Twisty

Emily Post I am Not, But...

Planning a wedding has taught me an abundance of lessons, including how to be a better wedding guest. As a public service, I thought I would post some of my tips up here. Naturally these tips are meant for informational purposes only; you don't have to follow a single one of them. However, if you wish to dazzle and amaze a bride and groom with your astounding gentility, here are three good ways to score some major points.

Tip 1: It is never too early to send back your response card.

There is nothing more frustrating and disheartening to a bride, groom and their families fo fantically call invited guests several days before the wedding and beg for a response. This exercise wastes valuable time and makes the bride and groom feel lousy.

Also, you have to figure that the person(s) financing the wedding is/are forced to assume that every person who has not responded may wish to attend. This adds up to additional dollars on catering, favors, transportation, etc. that the host(s) will have to spend on people who may not even show up.

So, in short, barring unforseen circumstances, it's best to get that reply in the mail right away. Trust me, the bride and groom will love you for it!

Tip 2: Be flexible when giving advice.

Brides and grooms love advice. People love giving advice. What a great match! Well, most of the time, anyway.

The key is not to force the bride and groom to take your advice. While your advice is most assuredly well intentioned, for one reason or another, the bride and groom may not be able to or may choose not to take it.

So, feel free to share your wisdom, but remember to be flexible and understanding.

Tip 3: Articulate special requests as early as you can.

It's no secret that wedding hosts want guests to feel comfortable and happy. (If they don't, shame on them!) Special requests can almost always be accommodated -- from a special meal, to a seat away from the band, to a quiet spot for your tot to nap after a long day. The key is to let the wedding host(s) know your special need(s) ASAP.

For example, an email to the bride a month before the big day to request a booster seat for your little one is welcomed. On the contrary, a day-before-the-wedding, hysterical phone call insisting on a gluten-free, salt-free, kosher, diabetic, vegan entree or a last-minute invitation for the new, main squeeze you hooked up with at a party last weekend, is not*.

* So far, this type of thing hasn't been a problem for me. However, I've been involved in enough weddings in my lifetime to know that this situation is an unfortunate inevitability. Oy!

Well, I'm off to dream about something other than weddings. Good night!

First Kiss: Take One

My Budding Theatrical Career

I was always kind of a shy kid.

To help me get over this bashfulness and indulge my talent for music, my mother suggested I audition for the children’s group at a nearby regional theater. Somewhat to my family’s surprise, my rendition of “Boogie, Woogie Bugle Boy” was delivered with enough correct notes and gusto to earn me a position in the highly competitive troupe.

By and large, we did Christmas pageants and singalongs at nursing homes. However, occasionally an offer would come up to do something bigger and better. On most occasions, these offers passed me by. Why, you ask?

Let me explain to you what child casting directors look for:

They are looking for very short pre-teens with cherub faces that can be cute-as-a-button on camera and show a great deal of maturity off camera.

Do you remember watching those Bugs Bunny cartoons with the adorable, little baby? When the cameras were turned off the baby would turn into a gravel-voiced, surly man who smoked cigars like they were going out of style? Yep. That’s what they were looking for. As such, I, a gawky pre-teen, never made the cut.

However, I stuck with it, kept auditioning for side projects and one day I got my chance to shine!

”Secrets of Love”

One January, a local television station contacted my drama teacher looking for children and teenagers to perform in an upcoming television special called “Secrets of Love.” Rarely did the call come out for a pre-teen who looked like a teenager, so my teacher eagerly recommended me. (I’m still convinced that it was her sheer tenacity that helped me get the part.)

The show, which was supposed to air on Valentine’s Day, was to feature a series of reports about how love happens. Essentially the special would examine how science and art work together to make people fall in love. Sprinkled in-between these vignettes would be scenes depicting love at all ages. My scene was about a boy asking a girl to the prom. It got even better -- the text for the scene was to come from Molly Ringwald's, Pretty in Pink, a movie I absolutely loved!

My feeling of elation quickly turned to dread as soon as I got the script.

It was supposed to be a kissing scene.

