I want to be a producer.
I'm sure it has a lot to do with the movie, and the musical, "The Producers". And my weirdly obsessive love of musical theatre. And my fascination with all things campy, glittery, and otherwise over the top. And the fact I like to PRODUCE things. To make a bunch of weird, unrelated stuff into beautiful things. Like office supply sculptures. Etc.
I only recently realized I discovered my future profession when I was in middle school. I was under the impression I discovered my passion upon realizing that I was no good at graphic arts, set design, broadcast news writing, or stage management. But no, it was in the 8th grade at Blackmon Road Middle School.
It all started in the 7th grade in our class production of "Oz!". "Oz!" was a lame, cheaper version of "The Wizard of Oz" with bad songs, but the same general plot line. The show was poorly rehearsed, poorly produced, and all the students forgot their lines by the end of the second act. But it was fun, and the parents loved it. And in middle school drama, the parents are the ones you are trying to reach.
After a few kids dropped out due to their math grades, transfer ed schools, or got grounded, I understudied my way to the role of the Tin Man. I am obviously a girl, but no one seemed to notice. I worked hard and became the star performer of the show, even if I can't sing, dance, or act for the most part. I was PASSIONATE. And I guess it showed.
Everyone involved had a great time, and we all couldn't wait for next year's play.
But the next year, the English teacher who sponsored the drama club moved to another school. Or got pregnant. Or died? I don't know exactly, but the point is there was no more drama club sponsor. Every other student sort of went about their business and headed off to cheer leading or chorus, or where ever else dejected middle school drama club kids go.
But I wouldn't have it. I talked to every single one of my teachers about sponsoring the drama club. I begged them to commit just a few hours of their time to supervise the club after school but no one wanted to. I still wouldn't give up.
I refused to be a dejected drama club kid settling for a chorus concert instead of the big end of the year musical, filled with glittering card board cut outs, faulty sound equipment, hot glue gunned costumes, all staged in what the school refereed to as the 'cafetorium'.
I started research about small theatre companies in my town. I found a few that couldn't do anything to help, but I found one that seemed perfect. Family Theatre was a small one woman theatre company run out of the basement of an Episcopal church. Every year they would do a few classic productions of things like "Cinderella", "The Sound of Music", or "The Secret Garden". Everything was educational, and they mostly included the same home schooled middle school aged children.
I put on my most professional eight grade outfit, 'nice' jeans and a button up shirt from Abercrombie and Fitch, and a white hair ribbon and met with the head of Family Theatre, an older eccentric woman, at her home. She said she would love to do a production at my middle school, and pull from the drama club for the cast and crew. I was ecstatic and I agreed at once. She gave me a few fliers and I brought them back to school with me.
I made my own fliers and hung them up all over school advertising an important meeting of the drama club, on the cafetorium stage. What seemed like hundreds of kids came, and I stood up and spoke to them all. I told them about the woman who promised us a end of the year play like we had before, and we all agreed that it sounded perfect.
In an impromptu election I was immediately nominated and elected president of the drama club. I did not have a prouder moment in my life, previous to that one.
In the next few weeks I met with the eccentric almost elderly women at her home, at her church, at her friends church, and so on to discuss details. She decided on the play, "The Diary of Anne Frank". Hardly as magical or exciting as our previous production of "Oz!", but I figured it would do.
Before our first production meeting and auditions, the women told me that as cast members, we were required to sell at least $200 worth of advertising space in the program. I found this odd, and fairly extreme for a middle school program. But, again, I figured it would do.
I went to every business I could think of to sell ad space. I spoke of our hardships, and how many people would surely come to our play. I talked about the promotional opportunities for their business, and how much we needed a sound system to play the sound effects of the Nazis coming to get us. I sold my $200 in a week.
Other cast members didn't have such an easy time selling theirs. They saw my success, and after two months of not selling anything, the director assigned all the sales to me. I was 13.
So I put my most professional eighth grade outfit on again, and hit the streets to sell the rest of the casts $1,200 in ads. I was a full fledged, yet poorly guided, 13 year old producer.
Rehearsals were long and depressing, ad sales were impossible and demanding, and this women, our director, seemed to get crazier by the day.
I ended up selling every single ad to fill our 14 page program, but I was never in the final production. I had to drop out within the last week because I got the flu, or something, but fortunately I had an understudy.
And fortunately, I dropped out just in time to have my name removed from the program. But my $1,400 in ads went in with no problem.
While this wasn't a personal success for me, I still knew that production was great because of me. I was uncredited, unpaid, and unfulfilled, but I made a play happen. And god damnit, that felt good.
