Bad Gay: Episode 14

Last year, I joined a musical theater ensemble. The advertisement said “no talent required.” Perfect fit … because I have no talent.

I’ve loved musicals and show tunes since I was a little girl. And I’ve believed every lie about life that they’ve peddled. The typical arc of a musical is:

1. You have a big dream, often unrealistic. Become a star (“Gypsy”). Scam an entire town (“The Music Man”). Kill the judge who lusted after your wife (“Sweeney Todd”). Become a nun (“Sound of Music”).
2. Run into trouble/obstacles in pursuing your dream. In many cases, the trouble relates to falling in love with an inconvenient person. Someone who does not necessarily share your big dream. Even “Jesus Christ Superstar” managed to shove a love story into an already overheated plot.
3. You have to make a choice between pursuing your dream or getting derailed by your distraction. Meet up with the Jets to fight the Sharks or go on that date with Maria?
4. Suffer the consequences if you choose the wrong path. Fight against unionizing the pajama factory and lose Doris Day’s affection in the process.
5. Learn your lesson and get rewarded with eternal love. (“Grease.” “Guys and Dolls.”) Or don’t learn your lesson and be damned forever. (“Camelot.” “Cabaret.”)

I always assumed that my life would play out like a musical. So, I’ve studied show tunes the way a rabbi studies the Torah. I knew these songs contained the secret to living a happy, fulfilling life. In almost every moment of my life, whether joyful or tragic, I’ve been able to pluck a tune from the American Musical canon to provide myself comfort, hope and expression of feelings I don’t understand.

If we were following the musical arc of my life, my big dream would be to stop the world in its tracks each time I sang. My obstacle in achieving this dream would be that I’m tone deaf and can’t dance because I literally don’t know my right from my left. So, while I’ve had plenty of reasons to belt out a show tune at key moments of my life, I’ve been kept silent, mainly from friends covering my mouth so they didn’t have to suffer through my caterwauling.

How many times did I want to stop a lover from leaving me by scream-singing “And I Am Telling You” from “Dreamgirls,” only to realize that my singing would only make her escape even more quickly. Or to lift my glass at a night out with friends to sing “Cabaret” without fear they would rather abandon me to the Nazis than let me finish the song?

At my wedding, I made the brave choice to sing a showtune during my vows! Much to my spouse’s surprise — and chagrin — I sang “Something Good” to her from “The Sound of Music.” For the first time in my life, I felt confident that no one would walk out of the room when I was singing. And no one did walk out. But no one asked for an encore either.

Last year, when I registered for the musical theater ensemble, I suspected that the “no talent required” promise was just an empty marketing pitch and that I’d either be hauled off stage with a hook or given a behind the stage role — managing the wigs or tidying up the diva’s dressing room after she trashes it in a fit of pique.

Instead, I was handed sheet music in my first class, and no one seemed bothered that I was the only person in the ensemble who could neither identify the notes on the page nor sing them. Our director solved the problem by planting me next to a woman with a very good voice and telling me to parrot the notes she sang. It worked. Kind of. She has such a strong voice that it drowns out mine, which calmed my nerves and helped me focus on the pure joy of the experience.

Each 16-week session ends in a performance showcase. After my first showcase, my spouse proclaimed with great pride that I was not the worst performer on stage. High praise!

Last month, during a theater field trip with the ensemble to NYC, one of the best performers of the troop told me that she was blown away by how much I’ve improved since I started. It made me weep … which then led me to burst out into an off-key rendition of “Broadway Baby,” and was quickly joined by the rest of the ensemble because I haven’t improved that much.

When I was younger, Pride month meant parties, sloppy make-out sessions and hangovers. Now, in my dotage, Pride means pursuing what makes me happy without fear or shame. I hope you all join me in merrily skipping through June, singing a happy tune with no care for who it might offend.