Sit down, dear readers. I have news.
I actually left the apartment for social reasons on a Friday evening.
My neighbor (the music one, not the Indian engineering student or the Kiss and Ignore CBwD one, but same apartment) told me about a performance he was in on Thursday. Bettie was being a bitch on Thursday (she decided to have a dead battery), so I didn't make it to the opening night performance, and that's okay, because I usually hate attending opening night. The actors generally don't have an idea of the live audience beats and either pause for laughter or applause that isn't coming or don't pause when it does happen.
Second night was just right. The musical was written by a local playwright, and based on what I read, it was his first play. Now, my neighbor told me that he was playing a man for half the show and a T-Rex for the other half, and that he'd be singing operatically. Well, it wasn't operatic singing in the way I'm accustomed, unless you'd count Les Miz and Phantom as operas. (I don't. I count them as musicals. On the other hand, Godspell and Jesus Christ Superstar are considered to be rock operas, so I suppose any musical play *could* be considered an opera.)
Anyway, at the risk of sounding like I fall in love at the drop of the hat (or sounding disloyal to my CelebCrush of David Tennant), the music neighbor (I need to come up with a witty nickname for him) has a beautiful voice. He's a deep baritone and has wonderful control over his voice. The resonance and timbre was fantastic. His other (young) male co-star wasn't quite so aware of his tool. He was a tenor, but his voice was thin and reedy. The tenor had more classical training (MA in voice at NYU, I believe), but didn't come across as strong as the baritone.
You know what's coming next. Yep. I fell a little bit in love with my neighbor over the hour and a half performance. His voice is absolutely beautiful. And, I must admit, when I speak with him in passing, I always walk away feeling happier. It doesn't hurt that his speaking voice is lovely, deep, and a bit rumbly. Plus, the performance tonight had him in a bit of a spandex bodysuit and he does have a nice bum. I am a sucker for a good bum.
Back to the performance. My exit technique was perfected with T when she and I would go hit movies at the Bear Tooth. If we could be among the first out, we'd sprint for the exit and go-go-go. If we couldn't, we'd sit and hang back until the queue leaving was small enough to get out of the theatre without doing the entire "five feet forward, wait ten minutes" routine. I opted to wait. Music neighbor (who really needs a nickname) was holding the door open to backstage for the supporters of the troupe. As I left the building, I caught his eye (or he caught mine) and I smiled and waved, and got a smile and a wave in return. I think he was happy that someone that said they'd come to a production, did.
Yes, I suppose I could have walked over and chatted with him a bit, but to be honest, he lives across the hall. If I was horribly impressed with his performance and would never see him again, I'd probably have gone over to congratulate him, but I'll most likely see him tomorrow or next week. Plus, I'd like to get to know him better but it has to be organic. I also know that when I was doing performances, all I wanted to do after was go home and start my wind-down. I think he did, too. He got home shortly after me and while I was tempted to call out to him, I just couldn't bear to interrupt whatever plans he had for that evening.
I may ask him to let me know when he's practicing for his next performance or whatever he does for his voice studies because I would love to listen.
Am I twitterpated? No, I don't think so. I think it's every music-loving-girl's dream to date a guy that could serenade her and not sound like a cat going through a blender... But Hans Christian Andersen taught me long ago that you shouldn't ever fall in love with a voice. Though, it would be nice to be sung to, and he does have that particular resonating voice that just reverberates in your chest.
Maybe, just a little twitterpated, but that always happens to me after a performance. I think it's why I generally avoid local theatre because they're theoretically accessible. When I was in New York, the shows I saw on Broadway caused a bit of lusting after an actor or two. And we'll not get started in my lust caused by Les Miz (the first time, it was the little boy who played Gavroche. In my defense, I was 8 at the time. The second time, it was Jean Val Jean. The third, it was Javert.) , or Phantom (Webber's version had me lusting after the Phantom, Rice's version had me fancying Raoul). (And for Cats, I'll admit to having a curiosity for the actors playing Mephistopheles and Rum Tum Tugger. I was 10.)
Of course, with my preferences for a potential male partner, I very well may have to date an actor, just so I have my all-in-one. ;)