I still haven’t seen that movie. But I remember a bunch of the dialogue.

MTV hit the air in 1981 but we didn’t get that in my town. On Friday nights, if we could stay up late, we could catch some videos on USA’s Night Flight  or WTBS’s Night Tracks.

We had the same three channels up until my parents got divorced and I moved to the “city” with my mom and my sister.

And then, holy crap: there was MTV.

Between the summer we moved and the summer my grandma died from cancer, she came to visit us at our new apartment. That was my eighth grade year, highlights of which included seven Jennifers in my class (none of whom would speak to me), my locker number (666), getting mono, and wearing out the grooves on Duran Duran’s Rio and Motley Crue’s Shout at the Devil. My sister and I introduced Grandma to MTV, and her favorite video, inexplicably, was Van Halen’s Hot For Teacher. 

This was the first thing to ever indicate to me that old people could be cool. It’s one of the reasons I’m staring down the barrel of 40 with anticipation rather than trepidation.

CC has a theory that you can’t be depressed while listening to Van Halen (and by “Van Halen” I mean everything up to and including MCMLXXXIV and not anything after that). I’ve tested this theory numerous times over the years and it appears to be true. Also, I have found that you cannot drive the speed limit while listening to Van Halen, and it is compulsory to scream sing along.

Grandma loved Hot For Teacher’s itty-bitty Van Halens, the ridiculous four-man choreography performed by a band containing only one member who could actually dance, and even the stripping teachers, but most of all she loved Waldo. Waldo in all his nervous, nerdy glory.

I love Waldo too. I feel like Waldo inside probably more often than not.

Grandma just howled every time Hot For Teacher came on- which at the time was approximately every 22 minutes.

I guess I have an extra reason to not be depressed while listening to Van Halen.

Every time I’m driving by myself, listening to Van Halen, blowing my voice out and shaving twenty minutes off my commute, I think of my grandma.

Love Letters and Cheap Applause Lines by CC

Those of you that are lucky enough to know my wife JM in the actual world know- and those that are readers of this blog get a glimpse of what a lovely and exceptional woman she is.  One of her favorite words is “badass” and believe me, she is.  I thank god for every day she shares my life.

Don’t worry, this is not an obituary, she is fine.  We are just both working two jobs at the moment, and she is too exhausted at the end of the day to write, so I am hijacking her site to give you all a story and an update.

We have all watched a comic, or a celebrity on television and heard them say something like “so I just got married” or “we just had our first baby” “I stopped drinking”…and the audience applauds and “WOOOO’s” obligatorily and the world dims a little for the effort.  It is a cheap applause line, and I always find it a bit tacky.  But I digress….

Hey, look.  A puppy:

Last week was busy.  Not in itself unusual around here, but at one point JM realized that there was a document that she needed THAT DAY (JM’s note: umm, it was my union card), so I found it, and after my production meetings were done I headed uptown to deliver it to her.  I slipped into the theater, and sat in the back as the crew worked on loading in the show.  I know many of them-it is a small community- but they were busy and I was content to sit in back, watch and wait for the end of the call to chat and catch up.  JM was onstage wearing her favorite new black work boots and a white hard hat while they all moved the heavy main speaker arrays into position to rig and fly.  This is the glamorous part of theater, folks.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was the department head on a tour of Aida for the Walt Disney Company, and AK, one of my dearest friends and at the time my assistant, was leaving the tour for greater glory.  I needed to replace him quickly.  In our world, for contractual reasons positions cannot go unfilled for long and everyone I knew and didn’t hate was working.  I was at a loss and started asking for resumes online from people in the industry.  Someone passed me JM’s name. We spoke on the phone, and she joined the tour in Kansas City. She did a terrific job learning the gig and –just as importantly- fitting in with the company.

Several months passed and we found ourselves taking the show into Los Angeles, the land of all things Disney Corporate, and for the show, A VERY BIG DEAL.

Slamming a million bucks worth of sound gear into and out of trucks week after week is hard work in the best of circumstances, but sometimes the theater gods conspire and scheme, and when they do, little good comes of it.  We had a rough week.

