Cry like a girl

I think Sharon Stone may have been treated a little unfairly over the whole chinese earthquake 'bad karma' story. If you missed it, this was her quote:

"I'm not happy about the way the Chinese are treating the Tibetans because I don't think anyone should be unkind to anyone else," she said. "... and then this earthquake and all this stuff happened, and then I thought, is that karma? When you're not nice that the bad things happen to you?"

I agree that it's a stupid and somewhat thoughtless comment, but it's guaranteed to attract international attention and that's exactly what Sharon Stone needs if she's ever going to be associated with something other than flashing her fanny in a movie made 16 years ago. I'm sure she'd far rather be known as bad karma woman than have the words 'infamous leg-crossing scene' permanently attached to her name, no matter what else she does. Especially now that crotch shots have become two-a-penny (for a Spears/Hilton combo).

But the rights and wrongs of wafting your vag around isn't really my point. In my recent blog about my warped sense of sexism I mentioned my dislike of all-women's training groups, paticularly the Austin Iron Chicks. It fits with my general pattern of hypocrisy that I went mountain biking with the group Ride Like A Girl last night. I don't like the name, I think the cleverness of it only really applies to women who have the balls to ride like a man. For the rest of us it just means what it says. I had a horrible drive up there, karma was getting warmed up. There were about 50 or so women and as I was on my own I stood back and tried to size them up and decide who I could take out in a race. We were divided into self-selected groups based on our riding ability, I decided to go with the Fast Beginners because I was unsure about riding in my new clipless pedals and also because I thought I'd totally outshine everyone else with my natural ability, which may not have been so apparent in the next group up, the Slow Intermediates.

Pride comes before a fall. So I did. And it hurt a lot. As with my last fall, it was less than spectacular and pretty standard for someone new to clipless pedals. We crossed a stream and then went straight into a climb. I'm a bit rubbish at hills, despite my giant thighs and so I ground to a halt, couldn't get my feet out of my pedals in time and fell onto my hip and elbow. Onto sharp rocks. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the chinese laughing.

If we'd been riding with men I think I would have acted all tough and got back on my bike and thought nothing of it, despite the blood that was trickling down my arm. But even though there was very little fussing around me, I had to do the bottom lip biting thing to stop myself crying. I then made lots of ouchy noises for the rest of the ride and if anyone asked me how I was I had to look away and pretend I had dirt in my eye. Once I was home I had a good lady cry, but only after I threw one of my mountain biking shoes at the wall of the garage in a temper. Just to show it. It would have been brilliant if the shoe had bounced back and hit me on the head. I'm hoping to find they're made in China, just to really tie up this blog entry.

1:24 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

48 in Wii years

We just got our Wii Fit. My Wii Fit age is 48. This is calculated on the basis of my height, weight, proper age and ability to stay centered on the Wii balance board. As much as I'd like to grumble about this assessment I really can't because I'm currently playing Mr Blue Sky by ELO on my iPod.

No-one under the age of 40 will even know who ELO are and the smart over 40s won't admit to knowing. Mr Blue Sky made the top 10 in 1977 and although it wasn't quite as world-changing for me as first hearing Queen, it's got a great beat, an operatic section, violins and a bit of piano and it never fails to put me in a good mood. Of course I'll probably discover after writing this that the song is actually a euphemism for some hideous sex act and it'll be Puff the Magic Dragon all over again. If only I'd studied the lyrics in Smash Hits instead of just mumbling along to the words until I could belt out 'Mr Blue Sky' again.

My excuse for downloading the song from iTunes is Dr Who. I realise this is a bit rich when it comes to excuses for being old and a bit geeky but the song was on an episode we watched last night and I'm sure that throughout his various incarnations the Doctor has been blamed for more atrocious acts than purchasing an ELO record. I do admit to slightly compounding the problem by also purchasing a Bee Gees song. I almost chose Staying Alive as I thought this would be a good running song but ended up with Tragedy from one of my favourite teenage albums, Spirits Having Flown. I listened to this over and over in my bedroom as a 13 year old, painfully aware that my life was a mere step away from a tragedy. If only the Bee Gees had recorded a single called Pitiful.

I should state that I didn't actually pay for either song, I got two free credits for buying tickets to see Tom Waits in Houston next month - see, who's the cool one now? Ok, so it's Erik as he's the big Tom Waits fan but I sleep with him so some of it must rub off on me. But not in a euphemistic way. Except on his birthday.

