Year End… or a year beginning?

artwork by Jeff Jones

As I sit in the laundry room/office of our perfect house, which became very small during the pandemic, listening to our son Cooper participating in remote learning I could take this years wrap up in so many directions. But I will spare you my musings and stick to more facts (and if you believe that, you do not know me)

I decided to put this “holiday letter” on the computer for a few reasons. First off, not everyone wants to read about our families journey so why waste the paper & secondly I removed myself from all forms of social media last November (passively… I still have the accounts, I just NEVER check them) so this is a chance to have Doreen share my thoughts for Facebook friends we have in common.

Dear Friends,
A little shy of a year ago we closed ourselves into the safety of our own, but during that time life has, not surprisingly, gone on.
Doreen launched herself into her final year at the Graduate School of Social Work at Rutgers University. Between remote learning and screwy internship options she briefly considered postponing but this is a calling and she had to answer the call. Come May of 2021 the world of Social Work may never be the same once Doreen hits it!
School has been tricky for all the learners in the house, no surprise there. Cooper has been the only kid with mostly in person learning due to the school being able to maintain 3 students per classroom and strict Covid protocol.
Olivia got her first “real boyfriend” just in time to be Rapunzeled away by Covid-19, but he spends most hours after school with us via FaceTime. It’s a remarkable study in human behavior watching teenagers mating rituals over video chat. They completely ignore one another for hours on end and then you’ll here the odd “babe” or “sweetheart”. I’m not going to claim to understand. Olivia did occasionally go off to the park this summer to “meet up” with her beau, I don’t even want to know.
Ruby has been devoted to voluntary isolation in her bedroom. It seems to perfectly align with her disenchantment at being in quarantine with Cooper and Olivia. She did manage to enjoy a week in St. Louis this summer with cousins and a pool in Uncle Mike and Aunt Mary’s back yard. We maybe had to tell her that they all were tested prior to our arrival. Sorry if that was super spreader of us, but desperate times call for desperate measures to get Ruby out of her room. (please note: thankfully no cases of covid were born from our time with family this summer).
I started off the year going on the road Stage Managing for Mandy Patinkin and Producer/friend Staci Levine in January and early February after The Illusionist, Magic of The Holiday’s closed. It has been a minute since I have toured, but taking care of Mandy’s show was a real treat. I was in St Louis with my Mom and my brother Lance when lock down began. My siblings and I were at the early stages of trying to manage long term care for our mom who’s memory has been smashed and get our brother Lance settled as he was dealing with his own health issues. I returned to New Jersey for April & May and then things went from bad to worse in St. Louis. Our brother Lance; protector of lofty dreams, possessor generous spirit, a gay knight, a man of irreverent humor and mad devotion passed away the morning of June 11th. A few of us were with him for the final hours of his journey; playing music, telling stories, singing, laughing and of course crying. I miss him more and more by the day, but I know I was lucky to have him as my big brother and a huge influence on who I am today. With Lance’s passing I spent much of the summer helping my family clean out my mom’s house and be as close as possible to my mom, my St. Louis sibs and lots of Zoom with our brother Jeff in Phoenix.
We are all certainly looking forward to the new year. 2021 has a nice ring to it. I for one have spent the fall getting fat, out of shape & uninspired so I can have some heavy hitting resolutions come January 1st… I mean, I realize that’s not how you are supposed to set resolutions but what the hell. Doreen and I are very excited about the New year and the decency and inspiration coming to a certain famous house very soon.

Since I cannot be reached on the social platforms please feel free to be in touch via: jpjones314@mac.com or 917-797-2618. Doreen can be reached on FaceBook or at doreenchila@me.com or 917-747-9359.

Me and Coop this summer

Doreen with Norman the Cat & Stella our mini dog!
Olivia with Uncle Mike and Aunt Maria
Ruby in her natural habitat… her bed!

Good Night Sweet Peter and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

He knew us all as individuals when we ourselves struggled
to be a who, that had a why and sought a path to our where.
We were microscopic balls of id and ego
fighting for our place in and out of the spotlight
the spotlight he shone for us full of pink & blue.
He snatched us from our heroic young roles across the country
and had us feed together from the belly of comedy and tragedy.
The mission, a place in the pantheon of theatrical greatness
or maybe a chance to find our way without the rigor of a mold.
We were to be our own person, finding our who, what, where, when, yes and, why.

