Katharine's Musings

Like Mary Tyler Moore Taught Me...

2012-01-21T09:09:00.000-08:00

I started a new workout a couple of weeks ago. Despite the fact that I've been a regular gym-goer (and even arguably a "gym rat"--although that still sounds more hardcore than what I do) since Cabaret last spring, this is the first time I've really followed a strict regimen. I found it online, and it is kicking my sad little tushie. As a goal-oriented person, it's challenging and immensely rewarding. Today is the first day in two weeks that my entire body does not ache from soreness. This implies two things: I can more easily do my job of performing two shows today and I obviously didn't work out hard enough yesterday.

I love stretching and growing. In many ways, I love/hate being a student. Actually, school and I have always had a love/hate relationship. In retrospect (what little of it there is), I loved learning so immensely that I resented having to waste any hours on subjects I knew wouldn't further develop me in the long run. While meteorology was entertaining (since my professor, while knowledgeable, was more inclined to tell jokes in class than teach), I'd rather be in the studio or at a lesson or watching endless videos of hyper-skilled artists.

Part of stretching and growing means hurt and failure. I have literally felt my muscles tear and wobble in agonizing pain. On the other side of this, however, is re-growth. Only two weeks later, I'm healed and feeling stronger than ever.

It's amazing how the body can do that.

This week, I got rejected. There was a show I was looking forward to possibly being considered for, and they didn't want me. Did I have a moment of soul-crushing sadness? Of course. No one wants to be unwanted. There are a million reasons why I didn't get it, but the most likely is: I'm not good enough. Or, I haven't proven to them that I am, in fact, good enough. For the first time in my career, this fact did not induce creativity and life paralysis. A year ago (or even a few months ago?), I would've pined and been miserable and wallowed and endlessly over-examined every tiny possible reason why I wasn't good enough or why I was unwanted. Bizarrely and beautifully, this time, I accepted it. I see reasons why I didn't get the job. Better yet, I haven't auditioned for this company in a year and I know for a fact that I'm better than I was a year ago. In a million ways. I'm savvier about the business, I'm less desperate, I'm stronger, I'm fitter, and I'm more skilled. Am I utterly fabulous and Broadway-ready? HA! Don't make me laugh. But, do I know that I have worked my butt off for a reason and I'm beginning to see those reasons materialize? Yes sir. Furthermore, the gift of working out-of-town has shown me a taste of just how enormous this glorious theatre world is. There are endless possibilities. There are thousands of jobs. Granted, the pool of people going after said jobs is devastatingly huge, but there's room for quite a lot of people in there to do what they love.

The term "thicker skin" has never really resonated with me. I'm definitely tougher than I was (and perhaps more confident?), but my skin is still pale and freckly and distinctively "me." Thanks to the fish oil and biotin I've been taking, it seems healthier. But is it thicker? Don't think so. However, my heart is tougher. I can take it now. Or better, at least. And, as soon as I came to this revelation, my euphoric happiness and new-found pride in my recognized growth immediately trumped any petty sadness over the loss of one potential job.

A dear, dear friend of mine (only your closest friends can say things like this) once said "Katharine, you know you can do it. You just need your confidence to catch up to your ego." Harsh? Um, yes. True? Sure is. As I age, tear, hurt, and rebuild, I think I'm moving in the right direction: ego decreasing, humility and confidence increasing.

Thank you, rejection theater, for this opportunity for growth. And thanks, KB, for handling it like a champ.

There have been times in my brief little career where I've wondered if I was strong enough to hack it, but this week has shown me:

I'm gonna make it after all.

Life Resoluton: More Projects

2012-01-10T13:09:00.000-08:00

I have a stupidly busy, hyperactive mind. Most of the time, I'm planning or dreaming or creating. The sad reality is that only a TINY percentage of this in-the-brain creaction actually manifests itself into a physical result or product. I'm wary of New Year's Resolutions singularly because I have never kept them, but I do generally abide by new goals personally. Thus, my new life resolution is to stop fearing imperfection, allow mylf to fail and fail again, and create. Despite the fact that I have never considered myself a dancer (my best friend in high school was a LEGIT stunning modern dancer and I therefore felt like a silly hobbyist) but I have always loved choreographing. I choreograph constantly in my head. I also love films...and though I've never attempted a film project, I also plan thos in my head constantly. Therefore, I'm going to make a dance video. It probably won't be good. In any regard. But I'm going to try not to care--chalk it up to a learning experience and progress from there. Here's a tiny, messy clip from my first day of brainstorming (for the female track) of a dance film I've decided to create.

Behold my delicious failure:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=it9rKA_jiLc&feature=youtube_gdata_player

To be continued..

And to All a Good Night

2011-12-26T18:18:00.000-08:00

I haven't stopped crying for the past thirty minutes. Not only is it unattractive, but it's also disgusting since I forgot to bring (or didn't think I needed to bring) tissues on the plane and I can't stop sniffling (much to the chagrin of the flyer next to me.) My face is leaking. This is what happens when you cry. Which I rarely do in any capacity and I NEVER do in public. For the first time in my life, Christmas only lasted 48 hours. I know this seems like a ridiculous reason to cry. Christmas lasting "only" 48 hours may also seem peculiar to the average plebian.

Christmas lasts two days for most of the world: Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. In my big, uber-Christian, fabulous big-hearted Texan family, the Christmas season begins November 26th and ends January 1st. Hardcore Christmas lasts approximately two weeks. It is a marathon event. In fact, it is almost like camp. Camp Christmas. The day after Thanksgiving, tree, lights and snow village go up. The Old-lady-geared "Neath the Wreath" Christmas craft bazaar is attended. In the week preceding Christmas, we generally have 2 extended family Christmases. The week of Christmas, we do the following: make blankets on my late Grandmother's birthday for people in need (a tradition we began while she was still living because that's the kind of woman she was--one who would rather make gifts for others on her own birthday...if that isn't the Christmas spirit, I don't know what is), attend the Christmas Eve service, watch Muppet Christmas Carol and It's A Wonderful Life (these are the only two mandantory Christmas films), have "little Christmas" of present exchange between me, my mother, and my sister the night of Christmas Eve, have both sides of the family over for Christmas morning brunch made by mom, attend Christmas on my dad's side all day (snacks, stockings, dinner, program/talent show, gifts, games), spend all day at my other Grandmother's for Christmas there (similar regimen), go to Holiday in the Park at Six Flags with my Deaton cousins, take the train down to Spaghetti Warehouse downtown and then Starbucks at Mockingbird Station, and spend several days just hangin' with the fam. We hang, we play games, we go see movies, we eat endlessly, sometimes we venture out, we may visit Northpark Mall (my mothership), but mostly we just enjoy each others' company. It is blissful. Christmas has always been far and away my favorite time of year and I would say if there were a Christmas happiness pie chart, it would contain 80% Grandmama magic, 5% that i wasnt in school (which is now every day...meaning I get a little Christmas every stinkin' day), and 15% my whole family is made of awesome and we do Christmas right.

This year, I was blessed with the burden of adulthood. I was further 'burdened' by immediately finding a job. My job suits me to a 'T'. I love the gypsy lfe. I love traveling. I love performing. For the last 14 weeks, I have lived in beautiful Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Now, if you had told me senior year of high school that in four years I'd be performing for a living in the Northeast, beach, and desert I would have a) laughed in your face and b) kissed you. If I had it my way (and gosh I hope I do), I'd maintain this kind of lifestyle for at least the next five years. The only real detriment is that you don't necessarily get vacations (because, well, your life is like one fabulous vacation...performing and traveling and exploring). This really wouldn't bother me any time besides Christmas. Despite the love of my current life, I can't really think of the last time I was as sad as I was entering DFW airport today having been with my family for just a couple of days and knowing the fun of Camp Christmas was far from over. I briskly instructed my sister and mother not to cry (knowing the second either of them showed any emotion I'd be a goner) and naturally started weeping the second I entered the airport. It was truly awful. And I know it's stupid. To make matters worse, I elected to "borrow" my mother's 5 lb weights (because I stupidly assumed she wouldn't miss them as I have them every time I'm home and she doesn't seem to miss them then) and pack them in a carry-on. Of course, the scanner picks them up in security. I get patted down. My shoes are patted. My bun is patted (this is not the first tme this has happened...what exactly do they think I am hiding in there??). My bag is searched. I am instructed to check a second bag (more money wasted) and go through security again. While sobbing like a stupid mess. It was exhausting and miserable and would probably be a hilarious reality tv show in some schadenfreude kind of way. Anyway, some money and tears and security trips later, I made it in time to board my flight. Still crying like a goon.

And frankly, between seeing old friends from Me and My Girl (the first show I did in Lancaster) and being in 84 degree weather on the beach, I know I will soon be happy as a clam (see? I made an ocean pun. Sad people can be funny). And more frankly, I already kinda miss my beloved Northeast. And it will all be okay.

I welcome this kind of challenge. In the grand scheme of things, I still really couldn't be happier. I can't wait to experience new shows and new theatres and new cities. And if my sister and mother feel led to compulsively visit me (and/or the rest of my big wonderful family...nudge, nudge, wink, wink) that would just be grand. We'll just list this as a slightly painful stretch mark from my seemingly skyrocketing theatrical growth spurt. (Not like my career is skyrocketing--just that I am continuing to learn tons in a stupid amount of time.)

These are good things. Being an adult is a good thing. It can just kinda hurt sometimes.

To my family: I hate to be redundant, but I really do wish I had more time with you. I love you all so much and hope you continue to have a wonderful holiday season!

To my co-workers: how blessed are we to do what we do? I'm so thrilled to continue spreading my wings with you as company.

To my readers: I can't believe you read this. But bless you.

To the rest of you: Merry Christmas!

And to all: a good night.

Blue Christmas

2011-12-12T08:52:00.000-08:00

There's nothing terribly magical about Christmas in Dallas. Living in the Northeast over the past few months has taught me a number of things--most notably, perhaps, that we Texans are pretty aesthetically deprived when it comes to scenery. We effectively only have two "seasons": summer, and ugly not-summer. And yet, my favorite time of year since I was very young has been Christmastime. I loved the music and baked goods and presents (of course). I loved Christmas at Northpark mall with the 12 days of Christmas and Scrooge and children's choirs singing holiday music. I loved Advent time because it has the prettiest hymns in the Episcopalian hymnal. I loved Advent Family Sunday. I loved it when Lola Dill (my wonderful piano teacher) let me start playing Christmas music and not just Baroque and Classical. I loved stuffing my face with sand tarts and Grandmother's tea cakes (they are NOT sugar cookies, just so you know.) But most of all I loved the time spent with family. I grew up with (and still have) the best family in the world. There are lots of us (on both sides) and we all enjoy the following: time together, games (especially cards and Monopoly on my mom's side and fun holiday games on my dad's), the Muppet Christmas Carol, (A Christmas Story on my mom's side--though I don't share this love) and food. Lots and lots of food. I love my family's Christmas traditions: the beautiful brass service Christmas Eve at the church, Brunch at our house Christmas morning, and days spent in food-comas from every variety of home-cooked goodness, casseroles, and most importantly mashed potatoes. In later years, I loved the tradition of bringing my best friends from high school (both of whom happened to be Jewish) to family Christmas. Which brings me to the very best part of Christmases past: Grandmama. She pretty much embodied everything wonderful about the holidays. Selflessness, love, charity, and a kind of purity that is unparalleled and I suspect singular to her. She LOVED Christmas--every aspect of it. What it represents, the music, the way it brings people together, and the time spent with family. And she always strove (and succeeded) to make it perfect. So it was. And maybe I was so determined last year to be strong at Christmas without her and simultaneously distracted by having a boyfriend and juggling his Christmas with my own that I couldn't be upset or really let myself miss her. Maybe I felt the need to put on a happy face for the rest of the family. In fact, I'm sure we all did. But this year much more than last year at this time, I find myself thinking about her and wishing I could share with her what I'm doing with my life and how happy I am and how well my sister and I get along now that we're a little older and establishing our own lives (but she knew that would happen) and how I can't wait to be home with her for the holidays and hug her wonderful self and smell perfume from her Christmas vests and go to Northpark for an epic Christmas shopping spree that lasts the whole day. Because the truth is: it will never be the same. I still have the same wonderful family and we all love each other very much and we all share such wonderful memories, but we have to establish a new normal. Which we're capable of. And we will do. And I know Grandmama's daughters will continue the traditions and the magic (after all, she raised them and it's in their blood). And I know that my two newest cousins, Henry and Heidi, are helping heal the hurt and fill in some of that magic that left with Grandmama. And I know I will still have a wonderful Christmas and I can't wait to be home with my family.

And I know that the new normal will be okay.

We will make it so.

Music is the Shorthand of Emotion: The Luxury of Lyric Stage

2011-11-28T11:38:00.000-08:00

Lights dim and anticipation builds as I shift excitedly in the plush, velvet seat in enormous Carpenter Hall. God, I hope this is good. A silent prayer for something transformative. For "art," whatever that means. To escape.

A collective sharp inhale as the maestro raises both arms above his head, glistening baton in right, energy in his left. With one forceful whip of the baton, a resplendent cacophany of not just sound, but true music envelops the space. Bernstein's glorious, agitated West Side Story overture has begun, and I've just fallen head over heels in love. As I age and the nagging necessity of responsiblity becomes unaviodable, so do more mundane activities and choices. I am guilty of the common plight of "not living in the moment." It is unfortunately rare to find myself wishing I were nowhere else. Music is my express-lane ticket to ethereal bliss and that night in Carpenter Hall, you could not have paid me or wooed me away from the magic. Were there wonderful performances? Probably. Was there beautiful dancing? Certainly. But oh! that beautiful orchestra. 38 glorious pieces remastering one of the most perfect scores as it was first performed: a luxury that has vanished even from the most commercial, tourist-friendly theatres--those currently on Broadway.

And lo and behold, this wonderful gem of a theater exists in Irving, Texas, of all places. Now, it is probably by some terrible mistake, but my blogger stats tell me I have readers from all over the country as well as some international readers. If you, dear readers, find yourself in Texas or in need of a musical catharsis and/or pilgrimage, do yourself a favor and trek out to Irving for some musical theater magic.

The night I saw West Side Story, I had just decided to attempt pursuing theatre--even though I really had no background in it (outside of fanatic nerddom and quasi-closeted obsession.) About twenty seconds into the overture, I made it my ultimate aim to work at Lyric Stage. It is the marriage of what I love most in theatre: the old school, smartly written, narrative orchestrations that are essentially nonexistent now, an orchestra to parlay that narrative to the audience, a production team invested in the integrity of the work, and even sometimes a collaboration with the composer/original collaborators of the work.

West Side Story was three years ago, so my love affair isn't new by any means, but I find rather than my honeymoon phase waning and fizzling out, I continue discovering further reasons to fall in love with Lyric Stage. In the past couple years, I've had the extreme privelege of performing in six shows at Lyric as well as teaching a couple of classes and choreograhing the kids summer production. (If you have kiddos interested in the arts, consider taking them to the classes throughout the year and definitely get them involved in the summer production--they use the same costumes and set as the professional production and it is a wonderful experience!)

After a couple months away from Dallas and beloved Lyric (as a result of a job I have through a connection I made at Lyric, incidentally), I have to confess I am a little homesick for that orchestra. (And as a result I felt compelled unsolicited and entirely voluntarily to blog about it out of town on my day off. That's gotta be true love, right?) They just did a production of Charles Strouse's Rags, which I heard (and I have no doubt it's true) was glorious. I'm still very much enjoying my current adventure performing 8-10 shows a week in Pennsylvania, but the more I see and experience away from Lyric the more I realize how rare and amazing it is. This morning in New York City (it's my day off!) I had the chance to grab coffee with a wonderful co-worker from Gypsy at Lyric who has worked literally everywhere--Broadway and beyond--and we collectively marvelled over what a luxury an orchestra and a theatre like Lyric Stage is. We are terribly spoiled, Texas. Apparently the love spell isn't exclusively for young enthusiastic novices like me.

All good music resembles something. Good music stirs by its mysterious resemblance to the objects and feelings which motivated it. Jean Cocteau said it, but Lyric Stage exemplifies it. And we get to reap the benefits of some incredible work as a result.

How lucky are we?

The Thing Is

2011-11-19T21:35:00.000-08:00

The thing is this: I lead the most beautifully charmed life. I am doing exactly what I want to do. I am living in the Northeast, I'm traveling, I am performing, I am housed and fed, I am meeting wonderful people, and I wake up happy every single morning. I couldn't possibly conjure a better first year out of college. I am stupidly grateful for my lifestyle (and particularly grateful to my blood-related family and my theater family) and I can only hope to cntinue to be blessed in this fashion.

Life is good. I am loving it.

Really, that's all you need to know.

On Winning

2011-11-16T21:04:00.000-08:00

"I win!!" A smile breaks out over my sister's infectiously radiant seven year old face. Grandmama smiles warmly, congratulates Abby on her success, and both she and Abby cautiously turn towards me. It's a typical Tuesday night: we're in the game room--me, Grandmama, and Abby. Abby has just won a game of Sorry. Ergo: Katharine has just lost a game of Sorry. ie: Uh oh.

Katie Beth was insisitent that EVERYONE feel her loss. I wish I could use that past tense "was insistent" without feeling like a liar. I'm still not a spectacularly graceful being. With my mischief, glee, and passion for life came an equal magnitude of zone-out, shut down the world, pouting, sore-loser angst.

Losing gracefully has never been one of my stronger skills.

Fortunately, I was raised around two of the loveliest, kindest spirits: Abby (my sister) and Grandmama (Katharine the first.) Though they were always gracious and lovely (well, I don't know that Abigail was ALWAYS gracious and lovely--after all, she was still a little sister) I don't know that their kind spirits necessarily rubbed off on me. At least not in the realm of game-playing.

This isn't to say that I'm a bad person or dislike the fortune of others. It is simply to say that I'm stupidly competitive by nature. And some days--days like today--a cornucopia of tiny, tiny losses (that no one else would even recognize as losses) amount to my feeling like a worthless, unsuccessful, unattractive schmuck when I know full well that's not reality.

The question I pose is this: what degree of drive, competitive nature, and desire for winning constitutes a dangerous or unhealthy attitude? Drive and competition mandates my life. Part of this comes naturally in my profession. But I've not always been an actress and yet I've always been this way. Does this mean I've spent 22 years being painfully insecure and NEEDING success? Or is 'being competitive' a legitimate trait that I've been cursed/blessed with?

Regardless, I think one of my more immediate goals (along with slowing my instinct to overanalyze) is to pace/monitor this competitive drive.

...

Confession: I already know this isn't going to happen. Even as that goal occurred to me and I typed it I knew I won't be able to quell my desire for success--immediate success and lots of it. What is that? Do I have a deficit of some kind in my life? Happiness? Security? Or is that just me? It's always been this way. And maybe I'm jsut being neurotic. I'm talking in Woody Allen-worthy circles. So it's likely.

Maybe I should just accept it. I'm driven. I'm competitive. I'm curious. I want to win. I'm constantly afraid I'll miss something. Sometimes I can't sleep because my adrenaline from dreaming is so frenetic that I feel electric. Like I could actually catapult to whatever ethereal nonexistant dreamland I've concocted where I have everything I want. And then I drive myself crazier still with the realization and paralyzing fear that I'm not skilled enough to make it happen.

Do these thoughts ever occur to you? Am I a bona fide crazy person? Will I ever be satisfied?

Probably. Probably not.

On Fear of Blogging (On Being Silly)

2011-11-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

I think about writing daily. In fact, I'm haunted multiple times a day by my cowardice and negligence of this blog. I know it seems silly (and it is) but I'm daunted by the need to write something profound. Yet, when I encounter something beyond my comprehension or an occurance/sensation that I don't quite understand, I run from sorting it out on here. And I can't even bring myself to journal about it privately, even though writing is always my dearest companion and counselor. I'm not sure what this says about me, but here are my vague assertions:
1. I need applause. Figuratively, literally. I need to immediately know that what I've just produced/done/said is acceptable. Appreciated. Correct. A success.
2. Therefore: Please comment.
3. A journal is a blog without comments. But it's also probably a more effective means of sorting out the mess that is my cluttered, overactive mind.
4. There's a lot I'm afraid of. Maybe that's a more worthwhile list to make...

Things I'm Afraid Of:
1. Starting a list title that ends in a preposition. Should it have been "Things of which I have fear"? Dear Elaine Liner: help.
2. Being grammatically incorrect.
3. Being a disappointment.
4. Letting my life be dictated by fear.
5. My tendency to be all-or-nothing. I love you or I hate you. I love my life or hate it. I love my body or hate it. I have faith in myself or I suck. It's exhausting.
6. Being too bold on this blog.
7. Not being bold enough on this blog.
8. Wanting the unattainable.
9. Wasting time and energy on dreams that will never come to fruition.
10. Remaining intellectually stagnant.
11. Remaining artistically stagnant.
12. Being unattractive. Being unwanted. Failing. Falling.
13. Investing in a world in which I do not belong. Pursuing the wrong career. Not being talented enough.
14. Being too honest.
15. Ending this list with an uneventful number like "fourteen."

Things I know:
1. Right now I am happy.
2. It would behoove me to assess my current situation and figure out just what is making me happy. And keep it that way.
3. I'm anxious about Lauren Ambrose being Fanny Brice.
4. I need to stay away from narcissism in myself and others. And similarly to steer clear of negativity.
5. It's my life. Be kind to others, but also do what you need to do for you.
6. I hate sounding like a poorly written self-help tweet.
7. Twitter has replaced self-help books.
8. I'm growing weary of lists.
9. I'm talking in circles.
10. I just got some remarkable shoes from modcloth that are STUNNING and make my world go around.
11. I covet fantastic perfume but I'm allergic to most of it. It's depressing.
12. I'm enamored of jazz music.
13. I wish my heyday occurred in the 1920s or 1940s. This is impractical. And my grandkids will hate me for saying this and wish their heyday had been in the 2000s. Silly kids.
14. This is list is all about me.
15. Am I a narcissist?
16. These are no longer "things I know."

Wearing myself out again. I'm happy, not angsty. I swear. I just do all my soul-searching on here. You should know that by now. Mmkay. Done now. Goodnight. Comment please.

Cultivate a Little Grin, and Smile

2011-10-24T23:48:00.000-07:00

The reason I haven't posted in months:

I am happy.

And it's a wonderful thing. I'm living in Lancaster, Pennsylvania performing a quaint 1930's musical with the loveliest company of people and I'm frankly enamored of every single day. Am I still constantly anticipating what I will do after this contract? Of course. Do I still lie awake at night (nights like tonight) restless and anxious planning the future? Sure do. But such is the life of the actor. And indeed--the actor's life is the life for me!

I wish I had something remarkably profound and clever to say, but the sad fact is that I am exhausted from working and playing too hard and the best I can do is offer some snapshots of the last month. Bless you if you actually read this after my weeks of neglect and hope everyone is having an equally magical autumn 2011!

What Would Little KB Think?

