All About HPG
Dear Reader:
It was just another audition for another production that I wasn't going to be cast in. High school should have been proof that I wasn't talented. All the bands, choruses, and plays said a loud and clear, "Next!" But when the audition notice for Oklahoma! for the Spring semester of my freshman year of college was posted, something inside of me snapped. After so much rejection, I became demoniacally determined to get the lead. In fact I already knew in my deep dark soul, I was Curley McLain the lonesome cowboy who falls in love with the blonde haired blue eyed babe Laurie Williams. It took the entire Winter break to learn the songs. I even started lifting weights to get that cowboy muscle. Or whatever that is. Believe me, it wasn't easy. I would wait every morning for my parents to leave for work and my house would instantly turn into a Rodgers and Hammerstein themed Gold's Gym.
So by the time I arrived back to campus, I could bench my body mass while belting out one hell of a tune. This made the first day of auditions an absolute breeze. A little Oklahoma! here, a little Surrey With The Fringe On Top there. Jaws dropped. There was even applause. People were asking, "Are you a voice major?" For once, I was the leader of the pack. Well until the second day arrived and he walked in with his stupid trumpet looking for the band audition with that aww shucks kind of grin that money can't buy. Somehow, someway he decided to drop the trumpet to audition for the stage. I could out sing him with my hands tied behind my back being dipped into a vat of hot oil, but he was tall. Cowboys are tall. And I...well...I'm the Half Pint Gentleman. He was instantly awarded Curley and I was chosen for the secondary role of Ali Hakim. So I did what every show business novice does when they don't get the role they were supposed to: I waited to strike.
The weeks after during rehearsals, it was apparent that Trumpet boy had difficulty memorizing the lyrics to all of his songs so after hours I offered to help him. Dear Reader, this was innocent at first. I swear that the show came first, and my dreams of revenge took a fast second seat. Well, until I realized that the show was going to be reviewed by a local newspaper. Then having the lead didn't matter anymore, I wanted to own the review. I could see it clearly in bold headlining print: HPG, THE NEXT BIG THING. So with an Eve Harrington glimmer in my eye, I reversed some of the lyrics for a few select songs during my teaching sessions. Trumpet boy didn't really catch on because he was too busy with his budding romance with Chorus Girl #5. So when show time came, Trumpet boy tooted and I glowed. No fingers were pointed at me. It was easy breezy to wash the blood off my hands before anyone suspected a thing. I was in the clear, and happily on my way to stardom. Or as close to stardom as a good review of a college performance in a small town newspaper could get me.
So, I humbly waited for my review to come out. The reporter had taken so many pictures of me that I knew without a doubt that my evil scheme had worked. So when I ran through campus on that brisk March morning to grab the hot-off-the-presses paper, it was to my utter dismay that my story had been bumped for an expose on recycling. My headlining lights became permanently dimmed, and all because of stupid Mother Earth. To this day, I sometimes throw my Coke Zero bottles in the general can instead of sorting, just to prove a point.
Gentleman's Lesson: Getting to the top should be done with class and hard work because Lady Karma always sings last.
Oh, and always recycle.
Best,
HPG
It was just another audition for another production that I wasn't going to be cast in. High school should have been proof that I wasn't talented. All the bands, choruses, and plays said a loud and clear, "Next!" But when the audition notice for Oklahoma! for the Spring semester of my freshman year of college was posted, something inside of me snapped. After so much rejection, I became demoniacally determined to get the lead. In fact I already knew in my deep dark soul, I was Curley McLain the lonesome cowboy who falls in love with the blonde haired blue eyed babe Laurie Williams. It took the entire Winter break to learn the songs. I even started lifting weights to get that cowboy muscle. Or whatever that is. Believe me, it wasn't easy. I would wait every morning for my parents to leave for work and my house would instantly turn into a Rodgers and Hammerstein themed Gold's Gym.
So by the time I arrived back to campus, I could bench my body mass while belting out one hell of a tune. This made the first day of auditions an absolute breeze. A little Oklahoma! here, a little Surrey With The Fringe On Top there. Jaws dropped. There was even applause. People were asking, "Are you a voice major?" For once, I was the leader of the pack. Well until the second day arrived and he walked in with his stupid trumpet looking for the band audition with that aww shucks kind of grin that money can't buy. Somehow, someway he decided to drop the trumpet to audition for the stage. I could out sing him with my hands tied behind my back being dipped into a vat of hot oil, but he was tall. Cowboys are tall. And I...well...I'm the Half Pint Gentleman. He was instantly awarded Curley and I was chosen for the secondary role of Ali Hakim. So I did what every show business novice does when they don't get the role they were supposed to: I waited to strike.
The weeks after during rehearsals, it was apparent that Trumpet boy had difficulty memorizing the lyrics to all of his songs so after hours I offered to help him. Dear Reader, this was innocent at first. I swear that the show came first, and my dreams of revenge took a fast second seat. Well, until I realized that the show was going to be reviewed by a local newspaper. Then having the lead didn't matter anymore, I wanted to own the review. I could see it clearly in bold headlining print: HPG, THE NEXT BIG THING. So with an Eve Harrington glimmer in my eye, I reversed some of the lyrics for a few select songs during my teaching sessions. Trumpet boy didn't really catch on because he was too busy with his budding romance with Chorus Girl #5. So when show time came, Trumpet boy tooted and I glowed. No fingers were pointed at me. It was easy breezy to wash the blood off my hands before anyone suspected a thing. I was in the clear, and happily on my way to stardom. Or as close to stardom as a good review of a college performance in a small town newspaper could get me.
So, I humbly waited for my review to come out. The reporter had taken so many pictures of me that I knew without a doubt that my evil scheme had worked. So when I ran through campus on that brisk March morning to grab the hot-off-the-presses paper, it was to my utter dismay that my story had been bumped for an expose on recycling. My headlining lights became permanently dimmed, and all because of stupid Mother Earth. To this day, I sometimes throw my Coke Zero bottles in the general can instead of sorting, just to prove a point.
Gentleman's Lesson: Getting to the top should be done with class and hard work because Lady Karma always sings last.
Oh, and always recycle.
Best,
HPG
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