Nose

Everybody's fighting off the Gunk right now.

I'm continually surprised by how much my nose can hold.

Willlllbuuur...

It took a couple of phone conversations last night for something to really hit me.


"Fork, I've got news for you. This show ain't goin' to Broadway. But it still has the potential to be really fun!


Holy cats. That's it. That's what I've been trying to say this past week. The creative team--the composer, author, director...EVERYBODY--has been busy to the point of real neglect attending meetings, joining in conference calls, scheduling press interviews and last-minute podcasts, hyping up the show and talking to "important people", trying to stir up their interest.

Hellooooo. We ran the show on Saturday. I wonder if anyone watching noticed that we've only staged one and a half scenes and the blonde sounds reeeeal iffy on her ukulele.

It's because they're all so focused on trying to insure the show will have a life beyond this production (that is, a real Off-Broadway life), that it feels as though they've forgotten about making the show they're trying to sell--OUR little show--as good as it can be.

Perhaps they're not worried about it because of what the composer managed to pull off. While the Four-Stringed Guitar Bandits sound tinny and stiff, there's some incredible musical talent about to join the crew. Woody Allen's percussionist and Louis Armstrong's clarinet/sax player, to be precise. We rehearse with them today.

The folks in charge take great pleasure in hyping these guys up as "some of the greatest jazz musicians in the world". And while a quick youtube search of our clarinetist proves them to be quite right (I mean...GEEZE!), when THEY say it, it makes me annoyed.

Mainly because, hey. What about us? We're the headliners and we haven't gotten any musical assistance from anyone. So we're going to go up in front of this WORLD CLASS band and make a lot of racket. We'll be lucky if an audience member doesn't throw a shoe at us and say, "Shaddap, would youse? I wanna hear dat saxophone wailin'!"

But today I'm not going to worry about that. No, on the contrary, I'm going to have a GREAT time playing with these guys. It should be very exciting. It feels a little bit like Christmas. Or first dress rehearsal when everyone gets their costumes.

Here goes nothing. See you on the other side...

What's Happening

Not much to report on the show. It was a very long week of fine-tuning the script, practicing songs, and realizing we shouldn't expect any ukulele assistance from anybody.

This is probably the most surprising thing we've encountered thus far. Well, no. I take that back. The cast-juggling was the most surprising thing. But underneath all the changes and tweaks, there's been the still-unanswered question of who's going to teach the new girl how to play the ukulele?

No one, from the looks of things.

And yesterday they threw ukulography at us. We play and dance at the same time. And it's DIFFICULT.

It's difficult because these songs are so bloomin' complicated. Instead of giving us simplified chords to play (say, a repeating four-chord pattern), we were given the piano music. So every chord the piano plays are the same chords WE must play.

If the rumors are to be believed, a lot of really big-shot people are coming to see this show. It has the potential to really take off and have life outside of the little off-off Broadway theatre we're performing in.

And even though it may have cost me Broadway Brownie points, I HAD to inform the show's creator and our SUPPOSED ukulele instructor...

Me: Four-stringed Guitar Bill, this...this is very difficult. I just want you to be aware of this. That this song is very complex as it is, and for us to do these 180 jump turns, ball changes, etc.,...it's going to be...QUITE a challenge.

FSGB: Well then it will be all the more of a triumph when you're finally able to do it, won't it? Now what we really need is less of this negative attitude and more positive.

Normally I'd look at that comment and think, "Huh. Tear me down to build me up. Interesting approach."

But the thing is, I wasn't being negative. When you look at New Girl as she twangs dizzily on her uke, strumming with her whole arm and looking a little confused, you can't help but think, "Oh my. Someone needs to teach her some basics."

But no one is. I would, but I'm afraid I don't know enough about playing the instrument to offer advice.

And also, this blonde is a little...well...we're not clicking if you know what I mean.

Stress-level should reach a fever pitch this week, as our March 7th first preview is RAPIDLY approaching.

Happy Valentine's Day

Owkulele

My ukulele...



feels like I'm strumming this...



When compared to the show ukulele...



which feels like I'm strumming this.



My thumb hurts.

Captain Uke

The sea is getting stormy.

As the creative team's focus has shifted from the plight of the poor performers to the much grander idea of putting on a "really big spectactular big show big", those of us who have to get on the stage in two and a half weeks and fool the entire ukulele population of New York into thinking we're pros are left tugging on the collective pant leg of the folks in charge, trying to get their attention.

Yeah. We gave up on that pretty quickly.

