coffee. I assume they were joking, but I was shocked. SHOCKED. These are supposed to be CHURCH LADIES! By the time we were loaded out, it was steadily drizzling, and Ichabod and I hopped in the truck and drove back to...Indiana. Oh, god, why.
We rolled into our destination, Kokomo, Indiana, and I was filled with the sinking sense of dread that always accompanies me whenever I enter the crossroads of America. According to the sign, Kokomo Indiana is The City of Firsts! It looks like, oh, I don't know, the first place you'd get knocked up in the back of a pickup truck, or the first place you'd get busted for making a meth lab in your basement. The first it actually refers to is some sort of car-ignition invention. Thrilling. My dread only increased when we spotted a big yellow sheet by the side of the road with SWORD SHOP scrawled on it, and a silver scrawly arrow pointing down a dirt road. To the sword shop. The SWORD SHOP. What IS this place???
There were free m and m cookies at the checkin desk, and the lobby was cute, and a bunch of guys who just started work at the plant accross the street invited us to a party (although I think that was more of a negative...) anyway I passed on the plant party, watched Princess Cake Challenge! on the Food Network with Lighting Girl, went to the sad little mall with everyone to put the finishing touches on our halloween costumes, ate at Panera, and passed out.
The next morning we drove three more hours through Indiana (nooooo) until we ended up in Clarksville. I somehow found a nature park/trail thing behind the strip mall and the mall mall and the corporate park which was actually really pretty, and felt much better about life/being trapped in Indiana after I ran around the woods. I know. I know, you're thinking WHO are you and WHAT have you done with Stephanie?? I haven't worn pearls in I don't KNOW how long, and I'm RUNNING on NATURE TRAILS? Replace my cosmo with a nalgene and my Anthroplogie giftcard with an EMS rewards card and call me Backwoods Barbie. I don't know what the hell's going on. (Before you worry too much, I did head straight to the mall after all the nature.)
Because my b-day is on Monday, we all went out for a birthday celebration last night at Senor Iguanas, where it was 2 dollar cosmo night. I of course applied myself immediately to working my way through the flavored margarita list. (Mango was the best.) It was a lot of fun. The waiters put a giant sombrero on my head and sang feliz cumpleanos and smushed whip cream on my face, and my friends indulged me in my two greatest loves, never-have-I-ever games and impromptu dance parties in places that were not intended to have any dance parties whatsoever, such as Mexican Restaurants, parking lots, and hotel rooms. DANCE PARTY! The only problem with dance parties involving musical theatre actors is that I cannot keep up. I try to compensate for lack of skill with enthusiasm.
I may have ended up skipping down the parking lot lane singing "I don't know how to LOoOooove him!" from Jesus Christ Superstar before I was toted inside by Lighting girl to fall asleep.
Ah, random acts of musical theatre. A very happy birthday indeed.
Friday dawned bright and early (actually, dark and early - touring actors rise before the sun, like migrant farm workers) in lovely Grand Rapids, Michigan. Our Quality Inn featured a parlor with fireplace, conservatory with birds (SQUAAAAAWK) and a terrace dining area with hot breakfast buffet. It was all decorated in a sort of faux-victorian manor-house style. Kinda like Clue, actually. The show itself was pretty painless. We were in a performing arts center attached to some sort of arts tech high school. The arts center has different shows come through, like us, Footloose, Bye Bye Birdie, and right before we were there, Church Basement Ladies! A Heavenly New Musical. Yeah...this meant we had a crew of highschool tech kids, who were beyond awesome - way more efficient and knowledgable than a lot of our union crews, and they were all really sweet kids. And apparently, according to the highschool tech boys, we were much better behaved than the Church Basement Ladies, who offered the boys blowjobs for coffee. I assume they were joking, but I was shocked. SHOCKED. These are supposed to be CHURCH LADIES! By the time we were loaded out, it was steadily drizzling, and Ichabod and I hopped in the truck and drove back to...Indiana. Oh, god, why.
We rolled into our destination, Kokomo, Indiana, and I was filled with the sinking sense of dread that always accompanies me whenever I enter the crossroads of America. According to the sign, Kokomo Indiana is The City of Firsts! It looks like, oh, I don't know, the first place you'd get knocked up in the back of a pickup truck, or the first place you'd get busted for making a meth lab in your basement. The first it actually refers to is some sort of car-ignition invention. Thrilling. My dread only increased when we spotted a big yellow sheet by the side of the road with SWORD SHOP scrawled on it, and a silver scrawly arrow pointing down a dirt road. To the sword shop. The SWORD SHOP. What IS this place???
There were free m and m cookies at the checkin desk, and the lobby was cute, and a bunch of guys who just started work at the plant accross the street invited us to a party (although I think that was more of a negative...) anyway I passed on the plant party, watched Princess Cake Challenge! on the Food Network with Lighting Girl, went to the sad little mall with everyone to put the finishing touches on our halloween costumes, ate at Panera, and passed out.