2011-09-19T22:45:00.000-07:00

I think I was a relatively remarkable little kid. I was a total weirdo, not terribly charming or attractive, but smart enough. And creative enough. For instance: I played a game in second grade called "Boy of the Day" where I would line the boys up against the cafeteria wall, spin in a circle with my eyes closed, and whoever I landed on got to eat lunch with me. For an unattractive kid, creating a competition gameshow out of lunch was a pretty swell idea. Another instance: my friend Roseanne and I used to host a talk show in the ladies lounge (code for fancy useless sitting area of the bathroom) in Parrish Hall in elementary school. We discussed all sorts of issues, but most of what I recall had to do with art and boys.

Not much has changed.

Okay, maybe a lot has. But in so many ways, the trajectory of my life is completely predictable and totally unsurprising.

For those of you who don't know (and I haven't the foggiest idea why I am sharing this with you) I went by the nickname "Katie Beth" for the first eighteen years of my life. I utterly abhor this name. Though my mother will argue otherwise, I have loathed this name for as long as I can remember, and started going by my legitimate full name (...Katharine) as soon as humanly possible (college.)

Katie Beth was far more precocious than Katharine. She was also more ambitious. Katie Beth would be utterly depressed by the state 22 year old Katharine has. First of all, being 22 never really occurred to Katie Beth. KB (as she was and is still known by some closest and oldest friends/family) desperately yearned to be older and fabulous, but exceeding 21 wasn't necessarily a part of that plan. KB also would have written a book by now and had way more money than 22 year old Katharine has.

Let's take an inventory of what little KB would think of my current life status, shall we?

Katharine joined a sorority. #kbfail

Katharine left an arts admin scholarship #kbfail

Katharine currently lives at home #kbfail

Katharine is not famous, nor is especially good at any singular thing #kbfail

Katharine thought college was disappointing #kbfail

Katharine tried acting #mediocre

Katharine tried her hand at theater in Dallas #chorusgirlwin

Katharine is still a chorus girl #kbfail

Katharine isn't ballsy enough to move to New York, even though that's been a dream for over a decade #kbfail

Katharine has met amazing people #kbwin

Katharine is single, focused, and driven #kbwin

Katharine leaves Wednesday to do a show in the Northeast #kbwin

Katharine no longer plays boy of the day #growingup

Katharine is doing the best she can #reality

Joseph L. Mankiewicz Knew a Thing or Two

2011-09-18T20:52:00.000-07:00

I was saying that the Theater is nine -tenths hard work. Work done the hard way - by sweat, application and craftsmanship. I’ll agree to this - that to be a good actor, actress, or anything else in the Theater, means wanting to be that more than anything else in the world…

It means concentration of ambition, desire, and sacrifice such as no other profession demands… And I’ll agree that the man or woman who accepts those terms can’t be ordinary, can’t be - just someone. To give so much for almost always so little…”

“So little. So little, did you say? Why, if there’s nothing else - there’s applause. It’s like - like waves of love coming over the footlights and wrapping you up. Imagine…To know, every night, that
different hundreds of people love you… they smile, their eyes shine - you’ve pleased them, they want you, you belong. Just that alone is worth anything…”

All I Need is One Good Break

2011-08-31T18:32:00.000-07:00

It's not that I don't enjoy being a chorus girl. I do, really. In fact, in some shows there's really nothing I'd rather be.

It's just that I'm ready to try something new. Be more integral in the story of a show. To not just perform. To sing. To act. To communicate outside of a smiling ensemble. (To step out of my comfort zone. To be afraid. To be challenged.) I have a theatre degree; why not use it?

What is it that releases you from the duty of paying your dues? Working long hours for minimal/no pay? For schlepping scenery? That gets you out of the chorus? That entitles you to at least a shot?

Is it grad school? Is it more training in general? Is it a better body? Is it ballsiness? Is it getting out of Dallas? Is it hopeless? (If so, I think my chorus girl years..with some exceptions..may be limited.) I'm growing restless. Not turning into a diva. Just feel like I'm kinda stuck in a hamster wheel, you know?

As always, any applicable advice is appreciated. And thanks for continuing to muddy through this angsty, soul-searchy, career-growth-spurt with me.

Dallas Theater Center's Cabaret is on the New York Times website!

2011-08-27T20:36:00.000-07:00

This cramazing article about Dallas Theater Center was on the New York Times website tonight and it just so happens that the attached photo contains my face (and body.) Im the blonde on the right.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/28/us/28ttkelly.html&ct=ga&cad=CAcQARgAIAAoATAAOABArPjl8gRIAVAAWABiBWVuLVVT&cd=LgQSmVNNQ_E&usg=AFQjCNGRl5cLEIgFv-2wi3QBB4BzMcIejA

Kind of awesome!

On Restlessness

2011-08-21T22:57:00.000-07:00

"Restlessness is discontent and discontent is the first necessity of progress. Show me a thoroughly satisfied man and I will show you a failure." - Thomas Edison

I'm grateful Edison has a good track record because I am in dire need of advice from someone. Even a dead someone who wasn't directing advice towards me. Someone legit. Edison seems legit.

I'm hopeful that this period of angst and soul searching will find its solution and direction soon so that I may stop pestering you all with my feelings and be productive/successful already. Even my mother told me I've overburdened you with angst.

Me: "So people keep telling me they read my blog but nobody comments. Except for my sister who takes pity on me and the occasional other people."
Mom: "Well it's so burdensome having to log in to comment. And people just don't know what to say anymore. You just keep being so angsty."

Mom is accurate, but this isn't a helpful or revelatory piece of information. (Love you, mom.)

Oh hey, mom? Where did I come from? (Oh gracious. PLEASE spare me the birds and the bees conversation. I'm pretty sure we successfully avoided that conversation in my pre-adolescence (because I was a relatively self sufficient child and probably googled it. or was given a book. And if we did have that conversation I have succeeded in blocking it from my memory and would like to keep it that way. Please and thank you!) ANYWAY, that is not the topic of conversation. I mean "where did I come from" in a more (yes, angsty), broader, philosophical kind of way. Were you this angsty? How about driven? Was dad? Is my supernatural undirected quotient of drive FROM either of you? (Read: Who do I have to blame for this ambition condition?)

I keep having evenings of not wanting to go to sleep because I feel like I haven't produced anything substantial in the day. Or learned anything. Or done anything significant. I think I have the guts and the energy to hardcore pursue something but I need Dumbledore to drop down from the sky and say "HermiKatharGinnyMuggle, pursue it this way" and I will.

Where is Dumbledore when I need him? Furthermore, why am I not a wizard? Actually, I saw the last Harry Potter film again today and determined it really wouldn't be all that great to be a wizard seeing as they have to deal with Voldemort and death eaters and betrayal and such. Then again, we have to deal with Michelle Bachmann and Kim Kardashian so maybe muggles aren't so well off either.

At any rate, I have managed to dicuss wizardry more thoroughly than I have hashed out the beast of energy/drive/ambition combusting in my chest and therefore am no closer to directing/channeling it and therefore no closer to breakthrough/product.

Sorry for being angsty again, mom. Sorry to everyone else, too. By the way, you can comment anonymously and just sign it. Or not. If you're feeling all cowardly and such. Or lazy. Or don't care enough to comment (in which case I don't blame you.)

Hope you sane normal people are all sleeping tight and have a wonderful start to the week tomorrow (today.) Goodnight and good morning.

On playing it safe

2011-08-19T23:05:00.000-07:00

On my lack of accurate self evaluation

On whether or not I can do it

On Cabaret

On luck

On being less talented than teenagers

On maybe not being talented at all, just smart

On not being all that smart

On being a nerd

On how being a nerd only gets you so far

On being nice

On how being nice only gets you so far

On taking advantage

On what if

On what next

On self value

On food. On lack of food. On dance. On working out.

On getting lazy

On lacking a specific goal

On unemployment

On old dudes with girlfriends

On irresponsible girlfriends

On angering people

On burning bridges

On trust

On altruism

On being twenty two and how i don't want to be

On wearing makeup on a daily basis for the first time ever

On having attended an all girls school

On feeling stupid and incompetent

On feeling bored and alone

On feeling inspired and motivated, mostly due to competition

On how that's probably not right

On how it wouldn't be an issue if I had won in the first place

On success as revenge

On feeling unimportant and insignificant

On narcissism

On quarter life crises

On a current need for advice. From smart, successful people who genuinely care. Irresponsible, delusional, or hateful people need not apply. Nor strangers. Nor the estranged. Goodnight.

Growing Pains

2011-08-06T12:09:00.000-07:00

I have become complacent, lazy, and mediocre.
I am boring myself.

I am tired of being a jack of all trades, master of none.

I think the unfortunate time has come to make a choice. I hate making choices. Choices frighten me.

***

My mother likes to say that the world has yet to see what I could do if I singularly channeled all my drive and energy and passion into something. She's probably right. I am a chronic half-asser. I do what it takes to get by. In doing so, I am constantly disappointed in myself, which isn't the best place to be.

I know I'm capable of crazy things. My problem (like every artist) is that I have an gargantuan fear of failure. It terrifies me to the point of paralysis. The scenario has happened repeatedly where I work myself to a position where I could really launch and be brave and work my butt off and either catastrophically fail or gloriously succeed; I have never allowed myself to leave the launch pad. Instead, I take the backseat, amble along, and get by.

I'm tired of being underwhelming. I'm tired of being consumed by my fears.

One of my safeguards from failure is that I over-occupy myself and over-commit myself. I engross myself in ten tasks or projects at once and placate my frustrations with a failure by success in another realm. I have to maintain balance. I fear what shape I would be in if I fully engrossed myself in a project and it flopped. This has happened on smaller scales, and my skin is still so thin that I have to hermit myself away from everything, grieve, and re-emerge afterwards pretending it's all kosher, when really I'm just building frustration and callouses on my heart.

The unfortunate truth of the matter is that I am adult. And as such, it is time to start behaving like one. I have known how to behave as an adult for a long, long time but have allowed myself to use my youth and age as an excuse. I am not permitted these allowances anymore.

The time has come for some self-evaluation, growth, and intense struggle.

What do I want to be when I grow up?

This is a question I cannot and should not avoid any longer. If I could be anything in the universe in the short(ish) term, what would I pursue? The ultimate short term dream would be to be in the ensemble of a Broadway show or national tour.

That just doesn't seem realistic.

I'm not trying to garner pity or "oh no, don't say that"s but I just want to stay honest. I'm a decent dancer, a decent singer, and a decent actor. But I feel a little bit like Harold Hill in this regard--I've just tricked everyone into thinking I'm good enough when really it's all a faux facade and I'm not especially great at any of the three.

This leads to the next quandary/conundrum: do I want this badly enough that I kick my butt into some serious, serious training and set myself up for repeated heartbreak and really give this a go? I mean get my body into crazy shape, take endless lessons, fail, fail, and fail some more and hope that I'm not wasting time?

This is usually the point where my brain says, "Wait! You are moderately successful at so many other things! Why don't you become a writer? Why don't you pursue some business endeavor? Why don't you become an entrepeneur? Why don't you find some stable job that you know you could maintain?" Here is where trouble enters. But these same cyclical issues would probably occur in these other fields as well. I also can't tolerate wasting time. What if I do say, "let's do this. 100% guns a-blazing" and three or five years later I haven't made it?

If I'm being really painfully honest with myself (which is never fun), none of the alternatives could ever satisfy me as wholly as performing. Creating on the other side of the table/teaching and writing serve as close, close seconds (and I am convinced that I could be satisfied enough doing them for a living) but performing is my one true love. It's unfortunate that it's so damn hard.

I haven't found the answer just yet, but I am not procrastinating the search any longer. At least the questions and honest perseptive is out there as well as I know how at the moment.

I apologize to my family for having two swear words in this article. This isn't the kind of language you enjoy and I hope you'll forgive me for being ineloquent. I apologize to my readers for being boring as of late, and for being self-deprecating (albeit more honest than I have been lately) in this post. Lastly, I apologize to myself. Step it up, Gentsch. I know you can.

And WHY isn't my life a Nancy Meyers film?

2011-07-19T16:27:00.000-07:00

Confession: Despite the fact that It's Complicated (like most Nancy Meyers films) is a totally mediocre film, I raptly watch it every time it is available--like now, for instance. I have no real explanation for this, outside of the fact that if Nancy Meyers (or Nora Ephron) are attached to a film, it's love. Generally. Meyers is like the cinematic equivalent of Elizabeth Berg. Everything is so cozy in that world. Women in Nancy Meyers films have lush gardens, great relationships/men (at every age), fabulous clothes, amazing girlfriends, and perfect gorgeous cozy homes. And nice kitchens. Always. Money is never a struggle for the Nancy Meyers women.

This slightly silly, out of reach, lifestyle is something I think I secretly aspire to. Is that vain and stupid stupid?

I have no interest in playing Susie Homemaker, but I love entertaining and hostessing. At this point in my life, however, I can't even fathom what it must be like to own a house. It sounds preposterous. I can't even imagine having my own apartment again. Thanks to tour I won't need one thru April and then who knows?

You know what I wonder? I wonder what I'll do after tour is over. Will I live in Dallas? Will another opportunity present itself? Will I suddenly become hyper-ballsy and try New York?

...I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Wonder if I'll ever be.

You know what is disappointing about the way I've handled my life thus far? I've had such crazy ambitions and dreams since I was...well, for as long as I can remember, and I feel like I'm still moving at a glacial pace. Nothing has happened. I mean, I'm working. But have I been lazy? Could I have worked harder and been some entrepreneurial billionaire right now?

I have an intense craving to write something significant. I don't mean that I want to write anything deep or epic necessarily--but something lengthy. A book, or a screenplay, or something... I'm about to (strangely enough) have enough time on my hands where I could absolutely pool my excess energy into a big project. But what should it be?

I think the real issue is that as soon as life slows down for a minute, I start panicking over the way I'm managing it. I've just finished a stretch of 40 days straight of 10+ hours of work and suddenly (though I'm still teaching this week) I have time on my hands and a little anxious about the future.

Alright, time to start pondering my big project. Until then, we'll just take life one day at a time...

My last month and how I'm about to be old

2011-07-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

Hi friends. I apologize for neglecting the blog. Here is a very brief update on the crazy that has occurred over the past month.

1. The Wiz opens this coming Friday. It has been a challenging but hugely informative learning experience and it has only further secure my love for doing theatre "on the other side of the table."
2. Through happenstance/magic, I booked a show that will perform in Lancaster, PA September-November, (come home for the holidays), Ft Myers, Florida January-February, and Mesa, Arizona March-April. I am excited beyond belief. It combines my two greatest passions: theater and travel!!
3. Before that show happens, I will be performing in/dance captaining Gypsy at Lyric Stage.
4. Between June 6 and this coming Friday, I will have worked 40 days straight (minus the 4th of July) with 10+ hours of work every day. In that span of time I will have also opened 3 shows. Wonderfully, I love my job(s) so I happily accept exhaustion to pursue my passions!
5. I choreographed my first full musical this last month. I choreographed Oliver for Lyric Stage Performing School Of the Arts. I adore choreographing and teaching stupid amounts, and hope to pursue both of these jobs forever.
6. In the midst of opening the Wiz, I am choreographing Guys and Dolls for Genesis Theater. It has been another wonderful choreographing/teaching experience.
7. I teach a musical theatre class over the next two weeks at the dance studio I attended/did tap company in in high school. Full circle. These things I love.

...I think that is mostly everything. Needless to say, it has been a whirlwind month but wonderful one in which I have learned copious amounts. Life is good, y'all.

PS I turn 22 on Tuesday. How did THAT happen?!!

The Pursuit of Happiness and a Meaningful Life

2011-06-02T12:49:00.001-07:00

Note: This is my response to an article my mother emailed me from the NYTimes. Here's the link.

Mr. Brooks:
What a dreary, clinical portrait you conjure of the world in which I am about to enter. Two weeks ago, I received my BFA in Theatre; I have essentially set myself up for the least lucrative or "sensible" career available and I couldn't be more excited. I have waited two decades to throw myself into the maelstrom of adulthood and have it promptly and repeatedly kick my entitled behind; I am ecstatic. You say every sensible middle aged person would kill to go back to being 22--this may be the case. (Anytime I bemoan some menial college woe, my mother sings "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" from Avenue Q loudly and pointedly.) Given your tsk-tsk condescension for the typical 20-something wide-eyed idealism and "selfishness," I can't imagine what you find appealing about returning to the age of seemingly endless opportunity and exploration.

I think a return to college would provide quite a shock to the baby boomers. For my mother, "going to college" meant leaving suburban Texas for the broader, more diverse excitement of a college campus. For me, "going to college" entailed narrowing my metropolitan world to a bizarre, false reality of trust-fund babies and largely bored professors. Has college prepared me for life? Possibly, but certainly not in the ways my tuition-paying parents envisioned. My college experience has most significantly taught me that passion fuels progress. What did I learn from my tenured professors who were too jaded to challenge their pupils? That if I ever find life that dull, I'm doing a disservice to everyone around me and I need a change of career immediately. It is my suspicion that these professors became professors because they followed your ideology of doing the "sensible" thing. Unfortunately, their "sensibility" has squandered all sensitivity towards what education should be. The problem with eliminating passion from one's career is that it hinders not only what is produced but also the progress of those collaborating.

The generation that has raised us preaches theology that hasn't even necessarily led them to successful and fulfilling lives. Why follow the "sensible" or expected path if it hasn't fulfilled our elders? Selfishness is innate (and is often a means to a collectively positive end) and that is no more apparent than in a newly independent college graduate. I'm mostly confused about where you suppose "doing the expected thing" will get us. Why not pursue life as an artist (like yourself) or librarian or elephant trainer? Someone has to do these things; it may as well be someone who loves doing them. I recently had a childhood friend pass away in the tornado in Tuscaloosa; this has been a monumental reminder that we 20-somethings are not as invincible as we think we are. Our life could very well end as abruptly anyone else's. Why not enjoy the time we have? Why not enjoy the minimal responsibility we carry at the start of adulthood--without spouses or children or the need to take care of our elders. Why not travel? Why not experience the world? Why not share art? I know dozens of people in my parents' generation who did the right and expected thing and are no happier for it. A steady, selfless job (is there such a thing?) will not stop the world from throwing curveballs and catastrophes.

You say successful young people are summoned by problems. I am called by a solution; does that make my life less meaningful? Twyla Tharp said, "Art is the only way to run away without leaving home." Art often provides an elucidating or illuminating lens through which one may appreciate or learn about life. Most importantly, however, art provides an escape. And in a time such as ours, couldn't we all use some clarity and a chance to escape?

I, too, love reading biographies of people far more impressive than I, but what you and I find impressive seems to be diametrically different. I admire people who pursue what they love--oftentimes, this does indeed mean a more arduous life. Choosing passion over practicality is scarier and much more difficult than doing the expected thing. Do I admire excellence first? Yes. But excellence stems from passion, passion from pleasure, and pleasure from happiness.

It seems to me, Mr. Brooks, that you argue for a passionless, scared generation of young adults. Despite your advice, I anticipate working as hard as possible to ensure that is not the case. I choose passion, and I think it will be both in my best interest and to the benefit of others with whom I may share that passion that I do so.

Choose Your Own Adventure

2011-05-27T20:18:00.001-07:00

Grandmama's house was magical. She made sure it was stocked with anything we could possibly want every time we came over. If she didn't have it, we went out and found it. This isn't to say that I required anything other than her company; her company was all I ever needed. Regardless, she typically had a stock of Hot Tamales (my favorite candy), pringles, mashed potatoes whenever possible, my favorite Disney movies, and books. Of the books, my favorites were always the Choose Your Own Adventure. Spontaneity and I are in love—we have been for quite some time. Thus, the Choose Your Own Adventure books were the best. You are in control of your plot. You have options every step of the way. Anything can happen.

There is nothing more thrilling to me than traveling without an agenda. I still find myself giddy over getting on a plane, bus, or train to a new place with no plans and minimal funds. (Okay, maybe I would be okay with a little more funds.) I need to find a way to travel and experience culture professionally. I could be like Anthony Bourdain—but with the arts and less scruff and snark.

I've had an overwhelming need to blog over the past couple of days, but have had absolutely no time...until now. Let me bring you up to speed on what I've been up to. Cabaret closed on Sunday night (which now seems like an eternity ago.) I start working from 9am-11pm everyday all summer in two weeks. I just graduated from college. All of these things added up in my head to vacation. Due to my incessant vicarious online traveling searches, I learned of a program AirTran has for people ages 18-22 where you can fly standby one-way for $70. Not bad, right? The three places you can get to from Dallas for $70 are Atlanta, Baltimore/Washington, and Orlando. Since Atlanta isn't terribly appealing, I don't have enough money to go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Orlando, and I'd never been to Washington D.C., I figured now was the time. It also happens that several of my idols (Bernadette Peters, Jan Maxwell, and Elaine Paige) were in a production of Sondheim's Follies at the Kennedy Center. Why wouldn't I try to go to D.C.? I texted my pal Truett (whom I've known since birth but who happened to be in the same theatre program I attended at SMU) to see if she might want to be my traveling companion. She, too, had never been to Washington D.C. (she was supposed to go the year of 9/11 with school; I transferred the year to Hockaday the year after they went and the year before St. John's went.) She had also not taken a vacation since junior year of high school. We were both concerned about funds, but through the graciousness of my mother, the travel-budgeting-smarts she instilled in me at a very young age, some determination, and some graduation money, we made it work. We packed Monday night, took a brief nap, and headed to DFW airport at 3am in the morning. The first flight to Baltimore was booked, and our AirTran attendant informed us that all flights to Baltimore were oversold—as were those getting to Atlanta. She didn't seem to understand that I was going to go on this trip. Do not mess with me and my mischievous plans. After some negotiating, she begrudgingly put us on standby for a 7:00am flight to Atlanta and then a 10am flight to Dulles International.

We made both flights.

9 hours later, very tuckered but excited Truett and Katharine trekked into D.C. and took the metro to Columbia Heights where a high school friend's cousin lives. (Yep, we'll use any avenue possible.) I wish I had blogged about D.C. as we arrived—or shortly thereafter. I haven't felt as jazzed about a city as I did D.C. in a long, long while. I loved Quebec City (and would like to vacation there indefinitely) and I loved San Francisco (and have no doubt that I will return), but I now want to move to Washington D.C. It is perfect. It is the lovechild of New York City and San Francisco. For some reason, I had this strange impression that D.C. was this super corporate, distant, formal place. I was an idiot. D.C. is beautiful. Somebody up there must have wanted us to have a perfect adventure because the weather in DC was glorious. It seems like every neighborhood we visited in D.C. was more perfect than the last and I found myself wanting to live in every one of them. The city is pedestrian, accessible, diverse, friendly, but to the point. It is eclectic and artsy and not at all as serious as I had imagined. There are dogs everywhere. Ladies are either wearing jogging attire or sundresses. (I fit right in.)