I blame this whole age issue on my friend Melinda, because she's only 30 and she deserves the blame. On the way to our race last weekend I had told her that I'm growing my hair out, as in letting it get longer. She misheard and thought I'd said I was greying my hair out, as in letting it go all grey. Oh what a hilarious error, if only a sitcom writer were riding along with us. It wouldn't have been so bad if Melinda had questioned my decision, 'really? you? grey hair?', but she chose to accept the idea that at age 42 it really was the right time for me to stop kidding myself and let the old lady in me come bustling through. Next week I'll be dropping the pretence of zips in favour of elasticated waistbands.

Fortunately I'm not as old as my 42 going on 80 year old husband who just asked me to turn Mr Blue Sky down because it's too loud. He also yelled at me to tidy my room and take out the rubbish but I told him to stick it.

9:40 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Ladeez

Every few months I have to have a bit of a gripe about being a woman, or more specifically, what we do to make things worse for ourselves. Women's only races, comedy events like the Ladies Are Funny Festival or Vagina-ha-ha's, (which I own the copyright to) and the general overuse of the colour pink to promote sistahood.

I also haven't yet got over Saturday's race so am combining the two gripes into one. One of the most hideous parts of the race was just as Melinda and I were making the turn into the finish. A couple of the teams that had finished hours before us were leaving and one of the blokes leaned out of the window and yelled, 'looking good ladies'. Neither Melinda nor I are particularly girly at the best of times, but at this point we were sweaty, muddy and snotty and very close to beating a two-man team who had blown past us on the bike but were completely useless at kayaking. I thought about showing them just how little of a lady I am by blowing snot out of one nostril like the pros do, but I haven't really mastered the technique and it just ends up landing on my shirt and shoes.

It's bad enough getting the 'ladies' treatment when you're in a restaurant or shopping but it's even more patronising when you're working your ass off in a competition. And yet we create the environment for it. There's a triathlon group in town called Iron Chicks whose logo is a fluffy yellow chick wearing a viking helmet and holding a spear. Not only infantile but stupid because as history tells us vikings ate live chicks to fuel them before raping women.

So if we're not ladies then what are we? Damsels perhaps? 'great job there damsels'. When I was in college I used to carry around a copy of 'The Women's Room' by Marilyn French to prove my feminist credentials. I never read it but loved the cover because it showed a toilet door with the word Ladies scratched out and Women scrawled over the top. The fact that Women was written in red lipstick apparently didn't bother me. Maybe I told myself it was patriarchal blood.

The final insult to the whole thing was that the bloke was lying when he said 'looking good'. I pulled out my little compact mirror at the end of the race and saw that my brand new waterproof mascara had run all down my cheeks.

1:37 AM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Old lazy race partner needed

This is my friend and race partner Melinda, and I after our first adventure race two weeks ago.



Melinda is 12 years younger than me, a faster runner and biker and a much friendlier person. We thought we'd try adventure racing together as a bit of a lark. I haven't done anything terribly adventurous since having a go at the trapeze this time last year, where I failed to become brilliant after three lessons and wisely gave up.

Going through the race calendar, I was all for trying the 24 hour eco challenge summit extreme until Melinda suggested we start with the more friendly sounding Tex's Challenge. And it was fun, though by the photo my hair clearly had the best time of all. We finished the race in just over two hours. This included an extra 20 minutes or so of not paying attention and doing the bike loop twice and thus slipping from 2nd place female team to fifth place. But it was all quite relaxed and some of the other teams had brought little picnics with them and kids and dogs and there were racers who looked far more bewildered and fat than we were.

Given our talent and potential brilliance, we decided to do another. The next local event happened to be the National Sprint and Collegiate Championships. As the race director pointed out afterwards, that's an interesting choice for your second race but as we didn't need to qualify and it sounded a bit more badass we thought we'd try it. There were 25 teams, most of them had matching shirts. Melinda and I didn't and came in 21st. But we did finish 2nd in the women's division. Out of three teams. Our finishing time was 4 hours 11 minutes, an hour behind the winning team, but I think we can take the credit for pushing them to their limit. I hope they're grateful. The third place team still hadn't finished by the time we left.

