Bucket List - Act in a Play

The Bucket List is a list of things I want to do/feel I should do before I die. I've done some of them already, and I'm telling one of those stories here. To see the whole list, click here.

I think everyone should experience a moment up on stage and, if possible, have it be in a play.  Sure, you can get a sense of the stage experience from singing a song or dancing a dance in a school talent show, but it's not the same as a play.

There's something about the silences, inbetween the lines of dialog, that make it clear that you are 100% on your own up there and, if you forget a line or let a silence linger, it feels like a small death.

The spotlight is brightest in a play.  There are few distractions to fall back on.  In real life a passing truck might hide your fart while you're out on the street.  In a play, if your stomach rumbles, everyone knows.  Everything about it is completely self-conscious and yet must appear completely natural.  And therein lies the gap you must fill, with acting talent.  And it's bloody hard.  But it's bloody exciting, too.

I've done, as I am sure you've figured out by now, various plays.  None of them were professional - that would have taken a gift of consdierably more talent from the Gods than they deigned to bestow upon me.  No, they were through drama club in Middle and High School.

In fact, the first time I was on the stage I was a little kid, probably 5 years old.  One day some teachers came into our classroom and stood around, muttering, looking at all the children.  I could feel it when their eyes lighted on me.  I was called up to leave class and follow them.  I was petrified.

It turned out they were putting on a play for Christmas and wanted to have children representing various countries walk up to the baby Jesus and offer him gifts.  This was all to be on a stage in the middle of school track field, with parents sitting in the bleachers.  Don't forget - I grew up in South Africa.  December is the height of our summer.

Anyway, I had been chosen to fufill the role of an Indian lady, complete with Sari and Bindi on my forehead (the best part of the whole thing).  You may not have seen me mention it before but I am from a mixed race background originating on a tropical island in the Indian ocean.  Growing up in South Africa, officiallly classified as White in the Apartheid years, gained me many sideways compliements about my "lovely tan."  Of course, they were barbed jabs at my mother who, standing at my side, shielded me from the bitchy innuendo and let me think I had gorgeous glowing olive skin.

I was so happy to be part of the pageant/play/whatever, that I didn't think about why I'd been chosen to represent India, and I dutifully waddled out clutching the folds of fabric wrapped around me that I thought were going to flutter away at any moment, and plonked a present at the foot of the manger.  My first spotlight moment.

There were various other school and drama club plays over the years, but the one that stands out for me is playing the villain, Lorin Chillingsworth, in a delightful melodrama.  I got to wear top hat and tails, say evil things and, most of all, flounce off the stage in a fit of pique once my dastardly plan had been thwarted.

As I stalked down the steps of the stage, heading to the exit, the audience laughed at my final joke, applauded and cheered.

I've never felt such a rush in my life.  

Cheering!  For me?

Delicious!

There's nothing like the feedback you get from a live audience when on stage.  As much as the silences can stab you in the heart, positive feedback - laugther, clapping, even booing if you're the villain - are like mainlining a special drug that's part adrenaline, part SSRI, part whiskey.  It's warm and buzzing and energizing and so very, very happy, all at the same time.

It's not the same buzz as winning at sport.  That's your talent, your prowess, your team.  On stage, it's just you.  Naked.  With a few lines to say, trying to say them in an enteratining way.  

When it goes right, and the audience is with you, it's like a mental orgasm. 

So put your daugther on the stage, Mrs Robinson, at least once.

Dear Diary - Living Pain Free

I've become one of those crazy middle aged people who wants to urge twenty year olds to live their life to the full.

"I was a virgin till I was 22," I whispered at my 18 year old second cousin a few weeks ago, accosting her with information that, not only had she not asked for, but had absolutely nothing to do with the general conversation in progress.  "I'd lose it much younger if I had my turn again!" I hissed, as she backed away.

Why this desire to shove copies of Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May into the hands of every young adult I see?

Because I'm dealing with aging for the first time.  And it hurts.

I put make up on the other day - a thick line of liquid eye liner, carefully applied.  A few moments later I turned back to the mirror to see a big fat smudge.  What had gone wrong?  I'd been so careful.

Then I saw it.

My upper lid has a little fold which is now drooping onto my lower eyelid.  It had touched the eye liner and messed it up.

So now there's no point to wearing eye makeup.  I'm not embedding powder into creases, thank you very much.  Fuck that.

Thank God I have full lips.  I'm rocking that shit.

Still, aging is here.  Drooping has begun and, as much as I resolved to age with dignity when I was younger, I am railing against it.

And so I look at younger people and, if I am not utterly convinced that they are making the most of every second, I want to tell them how precious their time is, and that it isn't going to last.

Of course that's a total waste of time.  I didn't get it at that age, and neither will they.  You just have to hope they're having fun and racking up some damn good memories.  

I bought my second cousin a dress.  A stunning, backless number that those of us over forty with under armpit droopage just can't wear.  She looked amazing.  I wanted to take her all over the store and buy her mini skirts and thigh high socks and boob toob tops.

I wanted to pile make up into her lap - neon yello eye shadow, blue eye liner, pink lipstick.

I wanted to sit her down in the coffee shop and explain to her that she should drink and laugh and have sex and look after her body because the more she could delay it's droopy betrayal, the better.

And I wanted to explain to her the beauty, the heaven, the precious gift she had of living pain free.

Yes, you heard me. 

Living pain free.

The TV ads make it sound like it's a revolutionary concept and, I suppose for people who have arthritis or back injuries or some other condition that causes them chronic pain, it is.  But that's not the pain free I'm talking about.

When you're young, you have no emotional scars.  Well, most young people don't.  I wouldn't tell Sandusky's victims this.

But, seriously, most young people haven't had anyone close to them die yet.  They haven't broken up with someone and always wondered if they did the right thing and should have been with that person the rest of their life.  They haven't got to a place in their career where they're wondering if their education provided them the right starting line in the rat race.  

When they watch movies with death scenes, the experience of grief doesn't sneak out of the shadowy recesses of their memories to poke and prod at their hearts again.

When their partner irritates them for the fifth time in one day, they don't wonder about that other guy from 1991.

When annual review time rolls around at the office, they don't stare at the document where they are supposed to "give feedback" on their own performance, wondering if they should have been a lawyer after all.

They live pain free.

And they should know - shouldn't they? - that it's bliss.

Somebody should tell them.

To read more in this series, click here.

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• Me, the Savior

9 to 5 - Bossisms 3

 

My boss' boss is a character, and has a great way of observing and commenting on the ridiculous nature of the corporate workplace. We call his sayings "Bossisms."

On siloed teams not adhering to a new cross-functional process:

We're all in the same boat, but everyone is pulling on their oar at a different time.

On a team member being a key part of the team:

He's our tent pole.

On Agile being the new methodology du jour:

It's like a car full of cheerleaders.  Looks good, but how you gonna get from A to B?  
That 15 year old can't drive!

To see more in this series click the 9 to 5 tag, below.