The set didn’t fit through the loading doors.

The band didn’t fit in the pit.

Disney scheduled press events around and during the load in.

The choreographer arrived for a “brush up rehearsal” and spent the week making our lives……interesting.

We adapted, we persevered, and we made it to the opening night.

My last image of JM before that show started was of her in a black polo shirt and jeans and Doc Martens with her hair in a ponytail, holding a screw gun, ready to replace yet another piece of equipment that had chosen that moment to commit suicide, while I walked to the front of house to start the show.

What I came back to after the show was breathtaking.  The jeans, polo and ponytail were gone and in their place were a midnight blue dress, heels and hair perfectly done.  It was stunning.  It was magic.  It was like something out of a Disney movie.  I was done for.  The theater gods laughed.

All these years.

All these years, dozens of cities, thousands of shows, 10 or so new productions, 4 apartments, a couple lawsuits, five kids, a wedding, a house, 2 puppies, more midnight grocery runs than I can count, a few more shows.  More than a little good has come of it.

The word “soul mate” is deadened by overuse.  But damn is it true here.  JM is my best friend and I am a better man for her love.  The theater gods are still laughing, but I think it is because they are happy for us.

Now for the cheap applause lines:

#1?      Started University

#2?      Honor Roll

#3?      Honor Roll

#4?      Honor Roll

#5?      Straight A’s

That’s right, folks, we got ourselves a house full of freaking geniuses.  And puppies.

photo: Jill B Gounder

Welcome to One and Done Sunday. One picture and five links that are worth your time.

Saturday night I finished up at my old show, at least until the summer. I’m officially down to one gig now and even though we’re about to go into the long days there, it’s good to not have a split focus anymore.

At home our Harry Potter Sunday series continues. Last week was pre-empted by the Super Bowl. #5 was bummed out about that, but I informed him that as his stepmother it was my moral obligation to force him to watch football. He changed alliances with every score until finally #2 said to him, “If this were an actual war, I’m pretty sure everybody would start shooting you right now!”

This week we’re on number four, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Before we got started, Casey ate the whipped cream off #5′s milkshake.

#5 drank it anyway.

I would have done the same thing.

There’s a scene in the movie where Harry is fighting a dragon and it breaks free and chases him to the roof of Hogwarts. There they land, Harry hanging on for dear life, trying to reach his broom while bits of roof break away underneath him, the dragon clawing towards him, bashing its tail and sending debris flying.  At the climactic moment, #5 says, “They’re gonna have to reshingle that.”

**********************************

This week’s picture demands an explanation.

When I first went on the road, I owned three pairs of shoes. None of them were cute. On my second tour I was CC’s assistant, and he was traveling eight pairs of shoes.

I gave him a lot of grief for that.

He, in turn, gave me an empty road box for my stuff. Suddenly, I had almost nine cubic feet of storage space to fill with things that I didn’t have to haul through the airport.

I found out I liked shoes.

I also found out that CC and I have very different styles.

Honestly, sometimes I wonder how we ever got together.

Recently I flipped out over the above Ariat boots on Zappos. Let’s just say CC was less than enthusiastic about them.

No, let’s repeat what he actually said to me: You are way too old for those boots.

I’m positive that what he meant was Those rock. You should totally buy them!

I did in fact buy them, because I was sure he wanted me to, and I always get at least three compliments every time I wear them. Usually in front of CC.

Which is awesome.

Also awesome is that he got me long-stemmed roses on Saturday for finishing up my gig and I was the only girl with flowers on the subway.

Now for your links. I gotta be honest, I didn’t read anything this week. So while Harry Potter was on I went to some places I can count on.

First, four artists. I hope to be bringing you more about one of them soon, but for now, check out their sites:

This chick does cool shizz with dead animals. No lie. Kimberly Witham.

Amazing color and shape. Love! Jay Gaskill.

I love all of this lady’s work, but her countryside photos really speak to my soul, being mostly shot in Indiana, where I grew up: Jolie Buchanan.

