Push-ups, somersaults, krumping. Seriously.

Spiderman: the musical? Sounds questionable, but the director is creative genius Julie Taymor of Lion King fame and the composer is Bono.

We walked in, and the choreographer said 'drop and give me twenty.' He was serious. The show involves aerial work (obviously), so strength is key. Most of the dancers got through the twenty pushups on adrenaline.

Then we did a floor routine like combination, rapid frontward and backward somersaults, handstands, ending in a bit of sexy spidery dance. We practiced it in too large groups and one girl got wacked in the face and bled.

Then another contemporary dance spidery dance with slides and crawls. And for the last twenty seconds we were supposed to Krump (a spastic, intense form of hip-hop that often involves clown make-up).

Push-ups, somersaults, and musical theater dancers krumping? It was memorable. No one was kept for further dancing or singing, so perhaps it was all for the amusement of the choreographer and his assistants. They were terribly nice.

He's Just Not That Into You

Last week there was an audition for High School Musical running at a prestigious regional theater not far from New York. This should be a perfect show for me, as I have a young and perky look (though I had been typed out for the tour before).

Auditions are infrequent this time of summer, and as I walked into a studio I hadn't been in a while, I got so depressed. I had been talking to a friend who was debating leaving an unhappy relationship - she was trying much harder than him to make it work. As I took the slow elevator up to the audition, I felt the same way.

The phrase 'he's just not that into you' flashed into my mind. I've never read that book, as I haven't been single and in need of dating advice for a while, but it seemed a perfect analogy for my relationship with dance. I have been trying so hard. I have been giving so much love. And it just doesn't want me.

I keep thinking maybe if I change, take more voice lessons, cut my hair, get a boob job, something, it will want me. What am I doing wrong, I keep asking myself. But maybe it's not me, it's them, this irrational, nonsensical industry.

I remember the good times, the ecstasy of performing like the addictive sex of a abusive relationship. The audition combo was bouncy cheer hop, like I used to do in high school, driving the point home. I used to love it so much. And it loved me back. I always had opportunities to perform, and I thrived.

But even then, as a glimpse at my despairing teenage journals will attest, it was fraught. I never felt good enough, skinny enough. It was never easy.

So why don't I do what I advised my friend, and walk away? There's got to be something else out there for me. A career that appreciates all I have to give and lets me work.

Of course the analogy isn't precise. Perhaps I am being overdramatic. But, as I rack up another rejection without understanding why, something to ponder.

Broadway Credits Please

Today was the first time I auditioned for Little Mermaid. The combo was confusing and seem disjointed at first, but all the moves were easy, sort of congo line-ish to Under the Sea, with a double stag jump and two single turns requiring basic technique.

There were a few disasters (probably singers crashing a dancer call), and a few dancers with no personality (come on, this is Disney). But in general everyone looked fine, like many audition combos there was no challenge to overcome, no chance to stand out. So why did they pick who they did to stay? A friend and I (both rejected) went out to eat and break it down afterward.

We realized the casting people had made a comment to everyone they ended up keeping about a credit on their resume - 'oh, you did Cirque' or 'I see 42nd Street on Broadway.' So they seemed to keep dancers with Broadway, National Tour or other impressive credits. Which is fine, except those girls weren't necessarily the best dancers in the audition. Some of them looked great, others weren't even smiling.

Getting a Broadway credit is often a matter of being in the right place (with the right look) at the right time. There are people on Broadway way more talented than me, but plenty that aren't. Still, once you're in, it's easier to get other shows. At least the casters know you're capable of showing up for eight shows a week, whatever the quality of those performances may be (though I've heard plenty of stories of Broadway performers with questionable attitude and work ethics - that doesn't show up on the resume though).

Radio City - Out in the Cold

Monday was the annual audition for the Radio City Christmas Show Spectacular. Alas, I am two inches too short to be a Rockette (5'6" and up), but there are a limited number of chorus spots, males and females of a variety of heights that come onstage and dance a bit with Santa and the little people elves while the Rockettes are changing costumes. The pay is less then for the tall ladies, but still good by musical theater standards, and everyone is eligible for the $10/show supplement for leading a sheep or donkey across the stage during the Living Nativity. (Doesn't sound like much compensation for the risk of stepping in doo-doo, but it adds up during the 20 shows a week over the 2-3 month holiday season).

