The main issue I take with being a part of the theater is this: it’s deceptive.

When you show up for the audition, you’re nervous, on edge, ready to pee your pants. Perhaps you HAVE to pee your pants as part of the audition, and you’re worried about that, thus causing you to be unable to pee your pants. A little circle of urine causation, that’s what could happen. And no one likes that.

So, you audition. You sing, you dance, you act, you light things on fire, you beg, whatever. Then you are done. Relaxation time. Time to be chill. But wait! Then comes the cast list! And the nervousness comes back all over again. Luckily, this only lasts for 5 minutes or less, based on a) how fast you get to the list, b) the type setting of the list, and c) your speed of reading.

Provided you got the part you wanted, and weren’t completely devastated, you are now in for (typically) a few months of fun with “theater people.” Theater people fun can be the best kind, because if you’re willingly dancing around in say a sheep headdress made out of carpet—not that I speak from experience or anything—you probably have no shame. Hence, entertainment abounds.

Granted, you have your bad practices. Practices where props cause you severe bodily harm, where you have to act like you’re in love with someone who needs a tic-tac, where your costume causes some type of rash—that will indeed happen. But the majority is marked by a bunch of people taking a scene (in the case of Shakespeare club) that is far older than anyone present and making it their own.

I know what you’re thinking: fun! Lots of fun! Who doesn’t like fun? But, as I said—deception rules the stage. Suddenly, as if overnight, you have two weeks to show. Two weeks to finally fix that wonky bit of blocking, to fix that final costume, and…gulp…be completely ready to live in a place where you call “line” and the world mocks you with cruel silence.

Yet, somehow, I love it—and plenty of people do, if the enrollment of super-fun-cool-kids in the arts indicates anything. Therefore, I encourage everyone to get their college rears in gear and get down to the science center to view the Shakespeare Club’s love affair with the Bard. There will be swordfights, death, love, Pink Floyd, funny hats, kings, faeries, lions, tragedy, comedy, tragedies that are comedic, and hopefully a blogger not attempting to ab-lib William Shakespeare.

Annnnnnnd: if you’re thinking to yourself, my gosh that is a terrible photo, it was my costume from the play-within-a-play of my high school production of Little Women. I was Jo March, and had a highly unfortunate wig that looked like the biological result of a combination of the Unabomber, Richard Simons, Weird Al, and possibly carrot top. It was just so bad I had to take a "MySpace" style photo.

It also itched something fierce. Ah, the glamour of the stage.