I'm now what may be the world's first ever self-appointed Ukulele Captain (it's like a dance captain), much to the displeasure of our piano accompanist who really wanted the job but she had trouble plunking the piano strings fast enough. (SRSLY--allow me to ROOOOOOLL my eyes at her for a moment)

The duties of a Uke Captain are as follows: Take this situation by the huevos and make sure we don't embarrass ourselves on opening night.

It was necessary to become uke captain. The guys in charge have been completely unconcerned with this particular element of the show which I find baffling. Our music is VERY advanced, must all be played from memory, and, what's more, comma, the two girls have no previous experience playing the ukulele (and one of them has no experience with stringed instruments at ALL!).

They ARE, however, really excited about the band we're going to have. According to herr direktor, if it all works out, we may have one of the hottest jazz combos ever to grace the Off Broadway stage.

Uhh...that's....great....umm...oh. Hello. Yeah, it's just us. Umm, about this music that WE have to play? Umm...it's really...hard.

But don't worry, 42nd Floorers. They didn't rush out and hire someone to teach us these songs or instruct the girls on how to strum and swing and plunk or to tell me to watch out for the buzzing because I'm not fretting properly.

No, we're learning the old fashioned way developed by this great man.



You might not think it would be useful seeing as how we're playing completely different instruments and this guy is blind. But it's okay. The principles are exactly the same.

And now, the submarine is about to go under and I've got this funny feeling the first mate forgot to close the hatch.

Changes - Part Two

A dark cloud has passed over the usually sunny skies of Ukulele Land.

Just when we thought everything was peaches and cream, we got another change. I'm not sure what to make of this one.

Monday feels so far away, and yet I really wish it could be here now.

Paranoia is setting in.

Why the crap do I keep auditioning for musicals?

Forkulele Friday

Forkulele Friday is back with a vengance.

Today we have not one, but TWO new songs on the Forkulele page.

Both of them are pretty rough, but I still love them. Like my own children.

And yes, that IS "Doo-wakka-doo-wakka-doo" you're hearing in the second song.

The second ditty began as a singing exercise for the ukulele musical. It was an attempt to make practicing my harmonies a little easier and learning to ease up a bit in the singing of my solos--they were technically fine but needed to be a relaxed.

EN-y-WayZ, I couldn't resist making a full recording of it. I don't actually sing this song in the show--just play and sing some harmony oohs and aahs.

But I love it. I usually have a problem singing songs about ukuleles because they smack of weirdo 50 year old hippies who couldn't think of anything else to write about. But...there's just something about the tune. There's something about it.

Oh. And check THIS out. Doesn't it look wonderfully absurd??

And--now this is exciting--unless there was some confusion somewhere in getting the information out, they've slashed an "Off" off of off-off.

In other words, this little musical may actually be OFF-Broadway.

I'm so excited I'm posting a picture of a cute kid to the top of this post. Scroll back up and look at it. Feel that smile that's curling up on the side of your mouth? Yeah.

Hellz yeah.

Happy Friday!

Changes

Things are changing.

It's making my head spin.

First and foremost, we've got a director.

Second, we also have a choreographer.

Third, we have a great got a stage manager who is making contact sheets and rehearsal calendars for everybody.

Third 2.0, we have a musical director.

Fourth, as per the director's request, the show's script is being "streamlined"/rewritten.

Fifth, the show's title may or may not be completely different as of tomorrow. Don't worry--the word "Ukulele" is still in. As are lots of exclaimation marks. I mean, duh. It's a musical.

So many changes, I almost can't believe it.

The music is still great. Really great. I mean, gee whiz. I can't get some of these songs out of my head. They're really fun! My thumb is a mere nub from all the strumming I've done learning these songs this past week.

Now if I can just lose nine more I'll be able to get a part time job running auditions.

Charlatan

This woman is a FRAUD.



I can't tell you how much I dislike this woman's vocals. I've never liked her. EVER. And I bought two of her CDs just to MAKE SURE I was giving her a chance.

Apparently she's all the rage in superficial places like Los Angeles. Which makes sense because she's a total phony.

She's a fake, people!

I mean, the band is great. They get your toes tapping and mouth smilin'. So why do they have this second-rate vocalist aping Clara Bow? BADLY?

Lack of engaging vocal expressiveness? Check.

No pouty lips? Check.

Complete absence of that "Jeepers! I didn' do it, honest!" cupie doll innocence? Check.

Her vocal stylings are wrong, wrong, wrong. They do NOT whisk you back to the Teens and Roaring Twenties as review after glorious review states. No, this is the voice of your average musical theatre girl with a bob who happened to get really, really lucky.