His direction, the slightest touch at the helm,
should not have made a difference in this great sea before us but it did.
Such a subtle shift in our art that you had no idea what was happening
never a lecture took place, not a lesson on a page, nor a chapter in a book.
He attached us to our greatness, knowing our weakness
but never letting us weaken ourselves.
We said we knew it all, that our situation was different, yes but,
every story was a repeat musical phrase to his ears.
Yet, he never dismissed us, he listened and watched us work it out.
He poked the bear of curiosity and made us find our own truth
be our own professor to build our own lectern.
Grow and not turn back…

One person is missing and I’m turned upside down
I can no longer connect the dots, my dots are missing
they are now millions of stars that fade in and out, too fast to identify.
One who I could rely on is missing from my greater landscape,
it’s now a fallow field missing the nutrients of my history and my present.

He was snatched away leaving our hearts struggling.
We thousands have no claim, do we?
He was a man who staked a claim,
yet he made no claim to our greatness.
His greatness was in the great amount of joy
he found as we all satisfied our curiosity.
A curiosity he understood long before we examined it.

Peter Sargent was a man who helped define me as a theatrical professional. He continued to be the man that I wanted to make proud. I wanted to give back to him, with my career, what he gave to me as a constant in my professional journey. He is gone now, unbelievably taken by death so quickly it still seems unreal.  I feel the loss more every day, there are no texts or e-mails or phone calls. No sitting side by side during Webster’s yearly pilgrimage to NYC where he deftly tells me about most of the seniors no matter their discipline. No more annual dinners where I could laugh with him, share my life with him on and off stage. I suppose if I were more evolved I could continue to make his “memory” proud as I continue my career, but honestly, I selfishly want to make him proud in person. He is not a memory to me, he is a man alive and well who help shaped me into who I am today and I miss him dearly.

http://news.webster.edu/employee/2019/peter_sargent_remembered.html

 

The journey of a train enthusiast on the spectrum of reality seperate-titus

IMG_0810Cooper is my 13-year-old son who Lindy Hops on the Autism Spectrum. I have written about him as a child and his rabid fascination with NJ Transit, not trains but Transit trains specifically. The one thing that you should know about Cooper’s different-ability is it is wildly specific. It’s not spaghetti its spaghetti with Pomodoro sauce from Daniella Trattoria in NYC (not an ad, but could be an ad, if you are willing to pony up a few plates of pricey pasta for him). Okay, I could spend an entire story catching you up on Cooper but instead I am going to jump to the recent iteration of what we refer to as “Life With Cooper”.

Cooper’s joy the last several months is “working” the trains whenever possible. He spent time thinking he could be satisfied traveling various train lines, some of which include but are not limited to: Trenton, Montclair State University, North Jersey Coast in New Jersey. Oyster Bay & Long Beach on Long Island and countless requests for Amtrak, although to date I think he realizes that this without tickets is prohibitive. Word has it he was permitted a ride on Amtrak from Newark Penn to New York Penn one day, but I think travel outside the tri-state area will have to wait. Now if you are thinking, what irresponsible parenting letting her son ride Transit without supervision, please stop reading and return to your perfect parenting, because mine is an imperfect household filled with the perfect understanding of our shortcomings. So, Cooper “works” for Transit.

Friday night lights, filled with horns and bells
The movement beneath his solid stance feels easy.
4632 to Bay Head making stops at…

Saturday runs to and fro starting with Les and ending with Randy
The rhythm of the tracks the only steady in his brain
7695 to New York City making stops at…

Sunday is reserved for morris/essex maybe multis or commons
The traps and the doors every task he will sharpen his skills
7920 to Dover making stops at…