I work with this guy when he’s not off doing fabulous artistic projects: Davis Duffield.

Finally, because sometimes you just need to laugh your ass off about a homicidal monkey: The Bloggess- Would You Like to Buy a Monkey?

Happy Sunday.

]]> http://accidentalstepmom.com/2012/02/12/one-and-done-sunday-13/feed/ 15 accidentalstepmom honestly http://accidentalstepmom.com/2012/02/05/too-much-cuteness-for-one-post-not-that-its-stopping-me/ http://accidentalstepmom.com/2012/02/05/too-much-cuteness-for-one-post-not-that-its-stopping-me/#comments Mon, 06 Feb 2012 01:52:50 +0000 JM Randolph http://accidentalstepmom.com/?p=3783 Continue reading →]]> I was reading and commenting on some blogs this morning and I noticed one of the results of this work schedule I’m keeping right now: I’m not funny. I’m not feeling funny, I’m not making anybody laugh, and I am not amused.

Clearly, it’s time for puppy pictures.

We finished up at the shop last week and started loading the new show into the theater. I’m still at my old show at night for another week. It’s good to finally be in the door loading in, and we have a kick ass crew.

But I will miss the shop dogs, Gracie and Tucker.

They’re awesome.

And now for puggles.

It’s essential to note that I did not pose any puggles for these photos.

There. I feel better already.

We had an impromptu Black Friday party at my house with a bunch of people that I like but don’t see nearly often enough.

#5 was the youngest person there. As you might imagine, he hit a wall where he had a shitload of energy to burn off and no way to do it. The open spaces in our house were full of glassware and adults. Neither of those are on a little boy’s Top Ten list of Favorite Things, so I made a suggestion.

Me: You look like you need to run around the house. Outside.

He gave me a look that was half-smile and half-eye roll. He knew exactly what this was about, but he likes running. He thinks he’s fast.

Me: Whaddaya say?

#5: Will you time me?

I tried to find a solution that didn’t require my participation.

Me: I’ll time you by the clock on the stove.

#5: How would that even work?

Me, sighing: I’ll get my phone. I’m pretty sure it has a stopwatch on it.

I set up at the back door with the stop watch function up on my phone.

#5, poised and ready: How many times?

Me: How about three?

#5: Three?!?! How about two?

Me: Okay, two.

#5: Good. Okay.

Me: Ready, set. . . Go!

He is pretty fast. And god bless him, he doesn’t do anything half way. Except maybe eat vegetables. He’s not a half-assed kid, in spite of his stepmom.

He came around from the second lap and I hit stop.

Me: 38.4 seconds

#5, breathing hard: That’s two-point-two seconds over my record.

Me: What’s your record?

#5: Seventeen seconds.

Me, taking a minute to catch up to his math: Oh.

We switch to one lap. He gets closer each time but setting a new record eludes him. He brings me outside to verify his route, asks if certain shortcuts are permissible.

He keeps running.

I keep timing.

After about twenty minutes I tell him that I’m going in to spend time with our guests, because I never get to see them.

#5: Can I keep running?

Me: Of course.

#5: But how will I time myself? How will I know if I broke my record?

We look at each other. We look at my phone. This is the only way I’m going to get a semi-interrupted visit with my guests, including my mother, who lives far away. But handing my phone over to a nine-year old boy so he can time himself running laps outside around the house seems ill-advised.

#5: I promise I won’t drop it.

And he gave me that super-cute, hopeful little boy look and I handed my phone right over. Had I had my wallet and car keys on me, I would have given him those too, and all my chocolate.

I went inside and joined the rest of my family.

He kept at it. I didn’t exactly get uninterrupted time with our guests, but I got time with them. #5 kept coming in to tell us his times and to ask our opinions on potential new routes. He began timing himself running around different obstacles, going on other parts of our property. He asked if he could run around the house backwards but since there are stone steps involved, we nixed that idea. He brought me out again to show how fast he could run up and down the hill and he slipped and slid the whole way down on his butt.

He did not let go of the phone.

