whooo boy...

how embarrassing that twenty-six days have gone by since my last entry. i can say that not only has June been ridiculously rainy and un-summer-like, it's also been a blur of appointments and train rides and workdays.

i'll try to sum up the last three weeks (what's been happening, my thoughts on things) in an organized fashion:

- had an engagement photo shoot... hi-larious. we opted for the engagement pictures because apparently it's a good idea to get to know your photographer pretty well before the wedding day, and also because i am (just for fun) going to see if i can get us in the Times. my dad works hard on his yard and it is quite lush and gorgeous this time of year, so we decided to do the shoot there. he and Michael spent all morning mulching various beds only to have the photographer arrive and choose to shoot in all the parts of the yard my dad never gets around to fixing up. i know he was dying inside as our photog snapped away, but hey - gotta go where the light is nice. anyway, we laughed the entire time, my face hurt like hell at the end (have to remember that for the big day) and the results are rather sweet. i can't post any photos just yet but i'll try later this week.

- saw Diana Krall in concert...twice. i'd only seen her one other time previous, four or five years ago, and i loved the show. but this time? amazing. truly amazing. the first show was at the Mann Center in Philly. my parents and i went together (they're the only people i know who appreciate Diana the way i do) and it was a lovely evening. our seats were awesomely close to the stage and we had the perfect view of Diana's hands flying over the keys. i was transfixed. and psyched, because i'd impulsively bought myself a ticket to one of her shows at Carnegie Hall a few days later. my seat was about three miles from the stage for that one, but she performed with a full orchestra in addition to her trio and she did a bunch of songs she hadn't done at the Mann and, hello, it was Carnegie Hall. i loved it. can't really explain exactly why that kind of music moves me so, but it does. it sort of swirls around inside me and lifts me up and makes me think of my Gram, who introduced me to those fabulous old songs in the first place.

- i've been in need of a Martha Stewart intervention lately. all the big wedding details are booked, settled, etc, which now leaves (in my opinion) all the fun stuff... designing the invites, writing the program, compiling a songlist, dreaming up personal touches. i'm currently addicted to poring over "real weddings" for ideas and i can't seem to get enough. even as i'm scrolling and reading and right-clicking to save images, i'm marveling at how easily one gets sucked into the Big Wedding Machine. and even as i'm driving my mother crazy by suggesting that i'll bake sixteen dozen chocolate chip cookies for the guests' gift bags the day before the wedding, i'm still aware that my wedding is only one day and does not require quite this much obsessing. however, it is my one and only wedding and as long as i'm having fun, i don't see the harm in going a little overboard...

- pop culture update: first i hated kate, then i hated jon; now i think they're both idiots and their kids will be damn lucky if they grow up to have normal lives. the death of michael jackson is a tragedy but i think this idol worship the media is currently encouraging is more than ridiculous. the guy was emotionally abused as a kid, overwhelmed by fame as a young man and a full-on drug addict in middle age. perspective, anyone? saw Up twice so far and cried like a baby several times during both viewings. if you haven't seen it, see it. it's gorgeous, wildly entertaining and has the best message i've gotten from a movie possibly ever.

OK, i was at work for 11 hours today and i have an appointment with my dermatologist early tomorrow morning (please, please wish this fair-skinned Irish girl luck!) so this is all i have time for now. life will likely continue to be crazy for another few weeks but i hope to update more often. especially because Michael will be moving in with me and you know that is fodder for entertaining entries...

mb

the rise and fall of a teenage drama queen, part II

Before I get on with my story, I should point out that, during my high school years, I wanted nothing more than to be a Broadway actress. While other kids were writing their boyfriend’s or girlfriend’s name on their eight-pocket folders, or scrawling Pearl Jam lyrics on their book covers, or blasting Nirvana in their cars, I was writing the names of my favorite musicals, I was scribbling “I Heart New York” on every page of my journal, and singing showtunes on my drive to school every morning.

I was writing then, too, I was editing the school paper and stringing for the local news, but my heart and soul were in theatre. Ask anyone who knew me then—I was one hundred percent focused and one hundred percent obsessed.

So. Back to the story.

Each spring there was a drama competition held at a large regional theatre the next county over—the same theatre my mother had taken me to many, many times when I was a kid and she was reviewing shows. High schools from all over the tri-state area would perform about 30 minutes of their most recent production—the best 30 minutes they had. It was a huge deal, there were prizes for several categories, and winning something at the drama festival felt like winning a Tony.