The next morning we drove three more hours through Indiana (nooooo) until we ended up in Clarksville. I somehow found a nature park/trail thing behind the strip mall and the mall mall and the corporate park which was actually really pretty, and felt much better about life/being trapped in Indiana after I ran around the woods. I know. I know, you're thinking WHO are you and WHAT have you done with Stephanie?? I haven't worn pearls in I don't KNOW how long, and I'm RUNNING on NATURE TRAILS? Replace my cosmo with a nalgene and my Anthroplogie giftcard with an EMS rewards card and call me Backwoods Barbie. I don't know what the hell's going on. (Before you worry too much, I did head straight to the mall after all the nature.)
Because my b-day is on Monday, we all went out for a birthday celebration last night at Senor Iguanas, where it was 2 dollar cosmo night. I of course applied myself immediately to working my way through the flavored margarita list. (Mango was the best.) It was a lot of fun. The waiters put a giant sombrero on my head and sang feliz cumpleanos and smushed whip cream on my face, and my friends indulged me in my two greatest loves, never-have-I-ever games and impromptu dance parties in places that were not intended to have any dance parties whatsoever, such as Mexican Restaurants, parking lots, and hotel rooms. DANCE PARTY! The only problem with dance parties involving musical theatre actors is that I cannot keep up. I try to compensate for lack of skill with enthusiasm.
I may have ended up skipping down the parking lot lane singing "I don't know how to LOoOooove him!" from Jesus Christ Superstar before I was toted inside by Lighting girl to fall asleep.
Ah, random acts of musical theatre. A very happy birthday indeed.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
You Been TREATED, Bitch!
The morning after our lovely dinner party, we returned to the Rialto Square, the prettiest theatre of all. We were all a wee bit worse for the wear, because, as Other Actress brilliantly pointed out the night before, "I love when you can mix your own drink at the bar! Because you can make like six drinks in one!" Unfortunately, she spoke too soon, because the bon mots of her word vomit ended up turning into actually vomit...yeah....thankfully I had only had only two cosmos, and not of the six-in-one variety (although, man, I feel for her, as I have SO been there at SO many parties its ridonkadonk). So my embarassing activities were confined to slight drink spillage (due more to my innate clumsiness than anything else, and quickly remedied by the coolest little spotbot vacuum I've ever seen) and badly attempting to give love advice, as I often unfortunately turn into a drunk surfer when I try to be profound after a cosmo or two, i.e. "whatever, man, your love is beautiful, but just know that like,you're awesome, dude, so like, hold onto that." Sheesh.
You're probably thinking, hungover children's theatre? Building sets and prancing around? Perish the thought! But once you've survived hungover gymnastics at cheer practice, you can do anything. Plus the Rialto is a paradise of bakery-fresh donuts, coffee, hot chocolate, tea, and a giant refrigerator full of every diet soda you could imagine. Ah, sweet diet A&W cream soda, nectar of life.
The show was fairly normal, until we got to The Necklace. When it was revealed that I had ruined my life for no reason because the necklace I had spent my life savings on was fake, bla bla bla, dramatic irony, etc., the kids totally lose their shit and start yelling, "TREATED!"
Um, WTF?
Turns out "treated!" is special Illinois slang for "burned!" As in, "sweet burn." According to Urban Dictionary, treated means:
Whaddya know. Kids, you never stop learning. I then drove the van to Normal, Illinois. Yeah. For serious. Enough said.
Today was another typical day performing this time at Illinois State, notable only for the freakish quiet of the 700-plus kids in the audience. And for the frat-boy-ogling possibilities.
I then spent the very, very long drive to Grand Rapids, Michigan perfecting my vault into backseat of the van. Due to the tetris-like packjob involved in getting the luggage of 8 people (and, dear god, two guitars) into the van, it's kind of an obstacle course. I have yet to stick the landing with any grace, although the modified forward-handspring I did to escape the creepers at the Bangor, Mich. gas station was pretty awesome.
You're probably thinking, hungover children's theatre? Building sets and prancing around? Perish the thought! But once you've survived hungover gymnastics at cheer practice, you can do anything. Plus the Rialto is a paradise of bakery-fresh donuts, coffee, hot chocolate, tea, and a giant refrigerator full of every diet soda you could imagine. Ah, sweet diet A&W cream soda, nectar of life.
The show was fairly normal, until we got to The Necklace. When it was revealed that I had ruined my life for no reason because the necklace I had spent my life savings on was fake, bla bla bla, dramatic irony, etc., the kids totally lose their shit and start yelling, "TREATED!"
Um, WTF?
