So does this mean your going to miss the PH session? Yeah, I thought so. Thank goodness it comes in print form at a later date.

I wish you had let us know sooner, however, I cannot make it to slc in two days! Heck had I known you’d be kissing a comely 21 year old, I’d have booked a bird, no a plane!

Superb, TP Superb!

I’ve been listening to the “Superman” soundtrack and I’m addicted. Especially the above-mentioned “You’ve Got Possibilities.” The music sounds to me like the strange love-child of “The Pajama Game,” “Bye, Bye Birdie” and “Pippin.” (Strange, indeed.) I’m pretty sure that “The Pajama Game” is the mother; but both “Birdie” and “Pippin” were anonymous donors at the MTSB (Musical Theatre Sperm Bank), so we’ll probably never know who the real father is.

My tickets are for tomorrow. I’ll have to wait decide just how loudly to sing grettir’s praises until after I see the actual performance. And I will describe, in detail, the “etc.”

(chronicler: One year our Dad didn’t show up for PH session. He turned up a couple of hours later, claiming that he’d been locked in a used book store. Right. Like THAT ever really happens.

Well, turns out he HAD, literally, been locked in a used book store for hours. He’d been browsing away in the nether reaches of the store when the lights went out, the door closed, and that was that! He let out a timid, “Hello?” or two before he realized that the scatterbrained owner had been in such a hurry to get a good seat that he’d failed to check the aisles before he bolted (both literally and figuratively). Poor Dad had to call the police (using the store’s front-desk phone) to come and resue him. They mentioned casually that this had happened before (?!) and called the owner, who very nonchalantly arrived, opened the door with nary a word of apology to my father, and left again before he missed anything good.)

. . . and everyone throws popcorn at her because she won’t quit singing once the film comes back on. My favorite M*A*S*H episode ever.

Yes, I saw the play tonight. Yes, it was fabuloso. Yes, I would write a stellar review if I weren’t so tired.

Standouts for me included grettir (goes without saying, really, but who knew he could dance! Lois definitely picked the wrong guy); Professor Sedgewick’s Heatmiser coiffure (which in each scene morfed into a different meringue-like shape; I could picture all of the chorus girls sitting around backstage with rat-tail combs and cans of Aquanet, attacking him each time he exited stage left); “It’s Super Nice” (Grettir’s dance moves on full display); “Meanwhile” (which mysteriously is not on my CD); and Max Menken’s moves in “The Man Who Has Everything” (I haven’t seen such good bad dance moves since Parker Posey in Waiting for Guffman.

Ah, community theatah at its finest.

Just a warning for those who plan on attending: Don’t blink or you’ll miss the “etc.” Although, I wouldn’t put it past grettir to add a little more “etc.” on closing night.

I’ll assume that you’re referring to “My Fair Lady,” where Chris’s hair looked like a cape buffalo’s horns.

If so, don’t worry about the quality of your dancing. I can personally promise that, with a partner whose hair was such a coiffure-engineering wonder, you could have been dancing in your drawers and no one would have noticed.

I should TRY dancing in my drawers, as you so sweetly put it. I’ve only danced FULL-ON topless (momentarily – Into the Woods, first act closing, FRONT to the wall and BACK to the audience – proof of divine intervention – though I’LL never forget that sensation – now THAT was my best “costume malfunction” EVER).

I was actually talking about Meet Me in St. Louis. I don’t remember the name of Chris’s character, just that his hair was parted down the middle and plastered about with decorative curly-cues and such, and that I made him look good when we danced at the “ball.” That’s not to say that I was NOT demeaning my dancing in ALL situations

In My Fair Lady I was so THRILLED to be picked to dance with the small, “select” group in the “Get Me to the Church on Time” production number (in retrospect I realize that it probably had very little to do with my “audition” or my abilities and a lot more to do with the fact that I was playing “Harriet” (it’s Harry in the script – it was the 1990′s so we were cool and gender-bendered it) and Grettir was…Doolittle’s other best friend (can’t remember the name – I’m not at all self-involved – I played Lord and Lady Boxington all rolled up into one, too – that sounds downright hermaphroditic – it was LADY Boxington with all the lines).