My phone has an order of operations that is based solely on how much it can annoy you by interrupting what you’re trying to do. Incoming texts, missed calls, what have you- it makes sure to show you the least important information first in a way that makes it so you can’t get back to what you were trying to do in the first place.

Apparently, the stop watch function is not immune to this.

#5, running into the living room, completely out of breath: Oh, man, I can’t believe it! I was about to break my record and guess what happened? Somebody texted you!!!!

This happened three times before he finally gave it up. He gave me my phone back and sat quietly playing games with his sisters the rest of the afternoon.

Because he was tired.

Which, after all, was the whole point.

The reason for this is that we’re painting #5′s room. And by we, I mean everyone in my family except for me.

I walked in there today and the girls were painting each other, not fully hip to just how hard it is to get wall paint off one’s person. And hair. Ah well, they know now.

Casey was wagging her whole self at me and I rubbed her ears and said, as I often do, “You are too cute!”

To which #5 replied, “You can never be ‘too cute’. Unless you’re in an ugly contest.”

***************************************

I made it to the day off again, end of my second week of my extra job.

I had noticeably less energy today than I did last week.

Also, far less patience.

But I went to yoga. We made popcorn and milkshakes and are watching Harry Potter Two: The Chamber of Secrets. I’m blessed that my husband did laundry so that I don’t have to go to the shop naked tomorrow. I’m lucky as hell that I got the day off today anyway.

Here’s why I didn’t have to mix my show today:

JMass

He's a hand model

Thanks for doing Sunday’s shows so I can have a day off and not be an entirely hateful human being. These pictures are from the shop build that we’re doing together. He’s Vato’s dad, the teacup chihuahua with the bark control collar that #5 liked so much.

He’s a rack-building ninja. And a hand model.

Also? I was totally coveting his baby drill there. I loaded my current show in so long ago that even power tool technology has lapped me. Most stagehands in New York, even if they’re running a regular show, will pick up extra work building shows like this or else loading in those shows into the theaters. I did some of that, and then I got a bunch of kids. I’m finding myself having to replace a lot of work-related things (tools, work boots, pants I can actually work in- uh, not to mention underwear). Though I was pleased to discover that my old tool belt fits me again. I outgrew it for a couple years.

And Lo, the new Makita!

Sweeeeeet.

I haven’t been this worked up about a power tool in a long time. I think I may turn my old DeWalt over to #5.

I have a feeling he would like that.

I take Sundays off from mixing the old show so I can have a day off. I know myself. If I don’t do that when it’s possible, life sucks. I need a day off. Sue me.

We’ve got some budding athletes in our family. It’s a genuine treat (rare and enjoyable) when we can get to one of their games/meets/matches. Because of the extra work right now it’s nearly impossible to get to one. My guilt is directly proportional to my availability.

I started my day today by getting more than five hours of sleep. I followed that with not having to drive over the George Washington Bridge. Made a last minute appointment to get some PT on my shoulder. Hung out with kids and puppies. Ran errands. Went to Bikram Yoga with #1, which was way cool (and she didn’t even make me go on the opposite side of the room from her). Came home and started getting dinner together and pondered the rest of the day. My list of must-do’s was far longer than the hours remaining.

#3 had a basketball game tonight. She’s on the middle school travel team. While I was cooking dinner heating up food she asked me if could come to her game.

Me: I don’t think so, sweetie.

#3: Awww. Pleeeese?

Me: I really don’t mean to blow you off, but I’m working two jobs right now. This is my only day off and I’m trying to do the things I need to do to be okay. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything, you know? You know how I can get.

#3: (with a knowing nod and a sigh) Yeah, I do.

Me: I’m trying not to get like that.

#5: You mean fat?

******************

For the record, I sacked my must-do list and we watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone while having popcorn and milkshakes, thereby negating my one and only workout this week. It was totally worth it.

#3: Hey, have you ever seen a movie about a giant asteroid that’s going to hit the earth so like five people go on it to dismantle it?

Me: They go to dismantle a rock?