Turns out "treated!" is special Illinois slang for "burned!" As in, "sweet burn." According to Urban Dictionary, treated means:
To be put down or embarassed by someone. Put in your placed or "schooled."
You've been treated!
Whaddya know. Kids, you never stop learning. I then drove the van to Normal, Illinois. Yeah. For serious. Enough said.
Today was another typical day performing this time at Illinois State, notable only for the freakish quiet of the 700-plus kids in the audience. And for the frat-boy-ogling possibilities.
I then spent the very, very long drive to Grand Rapids, Michigan perfecting my vault into backseat of the van. Due to the tetris-like packjob involved in getting the luggage of 8 people (and, dear god, two guitars) into the van, it's kind of an obstacle course. I have yet to stick the landing with any grace, although the modified forward-handspring I did to escape the creepers at the Bangor, Mich. gas station was pretty awesome.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A Question of Scruples
I have been to a handful of dinner parties in the course of my young life. (By dinner parties, I mean mean people invited to a house to eat dinner, pearls not required.) Definitely the worst one ever was in France during Chandeleur, the festival of crepes. My sole fellow spring semester study abroad partner in crime and I had just arrived in Poitiers, and our socially-awkward-to-the-point-of-pure-evil host "big brother" had invited us over for crepes. Big Brother, whom I entered in my phone as O to be able to dodge his calls without anyone knowing I was dodging his calls had, on our one previous outing, taken me to his friend's house, where he and the friend proceeded to fix friend's internet while I sat on the couch alone downstairs. You wouldn't think it could get worse, but it did. For the Chandeleur Dinner Party, he first brought the two of us (oh, we poor study abroad students new to foreight shores) to the grocery store to buy all of the crepe ingredients. We then showed up at his house, to discover that the dinner party considered of us, him, his girlfriend, his girlfriend's daughter, and...the father of his girlfriend's child. Yes. AWKWARD. Yeah, I suppose in an alternate universe it could have been all cool and French, but it wasn't. It was just awkward. We watched "Pimp My Ride" and O kept daring me to drink this evil licorice-tasting liquor.
Anyway, if that was the worst dinner party ever, last night was one of the best. Ichabod and his wife invited us all over to their house for a feast of lasagna deliciousness. It was really nice to be out of a hotel, AND there was a beagle, AND there were cosmos, AND there was cheesecake, AND I got to see wedding pictures, so basically...nirvana. We played a game called Scruples, which involved answering moral dilemma questions, and because, like I said, there were cosmos, I had very few. Scruples, that is. It was a lot of fun, and now I know many important things about my castmates. Like if their 19 year old son stole a car radio, would they let him keep it? Like I said. Essential info.
God I'm tired. Life on the road, man...rough. Time to turn off the Bravo and snuggle into my Comfort Suites bed.
Anyway, if that was the worst dinner party ever, last night was one of the best. Ichabod and his wife invited us all over to their house for a feast of lasagna deliciousness. It was really nice to be out of a hotel, AND there was a beagle, AND there were cosmos, AND there was cheesecake, AND I got to see wedding pictures, so basically...nirvana. We played a game called Scruples, which involved answering moral dilemma questions, and because, like I said, there were cosmos, I had very few. Scruples, that is. It was a lot of fun, and now I know many important things about my castmates. Like if their 19 year old son stole a car radio, would they let him keep it? Like I said. Essential info.
God I'm tired. Life on the road, man...rough. Time to turn off the Bravo and snuggle into my Comfort Suites bed.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
A (mini) Horse of a Different Color
The morning dawned like every other morning in Elkhart, Indiana. The sun peeked through the heavy taupe blinds of the Sleep Inn, and we trooped across the parking lot to our neighborhood Cracker Barrel for breakfast. Can I just take a moment here to officially endorse Cracker Barrel, and say that I freaking love it? Yes, the pecan pancakes, scrambled eggs and turkey sausage are all delicious, but more than that, there's such a comfortable, homey vibe. I love all the faux-farm decor, from the Farmer's Magazine posters to the rusty old eggbeaters stuck on the walls. I love the sage green walls and gingham curtains. I love how it's always full of ancient couples on dates, and how the waitresses always ask where we're from and fill up my diet coke before I even ask for it. And keeping pace with my rate of consumption is no mean feat. Ah, good times.
But you can't stay in the Cracker Barrel forever, and we went next to Goodwill, then to the Big K. In the checkout line at the Big K I realized we had just done...EXACTLY WHAT WE DID YESTERDAY. I kind of started to tweak out a little. I felt sort of trapped. Trapped by the Big K, trapped by Indiana, trapped by the tour, by the endless cycle of Sleep Inns and Comfort Inns and Quality Inns.