As a connoisseur of vintage recordings and the tunes of Tin Pan Alley, I beseech you, do not settle for imitations! And if you MUST settle for musical chicanery, you can do SO MUCH BETTER than HER!

OOOH! She makes me HOPPING MAD!

Little Debbie

Remember how/you may not know that "Singin' in the Rain" was Debbie Reynolds' first really big movie? Remember the stories of how she practiced the dance routines so much her feet bled?

I'm afraid that may be what's happening to me. Only it's my hands. Because of the ukulele.

I'm halfway afraid my hands are going to end up like the monitor for the recent Shakespeare audition I went to.

They had rented out the space and would be there promptly at 6:30. Naturally, I was a tad early. There was a homeless man waiting at the door.

A few minutes later, the director came up and opened the door to let us all in. The homeless man came in with us.

He struck up conversations with the female actors, talking about his virile father who begat seventeen children.

It took me a little while--but only a very little while--to realize the homeless man, with his grizzled beard, toothless grin, knit hat, and tattered coat, was running the audition.

But there's something else our friend had. Or, rather, DIDN'T have.

Fingers.

I know what you're thinking.

"But Fork, you only have nine toenails. You should get along with this guy just fine!"

I asked him if he had the sides for the scene we were going to be reading as I had forgotten to print them out and bring them with me. He said he'd check. He never did. Instead, he focused his attention on forcing everyone who left to shake hands with him.

At one point, he used his knubs to open a little snack pack of Little Debbie chocolate rolls.

My turn came. I went in, got the sides from the director, and read. I gave a good reading, but decided that this was probably not going to be the theatre company for me.

The director asked me to leave a headshot/res and to write down any conflicts I may have and leave them with the audition monitor.

I told the homeless fellow what the director told me. He kicked his dirty bag at me.

"Dere's some paper and pens in dere."

The paper was stained and crinkled. The pens were those cheapo markers you get from WalMart.

I decided it would be easier just to send an email.

"You're leavin'?"

"Yep," I said. "He's all done with me."

"It was a real pleasure to meet you. A REAL PLEASURE."

Handshake.



It was weird.

Do you ever...?

Do you ever sit down with a cup of coffee some Friday morning and try to remember what the carp you did this past week?

I try to do it and I get the feeling you get when you bite into a marshmallow puff. Not the soft ones--the ones that have been cooked so they're hard on the outside and crumble into sugary nothingness.

I think I have cobwebs in my brain.

Do you ever feel that way?

I mean, this week was totally eventful. First play practice was this week. So were half a dozen auditions. Every one of which went awry somehow. Did I tell you about the train ride to New Jersey, only to audition for a couple of totally unenthusiastic girls who just looked at me without saying a single word?

I'm halfway through the new script. That's exciting.

So there. I remember some stuff from this week. Oh yeah--Osama got elected, right? There was that.

Okay. I have to get to rehearsal.

Oh yeah!! That's a whole 'nuther post. Whoooo doggies. Let me tell YOU!

P.S. Forkulele Friday may still make its Friday deadline, but maybe not till later this evening. I know you're all dying to know what I've cooked up this week...

First Play Practice

First play practice is today. Oh, man, am I curious about how it's gonna go.

But first, I'm waiting to be seen for another Shakespeare Festival audition. Come on. Quit my day job? Please. I've got a career to get back on track. I'll get there when I get there.

Then immediately after first rehearsal is "temp work" till 9:30. Holy cats, it's gonna be a long day.

***

It wasn't meant to be.

The audition for what may as well have been the French Riviera Shakespeare Festival. I mean, seriously. What WAS I thinking?

Got in line at 7:30. Fifth person. Then someone starts passing down this list. "Non equity?" the guy asks.

"EMC," I say.

"Oh. Well here you go."

Confused, I signed up on the list. I mean, these guys seemed to know what they were doing. And now they're all leaving and coming back at 9.

When in Rome!

Long story very, very short, never, NEVER--I really mean it--N-E-V-E-R get out of line.

I could almost cry about this one. You have no idea how difficult it is just to get in the door here. Oh well. Live and learn, I guess.

So no audition today. Let's hop on the train and see how play practice goes.

***

Okay, the music is really pretty good. Some catchy tunes.

That said...

There is zero organization. There is no stage manager. There is no rehearsal calendar. There is no plan to get us all playing these instruments like ukulele fiends. Today's read-through was the first time our director heard/read/did anything with the script.

There are storm clouds on the horizon. I can hear a rumble of thunder in the distance.

But the music IS GOOD.