They had their $200 sound system, their $150 worth of material for costumes, their $50 cast party, and their $75 backdrop. I must have been poorer at math than I thought at the time, because I didn't notice the difference between the cost of materials and the amount of the checks I had delivered to our director. So in addition to making a play happen, I might have paid our directors rent for a month or so, but I still feel okay about it.
I didn't see the play, but I heard it was pretty bad. The girl playing Anne couldn't remember her lines, and the boy playing Peter refused to accept the iconic kiss from Anne in one of the scenes.
But today, when I loose hope about the future of theatre, my career, slow ticket sales, or absolutely no revenue I know that I achieved the impossible.
I turned a non existent drama club in a middle school in the early 2000's into a functional theatre company that embezzled money from preteens and produced depressing classic tales into poor quality theatre.
And that's the stuff dreams are made of.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, December 17, 2007
Boogie Boarding with my Father's Australian Mistress
It takes a lot for me to put things in perspective. Generally because it involves stopping for long enough to look at the big picture.
This summer I went on a road trip across Georgia while I was away from Colorado. In a week I went to visit my friend Michelle in Statesboro, to Savannah with her to have party party fun good times, and finally to Saint Simons Island to be apart of my Dad's family vacation.
Like the previous family vacation to Euro Disney World (when my dad and his family were living in Belgium) we brought along a family who I like to affectionately refer to as the "Dutch/British/Egyptians".
This family consists of five charming, hard to understand, blond haired, blue eyed, extremely fit ethnically Dutch citizens. They are the best friends of my Father, my Stepmother, my half brother and half sister. They all match up perfectly in age and gender, with the exception of the youngest Derick. He is incidentally the cutest six year old native French speaker that has ever lived.
So I arrive at the rental house on the island, which is way bigger and more over the top than I could have ever imagined. Four stories, rooftop dining area, elevator, two whirlpools, private beach access, four car garage, and seven bedrooms.
Now while this sort of thing may be fairly run of the mill for an international business executive and the co-owner of a popular world wide snack food corporation, it is not common place for a struggling college student that grew up with a single mother living in a two bedroom ranch house less than a mile away from the Columbus, GA municipal airport. It's a touch awkward for me to ask for a pair of flip flops to wear to the beach and be handed a pair of Prada peeptoe loafers.
So one morning after waking up on the 8,000 thread count sheets of the spare cot in the executive office on the fourth floor of the vacation home my step mom pokes her head in to tell me they're all going boogie boarding in about ten minutes.
I get up and get my things together and hobble down to the beach.
After a few hours of sitting in the water on a kid's boogie board next to my step mom and half sister, watching the Dutch children scream and fight with each other about sandcastles in French on the shore just a few feet ahead of us, and my father laying out in the sun talking with his fellow international executive friend, I realized how insane all of it was.
There I was, next to the woman my father left my mother for more than ten years ago when we were happy living in Australia. She was his secretary, and they ran off to Disneyland together in the states. I hated her, I drew pictures of her as a slug, as a monster, and she was the first person I ever called a bitch.
But she was floating next to me in her designer strapless belted swimsuit with her nine year old daughter next to her.
After a few runs to and from the shoreline I excused myself and went back to the extravagant rental house to nurse my sunburn.
A couple of hours later when everyone was done with lunch I said my goodbyes in my very best French, kissed everyone in the most European way I could muster, and headed back to highway 17.
Boogie Boarding with the woman my father cheated on my mother with put everything in a new perspective. We all have our guilt, and maybe inviting me to spend a weekend on the southern coast of Georgia relieves theirs a little.
But it doesn't help in my bitterness, and I think their efforts to make me apart of their extravagant life makes me even angrier than hanging me out to dry would make me.
I hope they know all they're doing is providing me material for my memoirs when I'm famous.
This summer I went on a road trip across Georgia while I was away from Colorado. In a week I went to visit my friend Michelle in Statesboro, to Savannah with her to have party party fun good times, and finally to Saint Simons Island to be apart of my Dad's family vacation.
Like the previous family vacation to Euro Disney World (when my dad and his family were living in Belgium) we brought along a family who I like to affectionately refer to as the "Dutch/British/Egyptians".
This family consists of five charming, hard to understand, blond haired, blue eyed, extremely fit ethnically Dutch citizens. They are the best friends of my Father, my Stepmother, my half brother and half sister. They all match up perfectly in age and gender, with the exception of the youngest Derick. He is incidentally the cutest six year old native French speaker that has ever lived.