So I decided to run away. Not literally - I didn't pack up my leopard print Betsey Johnson tote and hitch a ride on the first pickup headed the hell out of this godforsaken town. I went jogging. Like outside. In the air. Which is really unusual - usually I can only perform any sort of exercise if it's in a frigidly air-conditioned gym while watching Lifetime, reading Cosmo, and blasting Miley Cyrus on the ipod (yes, I need a lot of distractions to keep my mind off the fact that I'm exerting myself.) But the minute I headed away away away, I felt so much better. And, as per usual, I had judged this latest state too harshly as well.
Once I was away from the strip, it was actually really beautiful. Sunny, beautiful blue skys, a gentle breeze blew the orange autumn leaves across my path. I crossed a lazy river, rounded the bend, and took off past farms and endless fields behind white fences. And totally unexpectly, behind one cute white fence just like all the others, there was something magical: a miniature horse and donkey farm.
Miniature horses are not ponies, or foals (baby horses.) They're even smaller than both, just completely grown up little fat horses about as tall as your waist. They are absolutely adorable, and one of my favorite things in the entire world. I couldn't believe it. It was some kind of sign. Or metaphor. Like even in the midst of something as horrible as Elkhart, Indiana, there was beauty. Wonder. Fourteen fluffy nuzzly wonderponies. I leaned over the fence, and they trotted over on their cute little legs, and nuzzled my hands as the sun started to set over the old red barn.
At the risk of sounding trite, it was sort of a profound moment...I wish I had some kind of witty turn of phrase to express it, but I don't really. I'd just had a terrible week - let's just say that in the grand tradition of all theatre troupes drama begets drama, and I was starting to hit the I'm-homesick-and-I-miss-my-friends-and-I-want-to-eat-thai-food-and-wear-heels wall, and then boom, there it was - salvation in the form of mini-horses.
Like I said, beauty can be found in the most unexpected of places. Even in Elkhart, Indiana.
But you can't stay in the Cracker Barrel forever, and we went next to Goodwill, then to the Big K. In the checkout line at the Big K I realized we had just done...EXACTLY WHAT WE DID YESTERDAY. I kind of started to tweak out a little. I felt sort of trapped. Trapped by the Big K, trapped by Indiana, trapped by the tour, by the endless cycle of Sleep Inns and Comfort Inns and Quality Inns.
So I decided to run away. Not literally - I didn't pack up my leopard print Betsey Johnson tote and hitch a ride on the first pickup headed the hell out of this godforsaken town. I went jogging. Like outside. In the air. Which is really unusual - usually I can only perform any sort of exercise if it's in a frigidly air-conditioned gym while watching Lifetime, reading Cosmo, and blasting Miley Cyrus on the ipod (yes, I need a lot of distractions to keep my mind off the fact that I'm exerting myself.) But the minute I headed away away away, I felt so much better. And, as per usual, I had judged this latest state too harshly as well.
Once I was away from the strip, it was actually really beautiful. Sunny, beautiful blue skys, a gentle breeze blew the orange autumn leaves across my path. I crossed a lazy river, rounded the bend, and took off past farms and endless fields behind white fences. And totally unexpectly, behind one cute white fence just like all the others, there was something magical: a miniature horse and donkey farm.
Miniature horses are not ponies, or foals (baby horses.) They're even smaller than both, just completely grown up little fat horses about as tall as your waist. They are absolutely adorable, and one of my favorite things in the entire world. I couldn't believe it. It was some kind of sign. Or metaphor. Like even in the midst of something as horrible as Elkhart, Indiana, there was beauty. Wonder. Fourteen fluffy nuzzly wonderponies. I leaned over the fence, and they trotted over on their cute little legs, and nuzzled my hands as the sun started to set over the old red barn.
At the risk of sounding trite, it was sort of a profound moment...I wish I had some kind of witty turn of phrase to express it, but I don't really. I'd just had a terrible week - let's just say that in the grand tradition of all theatre troupes drama begets drama, and I was starting to hit the I'm-homesick-and-I-miss-my-friends-and-I-want-to-eat-thai-food-and-wear-heels wall, and then boom, there it was - salvation in the form of mini-horses.
Like I said, beauty can be found in the most unexpected of places. Even in Elkhart, Indiana.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
From Illinois to Indiana, and Every Applebee's in Between
So I may have judged Illinois a little too harshly. After one LONG weekend in Elgin, Illinois that included not one, not two, but three trips to the Spring Hill Mall, I was not a fan. Illinois seemed pretty damn boring. It appears that I may have judged too harshly, however. Our last week in Illinois sported some of the best venues we've been to. Firstly, The Rialto Square Theatre, the jewel of Joliet, Illinois - www.rialtosquare.com. A stunningly beautiful former Vaudeville palace with the sweetest crew who bought us donuts from a local bakery and had us help ourselves to a GIANT REFRIGERATOR FULL OF SODA. And when I thought there was no way anything else could compare, we went to The Paramount Theater in Aurora - www.paramountaurora.com. Again, stunningly beautiful, a former art deco movie palace, with victorian-inspired dressing rooms complete with chaise lounge, hat rack, more local donuts, and a REFRIGERATOR FULL OF SODA. I'm starting to get spoiled. It was like a princess dressing room.