#3: No, I mean, um, like blow it up or something?

Me: While they’re standing on it?

#3: So that it doesn’t destroy the earth.

#2: You mean detonate?

#3: Whatever. I can’t think of the name of the movie. It starts with an a.

Me, #2, #4 and #5, in unison: Asteroid?

#3: No! It sounds kind of like armadillo, but it’s not.

Me: Oh. Armageddon.

#3: That’s it!

Me: No. I’ve never seen it.

#3: Oh.

#4: I just drooled on myself.

Yeah, I know I’m late. I promised myself I would clean my bathroom before I got online today. There were a lot of things that interrupted me though, including Chicks With Guns and a Foo Fighters documentary. But I think I’ve got like seventeen minutes left.

CC took this picture during the Halloween blizzard. I think it’s cool. The Halloween blizzard is the only snow we’ve had so far this season. I am convinced it’s because one of my co-workers bought a new snow blower after the hurricane (thanks, Jan!).

Heavy hitters this week on the links. Bloggers that really don’t need help spreading the word, but if you missed them, check them the hell out.

Amazing pictures, followed by amazing writing, from one who served. Iraq: What I Remember by Michael Xavier Oritz

This fed my soul, in an unbelievable way. It’s super long, but what would you expect from The Wedding Blog by amanda f*ing palmer? It’s worth it.

Lori Dyan tells what to do when your kid gets religion. Google is My Co-Pilot by Lori Dyan

The most unexpected and hopeful post about debilitating depression and self-harm that I read this week: The Fight Goes On. The Bloggess.

Betty Londergan has a new gig and a new blog. She’s one of my favorite writers, now working with one of my favorite organizations, Heifer International. Check out her page on the new blog Why Heifer

Happy Sunday.

Both of my readers whom I do not work with and am also not related to have suggested that I could do a Full-Assed Friday post about my job. Being that I haven’t put one of these up in like two months I thought, hey, what the hell. Plus we did something kind of cool a few weeks ago.

I do sound for musical theater. The producers of Broadway shows tend to keep a pretty tight rein on publicity and image, with good reason. I don’t go into show-specific details on my blog because I don’t want to violate that. Or get in trouble. These people are paying me, for god’s sake.

I decided that for this post we needed aliases. In the form of photo manipulation. Of course I immediately turned to the blogger with the hottest photoshopping chops I’ve ever seen, Julie of Go Guilty Pleasures.

Okay, so here’s the deal. My musical did an appearance on one of those national early morning news/talk television shows. The kind of TV show that most people have on in the background every morning as they’re getting ready for work or getting the kids off to school.

The kind of show I never, ever watch, because they’re on early; plus, I live under a rock and also my family doesn’t ever let me have the remote.

Consider for a moment how early the people on the shows need to be there for a show that begins broadcasting at 7am. To prep, to get dressed and get into hair and makeup, to review, to rehearse.

It’s early. Damn early, we, the guests, think. But the TV show’s hosts get there earlier than the guests. And guess who gets there before the hosts?

The TV crew usually starts around 2am. I see 2am frequently, but usually I see 2am and think, “Crap, I got sucked into watching heavy metal documentaries and I have to make lunches in five hours. Again. And where the hell was I when Anthrax did that tour with Public Enemy? Dammit!”

I did not have to be in at 2am because in this case, I wasn’t the real crew. I also didn’t have to find my own way in, for the same reason. A car came for me at 4:30am.

Forty-five minutes later (half the time of my normal commute) I was at the studio.

Waiting.

Then the boys got there.

What? Aliases through photo manipulation. I think they look perfectly natural.

The best part about my early call is that I don’t have to sing at that hour. These guys do. They’re singing live (yes, actually singing, no pitch correction, and they can’t suck, because “fix it in the mix” is a lie). They all did a show the night mere hours before, and we have two shows scheduled this day, after the TV appearance. I can’t adequately express how frickin’ good these guys have to be to pull this off the way they do.

