Side
Streets
by
Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features

 

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IPS Features Staff

International Press Service

 






Kimra on stage

I've always been a teensy little bit ham. When I was a kid, I'd host elaborate neighborhood productions with my neighbor, Jamie Yoder, in his basement. We'd set up lawn chairs and force our parents to pay a nickel a piece to come down and watch us and our siblings croon original numbers we had created which (surprise!) featured huge, lengthy solos by yours truly. However, despite this craving for the spotlight, my family and "real life" has kept me rather grounded and my feet (somewhat) on the ground. So imagine my delight last week when we were at MGM Studios on the Disney complex in Orlando and the host of Indiana Jones show called for some volunteers. Immediately, without any prompting from those who know and love me best, my arm shot up into the air.
"Do we have any honeymooners?" The host requested. Darn. Twenty-one years this June hardly qualified me for that, and even if I had been on my honeymoon, nothing short of a stick of dynamite would blast my husband onto that stage. I sadly lowered my arm,  noticing with disgust that the honeymooners chosen didn't seem AT ALL animated when they spoke into the microphone and they carried out their acting jobs with wooden monotoned, unenthused voices. Rats. "I could have done better than that." I hissed to my husband. This was putting me in a bad mood.
"Do we have anyone who is in a good mood?" The host requested, squinting into the sea of five hundred audience members.
"Ooooh! Me!" I shouted, jumping wildly into the air, arms flailing and legs strangely buoyant beyond imagination.
The host scanned the audience for a moment, and finally, "You. In the pink shirt with the sunglasses on your head- jumping around."
I looked at my family for confirmation. I was wearing a pink shirt! I had sunglasses on top of my head! And indeed, I was jumping around like a madwoman. I had been chosen! ME! I felt like Miss America as I bolted down to the stage, raising my arms in the "victory" pose. When the host asked me my name, I was loud, precise, and as overly animated as a cartoon character. Disney was going to want me after this! When she asked me to laugh like a crazy person, I threw back my head and screeched into the microphone a laugh SO INSANE that it still makes me reel to think about it. A resounding laugh from the audience was my reward, and so I was off to wardrobe.
While decking out in my authentic Disney garb, I was asked to sign a release form which would absolve the giant Disney corporation of all liability should I say, accidentally run through the sheets of fire which would soon be lighting up the stage. I wrote my name and address VERY CAREFULLY  in case (in the likely event, actually) Disney wanted to give me a call to  beg me to join the cast of all their productions permanently. Then I was off to the stage, this time in full costume. While in the production, my part called for me to shop (I was really good at this; having much personal experience), appear horrified, (I used the Method acting, imagining walking into one of my son's bedrooms and viewing the mess), and delighted. (This was easy- I WAS delighted!) The fifteen minutes of pseudo fame passed in a quick blur, and then I had to go take off my costume. The fitting gal gave me a bottle of Disney water (free!), and told me that I did a good job. The host, who had noted my overly enthused state, said, "You're a natural- you seem very at home on the stage."
I didn't want to brag and bring up Jamie Yoder's basement; it just didn't seem right in the the face of the honeymooners' obvious lack of experience, so I just shrugged and said, "You know, I think I am just a little bit of a ham." Sipping my Disney water, I made my way back to my family who was wedging its way back to me from the sea of people. No one seemed to notice me, sans costume, and I was not accosted for autographs or bombarded with compliments. Still, the experience of "starring" in The Indiana and the Temple of Doom production had made my day; my week, maybe even my month. And don't forget that waiver I had to sign. I  had written VERY NEATLY  indeed, and I imagined it wouldn't be too long before those guys at Disney were giving me a call.