We have, however, driven to Indiana, and all the spoiled has been knocked right out of me. As well as the notion that Illinois is boring. Oh, how wrong I was. What I wouldn't give for a Spring Hill Mall right about now...
So I drove the van (yes, I drove, again, no fatalities, although I think we had a couple close calls due to people trying to fling themselves out of the van after two and half hours of Kelly Clarkson) from Aurora, Illinois to "beautiful" Elkhart, Indiana. Except for the time I drove the truck through it, I've never been to Indiana. My dad was actually born in South Bend, and now, I so understand why we don't live there.
Elkhart has never been a raging metropolis. It used to be a fairly prominent manufacturer of RVs. However, as RV use has declined, because not that many people vacation in them any more, so too has Elkhart declined. And it is bleak.
We arrived at the Sleep Inn. We went to the Goodwill to buy two-for-one t-shirts. We went to the Martin's Grocery Store for coffee and jumbo muffins. We went to the Big K K-Mart to buy more toothpaste. We went to Applebee's for dinner. And that...was the END OF THE TOWN. There was NOTHING ELSE. Faced with this depressing realization, there was nothing else to do but explore the fact that it was 3.50 Margarita night at Applebee's. Guess how many flavors of Margaritas Applebee's makes? A lot.
Post-dinner I was seriously considering flinging myself in the road and waiting for a tractor to come along and put me out of my misery, but some of my copatriots and I rallied, and Other Actress drove the van to a bar on the lake out the outskirts of town. We could hear the Tom Petty/The Who/The Presidents cover band from outside, so I was sort of cheered. I take a dance party wherever I can get one. Inside, it was mostly full of really drunk middle-aged women with bad roots and mom jeans and men in baseball caps. Turns out men in Indiana bars are just like men in southern bars, only even more direct.
First man in bar: Hey there, sweetheart, what's your name?
Me: Stephanie
First man: You're 18, right?
Me: Goodbye.
Second Man: Where you from?
Me: Connecticut. You?
Second man: Aw, shit, I'm just from South Bend.
Me: That's nice.
Second man: How old are you?
Me: Goodbye.
Third man: What on earth is a little girl like you doin in this bar, darlin! You're legal, right?
Me: Goodbye.
Remember on The Simple Life, when Paris and Nicole went to Indiana and met all the cute, sweet, farmer boys? Why is life not like that? Why is life not simple, but, in fact complicated? Paris and Nicole lied. Sure, sure, some of the bar boys were cute, with their hoosier baseball caps and long-sleeved thermal tees, but alas, but they were not the wholesome farmer princes of my dreams. I thought I'd found one. Tall, brown hair, blue eyes, named Rusty, for pete's sake. We ended up having like a 45 minute conversation about deer hunting (I know...I know I told you this place was bleak, but I know a lot more about the differences between archery and bow hunting now) in which I talked revealed that I'd been to school in Vermont, so obviously I knew all about deer hunting (yeah, I'm full of shit, sue me.)
Rusty: Vermont, huh? I've never met anybody from up there. Never met anybody from further'n Delaware. What're you doin way out here?
Me: Oh, I'm on a children's theatre tour.
Rusty: Children's theatre! Like Diego Live!? My son loves that shit!
Me: No, no, not like - wait, what now?
[notices wedding ring]
Me: Goodbye.
Rusty: Wait, let me give you a ride in my truck!
Me: Goodbye.
Sigh...you know, if someone told me at the end of the year Theatre Brunch that my first professional gig would lead me to drinking margaritas at the Elkhart Applebee's and ditching married farmers by the side of Indiana State Road 19, I wouldn't have believed it.
We have, however, driven to Indiana, and all the spoiled has been knocked right out of me. As well as the notion that Illinois is boring. Oh, how wrong I was. What I wouldn't give for a Spring Hill Mall right about now...
So I drove the van (yes, I drove, again, no fatalities, although I think we had a couple close calls due to people trying to fling themselves out of the van after two and half hours of Kelly Clarkson) from Aurora, Illinois to "beautiful" Elkhart, Indiana. Except for the time I drove the truck through it, I've never been to Indiana. My dad was actually born in South Bend, and now, I so understand why we don't live there.
Elkhart has never been a raging metropolis. It used to be a fairly prominent manufacturer of RVs. However, as RV use has declined, because not that many people vacation in them any more, so too has Elkhart declined. And it is bleak.