Cooper and I were on our own a few weeks ago while Doreen and the girls were in South Carolina. We were in a nice routine together and he took time away from his busy work schedules to be with me at the theatre or at home, so the only time he “worked” was when we were riding back and forth on the train to my work. Wednesday night we were on our way home after the show; typically Cooper isn’t on Wednesday night trains because of therapies or school, but this week was special. The rules are always the same when Cooper is with me at theatre in the evenings, he leaves the Palace early so he can find out what track our train will be on and secure the first four-seater at the front of the train, on the top left hand side specifically, for me to sit in with his skateboard and back pack while he works. He loads his pockets with schedules and maps in homage to his heroes, the conductors. A few of these conductors are super friendly to Cooper, they give him old zone maps and let him help with the traps at the train doors, they are okay with him trailing behind as they check tickets or letting him announce the stops throughout the lead train car. Cooper carries my work flashlight at night so he can wave down the platforms to the ticket takers signaling the all clear at station stops, when instructed of course. The night before, Cooper sat with one young conductor having a pretty incredible conversation about engines, equipment, schedules and the recent cancelations. It was a really friendly conversation that made my heart full and proud. I guess you might say it was a parental high to hear your son, who doesn’t always know how to conduct himself in conversation, really engaged. On this particular Wednesday night I was in my seat early so I got to hear his exchanges with familiar people (and some not familiar) as they boarded the train. These were far more typical of Cooper’s interactions; some of the guys would ask, “how many stops to Orange?” and Cooper would quickly rattle off a response which includes what zone that stop is. Somebody got on asking if the train stopped in Newark Penn to which Cooper replied, “No, you need to get off this train and go to track 7 I believe that is where the train to Trenton is. This train doesn’t go there.” A lady across the aisle smiles at me as she hears men board the train with greetings of, “hi ya Coop?”, “how’s it going tonight Cooper?” Cooper will assume a voice of a conductor he spends a lot of time with, “how’s it going? Very good, very good.” Pretty typical stuff. This Wednesday  was a pretty crowded train so I was sharing my four seater suite with a few commoners that didn’t realize that I was train royalty because of my association to Cooper.

We were about 15 minutes into our journey, having just left Secaucus Junction, when I hear the actual conductor talking, he is one of the grumpier fellas, but I cannot make out what he is saying. A few minutes later Cooper appears in front of me, his brow furrowed in distress. “Can you come with me please?” He says in a low sweet voice. Knowing that this is serious I grab all my wares and Cooper’s skateboard and backpack and as I head back to the rear of the car after Cooper I continue to hear the conductor talking to someone. I punch through the door into the train’s vestibule where Cooper is standing on a trap looking out the window with his head low. I said softly, “did you get in trouble buster?” and he turned to me crying, lowered his head on my shoulder and said, “he took my maps, he said they were Transit property and I wasn’t allowed to have them.” I said, “Did you explain that you had been given them Buster?” The tears were coming harder when he said, “I want them back.” I was in a parenting pickle, I wanted to march up to the conductor and give him an ear full, but frankly the way Cooper processes information I didn’t want him seeing me barking at a conductor as a solution. I continued to comfort him and said, “Buster, obviously he doesn’t think you should have them and that they are Transit’s property. Do you want to go ride in the back of the train?” “No, I want to get off at Broad Street and Lyft home.” I hugged him harder and said that wasn’t going to happen, but we could sit in a different car. Suddenly the door opened behind me and it was the conductor he sees me and hands me the maps saying, “I didn’t realize you were on the train,” he recognized me, “here I’m giving these back to you.” He says handing me the maps, “but he shouldn’t have them, so he should put them away.” He went on to say, “I had my bag stolen so I saw those maps and you know it set me off.” I calmly said, “he was given those maps sir, he didn’t steal them.” “Oh, I know” he responds quickly, “it’s just there is another kid who walks around on these trains and he’s really crazy.” Referring to another kid that I see Cooper with who is also clearly on the spectrum. He then says, “come on now, stop crying, big men don’t cry. Stop.” Now I actually want to punch him, not only has he referred to a kid as crazy but he is now shaming my son for being upset. I can tell Cooper is trying to stop, wiping his eyes and nose on my shoulder so instead of letting loose on the conductor I say to Cooper, “Did you hear that Buster, he had his bag stolen and so he got mad when he saw your maps thinking they might have been his.” That ended the exchange and Cooper and I went to sit at the end of the car on benches until we got home. As we left the train a fellow theatre commuter, a musician, asks if Cooper is okay and said to me he tried to reason with the conductor about what a good kid Cooper is and how he loves the trains, but he wouldn’t listen. Cooper was quiet when we got home, he just wanted a bath and an ice pack and went to bed. His spirit was broken. I had no idea if I had done the right thing as a parent, I mean should I have said to the conductor; you know what, fuck you and your big man bull shit, he’s my son and he can cry if he wants to because you were a dick and took away his maps. Furthermore, if you had an aware bone in your fuckin’ body you would know that he is autistic and not “crazy” you douche bag… But I didn’t say any of that, I just didn’t want Cooper to think anger is the way to deal with problems.