After quickly settling into our basement apartment in Columbia Heights (which was adorable...and oh, wait! across from the National Zoo...) we walked to the Kennedy Center. I love walking in cities, but I occasionally pay the price. Thanks to some super cute but unfortunately uncomfortable flats Truett let me borrow, I earned the blisters of the century. They were totally worth it. And thanks to an 8 buck Payless purchase, they are happily freed in my new, kinda ugly flip flops.

The Kennedy Center is stunning. It is enormous, grand, and lavish. There are a million performance spaces, fountains, and quotes everywhere of famous people discussing how wonderful art is. I was both in awe and at home. Follies was beautiful—but it was mostly so phenomenal to be in the space and be seeing that many Broadway legends on one stage. Pretty phenomenal.

The next day, Truett and I walked the city. (There isn't a better way to acquaint yourself with a city than by walking it, you know?) We had entirely too much fun. We went to the eastern market and grabbed some farmers-markety lunch, strolled around that gorgeous neighborhood, walked to the Capitol and National Mall, did some cartwheels, and headed to the bus station.

I'm actually kind of glad I didn't visit D.C. as a 6^th or 8^th grader—I wouldn't have nearly the same kind of appreciation as I do now. Goodness knows I would've been preoccupied with flirting with some boy or feeling awkward about my outfit and not at all paying attention to the city that runs our nation. As a 21 year old who has actually now been able to vote and care about who resides in these buildings, I was quite in awe of them.

After our tour of the monuments/buildings/neighborhoods of D.C., we headed to the bus station. For the first time ever, I was sad to be going to New York City. I have never had that feeling before. The bus was quite an experience. We only paid $20, and let me tell you: we got what we paid for. Our bus driver was truly bizarre and most unhappy to be doing his job. He got especially perturbed by traffic. After getting lost a couple of times, some weird detours, and 6 hours, we arrived in the Big Bad Apple. (As we got off the bus, he exclaimed to us, “Man! That was pretty good, right? You wouldn't even have known I had never driven a bus before!”)

….jaw drops. And it suddenly all makes sense.

In NYC, we met up with my dear friend who is letting us stay with them, went out, came home, and got some much needed sleep. The next day (yesterday), we met up with my friend Kristin. We went to Whole Foods, packed ourselves picnics, and laid out in the grass in Sheep's Meadow in Central Park. It was beautiful. We then waited in line for three hours for Book of Mormon standing room tickets, lost, and split up in a mad frenzy to find cheap tickets to a show with only 30 minutes before shows started. Normal Heart? No go. How to Succeed? No go. Jerusalem? No go. Sister Act? General Rush. Done. Was it silly and stupid? Yes. Did I enjoy myself ridiculous amounts? Absolutely. It was a total blast and Patina Miller is so talented it's stupid. And Victoria Clark....I mean, isn't she always brilliant?

I then met up with my high school bestie, Bayla, one of her Jew crew buddies Marcus, and Kavitha, another high school friend. We explored the Lower East Side and had a magical time. After introducing Truett to the wonder of cheap, delicious Amadeus pizza, we called it a night.

Today is its own adventure. I'm preparing to wait for hours and hours for Book of Mormon standing room (because I will see that show before we leave), but while Truett's grabbing lunch with a friend, I'm taking myself on a trip to Brighton Beach and Coney Island. I'm sure it's not nice, but I'm also sure it will have character.

So, here I am now, sitting alone on the B train downtown towards Brighton Beach listening to “I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City.” I am surrounded by people who look nothing like me all headed to a hundred wonderful places around this island. I am so incredibly happy.

On Magic, Kate Wetherhead, and Dragons

2011-05-18T01:00:00.000-07:00

I'm watching How to Train Your Dragon for the umpteenth time. This is indicative of two things:

1. I have graduated from college and am so petrified of adulthood that I am moving in retrograde towards infancy--like Benjamin Button, except less hot than Brad Pitt--and...

2. The movies I watch repeatedly are not necessarily brilliant (although this one is pretty great.) The movies I watch repeatedly are the ones that have the best scores. A good plot is helpful; a brilliant score is imperative. This score is perfect. No, really.

You know how I keep fixating on the transcendent? The score of How to Train Your Dragon is transcendent. Download "Test Drive" on iTunes right now. Then, watch this video:

I'm not a huge figure skating fanatic or anything, but I was in a very mellow, soul-searchy place today and "Claire de Lune" is always a go-to either to play on piano or listen to and this video came up. Yu-na Kim floats when she skates. It is balletic and gorgeous and perfect. She transcends.

For the past month, I feel I have been a part of a work of theatre that is that ethereal and other worldly. Joel Ferrell managed to re-conceptualize Cabaret in potentially the most accurate and compelling fashion ever, and I feel overwhelming gratitude to be a small part of it and complete admiration/awe over its manifestation.

You know who else is a genius? I'll give you one guess. If you've been following my blog, you know I'm ever so slightly enamored of Kate Wetherhead. I want to be her when I grow up. She is generous, she is stupid talented, and she is so smart it's ridiculous. Sally Bowles is an icon, and I'd rather watch Kate as Sally than anyone else in the world. She has re-invented Sally. But you want to know her most endearing quality? I suspect she is as in love with what she does as I am--perhaps moreso. Granted, she's way cooler about her musical theatre affair than I am, but it's totally there. She writes (and stars in) a webseries called "Submissions Only" about actors in New York trying to make it. Youtube it now; it's pretty hilarious (and the guest stars are phenomenal.)

Tonight, in the talkback following the show, a friend of mine got choked up asking Kate to discuss Joel's brilliant choice to have Sally stop singing in "Cabaret." Kate began to respond, and as she started to articulate her thoughts, she became choked up herself. "I'm sorry," she said. "I have to return to New York in a week and I won't necessarily get to do things like this there." As Kate elegantly re-composed herself, I felt an energy shift in the room. Joel is always talking about "feelers" and "receptors" and feeding off of audience energy; it's imperative for the Kit Kat kids. As a result, I feel like I'm way more receptive to the energy of an ensemble at any given point. At the point when Kate started to cry, I immediately felt two things 1. the instinct to hug her and 2. that this instinct was shared among the entire cast sitting onstage. Kate and my co-actors are as in love with their jobs and this transient magic we're sharing as I have been. They are as grateful to be apart of this as I am. This cast, guys...

The artist's job is tricky. I think regardless of whatever becomes of artists over time--whether we become jaded and cynical and over it or ultimately do it strictly commercially (and at some point, you have to consider finances/your livelihood, right?) we're tasked with creating magic because at one time or another we became enchanted by it on the other side. Honestly, creating anything is intimidating. This show hasn't merely been about people doing their job. This show has been a gift in every way: from the writers, through Joel's lens, to the cast, then back to the audience. A shared experience. A blessing.

“You can throw away the privilege of acting, but that would be such a shame. The tribe has elected you to tell its story. You are the shaman/healer, that's what the storyteller is, and I think it's important for actors to appreciate that. Too often actors think it's all about them, when in reality it's all about the audience being able to recognize themselves in you. The more you pull away from the public, the less power you have.”

A Novelist? You will be most famous!

2011-05-17T12:16:00.001-07:00

The human race may be compared to a writer. At the outset a writer has often only a vague general notion of the plan of his work, and of the thought he intends to elaborate. As he proceeds, penetrating his material, laboring to express himself fitly, he lays a firmer grasp on his thought; he finds himself. So the human race is writing its story, finding itself, discovering its own underlying purpose, revising, recasting a tale pathetic often, yet none the less sublime. - Felix Adler

Why The People Working Cabaret are Awesome

2011-05-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

Here is why the people I work with are amazing. This is what I came to in my dressing room--framed Carousel vinyl and two cards from my dresser and her daughter.

Behold: the greatest card I have ever received.

The second card: equally amazing. It also speaks.

Then, my roommates introduced me to the joys of "I wanna sexx you up" and Heavy D and the Boyz.

Best job ever. Best graduation ever.

PS Lee Trull (Cliff) and Mattie (my dresser) have a radio show called "Jane Austen: the Early Years." I received a command performance of the show yesterday. Mattie was brilliant. Lee Trull requested to be in my blog.

In here, Life is Beautiful

2011-05-13T13:38:00.000-07:00

“Are you a good playwright?”

“Well, um...I don't really know. I love writing. I'm a good writer. But I think my writing style would lend itself more to screenwriting.”

Fancy Theatre Man stares quizzically for a moment, then launches another question. He's been interrogating nonstop for five minutes straight already. The second I begin to answer a question, I watch the wheels start spinning in his brain preparing the next question. I think it would be exhausting to have his brain. I mean, I exhaust myself often—my overactive brain and lazier impulses are in conflict with one another on a regular basis. I think Fancy Theater Man's brain works about five times as hard as mine does. It's pretty remarkable. He's like the energizer bunny (and I know I'm not the first person to have said this about him.) Fancy Theatre Man resides 5 floors above the performance hall in the Wyly. I've come to believe that building serves as the best educational facility and church I've ever attended. (Deacon Fancy Man does have a nice ring to it...)

Last night in the show (5 floors below Fancy Man), mid-Entr'Acte, I see this glorious smiling face on a golden-years-woman and I realize it is my 6th grade teacher, Trigger Butler. Trigger Butler was the best. She made every moment of every class theatrical. She loved teaching. She was the first person to ever put me onstage and make me "act" and a decade later she saw me in the biggest professional production I've been in. How freaking cool is that? I also had two girls from Hockaday (who I haven't spoken to in years) come see the show last night and we caught up and had a blast afterwards. I have had people from elementary, middle, and high school come see this show. It is the coolest thing and it makes me so grateful to have such remarkable people in my life.

The show closes in a week. I am beyond devastated. This experience has been perfect—and that's not a word I use liberally. There isn't a single second I would have changed and there hasn't been a single moment I haven't been thrilled to be exactly where I was. I know I keep talking about it (and I'm sure you're sick of hearing it) but it just blows my mind how flawless the experience has been. I had such enormous hopes for this process and this show and they have been superseded in every possible way. I only hope I have the luxury of even a comparable experience in the future. I'm sucking it all up like a sponge—a very enthusiastic sponge. (Can sponges be enthusiastic?) This theatrical adventure I've been on the past couple of years has been an enormous learning experience; I've learned so much in a condensed period of time. However, pre-Cabaret, I felt like the train was beginning to slow down. I was learning exponentially less with every experience because there really wasn't much variety in each experience I was having. I now feel like I've picked up so much momentum it's more like a rollercoaster going downhill at warp speed.

A month ago, I couldn't fathom a single thing that would remedy my imminent post-show depression. It then occurred to me that the only thing that would save my I-miss-the-Wyly sadness would be to stay there. Thus, I had a new mission. After an email requesting to be coffee-runner/nerd-with-a-laptop/can-I-just-pop-in-on-rehearsals? I got a response asking me to be assistant director.

….um....heck yes.

My sequence of reactive emotions was similar to those following the Cabaret callback:

YES! YES YES YES! (I cried. I bounced. It was happy.)
OH GOOD GRACIOUS I AM UNDERQUALIFIED.
WHAT IF I SUCK??
WHAT HAVE I DONE?

I met with Fancy Man yesterday about the show, hoping that it would ease my fear a bit; It did not. My responsibilities are even greater than I imagined and the show is insanely ambitious. I am so excited I could puke. I am getting to work. I get to be challenged. I get to be terrified in the best way possible. I can't wait. (Okay, maybe I can. It means Cabaret will be over.)

I've also (as those who have been following know) been trying to figure out what to do with my life over the past month or so. (I'm still taking suggestions, by the way...) I've decided to apply to grad school (for next year.) I've applied for a fellowship outside of Dallas (which I won't get.) Beyond that, I have no clue what to do with myself. As Fancy Man told me yesterday, it's almost a burden to have such diverse possibilities as pursuing an MBA, acting, or teaching in children's theatre. It is both a terrifying and thrilling time.

All this goes to say...

I am having the time of my life
I seem to be into numbering things today
I super-heart working with people as passionate about what they do as I am
I always want to be challenged and stimulated; I know that happens here
You should probably tell me what to do with my life in the fall.

And on a super unrelated note...My mom got me an iPad for graduation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH! Yes. Which means, more importantly (I suppose)...

I GRADUATE TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I'm not walking. I can't actually attend graduation. I will be busy bouncing around with my favorite people half-naked in the Wyly Theater. But...

I WILL HAVE MY BFA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In here, life is beautiful.

Jane Austen Lied

2011-05-09T23:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Jane Austen,

You are a liar. You too, Charlotte Bronte. You sinister witches connived millions of women into thinking that Darcy/Rochester-esque males exist in the world. They do not.

Here are the characteristics of a Darchester (Darcy/Rochester):
1. Seems like an arrogant arse
2. Is remarkably intelligent.
3. Broods regularly
4. Is emotionally unavailable
5. Handsome in an unconventional way
6. Then, in a shocking turn of events, reveals his affection for the plain, smart girl who he has pretended to have not given a thought about/pretended to dislike. Said girl is shocked, then pleased because (of course) she has been in love with him all along. Then they kiss outdoors beneath an enormous Tim Burton-esque tree in the English countryside. It then inevitably starts to rain. The maids are shocked. The siblings are shocked. The aunt disapproves. They marry anyway and live happily in love ever after.

This is not real life.

I had a girls night in with one of my favorites tonight. We painted our nails, gabbed, and watched BBC's Jane Eyre (so good, and so much better than the recent film.) I fell in love with Rochester. Bewitched by Bronte's/Masterpiece Theater's magic, I swooningly verbalized "I love boys" and released a giddy sigh. I then came to--such silly thoughts are unlike me (and if I have them I never say them)--and unleashed a whirlwind of thoughts toward my unassuming friend. I felt betrayed. Tricked, even.

Stupid Charlotte Bronte, Rochester doesn't exist! In real life, Rochester would totally choose Blanche Ingram. Or, more likely, would be a homosexual. No straight man would invest that much time in his perfectly coiffed hair.

Here's the thing. The first 5 traits of Darcys/Rochesters do exist in the real world. There is absolutely an abundance of the tall, sarcastic, oddly attractive pompous man who pretends not to care about anything. However, there does not come a point where they reveal their affection and/or insecurities/vulnerability and then a couple enters marital bliss. It is always the case that either a) real-world-Darcy is incredibly insecure and turns into a puddle of feelings and needs you or b) real-world-Darcy is just not that into you. Either way, stupid Jane Austen is responsible for deluding the smart, plain girl (read: me) into thinking that these pompous poopheads are valuable human beings that secretly care for us. Unfortunately, they're just a waste of time.

So fie on you, Jane. You too, Charlotte. Saucy minx.

PS: Jane Eyre is an idiot. If I started nannying in a castle and learned that there was a crazy Caribbean lady trapped in the attic trying to kill us all, I would run far, far away. I would not protect the pompous Rochester, despite his wildly attractive manner/face. At least Elizabeth Bennett would be more sensible than to do something like that...

Where Do I Go?

2011-05-07T23:38:00.000-07:00

I finished college today. I get my diploma a week from today.

Let's take a second to enjoy how profound and wonderful this is. I am done. Done.

Now the question is: what the heck do I do with my life?

I went out for a wee bit after the show tonight with some castmates/our director to see a friend's band play at Jack's Backyard. (PS Go. Go to Jack's Backyard. They have oversized jenga, twinkle lights, and an eclectic demographic. More Austin, less Dallas. Really cool.) Director asked, "So, Katharine, you're done with college. What do you want to do? Do you want to stay in Dallas?" It was loud and smoky and hectic and without thought, I said something along the lines of, "I want to get out for a while." But you know what? I don't know how I feel about that. The problem with saying what I want to do in a year is that...I feel like that almost limits me. I want to do everything. The mantra of my career/life has been "everything happens for a reason." It has always worked out exactly as it needed to. I hope this will continue to be the case.

Do I want to leave town and explore EVERYTHING? Yes.

Do I want to entertain going to grad school for arts admin? Yes.

Am I totally in love with my city and committed to bettering Dallas through art? Am I so excited about Dallas blossoming as an arts community? Yes, yes, and yes.

So what, then? Do I just apply to everything and audition for everything? Do I move to LA? New York? Chicago? Portland? Seattle? Boston? London? Stay here?

I'm faced with the most wonderful problem: I have endless possibilities. Come September, I am sans-commitment. It is at once terrifying and gloriously thrilling and liberating.

New York scares me. I've dreamed of living there for over a decade now...but I really don't know if it's right for me. I'm watching You've Got Mail now for the probably 500th time and yearning for the magical depicted New York lifestyle. I want to be Meg Ryan, own a charming bookstore in the wealthier (though fashionably tragic) late 1990s, live on the Upper West Side (sigh), and fall in love with Tom Hanks via email. Instead, if I pursued this, I would end up a penniless hobo crying outside an Upper West Side apartment and then get stalked and killed by the creeper I innocently tried to befriend online. It's a scary world.

You know what else? New York weather is terrifying. I need sunshine. I need sundresses. What is this thing called snow? And in a town that is entirely pedestrian? How does one survive?

Here's another question. How can you possibly leave consistent work in one city for a waitressing gig and constant rejection in another? I fear theatrical unemployment. It hasn't happened to me for the entire 2.5 years I've been pursuing it (knock on wood) and it would be the end of me if it happened.

If I pursue an Arts Admin masters, will I still be able to perform? Is it a cop out? Is it a brilliant idea?

If I pursue an internship/fellowship in another city, am I screwing myself out of valuable acting gigs?

Why doesn't glitter come off in the shower?

Help, y'all. Were you me, what would you do with your life? Do I move? Do I stay? Do I apply? Do I audition?

All sage advice/comments welcome. Please and thank you.

This is glory on earth, and it is yours nightly.

2011-05-04T11:37:00.000-07:00

During our performance last night, an actor who I love and respect stopped in me in the hall before I headed upstairs to do the final scene of the show. "Katharine--I just have to tell you something. I learn so much watching you in this show." (Blushing begins.) "No really, it's been an incredible lesson for me. Because when you're onstage you just have this enormous smile on your face that isn't fake or cheesy--you just look like the happiest person in the world. Like there's no where else you'd rather be. And when you're watching an ensemble of people, you can't help but immediately be drawn to that. So thank you." Feeling much like Fraulein Schneider having received a pineapple as a token of affection from Herr Schultz, I was overwhelmed. I inadequately thanked him, ran upstairs, got ready for end-of-show-naked-time, watched Kate Wetherhead be brilliant in the final moments of the show. It was another "Wow. How freaking lucky am I to do what I do?" moment. Those moments happen daily in my current environment.

I never want those moments to stop. I never want to be onstage and not look like I'm having the time of my life (when the role can use that, that is.) The second I look bored or over it onstage, slap me in the face. I'm not kidding. I've recently had the experience of spending a great deal of time with someone who is so disgustingly jaded and over her career; it kills my soul every time she opens her mouth. Me to actor: "Aren't you excited for opening night?" Actor: "I'm excited not to have to (insert expletive here) rehearse anymore." Okay, I feel that you're tired and we've been working hard...but really? It's constant rain on my very emphatic parade and I've had quite enough of it. Regardless, the point isn't to bash said actor. The point is that if I ever become that cynical and jaded, just kill me. Or tell me to find another career.

I am obsessed with what I do.

Literally, I have been spending the last hour watching musical theatre dance videos online studying what people waaaaay more talented than I am are doing to look so remarkably transcendent when they perform. A lot of people just "do" their job. You watch them, they're satisfactory, and the scene's over. Other people transcend the work and morph it into something incredibly unique and truly unearthly. I feel this way about Wade's emcee or anytime I watch Jeremy Dumont dance. I wish to be this way. Receiving that compliment from a co-actor was like the most enormous cookie anyone could possibly give to me. When I'm onstage, there is truly nowhere else I'd rather be. Ever. If I can parlay that sentiment I feel to the audience and help them feel a fraction of the glory I do, then I have done my job.

I went out with a couple of my favorite people last night who'd seen the show and we were discussing life issues etc. and I explained my feelings about romance and the theater. "There will never be a man who supersedes my passion for theatre. It's just a fact. It's nothing personal, but there will never be a human being that I could love more than I love theatre, music, and dance." The ladies chuckled and made remarks about how I hadn't met the right guy and I was young and blah, blah blah. Granted, they're four decades my senior and probably know infinitely more about love and life than I do. Still, I can't imagine feeling more passionately (or even equally as passionately) about a person as I do about performing. I never feel more alive (I know it sounds stupid and cliche but it is so, so true) than I do when I am onstage.

The easiest place for me to enter the transcendent is dance. It just happens the most naturally. I'm technically not the best dancer--not even a great one. My body isn't built for dance. My feet are horrible. These are things that cannot be remedied. This is why musical theatre dancing was such an enormous epiphany for me when I discovered it. The first time I sort of experienced it was junior year in high school with Anything Goes. Lots of tapping. Totally my thing. (I'm a musician first; dancer second. Tap is about rhythm and music and translating that to an audience--not about lines or how high you can kick your leg. My feet have always just known what to do.) But the epiphany hadn't hit. I was still just smiling and tapping. Senior year, I was Bonnie Jean in Brigadoon. Featured role, but a dancing one. She has a solo to "Come to me, Bend to me." (It's a shame Brigadoon is so stupid, the music is so stunning. Oh, Lerner and Loewe.) Anyway, it's more lyrical/ballet (which scares the bejesus out of me) and I remember rehearsing on my own in the dance balcony just feeling so silly and lackluster. I felt very strongly about the music and had significant musical impulses inside, but it hadn't occurred to me that I could transfer those into my body. Then, I played the music again, stopped scrutinizing myself in the mirror, and allowed my body to do the steps as they pleased. The music dictated my movement. And suddenly--the dancing was like breathing. It had life. It wasn't responding to the music--it was communicating through it. It felt almost gratuitous--it was just so easy and natural. But when I came back to rehearsal and saw my teacher's face after we ran the number, I knew what I'd learned wasn't silly; it was right. I love to move my body, but I love music even more--and the ability to express music through dancing is truly ethereal.

The thing that's wonderful about (most) musical theatre dancing is that it's story/character-driven (when done right.) God bless Joel Ferrell; he is a master of this. Agnes De Mille is the mother of this. She didn't have the build or body to be a ballerina. But there is no choreography more gorgeous than hers. I want to take her Carousel ballet behind the bleachers and get it pregnant. I'm becoming way too old to play Louise, but that is a role that calls for more dancing as communication/joie de vivre than any other. Anybodys in West Side is another. (Jerome Robbins is a more contemporary example of perfect musical theatre choreo. That man was just a genius. Ooh, and Gower Champion. 42nd Street ballet....sighhhh.) I digress.

I'm still learning how to communicate that musicality through singing and that inclination to tell a story through acting. Singing still terrifies me. I know it's something I need to work on. I'm not confident enough with my abilities yet to allow those impulses to dictate the sound. My scenework has improved...and I have fallen much more in love with a desire to storytell...but I still feel like my feelings about scenework serve as sloppy seconds to music and dance. Which isn't fair. And is ultimately counterproductive. ...things I'm working on.

