I had quite the weekend. Sunday was brutal. The night before, my best friend for fifteen years came into town. We had a few drinks. I really mean a few. Definitely not enough to deserve the creeping hangover that I endured on Sunday. I mean, I remember when I actually had to get drunk to have a hangover. It was weird. I got up around 9:30 and about an hour later, I had a headache and the lovely sweaty fatigue that I recognized as the demon vestiges of self-inflicted liver damage. But its not like I had done shots or something – I’d just had a few Fireman’s 4. I figured, I just need to hydrate and I’ll be fine. But it just kept getting worse. And maybe you remember that I’m in this little children’s show, and we had a performance at 2. A full-throttle, physical, MUSICAL, performance that I was going to have to attempt with the spins. I haven’t been going out at all on the weekends for the last five weeks to avoid such a dreaded scenario. I’m probably not doing great things for my career writing about this, but I really know few actors that haven’t performed in this state. And I can happily tell you that not only did I get through the show, but the show rocked. It was one of our best performances so far. I sort of forgot about about my hangover while on stage. I would become aware of it again when I was in the wings. I thought it felt really warm, excessively so, which I attributed to my hangover plus the dress I wear that weighs more than a fat baby. But Sean told me, no, it actually was just really hot. This was confirmed by the rorschach test of various and multiple sweat marks on his frog onesie after the show.
But that wasn’t the end of my day. Oh no, not even close. I had an audition. And not some breezy little thing. It was Chechov. Breakin’ String Theater , the people behind the very well-received production last year of The Seagull, are now tackling The Cherry Orchard. A lot of the most talented people in Austin have already been cast, Matt Radford, Liz Fisher, and Babs George among them. I had been preparing for this audition for the last week and a half. When I got to the State Theater, I was still buzzing from the Frog Prince performance but an hour later, sitting in the dark un-airconditioned lobby, the creeping pain and general deathlike feeling had returned. Whatever energy I had been able to produce for the show was long spent. And it was a withered flower that walked into the audition room when my name was finally called, princess makeup smeared and sweaty. Still, its Chechov. Perhaps that spent energy translated in some way that made it look like the weariness of travel in the cold spring of Russia. Or maybe Graham Schmidt was hallucinating after seeing two days of auditioners. I’m just hoping I can get a callback, and then go into it without the self-inflicted handicap. I am such an idiot.
I went home afterward and faceplanted on my bed. But my obligations for the day were cruelly not yet over. I could only set my alarm for a twenty minute nap. I had another performance to get through. Jeremy Roye, the co-creator of Faster Than the Speed of Light, who performs his music under the name Archibald Adams, had asked some of us from the cast to perform a few songs with him as his Shimmering War Choir at the last party ever to be thrown at the infamous party house/ music venue The Space Cave. The twenty minute nap may have done more harm than good. I woke up with a loud groaning sound like a large sea mammal getting shot in the neck with a tranq dart. Everything hurt. Still, again, the peformance was a success- we tore it up. And the rest of the performances including Little Stolen Moment, No Mas Bodas, and I shit you not, a fourteen person spandex clad dance troupe from Philadelphia, were worth all the pain.
But today -MONDAY – I am still hungover. In the sense that I don’t feel great or even close to good. And GUESS WHAT? I have another audition today. And again, its no piece of cake. Its effing Pinter. At Hyde Park Theater. Why does the universe conspire against me?