This incident had me a little shaken the next day, I further advised Cooper to keep his maps low unless he knew the conductor was a friend. I also reminded him that the conductor from last night wasn’t bad he was just upset about his bag. I considered having Coop take a train break but that’s like suggesting a bull dozer go easy. So Friday that week off Cooper went on a journey while I was at work. Within a few hours he was calling me to report that his conductor buddy Randy had given him an up to date zone map for the Morris Essex line and he was thinking maybe he should give it to the conductor from the other night who had his bag stolen so he could replace his missing maps…

I think that’s my son displaying empathy or ready to show that conductor who was the real “big man”. Maybe, just maybe it was a parenting win after all.

The Reluctant Vegan

Image result for vegan images

Here I am 50 years old and finally committing to a Vegan diet. For those who have known me over the years you known I have made the dance with food for years. At the age of twenty-one I stopped eating meat, I had made a trip to KFC that put me under. Sadly never lost the 10 pounds that comes with being a vegetarian because I balanced my diet out with Cheetos & Budweiser. In my late 20’s I added seafood into my diet, sort of. My girlfriend Lisa, who was also a “lacto-ovo” vegetarian  loved seafood (I’m certain that has yet another name to tag onto the ovo) so I did my best to include it in my diet, even making Lisa a celebratory fresh lobster dinner for one of her birthdays. It took a lot to kill those little suckers but I did it. But as with most things I could take seafood, especially fish, or leave it. The beer and Cheetos persisted, my mainstay. Fast forward to another girlfriend (can you see a pattern developing)… who was a foodie. I managed to go to restaurant after restaurant and stick to my multi-named vegetarian ways… although I did jam down a piece of turkey, one Thanksgiving, with plenty of sides to mask the meat. My friend Matt was a witness to this & a fellow turkey choker at that particular Thanksgiving of ’97. When I went through my “I’m single again” rennisance in my late 20’s I finally lost that 10 pounds, plus another 15 for good measure, but it was a brief victory as my bad habits still persisted. Fast forward to my early 30’s and my current girlfriend… now wife Doreen, who is a real bonafide meat eater, and was pregnant. I decided to try to embrace some meat as long as I either made it at home or masked it in toppings, refer back to the Turkey choke of 97, for details. I mean I didn’t want to be a vegetarian while everyone else in my family was eating meat. This started the next phase of my relationship to food which was all about weight loss. No matter how much I justified my way around it I was always diving into new habits to slim down. I did weight watchers with such investment I could have been a group leader, I did challenge after challenge, whole 30 this, no-carb that, the list went on and on and on for the next 13 years. A vegan diet danced into my adult conscience while doing Motown, The Musical when finding out that the big boss, Mr Gordy, was a late in life Vegan inspired me. I of course knew plenty of vegans (I am a lesbian after all) but there seemed to be a vegan renaissance at Motown that wasn’t co-op and Birkenstock based. Many members of the Gordy camp, as well as our director, were self proclaimed vegans. Since it seemed so prominent I started pulling away from meat again and making the odd vegan meal here and there. No matter how many food dance parties I attended I always ended up sleeping with my old friend Budweiser and Cheetos (I’m being metaphorical here, I mixed it up and would have blue moon and salt and vinegar chips as well…). Between my bright orange lover and my justifying “oh, this left over food from the kids is already here” my diet was on a rapid decline, except for my manic bursts of cooking in between junk food. Last summer while I was out of town in Chicago doing the magical show, The SpongeBob Musical, I started experiencing intense foot pain. I kept popping ibuprofen and moving forward. I went to see a podiatrist well after I returned from Chicago, which proved useless, I stood bare foot in her office, was given a hands off exam, and was told, “plantar fasciitis & flat feet giving you some tendonitis in your ankle”, “Ice, stretch & pain killers.”  More western medicine bullshit, if you don’t need surgery you don’t really rate. I grabbed a Physical Therapy appointment at An American In Paris (the company provided PT for the cast) and those wonderful PT’s definitely felt something else was going on but since they are trained to refer everything to doctors first they just gave me some other stretches. Finally, after over a year of hobbling around, I started doing my own research and soul searching and everything pointed to inflammation and that inflammation pointed to diet… not the kind of “loose 20 pounds” diet I came to know so well but a different diet, a life choice diet; a Forks Over Knives realization diet. A plant based, whole food diet. So here I am, proclaiming that after years of having “an odd relationship with meat/food” I am going to follow a Vegan diet. I am going to take control of my own destiny. Ironically as soon as I threw this fact down & Doreen watched Forks Over Knives she decided to join me in my pursuits to feel better, although the ovo draw might be a little to powerful for her to avoid ultimately. I’m not expecting a magic bullet with my foot but the changes are starting to come and I couldn’t be more excited about the next 50 years of my food life.