We’d won some awards here and there previously, but everyone believed “Bye, Bye Birdie” would really clean up. The competition was held about a month after the show closed (which was always nice—after the last curtain fell and the sets were dismantled, we had something else to look forward to) and it was with much anticipation and excitement that I went to the rehearsal at which Mrs. X would announce what scenes we’d be performing at the festival.

I discovered, at that rehearsal, that out of the 30 minutes we’d be on that stage at the regional theatre, I would be on stage for approximately four. Which I guess wouldn’t be so odd if I hadn’t been playing Rosie, the lead female character in “Birdie.” I would estimate that, during the actual show, I was on stage about 80 percent of the time. I had three solo songs, two duets, a big dance number with a dozen Shriners, and a whole slew of dialogue. So to find out that I would not be singing anything at the competition, muttering just a few lines, with less stage time than the freaking flats my dad had built—that hurt.

Mrs. X had totally, utterly, completely dissed me.

I was eighteen years old at the time, and I never made waves. I was the good kid, the helpful kid, the positive kid. So I kept my mouth shut at that rehearsal, but inside I went numb. Four years of hard work, of putting my all into everything I did for those shows, after working my way up from lowly chorus girl to lead role, this is how it ended? With a big, fat slap in the face? 

I don’t remember much about that rehearsal, but I do remember going home and laying on my bed. My mother asked me what was wrong—I don’t even think I was crying, I was just zombie-ish—and I told her. The next thing I remember was my dad getting home, my mom filling him in, and what followed went down in our family annals as a remarkable moment.

As I’ve mentioned, my father was very involved in many of my high school shows, but especially so with “Birdie.” It was a nice bonding experience for us (and god knows he loved his little cameo). He also got to see firsthand how dedicated I was, how hard I worked. Because of this, he considered Mrs. X’s drama competition decision an egregious display of ungratefulness.

He took off his jacket and his tie that evening, and then he dialed the phone.  

Never before in all my eighteen years had I felt as loved as I did then, listening to my dad rip into Mrs. X. I was still huddled on my bed, but as I listened the numbness went away. He didn’t lose his temper or scream or curse. That wasn’t (isn’t) his style. He simply gave her a piece of his mind, in a very firm and confident tone—not unlike the tone he used when he was disappointed in me. And he made it clear that he was very, very, very  disappointed in Mrs. X. “After everything Megan has done for you,” he said to her, “this is how you treat her?”

I’m not sure when the next drama competition rehearsal was, but at the very next one Mrs. X announced some changes to the scene selection. Suddenly “English Teacher” was in the lineup, as well as a few more Rosie scenes.

It was nice to know, but it didn’t make everything better. A relationship—a friendship—four years in the making had been unraveled just like that.

I tried my best to avoid any eye contact with Mrs. X, to avoid having to actually speak to her. I felt awkward, angry, embarrassed, humiliated. But out in the parking lot, she snagged me as I was getting into my car. She apologized (sort of) but I will never remember her explanation for why she did what she did.

“You know Stacie’s got the voice, Megan,” she said. “We can win awards with her and with Tom,” she said. [Names have been changed; Stacie and Tom played Kim and Albert, respectively, in “Birdie.”]  “And you’re good on stage,” she went on, “but your writing…I really think you should focus on your writing.”

While this does not immediately come across as a huge, heart-crushing insult, believe me—at the time, that’s exactly what it felt like. She was, essentially, telling me I was nowhere near good enough. We wouldn’t win any awards with me up there. And that’s what it was about, to Mrs. X. She wanted to win. And I was a loser.

The actual competition went well, though I can’t even tell you how many awards we won—maybe one or two? Nothing major. The one thing I can tell you for certain is that, during the critique period (when judges would climb onto the stage and give their comments and commendations about the performance) one judge said, “Where was Rosie? We wanted more of Rosie!” I happened to be sitting next to Mrs. X at the time (I’m sure that was an accident). We sat side by side in the ratty velvet-covered seats in the musty, darkened theatre, and when I heard the judge’s words my insides tingled. I’m pretty sure a smile spread slowly across my face. I might have even sneaked a glance at her out of the corner of my eye, though she had no reaction.

It was a good feeling but, despite that moment of vindication, I felt sad. It seemed that something had been taken away from me, something intangible but very much a part of who I was and what I knew. In its place was a fresh heaping pile of self-doubt. Welcome to high school, I know, but I have to be honest—I had no confidence when it came to algebra, dating or what to wear on dress down days. But when I was performing, I was free. I just did what I felt in my gut, and I had believed all along that it was more than good enough.

It hurt to discover how wrong I’d been.

