Crazytown

IN WHICH I LOSE MY VOICE...

...and gain a valuable life experience.
By Alisha Giampola (Actor)

I'm not a particularly fearful person you guys. I don't get worked up easily about walking home late at night, or taking expired aspirin, or missing my train, or the inevitable heat death of the universe. 

But let me get really honest with you here. Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away (Florida) ... I had a vocal injury that put me into about three months of major vocal rest and nine months of weekly vocal therapy during my freshman year of college; a year that I had orginally been planning on spending singing my face off. 

I had already been studying voice for several years with the head of the vocal department at the University of Florida and was absolutely certain about the course of my future: It was going to be all singing all the time. I had already gotten a head start, like any good musical theatre high school geek: performing in every community theatre production I could audition for, going to state with my high school's International Thespian Society and winning Best Solo Musical performance there, and even performing in one of UF's mainstage productions during my junior year. There was no question that I was about to spend the rest of my life singing every thought that came into my head, possibly while swinging around a lamp post in the rain. 

And then, at the beginning of senior year, I began to sound different in my voice lessons. At first, it wasn't anything I couldn't fake my way around, and then it was unavoidable. The hoarseness had seeped into my speaking voice. My ability to control the volume of my singing voice in my upper register had disappeared. My voice teacher insisted I make an appointment with her otolaryngologist who specialized in performer's voices at Shands, the big fancy teaching hospital associated with the University of Florida. 

The appointment itself was interesting. A scope was inserted through my nose and down my throat to view my larynx and a picture of it was even printed out so I could see what the doctor was seeing. 

Here are some vocal cords with a polyp, like the one I had, visible on the upper right.
These are VOCAL CORDS, everyone. Get your mind out of the gutter. 

For me, at seventeen, with dreams of greasepaint and crowds dancing in my head, the doctor telling me I had a polyp on my cords was the equivalent of telling me I had a terminal illness. In fact, I remember dramatically sobbing to my mother in the car on the way home, clutching the vaguely disturbing image of my voice box to my chest: "He may as well have told me I have cancer!" (No, that would be so so much worse, seventeen-year-old-Alisha, you are such a diva.)

Anyway, it was pretty much the worst news I had ever received up until that point (yes, I realize this is a hashtag-first-world-problem) and I spiraled into despair of ever recovering my ability to sing. Only a few years earlier, Julie Andrews had experienced her famous botched vocal surgery, and doctors were feeling a little hesitant about recommending them. (Although successful surgeries absolutely do occur.) My doctor had encouraged me to attempt a regimen of vocal rest and regular voice therapy to correct issues with my speaking voice that may have exacerbated the damage on my cords. I proceeded to do both of these things with a mixture of hope and dread. I was devastated that I was not allowed to sing at all, which meant no more voice lessons (and as any singer knows, going to voice lessons is essentially a form of therapy) and obviously there went my plans for jumping straight into a BFA program and killing it. 

A GLIMPSE IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR

As the school year draws to a close, this writer reevaluates her relative position in the creative universe. Introspection, reflection, and pensive distance-gazing abound.
By Annissa Omran (Writer/College Student) 

I try to avoid turning these blog posts into virtual diary entries, but this week marks a big event that leaves me with no choice but to get a little personal.

As of the day this post is published, I will officially be done with my first year of college.

(This was my exact face almost a year ago when they told me that orientation would be comprised of three 12 hour days with no breaks)

Anna Kendrick and I totally were freshmen at the same time this year. She worked at the campus radio station, I worked in the campus computer labs. She helped an underdog a cappella group take the competition world by storm, I studied for biology exams. She made out with Skylar Astin, I watched Skylar Astin in the movie theater and cried over Spring Awakening flashbacks.

We were practically sisters!

(I swear she is me. If I were a rising actress, previous kisser of Skylar Astin, and a legitimate Twitter comedian extrordinare)

But all joking aside, this year has been a real eye-opener for me.

I went through a lot to end up where I am now. For starters, I went in thinking I knew EXACTLY what I was going to do with my life. I was that kid who brushed off the sage advice of guidance counselors and wizened upperclassmen.

Switch majors? Question my career path? Me? I was so certain that neither of these things would ever come to pass that I arrogantly ignored the advice that explained what to do if you did find yourself in an existential crisis.