The cast, however...

The guy playing "the Mysterious Stranger" comes off as one of the more arrogant people I've worked with yet. He's a real musician and quite a bit older than the rest of us so he took great pleasure in showing off all his vast knowledge.

At first I thought, "What a prick!" Then you stop and think, "He's a prick about the *ukulele*." There's something about that that makes it funny.

Then there's Brassy Sassy. Brassy Sassy is 22 and lives in Queens or something and pays, like, $2 a month for her apartment.

I know this because Brassy Sassy is also a nosy little thing who wanted to know where everybody lives. When I told her "the Kitch" (as I call it), her eyes bugged out rudely and she said, "Oh my gawd! Are you RICH??" I said no.

"Well yuh must be!! You live THERE! I mean, GAWD! I live in a huge apartment and only pay ten bucks a month!"

She looked at me with this skwunched up face for the next five minutes.

I've found a lot of people who don't live in Midtown do that. It's this prejudice. And to those people, I'd like to gently say, "Shut up, please." It's hard enough livin here without having people tell you what an idiot you are for living three blocks from Times Square.

***

But the music IS GOOD. I wonder how we're gonna pull this off...oh Lord.

Okay. It's almost time for "temp work". Holy cats. What a day.

Mediocre Wednesday

Despite the somewhat misleading title of today's post, I don't have that much interest in the political situation right now. I know. It looks like, with a title like that, I'm about to go off on who won Super Tuesday.

But I'm not.

The only thing I care about? I honestly can't get past the idea of saying the name "President Obama".

Or "Mrs. President".

Call me old fashioned. But I mean, come on. Weren't we *attacked* by a guy named Obama? And now we're *voting* for him? He's for change? For all we know he's for changing Manhattan into a nuclear wasteland! Come on people!!

But bravo for Bill figuring out how he can sneak in another four more years. Way to go, Slick Willy!

Now if only these Hollywood people like Orpah (if that IS her real name) would shut their cans. This is politics, people, not American Idol.

So yeah. Politics? Can't say I care much. Who won the thing last night? Anybody know? Is Osama our new president?

A Conversation

The following is the conversation I must assume took place between the writers of this show I'm in. First rehearsal is tomorrow.



Four Stringed Guitar Bill: Hey guys! I just finished an original musical featuring--get this!--my favorite instrument! The miniature four stringed guitar.

Francis: That's great Four Stringed Guitar Bill. Now what?

FSGBill: What else? Let's put on a show!

Francis: But we're musicians. We've never put on a show before. We don't know the first thing about it.

FSGBill: Don't let that worry you. I've done some research!

Francis: (to Brancis) He's done some research.

FSGBill: You see, when people put on plays, they have play practice every day.

Francis: Well of course. How else would they learn all those lines?

FSGBill: I know. There are so many in every play. So many lines to learn.

Francis: I don't know how they do it. I can't remember my grocery list, let alone a whole PLAY.

Brancis: Okay. Then let's cast it and have some play practices.

Francis: Wait--Four Stringed Guitar Bill, what time are we going to have play practice? Should we make a play practice schedule?

FSGBill: I don't think so. That would take a lot of time.

Brancis: It would.

FSGBill: Well, when they do plays in New York City, they practice them--you're not going to believe this--they practice them during the DAY!

Francis: During--

Brancis: --the DAY?

FSGBill: Yes! The day! I did an internet search. Most Broadway shows practice from 10:30-4:30 every single day!

Francis: Incredible.

Brancis: Well, we're not Broadway, Four Stringed Guitar Bill.

FSGBill: That doesn't matter. We want our show to be the most professional show possible, right?

Francis: Right.

FSGBill: So play practice during the day it is!

Brancis: Wow! But what if the actors we cast have day jobs? We don't have much to pay them...

FSGBill: That's okay. If they're really seasoned New York actors they should be used to quitting their day jobs and making time for play practice.

Francis: You have a point there. Wow. Play practice in the middle of the DAY! Incredible! Buuuut...if that's how they do it.

FSGBill: It is. And get this...I just got off the phone with the director of our play. He says he wants to do a play reading. On the FIRST DAY OF REHEARSAL!

Francis: Are you kidding?

FSGBill: I know!

Brancis: But what if one of the actors can't make it? Say, the young man playing one of the leads? Suppose he's...I dunno...LATE. He can't quite make it at 10:30.

FSGBill: Well then, we'll just have to call around and find another actor to come in and read his lines for him.

Francis: Yes! That makes the most sense.

FSGBill: The most sense.

