Rest In Peace Chinese Grandma (Lilly Yim Gould, 11-27-13)

I have not been ready to talk about this.  In truth, I am still not quite there.  But so many of you know and love the stories of my Chinese Grandmother, so I thought it only right that you know of her passing.

Grief is a funny thing.  Not funny HA-HA.  More odd than anything else.  You never know how much you'll feel, how long you'll feel it, or how it will manifest itself within you.  It never comes at a convenient time.  You can hardly pencil it in in your calendar or step away from your life in order to give yourself the time you need.  Death doesn't respect holidays or weekends.  It doesn't ask your permission or whether you are ready or not.  It comes when it comes.  Sometimes you wish sooner.  Sometimes later.

My chinese grandmother has become famous among anyone who has known me.  Her anecdotes, sayings, situations, and stories have made many of you laugh and in turn has helped me find the humor in odd and sometimes hurtful situations.  I am glad that so many of you have enjoyed her views and will remember her for them.  She is immortalized through you. 

I have not been able to grieve yet.  I have barely given myself fifteen minutes in a week to think on it.  Mostly because I know it will take a very long time to heal.  I did not make it widely known about her passing because I did not and do not have the emotional capacity right now to hear condolences and well wishes.  That may seem strange and yet it is, ironically, very chinese of me.  We push emotions aside to get through the day.  We focus on what needs to be done.  We do not grieve with others.  It is something we do alone.  At least, that seems to be how that side of our family works. 

My Grandma did not want a funeral service.  I did not even go home when she passed as it was suggested that there was no point.  It may seem harsh but it is our way.  In my own time, I will visit my grandmother's grave,  I will eat a happy meal while I sit with her.  And I will give her the toy, as that is one of the few good memories that I have with her.  She always liked to go to Mcdonalds and have a happy meal.  Not for the food.  But because she liked the toys.  Her windowsills were full of them at one point.  I think that she would appreciate that more than any pomp and circumstance that would have been had in a service.

Chinese grandma was a very difficult woman.  Though I built an entire show around our relationship based on comedy, the truth is, we did not often get along.  For those that know me, you know that it is important to me that I am heard, that I tell the truth, and that I make something of myself.  For grandma, the first two were never a priority.  And the third, well, we had different definitions of what that "something" was.  At least, so I thought.

She wanted me to be married.  She wanted me to have kids.  She wanted someone to take care of me.  She wanted me to be wealthy and thin.  Culturally, these things are the epitome of success to the chinese.  Also, I think she truly believed that these things would make a person matter.  I would fight her tooth and nail.  I would blame her for becoming the cruel voice in my head that called me failure because I, for some reason, couldn't succeed at a single one of those things.  But the truth is, I was so angry because I actually wanted those things for myself, too.  I blamed her, for making me believe that it was because I was the problem and the disappointment when, in truth, I LET her voice become my own. 
It is true that no elder should ever make their youth feel like they are not enough.  That we need to praise just as much as we give criticism.  But it is my choice as to whether I can let that bitterness go, forgive where forgiveness is due, and love a woman who would never understand me.  I am still struggling to make my heart big enough for all that.  
I remember my brother's wedding.  I remember when his two children were born.  And I remember the look of pride and satisfaction on my grandmother's face when those things occurred.  I had wished that she would have smiled like that for me.  It will be a heartache that I doubt will ever go away.

By the end,  she did not go in a good way.  Half her body failed and she lost most of her mind.  The past couple of years, there were no more jokes to be made.  At times it felt like her entire family were paying for the mistakes she made and continued to make.  And yet she never apologized.  Some had spent decades cleaning up her messes and yet, I don't think I ever saw her be grateful.  She either brought out the best and most noble of traits in you, or she brought out the worst.  The choice was yours, but there is no middle ground.  I felt that I constantly would bounce back and forth between the best and worst.  I'm still not quite sure where I shall land permanently. 