Women (and teen girls, with their moms) come out of the woodwork for this one. Radio City must advertise in every dance studio in the tri-state area. I know from past experience to bring a book and dress warmly for the unseasonably cold when I show up at 9:30, half an hour before the call time. Because at Radio City, a cavernous structure with oodles of interior space, you wait outside, lined up along 51^st street, prey to curious tourists and mocking manual labors. Families ask to take pictures; middle-aged women got in line behind me at one point, thinking it was the line for 'the show.' We kindly explained that we were not waiting to be an audience member, but for judgment.

11:50, and the line has crept forward, but I am still outside. My legs are cold and achy from standing, and I am debating blowing off the whole thing because I have afternoon plans with a friend visiting from home who leaves at 2:30. But I am so close, so I wait until noon when we are given orange wristbands and let into the (empty) rehearsal studio. I hurriedly fill out the information and release form (I am auditioner number 276) go to the bathroom to change into my dance clothes, then wait in line for the bathroom, since many of us have had to pee for a while.

We have been inside about ten minutes when we are ordered in the audition room. We protest; we've barely had time to change, let alone do our hair and make-up and warm up our frigid bodies. A woman rudely yells 'Come on,' and we are rushed into the other studio, frantically buckling character shoes and smearing on lipstick.

Really, are the logistics that hard? Is there really not room in that entire building for us to prepare and sit and stretch?

The director and her assistants actually running the audition seem much more organized. We learn the short, mechanical combination and are briskly ushered center stage three at a time, cuts are made according to their own twisted logic of what height and ethnicity and look they need, and as I leave I pass the men (auditioning at 2) lined up outside. We were somewhat luckier than them. It has started to rain.

One at a Time

On average, we dance in groups of 4 as the auditors judge us. Sometimes 5 or 6, sometimes 3. Twice I've had to dance in groups of ten. At an audition for the Metropolitan Opera ballet corp the auditors picked dancers out individually from about seventy dancers learning the combination (those selected were asked to leave). But usually the groups are small enough that the auditor could watch you, but you've never sure if they actually do.

At the West Side Story audition this week (it’s coming back to Broadway), we danced one at a time. A very short, two eight-count combination across the floor, one dancer right after another. Professional dancers like to be looked at. Some deep psychological need for attention draws us to the stage. So why did girls exit the room stunned, many shaking their head and muttering "that was brutal?"

I attended the call for Jet girls, as opposed to the Shark girls, who get more stage time and the chance to shake their skirts in 'America,' one of the most vibrant, danceable numbers in Broadway history. Alas, to be a Shark girl you must pass for Puerto Rican, in line with the ethnic gang warfare plot. The Jets combination consisted of some simple snaps, jumps, a clap, sashe, single turn, ending in a kick followed by a sustained arabesque.

The choreographer seemed to be watching the dancers without really seeing them. We followed the progression of the cards from his hand either to the bottom of the pile, or, on occasion, to his assistant. The decision seemed to be made before the actually challenging part of the combination, and the relation between quality of dancing and promotion to the kept pile was murky. In my group, he kept the two dancers he made a big demonstration of already knowing, and about five girls that sort of looked alike, though it was hard to explain exactly in what way.

So what was so brutal? Being individually acknowledged then pointedly rejected? Or did we still not feel really acknowledged? Was our arabesque lacking, or were we instantly sorted by type, by hair color, skin tone, and other uncontrollable aspects of our face and body? We hadn't the time to really dance, to create a performance. But within ten minutes of entering the room we were told no thank you. The quickness was a blessing for our busy schedules, but it left us in a bit of shock and sort of sad.

Through a volunteer organization, I teach dance workshops to underserved kids. As part of our teaching philosophy, we try to notice each child in our forty-five minutes together and give specific positive feedback -- Natalie, that was a very creative jump you did across the floor, or Luis, I saw how focused and attentive you were throughout the entire class. I am so proud of you. We assume these kids, from homeless shelters and poverty stricken neighborhoods, don't get enough positive attention elsewhere.

I was in a crowded ballet class one day and started craving this feedback about my dancing. I rarely get comments from teachers in class, and even during a brief solo at an audition, I still don't feel noticed. I am not living in transitional housing with stressed out parents and teachers, so I shouldn't need this affirmation. But sometimes I do.

Legally Blonde and Other Great Movies-to-Musicals

Omigod you guys! Legally Blonde is totally today. In high ponytail, orange cheer skirt and purple converse, there is no way I am as old as my upcoming birthday says. The characters of this bouncy musical have come to life next to me in the a group of lip-gloss sharing blondes who are like so-totally-annoyed they shriek you-so-cannot-be-serious when the non-union dancers are kicked out of the holding room until their turn two hours later.

