The Only Class You'll Ever Want to Be in : The "MASTER" Class

One hour.  One hour to you'd-better-do-well-or-else scrutiny.  One hour till everything I've worked for for the last twenty one years comes to fruition. 

Okay, perhaps that's a touch overdramatic.

I'm sitting here in a bathrobe, eying my mug of stale coffee, eying further the lovely margarita mix I have on my counter, and hand-shakingly opting for carrot juice.

I have.  One.  Bloody Hour.

And not bloody as in the literal way, but like the British say it.  And no, I'm not British, but I am firmly of the mind that they have expressions that are many-a-time far more accurate then ours.

I've been trying to get into a class that my main coach holds (quite secretly) on Monday evenings.  This class isn't on his brochure, it isn't on his website, it isn't discussed in an almost-like-we're-in-a-Vatican-and-can't-scandalize-the-Pope kind of way.  It's the Monday class, for those of us that have studied with him long enough to know it exists.  Ten people.  Consisting of mostly people he's worked with for years -- Broadway glorions, the finest MFA-ers, the best of the best of the BEST. 

I've known about it and [yearned] to be in it for two years and almost one month to date.  And last Wednesday, I received an email.  The email.  The invitation.

My elbow shot out and literally flung my coffee mug into the wall directly behind me.  And for the two gallons that in that moment soaked through my very favorite silk nightgown, not to mention shards of Mug splayed out across my keyboard -- I wrote the email confirming my acceptance -- and attendance -- for the class.

I then got up, and very slowly walked into the bathroom to stand in the shower for the next twenty minutes.  No, not in my nightgown.  I'm not that much of a lunatic.

One hour.  Until I have to leave my apartment, get in a taxi (the crosstown bus doesn't do it for this occasion) and trek over to the West side to meet my Broadway star scene partner.  And perform an extremely difficult scene.  Among my new classmates.

One hour.  And a shocking amount of carrot juice.  And I'll be "in the chairs".  Proving myself.  All over again.

Wish me, wish me luck, Ashley Avis

Comments

[susan]

Good luck!

[Rickaleetus]

You're a champ, kid.

Get out there an act up a storm in your Master Class