The Smooch Seen Round the Word

Now, to most actors, this isn’t a big deal. Today, if someone offered a role on television, I would full on make-out with someone if I had to. However, at the time I had never in my life kissed a boy, let alone in front of a big, ol’ television audience. (You have probably already ascertained that I was a bit of a late bloomer.)

At this point I considered turning the role down and asking the folks to find another actor. However, this was my moment! How could I possibly say no?

The next week or so passed more slowly and agonizingly than a kidney stone. My head was filled with a sea of doubting thoughts – Who is this guy going to be? What if I screw up? Will everyone laugh at me? Will my mom actually stand there and watch? (Eew!)

Me, Matt & The Big Day

My mom and I played a bit of hooky that day. She took a half-day off of work and I got to skip out on my Algebra class. (Yay!) My scene was to be shot in a large, beautiful house in western New Jersey. When we arrived, the late Eddie Bracken, best known to my generation as playing the owner of “Wally World” in National Lampoon’s Vacation, was just finishing up a scene in front of the roaring fire. It was an unseasonably warm January day, so I remember watching the rivers of sweat pour off to Mr. Bracken onto his red, satin smoking jacket.

As I was getting makeup put on in the kitchen, my drama teacher came up to say hello and introduce her son, Matt*.

“TJ, this is Matt,” she said, “He’ll be doing the scene with you today.”

My stomach dropped. Matt was a decidedly attractive, very tall guy with chestnut brown hair. Here was the clincher, though -- he was 19 years old! To my 15 year-old self, that seemed like one hell of an age difference.

That was to be the extent of our pleasantries, as we were immediately shuffled in to the foyer and given our marks. (Our mothers, in a grand gesture of coolness, went into another room and waited for us to finish.)

Technical problems abounded. The sound guy kept picking up street noises. As such, the boom microphone wasn’t going to cut it. Instead, Matt had to have a large microphone complete with four wires and a huge battery pack, run up his pants and shirt. The microphone wires were then taped to the floor and camouflaged under a throw rug. I, too, had my own technical difficulties. The director didn’t like the look of the shot, as an inconveniently placed light switch kept appearing right in the middle of the frame. Rather than move us and risk wasting more time, they came up with a rather low-tech solution. My head would be used to block the infamous light switch.

As you may guess, the two of us weren’t the picture of passionate teenage romance. Matt swayed side to side under the hot lights trying desperately not to trip over his feet. I practiced talking while keeping my head unnaturally still. We made quite an uncomfortable pair.

The sound problem had set us back about fifteen minutes so, in the interest of time, had to cut out the rehearsal. Matt and I were essentially supposed to dive right in.

As the director walked back to his seat and prepared to begin, Matt leaned over to me and whispered.

“I’m kinda nervous,” he said, “I never acted before.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, “It will all be fine.” Then, for the first time all day, I smiled.

In that single moment, all of my nervousness flowed out of me. This was a big first for the both of us. I was no longer scared! I could conquer the world! Bring on the smooch!

The cameras rolled and I performed like a champ. When it came for the kiss it went beautifully – soft, short and lovely. Matt was a gentleman and, might I add, one hell of a kisser. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

We re-filmed the scene 17 times.

(I figure at least I got in some practice!)

Epilogue

On Valentine’s Day, my folks and I gathered enthusiastically in front of the television to watch my big debut. The segments passed one by one, never featuring a glimpse of me, Matt and my first-ever kiss.

I found out later that the special had run long and our little scene had been added to the pile on the cutting room floor.

Regardless of where it ended up, I will always have a unique and special memory of my very first kiss.

* Names have been changed.

Pearls of Wisdom

Today I tried to devote myself to controlling the den of chaos we call a townhouse. It looks like the police had a warrant and ransacked the place.

The only thing that can possibly distract me from tossing away two-year old copies of Jane magazine and trying to tame the mess that is my sock drawer is chatting with friends on the phone. So, I decided that today, Sunday, would be “Clean Up & Catch Up Day.”

During my calling spree, I wound up connecting with Cindy*, a good friend from college who, by interesting coincidence, is dating Peter, another friend from college. (The two were acquaintances in college and have since started seeing each other.)

Cindy mentioned that she is getting pretty serious with Peter and has considered moving in with him. However, she thinks that she should probably wait until marriage to move in together.

