Wednesday, Jan. 06, 2010

Why do I do these things for you?

Sometimes we do things for the heck of it, thinking it'll be funny in the long-run. Sometimes we're wrong... Oh so wrong.

It was during Christmas dinner when my mother pulled out a flyer for the production of Miss Saigon by the Richland Light Opera House. I laughed. I knew it was a controversial play, but my mom, who sees no black and white, said it would be fun.

I shrugged it off, saying I wouldn't audition, much to my mother's disappointment.

Then, last night, as I was throwing away old coupons on the fridge, I came across the flyer. "This would be good blog material," I thought.

It was a small group of people. As I waited in the theater seats, with my number around my neck, I started to feel short of breath. "What the f--- am I doing here?" I started to think, maybe even out loud. I had a history of failing play auditions miserably. Like, moving away from town miserably... So why was I doing something embarassing just for a silly story?

I took vocal lessons from Steve Haberman once, so I could sing at my sister's wedding. When Mr. Haberman came walking into the theater, he looked at me and said, "I don't know you, but hey, what's up?" then kept walking. Granted, those voice lessons were 10 years ago, but still I couldn't help but feel a twang of bitterness.

Whenever an Asian person showed up, the directors looked overly excited. I overheard them talking about a friend of a friend who knows a girl who works at Applebee's who is Asian, or how someone from some school is Asian. Apparently, they were not meeting their Asian quota. I should have slipped out then, but I couldn't write a blog about not auditioning.

I killed the dancing part of the audition. I'm good at that. But then they told everyone they had to sing a piece with Haberman accompanying on the piano. I was the only one without sheet music.

"Can I just wing it a capella?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Uh, okay. I'll sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.'"

As I began, I could literally see the casting directors cringing. I had no idea what I was doing. I should have sang something from the Black Eyed Peas instead of a song I remembered from my childhood that I was sure the pianist could play.

It was like a little kid dressed in a vegetable costume trying to get through their lines and the audience hoping the kid makes it all the way through. Damn you, Wizard of Oz, for being the only thing I could think of.

"You picked one of the hardest songs to sing," said one of the directors, bluntly. I quickly scuttled off the stage.
"Do you have a sister?" someone asked.
"Yeah, but she's white, so you probably wouldn't be interested."

Unfortunately, I was one of the first to sing, meaning I had to sit through an hour of other people - who knew what they were doing - auditioning.

"We'll call you tonight to let you know," someone said.

While I had no intention of actually doing the play (I didn't tell them about my evening restrictions), I never did get a call back. It was probably best that way.