We lost a lot of time on the mountain biking bit. About 9 miles into the 12 mile (but felt like 20) ride I fell. It was nothing spectacular because I never really ride fast enough to have one of those fly through the air moments. But I did manage to fall on top of my bike and jab the handle bar into my ribs. Melinda was too far ahead to see me and by the time I caught up with her I decided to have a bit of a panic attack and started hyperventilating and gurgling. Once I realised the futility of sitting on the trail, 3 miles from the aid station, I managed to carry on - that's not as noble as it reads, as I was making wincing sounds and cursing every time I hit a bump which was every two seconds. I'd approach any kind of steep up or down hill with motivating self-talk like, 'oh for god's sake', or 'this is ridiculous'

We finally made it back to the transition area. To then enjoy a 4 mile ride on the road to the kayaks, a 35 minute paddle and a one mile run carrying the kayaks, lifejackets and paddles to the finish.

At the end of the race Melinda was her usual sparky self, chatting to other teams and packing up our stuff in the car, while I could barely unlace my shoes and hoped no-one would ask me what my name was or how many fingers they were holding up.

We got back to Austin and I drove myself home where I ate half a bag of crisps and drank a glass of wine, then burst into tears, accused Erik of various wrong-doings and hyper-ventilated again for a couple of hours. Meanwhile Melinda probably repainted her house and did something good for needy orphans before going out for a wonderful dinner with her husband.

So I'm considering a new race partner. Much as I like Melinda and aspire to be like her, I think I'm best suited to someone with far less admirable character traits. This means someone that makes me look good. They have to be older than me, far less fit, a very slow thinker and if possible, be more grouchy or at least no sunnier.

Confidence does not come from within. It comes from knowing you're better than the person you're with.

7:26 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Queen minus two, plus one

In October 2005 Queen played two shows in the US under the guise of Queen + Paul Rodgers, the plus one being the former front man for Free. I got slightly swept up in the excitement of it all and bought a ticket to see them at the Hollywood Bowl. Fortunately I saw sense in time and didn’t go and blogged about it here.

Things have been fine since and I’ve continued to revel in my Queen obsession with my FronteraFest show and my sense of superiority that comes from being a fan for over 30 years. But Queen + are it again. Just got an email today announcing that they’re doing another tour this year. So far they’ve only announced dates for the UK and Europe which makes a slight mockery of the fact that the tour is called ’Rock The Cosmos’. Though I suppose that’s fair enough given that they can call themselves Queen when it’s only two of the original four. I really never expected to have this much respect for bass player John Deacon.

And really, ’Rock The Cosmos’? It’s hard to think up a more cheesy 70s sounding name. Hey kids, the joint’s jumping, lets really raise the roof on this place tonight. Even worse, the press release also announced that they’ve got a new album coming out just before the tour. I think this totally misses the point of why people want to see them. They’ve become a tribute band, a pretty good one no doubt, but people go to hear them play Queen songs. And if you’ve never had the chance to see them live before I suppose this is the next best thing. But I can’t believe anyone will want to listen to their new stuff. I’m sure it’s bad enough having to listen to a Free medley halfway through the show, especially as the only Free song anyone knows is ’Alright Now’ No-one goes to see the Stones hoping to hear something completely new or groaning when they play Satisfaction, ’oh god, not that old chestnut again .. boring’.

And to further quash any sense of anticipation that the new album might be half decent, they name one of the new tracks that’s going to previewed. It’s called C-lebrity. I can’t wait to find out what that missing ’e’ is all about. Perhaps there’ll be another track called ’Tellin’ it Str8’. That’d be awesome.

I suppose this is what happens when you start being brilliant at something too early. Queen were incredible in their 20’s and 30s and if Freddie had lived they probably had a good 10 years or more before he turned into Elton John. But without him the mystique is gone, they’ve started being far too accommodating to fans, signing autographs and posing for photographs like regular people. What happened to leaping into their limos at the end of a concert and going off for some debauched party with naked dwarves without giving a toss for the fans waiting at the stage door. Plus I don’t want to look at Brian and Roger and be reminded of how old I am. It’s hard for me to fantasise about Roger without seeing him with his greying beard and strange velvet jacket. It’s enough to put a girl off her stroke.