I honestly felt that after all that judgment, disappointment, and neglect towards those that were closest...I honestly thought that when she passed, especially since we knew it was coming, that I would feel nothing.  I was wrong.

Through all the disappointment and anger, I keep thinking about the way she would shuffle into the living room, wearing a christmas sweater in July, and shout at the television as the Mariners play.  Or how when we were really small, she'd put my brother or I on her legs and kick them out one at a time  so we would teeter back and forth like we were on a boat as she said, "ducky ducky ducky" (yes, it's weird but so her).  I remember that every phone call involved her asking "you eat yet?" which was then followed by me reciting everything I had eaten that day.  And I remember her laugh.  A cackle if there ever was one.
My grandmother, flawed as she was, lived a hard life.  I think it was an unhappy one.  But she loved me.  In her own way, yes.  But it was love.  She may never have hugged me unless I hugged her first.  She may never have said she loved me unless I said it first.  I may remember more bad than good.  But it was still love. 
I will never miss sitting on that couch in her living room, listening to her berate me on where women belong and how boys are so much better than girls.  But I will miss that laugh.  It is an end of an era.  And though the Chinese do not outwardly emote (which is why she never understood the whole Acting thing), we do put family first.  Family is everything.  Family is permanent whether you like it or not.  And she was and will always be, family.

So.  God bless you, Oma.  May you find peace and happiness where you are. 

And yes...I have eaten today.


*Attached are videos of the last Christmas we had together.  Enjoy them.  Translation is available upon request.  :)

It's My Birthday. It's a Good Thing.

I know a lady should never tell her age but I'll make an exception.  I'm 31 today.  It occurred to me that all the big milestones have passed.  My golden birthday, the age to buy a lotto ticket (which I still haven't done...maybe today), the drinking age,  hell even the age when you can rent a car or go on a cruise without your parents has past.  The next bigg'un is 50.  huh. But that's not what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about 31.  And what that means to me.
...

...

...

...hold on.  I'm thinking...

Well.  It depends on the moment.  One moment I shrug and say "Whatever.  I look mid-20s, I'm busy, ain't nobody got time for dwelling."

One moment I feel like I may sit down in the middle of the street and weep for all the things I thought I'd be but never became.  When I slow down enough, I worry about being alone, about money, about disappointing my parents, about disappointing myself, about reaching too high, about what I may be giving up to live this lifestyle.  I miss my friends across the world and I miss my mom and dad.  I often feel like "had I only known this or that"  or "had I started earlier."

But most moments.  Almost all moments.  This is how I feel:

I feel great.
I have never felt stronger, more beautiful, more healthy, and more unapologetic for who I am.  I feel hopeful and inspired.  I have stronger faith and determination.

I don't hate NYC like I used to.  I don't love her, but I understand her.  And I understand that she will only magnify what I put out.  If I put kindness and focus, she will reward that.  If I notice only the ugly, she will shove that ugly in my face.  And right now, she's working with me not against me.

I have a roof over my head.  Is it mine?  No.  Is it a dream home?  HA. Absolutely, not.  But does it allow me to chase after what I want?  Yes.  Then it's a good thing.

Every job I have right now is involved in theatre, film, writing, directing.  Am I at the level I want to be at?  NO.  Do I have an agent or Union status?  Not yet.  But am I waiting tables or cleaning toilets?  Nope.  Then it's a good thing.

I am ready for good people.  Love, Friends, whatever.  Am I married?  No.  Do I have children? No.  Do I wish I did? ...I don't know.  And because the answer is "I don't know," I know I haven't found the right person yet.  But I'm awesome at being single.  I have never let it stop me from doing what I want and I don't know many people who can say that.  Will I make more of an effort to not be ridiculously shy around men?  ...fine.  Yeah.  I will.  But if I blush (which I tend to do a shit-ton when I like someone) you have to promise to pretend that it is just hot out. 
But putting myself out there?  It's a good thing.

