Finding my balance

I can already tell this month at home is going to go by in a flash. I'm keeping very busy. No magazine reading, yoga class attending housewife I, no sir, not this time. I have an honest-to-goodness JOB, as drama coach to the young artists in the HGO Studio. I realized today that I haven't had a job in the city I live in since Tosca at Miller. That was in May 2010!! Crazy.

Being home is great (obvs), and I can already tell the job is going to be satisfying and varied and fun. I can also tell, however, that I'll be forced to confront issues of the elusive “work-life balance” in ways I haven't had to in a long time (and not only because we're now parents of a newborn). Generally the main question of balance I deal with is how to get the right ratio of time spent at home to time spent elsewhere. It's far from simple, but I'm mostly used to it.

This month I have the happy task of figuring out how to get all the restorative nourishment I need from being in my home with my husband, going to work every day, studying for upcoming projects, and still fitting in all that other stuff that keeps me sane: blogging, running, cooking, reading, seeing friends, kitten-nuzzling, etc. There are a finite number of hours in the day.

This is not a revelation for anyone but me, of course. This is how people live. And I am dying (DYING) to live this way myself. I dream and scheme constantly how to live and work in the same place. Now is the time to figure out the day-to-day of how it's done.

So I'm signing off now to go do some more kitten-nuzzling (and husband-cuddling—also very important).

It's the day of the show, y'all

Tonight is the opening of L'Elisir d'Amore, which is the opening of the Met 2012-13 season as well as the first opening night of my season. Of course, I got started a while ago—I've been in tech and/or rehearsals for the past 7 weeks—but tonight is still momentous, the official launching of another opera season.

Interested in being a part of it? If you don't have a ticket for tonight's performance, you can watch it on the big screens at Lincoln Center Plaza and Times Square, or you can stream audio live on the Met's website. You can also check out photos from the production here.

Thus kicks off the busiest season I've had so far, with (at last count) 8 more opening nights to go. I'll be celebrating tonight with champagne and a slinky cocktail dress. Won't you make a toast, wherever you are?

Decisions, decisions

I'm in Chicago for a couple days teching Bohème. It's pretty great. Right now, though, after 11 hours of almost nonstop decision-making, I am going to bed because I'm completely exhausted. Or, according to CameraMan, DRUNK WITH POWER.

Speaking of which, my picture is on the roster among pictures of fancy people. Can you see it? Pinch me, please.

Je ne parle pas français

This summer we started out our Adventures in Foreign Languages in a familiar place—Vienna—where both CM and I felt proud of how much we remembered and how easily we were able to drop back into German. Then we moved on to Italy, where we spoke serviceable Italian to waiters and post office employees. We might have gotten a little cocky. Our next stop was France, and the first French person who spoke to us got nothing but blank looks from us. It became abundantly clear: we do not speak French.

So obviously my first European gig is in Geneva, Switzerland. And it starts 6 months from now.

I'm working on it. Rosetta Stone, flash cards, this workbook and this one. I'm planning to take a class at the Alliance Française this winter, and maybe do some private tutoring as well. I'm scared.

To put it into perspective, I'm relying on stories of those much braver than I. Like Mama Bossy, who studied as a foreign exchange student in Finnland after high school, just because she wanted a challenge (her 4 years of concurrent French and Spanish classes weren't enough for her, apparently). Or CameraMan, who moved to Vienna and worked for a year in what previously had been his weakest language. Or Legs McGee, who has just moved to Moscow for a year on a Fulbright grant and is starting work at the Bolshoi (read all about her adventures here!).

After all, French is "easy."

From here

Any hot tips on learning French? I'll take them!

First day of school

Today was my first day back at work after summer vacation. I felt grumpy and tired this morning, wishing I could be out in the gorgeous weather or off on a train with CM visiting friends at Wolf Trap. It can be hard to get back into the swing of things after a long time away. I haven't been here since March, and I even found myself having to think twice about which elevator to take to get where I wanted to go (yes, it's my 5th season and I still sometimes get lost in the maze).

But then…reality check. I am so damn lucky to do what I do, and in this theater of all places. Any day that starts with this walk into work can't be too bad.

I think mostly I was crabby because CM and I spent our first night apart in TWO MONTHS last night. I know, I know, we're apart all the time, but it never gets any easier. Thank goodness he gets back tonight—maybe he'll bring me back a better attitude.

Tomorrow I'll share with you my first Sunday in New York. It's a good one!