It feels almost silly how fulfilling Cabaret has been--how much I get to learn from my castmates on a daily basis. Kit Kat Kids have the luxury of watching many of the scenes/principal songs from our "voyeur" stations onstage. I completely drop my Kit Kat demeanor (don't tell Joel) watching Julie (our Frau Schneider) sing "So What?" to Cliff. I can't help but be turned into an audience member. I've seen it dozens of times and it is still fresh and new and so vocally stunning that I just turn into another audience member in awe. I watch Kate (Sally Bowles) sing Maybe This Time from far upstage and a similar scenario unfolds. I try against all odds not to turn into a great overindulgent puddle of a human being (and thanks to a curtain in front of me/dim and hazy lighting, it's hopefully/most likely not even noticeable) but it is a constant battle. The magical saxophone in that number is so darn seductive and soulful and stupid Kate Wetherhead is so talented and magical and vulnerable that it's a losing battle for me to attempt to maintain any semblance of normalcy. I digress again. (Big surprise.) Point being, I love this job. Dear Dallas Theater Center, please make us a permanent fixture or take us on tour. I'm not sure that any experience could possibly top this and I'm only 21. I am thoroughly spoiled and dreading May 22nd more than you know. In the meantime, I'll be the chorus girl downstairs silly giddy about her job.

I'll close with my favorite quote of all time from one of my favorite people...

“When you perform you are out of yourself- larger and more potent, more beautiful. You are for minutes heroic. This is power. This is glory on earth. And it is yours nightly.” - Agnes De Mille

What a privilege to pursue a career in which this is the task. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Untethered

2011-05-02T10:20:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling a bit blue. Or lost. Or something.

Maybe it's the weather, and maybe it's because this is my last week of school (ever), and maybe because my alarm literally didn't go off this morning and it cost me 20 points of my overall grade in a class, but I'm feeling straight up lackluster.

I also feel like I really haven't learned much since I've been in college. I'd like to be snarky and over-it and too-cool-for-school (literally) and say that I just didn't try...but the sad truth is that I felt like I didn't need to.

At times, I absolutely appreciated this. After all, I've had multiple outside jobs 3 out of 4 years of college. Furthermore, I have learned a ton outside of school--and in the meantime a whole heck of a lot about managing seemingly multiple lives. I just wish I had felt intellectually challenged and stimulated in more than one class.

Maybe I'm just being lazy. Maybe college is singularly about self-education. Should I have read more? Should I have plummeted into debt to spend another year taking different kinds of classes? Gone into further debt to study abroad? What am I missing?

I have a week left; if you guys tell me what I've done wrong or what I've been missing, I'll remedy it as best as I can as quickly as possible.

It's not like my life education is over. I'm sure, in fact, that this is where it's supposed to begin. In reflecting over my college career, though, I just feel a little bit...apathetic, lackadaisical.

Hockaday was a constant uphill climb. English classes, particularly, shredded me to bits and reassembled me in a much more cohesive and solid writer. I miss that.

I crave learning. I have an unearthly fear of failing (which has always been my demise) but I really want to learn. I feel like I have learned copious amounts over the past four years--but relatively little from actual classes. Is that what college is supposed to be?

Advice, please. Sage words. All appreciated.

Something's Bound to Begin

2011-04-21T22:50:00.000-07:00

Music is church, dancing is therapy, the craft of theatre is school, and a theater is home. I spend as much time making myself at home at "home" as humanly possible. I am more comfortable and satisfied in a theater--dressing room, rehearsal room, stage--than anywhere else. This time one year ago, I was falling in love with the musty, worn-in, safe confines of the Kalita Humphries upstairs dressing room. I am enamored with that ridiculous building. I love its windiness and likelihood of injuring me at any given moment. I love that Frank Lloyd Wright designed it. I love thinking of all of the talented people who preceded me in those dressing rooms. (You can read my Kalita-love-letter from a year ago here.) Perhaps one of the things I loved most about the Kalita, however, was knowing that Dallas Theater Center had occupied that space for fifty years.

Fifty. Fifty years and hundreds of shows and millions of patrons witnessing theater in one space. Isn't that wonderful?

That space felt like warmth and magic. I'm not a big "aura" or "energy"-word-user, but the Kalita truly has an identity; you can feel it. (It also has a ghost, but that's a whole other story.) Backstage at the Kalita, there is a cement wall coated in actors' autographs/memos/random scribbles. It's a wonderful, old-theatre-y tradition and a constant reminder of how prolific that space really is. And during Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, it was a daily reminder that I was working in a space formerly (and still occasionally) occupied by Dallas Theater Center. It set an expectation of professionalism, if nothing else.

During Dirty Rotten, the Theater Center announced their 2010-2011 season. When I saw that they were doing a musical, my jaw dropped. When I realized they were doing two, I thought I was going to cry. When I saw that those two were Cabaret and the Wiz, I nearly peed my pants. Truly. I apologize for the unattractive image, but I really was stupefied.

And then I told myself that I would be apart of those shows.

Did I think this was possible? Heck no. Even a possibility? Please. But I hoped for it. Even prayed for it. Really hard. In my head. For a long, long time. Just to get the ball rolling, I submitted my headshot and resume to the Theater Center with a cover letter expressing interest (and an apology that I couldn't make it to general auditions.) I figured: what have I got to lose?

I--probably like every actor--have a seasonal "wish list" of the shows I dream of having something to do with. I've been incredibly lucky in terms of realizing that wish list over the past 2.5 years. Cabaret was on mine for about a year, but I never thought it would happen. Fast-forward six months: auditions are announced. Cue panic attack, song-selection, audition-outfit-selection, fretting, and endless dreaming. Cue me hugging Jeremy Dumont so tightly at auditions that he nearly suffocated. Cue us verbally telling each other that it would happen.

We both got called back. Initial thought: YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Second thought: CRAP THERE'S MORE.

Callbacks go exceedingly well. Fast forward a month. Jeremy's heard/is cast. No word for me. SMU auditions happen. Go to their callback for Cabaret. It goes well. SMU cast list goes up. I'm cast. I cry. Happy, happy tears.

Fastforward six months. I begin rehearsals at the Wyly. I am intimidated and confounded and instantaneously amorous of the cast/production team and wondering if my presence is a joke. Or a mistake. Strangely, it's neither and they really do want me (do I sound like Sally Field?) and I...belong...here.

The Wyly has its own magic (and very, very special weather-unfriendly elevators.) The 9th floor terrace is the most ingenious architectural idea ever--particularly for a theatre. The terrace is covered in covered in faux-grass, is outdoor/patio-y, and overlooks downtown. If I could plant a hammock out there, roll a piano out, and hire a cabana boy, I'd never leave. Heck, if I could, I'd never leave as it is. And during a thunderstorm...oh, it's just heaven. The dressing rooms, on the other hand, are still a little too pristine new and white. They scare me. I'm a messy person. Or maybe I'm prejudiced. Or colorist. Whatever.

A moment to gush about the cast/team. I've never been so spoiled in my life. Everything is labeled, everything is personalized, everyone is an adult, and everyone is lovely. Most importantly, there's always coffee. How does this happen??? I had a costume built for me. For me. Tailored to my body. There was a sketch and it had my body in it. WHERE AM I??? Heaven: that's where. Divas? Egos? Where? I don't see them in this cast. I should also mention that I have never learned as much watching fellow actors as I have in this show. The bravery and honesty in this cast--especially Wade, Kate, and Julie--is (for me) unprecedented. I want to be like them when I grow up. They're also three of the nicest people alive. I first fell in love with Kate in Sarah, Plain and Tall at DTC. She played a 12 year old and I was wholeheartedly convinced that she was one. She singlehandedly stole the show and I thought to myself, "Good gracious, who is that amazing child actor?" (though in less formal jargon) and in the talk-back that I stayed after to watch (because--obviously--I'm a nerd) I discovered she was an adult. (Whaaa???) But it made me feel better about being so much less talented than a 12 year old. At any rate, when Cabaret was announced I literally immediately hoped they would use Kate as Sally. By that point, I'd had a talent crush on her for a year. Over the past year, it's only gotten worse thanks to her hilarious webseries "Submissions Only" which she writes and stars in. (a) youtube it. You won't regret it. b) People this talented infuriate me. But she's nice. And pretty. So the hatred stops immediately.) Wade McCollum is our emcee and his bravery and versatility boggle my mind on a daily basis. (Plus, he has a totally rockin' bod. It's reason enough to come see the show. I promise.) I'd heard the praises of Julie Johnson for ages but hadn't ever seen her perform/work with her. She's such a smart actress--and so fearless of vulnerability. It's such a gift as a young actor to be surrounded by these people and learn from them.

I am thanking my lucky stars every moment.

I'll gush about a couple more people and then I'll shut up, I promise. One of the most significant recurring challenges with musicals is marrying the music/scenes/dance in a way that doesn't seem like you're doing three shows...or, that there's scenework going on and then someone breaks out into needless song/dance. (Hence why actory actors oftentimes dislike musicals. However, I also find that actory actors who passionately hate musicals oftentimes can't sing or dance. So I have a secret theory that they're just angry actory actors with musical theatre queens burrowed inside. I digress.) When you have the luxury of a (highly skilled) director/choreographer at the helm of a huge production, marriage of the three elements is much more seamless. The whole production is cohesive and story driven--set, costumes, casting, music, choreography. It's remarkable. Beyond this, he's created the most fun, focused, and open process/rehearsal environment...which is an immense gift to a cast. The biggest challenge for the director/choreographer is the need for a clone of oneself to do choreography while the other does scenework. Fortunately, Joel has Kent--his mindmelded brother-from-another-mother who is sickeningly talented, driven, and brilliant to work with. The music direction/orchestration/band are all genius as well. (We even have an accordion. If that isn't cramazing, I don't know what is.)

Essentially, this dream that I have somehow realized has infinitely superseded my expectations in every way. The good news is: I've learned insane amounts, I've fallen in love with a marvelous group of people and the Theater Center, and I'm truly proud to be apart of (what I think) is a solid and beautifully done production. The bad news is: I'm spoiled for life. I'm really not sure where "up" is from here, but if I can occasionally dabble back in this dreamworld now-and-again between my stints in the real world, I will continue to be thrilled and remarkably blessed.

Thank you, cast/production team of Cabaret and DTC for allowing me to grow and play with you. It really has been a dream and I am so grateful.

What good is sitting alone in your room?

2011-04-10T21:43:00.000-07:00

You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally where Harry just moans on the phone to Sally post-breakup? He's wallowing. I was first familiarized with wallowing through Rory Gilmore via her first Dean breakup. In Gilmore Girls, wallowing consists of eating large quantities of pizza and ice cream and watching fantastic trash movies/rom-coms and crying endlessly. I'm not much of a crier (although--trust me--it's happening regardless), and I'm about to be minimally clothed in a show (so no pizza or ice cream for me), but I am absolutely watching my quintessential comfort movies. You've Got Mail is the current film of choice.

Manfriend and I broke up. As upset and supremely lonely as I feel, I am most heartbroken to lose my best friend. If there were any way to maintain our friendship (and there certainly isn't for the time being) it wouldn't be nearly as hard.

Breaking up is sort of equivalent to death--in a sense. You've lost a huge part of your life (perhaps forever? though in this instance I certainly hope not) and a part of you kind of dies with that loss. Though it's a lesser gravity of sadness (and in some ways--though not as different as I would have imagined--a different kind of sadness), the last time I was this upset was a year ago when Grandmama passed. Loss just makes you ache. It makes you ache in that head-is-a-bowling-ball-hurts-from-ugly-crying-empty-inside kind of way. It's truly wretched.

There's not much of an upside to any of this (although, in the long run, I'm sure my priorities will be more closely aligned to what they used to be and that will ultimately be a good thing) except that I have an incredibly strong support system of incredible friends and family and I'm in the best theatrical production I've ever been a part of in my life.

Cabaret has completely rocked my world. Not only did Kander/Ebb/Joe Masteroff create one of the most stunningly heartwrenching/dense/potent pieces of musical theatre of all time (and Sam Mendes re-conceptualized it in an epic way), but the cast DTC has assembled is truly remarkable and the direction/staging is mindblowingly genius.

Losing such a huge helping of daily love/friendship is painful, but my love of theatre preceded it and I think will always supersede any human affection. I am truly in love with theatre (and especially this production) and I think that love will save me. I have a day off from rehearsal tomorrow and I am not looking forward to it. I crave rehearsal. I crave dancing and sweating and being stunned by the sheer genius of the principle actors and the remarkable staging of the director. I love stretching and pushing my body. I love getting blisters from leather heeled boots I wear as a Kit Kat Girl. I love that I get to behave badly. I love my co-actors. I love constantly learning. I love being happy.

I think there's something very Sally Bowles about my spirit; this kind of worries me. I'm not ignoring the Nazi party and the outside world and having an abortion and sleeping around with random men (as Sally does) but I am totally similarly addicted to the high of performing--and living in a false, beautiful, enticing constructed world on a stage. I'd frankly rather live there than in real life. I think this will be a problem as I grow up, but I guess we'll take things as they come.

No use permitting some prophet of doom to wipe every smile away--life is a Cabaret 'ol chum, and I love a Cabaret...

On Auditions, Priorities, and Being 3 Months from Adulthood

2011-02-17T09:37:00.000-08:00

I've been friends with adults/people 20-50 years my senior since I was a small child. I was always the girl who was friends with her teachers rather than her classmates, friends with her "friends'" parents rather than the actual kids themselves. I don't really know why this is. People say I'm an old soul--and I guess that's true (whatever that means.) My soul age is probably about 55. It hasn't really aged too much since I was a munchkin, though. The scary thing about my makeup is that I have the boundless energy of a 5 year old, the optimism and ambition of a 21 year old, and the occasional wariness/cynicism of a 55 year old. It's a curious composition and I don't know that it always serves me beneficially.

At any rate, I have a pool of people who serve as my chosen family. (Have to preface this by saying that I adore my birth family--but I'm now referring more to my theatrical family/best older friends.) I sometimes generalize and just call them the "mamas." (Although some of them have fits when I refer to them that way--one even insists that I call her Auntie Mame.) Regardless, I love these women. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to grab coffee with one of these women. Now, I don't know if she's entered the mama/cool aunt territory, but she definitely serves as a Yoda-esque-been-there-done-that figure. She's infinitely snarky and wise and has had about half of the various careers that interest me. (I'll die before I reach 1/3 of the occupations I'm interested in.) We had a glorious 90 minute gab-session regarding life/theatre/things we both want to achieve and it was totally liberating. Not only is it always helpful to have someone older tell you that you're not insane and should pursue everything, but it's also nice to have a living breathing role model of sorts sitting in front of you. And somehow, I seemed to have provided a small inspiration of sorts for her. She compared being with me for 90 minutes to "plugging into a power grid" and said it was refreshing to see someone so excited about things. It was nice. I think I need to schedule check-ins with my various mamas/Yodas/aunts to help garner perspective on life every couple of weeks or so. Or at least every month.

Lyric Stage--oh, beautiful Lyric Stage--announced their magical 2011-2012 season, and y'all, I nearly peed my pants over it. They're doing Gypsy, Rags, Kismet, and Oklahoma. Sounds like heaven, right? And get this: they're ALL in Carpenter hall. They're ALL with a full orchestra. (Cue Katharine passing out.) I was expressing how remarkable the season was to my middle school musical theatre class yesterday, and the girls promptly called me a freak for being so enthused. It's probably warranted. I don't know anyone else who gets so giddy excited about musicals STILL after encountering oodles of theatrical folk for the past couple of years. Then again, I don't know anyone quite as enamored with Lyric as I am, so there ya go. Most 21 year olds want to do Rent and Next to Normal. I salivate over Gypsy and Oklahoma. It's just how it goes.

This leads me to..........auditions. Oh, auditions: you wretched, fickle foe. I hate them. I hate that months of prep work can be squandered by a cold or a brain fart over 60 seconds in a very cold rehearsal hall. I hate that you have months to get excited about prepping for a show, and after those 60 seconds all that excitement can be obliterated. I hate not knowing if you'd ever be considered for a certain role. I hate not knowing exactly how a director feels about you. Unfortunately, there's no show without an audition, and there's no Katharine without shows. Herein lies the problem.

I've been a chorus girl for as long as I've done theatre. Well....sort of. I've never had consecutive voice lessons, I've had two semesters of questionable acting training from school, and I technically quit dance training in high school. And yet--somehow--I've found myself in the musical theatre business. Anyone who knows me knows that I've been a huge musical theatre nerd since birth; that's undeniable. However, it didn't even occur to me that I could maybe do it until 2 years ago and suddenly I felt completely behind. I was auditioning with people who'd done pageants for years, and taken all kinds of lessons for years, and gone through ten rounds of Camp Broadway or Camp We've Got Talent or Theatre School or Musical School or who knows what and I felt completely outleagued. Somehow...the nerdiness elevated me to a place where I could somehow sort-of compete with these people. I was such a freak for so many years watching and rewatching the Rodgers and Hammerstein shows/Lerner and Loewe movies/and every high school musical put on in the metroplex that whatever knowledge I gained by watching others somehow infiltrated into me. I'm hugely grateful. (This is why I am so passionate about teaching.)

Anyway, breaking out of the chorus is something I have incredibly mixed feelings about. On one hand, I'm growing increasingly attracted to roles (and specifically arcs of characters.) I'm growing more confident with my singing (bit by bit...and gosh darnit if I don't start taking lessons soon...) I haven't stepped out much (I've only had a couple of roles--and they're mostly the glorified chorus girl/secondary dance-y couple roles) but I've really enjoyed it so far. That said, there are shows where I may be right for a role but would still HAPPILY (perhaps even more happily) be in the ensemble. If there's spectacular dancing, you bet your bottom dollar I'd rather dance captain than be the star. Still, I have this silly burning desire to push my limits and see what I can do. Now that I've learned that I'm a decent enough dancer to make it into professional ensembles, I want to move forward. This is terrifying. And exciting. The worst part is putting myself out there and prepping for roles that may be completely out of reach and not at all what the director/producer/choreographer are looking for. I guess it can't hurt anything (besides my pride/ego/self-esteem) to just prep and learn everything about a character in a show. In fact, regardless of result, it would probably be a wonderful learning experience in a myriad of ways. So do I prep for roles that may be out of my league? What would you do?

Can you tell my brain is going a million miles a minute?

(SUBTEXT: I GRADUATE IN 3 MONTHS WITH A BFA IN THEATRE WHAT WILL I DO WITH MY LIFE?)

I want to do everything. I want to choreograph, teach, music direct, play keyboard in the pit, star, support, feature, dance captain, direct, write, blog, paint, produce, cook, live inside a theatre. I don't know how to do this sustainably. I don't even know that I can do this. I just know that I want to. Badly.

Plugging into a power grid, indeed.

Enough crazy-Katharine-thoughts. Here's what's happened:
1. I graduate in 3 months. I keep getting emails about caps and gowns. I'm not going to graduation. But I'm still graduating. Instead, I'll be in a performance of Cabaret at Dallas Theater Center. That's totally more appealing anyway.
2. I'm currently in performance of Flora, the Red Menace at Lyric Stage. (Oh, Lyric Stage) It's a wonderful experience. It's an ensemble of 9 actors and we all work our butts off (I don't get any sitting/dressing room time and I play 4 characters) and it's oodles of fun. It's a great theatrical workout. It's fantastic to have a role. Fantastic and scary and fine.
3. I'm giddy over next season.
4. I want to do theatre all over the country. I missed the application deadline for SETC (big general auditions.) Help.
5. I want to get out, but I'm not interested in waitressing in New York and becoming jaded and disenchanted by a theatrical lifestyle at 21.
6. I just want to work.
7. I can't wait for Cabaret.
8. I have senioritis: College Edition.
9. Stan Wojewodski, Jr. has revolutionized my SMU experience for the better. My sentiments about the program have improved 200% this year. I am so grateful for this I could cry.
10. I have discovered I'm enamored of cooking. And painting. Although that news is not as new.
11. I haven't slept in 2 days.
12. I'm a frustrated artist.
13. I'm an artist largely in love with my artistic life.
14. I'm just terrified of the future.

And how are you today?

Love Actually is All Around

2011-02-14T12:36:00.000-08:00

You know what I've learned this Valentine's Day?

That I've been stupid and cynical all along.
That love is actually better than they portray it in the movies.
That bickering happens, but if you have someone you communicate well with and respect enough to sort it out, the result improves your relationship.
That a very messy and fly-by-the-moment girl can fall in love with a regimented, responsible boy.
That life is better with company.
That contrasting expectations are natural.
That plans will conflict.
That that's okay.
That if God takes away a certain amount of daily love you receive from someone, he'll give you an opportunity to replenish it in a new way.
That a terrible day can easily be turned wonderful if you have someone wonderful.
That even Katharine Gentsch (dos) can be a huge sap.

One year ago today, I was at my grandmother's graveside. It was one of the saddest times I've ever had. I wasn't having such a hot Valentine's day 2011 either, but this time around I had a smart, handsome man to cheer me. I feel imminently better, just by virtue of the fact that someone cares enough to have an interest in cheering me. I lost love in February 2010, but I found it there, too. (Bobby unknowingly first asked me on a date the day grandmama passed away.) Life goes on, love goes on. And, as aptly written by Richard Curtis and said by Hugh Grant, "Love actually is all around."

Happy Valentine's Day, dears. Hope it's as kind to you as it has been to me.

Gypsy and Queen Mum

2011-02-12T08:58:00.001-08:00

Spending a great deal of time analyzing people who were born into/married a celebrity/performative status and initially didn't want it but then grew not only to accept it, but also to love it.

It fascinates me.

Thoughts?

Back to the Future

2011-01-11T22:24:00.001-08:00

I'm on vacation. And still, all I can think about (at the moment) is the future. I'm terrified for school to start again, but I'm even more terrified for it to be over.

What will I do if I'm not successful?

When God Shuts a Door...and All that Jazz

2010-12-26T16:33:00.000-08:00

Blogging has become curiously intimidating. I think about it all the time--like, at least daily--and am always somehow daunted by the idea of returning to the computer and purging my thoughts out into the interwebs. But, to be fair, I have come really close to blogging and either been distracted by the enticing devil that is the Book of Face or scrapped a post that seemed too intimate, insignificant, or silly.

I don't really know if there's any point in catching you up with what I've been up to. In fact, I don't know if anyone would continue to read this at all. However, I've now had this blog for four years and keep coming back to it (sometimes--like today--with my tail between my legs after months of negligence) so I may as well give an update.

2010, as anyone who has read my posts from this year knows, has been an enormous struggle and landmark in my life. I turned twenty one, lost my grandmother, a great aunt, and my dog, fell deeply in love, and came two semesters closer to finishing higher education. (Did I mention that I lost my dog? I guess I didn't. Jackbear had been mine for 16 years--as long as I can remember--and we finally had to put him to sleep a couple of months ago. This has been particularly devastating over the holidays when I've returned to my mother's house and seen our bare, sad, large empty backyard with an unnecessary doghouse as its only decoration.) At any rate, many things that had seemed so unwaveringly constant in my life have disappeared and subsequently left me in a vicarious state--lost in its wake.