Not only did I come to learn that I really had NO idea what I was doing with my life, but I also came to realize that what I thought was just a hobby turned out to be something I simply could not live without.

LET ME NOT TO THE MARRIAGE OF TRUE MINDS ADMIT IMPEDIMENTS

On marriage, or whatever you want to call it.
By Alisha Giampola (Actor) 

The other day I was sitting in the usual table in the usual restaurant my best friend Jake and I tend to eat at in our neighborhood (Sunnyside, which is the absolute shit, just for the record) and eating my usual dear-God-I-couldn't-even-imagine-cooking-something-right-now snack and discussing marriage. Specifically, Jake and I were trying to decide who of the people we currently know who have gotten married recently will be the first of our circle of friends to divorce. This seems morbid, but Jake and I love slightly disturbing discussion games (Would You Rather being obviously the best, hands down). This discussion game was fun and I feel, valid, as statistically large numbers of married people (although maybe not quite the dreaded 50% that is so frequently touted) end their marriages some time before death doth part them. 

Marriage equality has been a huge topic in the past few years, and many states (NY included, woot woot!) have recently chosen to extend the right to marry to all people (and so far has turned into being able to marry cats and dogs pretty much the same way extending the vote to women also extended the vote to cats and dogs). According to current statistics, a majority of adults between 18 and 32 now favor marriage equality in the USA. My takeaway from that is: wow, young people still really care about the institution of marriage! And they want to invite all consentual adults in monogamous relationships to participate if they should choose to do so! Sweet! 

But why?

A very interesting opinion piece in the NY Times got me thinking about the reasons that my generation chooses to marry. We are marrying later than our parents and much much later than our grandparents, we are choosing to get educations first, cohabitate first, and then begin stressing that we might have waited too long to have babies. Personally, I am a huge advocate of all of these things (including even the last item on that list...it's called adoption, guys, there are a lot of kids that need parents out there). So ultimately, if we as a generation are already waiting so much longer than any previous generation to tie the knot, why are we bothering at all? 

If we are to believe the previously cited NY Times opinion piece (go ahead and take a few minutes to read it, it's cool) we are marrying because it is "a status symbol — a highly regarded marker of a successful personal life". If that didn't already make you want to punch yourself in the face, the author reiterates this point in an even bigger backhanded compliment later in the article: "People marry to show their family and friends how well their lives are going."

Basically, people are getting married to flip the ultimate finger at their single friends.

As a person with strong feelings about the current civil rights issue of marriage equality, very personal feelings about the entire institution of marriage, and as someone who has a marriage of my own that I happen to care about, this seems like a completely flippant and all-too-easy answer. 

I sure as heck didn't get married to say "screw you" to those in my circle who are not choosing to marry, be they currently single or simply uninterested in the institution. I definitely didn't get married because I was making some kind of civil rights statement. I certainly didn't do it to make anyone jealous of my life (if anyone ever had a jealousy-inducing marriage however, it is these guys). I didn't get married to get presents or have an excuse to throw a party or to have a reason to change my name (actually, I didn't change my name at all, although apparently I'm in a vast minority?!) and I one hundred percent didn't get married because I felt familial or societal pressure to do so. I know many women, particularly those who are well-educated, city-dwelling, and in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties feel exactly these same ways. And even though there are many religions and faiths that pressure young people to marry due to the stigma of sex outside of wedlock, fewer and fewer are choosing to succumb to this pressure. So it stands to reason that we are getting married for some mysterious other reason that thousands of internet opinion articles are not quite able to put their digital digits on. 

Could it be .... nahhhh.....

HUMOR, BOSTON, AND ME

Finding the funny when it's needed the most. 
By Rachel James (Treasurer/Writer) 

It's been a weird week, folks.  In between the super busy post-opening, pre-Tony buzz at work and celebrating a big birthday next week, I'm pooped.

Plus, as one of the many people "of Boston", I am still figuring out how to comprehend the events that occurred on Marathon Monday.  Going to Emerson College and walking down Boylston Street every day for four years, it was pretty surreal to see these streets I knew so well look utterly decimated. Not only was it terrible to see the explosions on the news over and over again, but to see the streets of Back Bay desolate in the aftermath was quite eerie.  

 
Greg wrote about this quite eloquently last week, both in song and prose. We could all use another listen.