Photo by LMB

Broadway baby

I have a confession to make. I've been having a little flirtation with Broadway. It's harmless, really, nothing to be worried about—I'm just rediscovering that little piece of my heart I left with musical theater oh so many years ago.

It started because I've been studying Sweeney Todd, listening to a recording whenever I'm out and about (some of the more intense passages end up causing me to walk extremely fast). Amazingly enough, I still have most of the show memorized from my musical theater nerd days. Then I went to watch a bit of Evita rehearsal and ended up staying for hours (and I'm going back tonight) just because it was such fun, and such a change from what I usually do. Then I saw Once on Sunday, and now I'm hooked. I've been listening to various cast recordings (turns out I have FOURTEEN musicals on my computer—maybe my Broadway nerd days are not as far behind me as I thought). I'm scanning Broadway listings daily, and I'm wishing I had brought dance shoes to New York so I could take a class. I have traveled to the tourist-infested hell that is Times Square ON PURPOSE more in the past week than I usually do in the course of two months. I don't know what's going on.

Feeling Broadway-obsessed yourself? May I recommend the following:

Show Business:  The Road to Broadway follows four shows that opened in the 2003–4 season, from rehearsals all the way through the Tony Awards.




Every Little Step is about A Chorus Line, both the original production and the audition process for the 2006 revival. It's completely fascinating.




And though tomorrow night I'll go back to my true love (in the form of my 14th Don Giovanni performance of the season), tonight I'll travel to Times Square once again to be a tourist in a Broadway theater.

I guess you never forget your first love.

Getting back on the horse (or your metaphor of choice)

I seem to have fallen off the blogging wagon with a vengeance over the last couple weeks. If it's any consolation, my dear readers, you are not all that I've neglected during that time. Other things I haven't done include (but are not limited to):

• responding to emails
• returning phone calls
• running
• saying no to cupcakes
• saying no to cookies
• saying no to cannoli
• having a social life

I have, however, prepped, rehearsed, and opened a show, so there's that.

Happily, now that the show is open my duties consist mostly of going to the performances, with the odd rehearsal thrown in here and there. Which means FREE TIME! for blogging and other pursuits (and perhaps most excitingly, going home to Houston and CM for a few days between shows). When the weather's bad I'll hole up in a café studying scores, or I'll catch a new exhibit, or I'll sit in a dark theater watching a movie. When the weather's good I'll run around the Central Park Reservoir, or sit on a park bench reading Henri Murger, or explore new neighborhoods on foot. Who knows, I might even start answering emails. And I will do my utmost to update this space on a more regular basis.

What do you say? Are you with me?

A Week at a Time: Morning pages

Well, the evening clean-up week was a great success, except for that one night, when I took Nyquil at 8pm without thinking and fell fast asleep by 9:30. That night I did not clean the apartment. Otherwise, though, I made the effort to do it and it greatly improved the quality of my mornings. This one's a keeper.

This week my goal is to write every morning. The idea is taken from The Artist's Way, which instructs you to write three pages long-hand first thing in the morning, for your eyes only. I'm not certain that mornings are the best time for me to write, or whether long-hand is better than typing, or whether three pages will be the magic number for me, but it seems like a good place to start. I've never kept a journal with any regularity, and I'd like to start doing more writing that's not for public consumption. So often writing here leads me to some sort of catharsis, but the times in which I am most in need of that are also the times in which I tend to blog less. So... morning pages.

I'm looking forward to it. Care to join me?

A Week at a Time: Evening clean-up

My television-free week went quite well, although that might have been mostly because I was hardly home in the evenings to miss it. The nights I did stay in, I was more productive and spent lots more time reading, writing, and going through pictures. I tend to be exhausted by the time I get home, even if it's only 7:30pm, and not having the option to simply turn on a show (or four!) made me far more mindful of how I was spending my time. I think I slept better, too, although I did miss my man Jon Stewart.

This week I'm challenging myself to clean up my apartment every evening. It's such a small space (with no dishwasher, I might add) that clothes on the floor and dishes in the sink can lead to energy-sucking clutter in a matter of hours. Conversely, just 10-15 minutes of clean-up can make a huge difference, so this week I'll be doing the dishes and straightening up before bed. Oh, and I think I'll make my bed in the mornings, too, just for good measure.

It would have been useful for me to thoroughly clean the place on this, my free day. That way, I would be inspired to keep it neat and tidy, and my nightly sweep would be light and manageable.