I do remember that as soon as Pat D. started choreographing with the small, “select” group he started going twice as fast and throwing fancy-dancy jargon in every other phrase. Then he asks everyone to do a left-handed cartwheel. All the little dancer twigs started complaining about it being LEFT-handed (“Can’t it be RIGHT-handed? I can do a double twist purple-nurple round-off RIGHT-handed!”).

I had to point out that I had, never ever in my life, managed to to a cartwheel on ANY hand successfully (I didn’t add that I’d endeavored to DO cartwheels as a child and always somehow landed flat on my back – stunned). He simply said, “You’ll learn.” I figured I’d just have to break my neck the first time I ever attempted it on that concrete stage and all my troubles would be over. I was twenty-two or three, I believe.

As I am still living, so all y’all might remember or I’ll tell you anyway that I had lots of nice coaches who taught me (on the GRASS first) and all throughout the run of the show (even the night it poured rain, they didn’t call it, and we danced that number at a quarter of it’s usual tempo and no I didn’t fall down I only really biff it ONSTAGE when I’m singing a solo or there’s some other reason that all eyes are on me). There were two or THREE left-handed cartwheels in the number by the time it was finished, and I managed to hurl my body over in some vague cartwheel-like fashion for every performance. I don’t think Pat felt like he could criticize my “cartwheel,” because I was taking my life in my hands – literally – every time I did it, and it was no doubt painfully obvious.

Oh. I remember that you and I (Jenny) and Macy had a little bit by ourselves to dance in Meet me in Saint Louis (again – it was the part I was playing, not my mad “skeelz”) and I thought I was just fine and keeping up with you. When I saw the video, however, I knew the truth (after the run, luckily); I looked like a huge dork – like I was clogging as a member of the ballet corps – and you two were lovely, light and charming.

I have to remember, though, that it was the one and only time I’ve played someone YOUNGER than my actual age (and was cast as young as seventh grade as an OLD LADY). Of course she was the huge snot that everyone was supposed to dislike. And I had to have that cemented Gibson Girl coiffure so that I could dance with it (and be a big, clogging SNOT) and everyone else wore their hair down with festive bows thereon.

Sorry – on and on again – but the parade of hairdo’s and wigs that I’m remembering now is just TOO MUCH. I think we ALL win, though, I was the Evil Stepmother (I managed to incorporate a toilet paper tube into that coif), when Jenny and Ames were my evil daughters with the HAIR!!! I think your the little “wiglet,” Ames, in THAT show, has taken on a life of its own and lives to this day in a forest glen where it feeds on dead leaves, grasses and very small insects.

Jenny that is a funny story. I can almost imagine the bookstore! I’ve been in a few in Utah that would have easily allowed someone to live in them unnnoticed for years!

That wiglet actually lives in my parents’ costume box, so every once in a while, I pull it out, pet it, and feed it Cheerios and lettuce.

You, Kate, are traumatized by having to dance in various productions, while I am traumatized by RARELY getting to dance.

I was cast as the nondancing townsperson in so many Orem Community productions of Carousel, I can hardly count. I was the hale and hearty, statuesque New England mill girl who, after the clambake, was too billious and bloated to be twirled and lifted about. Although I’m pretty sure at some point during the clambake shenanigans Kurt E. had to catch me in his arms. The man is probably still suffering from major strangulated hernias. I was always dying to be a dancer, but had to settle for “reacting” to those dancing about me. All of us nondancers had to form natural-looking groupings (being mindful of LEVELS), smile, point, mouth nonsense phrases to each other (“My, what a festive time!” “Were those dill or sweet pickles in the potater salad?!!” “I’m really starting to feel those clams!”), and ooh and aaah over those cute, little, petite dancers’ sashays and high kicks. When I really wanted to high kick them across the stage.

I do remember, however, dancing to “Shipoopi” with Grettir on a 45-degree slope at the Shell, which proved to be a bit of a challenge. I’m sure I inflicted G. with several black toenails. (We happened to be cast as Mr. and Mrs. Squires in that particular production of Music Man, which was creepy but great fun.) And I recall playing a nurse in South Pacific at the Shell and having to dance to “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair” in short shorts and character shoes, on a grassy, usually very damp, 90-degree slope. That could not have been a pretty sight. Jiggling cellulite in high heels rarely is. Luckily no footage survives. And if any does, I will track it down and burn it.