I, feeling terribly mature and worldly, decided to give her my little pearl of unsolicited wisdom – "You Don’t Know Someone Until You’ve Shared a Toothbrush Holder With Them". I’m of the mind that living with someone is that only way to truly get to know him or her before marriage. It seems that people are only truly themselves in the space they call home.

When you live with someone, you’ll know what brand of peanut butter he buys, where he sleeps, how often (or not often) he pays his bills and how he wiles away Sunday afternoons. You’ll learn to love or hate every snort, whisper, snore, fart and burp. This period of living together, I feel, is a true test of longevity.

I’m not sure if Cindy will take my advice or not. Regardless, it got me to thinking of other, excellent “Pearls of Wisdom” I received over the years. I thought I would take these few minutes before bed time to share some of them with you.

”Never Turn Your Back On the Ocean”
Source: Dad

Every year, my girlfriends and I would head to the beautiful New Jersey shore for a week of low-budget summer fun. (To make it seem more exotic, we deluded ourselves into thinking that my grandmother’s ranch house in Toms River was actually an exclusive cottage in Martinique.)

My girlfriends and I were (and still, on occasion, are) rather dippy. We would often get caught up in conversations and forget about anything else around us. Combine this with the fact that I am a terrible swimmer and you have a recipe for disaster at the beach.

My dad shared this Pearl with us as we packed the beach chairs into my well-worn Ford Tempo minutes before we planned to depart.

At the time, we had many a giggle over it. It has since become a running joke with me and my girlfriends.

However, the advice has actually come in handy – on the beach and off. Always keep your eye on that which can’t be controlled, as you never know when it might drag you under.

”Be Wary of Men Bearing Flowers and Backrubs”
Source: Antonio

Antonio was the branch manager at the first company I ever worked for. Born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, he was the proud and protective father of three girls. So, he felt it was his duty to look out for me.

He had this theory that if a man (other than your father, brother or husband) gives you flowers, he is looking for a romantic relationship and if a man offers you a backrub, he’s looking for sex. Neither one of those things is bad. However, it’s always good to use clues, like these, to guess at a person's motivation.

I tested his advice on a number of occasions and, I’ll tell you what -- it never failed.

”It Never Hurts to Send a Thank You Note”
Source: Mom

My mom is an all-around classy babe. From an early age, I was taught that thank you notes were a must. At the time I kicked and screamed, but I’m very glad she got me in the habit.

”When a Restaurant Host(ess) Says There Are No Tables Available, S/he is Lying”
Source: Sheila
Sheila was a woman I worked with in Manhattan. A pint-sized, brassy New Yorker, Sheila rarely took “no” for an answer. The same was true with restaurant reservations.

Apparently restaurants, especially those in urban areas, always hold back a few tables for VIP customers. If you have chutzpah, ask to speak to the manager and make a formal, business-like plea. If you have less chutzpah, slip the host(ess) a couple of bucks.

”If You Really Want To Get to Know a Person, Watch How S/he Treats Service Staff"
Source: Alas, I Can’t Remember

If you have to get a quick read on someone, this is a good judge of character.

Watch how s/he treats service staff, such as taxi drivers and waiters. How s/he treats them is a good indication of how s/he will treat you.

”When Throwing a Party, You Can Never Have Too Much Ice"
Source: Dad

This advice has always held true. If you don’t use it for drinks at the party, you can always make ice packs the next day to soothe your aching head.

”Never Sing an Elvis or Willie Nelson Song in a Karaoke Bar Unless You’re a Regular”
Source: Me

Karaoke bars attract an interesting cast of characters. Inevitably there’s a guy, most often one who takes himself far too seriously, who shows up every week to sing “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” or “You Are Always on My Mind.” Avoid these songs like the plague -- that is, unless you want your head smashed in to the nearest pinball machine.

* Names have been changed.

Mr. DeMattio & Desert Storm

I apologize for the rather somber tone of the Blog these days. Truth be told, I can’t seem to keep my thoughts away from what is happening overseas. Last night, I made a pot of tea and sat with J on the couch, glued to CNN – although we wound up switching to ABC because they actually had a guy on the ground in Baghdad, fluent in Arabic, who was commenting on the Iraqi radio broadcasts.

