He is a beastly, beastly boy…

I love, love, love listening to Tracey when she is on a rant. She is anticipating the end of her two-week long Summer Drama Camp, and she comes off one part Mary Poppins, one part Henry Higgins:

30 sweaty hours, 16 wanna-be “actors,” 14 drama queens (of both sexes), 9 unruly boys, countless bossy parents, and 1 floor roller later, (the camp finale) is finally here.

So I will sport my “No Refunds” t-shirt and plop a paper bag over my head. I will cut eye holes in a Macy’s bag this very evening and then cover them with clear plastic, so I can both see through the bag and vomit into it, if need be. I will offer no explanation, because I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.

I will storm the gates of heaven and implore the God of theatre to make that little floor roller stop twiddling around on his arse. And tomorrow, I will tell that vexing boy what I’ve longed to tell him for two weeks now: that he is a beastly, beastly boy, that Jesus doesn’t like floor rollers and that if he puts his little arse on that floor one more time when he is not supposed to, he will KNOW MY WRATH…

But no matter what may go horribly awry, there’s always my secret favorite moment in the show and it’s a sure thing. I know I can count on The Kid. Because The Kid is unstoppable.

It happens during “Day by Day,”a melodically insipid little number that tries one’s patience. But The Kid is magic. Now it’s hard to stand out in such a tame, cotton candy chorus, unless, of course, you do what The Kid does. With unmatched gusto, he and his lungs are front and center:

“ooooooOOOOOOHHHHhhhhh, deeeeEEEEEAAAAaaaarrrr LooooOOOOORRRdddd, THREE THINGS I prrraaaAAAAAyy!!!

He wails, he moans, he positively yowls, all in brilliant, ear-splitting bedlam.

My Co-Director approached me about The Kid the other day.

“Should we tell The Kid to tone it down?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “He’s the only thing keeping that thing afloat.”

“He’s terrible,” she said.

“I know. That’s the beauty of it. It’s wildly entertaining.”

Go read the whole thing – and scroll down to read what has led up to this. Poor Tracey, I just want to get her a half gallon of ice cream with two spoons (so I can help her eat it all).