We arrived at the Sleep Inn. We went to the Goodwill to buy two-for-one t-shirts. We went to the Martin's Grocery Store for coffee and jumbo muffins. We went to the Big K K-Mart to buy more toothpaste. We went to Applebee's for dinner. And that...was the END OF THE TOWN. There was NOTHING ELSE. Faced with this depressing realization, there was nothing else to do but explore the fact that it was 3.50 Margarita night at Applebee's. Guess how many flavors of Margaritas Applebee's makes? A lot.
Post-dinner I was seriously considering flinging myself in the road and waiting for a tractor to come along and put me out of my misery, but some of my copatriots and I rallied, and Other Actress drove the van to a bar on the lake out the outskirts of town. We could hear the Tom Petty/The Who/The Presidents cover band from outside, so I was sort of cheered. I take a dance party wherever I can get one. Inside, it was mostly full of really drunk middle-aged women with bad roots and mom jeans and men in baseball caps. Turns out men in Indiana bars are just like men in southern bars, only even more direct.
First man in bar: Hey there, sweetheart, what's your name?
Me: Stephanie
First man: You're 18, right?
Me: Goodbye.
Second Man: Where you from?
Me: Connecticut. You?
Second man: Aw, shit, I'm just from South Bend.
Me: That's nice.
Second man: How old are you?
Me: Goodbye.
Third man: What on earth is a little girl like you doin in this bar, darlin! You're legal, right?
Me: Goodbye.
Remember on The Simple Life, when Paris and Nicole went to Indiana and met all the cute, sweet, farmer boys? Why is life not like that? Why is life not simple, but, in fact complicated? Paris and Nicole lied. Sure, sure, some of the bar boys were cute, with their hoosier baseball caps and long-sleeved thermal tees, but alas, but they were not the wholesome farmer princes of my dreams. I thought I'd found one. Tall, brown hair, blue eyes, named Rusty, for pete's sake. We ended up having like a 45 minute conversation about deer hunting (I know...I know I told you this place was bleak, but I know a lot more about the differences between archery and bow hunting now) in which I talked revealed that I'd been to school in Vermont, so obviously I knew all about deer hunting (yeah, I'm full of shit, sue me.)
Rusty: Vermont, huh? I've never met anybody from up there. Never met anybody from further'n Delaware. What're you doin way out here?
Me: Oh, I'm on a children's theatre tour.
Rusty: Children's theatre! Like Diego Live!? My son loves that shit!
Me: No, no, not like - wait, what now?
[notices wedding ring]
Me: Goodbye.
Rusty: Wait, let me give you a ride in my truck!
Me: Goodbye.
Sigh...you know, if someone told me at the end of the year Theatre Brunch that my first professional gig would lead me to drinking margaritas at the Elkhart Applebee's and ditching married farmers by the side of Indiana State Road 19, I wouldn't have believed it.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Love Wisconsin Style
As it says at the end of the opening credits of That 70s Show, "I love Wisconsin!" No. Seriously. I'm not being facetious. I love it.
The minute I saw the rough-hewn wooden sign: "Recreation! Industry! Agriculture! Wisconsin Welcomes You!" I somehow, mysteriously, immediately felt better about life. As we rolled into Madison and I saw the tops of the campus buildings, I realized why: we were in the very college town where the Julia Stiles classic film, The Prince and Me, takes place!!! You know, handsome prince Edvard of Denmark heads off to the U of W to meet slutty american college girls but ends up falling head over heels for good midwestern farm girl turned med student Julia Stiles. True love and tiaras. Obviously, this is the sort of thing I had kind of planned on happening to me, but unfortunately, it hasn't yet.
So, I didn't meet a prince at the University of Wisconsin, but I did feel like a princess. Three words: private dressing room. With cable tv, couch, bathroom, shower, desk with lighted mirror. Ya-huh. I watched Lifetime while I put on my makeup. Is that the life or what? And it's pretty un-be-fucking-lievable that I went from playing for 75 seats to TWO THOUSAND in less than a year. That's right. TWO THOUSAND.
Madison is cute as a button, full of slightly yuppified shop-lined streets, politicians and frat boys. Me likey, obviously. We then pressed on to Madison's slightly less refined sister city: Milwaukee. In case you're wondering why there was such a long break between posts, it may have something to do with a weekend spent in Brew City. As Milwaukee is the home of Pabst, Schlitz, Miller and Milwaukee's Best, it proudly calls itself America's Drunkest City: Beer Capital of the World! Yeah, I don't drink beer. But you'd be surprised how many breweries will getcha a pink fruity cocktail.
Although bar hopping/beer chugging is the official pasttime of Milwaukee, we sampled many different entertainment options. Friday night we saw the Fleet Foxes play at the Pabst Blue Ribbon theatre, which was lots of fun. I was slightly perturbed that no one in the standing crowd down front with me was dancing. I of course took it upon myself to start the dance party. No one joined me. Lame hipster baroque harmonic pop jam groupies. Whatever, I had fun.
