Boise, Idaho, Here We Come!

Today's guest sermon is by Laurelyn Watson Chase. I don't
know what's with the font and margins.

I spent President’s Day weekend in gorgeous Sun Valley, Idaho.
At 6,000 feet altitude, it is breathtaking (literally).
This world-famous ski resort town is playground to the stars: 
Tom Cruise, Bruce Willis, Jamie Lee Curtis, Arnold, Tom Hanks, 
and many others own homes there. I thought it strange that our
little quintet from New York Gilbert & Sullivan Players ended 
up there for a gig. Al Bergeret (the boss), Keith Jurosko,
Michael Scott Harris, Angela Smith, Andi Stryker-Rodda (pianist)
and I would perform for fancy people.

The adventure began thus:  After traveling all day on Friday to
get to Boise, ID, we arrived and discovered all 11 pieces of our
luggage LOST. Our suitcases, costumes, props, and music scores
could not be traced. We piled into a mini-van (sans luggage)
and drove to Sun Valley where we were expected to perform that
night at a country club. Most of us were dressed casually for
travel; I had on a sweat suit from The Gap that looked like I
had a load in my pants.  After arriving and meeting our host
families, we were able to buy a few necessities at the only
drug store in town, and then had about 20 minutes to prepare
for our performance. My cast-mate Angie and I were exhausted
and stunned, but we put on make-up, sprayed perfume on each
other, and then rushed to the country club to sing for the rich
and well-dressed. Thanks to my book of G&S favorites I’d packed
in my carry-on (and some adrenaline), we were able to make it
through a 40 minute excerpt performance. The fancy people
gave us a standing ovation and a lot of wine.

The next day, we woke up in our luxurious, kick-ass log 
cabin to spectacular views of a rolling stream and snow-covered
mountains.  We’d hardly finished our breakfast when we got the
news that our bags were still lost. So, Saturday turned into
a mad rush to find concert wear and to our surprise (not
really), make-shift costumes and props for that evening’s show.
Angie and I found dresses at the local thrift shop, The Gold
Mine. Remember that stretchy velvet-like fabric so popular in
the 1990’s? Mine was a deep purple, long-sleeved tube dress
with a hem line somewhere between my knees and my name & address. 
Angie’s was a forest green velvet tent (we looked hot). When the
locals discovered we had lost our bags, they eagerly helped us
find shoes and gave us a discount at check-out. Meanwhile, our
director, Al, was furiously making props - fans and a large
axe, and enlisted his hosts to track down kimonos and wigs.
Our wigs were purchased at a toy store and were the consistency
of Barbie’s hair.  Angie and I tried to style the wigs into
Geisha-like buns, but it was almost impossible. There was
nothing to do but roar with laughter. We slapped the wigs on
our heads and went to the church for the show. We ended up with
some beautiful kimonos and bath robes donated by people who had
traveled to Japan or Hawaii.  However, what they presented for
Keith’s Mikado Ensemble was like nothing I’d ever seen: 
Liberace had raided the closet of one of the Golden Girls.
I’m waiting for Keith’s memoirs, “The Dark Side of Light Opera.”


























It is true that we didn’t look our best or have props that
weren’t sticky. Never mind that we were all dehydrated,
gasping for breath in the high altitude, and constantly
fighting back laughter over each other’s shitty wigs and
comments such as “I’m in Hooterville” or “I’m a whore!
I’ll do anything for a dollar.” We put on a show and
entertained the crowd with our voices and Gilbert &
Sullivan’s material. I don’t recall such enthusiastic
response from a crowd during a quintet performance, ever.
In their minds, perhaps we were like underdogs or somehow
handicapped with the disadvantage of lost luggage. Because
we could sing, act, dance, play the piano, be funny or
sentimental, and remember all the words, we were little
miracles.  I won’t be so quick to take my talent or the
talent of my peers for granted, dear hearts. A little
can take you a long way ... all the way to
Sun Valley, Idaho.

Comments

[Paul]

And the photo that Laurelyn e-mailed of Keith Jurosko is equally as PRICELESS. And the trip! Another priceless saga to recount while we're all eternally ensconced at the NYGASP nursing home.

[Mr. Steve]

Mr. Paul:
I'll donate all the profits from our NYGASP nudie calendar to the nursing home. Yes, I added the Keith picture after you wrote. Eva is unable to get on this site! Do you ever have any trouble? She's Verizon.

[Paul]

The NYGASP Nursing Home is going to be one hoppin' place--and now that we'll actually have a working budget from your nudie calendar proceeds (millions of dollars at least--especially as we all age and find a niche market for perverts who like pictures of sagging, naked old people wearing unkempt Japanese wigs or sailor hats and not much else. It won't be pretty but it will be a big, fat cash cow. At the Home we'll be stirring our Metamucil with sterling silver spoons and drinking it from Waterford goblets. The pathetic residents of the Old Actor's Home in Fort Lee will be green with envy, all because of that damn lucrative calendar. Oh, and to answer your question--I, too, have Verizon and I have no problem getting onto your site (obviously). Eva must be pushing the wrong buttons or something.