So I arrive at the rental house on the island, which is way bigger and more over the top than I could have ever imagined. Four stories, rooftop dining area, elevator, two whirlpools, private beach access, four car garage, and seven bedrooms.
Now while this sort of thing may be fairly run of the mill for an international business executive and the co-owner of a popular world wide snack food corporation, it is not common place for a struggling college student that grew up with a single mother living in a two bedroom ranch house less than a mile away from the Columbus, GA municipal airport. It's a touch awkward for me to ask for a pair of flip flops to wear to the beach and be handed a pair of Prada peeptoe loafers.
So one morning after waking up on the 8,000 thread count sheets of the spare cot in the executive office on the fourth floor of the vacation home my step mom pokes her head in to tell me they're all going boogie boarding in about ten minutes.
I get up and get my things together and hobble down to the beach.
After a few hours of sitting in the water on a kid's boogie board next to my step mom and half sister, watching the Dutch children scream and fight with each other about sandcastles in French on the shore just a few feet ahead of us, and my father laying out in the sun talking with his fellow international executive friend, I realized how insane all of it was.
There I was, next to the woman my father left my mother for more than ten years ago when we were happy living in Australia. She was his secretary, and they ran off to Disneyland together in the states. I hated her, I drew pictures of her as a slug, as a monster, and she was the first person I ever called a bitch.
But she was floating next to me in her designer strapless belted swimsuit with her nine year old daughter next to her.
After a few runs to and from the shoreline I excused myself and went back to the extravagant rental house to nurse my sunburn.
A couple of hours later when everyone was done with lunch I said my goodbyes in my very best French, kissed everyone in the most European way I could muster, and headed back to highway 17.
Boogie Boarding with the woman my father cheated on my mother with put everything in a new perspective. We all have our guilt, and maybe inviting me to spend a weekend on the southern coast of Georgia relieves theirs a little.
But it doesn't help in my bitterness, and I think their efforts to make me apart of their extravagant life makes me even angrier than hanging me out to dry would make me.
I hope they know all they're doing is providing me material for my memoirs when I'm famous.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The Internet
Now that I have a whole month off of school, I've got time to comment on my typically insane American family, and a lot of things to bitch and reflect about. So I'm gonna put it out there.
"So", you say, "Amy, you spend a lot of time on the Internet. What's up with that?"
Well I like information. And I like to make fun of people. Generally indirectly, and the Internet does that.
Now I'm not one to go through through these new fangled 'fourms' and 'boards' to critique teeny boppers on their latest asymmetrical haircuts or Disney channel celebrity crushes, but I DO like to watch other people do it.
Or just see people point out the flaws in people's poorly crafted outfits.
I generally pass my time by gathering my information at:
Go Fug Yourself
http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/
All time favorite bitches. With pages and pages dedicated to lycra and spandex mishaps, gold lamae hot pants, and a love hate relationship with footless tights, these girls embody everything I think everyday, only with more famous people.
While I hold back screams of terror when I see cable knit uggboots paired with cut off denim skirts, they give an internal monologue for Britney Spears. So different, yet so much the same.
I Watch Stuff
http://www.iwatchstuff.com/
So this guy has three blogs in one, that are fairly different, but work seamlessly together. My favorite, and the most informative of these is "I Watch Stuff". It's got a hell of a lot of leaked movie information and trailers, some even so illegal they're taken down within hours of being posted. So scandalous.
Also has "The Superficial" and "Geekologie". Great for fairly unreliable yet entertaining celebrity gossip and cutting edge/over the top/strange Japanese inventions.
Group Hug
http://grouphug.us/
Okay this might be a scam, and I swear it hasn't been updated in at LEAST a year, but it's got thousands of posts, and it's way addicting. Just click random and there you go, entertained for hours.
I'm sure most of these are bogus, but just to think someone can dream this shit up gives me hope that I'm entirely normal.
A Softer World
http://asofterworld.com/
The best absolute best web comic out there. Also the weirdest thing I've ever seen.
Sometimes I feel like it's the only web based outlet that understands me. And that's kind of saying a lot.
McSweeney's
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/
If you don't know about this then you don't know about the Internet. You are also probly not my friend.
As a customer service worker and city employee with full Internet access and a lot of slow business days, I can confidently say I have read upwards of 90% of McSweeney's lists.
Mindy Kaling's Blog
http://mindyephron.blogspot.com/
As one of the biggest "The Office" fans in functional society, I cannot get enough of Mindy Kaling. (If you're out of the loop, or mentally unstable, she plays Kelly Kapoor) She is super hip, super funny, and super the girl I want to be when I grow up.