We learn a cheerleader turned pussycat-doll routine (remember it’s not dark sexy, but happy sexy the associate choreographer reminds us). It's fun with butt bumping and sass, though awkward at times, especially since we walk forward at the beginning and almost end up in the auditionees laps.

After all the groups dance, before they make the cut, they ask me and three others to do it one more time. I sass is up as much as I can, but I am still cut. Which makes me even more bummed out, since there was something about me that they liked, but on closer inspection not so much.

But it's really a silly show I tell myself, like so many movies-turned-musicals. Cry-Baby, Leap of Faith and 9-to-5 are imminent, with more on the works. Rumored to be coming soon:

- Sister Act (can I be Whoopi?)

- Spider-Man (with a score by Bono)

- Catch Me If You Can

- TV shows Colombo and Designing Women

And my favorite: Rocky! Better work on my boxing…

"I just want to dance!"

Not So Positive Thinking

Two auditions at 10 am today - Sacramento Music Circus's summer season, and a 50^th Anniversary tribute concert of an iconic American musical. I go with the former because it's close, in Connecticut, and more suited to my the type than the singing heavy musicals like Sweeney Todd and Evita at SMC. But if things go quickly, maybe I can hit both.

I signed up a week before and I show up before 9:30 so I'm in the first group. It is a rare coed call, and surprisingly, there are more boys than girls, since many ladies chose SMC.

A few minutes after ten we enter the room. The choreographer explains that the director is in a production meeting next door, so after we learn the combination, instead of making cuts as usual, we will be sent out to wait while the other groups learn. Annoying.

Even more annoying 45 minutes later, after all three groups have learned the combination, we are brought back in and told the director is still in his meeting, so let's just run the dance a few more times to stall. Because we have nothing better to do apparently.

I'm sorry, but when you arrange for over 100 unemployed dancers to be at a certain location, dressed and warmed up at a certain time, you owe them the respect of pausing your meeting with your set designer that could be held at any time and walking a few studios over and not wasting our time.

But I am trying to be positive, so I patiently perfect my routine, and within ten minutes the director graces us with his presence.

We do the simple ballet, but I hop on the double pirouette, almost falling out of it. After they explain his is a concert version and we are looking for very specific roles (all the more reason not to keep us waiting), I am cut. So I could have been cut for not being the desired type. But I am furious at myself for biffing the pirouette. The floor was slippery and the step into the turn awkward, but come on, I've been doing double pirouettes for like 20 years now, I take ballet multiple times a week where I execute them without a problem, so why do I screw it up now when it matters?

In the elevator, a fellow dancer is fuming. He complains about the wasted hour. I join in, condemning the director's rudeness. He notes the kept dancers weren't great anyway. I agree. Now I am angry at the director and not at myself. And that's okay. Lesson for the day: If you can't be positive, blame someone else, or the screwy system. I'm not lazy, and I shouldn't beat myself up. I wouldn't want to work for that jerk anyway.

Positive Thinking

Someone recently advised me to try to keep control of my audition experience. Which means focusing on aspects of the audition than other getting a job, which I can't control. Then I can decide if I was successful whether or not I get cut.

Yesterday I had two auditions to try out this new strategy out. Why do I go to auditions?

- Number one reason: To get a job

But this doesn't happen that often, so to keep up my morale, I try to accomplish the following:

- Practice my audition skills
- See my friends
- Get a work-out
- Be a positive influence on the other auditionees who are often also miserable

And , more recently

- Get material for my blog

The first audition was for Surflight Theater's summer season. It doesn't pay too well, but it's on the beach and not too far from Manhattan. The call time was 9:30 am (9 am to get your audition card), which is odd, usually auditions are at 10am, and though it was only a half hour difference it felt early.

Having signed up a week earlier at the Equity building, I was in the first group. Which is good because it was a long audition. First a ballet combo, and not across the floor we-can-explain-it-in-two sentences ballet, but a fairly complicated, long, big movements-in-a -small-crowded-space combo. We do that in groups of six groups of five - I think the choreographer wrote something on my card, hopefully something good - then we change our shoes and learn a fairly long tap combination. We do that in groups, then change our shoes again for a swing combination. (Most regional theaters produce a whole seasons of shows in a summer, so they're looking for performers that can be in musicals ranging from 'Will Rogers Follies,' to 'Swing.')

