Tales of Tech: Play by Play

Twas the night before load-in, and all through the house
Kinch was sewing and making like a crazed little mouse...

Anyways.  Worked for 10 hours and still didn't finish everything: finished enough for the fittings though, which I guess was the important part.  Here's a chronicle of those 10 hours:

Ready for Battle

2:42 PM: Maybe 20% of the way there for Not A Box.  But I’m ready for the ensuing battle.  Loading in tomorrow at 10:30 AM.  There may be very little sleep between points A and B, but I’ll get there. I will.

3:19 PM: Neon pink fabric paint vomited on my hands.  Jaquard Textile Paints were the best and worst discovery I made senior year.  Now, to the tea dying.

4:37 PM: Lovely phone conversation with Oee while making a tiara.  Tiara half done!

6:08 PM: How is it 6:08 PM?!

7:01 PM: Regency bodice, done! Yay! Now, to finish painting, and then skirt-problems.  Always skirt problems.

7:54 PM: Same tasks as before, only to the sweet sounds of Boondock Saints.  Yay guilty pleasure movies! The Departed is totally next.

9:41 PM: Skirt on, ZIPPER TIME! Achilles tendon burning from squatting while painting. Waiting for the paint to dry... still more to do! IT WAS A FIRE FIGHT!!!!!!

10:13 PM: I hate zippers. With a fiery passion. On to Moulin Rouge.  A singing Ewan McGregor will ease my ire.

11:08 PM: Phone call with MEEAH and hat draping.  I’m getting sleepy....

12:51 AM: Hat draping... eh.  Tiara, 90%. Regency Era dress, 80% -- fittable.  Reversible wrap dress, 30%. Need to finish this in the morning.  For now, four hours of sleep?

Overheard in the Nunnery

We call our dining room "The Nunnery."  Or, I do.  It is part one of our two part studio.  Emily works mainly in the Nunnery -- because sometimes she wishes she could just go to a nunnery and work.  My "section" is directly adjacent, and I have decided to call it, "The Asylum."  Take it either as a place for the insane or a safe harbor.

Anyways, EWH and I have had many conversations about how strange some of the things we say to each other are.  It always makes sense in context. This is the first of many attempts at archiving said phrases.  Our most oft-quoted line (to each other) goes as follows:  You can just put the seam allowance in the ass crack.

The gem of tonight:

Please, just don't show me that crotch stain.

Laundry Room Letters: Part Two

WIG WARS

The wig

Her opponent entered the arena, swathed in plastic, cradled in the hand of an attendant, three weeks prior.  She waited in anticipation, praying to the dearest God that it be easily tamed.  Not knowing what to expect, she braced herself as it revealed its frizzed glory.

Synthetic curls. How she loathes thee. How she fears thee.

Her experience with such curls has been mostly self-taught, all her tactics derived intuitively on her trip down Grand Stream.  Only, those curls were feminine, soft, rarely handled.  They acquiesced to her touch, becoming a friendly sparring partner rather than a full-blown enemy.  That hairpiece curled when coaxed, smoothed when sweet talked, and held form when forced.

This wigcap full of synthetic, long, dark ringlets mocks her from its perch.  It throws itself to the floor, over and over, mussing itself beyond recognition.  The curls balloon at the slightest touch or increase in humidity.  And these plastic strands tangle and tangle until they deteeth her only weapon: a comb.

I tamed the beast!

Gentleness is not an option.  The time has come. The wig has reached an atrocious point of frizziness.  Armed with only a comb, an unplugged curling iron (as the only curling apparatus in her artillery), an iron, and a blow dryer.  

Between heat, steam, and lots of pulling and swearing, the beast is tamed.  The curls gleam, and possibly look better than when it entered.  Our heroine might have developed carpal tunnel in the two-hour battle, but that’s another matter altogether.

Moral of the story: sometimes working wardrobe means teaching yourself new skills, such as maintaining synthetic hair.  Learn by doing.  End up with a completely new and useful skill set.

Second moral of the story: get a better comb next time.

Laundry Room Letters: Part 1

RECOLLECTING THE RAFT

On the River

I spent my first six weeks in Boston traveling up and down the Mississippi with the cast of Big River. My travails didn’t quite include runaway slaves and deceptive “dukes” and “kings”; I just found myself trying to steer through a cast of twenty-one’s laundry, tame the fake breast of the Nonesuch, and just make sure that the drier actually dried the clothes. (We were in a permanent tiff, that machine and I. We never resolved our differences.) Now, after four weeks off the raft, I can say that I still miss it – sweaty costumes and all.

I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction to both Boston and professional theater. The cast and crew were warm and generous. To them I credit my lack of “I-want-to-go-back-to-college” pangs. Late laundry was met with “Oh, my pants are warm!” instead of impatience. I wasn’t ever craving hugs; and if I wanted one, they were freely given. I was able to pick the brains of the actors to try and build a vague understanding of the inner workings of the theater business. All in all, I learned more than I could have hoped for in the course of working that show. 

Putting on Kami's wig

Being the wardrobe supervisor isn’t the most glamorous job, but it’s a really good entry-level position into a theater. I occupy the grey area between performer and techie, which means I get to know both groups of people. I’ve also found that if you prove yourself to be an efficient and collected worker, people tend to trust you when you declare yourself “good” at something else. I am good at wardrobe. My training as a house chair definitely prepared me for the flurry of activity backstage, the last minute button pop-offs, and suspender breakage.

 I had more suspenders break on this show than – oh, I don’t have anything to compare it too. I just had a lot of broken suspenders. My solution (devised in a 15 lapse of backstage action during the Wilkes funeral scenes): tie-line fasteners. Worked like a charm. Can you tell I was proud of that one?

 This recollection is long overdue, and my heart longs for the cast and crew. Boys, we sure` did elegant.