In the course of my procrastination, I once again found myself surfing MySpace. I always feel a little dirty when I remember my high school days, and finally giving in to my secret desire to look up folks I once knew only compounded the “icky guilt” factor. Oh look, there’s Tom. It somehow figures that he would be the first on my search results. Don’t know, don’t know, who the heck? Never heard of this person, never met this person, oh wow, I asked that guy out once. He turned me down. Don’t know, don’t know, there’s the dude I went to prom with! He’s getting married?! Not a clue, drawing a blank, don’t know, don’t know, don’t know. I was in show choir with her once. Don’t know, don’t know. Was I really that removed from high school, despite practically living there 24/7? Who are all these people? So many strange faces who apparently graduated in my year or near. So bizarre ...
While most of my high school memorabilia is packed into a cardboard box shoved in a closet corner back in Soy Capital, I was inspired to go dig around my old websites to see if I could find anything. I located these two photos of Tom and I, and this photo featuring etoileeyes shoving somebody in a closet. All three images are from our attempt at putting on "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie," which remains one of the few productions in which I was not immediately typecast as the perky cheerful sidekick. It was so delightful to be evil!
You can see a little bit of our set construction in these images. Our troupe always took great pride in our sets; where other schools had cardboard boxes or tubes, we painted giant backdrops and made two story sets. The second "floor" is where the scene between Tom and I took place. It was originally a nude scene, but this was a public high school performing, and so that was changed to better suit the Puritan mentality of those in charge. In their defense, I was super underage. I subsequently won an award for “The Best Fully Dressed Nude Scene.”
I look extremely frumpy in that one because I had to hide my costume in a most awkward manner underneath the flimsy robe. You see, he had a monologue during which I was supposed to be able to retreat behind the lavender screen and change into my school uniform, but he never remembered the whole thing, and he talked extremely fast anyway. My shirt was too visible, so that was draped over the screen (it got a hefty charcoal rubbing that it never recovered from in the pursuit of an acting career) and my mic was clipped to my bra strap ... oh so very precarious! My skirt was rolled up and up and up until it could not be seen when the robe revealed my legs, hence the 50 year old waistline.
My hair used to be so long! I think it got at least two or three additional inches on it before I cut fourteen and a half inches of it off. I wonder if I could manage to get it to that length again. It seems that every time my locks near my shoulders, I get irritated with it and I have a hairstylist remove months of progress.
Other memorable moments in high school theatre include:
- Smuggling in a butter knife which then had to be subjected to an additional precaution of being covered in masking tape for use as a prop. This was for a scene in "Fame," where a student threatened a teacher. It would have made no sense without a weapon! Stupid zero tolerance policies.
- The Home Ec. teacher calling the superintendent of the school corporation in a mighty moral outrage about a hinted sex scene. Predictably, this controversy resulted in increased attendance. The mighty censors, defenders of decency, were represented by the school principal who sat at the tech booth and threatened to turn the lights and mics off on us if we went through with the scene again.
- Participating in the utter ruin of and ultimate improvement of "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Abridged." Our director, wishing to include everyone, even those who were not entirely serious about participating, neatly chopped up the three male roles into a full ensemble of both genders. That was the bad part. Now, this play has a significant amount of audience participation, and it is easy for someone in the know to play with this opportunity. At one point, someone was supposed to select a girl to play the part of Ophelia. Imagine the cast’s surprise when, instead of some woman, blushing and awkward, we were faced with the male woodshop teacher - our club sponsor - in horribly bad drag with a carpet bag, laughing his ass off. The entire production halted for at least a minute, as the next person could not proceed with his lines due to shock.
... ... why am I even writing about this stuff!? I have to clean and sew! Ack!
[Edit: Ow! Argh! One reason why I'd be a black mage if job classes were applicable to real life is because I simply cannot survive without injury when around bladed objects. If I had the misfortune of being melee, I'd probably kill myself before my opponent. If I got lucky, I'd be able to perform some amazing trip right when I stabbed myself that would also nail my enemy in the eye. At least I now know my new scissors are sharp, and as an added bonus, my finger is still attached. Cripes, Anne, please tell me this is just your allergy to sharp things coming into play, and not pure stupid. Don't tell me they put "Warning: Hot" on cups of drive-thru coffee just for you.]