I am very lucky.  I have had some tough years in my first three decades but I have been all over this world and my decisions are my own.  I have my parents to thank for that. 
I am still a work in progress and will continue to be until the day I die.  When we were younger we looked at our 30s as the time when we would have all our shit together, when we've achieved our goals and settled down.  I don't feel old.  I feel like I'm just hitting my stride.  Like I'm finally beginning.  And I also discovered a key fact that no one told me in my teens and 20s.  NOBODY has their shit together.  Even if they look like they do.  You know that girl from high school that you bump into at the grocery store and you saw just last week on her facebook status that she's prego with her second and she has a diamond ring the size of Kansas on her finger?  You know that girl?  Well I guarantee she was reading your status how you were walking down the street in NYC, with your pumpkin spice latte in one hand, and your dreams in the other and she was wishing she had just a bit of your uncertainty. 

We all want a little more. More of something. Anything. I'm definitely in that group.  I want so much sometimes my insides hurt.  It scares me that I may not get it.  But you know what makes it bearable?  Sometimes, the chase is fun.  Being in the game is part of the fun.  I'd rather be a piece of the puzzle and not know where I fit, than not a piece at all. 

So 31.  It's a number.  A good one.  Because I'm more than what I was at 30.  And I'm less than I'll be when I'm 32.  And God willing, I'll get where I aim to go.  And enjoy the heck out of the ride getting there. 

It's a good thing.

Crying on Cue

I've not neglected this blog. In fact, I've had so much that I've wanted to say. But you know what I've found? The business doesn't like it when you say too much. It isn't the place for the truth. Sometimes it's because you signed a contract that prevents you from revealing any of the plot or behind the scenes stuff. Sometimes it's because what you have to say is negative and people have ways of googling themselves and finding that you were none too pleased with them. It will lose you jobs. Because whilst no one is trustworthy, everyone wants to think they can trust you; even if it's only to keep quiet.
Unfortunately, I find that I only like to write when I can tell the absolute full spectrum of how I see things. And I've begun to realize that that just wont be possible if I want to play ball with these people. What a shame.
On the upside, I've realized that I don't necessarily need the blog as much as I used to. I seem to be saying "Yes" to things without needing to be kept accountable. But now I may need to reel it back in a bit. It's addicting, being busy. So now when I have just a moment of static, I panic a bit. I'm not doing enough, seeing enough, pushing enough, sleeping enough. ...that last one is completely true.

One must realize that being busy is fine. It's great. As long as it doesn't interfere with the core of your discipline. I've let exercising, eating right, and alone time slip because something always comes up. I constantly say the words, "well, when things slow down I'll..."  Well let me give you a bit of insight- the hidden prize to that proverbial cereal box: things will NEVER slow down. But it is a CHOICE whether or not you reschedule those things that are good for you. The trick, I think, is not to assume that a gym-date, "me" date, or cooking session is something that can be written in pencil and then negotiated when something else comes along. That stuff needs to be highlighted, scribbled in permanent marker and have glitter thrust upon it in your calendar. It should be priority number one. Otherwise you will end up looking like I did at my callback today and making rookie mistakes. Don't get me wrong. It was fine. But I am supposed to be better than fine. I am supposed to do more than just get by.  And I am certainly not supposed to come into the holding room grumbling. Unprofessional. Lesson learned.

Now, I wouldn't have been half the hag I was had I given myself a solid day off last week, gone to the gym like a good girl to run off any lingering aggression, AND had I skipped that pizza last Saturday. But alas. We make our choices. And our mistakes. It is only shameful if we consistently repeat them even though we know better. So, once again, it's time to get back on track. 

As some of you know I filmed a NYU thesis film earlier this month. And thank you for all the wonderful support you've given. I have been so happy with the footage that I've seen and am grateful that I was allowed to release the photos to the public.

Alas, for the most part I am going to keep the stories to myself I'm afraid. But I did want to talk about one strange thing: Crying on Cue.