Which brings me to the below video.  I don't know what else to say or do, but this video made me cry and laugh.  It reminded me how finding the positive, while corny and cliched, is of the utmost importance.

 

Like many other victims of the bombings, there is a website set up for Celeste and Sydney to help with their medical funds.  I can't wait to see Celeste run in the marathon next year. 

What else is there to do except pick up, live life, laugh often, and sing a song for Boston?

For Boston, for Boston, we sing our proud refrain...

 

RACHEL JAMES is a native New Yorker and theatre baby. Her plays have been produced by The 52nd Street Project and Starfish Theatreworks. She currently makes a living as a Broadway treasurer.
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THIS IS OURSELVES. UNDER PRESSURE*

Must... Keep... Working... ALWAYS
By Jen Littlefield (Choroegrapher/Librettist/Stress-Ball)

I'm a very responsible person. I'm always early to meetings and appointments, I make and follow through with plans, I pay my bills on time, and when other people ask me to work on a project, I get it done. I meet those deadlines and manage my schedule well so I have time for everything, even spending a late night out with my friends. And yet, the minute I want to work on one of my many works-in-progress, all of the above goes out the window and I'm left feeling like a failure at life and my career (I think in hyperbole; it's the most fun and the worst at all times).
But I think I now know why this happens: I set ridiculously high standards for myself and the work I want to accomplish in a single day, and therefore, I'm living in a constant state of disappointment because I could never possibly live up to them.

Whew. It feels relaxing to even just write that. To see that it really is me, but actually not me at the same time. I had two two separate conversations in the past few days that helped me see this pattern:

SPRING FORWARD: AN HOMAGE

Our love/hate relationship with daylight savings and what it possibly says about us as humans.
By Jen Littlefield (Choreographer/Librettist)

(This picture is for RSO)

There are two kinds of people in this world; those who love when we spring our clocks forward and those who hate it (there's actually a third kind, but I'll get to that in a minute). The haters out there are so mad about their lost night of sleep. They say things like - this is ruining my weekend, losing an hour of sleep is actually the worst, I'm so tired, this day is stupid. The lovers, however, are literally jumping around their apartments before they go to sleep (at a reasonable 12am or so) because they know this day is really the the first sign of spring. Screw that fickle asshole, the groundhog, they shout from their Facebook rooftops, today (I'm writing this on Sunday) begins the time of longer days, more sun, and warmer temperatures.

I see your beady little eyes, you just love screwing with humans, don't you?

IS THAT A PEE STAIN ON YOUR DRAWERS OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?!

In order to maintain a healthy romantic relationship through life's ups and downs I think it is important to keep it silly. Laugh as often as possible, don't take things personally as often as possible and always remember, when arguing with a man, know that underneath his pants there is an adorable pee spot on his boxer briefs reminding you that this isn't that serious. 
- By Leah Bonnema (Stand Up Comic)

Men pee on themselves. This is not a judgement. There is no malice or ill will in this statement. I actually find it adorable. I find it odd though that as a culture that we are not discussing it when we all know it is happening.

Looks like this kid is on the exact same schedule as my boyfriend

I've been in office meetings when men come out of the restroom in their nicest, finely ironed and crisp trousers and there on the upper left or right (depending where they hang) thigh is a little, freshly wet, pee spot. Men, top of the food chain, can't control their urine.

As a woman who does not have a penis I find it more curious than anything else. What is happening the bathroom men?! Do you remember that you had something else to do and walk away mid stream?! Is there no shut down valve or trap door at the end of your penis? Couldn't you maybe shake it harder or possibly beat it on the side of the toilet? Maybe we should install hand dryers directly next to the urinals just to get that last drip? 

This is happening... Everywhere.

I understand why guys can't take a square of toilet paper and dab the tip. It is somehow unmanly and one wouldn't want to not act like an animal in public. But if I had a penis I would carry baby wipes in my back pocket, the ones with aloe, and then I would swaddle it. Make a aloe baby wipe dick diaper, no pee spot and it would be nice and cozy (and moisturized). 

EVERYMAN EVER. Even Ben Franklin had pee stains.

Whenever my man half thinks I might be acting bossy or I don't know, only child like, I remind him that I am the one in the relationship who is not peeing on themselves, so I get to make all the big kid decisions. 