Over an hour later, we go outside, the next group goes in the room to learn the audition combination, and we wait outside while the director and choreographer talk about us. I get cut (they seem to be taking shorties for 'Swing' and tallies for 'Producers' and 'Will Rogers Follies,' but who knows), but I feel okay because in the two hours I was there I accomplished all my other goals. I did some serious dancing, including tap which I don't take class of as often as I should, I am sweaty and exercised , I caught up with some good friends, and I complimented two girls whose dancing was amazing but got cut.

At 3 pm (another odd time, usually afternoon auditions start at 2), I audition for a White Plains (very local) production of 'How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.' The combo is a fun , sassy, we-are-secretaries-of-the-early-sixties-who-revel-in-our -sexual-power-but-we-have-control to 'A Secretary is Not a Toy.' We are encouraged to play it up. Along with the friendly assistant choreographer, our audition is watched by the female choreographer and director, along with two men in suits (the producers) who are having the time of their life watching sexy girls in leotards shamelessy flirt.

I am cut, but again, I feel okay. They only want sexy blondes, a fellow rejectee in the tiny dressing room complains. She is not doing so great. Is there something wrong with my face, she asks. Would someone just tell me. I commiserate over the not knowing, the always wondering if it's you or them. She's had a terrible few days, and this weekend is going to be awful. Working, I ask? No, a funeral, she replys.

In the elevator another dancer is crying because she lost her make-up bag, which will cost over a hundred dollars to replace (serious make-up is a job requirement). She also recently lost her iPod and a ring her grandfather gave her. I have similar problems with losing things, but not recently, and my iPod (which I think was stolen at an audition) was replaced at Christmas with a snazzy iPhone. At least we get to go home now, I suggest. And my roommate's crap is probably all over, she notes, still crying. I say goodbye to her and the girl preparing for a funeral and decide things could be worse than two rejections in one day.

So not a bad day.

Errors on the Equity Website

8:30 am on Valentines Day, and I just want to stay in bed and snuggle with my honey…but I am a dedicated dancer so I get out of bed and head down to Chelsea Studios for an audition for the workshop for Leap of Faith, based, like everything coming to Broadway, on the movie.

I double checked the Equity website last night to make sure I had the time and place right. But after I trek through the cold morning to 26^th street, I am greeted by the following flier on the door:

Due to an error on the Equity website, Leap of Faith will beheld tomorrow 10 am men, 2 pm women

Sort of annoying (besides the unnecessary abandoning of my cozy bed, I teaching Friday afternoon) but even more so because this is the second error this week.

On Tuesday I went to an EPA listed at 'Shetler Studios, 939 8th Avenue (Between 55th and 56th).' I show up there a little before 9 am, and find a man in an official looking office for 8^th Avenue Studios, who tells me the audition is on 54^th street.

So I walk down to 54^th (it's another cold New York morning) and discover that although this is the new location of Shetler Studios, and hence the audition, the monitor is signing people in at 939 8^th Avenue, on the second floor (I was on the third before). About ten young women say they have been there since 6 am and were told to stay there. I wish them luck and head back to where I came.

There is a line snaking around the 2^nd floor. I get one of the last available time slots for 4:50, which doesn't work for me. In protest at the confusion and incompetence, I don't show up. Maybe one of the actresses who showed up at 6 got my spot.

Equity dues hard at work.

Equity Calls and Logistics

Equity, the stage actors union, runs the open auditions for most professional theaters. Productions also hold invited calls, where actors get actual appointments, usually through agents. Most casting is done from the invited calls. But Equity requires union productions to audition Equity members whether they want to or not. Long running Broadway shows have to hold open calls even if no roles are actually available.

Do people get jobs out of open calls? It's rumored to happen on occasion. And since I don't have an agent and rarely get invited to the closed calls, I go to lots of open calls I can. Plus you get to see your friends and catch up on industry gossip. There are two types I attend, Equity Principal Auditions (EPAs) and Equity Chorus Calls for dancers (ECC).

Today a Shakespeare Festival was holding an EPA. The audition started at 10 am, but you can sign up for a time slot starting at 9 am, and I've heard stories of hopefuls lining up outside in the snow at six in the morning.