Gotta say, you just don't know if you can do it until you are there. And it's weird, folks. I mean super weird. Working in film has not given me the extreme nerves that theatre has which has been a pleasant surprise but it has also been a process that makes you feel rather helpless. You shoot the scenes out of order, sometimes with only minutes of rehearsal, with people you dont really know, and with a crew who is shoving a large lens in your face. And then told to act natural. ...uh huh.

The second day of filming started out with a scene in which I have to basically sob till I am curled on the floor. That's it. Ready, set, go!

I am looking out a window one minute, then crying the next. No dialogue, no build up other than what I can think up. And it's scary.  What if I can't get there?  How do I get there?  What kind of actor am I?  Do I go method?  CAN I go method?  Do I think of something sad and unrelated?  Man, I'm going to suck.

And I think I may be a mixture of all those things.  Plus a little bit of "screw technique, I don't give a damn" as well.  In the end, it's not about you.  What you are thinking or feeling, it doesn't matter.  It's about staying calm and pushing your insecurities out a three story window.  You see, I get in my own way more than anyone else in this world.  I am the first person to tell me that I can't do something.  I do that to myself when I'm scared.  But you know what will always trump fear when it comes to me?  The absolute need to do my job well.  That fact alone is so ingrained in me, that the idea of disappointing anyone is crippling.  So.  You stop worrying.  You put on what I call a "trigger song" on your ipod (this is the song that always gets you all emo and pensive), you take a step away from crew who is singing show tunes and making dirty jokes, you ask the hair and makeup people to take a step back from blotting your face, and you find something to connect to. 

So, for me, in that one moment, I looked out the window at the sun coming through the trees, thought of what kind of sadness the character felt (for there are a billion different types of cries just as there a billion different emotions) and it struck a hint of a memory that made my heart ache to the point of pain.    It wasn't an exact memory, rather the memory of a feeling of loss.  The kind of loss that the character was going through.  And then a funny thing happened.  My eyes filled and spilled over.  And I did my job. 

What they don't tell you in acting school is how unbelievably difficult it is after a take when you have to pull yourself back together, get your face fixed, relight and reset the camera because a moth flew through the shot so we have to do it all over again.  Then you panic again thinking, "what if I stop crying and I cant start again?"  Mostly though you are thinking, "you gotta be f*ckin' kidding me."  But you manage.  Are all the takes awesome?  Absolutely not.  Was it Academy Award winning stuff?  Nope.  Not a chance.  But for a girl who has felt emotionally constipated when in public (sorry, that description was uncalled for), this was a huge success for me.  I felt challenged and like I grew.  Do I enjoy having a camera one foot from my face when having private moments?  N. O.
But I was pretty proud of myself.  I didn't let anyone down.  They seemed pleased.  And to be truthful, most of the crew is more in awe of how the lighting cuts through the fog and mists around your face rather than your actual performance.  Film is not really about you as the actor.  There are so many other things going on and it really is a collaborative beast.  I like it. 

Well, that's it really.  I have a month till I begin my summer travels.  I plan on coaching a couple people with their classical monologues and maybe having another reading of a 1940s play.  I'm stage managing for a staged reading next week for rather well known playwright.  And I'm going to take care of myself.  That's the plan.  I'm looking forward to it.

Kicked in the Butt by Tony Danza. no, like really.

I went to a charity event yesterday where I was kicked in the butt by Tony Danza.  You know, your typical Sunday activity.

The Felix organization was created by DMC (from Run DMC) and Casting Director Sheila Jaffe.  Yesterday was their first Dance-a-thon that took place in a gay club in midtown.  Sometimes NY baffles me in the best of ways.  Faith and I trekked our way through the slosh that was NY rain to spend the afternoon dancing with random actors, drag queens, and children.  All for charity.  And it was actually a lot of fun.  Not to mention great exercise.  At one point, however, Tony Danza got a little over zealous with his dance moves and while spinning his partner, gave me a bit of a kick in the rump.  The hazards of dancing to Donna Summer I suppose.  The day ended with DMC rapping three songs with the kids on stage.  Very sweet.