At least none of this will happen to me. I won’t taste success at the thing I’m brilliant at (as yet undiscovered) until my late 40s, hitting my peak somewhere around 57. Thus even if I live to be quite old I’m not in much danger of wearing out my welcome. And if my brilliant and undiscovered thing happens to involve someone else then I promise to stop when they die and will not seek out some random other person to relive my glory days with, especially as my glory days may only have been a few years hence and not 30 years before.

3:31 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Stalking Roger Taylor...one more time

My show Stalking Roger Taylor was selected as a FronteraFest Best of the Fest piece and I'll be performing it again tomorrow (Thursday) as part of the 'wild card' night.

These are pieces selected by the FronteraFest staff as their favourites of the shows not chosen for best of week.

There's still a few tickets available at www.hydeparktheatre.org but it's close to selling out.

Book your ticket now. Think of it as a non-traditional Valentine's date. Be a renegade and go out for a slap-up dinner the following Thursday.

And if you're single, then a night at the theatre still beats drinking at home alone listening to Chicago. The band not the musical. Peter Cetera knows pain.

Show starts at 8pm. www.hydeparktheatre.org or 479-PLAY

2:49 AM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Stalking Roger Taylor...tonight

Tonight is my second FronteraFest show, the one about my obsession with Queen. This image below is called Barkemian Rhapsody, created by Erik in the show's honour for his brilliant website Dogaday. Damnit he's talented.

Oh and I came up with the awful but catchy title, Barkemian Rhapsody. Erik thought up 'Mama, just smelled a man', but I guess that's why he's an artist.

A review of the show will be forthcoming.

9:39 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Last Night

While her plays are in development, Gallant will show them to fellow playwrights, but she insists "it's not until I put my work in front of an audience that I can really get a feel for it."

Daily Texan, DT Weekend, January 24, 2008.

I'm not sure I totally believed that when I said it to the Daily Texan writer during a phone interview about FronteraFest last week but it sounded good and writerly. But last night it proved itself to be true.

The theatre was sold out, I only had about 6 friends in the audience but they're among the most supportive people I know, the ones I knew I'd still be able to look in the eye afterwards, no matter what. My call time was 7pm but I wouldn't be going on till around 9pm as my piece was the third of five. This meant a lot of standing around and engaging in conversation with the other performers who I'll probably never see again. And lots of trips to the bathroom and fiddling with hair and make-up to pass the time. And smoking cigarettes even though I've quit and am running a half-marathon in less than two days.

I watched the first piece from the wings. It wasn't a comedy. The second piece was a monologue about a guy's failed and flawed suicide attempt, I was only half-listening because I was trying to 'get into my body' - it's an actorly thing, where you're supposed to stand still and check in with yourself and notice how your body is feeling, etc. I noticed that the mild twitch in my leg was developing into a full blown shake so I decided to stop and focus instead on how damn cold it was backstage.

Then it was me. My opening scene went well, I really like this character, she got laughs where I thought she might she get a chuckle and then more laughs where I really wasn't expecting them. And then the brain chatter started, oh god do they think this is a comedy, they're going to hate the next scene, what if they laugh when I'm trying to be serious, and on it went. I also realised that one of my props had been misplaced, which made for an awkward transition across the already awkwardly shaped stage. Onto the third character, a transgendered 13 year old girl and the audience was laughing again. I'm very protective of this character - when I did the first version of her at my Fresno workshop I got strangely upset when someone referred to her as a 'trannie' in what I thought was a derogatory fashion. I know she has some funny lines, but were people really getting what I was trying to say? The last few scenes were fine, despite losing my way a couple of times and dropping a few lines. But I knew it was coming to an end - surely this isn't a good way to feel as a perfomer? I think I have to accept that I'm a better writer than performer, or at least I seem to enjoy one a lot more.

There was some nice feedback from friends and audience members during the intermission, including one person who praised me on the excellence of my accent. I hate having to disappoint people by telling them that I really am British and not just a brilliant fake. I stayed and watched the rest of the show, though not really watching as my brain chatter was on full alert reminding me of all the things I could have done differently, better.

Today I feel horribly flat. I didn't make Best of the Week, which really hadn't been much of a consideration up to this point. But it would have looked good on the fliers for the Winnipeg fringe. I promised myself leading up to this that I'd see FronteraFest as a starting point, the first opportunity to see how it sounded and felt to be onstage as these characters. So why am I so concerned that it didn't sound and feel perfect?