Milwaukee is also very friendly.
Man: Hey, sunshine, you're looking pretty sharp in that plaid dress.
Me: Oh, thank you.
Man: I'm Holden.
Me: As in Holden Caulfield?!
Man: Lookat that, boys, weve got a reader. Whaddya know! Who woulda thought!
Milwaukee is also a little bit sexist.
We all (by all I mean our merry actor band, not any Catcher-in-the-Rye-named-condescending-randos) trooped back to the hotel bar for nachos, where we had already befriended Barb, our fabulous waitress, and Al the old bartender/former musician/perhaps one day author. I proceeded to make friends with an actress playing Lola in a community theatre production of Damn Yankees, and not make friends with the sketchy sorta ghetto crowd at the end of the bar who kept yelling "Tiffany! You got cute lips!"
Milwaukee is also not good at remembering people's names.
Other Actress and I spent the whole next day at the Grand Avenue Mall, where I got the most relaxing and well worth the money spa pedicure of my life. My toes are gorgeous- painted "Girls Love Pink!" Sparkly. We all went to the movies (Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist is excellent) then out to the main bar drag, where I once again proceeded to start a dance party in a non-dance-party area. Thankfully, I now had a crew of theatre peeps to back me up, so we brought the dance party! Wooo!
Sunday we went to an afternoon matinee of the national tour of Mamma Mia!, which was too fun. The theatre was enormous, and gorgeous, and it turned out...WE WOULD BE PLAYING IT THE NEXT DAY! Yes, people, I have made it to the Broadway of Wisconsin! I was on the same stage as the national tour of a Broadway show! Glorious!
That night we went down to the bar to say bye to Barb, and befriended two 52 year old irish folk singing sisters.
Like, I said, Milwaukee is very friendly.
Sister 1: Oh, you're an actress!
Sister 2: Oh, I bet she's good. I know you're good, I can tell, your face is so expressive.
Sister 1: So beautiful!
Sister 2: Yes, so beautiful! A beautiful Stephanie!
Sister 1: Like, oh, what's her name, in the movie with George Clooney and the football!
Sister 2: Renee Zellweger!
Milwaukee also has blurred vision. That's what we call beer goggles, kids.
Wisconsin is now a distant dream, a memory of cheese curds, frosty glasses and freedom. Back to Illinois and the daily grind...but check this out.
www.rialtosquare.com
The minute I saw the rough-hewn wooden sign: "Recreation! Industry! Agriculture! Wisconsin Welcomes You!" I somehow, mysteriously, immediately felt better about life. As we rolled into Madison and I saw the tops of the campus buildings, I realized why: we were in the very college town where the Julia Stiles classic film, The Prince and Me, takes place!!! You know, handsome prince Edvard of Denmark heads off to the U of W to meet slutty american college girls but ends up falling head over heels for good midwestern farm girl turned med student Julia Stiles. True love and tiaras. Obviously, this is the sort of thing I had kind of planned on happening to me, but unfortunately, it hasn't yet.
So, I didn't meet a prince at the University of Wisconsin, but I did feel like a princess. Three words: private dressing room. With cable tv, couch, bathroom, shower, desk with lighted mirror. Ya-huh. I watched Lifetime while I put on my makeup. Is that the life or what? And it's pretty un-be-fucking-lievable that I went from playing for 75 seats to TWO THOUSAND in less than a year. That's right. TWO THOUSAND.
Madison is cute as a button, full of slightly yuppified shop-lined streets, politicians and frat boys. Me likey, obviously. We then pressed on to Madison's slightly less refined sister city: Milwaukee. In case you're wondering why there was such a long break between posts, it may have something to do with a weekend spent in Brew City. As Milwaukee is the home of Pabst, Schlitz, Miller and Milwaukee's Best, it proudly calls itself America's Drunkest City: Beer Capital of the World! Yeah, I don't drink beer. But you'd be surprised how many breweries will getcha a pink fruity cocktail.
Although bar hopping/beer chugging is the official pasttime of Milwaukee, we sampled many different entertainment options. Friday night we saw the Fleet Foxes play at the Pabst Blue Ribbon theatre, which was lots of fun. I was slightly perturbed that no one in the standing crowd down front with me was dancing. I of course took it upon myself to start the dance party. No one joined me. Lame hipster baroque harmonic pop jam groupies. Whatever, I had fun.
Milwaukee is also very friendly.
Man: Hey, sunshine, you're looking pretty sharp in that plaid dress.
Me: Oh, thank you.
Man: I'm Holden.
Me: As in Holden Caulfield?!
Man: Lookat that, boys, weve got a reader. Whaddya know! Who woulda thought!
Milwaukee is also a little bit sexist.