At about 9:30 p.m., we flipped over to the WB, hoping to get a break from the action, only to have the broadcast pre-empted, announcing President Bush’s speech at 10:15 p.m. In between, we watched video footage of the first air strikes.

Watching the scene unfold brought me back to high school and my first glimpse of real-time war coverage.

When Desert Storm was first unleashed, I was a tenth grader at a suburban high school in New Jersey.

As I’m sure is the case with most high schoolers today, the war was treated by the student body with a mix of fear (“Will I get drafted?” “Will they bomb the school?”) and apathy (“Why do we have to talk about this crap? Can’t I just sleep in class like I usually do?”).

My understanding is that the school board, before the conflict had officially began, had several lengthy, rather heated debates about how the war would be dealt with in the classroom. Mainly, the board wanted the students to get a basic understanding of what was going on (i.e. be able to point out the appropriate countries on a map), get their feelings out in the open, and funnel the students’ energy into benevolent projects (e.g. food donations, gift boxes for the soldiers). However, the clincher was that they didn’t want students to see unfiltered images of the war, specifically those that would inevitably be featured on live news broadcasts.

The only motion picture images we were permitted to see were those that appeared in the Channel One broadcast every morning. Channel One, a Whittle Communications company, had this deal with the school board where they would supply televisions to every classroom in the district, provided that students watch a fifteen-minute, commercial strewn, news broadcast every morning. By and large, the news coverage (stuffed snuggly between Mountain Dew and Skittles advertisements) was pretty good, but decidedly watered down.

On the afternoon of January 15th, though, Mr. DeMattio* decided to shake things up a bit.

Mr. DeMattio was a weary social studies teacher and war veteran. Truth be told, his class was never all that good. He was one of those teachers who, alas, always seemed to phone it in. Maybe he was over dealing with years of lip from snotty suburban kids? Maybe he was bored with the curriculum? Perhaps he was beaten down by the endless regulations? Regardless, he was never one of my favorites.

However, my opinion changed when, on a cold January day right after lunch, he defiantly turned on the television and let us watch things unfold – in real-time, on CNN. “This is history in the making,” he said, “How can I not let you see it?”

The strangest thing happened.

The students stopped talking and tuned in. Some girl in the back put down her lipstick and hairspray and lifted her heavily shadowed eyes up to the television. I stopped doing my homework under my desk and actually started paying attention.

For the next fifty minutes was all watched in silence and awe, wondering what on earth would happen next.

* Names have been changed.

HAIR - The Original New Jersey Cast, Part 2

This is the second installment of a saga about an ill-fated, small town production of the musical Hair. To read if from the beginning, kindly scroll down to the post below – Hair: The Original New Jersey Cast, Part 1. Thank you!

Hair-related Hooky

It would be an understatement to say we were pooped. Since this was a school night, I had thought I would be forced to sprint home, shower and grudgingly slog my way through a day of torturous classes. However, my dad, in an unprecedented show of academic leniency, let us all (himself included) play hooky for a day. I guess he figured that I learned enough life lessons that week, especially the powerful lesson about the agony of all-nighters. A forced day of school in order to reinforce that point would have just been Draconian. (Tangent alert: I can’t reiterate enough how valuable a lesson this was for me. In college, I was known to have never pulled the oh-so-traditional, all-night study session. My friends hated me for it. Whenever a deadline loomed, all I had to do was hum a few bars of “Let the Sunshine In” and I would crank out the assignment in no time.)

After a trip to the diner and a quick power nap, Clyde and I met the cast and crew later that evening at the church for, what was to be, our first dress rehearsal. Instead, we turned it into a sing-along session. We told the cast members to show up in comfy clothes and bring paper and pens, as we were going to spend the entirety of the rehearsal practicing with the music. (This meant that we would have only two full, clothed dress rehearsals before opening night. In most circles, this is considered a rather cavalier move. However, at this point, we were just glad we actually had music for our musical.)

