Hello gentle Americans.  Today I awoke to snow still falling from the sky. I looked out my window, and on the sill, was a mound of the cold white stuff. Instead of getting depressed I decided to make a pit stop back to childhood and make a snowman.  Though he is a bit broken down looking he glows with a positive spirit, and I have since placed him out doors to let him enjoy the very weather that created him.  How bout everyone making window sill snowmen and showing them off?  We could start a hot new trend!

Stay fresh,

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Hello gentle Americans.  I needed to take off yesterday to sit and reflect on the audition I had the other day; it was a bust!  It was an audition for the Broadway Show-Pricilla Queen Of The Desert.  My agent sent me the sides (the breakdown of the script) and it said to have an up-tempo/disco song prepared and wear movement cloths.  Movement cloths?  What in gods name did that mean?  So I put on a pair of black tights, black patent leather belt, black tank top and a pair of low heels with my head wrapped in a scarf-very Fosse.  My agent told me that ‘movement’ meant that they just want to see how you move, not full on dancing.  I was very relieved to hear this because I am not a dancer, but I do love to cut a rug from time to time; put a song on that I like and I am spinning around the apartment at top speed, shaking the junk in my trunk.  The song I decided to sing was, “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer’s, and with only one rehearsal, with a piano player, I had that hooker energy down pat that is the coursing through the very core of that song.

The following day I was up bright and early for my noontime call.  I did my vocal warm ups, some yoga, a little meditation, took a good BM, jumped around the house doing my version of a high kick (which is not that high) and rehearsed my song; I was ready for battle!   Arriving at the studio on west 35th street the small holding room was filled with cute young boys, some girls, and few wild cards: an old man, a portly middle aged guy and another drag queen (who I will not mention to protect their anonymity). 98% of the people looked like dancers to me, so I was beginning to get a little panicky.  They were all in the middle of doing some very flexible stretching-legs overhead, full out splits, legs kicking in the air, going passed their shoulders, so I decided to follow suit and do the same. As I lay on the floor with my legs over my head, ass high up in the air, I was silently praying that movement meant a simple box step in heels.

Finally they called our group into the dance room, large and long with pale wood floors and a mirror covering one entire wall with a dance bar.  Now, I was really getting nervous, but I calmed myself down and reminded myself it was just a movement call.  The way my stomach was churning it was about to be a bowel movement call, but before I could even make a poot the choreographer walked in.  A smallish man of about 45, with a hat propped up on his head and a devilish glint in his eye.  “Aright people,” His thick Australian accent cut through the air, “Let’s do this.”  He was not wasting anytime, “It is going to be simple mates, some easy movements. Just take a look at me.”  At this point I think I began to loose oxygen to my brain, because he was doing a full out choreographed dance, this was not mere movement, not a simple box step, this actually required immense talent, which sadly I did not have in the dance department.

I wanted to leave immediately, to discretely walk over to him and say, “Darling I have a terrible headache all of a sudden, I think perhaps I am having a stroke, maybe the early stages of an aneurism? I really think I should seek medical attention.” But just as I was about to pick up my things I noticed this little word I had scribbled on my hand, to remind me why I was here in the first place- JOY.  Early that morning I wrote the word JOY on my palm to calm my nerves and let my soul know that whatever happened during this audition just bring JOY to it.  I put down my things, took a deep breath, and said to myself, “Hedda darling let’s show them what JOY is all about.”

It turned out it was a three-part dance piece that we had to learn in five minutes and then put it all together and perform for the producer of the show.  Amidst all these highly trained people I felt like Lucy, when my foot was to go right it went left and so on from there.  The choreographer noticed me in the back and was giving me this strange look that said, “How did this uncoordinated oaf get in here?”  But he said it with kind eyes, which meant the world to me.  Or was it pity?  Either way I did not care.  And in the end the group of 20 was broken up into groups of 3, and that’s when I really shined, I decided I was going to do what ever I wanted, and I did.  I jumped at the wrongs times, I leapt at the wrong times, I shuffled at the wrong times, but I did it all with JOY.  Needless to say I was cut right away, along with 10 other people who were far more talented than I was.  Which led me to believe that I may have sucked, but this talented dancers were right in my league. They should have done like I did and just done whatever they felt like.

My mama, Shredda Lynn Lettuce, though a mean drunk at times, raised me with some manners.  After my dance fiasco I went up to the choreographer and thanked him for the lovely time.  Though I was bit sad that I never got the opportunity to sing my song.  The finale was great-I pull out of my ass what appears to be a used condom, and fling it, gleefully, into the air.  I suppose I can save it for the next audition?

Stay fresh,

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