We all (by all I mean our merry actor band, not any Catcher-in-the-Rye-named-condescending-randos) trooped back to the hotel bar for nachos, where we had already befriended Barb, our fabulous waitress, and Al the old bartender/former musician/perhaps one day author. I proceeded to make friends with an actress playing Lola in a community theatre production of Damn Yankees, and not make friends with the sketchy sorta ghetto crowd at the end of the bar who kept yelling "Tiffany! You got cute lips!"
Milwaukee is also not good at remembering people's names.
Other Actress and I spent the whole next day at the Grand Avenue Mall, where I got the most relaxing and well worth the money spa pedicure of my life. My toes are gorgeous- painted "Girls Love Pink!" Sparkly. We all went to the movies (Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist is excellent) then out to the main bar drag, where I once again proceeded to start a dance party in a non-dance-party area. Thankfully, I now had a crew of theatre peeps to back me up, so we brought the dance party! Wooo!
Sunday we went to an afternoon matinee of the national tour of Mamma Mia!, which was too fun. The theatre was enormous, and gorgeous, and it turned out...WE WOULD BE PLAYING IT THE NEXT DAY! Yes, people, I have made it to the Broadway of Wisconsin! I was on the same stage as the national tour of a Broadway show! Glorious!
That night we went down to the bar to say bye to Barb, and befriended two 52 year old irish folk singing sisters.
Like, I said, Milwaukee is very friendly.
Sister 1: Oh, you're an actress!
Sister 2: Oh, I bet she's good. I know you're good, I can tell, your face is so expressive.
Sister 1: So beautiful!
Sister 2: Yes, so beautiful! A beautiful Stephanie!
Sister 1: Like, oh, what's her name, in the movie with George Clooney and the football!
Sister 2: Renee Zellweger!
Milwaukee also has blurred vision. That's what we call beer goggles, kids.
Wisconsin is now a distant dream, a memory of cheese curds, frosty glasses and freedom. Back to Illinois and the daily grind...but check this out.
www.rialtosquare.com
Monday, October 6, 2008
Keep On Truckin'
I drove a 26 foot truck. I am officially a badass. And about as far from my Connecticut upbringing as one could possibly be. Unless, of course, I later decide to park the truck at a stripclub, do a line of coke, and hit up amateur night. But somehow I don't see that happening.
Saturdays are typically "drive days." Those seem like two harmless little words, but what it really means is 9 plus hours in a truck. Gaaaah. We went from North Carolina to Ohio, then stopped at a kickass truckstop in Ohio: Deb's Diner. It was a tiny little bar with seasonal glitter pumpkin decor and plaid tablecloths, featuring two dollar jello shots, a patio with inflatable palm trees, and a surprisingly delicious chicken fajita salad. Yours truly drove the truck out of Debs, out of Ohio, and through Indiana: the crossroads of America. And nobody died! Nobody even came close to dying! I'll be honest: I don't really like driving the truck very much AT ALL. That being said, it wasn't nearly as bad as I feared. And I totally did it. The truck is a tricky proposition, it takes FOREVER to accelarate, and is capped at 65, which means you must literally keep the pedal to the floor the entire time, unless of course you have to stop, in which case you're sort of fucked, because it also takes forever to stop.
Nine hours later, we made it to our weekend destination: Elgin, Illinois. There is not a lot to do here. I went to the Spring Hill Mall three (yes, three) times. I spent a wonderful sunday afternoon in the Starbucks Cafe in the Barnes and Noble in the mall. If you close your eyes and sip your caramel steamer, you can pretend you're in New York. Or at least Westport, Connecticut.
Saturdays are typically "drive days." Those seem like two harmless little words, but what it really means is 9 plus hours in a truck. Gaaaah. We went from North Carolina to Ohio, then stopped at a kickass truckstop in Ohio: Deb's Diner. It was a tiny little bar with seasonal glitter pumpkin decor and plaid tablecloths, featuring two dollar jello shots, a patio with inflatable palm trees, and a surprisingly delicious chicken fajita salad. Yours truly drove the truck out of Debs, out of Ohio, and through Indiana: the crossroads of America. And nobody died! Nobody even came close to dying! I'll be honest: I don't really like driving the truck very much AT ALL. That being said, it wasn't nearly as bad as I feared. And I totally did it. The truck is a tricky proposition, it takes FOREVER to accelarate, and is capped at 65, which means you must literally keep the pedal to the floor the entire time, unless of course you have to stop, in which case you're sort of fucked, because it also takes forever to stop.
Nine hours later, we made it to our weekend destination: Elgin, Illinois. There is not a lot to do here. I went to the Spring Hill Mall three (yes, three) times. I spent a wonderful sunday afternoon in the Starbucks Cafe in the Barnes and Noble in the mall. If you close your eyes and sip your caramel steamer, you can pretend you're in New York. Or at least Westport, Connecticut.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
