Seeing as it has been at least 6 or 7 months since wrote a post, I probably have no right to ever attempt a blog ever again, but guess what? I'm back. I figure that it's a New year, and the first year ever that I'm not studying, so what does a 22 year old who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands do? Decides to take up your valuable time by writing about her stupidity. Again. The only consolation I can offer you, is that with less to do, and more of this big pond to see, my oddities are sure to create some stories you may be able to giggle at. (Disclaimer; that's not a promise.)
Yesterday I flew back into Sydney after a few weeks at home with my family, and immediately looked like a fish out of water all over again. I struggled home on the train with my suitcase, handbag, carry on bag and a canvas, and only just managed to not stack it. As soon as I got home, I had to run out again and head to Central to attend an audition in a park, where I got to pretend to be a ninja, the Queen, the American President, and a 10 year old girl. It was great fun, and I got some really positive feedback, which tickled me almost as pink as the tips of the directors hair.
Seeing as I was right next door to the Capitol Theatre, I thought I'd put my name into the Wicked Lottery, hoping to see the show one more time before it heads to Brisbane. Luckily, my name was drawn out, and then I had the interesting task of killing two hours. I changed in a really seedy pub bathroom, had a ham and cheese sandwich and an iced chocolate in a corner cafe, and wandered aimlessly for a while, before heading into the theatre. I was sitting in the front row, and was extremely pleased with myself, until I met my seat pal. He was a very chatty old guy wearing a Crocodile Dundee hat, who had seen Wicked 64 times. 64 times this Sydney season. He rattled off about five different actresses that I could have been named after, and proceeded to tell me how well he knew the conductor and certain members of the cast (who he referred to using only their first names,) from all the lengthy conversations he'd had with them at the stage door. I started to wonder how voluntary these conversations had been.
I knew a few people in the show, and so at the end of the performance I was heading to the stage door to say hi. Unfortunately, so was Grandpa Dundee. On the way he told me all about the Wicked badges he'd had made and was trying to get the cast to wear, and as we walked, he gave me one of these badges, and said that I should add him on Facebook, then tried to start a debate over whether Lerner and Loewe, or Rodgers and Hammerstein were better. During the first few minutes of waiting, he started planning all the principles we should target, and assigned me angles to cover, as though we were suddenly partners in crime. I couldn't take any more; I had to fake a sneezing fit and beg off sick, making a hasty exit back to the station before a single cast member came through the door.
Xx,
Little Duck
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