Fortunately, the old adage of "When God closes a door..." (and you know the rest) has been applicable in my life. A little over a year ago, a very cute boy asked me to go to a concert with him, only sort-of asking me on a date. Turns out, I was already invited to said concert by a dear friend, so I respectfully declined, but it marked the beginning of what has turned out to be hugely significant in my life. I initiated the next meeting--inviting him on a semi-platonic(?) date to a play, and we went (slowly and cautiously) from there. Through an excruciating dating/non-dating/we-were-too-chicken-to-call-them-dates-or-express-any-mutual-interest period, this boy became one of my best friends and, of course, in the process, I developed an enormous crush on him. We're talking bang-your-head-on-the-wall-I-can't-stand-how-much-I-adore-you crush. Fortunately, my feelings were reciprocated, and through a time of fumbling, giddy awkwardness we started to date.

Due to its overwhelming too-good-to-be-true-factor, I've questioned many times whether the level of my affection for him was out of necessity or just by virtue of the fact that he's just an incredible guy and a near-perfect (nothing's perfect, is it?) soulmate/companion. I have determined that it's the latter. I've never been particularly prone to dependence on anybody (my mother will happily confirm this fact) but I find myself if not increasingly dependent on him, certainly more attached. He's wonderful, and I miss him at disgustingly tiny intervals. We've been told regularly that we're vomit-inducingly adorable and I don't deny it. I never expected or really yearned for long-term companionship, but I really can't imagine my life without it now. All the mushy-gushy Gershwin ballads about 'never finding a love like this' or 'not knowing what really was until you' all apply here. I am constantly surprised by the broadening spectrum of feeling and emotion I experience with him and it's actually amazing. He is very much my other half, and I really think whatever-higher-being-is-up-there--be it fate or God--had an enormous hand in bringing us together when he did. I thought that the last love I had (prior to current boy--whom I have deemed "Manfriend") was it. He was a boy who needed some serious fixing, and like any self-righteous too-smart-for-their-own-good seventeen year old, I determined I was the one for the job. After putting up with now four years of this silly boy's shenanigans (he calls me after every breakup--as in this happened just a couple of months ago again only to have me--extremely frankly, I might add--tell him "too little, too late") that book is finally written and on the shelf and I am thrilled to bits to move on. (Although the moving-on on my part ended nearly two years ago...but whatever.)

Manfriend has filled a void that was crucial in my life. Until recently, I didn't realize how crucial that aspect of my life was. I yearn for things that are good--kind, gentle, lovely, beautiful, passionate. I tend to presume people to be ill-natured or boring unless proven otherwise (when I'm well aware it should be the reverse) but I really ache for wonderful people. And love. Grandmama fulfilled so much of what I needed--someone altruistic, good-natured, optimistic, unbelievably compassionate, and who unconditionally adored me--and in a non-one-generation-removed-Oedipal-kind-of-way Manfriend fulfills that. I think I would have fared fine without the role for a while--although the grieving of my loss of Grandmama still stings. However, seeing that kind of good nature in Manfriend has healed me--to an extent. I can't believe two such remarkable people have graced my life, but I am immensely blessed to have had one present at all times. Manfriend and Grandmama have many differences, and of course had vastly different roles in my life, but are--hands-down--the two most kind spirited people I've ever known. It's unfortunate that things with Manfriend really started rolling after Grandmama passed, because I firmly believe they would have gotten along famously. Manfriend, like me, is anachronistic in 2010. He and I both would have fared better socially (not that we're cast-outs/introverts--but our standards of social behavior/love of culture were standard) in the 40s. And so, I've begun this wonderfully healthy relationship with this perfectly marvelous guy and it has undoubtedly been the diamond in the rough of 2010.

School is still school. This year has been far less painful than last year (and that is, in large part, due to a) not being the new kid anymore b) ridding myself of an especially selfish/unhelpful/rude professor c) Directing and History of Design classes. I remain frustrated with taking classes I gain nothing from (which continues to be the majority) and dealing with narrow-minded perspectives (which I won't escape post-graduation) but that's life. I graduate in five months (and can't even attend graduation--thank you Cabaret, and I mean that sincerely) and then I am blissfully and terrifyingly free.

I taught all semester at Lyric Stage--three delightful middle school girls with an interest in musical theatre. It was one of the best (and most stressful) aspects of the semester but I loved (nearly) every minute of it. I can't deny my love for teaching.

I've transitioned into a different groove socially as of late (one that I enjoy.) After a year and a half/two years, theatre doesn't dominate my life socially as much. I can't avoid (and don't really want to avoid) overlap, but I don't make an effort to hang with the who's-who of 20-something theatre would-be socialites. They're good people, it just became tiresome with work(s)/school/I'm old/who knows. When things settle in a new environment and I have my choice, I prefer to have a select group of very close friends (who may or may not be friends with one another) and go from there. And of course, having Manfriend has altered things socially quite a bit--but singularly in a positive way.

I'm looking forward to next semester. I'm doing Flora, the Red Menace at Lyric Stage and Cabaret at Dallas Theater Center. They will both be challenges in their own way and I cannot wait for both of them. Graduation is growing closer and simultaneously I am becoming more afraid and excited about the next stage of life. Who knows where it will lead?

In the meantime, I'm just trucking along like the rest of y'all, better than just okay and grateful to have a largely fulfilling life with so many opportunities and glorious people filled within it. Hope you're all (well, if anyone actually reads this) enjoying a wonderful holiday season and I wish you a happy new year (six days early)! So long, y'all!

Some Perspective

2010-09-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

I graduate May 14, 2010.
Fall break is in 2 weeks.
Thanksgiving Break is in 1.5 months. Then, I basically have 1 week of school until winter break. for 1.5 months.
When I come back, I essentially have 3.5 months until I'm done.

And then I'm done. I'm not planning for the next semester. I'm not buying five-star notebooks. I'm not planning what tedious classes that have no relevance to my career/life but are necessary to graduate from university I need to take. I can do musical theater freely. I can travel. I can keep the thousand odd-jobs I have now but make them my life--expand on them and add on more.

I am terrified of being financially independent. I'm terrified of beginning a career. But, I'm also ecstatic to be free to try the things I've been wanting to do for about 6 years now. (My high school advisor/second mother Beth Wortley joked that I was ready to graduate from college when I was a junior in high school.)

I can't wait.

I am not Happy

2010-09-29T17:08:00.000-07:00

I need to seriously consider scheduling some time for me to have a life/take time to do things that make me happy. I'm driving myself crazy (and sick) and I'm too young for these shenanigans.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

2010-09-28T09:36:00.000-07:00

Our Town rehearsal last night: tucked away in my dark, tiny soundboard nook impatiently waiting my 5 total sound cues (which all occur within a span of approximately 7 minutes.) We're on break; I check facebook. I chat with a classmate whom I love and respect. We do a little catchup (since there's not much time for socializing during the class day) and he asks me about the shows I'm in. I answer. I ask him if he's ready for his audition at a local professional theater (which he'd mentioned he was going to a few weeks ago.) He says, "Nah. I think I'm going on vacation with my dad instead. Besides, (insert professional theater here) sucks. Until I see something that changes my mind, I maintain my opinion about Dallas theater." (Subtext: Dallas theater sucks.)

Now, there is a lot of bad theater in town. But there's also a lot of good theater. I've done 22 shows here in the past two years. The Dallas theater community is wonderful, supportive, and an excellent place to learn professionalism/basic aspects of theater. In fact, I find a lot of Dallas theater to be really exceptional. For instance, last week I performed My Fair Lady at Lyric Stage with a 38 piece orchestra (larger than the original Broadway orchestra) playing the original orchestrations. It seems Uptown Players is constantly premiering some play or musical and one-upping themselves in terms of quality. There are oodles of smaller theater groups (Broken Gears, Amphibian, Nouveau 47, Echo (and all the groups at the Bath House) putting out great new work. --this theater student had never been to any of these spaces. There is a mentality at school that the only real theaters are the Theater Center and Kitchen Dog Theater. Oh, and Undermain. These theaters also do great work, but they aren't the only theaters in Dallas.

I'm constantly struggling with the balance between creating "art" and commercialism. Theater here singularly advocates "art." This excludes most Dallas theater and generally all musicals. Strangely, though musicals are a more commercially viable subset of theater, I find musical theater to be more artistically successful than most plays I've seen. I have seen a very minimal number of plays that moved me in any way. Whereas oftentimes musical theater gets flack for being egotistical/perform-y, I find it's straight theatre that often gets too big for its britches in terms of lofty didactic attempts at life-altering work. I think my problem is that most of the time, I just want to be entertained. Incidentally, most of America just wants to be entertained. Subsequently, I think I may have an easier time making a career out of being someone who does musical theater than my peers who are only interested in "art"/straight theatre.

That said, I understand that I am in a program where we study plays. Only. I came here for a reason. Acting is my weakest suit, and I knew I could gain a larger quantity of knowledge of technical theatre/design than I could in any musical theatre program. As someone who aspires to direct, this is imperative. Do I anticipate directing many plays? No. I want to direct musicals. But there aren't any undergrad musical theatre directing programs. Plus, our new head of the department is a bloody genius and brilliant director, so I turn worshippy disciple of the almighty Stan every Tuesday and Thursday in Directing class.

All this goes to say that I think we'd all be happier if we got along, supported each other, and allowed some room for less lofty/more entertaining "art." In the lyrics of the band War, "Why can't we be friends?"

So, this happened. And I am beyond flattered.

2010-09-27T19:29:00.000-07:00

From the Dallas Observer's Best of Dallas 2010

Katharine Gentsch--Best Chorus Girl

If you attended any musical theater productions in or around Dallas over the past 12 months, you probably saw 21-year-old SMU theater major Katharine Gentsch singing and dancing somewhere just behind the lead actors. Since September 2009, she has appeared in a remarkable string of shows: as a "Hot Box Girl" in Guys and Dolls at WaterTower Theatre, in the chorus of Breathe at Uptown Players, playing the little sister in Sanders Family Christmas at the Bath House Cultural Center (a role she'll reprise this fall), singing and dancing in Lyric Stage's Showboat, inBye Bye Birdie at Richland College and in a different, professional production of the same show at Lyric, hoofing it in Uptown's Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and in Garland Summer Musicals' 42nd Street, and most recently in Lyric's big-budget My Fair Lady. When she's not onstage, Gentsch is tweeting about how much she loves musicals. One day soon she'll get that starring role, but until then save a little applause for the pretty redhead just out of the spotlight.

And Now Some Thoughts from Jack Kerouac

2010-08-24T17:50:00.000-07:00

"Accept loss forever
Be submissive to everything, open, listening
No fear or shame in the dignity of your experience, language, and knowledge
Be in love with your life."

--From Jack Kerouac's essentials for prose

My First Lesson from Stan Wojewodski

2010-08-24T17:38:00.001-07:00

Student: “I can diagnose the problems but I don’t always know how to solve them.”

Stan: “That’s the difference between a critic and director.”

On the State of Musical Theater Today

2010-08-23T12:18:00.000-07:00

I was 10 years old the first time my mother took me to New York City. I was your cliche musical theatre dweeb of a child; I watched My Fair Lady and Hello, Dolly! back to back when my mother somewhat absent-mindedly put them on as background noise when I was 5 years old and I have been a smitten kitten ever since. My first Broadway show was Annie Get Your Gun with Bernadette Peters and Tom Wopat. Despite the fact that Bernadette seemed equally disproportionate life size as she did in the windowcard (see here) I thought it was magical. Bernadette fit my image of a Broadway star--charismatic, as radiant as all get out, and unique. I had grown up listening to old school recordings of the Pajama Game, Oklahoma, The Music Man, The Sound of Music, Annie, Bye Bye Birdie, Guys and Dolls and the like. These vocalists/performers weren’t always precisely on pitch and they all had a unique sound. Through subsequent visits to NYC and a broadening knowledge of college musical theatre programs, I began to notice a rift between the old school sound of my favorite shows and what seems to be favored now. The last few of trips I have taken to the City that I have taken over the past couple of years have been disheartening in a sense. I feel like the majority of the leading ladies I have seen (aside from Patti in Gypsy, Bernadette/Elaine/Angela in Night Music, etc.--but I'm speaking more of the younger generation) have been practically interchangeable. The ladies are generally very thin, beautiful, smooth-voiced or hardcore belters, and relatively uncharismatic. (There are a couple of exceptions that come to mind immediately—Kate Baldwin in Finian’s Rainbow and Laura Benanti in…everything she does.) The dancers generally have the same plastered smile and dead eyes. They can kick their faces, but that doesn’t necessarily make me want to watch them. Do I have an unrealistic image of what Broadway used to be, or is there really an unfortunate shift in what it has become?

Last week, I finally watched Broadway: The Golden Age. While hearing all the old tales and anecdotes from Elaine Stritch, Adolph Green, Gwen Verdon and oodles of other musical theatre legends fed my soul, it also confirmed my worry and frustration. Broadway is so much less about art than it is about commercialism right now, and I don’t even think it’s doing a good job at that.

Something that I believe has a lot to do with this is the institution of musical theater conservatory. Do I think it’s fantastic that there are places you can go and train in musical theater all day long for four years? Absolutely. Sounds like fun to me. Do I think it’s a double edged sword and it’s also caused us a loss in terms of uniqueness and art? Yes. We’ve made the job more competitive but perhaps not in a good sense. We’ve made it streamlined (and therefore, I feel, boring.) There are hundreds of insanely talented triple threats on Broadway right now, but I can’t tell them apart. I think that’s a problem. Where did the Gwen Verdons, Ethel Mermans, and Gloria Grahames go? They probably didn’t get into a good musical theater school. Or, if they did, they had the same voice teacher and acting professor as the Julie Andrews of the class and their uniqueness got beaten out of them.

Furthermore, what happens when you don’t get into the musical theater program you want? I haven’t auditioned for any, so I can’t really speak personally, but I know several insanely talented out-of-the-norm individuals who weren’t accepted to musical theater programs. Thanks to musical theater audition “coaches,” there’s now a pageant mom-like mafia that you can overpay who have individual relationships with big-wigs at every musical theatre conservatory in the nation. Then, you can overpay the conservatory to sound like everyone else and look like everyone else in hopes that you can become a big star on Broadway.

Sound like art and perhaps what Broadway should and used to be to you? It doesn’t to me.

The plague of jukebox and movie-turned musicals doesn’t really help matters, either. Unless there’s a large amount of awareness raised and a real urgency (raised from producers and casting directors, I suppose) for something different in performers and in shows produced, the Golden Age of Broadway really was a grand yet temporary and singular time in history. Besides jazz, Musical Theater is really the only truly American music form. It seems a shame for us to maintain this overinflated over competitive under talented/charismatic uninventive state we are currently in.

So what do we do?

It's my Last First Day of School

2010-08-23T06:00:00.003-07:00

After some unfortunate tossing and turning and utterly failed attempts at going to bed early, I’ve resigned to finally blog away the insomnia. I’m back. At lot has happened since I’ve written last and I’ve thought about posting on many occasions. However, given the reaction over the ever infamous “Spring Cleaning and Such” post half chronicling my late grandmother’s then declining health and the debacle over classes vs. outside shows at SMU, I have feared posting anything. It’s a really delicate and fine balance between being honest and saying what you want to say, and overstepping boundaries/offending people unnecessarily. Another quandary I’ve had is that so much of the time since I last wrote has been spent with a person who has completely altered my life and I haven’t quite decided how much I want to share of our life. (Our, as in a “we.” Yeah, we’re already to that point.) I have full permission from manfriend (coined name of said person) to discuss whatever I want of our life together on here, but we’ll see where this goes. I guess we’ll work backwards—starting with today (tomorrow) and moving back.

Tomorrow is my last first day of school. I am petrified. You would think that after many (20 or so?) first days of school the jitters would go away.

They don’t.

I also feel as though I’m in a particularly wonky position. For reasons partially due to the fact that I had no earthly clue what I wanted to do (or maybe I did and I just didn’t have the guts to pursue it) when I graduated from high school, due to my aversion to Elvis Presley, and due to Wendy Welch and a rather eventful catchup conversation at White Rock Coffee, I’ve had an especially unconventional college experience. This is the first year I have not been the new kid in college. I was a freshman at Rhodes, the new kid at Richland/within Dallas theater, then the transfer sophomore/junior (shmunior?) at SMU. Now I’m the junior/senior (jenior? Sunior?) at SMU and I actually think it’s going to be more difficult. Maybe.

For those who have followed the blog over the past year, you know that this past year royally sucked for me. It was undoubtedly the hardest year I’ve ever had in my life. When you go through hard times, you aren’t always going to be quite yourself.

Side anecdote that relates. I promise.

I distinctly remember a couple of girls in around 8^th-10^th grade who suddenly became exceptionally catty and evil and unhappy for periods of time at Hockaday. They alienated themselves by pushing away their friends. In adolescence (and without any other experience), I assumed that they just decided to become bad people. Not the case. 6 months or so later, these girls would inevitably subtly inform someone (who would kindly inform the other 100 of us) that their parents had just gone through a divorce. When life throws you for a loop, you can become a monster.

I guess that’s what happened to me last year. Or something like that.

Because I was somewhat “over” being the new kid last year (3^rd time in a row) and because I was in the purgatory of not really belonging to a specific class and because I already had friends in the Dallas theater community and because I was hellbent on getting my degree in 4 years, I decided to treat fall classes like a job. And so I did. I went to class, didn’t really bother to socialize much (but was by no means catty or anything other than amiable with classmates/professors), and went to rehearsal/went home. Sure, there were things that bothered me about the system. (The overpriced overadministrative confused bureaucratic establishment that is the American university is severely out-of-touch and out-of-date universally. I’m currently reading “Higher Education?” because I heard an interview with the authors on NPR a week ago and just the fact that there’s a book on the subject makes me feel eons less insane for beings so frustrated with the system in general.) Winter break happened. I came back 2 weeks early to finish a practicum. Was I happy about it? No. Did I do it? Yes. No problem. As Grandmama’s health declined, so did my sanity, state of soul, and overall disposition. (For those just checking in—Grandmama was like the ultimate hybrid of parental figure, saint, grandmother, best friend, confidante, role model, and beacon of all things right in the world. We were beyond abnormally close for grandmother/granddaughter and her death taught me more than I ever wanted to know about grief and depression.) So I entered second semester at SMU not knowing my peers or professors particularly well and then turned into a zombie (who regularly missed class to be with grandmama/the family) and then wrote this extremely frank and frustrated post about the way a school/show conflict was handled. I was bound to make enemies (and garner an unfortunate reputation with students and professors I didn’t even know or with whom I’d never held a conversation.)

So, entering my last year feeling like Cady Heron at the gym in Mean Girls when she says the line (to the effect of) “You know how it feels when you walk into a conversation and you know someone has just said something bad about you?..Have you ever had that happen 100 times?” is not particularly appealing or inviting. Is it my fault? To an extent. Is it anyone else’s? Nope. Fate and awful circumstances’? Absolutely. I guess I’m back to the mindset of treating school like my job (which it is, really) and trying to jump through the hoops as unscathed as possible.

Backtracking a bit? I had a fantastic and obscenely busy summer. In June, I dance captained Bye Bye Birdie at Lyric Stage (and played a teen/the sad girl in “Happy Face”) and taught/choreographed Lyric’s kids production of Bye Bye Birdie. Was doing Bye Bye Birdie 3 times in 6 months the smartest idea? I mean, not really. I could definitely use a bit of a break from the show. Was it worth it? Absolutely. It was worth it for a multitude of reasons. (I got to meet Charles Strouse—composer of the show!) Lyric Stage is—without a doubt—one of the best places to work in Dallas. For my interests and passions, it fits like a glove. Their goal is to preserve the great American musical in the manner it was first performed. I think that’s the most glorious mission I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m one of the few 21 year olds (oh yeah! I turned 21!) I know who would take a Rodgers and Hammerstein show over RENT any day of the week. (And I just watched Broadway: The Golden Age and cursed the world for not being born 60 years ago.) I lament the loss of charisma and storytelling dancing (it’s not all lost—Andy Blakenbeuhler’s (sp?) choreograph in In the Heights functions as contemporary Agnes de Mille-style ballets) and variations and color in voices. –For instance, manfriend and I were watching My Fair Lady tonight. Nobody sounds like Marni Nixon nowadays. In fact, I don’t think Marni Nixon could get a job today. But back in the day she dubbed over oodles of movie-musical stars. Being slightly off pitch and having a different sound a la Bernadette, Elaine, Ethel, Carol Channing, or any of the greats is shunned—unless you already developed a strong reputation when that was okay and honored. I digress. At any rate, it was a great experience. Our glorious choreographer toured with 42^nd Street (the original tour) and taught me the original B’way choreography on breaks and our rehearsal pianist gave me mini-lessons on accompanying and reading scores. Dance Captaining was a new and exciting challenge; it was an overall education.

July was frustrating in many ways, but it was also an education in its own right. I moved out of my glorious apartment and moved home, turned 21, taught 8 year olds all month at the Dallas Children’s Theater, and played Anytime Annie in 42^nd Street at GSM. Most of these events were insanely trying, but I’m glad to have survived them.

August has been blissful. I had two weeks—one in Destin, one in NYC/Boston—of beautiful vacation with family and manfriend (respectively) and then returned to the sweltering heat in Big D. I taught one more week at the children’s theater, and started My Fair Lady at Lyric Stage. Again, working at Lyric is bliss and serving as dance captain is fantastic. I’m not in too much of the show (for women, it’s basically Eliza…and Eliza…and…well, Eliza..) but I’m having a great time. I also strangely started a shoe business (by total happenstance) but I am absolutely loving it. Check out my website at www.kcustomkicks.com and shoot me a message on there under “contact” if you want more info/want some shoes. (Shameless plug.) I also (magically enough) got a new apartment that I absolutely love in a location very close to my old one. I have certainly learned the value and importance of having one’s own space to function/think.

Now, I’m just focusing on maintaining sanity, goals, and happiness. I’m gonna be like the little engine that could—I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. Wish me luck.

I think those are really the highlights of what you’ve missed. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Wanna show some love or good wishes? Comment, my friends!

Until next time—K.

2010, I Don't Hate You Anymore [An Amendment]

2010-05-03T11:26:00.000-07:00

How much can change in three months?

A lot.

I'm spending my day camped out at White Rock working on my last paper and Final of my junior year of college. (And really, how crazy is that?) If you've been following for more than a month, you know how obscenely trying this semester has been. If you've been following for all four years of the blog, you know that 2010 was pretty much the worst year I've had. Ever. But, if you've been following for more than a month, you may have noticed that I've started to get my groove back. I have never been as unhappy as I was December-mid March, but I'm finally really starting to heal. I finally feel like myself again.

