Dreaming, Dying, Laughing, Crying

I'm not sure what topic to blog about. Students criticizing my muscled physique? My almost nervous breakdown auditioning? My too-good-to-be-true-therefore-cruel dreams? My anger at the government for taking thousands of dollars from me? A student accusing me of smoking? Instead of picking one, I'll touch on them all, since I know you're all just dying to know about each.

Might as well start at the beginning. Last night I went to a professional audition for Beauty and the Beast. This is a show that I've wanted to do for some time now. A few years ago it was my favorite musical ever (Les Mis has since taken over, but I still like B and the B a lot). Anyway, for some reason I still get really nervous at auditions, especially professional ones. I generally have no problem for performances. Give me an audience of eight hundred and I'll be a little nervous, but more excited, and things will go fine. But auditions? Especially professional ones when I feel intimidated because some people are originally from NY, or LA, or some exotic place, and descend upon my little town to make me scared. They are terrible. With this one, it didn't matter that I've worked with both the artistic director/choreographer and music director twice before. I still got that feeling that required lots of deep breathing to still the nerves and shaking knees before launching into my thirty second song.

I don't know whether I skipped something or the music director didn't play it fast enough. Whoever's fault it was, the song went okay but not as well as I would have liked. I plowed right on, even though the accompaniment seemed to be off in spots. Wasn't sure what they thought. I was in a group of six or seven, and after each singing our song we went out into the hallway to see if they would call our names for anything else. Three names were called, including mine. Ok, that's a good sign. We go back to learn some simple movements, and then show how quickly we learned them for the choreographer. For me, it's pretty much a train wreck. They weren't hard, they were actually within my ability. But to learn the moves in three minutes, then do them from memory was more than my artistically challenged brain and body could manage. I stumbled through, then was done.

So my acute nervousness is over. Now it's on to the not as sharp but usually present wondering about whether I will get cast as something, and what it'll be. Last time I auditioned for this director, I wasn't even called back, but still was given a role with some speaking parts. This time I really don't know what the deal is. It could be anything from nothing to a large role, though the latter is a slim chance. The only thing going for me to get a large role would be my age and height. Aiming high, it would be really fun to have a shot at playing Gaston, or at least understudy the role. But I'd be content with playing a lowly villager, or something in between.

I go home, and eventually to bed. There I have fitful but pleasant dreams, in which I dream I've been cast as Gaston. Cruel, cruel, cruel, I tell you. I really don't think the director thinks I'm good enough for such a role, and I'd probably have to convince myself as well, even though I may have slightly more confidence than I think he and others have in me. After all, it would be a risk to cast someone like me as Gaston in perhaps the biggest show this theater has done this year, as I've heard the royalties alone for this show are 25,000 dollars. So anyway, to have such dreams is really like dreaming I've won Powerball or something, only to wake up to reality. I eventually wake up to reality, and the fact that I'll probably have to anxiously wait a week and a half or so before I get a phone call and find out anything.

At least I have my students! They are the bright spot of the day, and I enjoy telling them the story about how nervous I get auditioning. I use it as part of an inspirational speech to encourage those of them who get nervous about things like public speaking. After all, I was pretty much as anxious about such things as them at their age, but I've gotten to the point where speaking in front of a group is not that big of a deal for me (with some exceptions, of course. Speaking to a bunch of historians about my thesis, for example, would likely terrify me more than any audition.) So they can take heart, and puzzle with me over why I still get nervous at auditions.

The next to last class of the day I was scheduled to step out for five minutes in order to speak to an AP History class about the summer history program I've been involved with, in case any of them might be interested. I tell the class I'll be gone for five minutes while they work on something, and a student spontaneously asks "Mr. _____, you need a smoke?" (He wasn't offering a cigarette, but suggesting that was the cause for my absence.) Of course everybody laughed, and I confessed that was the reason I was going. After all, see my shaking hands? I left, then popped my head back in two seconds after leaving to tell him that was a good one, which also amused a few. I then give my spiel to the AP class, which was all girls! (And people suggest women are not getting opportunities at the highest levels of education? I think this will be said of boys in a few years. It seems there is a problem with boys being lazy, and not pushing themselves enough academically.)

The last class of the day I talk about my audition, and many of them say they think I would make a good candle. Some then beg me to spread out my arms and upward like a candle, and I do, to great amusement. I confess to them that I dreamed last night about being cast as Gaston, to which one female students responds, "But he's supposed to be jacked!" I don't think she meant this as an insult, but just as an observation, although I made sure she knew it came across as such. I pretended to be hurt, and tell the class the time had ended for insulting the teacher. Sigh. I guess instead of dressing up I'll have to start wearing wifebeaters to class to show her how fit I really am to play the role of a well-muscled man. Apparently she doesn't know what is hiding under my tie and shirt. On second thought, it's probably a good thing she doesn't...

In other news, I have been working on my taxes recently, and am chagrined to learn that I will be paying thousands of dollars in income tax! This is a first for me. I paid a few hundred last year, which was bad enough, but I was only employed in a "real" job for three months. This year I seem to be giving my lifeblood to the U.S. government. Thousands of dollars!!!!!!!!!!! And my tax return seems to be a mere pittance. Death and taxes are now more of a reality than they ever were before.