In the midst of this wallow-fest, I got an email from a friend who was in the audience. I've never before received such a thoughtful and generous critique of my performance, from someone who 'got it' and saw things in it that I hadn't even recognised. Thank you Elizabeth.

I've got my acting class again on Monday night. No letters this time. The class philosophy is knowing yourself and not having to do everything perfectly, in fact it's about learning how to do things wrong and make mistakes. I hope I do well in it.

5:05 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Girls who are boys

Class went ok last night. I admit I got a bit teary-eyed reading my letter out loud, but it was either that or snort derisively at myself. My allergy problems also produced a lot of sniffing and back of the hand nose-wiping which added to the overall effect. I can't go into more detail about the class, it being a bit like Vegas in that sense, but I think God must have been quite chuffed with the general level of recognition he received.

I had a girly moment over the weekend. These are increasingly rare and therefore important to record. I bought another Betsey Johnson dress. It's only been a couple of months since my last Betsey jaunt but I was tempted by the promise of the biggest sale ever. I was hoping to get a bargain on a coat I'd seen on my last trip but had turned down because Austin never gets that cold and it'd be a bit frivolous. If I believed in God I'd think he was trying to teach me some kind of lesson, though if God was that much into fashion and spending money you don't really have then I might be more inclined to believe in him. Something for the Church of England to consider.

I tried on a dress that had been marked down to $170. It's another black dress, a summery black dress, not dissimilar to all the others I've bought. The ever helpful sales assistants were adamant that this could be worn year round. Apparently I just need to pair it with long velvet gloves and cowboy boots. Or wait till it hits 80 degrees.

I decided to buy it because Erik owes me about $80, so it would only be $90 more than I could afford. But my not-God was clearly on my side because it rang up as $65. A fantastic bargain, and a thrill second only to shoplifting a pair of jeans from Top Shop.

Of course every girly moment must be counter-balanced by a boyish one. Over the weekend my Frog Bra arrived. This is a sports bra that offers 'maximum compression', as in it squashes everything flat so you don't bounce around. Not that mine seem to bounce very much, they're more like the yo-yo that you waited too late to flick back up and has lost any semblance of elasticity.

The Frog Bra is very popular among FTM's - transgender girls who want to be boys. I know this because I've been doing an unhealthy amount of research into transgenderism on the web. It started out as research for a character in my FronteraFest show but now seems to have gone beyond that. I put on the Frog Bra and despite my difficulties breathing, I loved it and started admiring my flat-chested self, doing that sideways look into the mirror and running my hands over my non-boobs. Erik is trying not to be too horrified by the whole thing but said hugging me was like hugging a man. But I think that will only be true once I start stuffing tissues down the front of my pants. Exciting times ahead.

3:19 AM - 2 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Depressingly Familiar

It's the week of my FronteraFest show and everything is going according to plan. I had my tech rehearsal last night and came away from it feeling awful. Weak script, weak performance, everyone else is better than me, blah blah. I think my predictability is one of my stronger characteristics. The tech rehearsals for FronteraFest are always very no-nonsense, they're run according to a pretty strict schedule and format and there's no time for fluffyness. If I was still British this would be fine, but as a hybrid American I missed all the fake enthusiasm and hugging. If someone had high-fived me last night I would probably have reciprocated, even though I'd just sort of clip their hand because I don't have the right gene for that kind of thing.

At the end of it, my friend Kate did manage a 'that was great' but it wasn't enough to curb my sense of impending failure and my ego had to drag her out for coffee so she could be a bit more specific on exactly what was great. I'm now wishing I'd written this as a comedy, with a dog, FronteraFest audiences love comedy and dogs. It all felt a bit too downbeat last night. I miss the 10 minute version that I did at Fresno last year.

The rain isn't helping, not that I ever find rain particularly supportive, but I'm in a generally crappy mood. Tonight I have an acting class so I can learn how to go auditions and be a more authentic donkey/duck/ supermodel

This class is all about embracing your creativity and liking yourself and all that nonsense and our assignment from the first week's class was to write a letter to yourself, or from God about how proud you/He is of all the things you've done and overcome. God and I aren't in regular contact so I'm doing it from myself. I started the letter the day after class when I was feeling all fluffy and charitable but I didn't finish it and it's due tonight. In this current mood of self-loathing it won't be easy, I foresee everyone else in the class having amazing stories of adversity and triumph of the human spirit. What will I write? Well I'm proud of overcoming my comfortable middle-class childhood and that traumatic move to the States with my adorable husband where I enjoy an even more comfortable life because I don't have to work in an office. Wow, tough break Maggie.