In fact, remember that time in February I wrote a blog post that was an open letter to the year 2010 and its suckage? You can go to the right-side toolbar and click on February's posts, or you can just read it copied here:

Dear 2010,

Why do you loathe me? I came to you with an open attitude and a really fantastic 2009. 2010 was supposed to be a magical year--it contains the second run of Sanders Family Christmas, great job offers, and my 21st birthday. Why do you insist on hatin' on me and bringing me down? You took away my favorite person who made everything better. You dumped a colossal pile of grief on me and expected me to know how to deal with it. I do not. I cry at unexpected times, I don't know who to talk to, and I constantly feel physically exhuasted. My best friends do not live in Dallas. I'm spending large quantities of time on projects that are not helping me grow but I still have minimal faith in my talents. I need things to change. I have been patient and allowed you two months of absolute crap. That is one sixth of the time I have with you. Man up, yo. Improve. Seriously, my sanity needs it.

Most sincerely,

Katharine

2010, we are not completely back on good terms, but boy you have certainly made a valiant effort to regain (or gain for the first time, I suppose) my hope and affection. And thus, some amendments. Or a new letter.

Dear 2010,
I appreciate your commendable effort to make up for your first quarter of supreme downright suckiness. I still have not and will not forgive you for taking away my favorite person in the world (at a particularly inconvenient time) and for expecting me to know how to deal with it. I don't think anyone can be "good" at dealing with grief, but if nothing else, that experience taught me how to deal with grief better. I have matured, grown, and learned at a crazy-accelerated pace this year and that is not necessarily a bad thing. It means I'm becoming an adult. That seems to happen to people. I still have best friends in New York, Memphis, and Philly, but I now also have the most beautiful, compassionate, and wonderful pool of best friends in Dallas. I love them more than I can express and I am so lucky to have found them (and have them tolerate all of my passions and quirks!) You have also recently given me a project that completely restores my faith in my career and even a bit in my abilities within said career. My desire to learn and challenge myself and succeed is back. Getting out of bed is no longer analogous to climbing Mount Everest. I look forward to the next day and many things within it. I love my family and I love my friends. I miss Grandmama; that won't change. But as I grow up and lose bits of my family, I am finding more and more of my chosen family that help heal the little punctures in my heart. Thus, 2010, we might be okay. Keep up the good work.

A bit more affectionately,
Katharine

For the Love of the Kalita

2010-05-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

Those who know me understand that I am the biggest dork in a whole myriad of ways. My love of old buildings, vacant buildings, and churches is borderline obsession. I'm not sure why I have such a fascination with old buildings/buildings with history/buildings with character, but it's a very real thing. When I went to Nice, France the summer after my senior year, my half-French best-friend and I were wandering around the old town square in our little sundresses, just enjoying gelato and the sun. We stumbled upon this gorgeous vacant church in Vieux-Nice that had been built in the 1300s (I think...I'm certain it was centuries old/pre 1500) and I suddenly found myself crying. I was so overwhelmed by thoughts of the people who had joined together there so long ago under the unity of a belief, by its age, and by the eerie sadness that came with the sense that the building was now forgotten. With this realization came a greater understanding of just how new America was as a nation and how insignificant my tiny unimportant life is in the grand scheme of things. I have the most insane fantasy that when I am old, rich, and famous (which has been a subconscious desire since childhood...as I think it is for just about everyone) I will take a crazy-beautiful vacant church (preferably cathedral style) and turn it into an arts complex. I want art galleries, a coffee shop, a black box, and a big performance space. If you've ever been in Marty Van Kleeck/Ronnie Claire's homes, they pretty much reside in my ideal. A Catholic school/church built around 1900 on Swiss Avenue that they turned into their respective homes. They are gorgeous.

I really believe there is something as spiritual and holy in a theater as there is in a church. I don't mean this in a sacrilegious way--simply that singing or playing music, reveling in the human connections found in theater, and dancing are the most spiritual and supernatural experiences I've had. There's an Agnes DeMille quote that I've always been a bit in love with:

“When you perform you are out of yourself- larger and more potent, more beautiful. You are for minutes heroic. This is power. This is glory on earth. And it is yours nightly."

I fully believe this to be true. When I think about all of the magic (because, really, what else could it be?) that has occurred in a theater--the heroism--I fall utterly in love with my craft and its venues all over again.

The history of theater buildings particularly fascinates me; this includes personal history--not just history in a larger context. Carpenter Hall is the most glorious space in the world. It's new, it's enormous, and it is beautiful. And while I love the insane rush of performing there, there is something so warm and comfortable about the nostalgia of the Granville Arts Center in Garland. I had my first dance recital there when I was three years old. I did my first musical outside of school there. There, I had my first audience. There, my entire family occupied an entire row for every performance over the last 17 years. For some mind-bogglingly beautiful reason, I have the opportunity to perform in both of these spaces this summer.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been performing in the Kalita Humphreys Theater. I think it is perhaps my favorite space I've had the opportunity to perform in I love the crazy-weird Frank Lloyd Wright architecture (despite it being responsible for the tumbles and subsequent bruises from bizarre winding staircases backstage), its location in Turtle Creek, but mostly the old-school prestige and history it has in the world of theater.

Frank Lloyd Wright designed everything in the theater on a 30/60 degree angle as it was in nature. The only 90 degree angles in the space are the walls meeting the ceiling and floor. The theater was built over 50 years ago in 1959--and is one of 3 spaces designed by FLW. Upon researching the theater, I found that the basement is supposedly sometimes used as a blackbox. (And thanks to this research, I'm now determined to make a performance happen down there. Any takers?) At any rate, the theater was the home to the Dallas Theater Center from 1959-2009. Since the DTC officially moved to the Wyly in the Arts District, Uptown Players (where I'm performing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels now) is using the space for their shows. In the curtain announcement right before the show, the recorded message says "We're pleased to announce the rest of the 2010 Uptown Season will be taking place at the Kalita Humphreys Theater." I don't know exactly why, but I get chills every single time I hear this. It is so incredible that I get to walk through the stage door at the theater, initial on the sign in sheet, and walk upstairs to a glorious dressing room. I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe I'm lucky enough to perform in this space. I can't believe I get to dance on a stage that has had hundreds of brilliant performers on it. I really just can't believe I'm lucky enough to do this as (for now) a part time job. I'm still just fourth chorus girl from the left, but the fact that I'm in this space is a mental catalyst that propels my theater fetish from hobby to career opportunity, and that makes me giddier than I can adequately express. Bobby gets tickled watching me talk about theater/doing a show here. I literally start squealing and smiling and giggling giddily just thinking about it. Thank goodness he can tolerate my abounding silliness over it because I don't know who else could!

Besides the fact that this show represents so much for me, I've just never been able to just feel so much history in a space before. At the risk of sounding like a very grateful broken record, I just can't believe I'm here after "trying out this theater thing" a year and a half ago. I must be the luckiest person alive.

Well, it's just about noon on a Sunday. Time to go soak up the haunting and glorious air in the Kalita, the genius of Bob Hess and company in the show, and make Mama Cheryl proud at the matinée. I'm not normally much of a matinee person, but if I haven't made my association between theater and church already (as in theater is my church), what better way to get my Sunday going than to do a show?

Scoundrels: if you're reading this, I am so grateful to be sharing this with you. Thank you all so much. It really has been magical.

Apology

2010-04-28T20:45:00.000-07:00

I know it's been forever. I am sorry! Life has been insanely busy. But very, very good.
I'm totally going to write a real post (and soon)...probably about dream roles and silly business like that...because it has been on the mind as of late..but for now, let me say:

1. I am playing Anytime Annie in Garland Summer Musicals' 42nd Street. Lots of tapping. Lots of fun. Excited.
2. I might be going to Peru for a week in May if I can scrounge up the funds. I have a way to get there for $276, so I just need to find a way to have money once I'm there. Really cool opportunity.
3. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels has been amazing. I am smitten in love with the history of the Kalita Humphreys, th stage, even the scary revolve, the beautiful and insanely talented cast, the dancing, the costumes, the wigs, the production team...etc, etc. I am having a WONDERFUL time and I seriously don't want it to end. (But when it does, I'll be three weeks out from performing in Carpenter Hall again so I seriously have no room to complain.)
4. On that note, I am so, so in love with my job. More than ever. I cannot express the joy performing/theatre/music/dancing bring me. It is just ethereal.
5. I have the most beautiful and wonderful friends in the world. I love them. Life is really good, and I feel like myself again. Mostly.

That is all.

The Greedy Love Post

2010-04-12T13:17:00.000-07:00

Just checking in with anyone who reads this thing...I've been getting some emails/texts this week from people I had NO idea read this today. Want to post a comment just to say hi or tell me if I am utterly boring you or if the blog is worthwhile? I will super-heart you forever!

Thanks pals.

The Tiny Ways You Love Someone: Or Soft Feet

2010-04-09T17:21:00.000-07:00

The finest inheritance you can give to a child is to allow it to make its own way, completely on its own feet. -Isadora Duncan

After two days of self deprecation, frustration, and general blue-ness, I have successfully de-funked.

I'm getting good at this.

This is a whole discussion that I could expound upon later, but when I sink into these boughts of mini-depression or sadness, I naturally become more introverted. (This obviously isn't singular to me.) I become more pensive and subsequently more artistically minded (generally speaking.) Daily life merits innermonologues and constant semi-poetic narration (or at least I glorify it to be so) and every event qualifies as a subplot in an indie film. I'm much more productive in a creative manner when I'm sad or alone--which helps elucidate why most artists/musicians constantly battled depression--that and the fact that they became dissatisfied with the mundanity of daily life; I digress. Regardless, I've noticed a recurring motif (is that redundant?) in my life the past couple of days--water, cleansing, and catharsis. (Said observation would not have occurred had I been the happy version of Katharine. I would have been too busy being happy.)

This afternoon, I watched one of my favorite films: Big Fish. It wasn't as grand or glorious as I recall it being when I was 14 (13?) but it was still thoroughly enjoyable. I love Elfman's score, the whimsical nature of the cinematography, the vivid colors, the costumes, the slightly over-the-top nature of it all. An overromanticized version of an extraordinary biography. Anyway, for those who don't know the film, Albert Finney plays Edward Bloom--a man who is larger than life, a storyteller by nature--to the point where it's indiscernable what is fact and what is fiction. The whole point, ultimately, is that it doesn't matter. Fact or fiction, his stories are what characterize him.

Transition to my life. Rehearsals continue to be fantastic. However, all this delicious dancing has marked a triumphant return of what I call "dancer feet." (This is not a pretty thing.) This entails blisters, bruises, and callouses. (Callouses are your friend. For realz.) At any rate, they are no longer lovely buffed and pedicured; they are janky and unattractive.

(I promise this will all tie in together eventually...hopefully.)

Perhaps influenced by the water/catharsis/cleansing motif in Big Fish, I felt compelled to just soak my calloused, blistered dancer feet in the bathtub. So I did. And as I washed my feet, poured lotion on them, lathered them, and rinsed them (minding my lovely new decorative additions) I had the strangest memory arise--my grandmama washing my feet, tickling them, and telling me how soft they were as a child. I remember thinking back then that I wanted them to be well-worn--that I didn't really like the softness. I always had a problem with being "young" (which is something I'll undoubtedly regret in a few years.) This doesn't mean that I don't ever act my age or have oodles of immature moments and bad choices; I do. But I always wanted to be a step ahead--be the mature one. I was the kid you resented who immediately befriended teachers and your parents. I hung out in the teachers lounge in kindergarten. I'd rather sit at the "adult table" than with the kids. Fortunately and unfortunately, life granted me my wish; I had to grow up relatively quickly. And bizarrely, I somehow feel as though my feet are indicative of that. You can tone and lotion your legs till kingdom come, but your feet are a bit more honest--they're bound to give you away. I don't know that having "lived-in" feet is quite as romantic as I'd envisioned it when Grandmama played with my little soft five-year-old toes or not, but it definitely marks a change of sorts--and clearly represents an interesting bit of nostalgia.

I guess this is sort of a mini-20-something version of Nora Ephron's "I Feel Bad About My Neck" manifesto. You can fix anything (surgery or not) to defy your age, but your neck is something you can do nothing about. I suppose feet are the same way. Alas, I suppose there's not much that I can do about it. Besides write unnecessary blogs about them, and keep walking.

Heartbroken (Stupid, I Know)

2010-04-08T15:16:00.000-07:00

For those following my vaguebooking (vague facebooking), here's what's been happening.

The theatre I've performed most in beginning at age 3 when I had my first dance recital is doing my favorite show with my number 1 ultimate dream role in it. This is the theatre grandmama and pop took me to every year growing up. This is the theatre I did my first show in outside of high school. I found out they were doing dream show about eight months ago. Since then, I've been doing my very best not to think about it or psych myself out. Said theatre has a tendency to do the same shows the same way with the same cast over...and over...and over again. Figured it was all precast with people 10 years too old (at least) for their roles. Slowly, over the last couple of months, I've been hearing rumors that this isn't the case. The three roles that I figured would be reprised by the actors/actresses who were too old to play them seven years ago (the last time the show was done) were all supposedly open. Cue beginning of Katharine freak out. I wanted it so badly. Didn't think the odds of it happening were particularly great. But a lot has changed in the last year. I've worked in a number of professional theatres in Dallas, I've learned a ton, and gained some confidence. This is a role I know I could do--well. I could surprise people. I could challenge myself.

So I went to the dance call. It was very reassuring. I was feeling pretty good. Prepared for audition/callback. Got called back for dream role. Belted for dream role. Danced for dream role. Read for dream role--well. Very well. No one else read for dream role all evening.

I get to rehearsal last night, and a girl who auditioned for the season mentions how another actress is indeed precast.
It is silly, I know, but I am absolutely heartbroken. Crushed, really. I actually had a shot. I could've done this show. I could have done this role. And not only did I know that, but the director/producer/choreographer/music director knew that too.

I feel totally and utterly defeated.

And the thing is it's bigger than just this role. It's the comfort of the theater, the fact that I could've stepped out of the chorus for once and shown people what I can really do, and the fact that I can't imagine me doing anything that would have made my grandmother prouder. It makes my heart ache thinking about it and all of the attachments I had to this possibility. And the fact that I had it for a little while but I don't anymore.

I'm supposed to go to a couple of auditions this weekend. This experience has rocked the boat a bit too far, and I have no desire whatsoever to go to these other auditions--at better theatres, mind you. But it's just not the same. If cast, I'll be fifth girl from the left (and I know I'm always waxing eloquent about my love for the chorus in a good show and it's true--I really do love it) but we're talking The Full Monty and Joseph and the Amazing Technical Dreamcoat. This is not Rodgers and Hammerstein or Sondheim. So we'll see if they happen.

In the meantime, I'm trying to get back the mojo I had going for the last few weeks. They've been really good weeks, y'all. Much better than I've had in a while. I love my friends and I love my job. SMU hasn't been as much of a beating lately (except for theatre history class today in which I was told "the fact that you love musical theatre is your least endearing quality" but more on that later)...but I've been happy.

I have since deeply delved back into the funk and am trying to put the pieces back together to climb out once again. This will be a doozy: wish me luck.

The Perfect Quote of My Day

2010-04-08T11:16:00.000-07:00

There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state to another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life. - Alexandre Dumas

George Bailey

2010-04-05T13:06:00.000-07:00

Now, you listen to me! I don't want any plastics, and I don't want any ground floors, and I don't want to get married - ever - to anyone! You understand that? I want to do what I want to do. And Mary, you're....you're...

Tom Stoppard's "Travesties"

2010-03-30T01:01:00.001-07:00

An artist is the magician put among men to gratify — capriciously — their urge for immortality. The temples are built and brought down around him, continuously and contiguously, from Troy to the fields of Flanders. If there is any meaning in any of it, it is in what survives as art, yes even in the celebration of tyrants, yes even in the celebration of nonentities. What now of the Trojan War if it had been passed over by the artist's touch? Dust. A forgotten expedition prompted by Greek merchants looking for new markets. A minor redistribution of broken pots. But it is we who stand enriched, by a tale of heroes, of a golden apple, a wooden horse, a face that launched a thousand ships — and above all, of Ulysses, the wanderer, the most human, the most complete of all heroes — husband, father, son, lover, farmer, soldier, pacifist, politician, inventor and adventurer.

Some Clarifications [Or Why I Love My Job]

2010-03-29T12:22:00.000-07:00

It's a Monday, but delightfully enough it doesn't entirely feel like one. I wasn't jumping out of my bed to get to school or anything, but the usual dread and fear that accompanies my 7AM alarm wasn't present this morning. Baby steps.

I'm still trying to sort out my summer and a way to get to London in the near future. Let's face it: my obsession with New York is officially unhealthy and I desperately need to broaden my horizons. (Whatevs. I'm still going in July.) We know I'm doing Dirty Rotten Scoundrels in May (though I need a job-job for that month) and Bye Bye Birdie at Lyric (did I mention that? I'm really excited...) in June. July/August are very, very up in the air. I'm working all July at the Dallas Childrens Theater, but I don't know if I'm doing a show then. We'll know by next week. Definitely not holding my breath for anything.

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is still going absolutely beautifully. We did music all this week (and some principles/all ensemble is entirely off book for all of the music in the show already!) and last night we began choreography. Last night was a glorious return to the post-dance rehearsal sweat and exhaustion. I loved that my body ached all over. I loved that my feet had blisters. I missed that feeling so much. This show is totally saving me. I am so lucky. Really, I am.

The more I think about it, the more I realize how suited I am to this lifestyle. I'm irresponsible in some ways as far as everyday tasks, but I'm extremely dedicated and devoted to responsibilities in my job. I love the rush of not knowing what my job exactly will be the next month (or if I will have one at all.) I love the competition. I love finding examples of what I aspire to be. I love being a chorus girl.

[enter tangent]

Friends and family, I know you think that having a role equates to something better than ensemble (and in some cases it does.) But honestly, there is little I would rather be doing. The ensemble is generally onstage more than each individual principle, they get to dance, they sing, they play a whole variety of roles in one show. They inevitably get to perform the best numbers in the show. This isn't saying that there aren't roles I want to play. Peggy Sawyer? Sally Bowles? Janet Vandergraff? Penny Pingleton? Millie Dillmount? Little Sally? Susan/Heidi in TOS? Kathy Selden? Polly Baker? Even roles I am too old for/almost too old for--Anybodys? Louise Bigelow? Liesl Von Trapp? Yeah, I could go on. I definitely have my dream roles. But if you notice...most of my dream roles are chorus girls who somehow got a chance. (And thus, I am enamored of just about everybody in A Chorus Line) People always ask me who I'm playing in the show...
"Oh wow! You got cast? That's great! What role are you playing?"
"Ensemble...Oh, but it's a relatively small ensemble.." (As if I have to qualify it.)
"Oh, well I mean, you're still new to theater and the community. I'm sure you'll start getting roles soon." (As if they have to sympahize.)

Guys, you totally don't. I genuinely love it. There are some theatres (cough, cough *Lyric Stage* cough) where I would be ecstatic to be fourth spear carrier from the left. (I mean, let's be honest, I wrote an entire piece on how excited I was to be third mask-wearing, squatting dog in The King and I.) So when people ask me what roles I'm going for, I kind of just laugh. I could maybe score some big roles I'm totally inappropriate for in not-so-great productions of musicals, but I would so much rather be completely insignificant in a fantastic, well-done production of a beautiful show. I am still new. I am still too young for most leading/supporting ladies. I still read 17. I still dislike my voice. (Yeah, anyone who's worked with me knows my complex about this.) But I also went to a hyperactive school full of legitimate geniuses, crazy-talents, and girls who inevitably will cure cancer and become the first female presidents. You're bound to have an inferiority complex.

At any rate, I am GLORIOUSLY happy to spend my life singing, dancing, and waving my arms about enthusiastically for the next three months in Dirty Rotten and Birdie. I don't really aspire to much more than the chorus (and all my SMU friends/comrades are probably wondering why the heck I'm in an acting BFA program now) as a performer. My dream of all dreams is to tour in the chorus or be in a b'way chorus. Life would be complete. And then I would live in some closet in the City and write and travel and direct and critique. (We're getting ahead of ourselves.)

Basically, I am happy just where I am. I still have to pinch myself occasionally and marvel at how lucky I am to be doing something daily that I passionately love. To anyone who reads this who had any part in this (I can't even begin to name you all...the list of people who have changed my life in the last year and a half--or even longer [Beth Wortley, Susan Hubbard, BonnieJean, Mr. Long, Mama Welch]--is endless...but you can refer to my Christmas thank you lists and you're likely on there!) thank you, thank you, thank you. I appreciate it more than I can adquately express.

“The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.” - Mitch Albom

Well, hello again...

2010-03-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

There's so much in my head right now I fear it might explode. This probably won't be a particularly fun post to read...mostly just a strand of thoughts from my head (that is overpopulated with information, opinions, fears, guilt, confusion, and dreams on a Manhattan-like scale.)

Here's what's new:
1. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels started. It is heavenly bliss every single night. I love the score, I love the production team, and I love the people. These are good people. Good hearts, great talent. They are keeping me more than sane. I forgot what it was like to be in a show...or to have a reassurance that this is what I'm supposed to be doing. In all honesty, this isn't really reassuring that this is what I'm supposed to be doing; I feel like I'm the least talented person in the show (there's a good chance this isn't me just being self-deprecating.) However, I haven't been as happy as I am in rehearsal in ages and that reassures me that all the drama to procure this show was entirely worthwhile. Musical theatre is real theatre. Dallas theatre is real theatre. Is it always good in either case? Nope. But SMU theatre isn't always good theatre either so everyone just needs to chill out and try being supportive. Mazeltov!
2. My toshiba (I have another not-so-friendly name for it...but we're not going to go there) from Hockaday that's 6 years old officially pooped out on me this weekend. As in...it won't turn on anymore. It's okay. I have a magical tiny wonder called an eeePC that is a VERY basic netbook but functions beautifully for school. I'm still going to need something for movies/music/etc, but we'll deal with that later (and when I have more funds...ha!)
3. Money is ever frustrating. But I'm in college without a job (YES my theatre jobs count but they don't pay for too much more than the amount I spend on gas getting to rehearsal) so what can you do?
4. I'm working at Dallas Children's Theater this summer. I am so excited! Bliss! I might also try to help out at DBC or St. John's...looking into it.
5. Next NYC excursion? Last week in July, baby! And this time, I'm bringing the spacepod (my soulmates.) Can't ask for a better birthday present than that!!
6. General grief shenangians are still sucking my soul. And it is still a rollercoaster. Whoever said things would even out neglected to mention that it would take a long, long time for that to happen. There are still mornings I don't want to get out of bed. There are still times in class where I just start getting teary for no apparent reason. I still lack motivation for everyday tasks. I figure these things will pass, but I also know now that it will be a long time before that happens. In the meantime, I'm proud of myself when I can just make it to class, do the work, and put one foot in front of the other.
7. Friends are shifting. I've sort of found my way (well, got a toe in) a group of people I flat out adore. These people are tolerant of incessant texting, lovers of all things artistic, and big dreamers. Also (and perhaps most importantly) I can't stop laughing around them. I am very, very lucky. I am so happy to have found them.
8. For those who were keeping up, I lost "best featured actress in a musical-equity" in the Column Awards for my showstopping performance as third Dog from the left in The King and I. I was tragically crushed, but I'll somehow move on. (Dripping with sarcasm here, guys.)
9. Thank you for reading this. It's not always fun and it's certainly not always inspiring! Thanks for letting me get some of the thoughts out.