PLEASE NOTE: If I do live to be 102 years old… I will then go down with Budweiser and Cheetos! Make no mistake this midwestern girl is not going to end it with a Kombucha & kale chips!

Are your 2017 resolutions stressing you out??

new-year_s-wishes

“How in the hell am I going to eat all these cookies before midnight when I give up sugar?”
“Damnit, I don’t have new clothes to go to the gym and I am supposed to start working out tomorrow!”
“Oh, how am I going to stick to this diet when I have reservations at that amazing restaurant next month.”
“I am so stressed about when on earth I am going to have time to meditate and do yoga five times a week.”
“I just opened this case of cigarettes…”
“Maybe I’ll just write every other day… every day might be too ambitious!”
“I will be more at peace & show love toward my fellow man even if our soon-to-be-president is a nightmare asshole!”

I don’t know about you but I know I have been a mess just trying to figure out how to enact my resolutions. I lack resolve and the New Year hasn’t even hit yet. So I may not actually start at the stroke of midnight on 1st of January 2017. I might ease into them this year so I can establish a solid base. In fact maybe my resolutions might just be creating a solid base so I can support others in their time of stress and self-improvement. I guess what I am saying is the whole notion of improving oneself based on a calendar date is too overwhelming for this girl. I need to do in my life what I do in my work; try to be a stable base for those who count on me be it my children, spouse, mother, siblings, friends… I may never be a super hero who looses those extra pounds but I can certainly be superman’s phone booth, Batman’s pole, Wonder Woman’s vortex or even a Wonder Twin’s ring.

Happy New Year!

That Time I got to work with Marin Mazzie: an open fan letter

November 6, 16

Dear Marin.

If you knew me you would quickly find out that I suffer from a reality of not knowing “who someone is” and “why they are that person”, but you don’t know me, we’ve just met.

I’m just this person who is working with you,
who knows this person that knows you,
and has worked with you.

I’m the person who captured glimpses of strength
and the beauty of hope for today that you hold so dear
on the odd trip in a cab to the Emergency Room.

I’m the person who is having a hard time believing
that your station and talent isn’t making your life easy
in fact you are fighting an entirely different fight to stay on top.

I’m the person who is in a master class in perseverance
structured by a syllabus filled with matter-of-fact
as you go about your process and impress all.

I’m the person who has a talent crush seeing you perform at 15 paces
in awe of the comedy and heart that you offer in a single song
and the honesty you manage to deliver in every word.

I guess I am writing you this fan letter because you, unlike the many very talented people I get to work with, have an active story that you are sharing with whatever part of the world that will listen. A story that says we need to help fight this ass hat of a disease. You don’t want to be a martyr; you want to be a victor. You want to be a victor who sees other women able to seek treatment before their reality is the same as your reality.

I want to thank you for letting the world know that Ovarian Cancer is indiscriminate and can seriously mess up your conversations. Instead of regaling the room with an amazing life on the stage and trips to and fro you are informing people of the reality of ports and bowel activity. While treats fill the room you sip away at some broth. That cocktail conversation is about chemo not cosmos.

I want to write you a fan letter to let you know that when I am not lost in your talent, which is every time you are working, I am lost in thought of how your journey is helping to put my journey into perspective. A perspective that says, manage each moment in the here and now.

Always,
Julia xo

For those of you who read this blog and do not know Marin Mazzie’s recent story this is a blog that her husband has written.

http://jasondanieley.com/blog/?p=198

For those of you who have not yet seen Marin perform… I’m very sorry for you.