This audition was at Nola, the crappiest Equity-audition studio in Manhattan. Over half the times I've been there the toilets were not functioning, and the owner likes to yell at auditionees. A theater that holds its auditions there is likely to be cheap and not pay actors well. Plus there was a big emphasis on "any ethnicity" in the breakdown, which usually means any ethnicity but Caucasian. But I have some new Shakespeare monologues I am excited to try, and a free morning, so I decided to go. But I wasn't motivated enough to get out of bed when my alarm went off at 8:15. I snoozed until 9:15. I got to Nola a few minutes before 10, and all the audition slots (about 130) were full, so I signed up as number 23 on the alternate list, which means I can sit in the overcrowded audition room all day, and if 23 actors with slots don't show up, I'm in. So I'll go back after a dance call this afternoon and bring a book and maybe I'll get to audition before it ends at 5:30.

I walked over to the Equity office in Times Square to sign up for upcoming dance calls. The lists are posted a week before the audition. I signed up as number 247 and 243 for two auditions for regional theaters tomorrow. Not every dancer on the list shows up at the audition, but then some show up who never made it to the Equity building that week, plus there are usually over 100 non-union dancers trying to be seen also. That's a lot of competition, and we’re not even counting the invited calls for the people they're really interested in.

I know I should get out of bed early and sign up right at 9 for EPAs, and head down to the Equity office promptly one week before a dance call to sign up, but it's hard to motivate, since sometimes you can show up late or not sign up and still get a slot just fine, so why make the extra effort? I wish we could sign up online or via phone or something to reduce this unnecessary schlepping around the city.

Sometimes I feel like someone sick of dating too cynical to give a relationship a chance. But with dating, at least the numbers are somewhat plausible. Auditioning is like being on The Bachelor, but with 246 other contestants, plus the guy's probably already married.

A typical holding room at a dance call (the first thirty girls are already in the audition room, and there are oodles out in the hallway):

What not to say on a first date…

Dancers don't get paid much, but we do have good stories, some of them unrelated to auditioning/performing. For example, my friend R went on a date last weekend with a guy P who asked for her phone number on the street a few weeks ago. They met at Angelika Kitchen, as R is vegetarian. She didn't recognize him at first, he wasn't as cute as she remembered. An excerpt from their conversation as they waited for their table in that awkward small doorway, they had the following conversation:

R: So you're from Colorado? Do your parents still live there?
D: (In a flat monotone) Yes, but they did a really bad job raising me.
R: Yeah, you know, parents do the best they can.
D: No, but they really messed up.
R: What do you mean?
D: I'm really weird.
R: Ha ha, we're all a little weird.

She waited for him to break out of his deadpan and say just kidding, but he was serious. She knew she shouldn't ask, but she was too curious.

R: So how are you weird exactly?
D: I have a lot of health problems.
R: Oh, are you okay right now?
D: Not really. I have this problem where all the time I cough up chunks of congenital mucus

And it was downhill from there. At the end of the date, he confided that he was on a lot of (prescription) drugs, then was quite surprised when R rejected his invitation to come over.

Cry-Baby

Yesterday's audition for the Broadway adaptation of John Water's Cry-Baby (Hairspray 2, the audition monitor wryly called it) was actually fun. It kicked out booties, with running, jumping and quick writhing on the floor, leaving us sweaty and out of breath, but the motivation (we were breaking from prison) and peppy music kept us going, and the teaching associate choreographer had the cutest British accent and a hot assistant.

Perhaps the best part was at the end when they said "we'll call you if we need to hear you sing," prefaced by the usual "we're looking for something very specific." There has already been a workshop of this musical slated for Broadway, so we knew the open roles were few is any. Some dancers hate the uncertainty, but I prefer leaving with a modicum of hope to being rejected to my face.

When we came out in our staggered groups of four, I ended up dancing way to close to the auditioners, almost in their face, which was bad, but I don't think they were watching me anyway. They seemed most interested in the two African-American girls in the room (Theater is one of the last frontiers of legal and socially acceptable discrimination based on race, as well as gender, age, weight and just about anything else you want). I have not heard of anyone getting called as of yet.

Good Advice from A Chorus Line

Dance auditions for A Chorus Line, the dance audition musical, is very meta. The auditionees are portraying a dancer needy for a job, giving it her all, which is what you actually are at the moment. Baayork Lee, Connie in the famed original cast (the short Asian 'Peanut in Pointe Shoes') recreated Michael Bennett's choreography for the recent Broadway revival, and she enthusiastically leads the audition for the first national tour. Most of the dancers at this audition already know the choreography, from auditions for other productions or (in my case) from performing it at a young impressionable age for a musical theater revue. These jazz hands, jumps and pivots to the familiar pounding piano perch along side Jerome Robbins "America" from West Side Story as mainstays of musical theater dancers' vocabulary, feeders of our childhood dreams and reminders of past failures.