Miracle Steve & the Sing-along

Once we got everyone seated around in a circle, Clyde explained the great and unusual lengths that my dad and Bob (and, to some extent, he and I) had gone to save the show. Our cast, all between the ages of 12 and 18, was a bit of a rowdy bunch. Clyde decided that the best strategy would be to explain the somewhat grave situation we were in and hope to impress upon them the urgent need for concentration. We sincerely hoped this strategy would work, as we were afraid a heavy dose of manic screeching emanating from our smelly, sleep-deprived bodies would have sent them all packing.

The process was this:
Only some of the cast members could read music. However, all had a decent sense of rhythm. So, I did a quick crash course on counting – beats, measures, etc. Before we would play each song, Clyde and I would read from a directory we put together at Bob’s house. This directory listed the number of measures of introduction for each song. The actors would then count these measures, so they would know when to sing their respective parts. They each wrote these numbers down on a piece of paper that would become a personal crib sheet. (I credit this idea entirely to my dad. Without his suggestion, I don’t know what we would have done.) Their homework that evening was to go home, practice their parts along with the soundtrack we produced and try to memorize the crib sheet.

Before we began the rehearsal, I prayed for a small miracle. Little did I know then that it would come in the form of Steve*.

The opening number of the show, “Age of Aquarius,” was to be sung by Steve, a member of the chorus. Not known for his counting skills, I had worried that Steve would be a risky person to start off the show. (Once the music started rolling, we wouldn’t be able to rewind it. If Steve missed even a single beat, we would not be able to recover.) Thus far, he had been a dedicated and enthusiastic cast member and I didn’t want to take this solo away from him, so I held my breath as the introduction began to play. Steve sat there patiently and listened to the instrumental. We watched his lips quiver slightly as he counted the first few beats…1-2-3-4. Then, in a voice as clear as the night sky, he sang, “When the moon is in the seventh house…” It couldn’t have been more perfect. On pitch. On cue. I simply couldn’t believe it!

Steve’s dedication and work ethic set the tone. I was absolutely stunned that we banged through the soundtrack, not once, but twice. The second time they even got to practice the dancing along with it.

I’m convinced that he was our lucky charm. Like magic, the remaining two dress rehearsals went off pretty much as planned. To date, I am still amazed when I think of the professionalism I saw from this group of teenagers.

Opening Night!

Of all the members of the cast, I had the most drama experience. Since the somewhat tender age of 11, I had performed in a little over forty school, community and regional theater productions. Also, I had a teeny bit of television work under my belt, so, at the time, I was considered to be the undisputed pro. As such, my ego was a tad bruised when Clyde relegated me to a small role in the chorus.

In retrospect, it was a blessing. I had fewer lines to memorize and could focus on “the big picture.” However, this also meant, I had more time to focus on the audience. Hair is one of those shows where the chorus spends a lot of time on stage. The chorus is essentially the “set.” By this, I mean, the chorus does little business in the background to act as a colorful backdrop for the action. So, this function, for better or worse, gave me a lot of time to check out the audience. Man, was I horrified!

The Roar of the Actors, The Fear of the Crowd

The show opens with a big production number. During this number, the audience gets introduced to the cast. To make a dramatic entrance, we had cast members come in from all doors, all sides and walk through the audience. The instructions we gave the actors were to, “make eye contact, look happy, try to get audience members engaged in the action.” During dress rehearsals, they seemed to have this down pat. This was partly because we never had anyone actually attend a dress rehearsal, the only exceptions being Mary (aspiring art student) and Mike (aspiring Marine), our loyal crewmembers. The actors simply pantomimed their chosen actions to the empty seats.

On opening night, however, it didn’t go nearly as smoothly. Suddenly the room was filled with more hams than Lutz’s Pork Store. The actors, so desperately eager to please and/or show off, went entirely over the top. Actors were fondling audience members’ hair. (Have you ever seen how monkeys clean each other by picking stuff of their coats and eating it? That was what they were doing.) One actress kept shrieking “Peace” and aggressively handing out daisies. Another male actor sat on a female audience members lap and began humping her leg. On the stage, I sat, watching this horrible train wreck. I watched the audience, a sea of scowling faces. I couldn’t help but think that this must be some type of world record. It was only 30 seconds into the show and we’ve managed to either piss off or freak out every member of the audience.

I asked myself, "Could it possibly get any worse?"

To Be Continued.

* Names have been changed.