 

Farewell An American In Paris

unknown

For the Company of An American In Paris
                             With Love: Julia

I wrap my arms around you trodders of the boards
while you kick and resist determined to go beyond
One art
One life
One story

You transcend the imagination of a single man’s dream
creating your own life
One art
One life
One story

The story you tell is of unity splintered by individualism
still closing up gaps in hopes of regaining
One art
One life
One story

On glorious occasion your entire being grows to trust
that you can succeed in portraying
One art
One life
One story

As this opportunity parts and fades know that you have left an indelible mark
Upon so many hearts
One art
One life
One Story

An American In Paris Company,
I enjoyed sharing your art with you. Your secret world of dancing rounded out with the glorious music and vocals that swirl up the Gershwin in any girl all strung together with the titanium thread of acting. A solid crew packed with integrity that you may never fully realize and sublime managers that take such pride in their work they are relentless in their pursuits.

Thank you for the laughs and the learning. Until we meet again I wish you all the very best each and every day.

Respectfully,
Julia

* Please note that this old lesbian uses Company in the global sense. All the people who make this shit happen nightly!

An ode of respect to a man called Jack O’Brien

images.jpeg

Jack be nimble 
Jack be — swift
Jack wax poetic with a brand new script

Shaw not breathing 
Shakespeare’s words run amuck
Skipping, tumbling through the text.
Art he finds
Music he makes – glorious music
Listening to his stories at his feet
on our backs wagging happily expanding
our love — transform our choice
Dissecting — determining each phrase, points, feeling.
Every word sustained creates a texture, a tapestry
a weave of mystery, imagination, depth.

His Globe was endless art — 9,490 rotations
Our globe was effected – beautified
Magic man you open up
Our eyes, ears, dreams
Truths balance our focus manage our expectations

He journeys an atlas through Rome with Floria
Baltimore with Tracy, Cincinnati with Jack,
The Big easy with Frank, The Soviet Union with Nina
Alabama with the Hubbards
He revived a good ball game, He premiered many more
Never missing a Cocktail Hour. His friends, not Imaginary helped
Knit his colorful tales. There were no lack of Scoundrels
Even the occasional Grinch.
Opera he blessed with the girl called Aida and a
Triple threat from a man called Puccini.

In a wink his adventures tied in a bow
will take us to a future filled with hope.
Another chance to create art with an act break

#BestDayEver

spongebob-full-company-bikini-bottom-day-12031.jpg

I recently had the pleasure of being involved in the cast recording of The SpongeBob Musical and was wrapped up in the simple and rather infectious phrase, “its the best day ever”, other wise known as the SpongeBob theme. Its not the cloyingly annoying phrase you might think. I mean I can remember hearing the joy of the “happiest company on earth”, Kinky Boots, and being driven mad by the variety of zippy hashtags, like #youchangetheworldwhenyouchangeyourmind #justbe #werkkween. I felt super left out of that joy, it was another person’s celebration. Please note, I was a little miserable at the time Kinky Boots opened on broadway as I was working on a show that maybe was not the happiest place on earth, but that’s not this story. In fact this SpongeBob phrase as sung by our extraordinary cast is simple and genuine, when you hear it you actually think its possible that it might just be the best day ever and that’s a pretty super feeling. We were several hours into the night session when the cast started singing Best Day Ever and the Producers, Creatives & Technicians in the control booth were clicking away on devices and pushing the clock to not incur too much overtime and as we worked through the song there were in fact involuntary smiles that came across faces. They didn’t even know it, they were grinning, tapping their feet, glancing up from their screens as this beautiful phrase repeated. As the day wound down I became very sad watching this company part ways unsure of our next step in this world of Broadway real-estate where you feel as in control as a extreme liberal on the Senate floor. It’s a cast that never deserts one another, they all look at each other in the eye and make the moment true and vibrant. I know, I know, who’s cloying and annoying now?  As a stage manager you get to see the best and worst of everyone, so this feeling of company that came with The SpongeBob Musical felt unique and our time together zoomed by way too fast during the show’s out-of-town Chicago premier this summer. It did come with a lesson however, a lesson that has taken me a time and a couple glasses of rosé to formulate.  In my future endeavors I am going to try to be the very human being who stage manages and meets the demands of the *company instead of being that Stage Manager who has a solution for everything before anything occurs. I’m just not a by rote kind of a girl. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I have major quirks and I like things done a certain way but I am not going to let those things interfere with me having the best day ever in this stand alone world of Broadway Theatre.

*A company by my definition is the entire group of cast, crew, creatives, musicians, managers… It is not just the cast as is often referred to on postings & notes.