Putting Our Skills To Use

My sister, Beth, left this morning. #5 wants her to come back next week with her whole family, including her husband and Tall Nephew and Super-Tall Nephew. He has drawn up a sleeping plan for our house that involves CC and I sharing our queen-sized bed with my brother-in-law.

Beth put #5 to bed last night while we were at the party. He shared with her his design for a bacon hat and also told her that he is closer to the genetic makeup of a monkey than most people. He encouraged her to have another baby, but this time a girl, and then she could give the baby to us in exchange for him, and she would have five boys and we would have five girls. If she wouldn’t do that, he wondered if she would consider trading Slightly-Larger Nephew for #4.

Separately, #1 asked if Beth would trade Tiny Nephew for #5.

Regarding the party, in case you were wondering (and even if you weren’t), yes, it’s awesome to be at the party of the show that wins. I’ll wait while you imagine glamourous party scenes, like me doing shots with Matt Stone and Trey Parker.

(This is where the people that know me in real life are having fits of hilarity) I actually hate parties, but even I couldn’t hate this one. Here’s reality: I’m both anti-social and socially inept. I don’t drink anymore. A good party for me means I have a place to sit. Plus, I knew like six people there and none of them are famous.

These were the cool things about the party to me:

The front room was like a greenhouse; an entire building’s length of glass, and we watched the Tony broadcast on a ginormous screen that was mounted on the outside of a different building across the courtyard.

They had chrome toilets in the restrooms.

When the broadcast was over and the DJ started and the sound suddenly increased by about 90dB, we put our sound guy skills to use and unplugged the feed to the nearest speaker, making it almost possible to have a conversation where we were sitting.

Here’s a Tony hanging out on a coffee table with a drink. This happened more than once. Think about it: in a normal party situation, if you’re standing around, you always face the challenge of how to hold your plate and your drink and use silverware at the same time. What if you’re a moderately famous person who has an award to deal with as well? How do you eat and drink and shake hands? You set that mother down, that’s what you do.

For the record, the math that makes nine Tonys = nine vodkas is entirely subjective, and not highly recommended.


Blessings and Tonys and Zombies

My sister is here for a visit this weekend, with Tiny Nephew and Slightly-Larger Nephew. It’s excellent to have them here. CC and all the kids are thrilled because they haven’t met Tiny Nephew before, and we don’t get to see most of my family more than once a year, tops. I’m happy to report that Tiny Nephew still has itty bitty feet.

The Puggle and the Fuggle are fascinated by the sounds Tiny Nephew makes. They like that he’s small, and smells like milk and poop. They’ve found a kindred spirit.

CC and I both had to work two shows yesterday right after they got here, but my sister kept me updated with pictures. This is the one that broke my heart:

The clown, the baby of our family, bacon-crazed, never-serious #5, with Tiny Nephew, sitting up straight, being responsible, resting his hand on the baby’s belly. I showed it to someone at work and she asked, “When did he grow up?” and I said, “Apparently, right then, when he had someone to be older than.”

Yes, they keep asking for a baby. No, we’re not going to have one.


CC and I have a party to go tonight for his work.

We both have pretty cool jobs. Speaking for myself only, the fact that I have this job is proof of some benevolent force working in the universe because if I had the job I deserve, it would likely involve cleaning up after an exploding whale.

Last night a man came up to me at the end of the show and insisted that my main speakers hadn’t been on all night. He had an English accent so he already sounded smarter than me. I told him I’d check it out, but I think he was looking for a different answer, because he wouldn’t leave.

English dude: You must believe me. I’ve seen it three times. Your speakers weren’t on.


Because really, I’ve got nothing for that. Nothing at all.

The Tony awards, the reason for tonight’s party, don’t mean much to anyone except to the people that work in theater. Okay, let’s be honest: Theater doesn’t mean much to anyone, unless they work in theater. There is a small and mighty cross section of die-hard fans across the globe, small being the key word.

When CC was touring with Phantom in the 80’s, the crew once exchanged house seats for tickets to a Space Shuttle Launch. That’s badass. By the time I got on the road, it didn’t matter how big or high-profile the show was, nobody had heard of it.

I toured with Aida (the musical written by Elton John and Tim Rice) and largely, if people recognized the name, they thought it was the opera (by Verdi). If they saw the commercial, they thought it was about interracial love.


Loading out the Hairspray tour in Providence, sun coming up near the end of a twenty-two hour work day, a minivan pulls into the alley and flags me down.

Me: Yes?

Woman in Van: Are you with the Wiggles?


It ain’t rock’n’roll, that’s for sure. But once a year we get a shot on prime time TV. Broadway has some ridiculously talented people and you should tune in tonight, CBS at 8pm EST, and check some of them out. You won’t get to see the stagehands though, unless something goes horribly, horribly wrong.

CC’s show is up for practically every award tonight. I’m stupidly excited for them.

The first Tony for Sound Design was given in 2008. My two very favorite sound designers are up for the award tonight, my designer (Steve Kennedy) and CC’s (Brian Ronan). I have a million people to be grateful for, but I am deeply, deeply indebted to these two men. Without them, all this would have been a very different story.


Last night I dreamt of zombies. It was one of those dreams where you look around and you gradually see that the situation is worse than you first thought, and you realize that you’re the only one who knows it, and you keep looking around and all of these very normal seeming people are actually all zombies and they get more and more zombie looking and therefore more dangerous every second, and one, who had been holding my hand was suddenly grabbing my wrist and he twitched and I recognized him for what he was and started punching the crap out of him.

CC, springing straight up in bed: Jesus Christ!! WHY ARE YOU PUNCHING ME?






Because I had nothing for that, either.

And now, I have to go see if I fit into any of my party dresses.

Tell me about your blessings, theater opinions, or zombie experiences.