I did no such thing, of course. I was too busy today enjoying the weather, finding my perfect wedding dress (check!), buying adorable pink things for my brand-new, born today niece(!!!!), and rolling my eyes at the Oscars.

The cleaning shall begin…tomorrow!

Are you in?

Magic Monday

At CameraMan's new job, they put shows on seemingly by magic, sometimes with a total of THREE rehearsals, none of which take place on the stage or include the orchestra. Somehow, it works. Here in the world of mere mortals, I'm used to three weeks in the room, followed by a generous serving of onstage technical and orchestra rehearsals. Of course even with bags of time, a successful opening night often feels like a miracle, but that's another story.

I'm in the midst of a magic miracle of my own at the moment. Tomorrow morning at 10am, the second cast of Butterfly takes the stage for the first student matinee, joining the orchestra for the first time. Their one onstage rehearsal was today, and it has to be said… they kicked some serious a**. Despite a complicated stage deck with lots of steps and a big ramp, despite being responsible for moving a wall at the right time and bringing multiple props on and offstage, despite a lighting plot without followspots (so they HAVE to be in the right place onstage all the time, no fudging), they pulled it off with ease like the pros they are.

And tomorrow morning, in front of a couple thousand children, they'll do it again (knock on wood). We dabble in a little magic over here, too, you see.

Suck it, Europe.

Sorry it's been forever. Work has been crazy.

Hey, remember that one time, when I redesigned my blog to be exactly what I wanted, wrote two micro-posts, and was never heard from again?

Yeah, about that.

I called up the Best Friend last night for a long overdue catch-up session, and I started out with, "Sorry it's been forever. Work has been crazy."

"Isn't it always?" she asked.

She's absolutely right. I have probably said the phrase "Work has been crazy" dozens of times over the past few years, to her and to all the other friends and family members I neglect the minute I start rehearsals for a new show. It's the worst thing about my job: the necessity for completely single-minded focus for intense periods of time. It's also one of my favorite things, actually, and I'm particularly thankful for it at the moment.

You know those dreams you have where different eras of your life are all jumbled together? You're at a cookout in the backyard of the house you lived in as a child, and with you are people from college you barely knew, and your high school boyfriend, and your great-uncle who died when you were a baby, and you're all discussing global warming, and then you go inside the house and you're actually in that apartment you lived in during grad school. Or something. You know what I mean.

Life is feeling surreal like that to me. I'm in Houston, but instead of living with CameraMan and the Bossy Cat in our cozy apartment, I've traveled back in time a couple years and I'm living in corporate housing again. I'm driving the same car, and seeing the same friends, and going to the same gym, and shopping in the same grocery stores, but I'm doing all those things alone instead of with CM. It's bizarre. Work is the same, barring a few new faces, but everything else seems just a little bit off.

So I'm focusing on work. And since I'm only at work 8-10 hours a day, with the balance of my time I'm trying to go to the gym and cook myself healthy meals on a regular basis. It all seems to be working pretty well. CM and I have settled into a routine: I call him when I wake up (he's on his afternoon break) and on my lunch break (he's home for the night), and we both write chatty good night emails at the end of our respective days.

It's almost enough to distract me from the fact that I'm not in Vienna. Almost.

Thank god the new season of TV has started.

Oh, what a week

As usual, just when lots of blog-worthy things were happening, I had no time to blog. The past week has been one of the most jam-packed on record: we put on a show, we packed up all our belongings, we moved said belongings into storage, and we drove from Houston to Vienna... Virginia.

There's at least a week's worth of material in there. I could tell you about how a week that I dreaded for months turned out to be incredibly rewarding, exciting, and generally great (surely there's a lesson in there somewhere). About how, despite all my questions and quandaries about what I want to do with my life (or even the next few years), I was reminded that this job is something I love and something I do very well. Or about sitting on the lawn during Saturday night's Tosca performance listening to the whole audience erupt in cheers when Tosca killed Scarpia, and the woman behind me who yelled, "You GO, girl!" I could fill you in on all the details of our highly organized move, but I don't have the words to tell you about the most important detail of all: our amazing friends, who turned out (in shifts, no less) to help us pack and unpack the moving truck, bringing with them laughter, support, and (of course) muscles of steel. I could tell you about the tears that came as I stood with CM in our empty apartment, the first home we shared. Or about inadvertently dropping off our apartment keys early in our hurry to get out of town, and almost being stuck outside with the Bossy Cat stuck inside.