Leah Bonnema is a Stand Up Comic. www.LeahBonnema.com
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THE FAME MONSTER

Success < Happiness?
By Alisha Giampola (Actor) 

I think I was sipping on a fruity alcoholic beverage and sunning myself by a pool somewhere in Bali when I leaned over to Daniel and said: "Do you think we would be super famous right now if we just had really unsupportive families?" 

We were on our honeymoon, and my honeymoon reading completely consisted of comedian-autobiographies. This is a genre that seems limiting, but in fact has more than enough reading material for two 25-hour long flights and some intermittent pool-relaxation time. I had already finished Tina Fey's excellent Bossypants, as well as Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea by Chelsea Handler (I know, I know, I'm basically the last person on earth to finish these books). I had moved on to Steve Martin's memoirs of his early career: Born Standing Up, and had realized that while neither Fey nor Handler experienced enormously detrimental parental influences (although one might argue that point in Chelsea's case), Steve Martin basically fueled his early success by attempting to get some kind, any kind, even the smallest bit, of positive attention from his emotionally absent father. 

Since my parents are, and have always been, essentially the total opposite of "emotionally absent", I was curious if my relatively easygoing career pace had something to do with this. Don't get me wrong, I am a motivated person, but I don't have the kind of motivation that is single-minded, desperate to succeed NOW, at any cost, to the detriment of health, finances and personal relationships, that often seems to accompany very very successful young people. Steve Martin didn't have time for anything but his career for years- neither did the Beatles, neither does Lady Gaga, and even if it wasn't originally their idea, neither did the Olsen twins. 

HAPPY NEW FEBRUARY!!!

Maybe if I make a resolution now, I'll actually stick with it.
By Jen Littlefield (Choreographer/Librettist)

It's the end of January and I've been feeling like a bit of a slacker because I never made a New Year's Resolution. Last year I did the whole - work out every day in January - bit because I read somewhere that if you can do something for a month, it becomes a habit^[1]. That is false:

[1] I'm pretty sure this is just something my mother told me.

All it did was make me run around a lot for 28 days (kicking myself for those three I missed) and then feel more relaxed when I stopped in February. So this year, I thought I'd skip the set-yourself-up-for-failure routine and just go sans resolution.

And then I got sick. 

BEHIND THE MADNESS: ADAM GWON, VOL. 2

More risotto balls and revelatory insights with the extraordinary writer of Ordinary Days. 
By Michael Ruby (Writer)

When last we blogged, I was sharing highlights from my conversation and West Bank Café snacking session with the incredible Mr. Adam Gwon. (You can read Volume 1 here.) Here is the conclusion, featuring some optimistic observations about the state of musical theater and pure proof that anything is truly possible.

You’ve talked about how visiting The Met helped to inspire you when working on Ordinary Days. Where else do you find inspiration?
When I was writing Ordinary Days, I was in the midst of a Dramatists’ Guild Fellowship. One of the mentors they brought in said that, whenever she gets stuck, she goes to The Met for inspiration to get unstuck. She also wears a hoop skirt so that no one gets too close to her.

Do you wear a hoop skirt?
No, I do not wear a hoop skirt. But I do still go.

Where else do you turn for inspiration?
I read a lot and love reading books. Old books. New books. Red books. Blue books. Writing is also a good form of therapy, so a lot of ideas come from self-reflection.

*Adam belly laughs. His laughter says a lot but reveals nothing.*

 Sometimes there’s a question in life I don’t have the answer to – and I wonder, can I answer it by writing a song about it? 

Do you have specific people who are muses, or who that you love to write for?
I feel like I have a lot of muses. I have a lot of awesome friends who are also amazing talents who I can write for and know they’ll be amazing. Two of the many people who are friends and who are amazing are Kate Wetherhead and Alex Wyse. Both are incredibly funny, dynamic performers – and really inspiring people. Even when I’m not working with them, watching them do their thing makes me want to do what I’m doing better.

                      (Kate Wetherhead singing "Calm" from Ordinary Days)

I also had the incredible honor of Audra McDonald singing “I’ll Be Here” in her concert tour last year. Hearing her sing that song and meeting her…it was maybe the most exciting moment in my career, seeing her sing my song at Carnegie Hall.