Farewell all!

My Dreams are Bigger Than I Am

2010-03-23T06:49:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I get so overwhelmed by my ambition that I can't breathe. It all seems so incredibly out of reach and unrealistic. I feel like a talent fraud, you know? I have this paralyzing fear that people will get to know me and then realize that I secretly am worthless and have nothing to offer. But then I have these baby assurances, and amazing friends who tell me otherwise and--for a moment--I believe them and think it will all be okay. This morning, I'm overwhelmed by my dreams but not afraid of them. This morning I'm delusional enough to think they'll come true.

Reminder

2010-03-21T12:59:00.001-07:00

Being academic is not synonymous with being intelligent.

In case you were wondering.

That's all.

we're at 38

2010-03-11T09:22:00.001-08:00

Unless I've missed some (which is entirely possible) here's the current list:
Annie get your gun
Music man
Oklahoma
Swing
Fosse
Les mis
Spring awakening x2
November
Hair x2
Next to normal
33 variations
Exit the king
Mary poppins
Rent
Wedding singer
Drowsy chaperone x2
Love, Loss, and What I Wore
Night Music
Addams Family
Behanding in Spokane
9 to 5
Fela
Time Stands Still
In the Heights
Spamalot
Looped
View from the Bridge
Ragtime
Hairspray
Jersey Boys
West Side Story
Gypsy
42nd Street
Lend Me A Tenor
Next Fall

I'm leaving at 38. In July it'll go to 45!!!

200th Post

2010-03-11T08:13:00.001-08:00

I am so enamored of this city.

Betcha didn't know that, did you?

Seriously, though. Project rejuvenation and catharsis has been a wild success thus far. I cannot wait to live here. The city doesn't scare me anymore--getting work does, though.

So far I've seen Fela--amazing costumes and choreography, but it's a hot mess of a narrative/functional show and it is terribly structured. I will be an angry, angry faux New Yorker/theatregoer if it wins Best Musical
Valerie Harper in Looped--i love me some Tallulah Bankhead, and I LOVE me some Valerie Harper. Some of you know this, but I have a huge thing for old school sitcoms--the first one I became addicted to was the Mary Tyler Moore show. And I LOVE Rhoda (the character, not her sitcom.) Anyway, Valerie was gorgeous and fabulous and every bit worthy of a Tony nom.
Addams Family Musical--Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, Carolee Carmello, Terrence Mann, Krysta Rodriguez, Jackie Hoffman... (How may Broadway stars can YOU cram into a musical?) At any rate, the show's definitely flawed..a couple numbers don't really work and I really disliked Bebe Neuwirth's performance (surprisingly) but (even more surprisngly) I LOVED the show. I found it entertaining and I loved the sets/score. Plus, the cast was unreal. Second time to see Nathan Lane...saw him in November (ewww) two years ago. He was brilliant as Gomez.

Tonight, I'm seeing Christopher Walken, Sam Rockwell, and Zoe Kazan (all whom I love) in A Behanding in Spokane. Tomorrow I'm seeing Laura Linney, Eric Bogosian, Brian D'Arcy James, and Alicia Silverstone in Time Stands Still. Very excited about that one. Not sure about Saturday's show--gotta see what matinees are happening.

Anyway, it's been quite the triumphant excursion. I am, however, exhausted. Definitely a trip. Definitely not a vacation!

rejuvenation

2010-03-09T10:06:00.001-08:00

Today (hopefully) marks the beginning of a cathartic rejuvenation. If you've been following me at all, you know that I've had a rather hellacious 2010--namely losing Grandmama--favorite person, role model, mentor, alter ego, other mother, and best friend. There are (as you know) days where I haven't been able to get out of bed. There have been days when the slightest irritation is a catalyst for immense anger and frustration. This is not how I desire to live. People are always "happiness is a choice." People, you're wrong. I have chosen to be happy through the first two months of this year and had it end in abysmal failure. This is something larger than me. This is something I cannot control.

What I can control is an overall effort to be better--to, on the days that I can, put one foot in front of the other, rejoice in small blessings, and embrace the multitude of opportunities I've been given. These two months have uncovered who my true friends are--who can handle the venting, the crying, the shutdown, and the unnecessary anger, and who can pick me up and lift my spirits. To all of you who fall in the aforementioned category, thank you and I love you. I know it is not easy to be my friend right now and I appreciate that you know this isn't me and you know I'm trying. I will be more than happy to return the favor if or when something falls apart in your lives (which, let's face it, is just inevitable at some point.)

Right now, I'm on a plane miles high in the sky. I have a very romantic view of travel; this is one of the reasons I am so enamored of Up in the Air. I love new beginnings, adventure, exploration, possibilities (but not necessarily uncertainty), and a vaguely unsketched agenda. I love being surrounded by strangers, and then finding my friends at the end of it.

In twenty minutes, I touch down in gorgeous Manhattan. A perfect 55 degrees, partly cloudy, and a week full of theatrical previews. (For the non-theatre folk--a show enters 2ish weeks of previews before opening officially on Broadway. Because professional rehearsal periods are so short, a lot can change in previews before opening.) Today, I choose rejuvenation. I choose unexplored possibilities. I choose to uncover more beautiful nuances in the landscape of my favorite place. I choose to challenge myself as a critic and actress. I choose progress and I choose change.

I've got my purse, a messenger bag (stuffed with clothes), my Texan girl cowboy boots, a 1940s vintage coat from a friend, and Manhattan's skyline. I'm good to go.

I'd Missed Being Happy

2010-03-02T16:54:00.000-08:00

I really had the loveliest day today. My two morning classes were cancelled, I had afternoon class, visited with some of the kids in my class, then played showtunes on the baby grand at Hockaday for three hours. I'm really satisfied and happy. It feels so good.

My Head and Heart are So Full

2010-02-28T19:41:00.000-08:00

But I can't articulate what it is that I need or want.

I don't think there's anything worse than being ordinary.

Stuck

2010-02-28T19:08:00.001-08:00

It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in.

All I Want...

2010-02-26T10:46:00.000-08:00

Is to study abroad in London this summer. It works out perfectly with the show I want to do in June (the program is in July) but I have no moneys. So...do I sell an organ, grow a money tree, or dive spectacularly into colossal debt?

On Directing

2010-02-26T09:56:00.000-08:00

"When we seek to discover the best in others, we somehow bring out the best in ourselves."
-William Arthur Ward

Hodge Podge

2010-02-26T09:52:00.000-08:00

I fell asleep watching this last night: http://www.earthcam.com/usa/newyork/timessquare/?cam=lennon_hd
It's been snowing the past day, and I find it incredibly beautiful and comforting! I cannot wait to be there again (so soon!!)

Birdie has been a trying experience in a myriad of ways. Though I love performing, tomorrow will bring much relief.

I'm still not feeling at all like myself. It's tricky, too, because I'll have full days where I feel fine and glorious and other days when getting out of bed is analogous to climbing Everest. I am determined to beat the funk and keep plowing forward with life simultaneously. THIS is the challenge. My patience for people is thin--and when you're in a community heavily based in false/political friendships, this is an issue. I think Spring Break will be really good for me. I still really want to surprise Laura and go to Memphis, then come home, then do NYC. Traveling gluttony?

So we've established I'm a private individual. (I mean, I have a blog, but I don't discuss intensely private matters--aside from the Grandmama thing--on here.) I'm a best friend person. I need my best friends. Well, Bayla's in Arizona, Laura and Andrew are in Memphis, Lindsey and Steve are in NYC, and Kim and Kevin are in Philly. I need some Dallas peeps.

In Dallas, it is the land of the mamas. I have a plethora of theatre/arts mamas that save my sanity as well as a theatre sister--to whom I owe any semblance of happiness this week. Anyway, I freaking love my friends. They are all geniuses (no, really. it's ridiculous) and such lovely souls. In times like this, you really learn who your support system is and just how lucky you are to have them.

Poohbear

2010-02-25T22:58:00.000-08:00

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."”

I have a handful of Piglets to my Pooh, and they are responsible for my general well-being right now. I love them more than words can describe.

You Were Warned: Song Lyrics Post

2010-02-24T22:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Billy Joel, thank you for writing "Vienna" with me in mind.

Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day

Too bad but it's the life you lead
you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong, you know
You can't always see when you're right.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride
but don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?

Paralysis

2010-02-24T08:46:00.001-08:00

She's been in my dreams the last two nights. Both nights, there was some reason why she was there. Both nights, I had just misunderstood and she really was still alive. (I'm guessing this is the denial phase.) Yesterday, this caused insomnia. Today, it just caused me to not move. Woke up late. Can't move.

This is the weirdest experience. It is totally exhausting. And it hurts.

The Sucky-Year Formula

2010-02-21T23:24:00.000-08:00

I'm going to see Next to Normal again I think. It's been almost a year since I first saw it, and I really think I might find it bizarrely cathartic. Moreso now than I did a year ago.

I kind of have a history of alternating good and sucky years. Maybe it was time for a bad year. I had a really fantastic 20 month streak there....

Dear 2010

2010-02-21T22:43:00.000-08:00

Dear 2010,

Why do you loathe me? I came to you with an open attitude and a really fantastic 2009. 2010 was supposed to be a magical year--it contains the second run of Sanders Family Christmas, great job offers, and my 21st birthday. Why do you insist on hatin' on me and bringing me down? You took away my favorite person who made everything better. You dumped a colossal pile of grief on me and expected me to know how to deal with it. I do not. I cry at unexpected times, I don't know who to talk to, and I constantly feel physically exhuasted. My best friends do not live in Dallas. I'm spending large quantities of time on projects that are not helping me grow but I still have minimal faith in my talents. I need things to change. I have been patient and allowed you two months of absolute crap. That is one sixth of the time I have with you. Man up, yo. Improve. Seriously, my sanity needs it.

Most sincerely,
Katharine

3D loser

2010-02-20T20:37:00.001-08:00

My ambition exceeds my talent and I don't have the work ethic to make up the difference.

Some Days, You Just Feel Like a Screw-Up

2010-02-19T07:28:00.000-08:00

For unknown reason, my phone decided to completely turn off last night (dead battery) and thus I had no alarm this morning. I missed class. My funk returned with vengeance, and I'm having supreme difficulties getting myself back on track. Womp womp. Grief is lame. And I think it might be making me sick. Or a hypochondriac. One of the two.

Some Quotes

2010-02-19T07:05:00.000-08:00

The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca

We cannot banish dangers, but we can banish fears. We must not demean life by standing in awe of death.
David Sarnoff

What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.
Albert Pike

Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm. - Winston Churchill

I Totally Lied

2010-02-17T08:25:00.001-08:00

Today is a day where I would have loved nothing more than to stay home to cry and wallow.

Definitely a process.

ready for the spring

2010-02-16T14:21:00.001-08:00

Today was the best I've felt in maybe two months. I'm not fully 'back' (I'm smart enough to know that this is going to be a process and one good day doesn't signify normalcy. At any rate, I'm grateful for the good day.

My theatre history professor is magical. I'm seriously enjoying that class. Acting has become progressively less daunting, and I get to write a paper on "The Philadelphia Story" in Text Analysis. Life is good.

I told a classmate today that Grandmama's funeral was yesterday and she was appalled I was in class. Although I will still be grieving for quite some time, I don't need to miss class to do it. Missing class to spend time with Grandmama? Legitimate. Missing class to cry and wallow? Not legitimate.

That said, I did just randomly (and discreetly) start crying in acting class. But it passed and I went on. Maybe I'm an unusual griever. Hm.

Anyway, that's my day. In the meantime, I'm looking for a violin. I'm serious about learning to fiddle for next years Sanders Family Christmas. Anyone got any leads?

Pen Pals

2010-02-15T08:53:00.000-08:00

I'm a letter writer (and a journaler, obviously) and less than a month ago I proposed to Grandmama that we become penpals through email. I was planning on a standing date on Friday afternoons, but I'm still finishing crew hours for now and knew it'd be a month or so before I could actually see her. The solution? Pen pals. We already emailed a good bit, but here was her response to my proposal:

That sounds like a good plan to me. I don't do anything interesting, but I

always want to know any big or little bitty detail in your life. So mine

will probably be a "hello" and you jot me a quick note about your events. I

usually check every day. My exciting news of today was a trip to the

dentist. I did get a good report so I guess that counts for something.

Oodles and oodles of love to you, also. You're so wonderful, and I'm crazy

about you.

Grandmama

I love her. Off to get ready to celebrate her life with many, many wonderful people whose lives she has beautifully influenced. Smiling for Uno.

Totally Random, but Made Me Laugh

2010-02-14T20:23:00.000-08:00

It's funny how people view you. When I was with Grandmama, she always reminded me of Julie Andrews.
Beautiful without effort, put together, very clean, extremely humble, endlessly compassionate, and rather regal.

I was just chatting with my cousin on my mother's side on Facebook, and she said Grandmama always reminded her of Piglet on Winnie the Pooh..."i think i told your dad once she always reminded me of piglet:) soft spoken, always the peace maker." Also, a strangely appropriate description. She definitely deserves a real life alter ego as well as an animated one.

Made me smile, either way. Cheers :)

Today, i feel as though it might be okay.

2010-02-14T16:58:00.001-08:00

Grandmama's graveside was today. As she wished, there was a brief service at Restland followed by a family gathering at her house. Strangely, I not only found myself at peace, but in happiness at both. Grandmama greatly disliked people talking about her or complimenting her. Today, we all could do so freely. That was strangely exhilirating and glorious. So, though goodness knows she'd prefer the service not to mention her at all (seriously) we have acquiesced her in a sense; this has become more of a celebration than a mourning.

I have to take a second to discuss my extended family. Grandmama, as supreme matriarch of the family, distilled so much love in each member of the family that we all couldn't help being incredibly close. I truly think my family is an anomaly in current times. How many extended families live in the same country or state--letalone the same metroplex? Furthermore, we gather for every holiday, birthday, set of Olympics, and girls game nights. Haven't had enough yet? Never fear! Head over to the Durbins' fajita friday. Otherwise, random drop-ins are more than welcome. I can't believe how lucky I am to have a family like I have. (Did I mention that this is also true to an extent on my mother's side of the family? Yeah, crazy lucky.)

One of the huge perks of my decision to come back to Dallas for Richland/the theater tryout thing was proximity to family. And considering how little time I had left with Grandmama, I'm believing that conversation at White Rock coffee with Wendy Welch was fate in more ways than one. This is also the reason moving to New York (whenever that happens) will be such a challenge.

Anyway, I'm enjoying the copious amounts of family time (and knowledge of absolutely fascinating family stories) regardless of circumstance.

I'm sure I'll have a post-service post tomorrow. Until then, I hope your Valentine's Day was as full of love as mine was.

Happy Valentine's Day, Y'all

2010-02-14T04:36:00.001-08:00

I suppose it is sadly appropriate that on the day of love we recognize the life of someone whose life revolved around it. Grandmama loved many things--mostly her family--and today I choose to try to acknowledge that alone. I will celebrate her life and be immensely grateful that I had her in mine rather than mourn the loss of her. Twenty years is a long time to spend with someone so beautiful and compassionate; her loving ways were bound to rub off on me.

So, here's to the day of love and those who daily celebrate it in the way they live.

[No Subject]

2010-02-13T14:01:00.001-08:00

I keep repeating to myself "Grandmama's dead" and it surprises me every single time. At the mall shopping for funeral clothes. The mall is miserable. Valentine's Day+All Star Game (and celebs roaming around) makes for a ridiculously chaotic north park.

Dad says this is going to become a landmark in my personal history and establish the end of my childhood. Ie "oh, that was before Grandmama died..." "Well, Grandmama was still alive then..." I believe him. It's still such a huge concept, though, that I'm having a hard time digesting it.

I think that's really the problem with all of this--even though she was really sick for three weeks (and it was literally all I thought about) I am still in absolute shock and despair. My body/mind have never had to deal with feelings and events this huge before. It's kind of terrifying. I'm a control freak. I'm a perfectionist. I NEED to be in control.

I really just need Grandmama to still be here.

All this said, I'm extremely grateful for blogging. Seriously, though. Writing is part of my way of digesting. Yeah, I'm spilling my guts out on the internet and yeah, you get a really intimate view of how I'm coping with this, but it's really helping me. When my parents were going through the divorce and I didn't talk about it, I was in big trouble. Completely lost and without control. When I started writing and talking and getting it out, I was able to rationalize and compartmentalize the events. It wasn't some giant overwhelming nebulous cloud of confusion and hurt--it was a story and it made sense. And then it was okay.

Anyway, all this to say I'm grateful for the www, the blog, and you lovely readers/friends. It is all really quite helpful.

Bandaid

2010-02-12T22:37:00.000-08:00

My favorite person died today and I am absolutely devastated. Walking into Grandmama's house without her there was unbearable--everything has Grandmama in it...the furniture, the family photos blanketing walls and shelves, the piano from the Keoun piano shop, her choice in artwork, the way the table's dressed, the note on the phone that is years old that says "We love grammy!" It was so bizarre to smell her in the house but have my dad just say "Goodnight dad." And that was it.

I really can't believe it. I think in my head there was the sick Grandmama and well Grandmama. Sick Grandmama needed all our love, prayers, and attention. She was the Grandmama we could endlessly compliment without some retort or "No, you're the beautiful one!" Sick Grandmama died, but well Grandmama didn't come back.

If I magically get cast in my dream role in my dream show this summer at the theater she and my grandfather have taken me to every year for as long as I can't remember, she won't be standing quietly smiling behind the rest of the family as I come out the stage door, prouder than anyone else. I won't get anymore random "I love you" phone calls. If I feel like I'm an awful person, I can't have the reassurance that the best person in the world unconditionally adores me.

I remind myself of this reality, it is like ripping a bandaid off. Everytime. And that cliche-d thing you hear people saying--a nightmare you don't wake up from? Also applicable here. I half expected her to walk into the room from her bathroom or the den as I sat soaking it in in her bedroom. Nope.

I'm certain I've scared the dickens out of my mother. Tonight was the first time in a really long time she has seen me cry; I could probably count the number of times I've been upset in front of her on one hand. For a theater major, I am one of the least vulnerable and heart-on-your-sleeve people you will meet. I never get emotional in front of others. I hate it.

This reality is going to take a long time to sink in. I have no idea when it will be okay--when I won't just ache. I am certainly not okay now. This is not okay.

Grandmama was absolutely supposed to be invincible. I knew she thought she'd at least make it through the summer a few weeks ago...Grandmama was always first to hear of my mischievous travel plans, and I'd tentatively planned to live in NYC for three weeks in July. When I told her this, her face dropped and she expressed how upset she was over this news. I know she knew she didn't have a terribly long time, but I really didn't think she anticipated the brevity of the remainder of her life at that point. She wanted me to stay in Dallas in July. And the second I saw that face drop, I'd immediately changed my mind and resolved not to go. Now, who knows what I'll do?

I am in dire need of some re-assessment time. Who do I want to be friends with? What are my priorities? How do I avoid depression while not halting my life and obligations/responsibilities? What do I want to focus on (theater? acting? family? writing? music? dance)?

Now is a good time to rebuild and I would like to do so healthily. I can strive to be more Katharine-esque (in the first Katharine sort of way) but I need to stay myself. Part of why she loved me is because I am so different. I need to remember that.

The most important thing I can do is talk about her to the kids--Kalli, Daniel, Jake, and Heidi--and keep her legacy alive. Everyone should be lucky enough to spend two decades with the best person on earth.

I love you Grandmama and I miss you more than anything. I am sure you will be a stellar social chairman of heaven. I am also certain you were meant to be my guardian angel and that you will do a flawless job at that. Praying to you tonight.

When the Saints Go Marching In...

2010-02-12T19:13:00.001-08:00

Grandmama passed away this evening. I'm heartbroken, but happy she's in peace where she belongs.

Love you, beautiful Grandmama.

Thanks to all who provided patience, understanding, prayers, and support. I've not been myself lately and it might be a while until I'm fully back. That said, I'm making a real effort to do so.

Goodnight all--
Katharine Dos

Clarification

2010-02-12T11:59:00.000-08:00

I do not dislike Meadows. I am glad I am going to SMU. I love my classes and I love my friends. However, I have had a rough start to the semester (for reasons largely unrelated to the world of academia), I experienced my second SMU campus hit-and-run in a year, and was frustrated with the lighting/DRS conflict. This means that I've had a rough couple of weeks and a couple of frustrations with the school. This does not make me dislike the school. (If you want some SMU-lovin, note the first group I thanked on my 2009 Christmas list here, my mini smu gratitude in TJ.com here, and an SMU-lovin rant here. Do the research before pointing fingers, mi amigos.) I don't intend to insult the school or its students, because I like and enjoy both. I just had an unfortunate couple of weeks is all.

Now, if anyone has any further questions, I would be more than happy to address them individually and in person. Otherwise, have a lovely day, my friends!

Mansfield College as my Plumfield

2010-02-10T22:17:00.000-08:00

We've already established that I have this delusional fantasy that I am--in some way--Josephine March. Anyone who knows the plot of Little Women knows the basic outline: father's off at war, mother at home, three sisters. Jo yearns for adventure and to travela and write great books. She's proposed to by her best friend, falls in love with a German professor in New York, and loses her sister. Her Aunt March is the wealthy spinster living in Plumfield. Aunt March leaves the estate to Jo; it's enormous, and would make the perfect school. That has always sounded glorious to me. I am enamored of old buildings (I broke down crying at an empty church in Nice that had built in the 1300s simply because I was so moved by its age and history) and I love learning about what has happened in them. (I had a quasi-creepy obsession with Parkland Hospital before its renovation, and I am so envious of Ronnie Claire's house--which was a 1903 church--that I can't explain it to you.) Anyway, I've obviously been spending a great deal of time at Grandmama's lately. In a way I can't really explain, it's been fun. (I feel a tangent coming on, so prepare yourselves.)

Maybe you've discerned this by now, but we have an exceptionally close family. As my mother and I were discussing tonight, losing Grandmama is really like losing a parent. It's not just the fact that she's Grandmama and she's magical and easily the best human being I've known--it's that she helped raise me and my sister, and that I've spent more time with her than some immediate family. Abby and I have spent an inordinate amount of time with her and almost viewed her as a second magical mother--one who only had the fun tasks and none of the disciplining. It's a hard thing to part from. My mother provided the discipline; Grandmama provided the conscience.

At any rate, just as Grandmama no doubt planned, this unfortunate event has spawned incessant family time. And in a weird way, it's like some awful holiday that brought us all together. There's constantly company, family, and food. And she's just daintily slumbering in her room as the festivities continue. And you almost think that nothing's wrong as everyone's sharing stories and reminscing, watching movies, and eating. (Lots of eating. Seriously. As a poor/constantly ravenously hungry college student, I'm not complaining.)

