In Other News...

So I decided to take the parking garage elevator today. Normally I use the stairs and shoot cute little "my body loves me" grins at the elevator users as I descend, but for some reason I've got shin splints and they were bothering me this morning. That and somehow, despite leaving early and hitting no traffic, I was running late.

Maybe it was because of all the singing I was doing in my car. You see, I sang for the Jews last night (there's a play title in there somewhere-- "Now in previews, the critically acclaimed I Sang for the Jews! Get your tickets now!"). I went to my first rehearsal for the Everycity Jewish Community Center's production of Fiddler on the Roof. It's going to be...quite an experience.

Forget the fact that there's no stage manager.

Forget the fact that we barely have enough people to play the townspeople of Anatevka, to say nothing of the mob of Russians who pop up several times over the course of the play (everyone ALWAYS forgets about the Russians--even when I did the show the first time, the director had to recruit junior high boys to portray the threatening, snarling mob of Jew-hating Ruskies--they were just adorable).

And forget the fact that our Tevye, as genuinely good as he seems to be, is doing the most amazing mimic of Zero Mostel. Those kinds of performances never sit well with me. I remember living in Alaska. We were doing The Music Man and the guy playing Harold Hill was a Robert Preston-aping Mormon (is there any other kind?). He copied everything--right down to ol' Robbie P's peculiar doubled-over march down the steps of town hall. Everyone raved over him while I thought to myself, "He's a parrot."

No, the most amazing thing about this production of Fiddler is that--wonder of wonders and miracle of miracles--last night when I sang for the Jews (buy your tickets now!) I sounded GREAT! The girl playing Hodel freaked out (in a bad way) and said, "I didn't know they were getting a professional to do your part!" So while the latter part of rehearsal was spent fanning poor Hodel and convincing her that she would, in fact, be just wonderful in her role, I smiled a little on the inside and felt a tiny bit of my previously shattered confidence return.

...Until this morning...when I woke up and decided that they were all lying about my singing. After all, they were lying the first time when I did the show at Smalltown Americanabury. Why shouldn't they be lying now? It was a ruse! A ruse to get me to stay in the show after they'd already lost so many other people (Russians not included--we don't have any to lose).

So at 8:57 I quit singing, got out of my car, and hurried into the elevator (honestly, I kind of liked not having to walk down ten stories). A woman was talking to a friend about her ex-husband who had been in an accident and has amnesia.

"Yeah--and yuh wanna know the best part? He thinks we're still married! Haw! Haw! Haw! He looked up at me and asked how I was and how our house is an' I told him, 'We got divorced' and he asked me, 'Well...where do I live?' Ain't that jus' a kicker? Haw! Haw! Haw!"

I wanted to turn and say, "Wow. He must've been a real idiot to marry a heartless little harpy like you! For better or worse, sickness and in health...I guess those words didn't really mean anything, did they MR. SCHAIVO!"

Okay, that's not quite what I thought. I mean, I realize I don't know the circumstances of their divorce but come on. I'm still recovering from Singles Awareness Day and to hear people flippantly talk about their divorces just makes me want to puke all over their heads.

"Curse you and the entire free-love generation, I say!"

That's what I should have said.

In other news, the cartoon riots are still raging.