"Life w/o Makeup" at The Berkeley Rep Theatre, my fifth week of shows

Wednesday

My brother, his wife, and several family friends attended the show tonight. Caught up with them afterward in the theatre lobby. Musically, everything was on point this evening.

Thursday

These Thursday 2pm matinee shows are so strange. They always feel odd and everyone in the band is extra groggy. Again a good show. Nothing special to report.

Friday

Tonight my parents attended the show with a couple of their friends. They graciously offered me a ride home. It was lovely to avoid the BART routine.

At the close of tonight's performance, after the final curtain had dropped, Ms. Moreno approached the bandstand and jokingly said to us, "When are you guys finally going to learn the show and get things together?! Schedule some more rehearsals or something!" It was all in jest. Everyone feels the end of the production drawing near.

Again, an excellent all-around performance this evening. The audience was rowdy and up for it.

Saturday

When commuting the Berkeley Repertory Theatre, BART is better. Hitched a ride with a family friend after the matinee show today and we were hung up in all manner of Berkeley street traffic. Not pleasant. I would have been home 30-45 minutes earlier had I caught a BART train instead. Wouldn't have bothered me at all except I had rescheduled a student's lesson for this evening and needed to get home promptly. I am forced to conclude that despite a transit system that has obvious drawbacks, BART is better!

My wife, several members of her family (including her visiting grandmother Anne, who is a big Rita Moreno fan) attended the show today along with several family friends. It was a big group for me to address out in front of the theater after the show. Everyone in the group seemed to have had a good time. That makes me happy, because I hate having people come see me be a part of something that they decide is rubbish. That's the worst! 

Anyone I've spoken to after seeing "Like w/o Makeup" raves about how much they enjoyed it. This is a rare occurrence for me; I've never been part of a production with such universal appeal.

Sunday

The day of the final performance. And it was a great show. The curtain that has shrouded the bandstand for the entire run of performances was lifted tonight during the bows. I looked to my left briefly, catching a glimpse of the rapturous crowd. This produced a vertiginous effect for me. I'll never be a stage actor; I do not desire to face hordes.

The after-party was held at Rita's incredible house in the Berkeley hills. It was a lovely, intimate time. 

This has been a strange sojourn for me. I would do this show again in a heartbeat, but I do feel like I've lost myself in the project. The last month and a half of my life has consisted of me constantly being on the run. This afternoon my wife had prepared a sandwich for me prior to my departure and I only had 3 minutes to eat it before I had to zoom off to catch a BART train. Many of my meals have been like that. It's not the healthiest existence. I have memorized the afternoon and evening departure times of Richmond-bound trains from the Bayfair BART station (3 minutes after the hour on weekdays, 12 minutes after the hour on weekends). 

I have had some great musical experiences. I worked closely with Rita Moreno, a bonafide legend of the entertainment industry. I shared the stage with a group of outstanding musicians. And I worked with a cast and crew that were all top-notch. Despite my happiness at the run concluding, there remains a strange feeling of a family being disbanded. My next couple weeks will feel curious - no BART trips, and no more need to dress in all-black.

I said to my brother after the Wednesday evening performance, "If this proves to be the peak of my career as a musician, I'm okay with that. I'm not out for glory; this is enough."

When I had to depart the party this evening, I shared a warm embrace with Rita and we exchanged kind words. She is a remarkable woman. I feel privileged to have had this opportunity.

Jesse