Baayork encourages us to cheer, clap, and call 5-6-7-8 as we feed in quick successions to do the short combination two at a time. Then we dance two at time with Baayork and her assistant sitting at a table watching us, taking breaks in between duets to whisper and point. At the end, as always, they name the few dancers that they want to stay.

Then Baayork leaves the rejected with some sage advice.

"Take ballet," she advises us despite the decidedly unballetic nature of this classic jazz routine. "and lose weight."

"It's important to be slim and svelte under the lights. Not all of you need to loose weight of course, but you know who you are. Just look in the mirror, you can tell."

While there are a few in the room that could use a little toning, especially when wearing the leotard-and-tan-tights standard uniform for this audition, there are also too-skinny, bony girls who already have confusing relationships with their bodies and can not 'just look in the mirror;' the mirror lies to them. The over-disciplined dancer is the prime demographic for anorexia. I hope this blanket statement didn't echo in the wrong ears.

The Joy of Typing - Gypsy

The next audition is at 2 pm, at the same location just a flight down. Gypsy, the great American musical is coming to Broadway starring Patti LuPone. The production had a three-week run last summer at City Center Encores!, which meant that all the parts are already cast. That morning I gossiped with one of the lucky dancers about to make her Broadway debut in Gypsy, and she said they were hiring one swing (the understudy for all the chorus roles). Look young she urged, and I felt confident I could do that better than I could look Scottish - I often get mistaken for a high school student though I've been out of school for a long time. So I decided to stay, despite my urge to go home, eat and take a needed shower.

Today they are typing, a process most dancers have a complex love/hate relationship with. We enter the room 20 at a time and stand in two horizontal lines. Two elderly men tell us they are looking for something specific, and it hurts their soul to do this, but they must ask most of us to leave. They then scan down the line, looking us up and down as they whisper to each other. Do we look back at them, smile, look natural? It is awkward.

A few girls are asked to stay. I get to go home, which is nice, but we are all baffled by their criteria. Was it the youngest? The shortest? Blondes and redheads? We can't determine the dividing line between those they like and us rejects, and we go home alternating between wondering if we should change something about ourselves and feeling frustrated that we probably can't.

Brigadoon and Bruises

Two auditions today (Jan 7, 2008). First one is for a choreography workshop for a possible Broadway production of Brigadoon. Growing up, my older sister and I went through serial musical obsessions, and this romantic tale of Scots who came to life once every 100 years and the New York cad who falls in love with an enchanted bonnie lass was a favorite. Viewings and reviews of the video were interspersed with lively song and dance enactments, our dad's plaid flannel shirts tied around our waists as kilts. And the choreographer of this production has several Broadway credits and a Tony award, definitely one to get to know. So I'm there.

At 10 am, the first 25 dancers enter the too-small, sweltering dance studio. Intrepid leotard-wearing spies peek though the curtained window and report to the 86 dancers waiting their turn.

"They're on the ground," they say. "Rolling around on their knees. And their elbows."

They add that a jaunty jig follows the floor work, ending in a jump split.

"I only get on the floor if I'm getting paid," declares a statuesque Rockette known to walk out on dance classes when confronted with knee spins. We debate ditching the audition or yoga, shopping, maybe margaritas at Arriba Arriba (it is only an hour until noon, after all - they're taking forever with the first group). But of course we all stay, we need a job and dancers love to suffer.

A few minutes after 11 the first sweaty group emerges. The jump split is dismissed as a rumor, though there is a turn-jump-land-on-your-butt drama at the end. My group enters the steamy room around 1 pm. The choreographer explains his concept - this production is not about jigs in kilts, but darker, more Celtic and earthy. Thus we begin lying on the earth, in deep sleep, until we raise our chest slowly wit a sustained breath (thank you, Pilates). We roll to our elbows and discover we can shake our butts. The choreographer urges us to feel - don't just dance, but be a real person. I'm a real person, I think, and I do my best to feel as we dance four at a time.

Then they read the names of those staying to sing, and it turns out 'real person' means skinny short red-head. I was neither short nor red-headed when I showed up at 9:30 this morning, and two elbow bruises and a bloody skinburn later, I am still relatively tall and brunett and thus rejected.