The road trip could provide plenty of blog fodder as well. There was the carefully researched town an hour outside of Houston where we spent our first night, only to discover it was a pizza no man's land, when pizza was all we wanted. There was the Bossy Cat, who roamed all over the car looking for a good spot and wound up on a pillow between us in the front seat. There was some quality time spent with Papa Melear, who just moved to Tennessee a week ago and is already more settled in than we ever were in a year and a half of living in our apartment, and the incredibly Southern pancake house he took us to for breakfast, which had a waitress whose accent and voice have to be heard to be believed. There was the novelty of being in the same car with CM after 2 years of making the same drive in separate cars, and the relief on arriving at our fantastic apartment in Tysons Corners.

It's too much. I'll never get through everything. How about I just show you some pictures instead?

Scarpia, Tosca, Maestro CameraMan, and me

Empty apartment

The whole family in the car



CM's Tennessee biscuits and gravy



The Melear men

Who's the boss?

I love being an assistant director, however nebulous my job might seem at times. I love feeling necessary to the process, and helping rehearsals and performances to run smoothly, and problem-solving, and multi-tasking. The most important part of my job is to be a good communicator and disseminater of information—I'm basically a liaison between the production and the company. I also often act as another pair of eyes, and I'll happily give my 2 or 4 cents when asked, but my primary responsibility is facilitating other people's creativity, not indulging my own. The directors who are the most fun to assist use me as a collaborator; more often than not, though, my mind is consumed with schedules and blocking. And any AD will attest to the fact that we spend a lot of hours of every day consciously NOT giving our opinions. I don't mind that, not really. I use a different part of my brain as an AD—the organized, attentive to detail part—and I'm okay with turning off the creative side in order to be happy and good at my job.

Here's the thing, and it's so important that it's amazing how easily I forget it. The thing is: directing is better. In the past few days working on Tosca, I have made more decisions at work than I usually make over an entire rehearsal period (a normal one, with several weeks). And they weren't decisions about what time to call people to rehearsal, or about how to approach the soprano with a note, or about who needs to know the piece of information I've just learned. I made quite literally DOZENS of decisions about what the set and props and lighting should look like (the show is a remount, but since we're in a different space a lot of things had to change). I saw ways that the singers could more easily accomplish their staging, and rather than diplomatically leaning over to the director with a "Do you like what she's doing?" or a "I wonder if it would work if he..." or a "I liked it better when she used to...," I just walked up on the stage and changed it. It felt good. Assisting is comfortable and well-paying, and I've become very good at it, but it really just isn't the same. My idea of heaven has always been a rehearsal that I'm in charge of, and it's good to be reminded that that's still true.

They don't call me Little Ms. Bossy for nothing, you know.

Back to the grind

My days of lazing in bed until noon, puttering around the apartment, reading for hours, watching movies, and generally being a SLUG are over for the moment. This morning I had to set an alarm, get up, shower, and actually go to work. I know, I know: it's a terribly rough life I'm leading.

We're back in Ophelia rehearsals, of course. This one has 4 days of rehearsal before her first performance, which seems like an incredible luxury of time after the last one. We started off with a musical work-through of her scenes and then a quick and dirty staging of everything she does in Act I. Her first couple rehearsals are mostly going to be about blocking: where she goes, when, and why. The rest of the cast (who have all been doing this for weeks) won't join her until later in the week, so for now it's up to me and the other AD to walk all the parts, with assorted music staff singing (sometimes 3 or 4 in unison).

This is a part of my job I just cannot do gracefully. It's awkward—do I mouth the words or not, how much "acting" should I attempt, is eye contact a help or a hindrance? I never know. You would think, after so many years of performing, that I would be a total pro at this, but I'm a mess. Also, after weeks of watching the staging from the audience's perspective, it's shockingly easy to get turned around when you're actually up there doing it yourself. I find myself mixing up stage left and right, concepts I'm pretty sure I nailed at age 7. Go figure.

Thankfully, I've had a good bit of practice on all the Ophelia scenes by now. My Hamlet/Ophelia love duet will bring tears to your eyes, and my Queen Gertrude is truly hair-raising.

It's too bad the role I'd really like to play isn't even in the opera. And no, I'm not referring to Fortinbras. I'm talking about Ophelia's sassy gay friend, of course:



P.S. This is the best your hair has ever looked.