Brancis: Who will assist the director though? Shouldn't someone be there to make up schedules and contact sheets and keep everyone informed? Maybe that person could also read that part in this play reading.

FSGBill: I don't think that's how they do it. Not in New York anyway.


I don't make stuff up, y'all.

Smash

I'm turning items back on in Super Smash Bros.

Hard-core Smash addicts turn items off, saying the true test of Smash supremacy comes from playing without the addition of the random items which add a whole new element to the gameplay. Think of them as the flying spiked koopa shell from Mario Kart. They can spell sudden ruin or victory, all depending on if you managed to get to them first.

Thing is, I can't be hard core anymore.

See, this morning I woke up and took stock.

Most mornings I climb out of bed and head straight for the gym. Lots of time, money, energy, and whey protein powder has been consumed in this gosh-dangit frustrating and seemingly unending quest to find the true path to this "Muscle Beach" that everyone else at my gym seems to have had no trouble finding. I MUST find it. I MUST be able to compete with these meatheads. I'm smart. I should be able to figure out how much effort it takes to build a mere five more pounds of muscle.

But I can't seem to get there. So onward I must go. Eye on the prize. Hard core.

Lately, I also do a lot of "temp work". Talking about other "temps" with my artist employer makes me think, "Holy crap. I'm not doing enough with this. I could totally do this full time if I wanted."

But then I think--I'd really need to find someplace to tan. I costing these artists a fortune in Alabaster White.

And I'd need to find this beach everyone keeps talking about...this beach where everyone has lots of muscles. Just five pounds more.

It's elusive. But it's THERE. I can SEE it. So onward I go. Always searching. Hard core.

I practice the ukulele. I got new headshots. I travel the City auditioning for stuff. I'm in the middle of my second stage combat certification with tap dancing lessons to follow. My cousin wants to hire me for a high profile, once in a lifetime position with the film commission of South Cackalackee. I'm in the middle of a creative writing spurt where the ideas are flowing at a quick and exciting pace--the new play should be finished within the next week or two.

But I'm not GREAT at the ukulele--I still don't know the names of most of the chords. The headshots are fine, but geeze they were expensive. Auditions lately are unnervingly hit-or-miss. I'm not "getting" the moves in this stage combat class quite as quickly as the last one which makes me nervous for the test and I've put off these tap lessons for I can't remember how long. I don't know how I can refuse this job offer, but I don't know how I can accept it either. The writing is going well but what if what I finish and the play is a big, lame, jumbled mess?

It all feels just out of reach. Like I'm ALMOST there...but I'm not there yet. So you tell yourself, "You're being lazy. Clean your room. It's filthy" and push yourself a little bit harder.

Hard core.

So yeah. I'm not going to force myself to be hard core at Smash Bros. anymore.

Items are back on.

Get this

If you don't live in New York or if you didn't make the trip up here while this movie was in theatres, you probably have not seen this.


But now that it's out on DVD, you really can't afford not to. Especially since, for some reason, it's an expensive DVD (probably due to its "arthouse" label) and since it's new, it's probably on sale!

I know. It's a documentary about a video game.

But here's the thing: if you have even a passing interest in video games--like, if you can say "yes" when asked, "Have you ever played Ms. Pac Man or Q*Bert in an arcade?" then you WILL LOVE this movie. It's fascinating. It's hilarious. The story and characters couldn't be any more incredible if they had been made up.

But they're not. THEY'RE REAL. Sure, you're manipulated a little so you have no choice but to root for the underdog. But I sort of feel like that's okay. Considering the wacky characters and egos invloved, they probably didn't have to do THAT much manipulating.

Odds are, if you're a girl reading this post, you're going to say, "Thanks, but no thanks."

*sigh* No one ever listens to me.

The End of the World

Seriously, what the crap?

We're supposed to hit 51 degrees today (it's February! In NEW YORK!). Now don't get me wrong. I really do like not having to pile on layers of clothing so's to make walking around the City a little more snuggly and a little less are-you-kidding-me cold, but dude. This is ridonkulous.

It feels like the end of the world.

But that's not all!

How is it I've finished three games in the span of one week? That's unheard of. You see, these days I have little time for games. I typically have even less interest in finishing them. But there you are! Just finished a stack of them. Games I'd been playing for months! And "FOOF" they're done. All at the same time.

Is the universe trying to tell me something? Is something big and final about to occur?

Forkulele Friday

It's here! Forkulele Friday! And in honor of the fact that it's February 1st and pouring rain instead of snowing, I think this new song is terribly appropriate.

Give a listen! Happy Friday and don't get wet!