As for me, I’m completely at the mercy of the guy in the broadcast booth. He will either be good, or he won’t. He will either care what I have to say, or not. I’ve been on gigs where they won’t let me anywhere near the broadcast booth, and I’ve been on gigs where they actually let me mix the broadcast feed. I’ve dealt with assholes and complete sweethearts. You just never know.

Ahead of time, I make contact. Days before we get there, I let them know what our requirements are: what mics we need, the details of our monitor mixes.

At the studio I make contact with the TV crew face to face. I’ve been here before, maybe five years ago. There’s only one new guy on the whole crew. I try to not be a jerk, but also not a weenie. We set for rehearsal and I tell our guys to let me know how they feel after we run it. I stand back.

The single most important thing is that our guys- the talent, the entire reason that we’re here- are comfortable. If they’re comfortable enough (I say “enough” because it’s not like they’re going to be, you know relaxed, exactly, in a situation like this), odds are they’ll sound good.

What? I know, you can’t really tell where the photo edits are, can you? She’s that good.

At this point everybody else jumps in.

Our production supervisor:

The TV show’s stage manager, the segment producer. Our choreographer. Our wardrobe; the TV show’s hair and makeup.

We run through the numbers. I ask how their monitor mixes are; they ask for changes and I pass them along. The choreographer works them; the stage managers talk about how the shots look and make adjustments to where they stand, where they look. I tell the guy who keeps dancing away from his microphone to get a little closer to it.

Then there’s more waiting.

We are but one small part of a two (three?) hour show. We’re like, I don’t know, six or seven minutes? And that’s a lot, in TV time. But there are a lot of other parts of the show, so there’s a lot of waiting.

There are donuts and fruit in the green room; coffee, tea, and water. And TV’s (tuned to the show, of course). There is no wi-fi.

They let me in the booth. There’s a moment when I’m afraid they won’t, but my persistence pays off and I’m in.

Every time I enter a television broadcast booth I’m blown away by the complete and utter chaos that ensues, and I’m shocked- seriously, totally shocked- by the fact that most live broadcasts come off without massive audio errors (pre-2011 Tony broadcasts excluded).

A biscuit is what we call an intercom speaker. In a TV booth there are at least five or six going- speakers that each carry one voice: director, stage manager, studio guy, monitor guy, and someone in each location they’ll be broadcasting from, whether that is downstairs or in another city entirely.

All these biscuits squawking.

Everybody talking at the same time.

Plus there’s a second guy in the booth, patching these sound and intercom feeds and previewing them. Both guys answer the biscuits, sometimes even ask questions.

Oh, and meanwhile, they are broadcasting the show RIGHT NOW. To millions of televisions across the country. And they’re rehearsing stuff and previewing videos. During the commercials. Many of which also have audio going through this same console. Somehow the sound guy keeps track of what his broadcast feed sounds like. It’s completely insane. I’ve never been in a broadcast booth where the sound guy isn’t sweating.

So I sit there in awe of the flurry of activity going on around me, we do our first number and the guy in the booth is good. Somehow over all the biscuits squawking he listens to me and makes the adjustments I ask for. I would melt down if I tried to do his job. We do another number and the host comes over and does a live interview with the guys and I just think, wow. Actors sometimes get a bad rap about how easy their jobs are, but not a single goddamn thing about this is easy.

To show up after not enough sleep and look good and hit the notes and make the moves and then come off intelligent and charismatic in a spontaneous interview, and then go do two shows- where they also have to look good and hit the notes and make the moves and be charismatic and all of that. Not many people can pull that off. I’m very fortunate to work with so many people who can.

We wrap, and I walk back to the theater because there are two and a half hours before my call time for the matinee, which isn’t enough to go home and back. I will not watch the recordings of the broadcast.

Some of our producers have delivered Christmas popcorn cones with chocolate peppermint drizzle. I’m hungry enough that I eat one and it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever had. Only the fact that I’m too tired to move keeps me from prowling around trying to find extras to swipe. Then I fall asleep in my chair for two hours.

(Yes, that was just about as comfortable as it sounds. And you wonder why I have to do yoga.)