Leave it to the experts

The laundry ritual in our apartment in Houston always begins with an epic search for quarters. It takes 9 quarters to wash and dry one load (13 when the dryer's being finicky), and no matter how devoutly we save coins, we never seem to have enough. I go digging through every purse of mine and every backpack of CM's, and on a lucky day I can scrape together enough without a trip to the bank or a change machine. Then it's a gamble whether the machines are empty, and clean, and functioning properly. If it's raining, the dry clothes (and I) get wet walking the short distance home from the laundry room, and even though I actually LIKE folding laundry, the whole process generally makes me grumpy.

Here's my laundry ritual in New York: I pull the drawstring tight on my laundry bag, tote it around the corner to the laundromat, drop it off with the nice ladies there, and pick it up in the evening and take it home. Is there anything better than wash and fold service? They use fragrant detergent and fabric softener and they fold everything so perfectly. The first time I got back a fitted sheet I wanted to cry. For 70 cents a pound (and I don't have to pay in quarters), this small luxury is so worth it to me.

There are some things I would rather leave to the experts (and trust me, those laundry ladies are experts). I don't highlight my own hair. I don't wash my own car. For me, the relief of putting these tasks in someone else's hands makes up for the expense. I know people who routinely cut their own bangs and change their own oil, but that's just not me.

And this year, I've added an item to the list of things I hire an expert to do for me: taxes. My 2009 taxes are a mess—4 companies, 3 states, a mix of W-2s and 1009s. TurboTax and I were not up to the challenge, so I asked around for recommendations and hired an accountant in NYC who specializes in dealing with my strange field. I met with him last week for about 10 minutes, handed over my documents, and he just took the whole thing off my hands. I went back today to sign a few pieces of paper, and it's all over! Easiest taxes ever.

Long live the experts, I say!

Reinventing the wheel

Recently I've become fascinated by stories of personal reinvention, by people who make a clean (usually messy) break with their previous life and dare to make a new one, out of will or out of necessity. I've always had a thing for travel writing, especially books and essays about expats finding their way through cultural and language barriers. Of course that's partly due to my longing to BE one of those expats, but I think those stories also fall into the other category, too, of people making a fresh start, wherever they are. Did you read this article in the Times Sunday magazine? You should—it's beautiful, heartfelt writing. It's not a travel essay, but I think it would fit very well alongside Under the Tuscan Sun or Eat, Pray, Love.

As adults, we have so few opportunities for real reinvention. There's nothing like that first day of college, where absolutely nobody knows you, and you make a choice: who am I going to be here? I'm always feeling like it's the first day of school when I start each new job, but it never is, not really. Even in a new company, I always know somebody I'm working with, and the job is mostly the same wherever I do it.

A couple weeks ago I was out with My Gay Husband, and he asked me what I would do if I didn't work in opera. My answer: I would write. But as soon as the words came out of my mouth I was attaching qualifiers—I don't know if I could make a living, it's a solitary life that I might not enjoy, I don't know if I could be a great writer or if I have anything to say, I don't know what I would write about, etc. We moved on to talking about other things, but I haven't been able to get the conversation out of my mind.

The move to Vienna is causing something of a dilemma for me, because I am SO excited to move to and live in another country with CameraMan, and for the first year I'm not really going to be able to, not completely, because of the amount of work I have in the States. Work is great, and I'm so fortunate to have it, but the reality of next year is that I'll be away working September-January and February-April. There was a large part of me that wanted to turn down all the work and just go to be with CM, but all of the jobs next year are projects I really want to do for one reason or another, so of course I've taken them and I know that was the right decision. But I'm thinking about the following year, and I want it to look different.

I've been making a big effort to ask for what I want in my personal life and in my career, so after much soul-searching I am putting this out into the Universe—here's what I want:

I want to write about my experiences living in Vienna and about my travels around Europe. I want someone to pay me to do that. I would like to earn enough writing to allow me to take less assisting work (although not stop altogether) and be in Vienna on a more full-time basis. Not forever, but for a while.

I am a generally happy person, with an incredible boyfriend, a career that I love that's going very well, a supportive loving family of relatives and friends, and lots of excitement coming up in the future. But I still could use some reinvention.

What do you think, Universe?

Home sweet home and back again

Three blissful days in Houston, and I had to be dragged kicking and screaming onto the plane back to New York. Chalk it up to "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" if you want, but our little visits are always incredible.