I've decided to do more volunteering next month through NY Cares, if they'll have me.  Maybe working in their libraries, or park maintenance, or food/clothes bank sorting.  Something more hands on.  Donating money is fine.  But I feel like it would be too easy.  Sometimes you have to pay in time.  Time is just as valuable (if not more so right now) as currency and I don't do nearly enough service.  i.e. zero.

Other than that, the past month has been a bit of a blur.  I am in final callbacks for a tour which has been putting me through the ringer but would be VERY helpful if I landed it.  They have given me ten pages of monologues to learn by next Friday.  So this should be fascinating.

Shooting starts for the student film next week where I will be spending a week in Connecticut in the suburbs.  Bit nervous about it but doing my best to get out of my own way.

And I got the dvd copy of the other film project I shot a few weeks ago in which I have discovered that I truly never want to watch anything I've ever been in if I don't have to.  Not that it was bad.  It actually wasn't.  There were some really great moments and I know I can use it for my reel.  I could look at it and pat myself on the back and say "that'll do, pig." (Babe reference in case you think I'm actually calling myself swine, which I am not.)  However, I find if I watch it more than once, I begin to tear it to shreds.  Any hint of not being genuine and I am ready to climb walls.  And let's not even go into how I look on screen.  I'm a picky actor and an enormous critic.  I accept that.  So I think it's better if I keep my mental picture of myself rather than seeing the real thing.  At least for now.

In other news, Faith has put me on her clean organic food kick.  As some of you know, she is a personal chef.  She specializes in coming to your home and making a week's worth of healthy, good tasting food in one day.  For the NYer on the go this is ingenious.  You leave in the morning, she comes in while you are at work and cooks all the food, and then you come home and there are tons of tupperware in your fridge for the week.  So I am sort of her in house guinea pig.  She shopped for my groceries, laid out recipes, and convinced me to give it a go for a week, telling me that it will be cheaper, healthier, and more interesting.  Seeing as I normally function on granola bars, deli sandwiches, and caffeine, I thought it couldn't hurt.  What's a week, right?

So the menu for this week ended up being including:  apple and cabbage coleslaw, cucumber salad with homemade peanut sauce, granola and almond milk with dried cranberries, poached chicken, chick pea soup, hummous and carrots, lentil and pepper salad, and couscous and mint salad.  We have an emergency stash of dark chocolate bars in the side table in the living room. 
I think I've eaten more vegetables in two days than I have in my entire life.  But I have learned new things like what in the hell Fennel is.  But man, I wouldn't mind a huge slice of pizza at this point.  Avoiding cheese is like slapping babies...just not ok.

This week I plan on taking a few friends to a speakeasy themed bar called Bathtub Gin as "research." Ok, so maybe it is a bit of a splurge, but I really do want to put up an old hollywood play in a speakeasy bar.  So why not kill two birds with one martini?  I shall report back as to how it goes.  This particular place has a copper bathtub in the center of the room (Gin used to be made at home in people's bathtubs during prohibition).  I feel it necessary to experience that.   (D, I wish you were here, you know I'd drag you along.)

Anyway,  I am keeping busy, feeling like I'm doing nothing, but trying to remain positive.  Just. Keep. Swimming. 

To be continued.

I Need to Sell Specs to a Blind Man

I just had drinks with a girl I hadn't seen in maybe six years.  We graduated AMDA together and she has since moved on to bigger and better things in the financial world but has not lost her sense of comedy and confidence. She could sell spectacles to a blind man. But more importantly, she is one of the few people on this earth that I've encountered that does not apologize for who she is. She is remarkable.