Her blog is basically a list of all the things she's bought with her newly found disposable income from "The Office". Screw investments and real estate, this girl is buying underpants and Slanket's (it's a blanket with sleeves ya'll, think about that).
Radar Online
http://www.radarmagazine.com/
Now in my effort to be environmental (which is a very small effort, I assure you), I have made a conscious decision to read radar online instead of get the pesky magazine delivered to my door. This is also great because this way it's free.
It's like my Newsweek and people put together in a much more fun and photo manipulated, edgy, and way inappropriate kind of way.
Fark.com
http://www.fark.com/
The best news source of all time. I spend can entertain myself for years on this thing. It's like that five minutes of morning radio when the overzealous DJ talks about all the weird news of the day. But hundred's of stories at a time.
Awesome, and great for passing time, if you need to.
So when you're done picking the perfect song to emulate your mood on your myspace, 'checking up on' the kid you sat behind in English last semester on facebook, and catching up on the latest "Hills" episodes, pick something on that list to rot your brain further.
That's what the Internet is for, it's just a series of tubes.
"So", you say, "Amy, you spend a lot of time on the Internet. What's up with that?"
Well I like information. And I like to make fun of people. Generally indirectly, and the Internet does that.
Now I'm not one to go through through these new fangled 'fourms' and 'boards' to critique teeny boppers on their latest asymmetrical haircuts or Disney channel celebrity crushes, but I DO like to watch other people do it.
Or just see people point out the flaws in people's poorly crafted outfits.
I generally pass my time by gathering my information at:
Go Fug Yourself
http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/
All time favorite bitches. With pages and pages dedicated to lycra and spandex mishaps, gold lamae hot pants, and a love hate relationship with footless tights, these girls embody everything I think everyday, only with more famous people.
While I hold back screams of terror when I see cable knit uggboots paired with cut off denim skirts, they give an internal monologue for Britney Spears. So different, yet so much the same.
I Watch Stuff
http://www.iwatchstuff.com/
So this guy has three blogs in one, that are fairly different, but work seamlessly together. My favorite, and the most informative of these is "I Watch Stuff". It's got a hell of a lot of leaked movie information and trailers, some even so illegal they're taken down within hours of being posted. So scandalous.
Also has "The Superficial" and "Geekologie". Great for fairly unreliable yet entertaining celebrity gossip and cutting edge/over the top/strange Japanese inventions.
Group Hug
http://grouphug.us/
Okay this might be a scam, and I swear it hasn't been updated in at LEAST a year, but it's got thousands of posts, and it's way addicting. Just click random and there you go, entertained for hours.
I'm sure most of these are bogus, but just to think someone can dream this shit up gives me hope that I'm entirely normal.
A Softer World
http://asofterworld.com/
The best absolute best web comic out there. Also the weirdest thing I've ever seen.
Sometimes I feel like it's the only web based outlet that understands me. And that's kind of saying a lot.
McSweeney's
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/
If you don't know about this then you don't know about the Internet. You are also probly not my friend.
As a customer service worker and city employee with full Internet access and a lot of slow business days, I can confidently say I have read upwards of 90% of McSweeney's lists.
Mindy Kaling's Blog
http://mindyephron.blogspot.com/
As one of the biggest "The Office" fans in functional society, I cannot get enough of Mindy Kaling. (If you're out of the loop, or mentally unstable, she plays Kelly Kapoor) She is super hip, super funny, and super the girl I want to be when I grow up.
Her blog is basically a list of all the things she's bought with her newly found disposable income from "The Office". Screw investments and real estate, this girl is buying underpants and Slanket's (it's a blanket with sleeves ya'll, think about that).
Radar Online
http://www.radarmagazine.com/
Now in my effort to be environmental (which is a very small effort, I assure you), I have made a conscious decision to read radar online instead of get the pesky magazine delivered to my door. This is also great because this way it's free.
It's like my Newsweek and people put together in a much more fun and photo manipulated, edgy, and way inappropriate kind of way.
Fark.com
http://www.fark.com/
The best news source of all time. I spend can entertain myself for years on this thing. It's like that five minutes of morning radio when the overzealous DJ talks about all the weird news of the day. But hundred's of stories at a time.
Awesome, and great for passing time, if you need to.
So when you're done picking the perfect song to emulate your mood on your myspace, 'checking up on' the kid you sat behind in English last semester on facebook, and catching up on the latest "Hills" episodes, pick something on that list to rot your brain further.
That's what the Internet is for, it's just a series of tubes.
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