My friend Kate suggested I lie, which is probably why we're such good friends. I think she may be right, an active imagination is surely all part of being a great actor.

"Dear Maggie, being born with a tail was just the beginning of your life of hardship and humiliation and was certainly the cause of much teasing in the orphanage for abandoned bastards."

8:51 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Sell out

Just found out that the night I'm performing 'That Diana Look' at FronteraFest is already sold out (Friday January 25th). It appears to be the first night of the festival to sell out. Clearly this is a predictor of my show's brilliance and has nothing to do with people booking tickets for the other four pieces that will also be playing that night.

If you don't have tickets but want to see 'That Diana Look', you can hitch a ride with me to the Winnipeg Fringe Festival in July where I'll be performing it for a couple of weeks. It'd be great if you also knew where Winnipeg is. I'm clear on the Canada part.

Or you can still book tickets for the February 6th show at FronteraFest, when I'll be doing my second show, 'Stalking Roger Taylor', also known as 'the Queen one'. Do it now, so this one sells out too. I thrive on false hope.

Tickets are $12 each, show starts at 8pm. Five pieces of 25 minutes or less.

www.hydeparktheatre.org

3:25 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Act Natural

Had an audition today, a blog-worthy event as I don't get too many - there's not a lot of demand for Texan Brits. The brief sent from my agent called for actors who looked and acted like real people, specifically:

'..talent who are rough around the edges, such as amateurish actors'

'..we don't want polished professional actors unless they can appear to be real.'

Of course I was the perfect choice.

Plus it's a win-win whether I book the job or not. If I do, then I'll actually earn some money from acting. If I don't, it's obviously because I'm too much of a polished pro.

It was my favourite kind of audition in that there was nothing to prepare - no script to learn and then botch at the actual reading, no time spent developing my character's character and background story and all that twaddle that proper actors do. All I had to focus on was being an amateur. Got to the hotel where the audition was being held and signed in and handed over my headshots. Then it was the dreaded polaroid photo so they can see what you really look like without the enhancement of Photoshop. Other than casting directors and pervy husbands, who uses Polaroids anymore? There was something mildy nostalgic about getting a polaroid taken, right down to my ghostly pale complexion and bug-eyed stare. And I was grinning far too broadly. I notice that when I smile too much my mouth looks lopsided, like I've just been struck with bells palsy. Anyway, I then did a bit of chit-chatting with my fellow actors and snuck glances at their Polaroids, while keeping mine hidden.

They took three of us at a time into the audition room. We were offered the following choices: (1) act like either a donkey or a duck (there was one other choice that I've forgotten it but it wasn't anything interesting like anteater or kangaroo). (2) walk like a supermodel. (3) disco dance. Yes, this is the wonderful world of acting. Not feeling very animally I chose to do a bit of a supermodel act-out. Thank god I watch America's Next Top Model obsessively, it's research-a-tainment. Then the director wanted me to do something else, so I chose dancing. She pops on a CD of Staying Alive and standing on thick carpet in a Clarion Hotel and Suites function room at 10:30am I start dancing/strutting and singing along - 'well you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man no time to ..'

"Ok Maggie, don't ham it up, just dance as you normally would."

Any other song and I'd be fine, but she should understand that there's only one way to dance to Saturday Night Fever and that's to do your floor-clearing Travolta impression .

Feeling well on my way to humiliation she then asks if I have any other talent that would demonstrate my youthful and fun-loving side. I come up with nothing. Definitely not my stand-up about hating children and killing old people. I thought about explaining that this request would actually go against her brief that we be real and natural. Clearly I'm not youthful nor particularly fun-loving, so it would all be an actorly act. Instead, in my brain I substituted the words youthful and fun-loving for drunk and drunker and suggested a bit of karaoke singing. A few bars into 'We are the Champions' and I was finally feeling it, oh yes, this was the true amateurish me.