Of course, it took me less than a semester at college to realize I didn’t want to be a drama major, that I was much more suited for journalism. But I wonder sometimes, even now, how that experience changed me. Was it just a coincidence that, over the next three years, I struggled constantly with self-esteem and self-doubt? That I gave up on myself for a long stretch of time, that I stopped trying? I don’t want to give Mrs. X that much credit, but—who knows?

Despite the bittersweet ending, I still look back on my high school theatre days with nothing but warm feelings. I had amazing friends, with whom I made such funny memories, I performed my little heart out—and I accomplished just about everything I had hoped to when I was sitting in that first drama club meeting my freshman year.

As the ol’ showtune goes, who could ask for anything more?

mb

the rise and fall of a teenage drama queen, part I

I got an e-mail today from my high school. The drama club moderator is looking for people to work on the fall and spring productions next year—paid positions, with the opportunity to mentor students, too.

I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that when I read that e-mail, I was wishing like hell I still lived in my hometown. Even though my high school drama days were ultimately bittersweet, I would love a chance to go back and be involved again. Here’s the story…

My love affair with theatre began when I was in second or third grade and my mama was the theatre critic for our local paper. She reviewed shows every week, it seemed, and took me to whatever performances she could—usually, the mid-week matinees. Those were my favorite days. She’d pick me up early from school and we’d drive to some regional theatre or another and I’d sit in the audience—watching "South Pacific," "Singin' in the Rain," "A Chorus Line"—absolutely awestruck.

I started doing local plays when I was nine years old (the story of my first audition is enough for a separate post) and they were fun, but I was living for high school. Drama club, I was sure, was where I’d make my name. It was the be all and end all, the pinnacle of a theatrical career (which it is, when you’re 14 and living in suburban Philadelphia).

So I began high school in the fall of 1991 full of vim and vigor. I was practically jumping out of my skin at the first official drama club meeting of the school year. When it was announced that the female version of “The Odd Couple” would be the fall production that year, I was over the moon. I auditioned for any and all of the roles and was shut out—with such a small cast, the parts went to the upper classmen.

I was bummed, but thanks to a little divine intervention (after reading some of the script, the principal decided the play was inappropriate for high schoolers), I snagged a small part in the fall production after all. The director scrapped Neil Simon for some truly cheesy (but Catholic school-approved) melodramas. A lame trade-off, sure, but hell—I got a speaking role as a freshman!

Thus began four totally fun, crazy, wonderful years of high school drama. I was in everything from “Godspell” (chorus) to “Barnum” (as P.T.’s wife Charity) to “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown” (Peppermint Patty—save the lesbian jokes, thanks). 

We even did a totally unauthorized, ripped off stage version of “Sister Act,” which we called “Nun of That.” (I was the assistant director, a position I took ridiculously seriously considering I was only 16. I wore a forest green blazer to pretty much every rehearsal and had my own director’s chair with my name on it. Surprisingly, I did have a wide circle of friends.)

Every year was a blast, but senior year was my favorite. “Our Town” was the fall production and I distinctly remember asking, at the drama club meeting at which the show was announced, if girls could audition for the role of Stage Manager. I was told yes, and I set my sights on that. Forget Emily. I wanted to be Paul Newman. (You know what I mean.) I worked and worked on my New England accent (“ay-yuh!”) and, busting through the gender barrier, snagged the part.

I can’t tell you how much I loved that show. Thornton Wilder’s words gave me goosebumps, even as they were coming out of my mouth. I felt entrusted with the most meaningful and important role on the planet, which is silly now but it’s just how I felt at seventeen.

The spring musical that year was “Bye Bye Birdie” and if I thought I was excited about “Our Town,” this news had me bouncing off the walls. It was, hands down, one of my favorite musicals of all time. I’d seen the national tour a few years earlier in Philadelphia, starring Tommy Tune and Ann Reinking (which, in a weird way, lead me to my professional writing career—but that’s also a story for another post).

I sang “An English Teacher” ‘til my voice was hoarse, gave it my all at the audition, and got one of my all-time dream roles: Who is Spanish. Which I am very much not. Thankfully, the director overlooked that—it’s amazing the cultural transformation that can take place with a scratchy black wig.

Speaking of the director, I should say here that she—we’ll call her Mrs. X—was my idol in high school. She directed all eight shows I was in those four years, and was moderator of the drama club. She was my parents’ age, but she and I became pals. With all my tireless enthusiasm and endless ideas and habit of volunteering to do anything and everything, I was almost instantly her right hand gal. We worked well together, I learned a lot from her, and I trusted her.