So Jake: why didn’t it succeed? I’m stumped. I saw it on Saturday night and hooted (literally, I’m afraid) my way through the whole thing.

Grettir had warned us that we would love the costumes and hair and choreography, so I came in semi-prepared. But the Professor’s meringue ‘do’s and some of the wigs and dance moves left me hollering much-too-loud “HA!”s at completely inappropriate moments. I kept thinking to myself: “Man, I would HATE to be the person sitting in front of me right now.”

The show was fun, Fun, FUN for everyone! It is a VERY “Thoroughly Modern Millie” [movie, not stage production] piece. But I must retract my former claims about Pippin as a possible parent and replace it with…oh…I dunno, maybe “How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying” or something equally blatantly silly.

THE KISS: Good, solid work. Not quite as passionate and unexpected as the one in “A Room With A View,” but with a certain piquant, genuine playful tenderness that left me thinking, “My— that looked as though it must have been very nice indeed!” Most stage kisses seem to me to be either trying too hard or made of cardboard, and either way just as tasty and passionate as said brown paper product.

THE ETC.: Grettir smiled impishly, placed a gentle hand on the side of Lois’s face and went to work with modest enthusiasm and coy playfulness. Expertly executed, and yet posessing a certain charming “joie de vivre” that held none of the jaded cosmopolitan qualities one would expect from the lab assistant of a mad scientist. (My mother was mortified that I would have scrutinized this kiss so piercingly; but I’d promised to describe—in detail—the etc., and darned if I didn’t.)

(P.S.: I braid that scary little wiglet and throw it at unsuspecting family members occasionally. Always gets a good “Yipes!”, and almost always a sizeable jump and rocketing adrenaline levels. Large seven-legged flying hairpieces tend to bring out the “fight or flight” in everyone.)

I enjoyed my virignal “Superman the Musical” viewing experience to the utmost. I will even openly admit to actual chortling during the performance. The kiss, well, lovely; the ETC., well, enough that we hoped they would go out to the balcony and “neck.” Grettir, nothing brings me joy like seeing you on stage, especially if you’re “getting some.”

Aw, as long as we’re dreaming:

Put the entire Hall family on the row behind us, and the entire Koralewski family on the row in front of us. They’d have thrown us out for general disrespectful rowdiness before intermission.

Grettir, the enormous run-on sentence in the middle wasn’t supposed to be ONE long, smushed-up paragraph. It was an attempt at a “ul.” A failed attempt, I gather. Sorry.

So Kate can we say that you taught Elaine Benes to dance???

Oh, Chronicler, I can only ASPIRE to dance with as much originality and flair as Elaine Benes.

But it is possible that we could cause similar amounts of bodily harm to any unfortunate souls who get within a three foot radius (I am honestly trying to compute how close someone would have to be to get in the way of my fully-extended leg – à la super-cool, forceful “karate” kicks. I have an approximately thirty-two inch inseam) of our stylin’ dancing.

Kate, I’ve been laughing for a week at your lengthy post. Ah . . . memories.

[Harps play as the screen goes all wavy, and Amy takes a visual stroll down memory lane, reliving scenes of a grumpy knitter, two well-watchers breaking the plane behind the well (68 percent of the time!), nurses dodging cowpies on a grassy knoll, the tarantuwig, et al., as B.S. sings in the background . . .

Mem'ries light the corner of my mind. Misty, water-colored mem'ries of the way we were. . . . Could it be that it was all so simple then, or has time rewritten ev'ry line? If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me, would we? Could we? Mem'ries are so beautiful, and yet, what's too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget.

BRING IT HOME, BABS!

So it's the laughter we will remember, whenever we remember the way we were.

[Screen goes all wavy and harps play again as Amy shakes her head and wakens from her reverie of community theater days gone by.]

Those truly were the days. We should all audition en masse for the next Shell extravaganza (featuring a cast of thousands) and insist on being cast en masse as corndog-eaters. There’s no one I’d rather be stuck behind a wishing well with in a stinky ole’ calico dress, breaking the plane like mad.