We were never really friends at school but I had always found her fascinating and beautifully quirky.  However, I had missed just how powerful she is. Here is a woman who knows her strengths and weaknesses.  But then she takes it a step further and knows how to market them.

I admire her and walked away from that conversation feeling so much better than I have in ages. I've known for a long time now just what and who I am. And I have always been fine with it when I was all by me one-zies. But around others, I found myself apologizing or feeling like I imposed who I was on other people just by being me.

I don't have to do that. It slows me down.  What's more, I need to upsell me.  I need to convince blind people that they need to buy my spectacles.  ...that was a metaphor in case you missed it.

She also showed me what it is to take things WAY less seriously. As many of you know, I don't do well with embarrassment or awkwardness. Probably why I don't date much. All those questions of what I say or don't say or if I don't like him or if I do. BAHHHHHHH! Already there's too much thinking.

This friend of mine is a dating fiend. You don't go into it with all that pressure. You go into it with the knowledge that you're going to have a drink and maybe some good conversation. If it bombs, you got a great story later for your memoirs. It's definitely one of those areas that I've not said "YES" to lately.

For me, people are an investment. And it takes a lot for me to invest. But as this lovely lady has reminded me, sometimes good conversation is nice, too. Even if it doesn't go anywhere.

So it's something I'll mull over for a bit. This is the year of YES for career. I've got too much on my plate to get messy and slobbery over man-cubs. But I'm thinking soon it may be time to dust off the ol' killer heels and war paint and have some conversation.

As for said career...

Things have been promising. But still very much on a wing and a prayer. I may be signing an assistant stage management contract for a month this summer where I'll get EMC points. I'm pretty sure I'm teaching musical theatre for a week in WA in July. I'm still shooting a film for a week in June. And I just got to the third round of callbacks for a tour that would start in the fall. I was told that the producer (who's put up Broadway shows) would "probably" want to see me in person.  Now, in showbiz language, "probably" doesn't mean a whole helluva lot.  So I won't count my chickens.  But regardless, they saw 75 people and only called back three.  So I feel pretty damn good.

I also filmed my second NYU film project last week. I'm telling you, I love film. I have no idea if I'm any good.  And to be honest, I don't ever want to watch myself. It's the process that is so great.

I will end up watching myself because I'll have to compile footage for a reel. But once that's done, I doubt I'll ever watch what I'm in ever again, unless forced. Your mind can be your best friend or your worst enemy. You may think you are the next Meryl Streep and then watch your playbacks and see you are actually a second hand pee-wee herman. Or vice versa. But for me, the end product isn't what I'm after. It's being able to have a connection with the actor or camera, give a variety of different takes, and then letting the director and editor have their merry way with it whilst I gallavant off to the bank.

We'll see how that goes. But the very thought of watching that footage puts acid in my stomach. I want to be good. Because I realize just how much it makes me happy. It's like when you find someone who makes your hands tingle every time they look at you; because they make you so happy, you want desperately to do right by them.

In other news, I've written nearly 36 pages of faff for my novel and I'm enjoying every bit of it. It's probably a bit of rubbish but it is a fantastic release and something wholly unconnected with anything else that's going on. It makes me hope even more that I sign with that EMC ASM job that is in podunk USA so that I'll have plenty of time to write and have quiet.

It's sounding better and better.

Spring lasts about three days here.  The air is already turning and you can smell the heaviness about to descend.  The humidity is coming.  But until then I enjoy my walks to work in the early morning.  I put in my headphones and listen to a little Emeli Sande or Jason Mraz, I pick up my AMny newspaper and do the crossword, I sometimes pick up a coffee roll and coffee from the Coffee Cart guy on 6th ave and 28th st., walk through the haze of weed from the drug dealers on the corner, and then have my five minutes of lovely overcast chilly spring.  I don't know what people are complaining about.  Give me an overcast day with a slight breeze and it's heaven.  It's home.  Makes me miss the Puget Sound, driving with the windows down with the rain dampening my skin as I reach my hand out the window at a stop light.  I miss the early morning walk in London, over the Millenium bridge to the Globe as I listen to Ray Charles and Bob Dylan, the sun just rising over the Thames.  And I miss Scotland.  Music on every corner, the chill to the bones, the history and tradition.  The pride. 
Overcast days are like reminders of when I've felt the most useful, secure, challenged, and loved. 