"Ok Maggie, thanks for coming in"

2:31 AM - 2 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition

The FronteraFest fringey festival starts next week at the Hyde Park Theatre in Austin. They've changed the description on the website - last year it said

'FronteraFest .... expect the unexpected'

- which didn't really make a lot of sense and probably led to a lot of people demanding refunds when the unexpected failed to materialise and all they got was more of the expected. Kind of like a night at Austin's Esther's Follies.

It would only really be unexpected if you went to the Hyde Park Theatre to watch the FronteraFest show but found the theatre no longer existed and you were in some parallel universe and had to complete a series of bizarre tasks before you could return. You probably wouldn't have seen that coming. >

Apparently they've recognised their error because this year the website says:

'FronteraFest is ... five weeks of alternative, offbeat, new, and just plain off-the-wall fringe theatre. Too bad there's no actual way to expect the unexpected, because that is your only hope.'

That's your only hope of what? Surviving a whole show? Getting out alive? Has FronteraFest transformed into the Hammer House of Horror? While the honesty may be admirable, it sounds slightly sinister and makes even less sense than last year because they're pretty much saying that your only hope is no hope at all. Plus all this unexpected business is redundant as they tell you in the previous sentence what FronteraFest is all about.

I don't think either of my pieces would be described as alternative, offbeat or plain off-the-wall, which is good because that generally means 'a bit crap'. Both my shows are new though, so I clearly still belong in the festival line-up.

It's now just over two weeks to my first show and I can proudly say that I've never been this unprepared. I've reached the point where I have to pretend (lie) to myself that my most brilliant work comes from being up against a deadline and that I couldn't possibly work any other way. I know it would probably be wise to stop twiddling with the writing and focus on the learning of lines and general performance, but there are so many ways to say the same thing and I'm determined to explore them all. Plus if I forget half the lines and do it in the wrong order I'll just wave some pink scarves around and claim it as an experimental piece about menstrual cycles and the moon.

And then there's the second show, the one about my obsession with Queen. It premieres on February 6 and I'm still working on the first draft of the script. I'm slightly concerned. But on the good news front I had a dream about Freddie Mercury last night and I haven't had one of those in ages. He was helping me move furniture, specifically a desk from my mum's house into his. My mum was out of the dream very quickly after she started on about how 'queer' used to mean something very different in her day. Anyway, the dream was clearly a sign that the show will be a raving (Queen) success. I wonder if the author of the Queen comic book (see prev blog) can say the same?

Friday 25th January - That Diana Look

Wednesday 6 February - Stalking Roger Taylor

8:41 AM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Leaving home ain’t easy

I'm in the mood to run away. Preferably to a place where I'm not responsible for ageing parents, or saving money or my share of the housework. Yes, in my utopia we are slovenly, carefree and we kill family members over the age of 50. When I was 10, I wanted to be sent away to boarding school. I read a lot of novels by Enid Blyton about an all-girls boarding school called Mallory Towers and thought the japes that the lesbian-sounding Darrell Rivers got into were very jolly indeed. Unfortunately, boarding school in England is ridiculously expensive and my parents decided that they could recreate the atmosphere of separation at home without spending all that cash. They were apparently fond of buying me books about things I could never aspire to. I still have a book called The Ballet Shoes, about girls who did ballet because they could actually dance and not because their parents were trying unsuccessfully to correct their pigeon-toe feet. And my favourite, When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, a delightful tale of a Jewish child trying to escape the Nazi's. A fantasy that would remain just that for me.

I'm feeling overwhelmed and nostalgic for a happier life. I actually spent a big chunk of time today working on my Queen themed show which made me realise just how far behind I am and, if I used such annoying cliches, it was a bit of a wake-up call. I prefer my wake-up calls to commence with: 'good morning Maggie, it's another great day in the Wonderful World of Disney' and then continue with 'because we've killed all the children'.

I'm a little pissed off because in the course of yet more 'research' (playing songs, watching videos, reading websites) I discovered that someone else has written an account of their life as a Queen fan. Surely my idea was totally unique? What's more, this one isn't just written, it's a comic book/(graphic novel, depending on your age). I'm not linking to the promo because I'm not mature enough, but it's due to be published in (Brian) May. But not to worry, my show will be premiering 3 months earlier, on February 6th and will be seen by at least 60 people at the Hyde Park Theatre. He merely has a national publishing deal and pre-orders on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk

12:35 AM - 5 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment