Oklahoma! key dramatis personæ, from the left:

Cord Elam. The moral and emotional core of the Oklahoma! narrative. Basically the lead. Brags that he could eat a gatepost. No homo.

Will Parker. The clumsy—but alarmingly bendy—one who does his press junket splayed out on the floor like a common hussy. Couldn’t count to $50 if his potential marriage depended on it. Minor character at best.

Curly McLain. Sings about corn. Lies about fringe. Someone runs into his knife. Someone runs into his knife one time.

You can see by our outfits that we are both cowboys

#Oklahoma! #CowboyHats #TheStreetsOfLaredo

We don’t need no stinkin’ musical about dancin’ farmers and cowmen to be basic bitches in boots

But it sure makes a super-cute excuse.

We’re only an hour into our first Oklahoma! rehearsal and after many grueling rounds of auditions and callbacks I’ve already snagged the coveted first chorus solo

WATCH AND LEARN, LESSER CASTMATES. WATCH AND LEARN.

One show closes and another opens

And this one has elephant-eye-high corn. And apparently a severed thumb.

The 9 to 5 set, props, costumes, lights and fucking miles of spike tape are struck

And I’m already forgetting my lines. I can’t tag our resident dead guy in this commemorative selfie because he doesn’t have a name in the show. Let’s just call him Brian. Brian Tofive.

9 to 5 has gone the way of the steno pool and the perma-press shirt

We had an intense rehearsal process and we more than met the challenges of this intensely challenging show. I’m sorry we had just three performances—especially given the rockstar performances of our leads—but I think we’re all proud of what we did and thrilled to have gotten to do it. Now all that’s left is to boil my sopping wet show shirts and scrape the last stubborn chunks of dried spirit gum out of my skin and hair. And—duh—to post all of my photos.

My selfie arm wasn’t long enough to capture this, but we’re all posing on the bed that makes multiple appearances under multiple people in the show. Our cast was ... um ... very close.

Here’s a list of every set piece I moved and every prop I needed and every location I needed to be in every scene and for every song in the show. I made it as a cheat sheet during rehearsals, but the show had an insane amount of stuff to remember and the list became an oft-consulted security blanket and even though it got sweaty and smudged to the point of unreadableness it never left my person for the run of the show.

RANDOM PIX ONSTAGE AND OFF:

The good thing about doing a show set in an office is you have tons of prop pencils you can use to erase all your markings in your libretto when you’re done. The official count: I wrote 2.5 erasers of notes.

It's not a 1979 musical without a '70s-themed closing-night party. That I totally forgot to dress for.

Suddenly I'm Miss Farrah Fawcett from TV

I put on some makeup.
Turn up the eight track.
I'm pulling the wig down from the shelf ...

The 9 to 5 logo looks like S to P behind the rear-projection screen

But we won’t StoP until I dance my disco-fantasy wig off.

Here’s a photo of me (far right) waiting in line to be coiffed in the 9 to 5 wig room

As you can see, I got here a hair early.

Disco Fantasy Sex Tiger Bob Enright and his foxy 9 to 5 girls

We’re enough to drive you crazy if you let us.

Three antiques workin’ 9 to 5

Well, one 1979-era antique hand-glazed, home-kilned ceramic office mug—WHICH IS THE BEST WE COULD DO PEOPLE BECAUSE IT WAS PRE-PINTEREST AND WE PRETTY MUCH HAD TO WING IT WITH OUR RUSTIC-BEAUTIES-OF-THE-EARTH CRAFT PROJECTS—and two non-antique people who couldn’t POSSIBLY have been alive in 1979.

#9to5Musical

It’s not a proper manly musical until you’ve been issued your own personal cigar prop

I. HAVE. ARRIVED.

The 9 to 5 dancer guys are known 24/7 for our maturity and photogenic-ity

And this handsome group is only part of our little army of not-goofy hotness. You should come check us out at some 8:00 performance!

How to be a theater person:

1. Repeatedly check your score and sing along with the cast recording to memorize your music for a show as you fold and put away three weeks of unfolded laundry.
2. Have three weeks of unfolded laundry because you’ve been in another show.
3. Stumble on your souvenir tearaway thong and souvenir backup tearaway thong from said previous show as you’re folding all that (clean! I swear!) laundry.
4. Instead of figuring out where the hell to put your souvenir tearaway thong and souvenir backup tearaway thong (DAMNIT, AUTOCORRECT! Not once in the last four tries have I intended to type thing!), artfully arrange them with the score of your new show on a bed of unmatched socks to post them dramatically but tastefully on Facebook.
5. Panic that you’ve already forgotten all the music you’ve reviewed and learned as you’ve folded and put away. Because your mind is clearly too busy trying to figure out where to put your souvenir things.

I thought I had a six-hour rehearsal for 9 to 5 yesterday and then a six-hour rehearsal today

But now that it’s all said (sung?) and done and I’m double-checking my math, it was six hours yesterday and a mere four hours today. My bad.

The show is really going to be spectacular. And exhausting. If my tired old ass can even keep up. And after this weekend’s (mere) ten collective hours of rehearsals, I’m dead. But it’s a happy dead.

Two generations of the Full Monty diaspora, now populating the 9 to 5 bass section

Or if you want to make it creepy and weird, you could call us Malcolm and the Brotherhood of the Harold Sandwich. But don’t call us that. It’s creepy and weird.

Am I a backward-baseball-cap kind of guy? Because I’ve never thought I could pull the look off.

But the choreography at today's 9 to 5 rehearsal has a lot of port de bras (movement of the arms) that keeps knocking it (the cap) off my head (tête) (or cabeza) (or noggin). And I have five-alarm (humanity-endangering) hat hair, so I really have no choice but to keep it (the cap) on in some position.

I’ve been singing choral music for 35+ years

and I STILL get tripped up reading a bass line that’s scored in the treble clef. WHY THE HELL DO YOU DO THAT, MUSIC-WRITER-DOWNER PEOPLE? IT’S STUPID. AND DUMB. AND STUPID.

That said, read this bass line in G-major treble clef—WHERE IT’S STILL WICKED-FREAKING HIGH—and you’ll have my favorite belty four-count phrase in all of 9 to 5. After one week of rehearsals, at least.

So THIS is happening ...