When I auditioned last weekend, both directors told me when they would be calling about casting - one said Saturday night, the other said Sunday night or Monday. So when I went to bed on Monday and no one had called, I was writing those auditions off (and doubting myself. Had they really gone that poorly? Does my new headshot suck that much?). Tuesday morning I found an e-mail offering me a part in the Strindberg play. I accepted.
My husband, despite his fear and downright loathing of all things Strindberg, was supportive, and scaled back on his scathing Strindberg critiques.
Then, later that afternoon, the call came from the Halloween spoof show. The one all about (one of my hubby's favorite things) vampires. They apologized for taking so long to get back to me, but said they had some problem figuring out the men in the show, and then had to work the women around the men, and offered me a nice part.
I thanked them, and told them I had just that morning committed myself to another show. Graciously they said they hoped I would audition again. And I will.
Carefully, I told my husband. And, to his credit, he sighed and said I did the right thing by not going back on my other commitment.
I would have enjoyed either show, in much different ways, of course. I'm looking forward to diving into a meaty text and doing some serious drama, which I haven't done in a while. But the Big Guy is stoically lamenting his poor luck. The difference of a couple of hours, and he could have seen his wife in a funny vampire play. Instead, he will have to suffer through some Strindberg.
Just a few minutes ago The Big Guy got in a car on his way to Texas. He'll be staying outside of Houston, and meeting with pastors in that area about how to move forward and serve their congregations and communities after Ike. He did so much here after Katrina, and now is heading there to help encourage them and get them on their feet.
As if Strindberg weren't depressing enough.