“Bye Bye Birdie” was fantastic. I loved playing Rosie (even at such a young age, the role of long-suffering girlfriend came naturally to me). I didn’t mind the scratchy black wig, and I had more stage time than I had in any previous show, which was pretty thrilling. I felt like things had gone exactly as I’d envisioned them: I was ending my high school career on a high note. (Even my dad got in on the act—he was the head set builder and, because we were short on boys to fill the male roles, he got to play a bartender with whom Rosie briefly interacted. My own father ad-libbed his line every performance, getting a huge laugh and upstaging his daughter. Again, a subject for a separate post.)

Unfortunately, at the end of the run of “Bye Bye Birdie” is when my theatrical career fell apart, at the hands of the one person I thought was completely behind me. I admit—embarrassing as it may be—that I still think of what happened that spring and it makes me mad and disillusioned all over again.

Tomorrow: the fall of the teenage drama queen...

mb 

baby backlash?

so when you're planning a wedding at age 32, inevitably the first question out of most people's mouths is not "how are the wedding plans?" it's "how long will you wait to have a baby?"

i don't mind, really, because of course it's something i think about—almost daily. you may remember my gyno threw me for a loop at the end of last summer when she grilled me on my future plans and got me tested for any genetic blips that might prevent a healthy pregnancy. she just wanted me to be ready once i decided to start trying. (everything came back perfectly normal/healthy, by the way.) 

and of course planning a marriage involves talking about starting a family. (just the other day walking around Modell's, Michael said he wanted seven kids so we'd have enough people in our family to start a baseball team. you can ask him about the look i shot him to convey my opinion on that subject.) 

i have to tell you, now that it is part of our not-so-distant future, talking and thinking about having a baby is sort of exciting. 

Michael has a nephew, Lukas, who's about one-and-a-half and, excluding those related to me by blood, is pretty much the cutest kid on the planet. even cuter is how Michael is with him. he is in love with the little guy, and he's absolutely wonderful with him. Lukas's face lights up when he sees his Uncle Mike, and it's quite obvious how much fun they have together. 

seeing that kind of a thing makes a girl feel ready. 

so what's the problem? this: every person i talk to lately who has kids tells me not to have them. or to think long and hard about it. or to at least, for god's sake, wait a while. they're all proponents of marriage—marriage is great! they say, you'll looove being married—but kids? kids they're not so keen on. 

the subject came up again over the weekend at a family graduation party held in honor of one of Michael's cousins. a different cousin was talking about wanting to start trying to have a baby as soon as she gets married this summer. she asked me when Michael and i might get into the whole baby game and i shrugged my shoulders. "people keep telling me not to," i said. i shouldn't have been surprised to learn that people have been telling her the same thing. 

a few of the moms at the party—Michael's included—piped in then and jumped on the "no baby" bandwagon. "it changes everything," they said. i asked if they would skip the baby-producing bit if they could live their lives over again. i expected a chorus of, "of course not! no way!" but what i got instead was... crickets. 

OK. i know having a baby is one of those things a person can't possibly understand until they've experienced it firsthand. i know playing with Scott and Henry for a weekend comes nowhere close to parenting—i know it's lots and lots and lots of hard work. still, i find this baby backlash incredibly disheartening. what in the world is going on? 

i keep hoping it's just a matter of being really good at balancing, managing, compartmentalizing—and perhaps these people are simply overwhelmed. or maybe they didn't realize the kind of impact a baby has on a marriage (i have been advised, by reliable sources, to always put my marriage first because, when that kid flies the coop after 18 years, it's just you and your spouse again and god help you if you've been invisible to each other all that time.)

or maybe these folks just didn't experience enough of their own life before creating a new one?maybe they feel completely lost now in the shuffle of their kids' needs and wants. maybe they can't shake the feeling that they missed out, didn't chase their dreams hard enough, didn't spend enough time doing what they wanted.  

i really have no idea. but i'm hoping that people are just being dramatic. it reminds me of a story my mom and Aunt Joanne love to tell about my Grandma Beverly. one night many moons ago, i believe either during or after a family dinner, they did their best to get my grandmother to admit that she had, on occasion, wished she'd never had kids (aka my dad and Uncle Tim). everyone wishes that from time to time, they told her. but she refused to admit anything of the sort. she had been grateful and happy every minute of every day of her sons' lives. 

my mom and aunt scoffed at her—they still crack up over Grandma Bev's indignation and what they believe was a bald faced lie—but i think maybe she was being honest. and in light of everything i've heard over the last few months, that kind of unwavering devotion is refreshing. 

especially for someone contemplating—and looking forward to, however foolishly—the world of parenthood.

mb