This time we took a trip to Brazos Bend State Park, a beautiful and completely bizarre place where dozens of alligators lounge in the water, by the water, and ON THE PATHS. I attempted to keep my cool. I failed. Alligators are scary, especially when they "sleep" with their mouths wide open. Check out CM's latest photos on his Flickr stream and you will see what I'm talking about. Yikes. We also got together for drinks with friends, spent relaxing mornings chatting over breakfast, and cuddled on the couch in the evenings. I petted and brushed and generally spoiled the cat (and bought her some diet food—I think she must be stress eating because she misses me). I cleaned the apartment, baked cookies, and cooked the most amazing and EASIEST pasta sauce ever. Seriously. Ridiculously easy and ridiculously good. Try it! All in all, it made me want to just blow off the rest of my job and stay put.

But I didn't. I got on the plane and I came back to New York and I went to work last night for show #2. The thing is, I shouldn't be complaining, because these few weeks after the show has opened, these are the weeks I live for. Sure, I love being in rehearsal (most of the time), but it sure is luxurious to own my days and stop in at work only a few times a week to watch the show and pick up my paycheck. It won't all be quite that easy, of course. This week we're preparing for Saturday's HD Broadcast (Get thee to the movies), and the week after we're rehearsing another Ophelia (yes, another one) for the last two performances. But mostly, I have TIME, time all my own, to do with as I please.

Too often these so-called easy weeks slip by in a blur of sleeping in, gorging on carbs, and zoning out in front of the TV. That is most likely what will happen this time too, but in an attempt to stave off the show week ennui, I have some plans. Studying German (in a 4-pronged approach, I'm using Rosetta Stone, Michel Thomas, vocab flashcards, and a grammar workbook), trying a cleanse (but not one of those freaky ones involving maple syrup), doing my taxes (with help from an accountant this year), worshiping at the Jillian Michaels altar (shred me, Jillian, shred me), and reading many many books on my Kindle...I think that's enough for a while, don't you?

What I've been doing instead of blogging

If you don't blink, you might even catch a glimpse of me.

Every cloud

Whenever possible, I like to pick the brains of directors who are having or have had careers I admire. Today I had lunch with a very wise woman who gave me incredibly helpful advice about the challenges of being female in our field, making the difficult transition from assisting to directing, the various personalities I'll encounter at my next gig, and the benefits of working for almost no money. I walked away from lunch feeling excited. Well, excited and scared.

Putting myself forward isn't second nature for me yet. I still have to push myself to ask for opportunities, to tell people that I'm qualified, to toot my own horn. It doesn't come naturally. And even though almost every opportunity I've had thus far has come as a result of me asking for exactly what I want and pushing to get it, I still keep hoping that the next step will just happen for me, just fall in my lap. It hasn't yet, and it won't, and I need to come to terms with that. Because for every story I hear about someone whose career seems to come easy, the reality is that they have worked hard for every "break" they've had.

These meetings always result in a flurry of résumé-sending and name-dropping, and today was no exception. I've got a two-pronged approach going: looking for assisting jobs at the top houses in the country, and looking for directing jobs...well...just about anywhere. It finally feels like the right time to make that transition, and I think the next couple of years are going to be important ones.

My lunch companion tells me that this is a good time to be starting a directing career. Why? Because the economy is in the toilet, companies have less money than usual, and they need directors they can hire on the cheap.

How's that for a silver lining?

Behind the scenes

Beatrice & Benedict is officially over. I am officially on vacation, and I have officially moved out of my apartment (although I'm still here hanging out, taking advantage of the wi-fi).

The performance period of any show is always kind of a mixed bag for me. It's not the part I live for, or as an interviewer recently asked me, the part that "moves my soul." For me, my soul is most definitely moved by the rehearsal process. Once the performances start, my participation is greatly diminished, and I always feel somewhat superfluous. When things go wrong, of course, it's important for me to be there, but when things are going right it's easy to get bored. Those are really the only times that I miss being a singer, or even an assistant stage manager, since they get to be so active during the shows themselves.

Since I wasn't going to be taking any notes on the last performance (how obnoxious would that be?) and the set has good sightlines onto the stage from the wings (in case something needed my attention), I spent Act II hanging out backstage last night. If ever there was a cure for AD complacency, that was it. I could feel all that excitement and adrenaline radiating from the stage, and even though I wasn't doing anything useful, I felt much more a part of the show than I had for the past week.

All in all, I don't think this will ever be my favorite piece, but in the end it charmed me much more than I expected it to, in large part due to the lovely group of people involved in this production. People have been describing the show alternately as "soufflé" and "whipped cream." Whatever you call it, it's frothy for sure. But you can't eat steak for every meal, can you? There's a lot to be said for a little froth.