The only time we all start losing is talking about a particularly touching memory--or even moreso--when company comes by and mentions an inevitably glorious memory of Grandmama and what she's meant to them. It's incredibly touching. People who have had minimal contact with her have had stories to share. It's a remarkable testament to how many people she's touched and the legacy she has left.

At any rate, in the midst of my afternoon of family-time, Kara, Ab, and I were snuggled up on the couch (well, let's be honest...I don't snuggle. Just comfy? Whatever.) chatting away about old memories and somehow I started inquiring about Grandmama and her mother--their difference. This led to discussions of Aunt Margaret (Granny--Grandmama's mother's) sister. Abby is convinced that I am Aunt Margaret--who never married and became a teacher, had a stroke and then remained in a vegetative state for nearly 15 years. I sincerely hope this is not my fate, though I have no doubt she was a lovely lady.

Anyway, we started talking about the Calhouns and Gladwater and Mansfield and I was reminded of REALLY early memories from Mansfield. I have a remarkably cool family. The Keouns had a piano shop (I seriously need to research/ask for more stories about this) and Reimer and Hope Calhoun owned/lived in Mansfield College. I have some relatively faint memories there and I have always been fascinated by it's history. Kara reminded me that it had been a College (and there were classrooms upstairs) and was a hospital during the Civil War (seriously. coolest. thing. ever.) and then went back to being a college and then became Hope and Reimer's house. Reimer was also a Louisiana Senator. (Yeah, definitely didn't know that information as a child.)

Here's the blurb I found on the Mansfield website about it:

Mansfield Female College oldest women's college west of the Mississippi River. Mansfield Female College was founded by the Methodists here in the 1800's. Mansfield Female College operated for 80 years, but it closed in 1930, merging with Centenary College in Shreveport. The first graduating class was in 1856 under the direction of Dr. Henry Coleman Thweatt. Behind the College, still standing in tact, is the Lyceum. This was the gym and dining area downstairs and upstairs was the Auditorium with a stage. Reimer Calhoun Sr. bought the building in 1940. The two top floors were removed from the College when he purchased it as he made it into his family residence. This museum was added to the Secretary of State's Museums Program during the 2003 legislative session.

And you know the film The Great Debaters with Denzel Washington from 2007? Filmed there. How crazy is that?

Anyways this absolutely completed my fantasy of having an Aunt with this fantastic old house from the Civil War (seriously!) with all this history. I desperately want to make a pilgrimage down to see it--although it's sadly not owned by Hope anymore. Can't blame her though--awfully huge undertaking for an older woman. Still, pretty incredible. Makes me want to write a story...Historical fiction based on family history, perhaps?....Hmmmm...I like it!

A Moment of Materialism: iPad? eeePC?

2010-02-10T11:23:00.000-08:00

Turns out more people read this thing than I thought! Thanks for the texts/comments/emails (and even an office meeting) letting me know you read. I really do appreciate it.

Do any of you kids keep blogs? Let me know and I'll post a link on the side.

In the meantime, I'm contemplating purchasing either an iPad (WHY that name? I still don't understand.) or eeePC. Any opinions?

Spring Cleaning and Such

2010-02-07T22:07:00.000-08:00

Eventful weekend.

Grandmama's still sleeping. Hasn't responded since Wednesday night (Thursday morning?) Regardless, pretty sure she's said her last.

Still hurts recognizing that.

Determined tonight that I think I am in shock. Or maybe I'm just going through a phase of it. Not aching all over anymore, but just desiring to be at the house ALL the time. I cannot express the comfort of being in the house with her. Maybe I'm still hanging on. Or maybe I think it somehow offers her comfort or happiness. Or maybe I just want to grab every ounce of Grandmama magic before she's completely gone. Regardless, I have absolutely no desire to go to school tomorrow.

And on that note, SMU rant...for those that want to skip, I'll give you some brackets where the SMUangst stops...

[begin SMU rant]
I auditioned for SMU theater and decided to go there because I thought it was where my theatrical education would be best rounded out. I did not need to get a theater degree. I could have a degree in something else. I chose to get a theater degree because I thought it would be enjoyable and profitable. With that in mind, I thought SMU would provide that and have my best interest in mind. I am now questioning whether or not that is actually the case.

I auditioned for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels last week (last week? two weeks ago? Lawsy, I've lost track of time entirely...). If you know me at all, you KNOW that I was dying to be in this show. Kalita Humphries, Uptown Players, Cheryl Denson, great show, great dancing. Basically, it's guaranteed magic. Auditioned. It went well. Callback? Not so much. Callback was the night I really found out about Grandmama. No bueno. I checked out, and stopped caring halfway through the dance call. (WHAT?! You know that's not like me..especially for people I respect and a show I really want.) Regardless, it apparently worked out okay because I got cast. NO FREAKING WAY, right? Excitement abounds. Glorious excitement.

It conflicts with my lighting crew assignment. Stellar. Didn't think this was going to be an issue. So long story short, I attempt to negotiate with the run crew person ("can I switch with another student? could I get an incomplete and do it later? could I drop the course and take it next semester?). No, no, and no. Yes, we will work around student projects that are tentative and taking place in our basement. No, despite the fact that we did not cast or even call you back for a single thing in our department, you may not do a professional show. Why? Because not enough people signed up for this course and we need you to run the lighting board?

Oh? Well gosh darn. I am SO sorry to be inconveniencing you. I'm sorry for thinking we were paying an inordinate sum of money for me to experience theater--which preferably involves actually doing it. I'm sorry that even though I signed up for lighting LAST semester and you kicked me out because you had TOO MANY students, that I am now inconveniencing you because this semester you have too few. I'm sorry that my professional gig in an amazing space doesn't qualify as real theater because it is a) in Dallas and b) a musical. OH WAIT. Kitchen Dog and Dallas Theater Center are the only theaters in Dallas, aren't they. Excuse me. I'm so sorry.

[PS: the you to which I refer is a general thing--anger is definitely not directed towards one individual]

I'm going to class and I'm happily doing the work. (This said, I am in some GREAT classes. My theater history professor is an epic genius and I am loving that class this semester, and last semesters profs continue to be fantastic) I'm dropping lighting, because guess what? I'm getting this degree for me. That's what my money and time are going towards. It's not narcissistic. It's practical. C'est tout.

[end SMU rant]

Spent the day in Garland with the family. It was glorious. Accidentally slept through Bedside Baptist (the half-joking name my mother gave to the church services we've been having in Grandmama's bedroom complete with guitars and pianos and singing.) It might have done me particular good this week--I probably need to confess all my ill feelings towards SMU right now. Hymns, for some reason, are really particularly difficult for me to sing around her. It's likely because music is the most spiritual experience I can fathom and also the most personal.

Saw Mame last night at Hockaday. Lovely to see the baby Hockadaisies makin' me proud. In the meantime, I'm making an effort to really get back on track this week. Eat healthily, exercise, map out Ursula, map out Lefty scene thoroughly, get normal sleeping hours, attend all classes happily, and be kind (in general.) All good goals. All doable.

Here we go.

PS: Does anyone actually read this thing ever? I occasionally get randos saying "Oh, I was reading your blog the other day and..." Show me some love! I do really write this to get stuff outta my system, but I'd love to know if anyone really looks at this thing, so share a comment if you please!

I'm Having a Good Day

2010-02-05T14:39:00.000-08:00

It's pretty awesome.

Watched District 9 last night. Cool film, but I'm not in love with it. Very Avatar-y. Aliens, we come in and screw them over. We get it. It's an analogy. I want out of the war too. I just don't want to watch dozens of beat-you-over-the-head analagous movies about it.

Watching Hurt Locker now. Really hard to watch. But it's soooo well done.

Rehearsal tonight, then probably going to Alexandres. Good times. Spending in time in G-town tomorrow. Then seeing Mame at Hockaday. I am PUMPED!

Yep, life's okay for now.

Beth and Jo

2010-02-03T22:45:00.000-08:00

Simple, sincere people seldom speak much of their piety. It shows itself in acts rather than in words, and has more influence than homilies or protestations. Like a confiding child, she asked no questions, but left everything to God and nature, Father and Mother of us all, feeling sure that they, and they only, could teach and strengthen heart and spirit for this life and the life to come. She did not rebuke Jo with saintly speeches, only loved her better for her passionate affection, and clung more closely to the dear human love, from which our Father never means us to be weaned, but through which He draws us closer to Himself. She could not say, "I'm glad to go," for life was very sweet for her. She could only sob out, "I try to be willing," while she held fast to Jo, as the first bitter wave of this great sorrow broke over them together.

Beth lay a minute thinking, and then said in her quiet way..."I never wanted to go away, and the hard part now is the leaving you all. I'm not afraid, but it seems as if I should be homesick for you even in heaven." Jo leaned down to kiss the tranquil face, and with that silent kiss, she dedicated herself soul and body to Beth.

Here, cherished like a household saint in its shrine, sat Beth, tranquil and busy as ever, for nothing could change the sweet, unselfish nature, and even while preparing to leave life, she tried to make it happier for those who should remain behind. Beth had wanted any reward, she found it in the bright little faces always turned up to her window, with nods and smiles, and the droll little letters which came to her, full of blots and gratitude. Jo never left her for an hour since Beth had said "I feel stronger when you are here." Precious and helpful hours to Jo, for now her heart received the teaching that it needed. Lessons in patience were so sweetly taught her that she could not fail to learn them, charity for all, the lovely spirit that can forgive and truly forget unkindness, the loyalty to duty that makes the hardest easy, and the sincere faith that fears nothing, but trusts undoubtingly.

So the spring days came and went , the sky grew clearer, the earth greener, the flowers were up fairly early, and the birds came back in time to say goodbye to Beth, who, like a tired but trustful child, clung to the hands that had led her all her life, as Father and Mother guided her tenderly through the Valley of the Shadow, and gave her up to God.

When morning came, for the first time in many months the fire was out, Jo's place was empty, and the room was very still. But a bird sang blithely on a budding bough, close by, the snowdrops blossomed freshly at the window, and the spring sunshine streamed in like a benediction over the placid face upon the pillow, a face so full of painless peace that those who loved it best smiled through their tears, and thanked God that Beth was well at last.

And fit us for Heaven to live with Thee there...

2010-02-03T22:25:00.000-08:00

People often have a tendency to idolize loved ones who passed on--build them up as martyrs. Grandmama doesn't need building up. It was always apparent to me growing up that she really was a saint.

The thing that's getting me tonight is greed. Grandmama wrote a little note to Heidi, my beloved baby niece (who I love to pieces.) It is a tragedy that Heidi won't remember Grandmama. Jake and Kalli's memories will be faint and few. People always told me that about Granny--Grandmama's mother. I wish I'd known her. I am so grateful I had as much Grandmama time as I had. First born. Twenty years. Sheer luck. You know, I still want more. The really exceptional people in this world should become immortal to keep all us sinners and naughty folk in line, happy, and safe. Guardians of what is right in the world.

She's still fighting hard. Breathing hard and sleeping all the time. From what I understand, she responded to very little throughout the day--if anything. The two words (I'm probably too proud about this) we got were "Love you" prompted by my and Abby's saying farewells for the evening. I got six smiles total tonight. Couple big ones--prompted by kisses, leg rubs, and "I love you's." No joke--I'm not sure I'm prouder of anything in my life. These smiles are representative of two successes: 1. Grandmama loves me and 2. I made her happy.
I have peace knowing both these things. I know it sounds morbid, but I really have prepared for this my whole life. I am a deeply, deeply compassionate person, but I do not wear my heart on my sleeve. Maybe it's my cynical and self defensive nature, but as soon as I know I passionately care for something, I prepare myself to leave it.

Grandparents usually die first. I lost my first grandparent--Grandaddy--when I was seven and I knew then that immortality was a lie. I've soaked up every ounce of Grandmama time I could. If I randomly felt like telling her just how much I loved her, I did. If I wanted to play cards ona Friday night, I'd call her. Abby and I had an advantage the other kids didn't: we lived five minutes away. Some summer days, I'd walk over. I feel like that's a pretty rare occurrence in this day and age.

She still is Grandmama--looking beautiful, resting, making an extra effort to smile for the grandkids.

I'm not sure it's hit me that this illness is not a spell. Her fading and departure are permanent. She's not going to see another show. No more Grandmama at Christmas. No more shopping for a birthday present. No more watching old movie musicals at her house. No more hand and foot. No more eyerolling at her husband. No more perfect little chuckles. No more prayers before bed. No more awards at church. No more seeing Grandmama at Friendship House. No more magical mashed potatoes. No more cards from her. No more hugs. No more kisses. No more voicemails. No more "I love my boo." or "I love dos." I will miss her everday probably as long as I live.

Maybe it's the shock, but it still just doesn't seem permanent right now. She is going where she belongs. And she's really handled it all incredibly beautifully, intelligently, and gracefully.

I really do believe that souls are separate entities from the body, at least at a certain point. I really do believe in heaven; I have to. Even if I'm not sure where I'm going after I die, I'm glad she is certain she is--and happy to go there.

Grieving's a process. I'm sure things will constantly remind me of her for quite some time. Lots of tears. But I'm so happy that her soul will be released from an aching body and that she will be fully restored and watching over me soon. I figure she'll take very, very good care of me. And if God does exist, I imagine she will be on his highest council. Vice President of Heaven--I like it. I'd campaign for that.

I've got the ring she gave me on my 16th birthday on my right hand. I love it, and play with it in happiness and sadness.

Right now, the name of the game is to keep going. Wake up. Get out of bed. Go to school. Get what you need to done. You can do this. Or at least you can try.

So for now, I'm trying. Trying for you, Uno.

Va-cays

2010-02-03T15:50:00.000-08:00

I'm single, I'm stupid, and I'm going to travel.

Spring Break (tentative): Memphis roadtrip first weekend. Then NYC for a few days.

I'm going to London in the next year. I basically need to go either the last week in May, July, or August (but I figure it will be hot AND touristy AND expensive at that time.) Stellar.

Where in the world is...

2010-02-03T14:15:00.000-08:00

Katharine Gentsch?
So, here's what it comes down to:
Cancun, Washington DC, San Fransisco, Bahamas, Maine

Thoughts?

Oscar 2010 Wish List

2010-02-02T09:32:00.000-08:00

This probably won't happen, but here's what I want.

Best Picture: Up or Up in the Air. However, I'd be content with Precious, An Education or A Single Man
Best Perf By An Actor in a Leading Role: Colin Firth--A Single Man
Best Perf By An Actress in a Leading Role: Sandra Bullock-The Blind Side
Best Perf By An Actress in a Supporting Role: Anna Kendrick-Up in the Air. But I'd be fine with Vera.
Best Achievement in Directing: Jason Reitman-Up in the Air
Best Writing for Screen: Up. Second Choice: A Serious Man.
Best Writing based on previously Produced Material: Up in the Air. Second: Precious.
Cinematography: Avatar.
Editing: Avatar
Art Direction: Toughie. Sherlock Holmes is the underdog, but I'll say it. Then Avatar, then Imaginarium.
Costumes: Young Victoria
Makeup: Young Victoria
Original Score: Up. UP. UP. IF IT IS NOT UP I WILL HURT SOMEONE!!! Michael Giacchino, I love you. Even if this score is oddly reminiscent of your work for Ratatouille. Which is even more brilliant.
Original Song: Crazy Heart--The Weary Kind
Animated: Coraline followed by Up. Okay, maybe tied. Coraline won't win, though.

Shazaam.

Love

2010-02-02T09:22:00.000-08:00

An email from my mom this morning:
I told G’mama that Dos loved her last night, and she responded, “Back at her.” I don’t think she has responded to much since then. Susan said that earlier in the day she asked if you had been there. I think she must have been dreaming about you.

That makes me happy.

2010

2010-02-01T13:23:00.000-08:00

In an effort to de-funk-ify and be productive (this is me taking a break from homework, right now...) Here's my game plan (ideally.)

February: Bye Bye Birdie--Richland College
March: 5-7th Memphis for Laura's recital. 9-13th NYC. Shows: (Time Stands Still, Miracle Worker, Looped, Come Fly Away, Addams Family, Lend Me a Tenor)
April-May: Dirty Rotten? (I'm holding out hope until it's gone.) Complete year 1 of SMU.
June: Work at Dallas Childrens for four weeks, Bye Bye Birdie at Lyric
July: a) Joseph at Casa b) Study Abroad through SMU grant c) Montreal d) Live in NYC
August: Montreal, Start back at SMU
September: ??
October: Puppet Project at T3 with Bruce
November: ??
December: Sanders Family Christmas at the Bath House

Yep. That's my year. Sounds good.

Day to Day

2010-02-01T10:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I felt like there was so much going on in my head that I was going to explode.

Today, I feel nothing.

I remember--after Brendan died--wondering when there would be a day when he wasn't the first thing I thought about, when I could drive by HPUMC and not think about his funeral, when I could see his sister in Chinese class and not see him. This is going to be worse.

I can't find a desire to accomplish anything. That, in and of itself, is scary to me. I thrive on goals and success. I woke up this morning and just sat. And didn't think about anything. And hurt.

My normal escapes (spending time with friends, watching favorite 90s films) are only sort of working. Don't get me wrong, I am SO grateful for my friends and all they've done for me. Truett is seriously a godsend. Bayla, Kim, and Laura have all regularly called to check in on the situation, and people I barely even know have given me messages and cards. Loss is a really human thing. People get it.

That said, it's still something somewhat new to me, and I am not handling it well. My desire last week to live life normally and accomplish as much as possible is gone. Now I just want to sleep.

Sorry for the super duper angsty post. Hopefully normal Katharine will return shortly. Any advice on how to make that happen is greatly appreciated.

BTW--grandmama woke up after that last post (surprise!) she sleeps mostly now, but occasionally wakes up and smiles. Love that woman.

I Can Only Think

2010-01-28T15:29:00.000-08:00

I can only think that this weather is a result of God's pity for our loss. Grandmama told me she loved me and that I was beautiful today, waved a little wave, and smiled at me. For all practical purposes, she's now gone. She's hanging on, but has stopped speaking and responding.

It's really not registering to me.

How can it be that someone who tromped about Boston with me three years ago and came to Sanders Family Christmas last month is dying? And why does it have to be her?

I can't think of a soul on this earth who is more compassionate, giving, or affectionate. When she dies, she will really be where she belongs: in heaven, as an angel.
It terrifies and saddens me that there will soon be only one Katharine Gentsch in the world--what a lofty legacy she leaves me.

She smiled and complimented people until her very last word; I only pray I will be that gracious as I leave this earth. The world has suffered a huge loss today, and it is bearing very heavily on me. I loved my grandmama more than anyone else on this planet and I cannot fathom going through anything more painful than what I'm feeling right now.

Tonight I open Show Boat. It will be the first show/dance recital/piano recital/choir performance in my life that I have invited grandmama to and she has not attended. I am completely crushed, but so grateful and amazed that she supported me through so much. Grandmama taught me in choir, brought me to Sunday School, helped me with homework on Tuesday nights for years, babysat me, gave me candy and made me food for high school finals, invited my Jewish best friends over for Christmas and made stockings for them, prayed for people hours upon hours every day, and loved her family more than anything in the world. There is nowhere I would rather be than with her.

To understand this loss, you have to have known her. Incidentally, nearly all of my best friends for the past twenty years have. And they know. She was the epitome of unearthly kindess--the embodiment of a Julie Andrews-esque graciousness and beauty.

She really is gorgeous, but she never thought she was. Her humility is unparalleled.

I discovered a quote by Phyllis Theroux not too long ago that seems extremely fitting for my relationship with my beloved boo (my name for grandmama, along with "uno" for being the first Katharine Gentsch)--

"We should all have one person who knows how to bless us despite the evidence, Grandmother was that person to me."

Though we are vastly different people, Grandmama always loved me and made that very clear to me every instant I was around her. Her warmth was infectious. She supported all my crazy mischievous plans for excursions, all the majors I vascillated between, and many fashion and hair disasters. She always told me I was beautiful. If she thought so, no one else's opinion particularly mattered.

Christmas won't be the same without her. Birthdays won't be the same without her. When I get cast in a show, I can't immediately call and brag to her, knowing she is my biggest fan and cheerleader. I do find solace that she was happy where she was going--and that she was so happy to see her mother again in heaven. Death seems a little less scary to me now, knowing that I'll have Grandmama to greet me whenever that time comes.

I love you and miss you already, sweet Grandmama, and only hope that I can somehow make you proud. If I even have a tenth of the compassion and warmth for others that this woman had, I will consider my life a success.

-[Katharine] Dos

long days

2010-01-20T10:09:00.001-08:00

Yesterday was not so much fun. Busy and stressful. No class today (which I am immensely grateful for) and I was supposed to see August: Osage County this afternoon but I may only be able to see half because of callbacks. PS: I'm REALLY excited about that. Nervous, but excited.

Not feeling good about school this semester. I'm quite ready to get out. But you already knew that.

Coping

2010-01-18T22:37:00.000-08:00

"There are many Beths in the world, shy and quiet, sitting in corners till needed, and living for others so cheerfully that no one sees the sacrifices till the little cricket on the hearth stops chirping, and the sweet, sunshiny presence vanishes, leaving silence and shadow behind."

I can feel myself aging. It's silly sounding, but I am so painfully aware of my becoming an adult very rapidly, and it is terrifying. I've dealt with what may be deemed more adult matters at a very young age--and understood that in some regards I matured more quickly than most children. I have a very bright spirit. I am incredibly enthusiastic by nature. I will never stop being passionate, but I fee like my enthusiasm occasionally wanes. My heart feels bruised right now and it does not know how to send out the light it normally has. Small things upset me and I am having trouble becoming excited about things that usually brighten my day. I always feel like and identify with Jo March, but I especially do now. I yearn to travel and write great books. I crave adventure and drama. But I love my family more than anything and seeing one of them is pain is more than I can bear.

I don't know how to cope or find comfort, except in the solace of family and friends. I have a lot of friends, but I need the ones I've adopted as family particularly right now. I don't know how to make this okay.

2010-01-18T17:29:00.003-08:00

People are always saying that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all... has happened. My store is closing this week. I own a store, did I ever tell you that? It's a lovely store, and in a week it'll be something really depressing, like a Baby Gap. Soon, it'll be just a memory. In fact, someone, some foolish person, will probably think it's a tribute to this city, the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. I know because that's the sort of thing I'm always saying. But the truth is... I'm heartbroken. I feel as if a part of me has died, and my mother has died all over again, and no one can ever make it right.

2010-01-17T23:25:00.001-08:00

I have always known this was going to be hardest thing I ever had to go through in my life. My absolute favorite part of this world which I love more than anything or anyone is slowly being taken away from me, and I feel like a part of my soul's life is being sucked away and part of my spirit and light is dying. If I don't seem myself over the next few months, this is why. I am a deeply private person, but know that I'm going through a hard time and I could use a couple of shoulders to lean on. Love you all.