What About Me?

What About Me? - Moving Pictures


Well there's a little boy waiting at the counter of the corner shop
He's been waiting down there, waiting half the day,
They never ever see him from the top
He gets pushed around, knocked to the ground,
He gets to his feet and he says...


CHORUS:
What about me? It isn't fair
I've had enough, now I want my share
Can't you see, I wanna live
But you just take more than you give


Always hated that song.  Not as much as "Christmas Shoes," but I hate it pretty hard.  Always felt whiny.


I'M LIVING IT.


This joint is so weird...seemingly in their treatment of me.


Back in December I noticed that I was listed as ensemble in the press.  I wrote the press director, "As gifted as I am, I do not have the skills to be an ensemble member.  Please remove that from all press releases and the program."


She wrote back, "In looking at the BroadwayWorld article, they took “literary license” and did not reprint our release word-for-word. So, I can assure you that in our materials, we have you as “others.”"


Because I am who I am, I took a gander at their press release this morning (I was who I am just a little late) only to see me LISTED AS ENSEMBLE.


When you ASSURE, you make an ASS out of U and...whatever.


She apologized.  


I'm honest to JesusMaryandJoseph tired of apologies.  There's a damn toe-nail that doesn't belong to me taking over my world.


The damn dressing rooms were 85 degrees last night and every cast member was brought a fan...but me.


When my damn eyeball dehydrated to the point of vision loss last week, every cast member was brought a vaporizer for the dressing room.  Every cast member but me.  I then requested one.  The stage manager finally brought it as wardrobe hadn't.


I have one damn pair of damn tights.  They have none in stock.  This is a dance show-what are you thinking?


When wardrobe lost my damn belt, it took them THREE DAYS to replace it.


During one of my quick changes, damn dresser insists upon hanging up some of the guys' clothes instead of doing my quick change.


I am Mrs. Cellophane.


Conversation last night with colleague...


"Don't they have any idea how well I tip?"


"No."


"And they never will."


Shame I can't stiff the press director as well.