Spring Awake and Sing

(aka the day I waited 8 hours outside in the cold at a non-equity open call... and lived to tell the tale)

I should know by now that in my person, there is simply no tolerance for these sorts of scenarios. And yet, somewhere in the barely breathing cock-eyed optimist hibernating within me, the idea seemed like a breeze. Open call for the first non-equity company of "Spring Awakening". With an 11 AM go time on a Sunday, the concept was, in theory, relatively pain-free. (After weeks of 10 o'clock starts, this extra hour seems a God-send). Truly, who in their right minds is going to pop out of bed on a holy morning, the day of rest, for some non-union gig?

The answer: seemingly every barely legal Broadway baby on the East Coast proper. We're talking Pennsylvania prepsters, Jersey juveniles, and the occasional tri-city tot. A day off from studies equals the chance to realize their tween dreams of Broadway stardom. Grandma should have known. Rounding the corner to Chelsea studios with a lovely cushion of two hours to prepare, my mind is blown as I see pubescents on parade, a line blocks long streaming from the building doors. Passers-by gape in curiosity at this mob scene. A new reality show in the works, they wonder? One of those MTV "Jersey Shore on the Hills of Laguna Beach" type programs? Trust me, mama nearly flipped a 180 right back to the 1 train after sighting the mob scene. Lawn chairs were out, for goodness sake. Sleeping bags and overnight cases appeared in view. And yet, to the line's end I marched, rationalizing that, with nothing but an evening shift at the restaurant on my day's agenda, why not wait?

And wait I did. Numbers were passed out, "So You Think You Can Dance" style. My official badge? 410. Two hours early, and I am in the mind blowing multiple hundreds. Yet I hunker down for the long haul. Ipod out and book opened for perusal, I am distracted by constant fascinating characters surrounding me. First, there are the front-of-liners. We're talking those crazy kids who managed to stake a claim at the queu's tip top, and in passing I managed to scope their story. College kids from Pennsylvania, they hopped in their jalopy and cruised down to Manhattan for a 1:30 arrival time... meaning AM... meaning the approximate time your typical 20-some-odd is hitting the hay on a weekday. To sit outside in under 40 weather and brutal wind chill. My question is such: how does one function to their maximum ability under such conditions? I, for one, croak like a chain smoking tranny if I attempt to vocalize with less than my eight hours. Add to that slumbering restlessly in freezing weather, and one questions how stellar a performance shall be showcased. But back to jalopy they sleepwalk, day over and nothing to show for it but seriously droopy eyelids and possible pneumonia.

Then, there is a sight which I thought I had left long behind after by days of California community theatre: stage moms. As in several. As in they loaded up their mini-vans with the entire HS Drama Club for a lil field trip. "Bring your audition dress and "Wicked" song book, Sally! You're gona be a star!" Nothing is more distracting while trying to read a novel than having your thought flow interupted as Mrs. Meyers discusses the Long Island Playhouse production of "Music Man" in which her beloved boy was one of the 76 trombones or some nonsense.

As the clock strained towards evening hours, I had to evacuate operation audition as my work shift drew near. And truly, the only thing I regret is missed hours of shut eye.
I may sound jaded. But it is only because I'm jaded. A young twenty-somthing, I struggle with feeling like an old has-been, washed up and burnt out. Something in my mind-frame needs to change. EIther that, or I need a new background setting. Hence the upcoming vacay as Miss Matched takes on the West Coast. A brief stop in Washington followed by California shenanigans, me-thinks this much desired trip shall add as fresh pep to my step. A new dawn.

A spring awakening, if you will...