I used to have a real job.

You know that inter-web joke that goes “I love my computer…all my friends are in it”?  Most days I think that’s me.  Especially since I discovered the blogosphere and all the really, really interesting people in it and since I was sucked into, er, invited to join Facebook.  Much like blogging, there is something for everyone.  This isn’t a PSA about how great Facebook is (and it *is* great and I will totally be anyone’s friend) but rather a social tool.  I’ve contacted/been contacted by people I haven’t seen or heard from in a decade, more or less.  But one of the most interesting things is that it has re-kindled interests that I thought I’d lost.

There’s an application on there called “Stage Door”.  Basically you can list all the stage show that you have seen, want to see or have worked on.  For me, it’s a long list.  Not quite as long as some but I forgot exactly how many productions I’ve actually done.  And how many of them I’ve done more that once.  And why I’m such a sucker for musical theatre.  I miss the classics without all the special effects and moving lights.  I miss the full pit orchestras.  I miss the “cast of thousands” community theatre fare that only a good Rodgers and Hammerstein production provides.  I would go see “Oklahoma” or “Hello, Dolly!” any day of the week.  Bonus points if it’s a summer stock or local production (but not high school…blech).  But you’d have to buy my ticket, buy me dinner, pick out my clothes and drive me to “Footloose” or “Fame” or “Movin’ Out” or one of the other crappy glamourized rock shows out there.  And even then I’d bitch about the crappy sound system or the microphones hanging out of everyone’s heads or the spinny lighting.

[I should add an aside that I generally support high school theatre.  The same way that college theatre should be supported.  But it is what it is.  High school productions are good if they are taken seriously and the kids respect the director and the production knows it’s boundries (for fuckssake, don’t try to do “Miss Saigon” in a cafe-gym-atorim).  You know, like the high school I came from (FHS, class of ’93 rocks!).  College theatre, while doing a good job of training the trainable, it’s mostly a club for misfits.  There aren’t very many working in professional theatre at any given time (what did I hear?  Something like 66,000 in the whole country?).  For the rest of college theatre grads, it’s not about “making art”, m’kay?  Rant over.]

So, there you have it.  I miss my work.  I would leave mommy-ville, wash the apple juice smell off my skin and trade my Crocs for work boots.  I’d hop on that bus and follow that truck.  I’d leave my pink capris at home and dig out my black concert tshirts. 

But then there’s this.  Amelia put 3 words together today for the first time.  She said:  Mine.  Nice.  Mommy.  And then wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and held on tight. 

And that’s why I don’t work in theatre anymore.


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