So I make sure, as I walk up the concrete steps to work that I take a deep breath of that chill, knowing that it won't be there much longer.  The summer is coming, and that's when the real combat begins.

 

Kissing Strangers is My Job.

Woops.  It's been a month.  I would say I fell off the face of the planet but I think that would be an incorrect statement.  It was more like when you flush the toilet only half way and it just kinda idles forever but nothing ever goes anywhere. ...ok, that was disgusting.  I apologize.

But you get the idea.

I have been busy though. 

I booked two student films.  And started filming one last weekend and have rehearsal for the other tomorrow morning before I go to my two jobs. It has been a month of no days off and 16 hour work days.  Plus the two hours commute I've been spending on the bloody subway.  But I am hustling.  I am showing up.  And man, am I tired. 

But let me tell you about my first experience kissing a stranger to get a job.  It's not as bad as it sounds.  So I auditioned for a NYU film called "Mirrors" and was called back to see if I had chemistry with the guy who would play my husband.  The movie takes place in the 1950s so you can just imagine the fun I am having with the hairstyles. :)  Pictures to come.

I go in for the callback and read the sides.  uh-huh.  In plain text, "Nancy leans in and kisses him."  Well, believe it or not, I've never been cast in a role where I had to kiss anyone.  I'm always the best friend, the lonely housewife, or the nurse.  But I went in, said "Hey, nice to meet you." to the actor.  And did the scene.  And I gotta tell you...it's weird.  It ain't sexy.  But it must have worked because I got the job.

This last weekend we shot on an NYU soundstage, used green screen, shot in black and white, at one point I was standing on a turn table being spun slowly around like a porche on display.  I had my own make up and hair crew, they had real 1950s appliances and checkered flooring and even had a Beyonce fan blowing my hair in one scene.  It was hilarious ...and it was so friggin' fun.  I really like film.  I like the process and the machines.  I like being able to do more than one take so that 1. there's no pressure to "get it right" the first time, and 2. you can try different things each time.  I like that you don't have to try so hard.  You just look into the camera or into your co stars eyes and have a conversation.  There's not projection or large gesture.  You just think or feel, and it shows up on screen.  And I don't really mind the waiting either.  When you are surrounded by the right balance of good spirited people, it could be fun to hang out for an hour as they adjust lighting while you play name that Disney tune.  I could get used to this.  And clearly it's a sign that I should keep submitting for these auditions considering that they are the only ones that are calling me in. 

That's another thing.  Auditioning for film goes like this:  Submit your headshot online.  They either call you or they dont.  If they call you, they give you an appointment time and slides from the script.  Usually a couple days before the audition but sometimes the night before.  You don't have to memorize them.  Just be familiar with it, make a few specific choices, and be done with it.  Then you show up at the allotted time, they get you in the door, ten minutes tops you are outta there.  And you continue with the rest of your day.  No wasted time.  No stress.  They either want you or they don't.  It takes a lot of pressure off knowing that it is almost always about the right looks and sound.  So it isn't a personal slight if I don't get it.  It just wasn't what they were looking for.

And if I don't get something, I've recently developed the mantra:  "That's ok.  It was because I was too pretty."  Yes, you can laugh.  But it's better than racking my brain for what I did wrong or telling myself it was because I was too fat or too bitchy or TOO TOO TOO.  What's funny is that this director of the film said the people in her class who had to review the audition tapes said that I WAS too pretty for the role.  I assured the director that I have no problems with ugly.  Try me after an hour of hot yoga and a subway ride with no air conditioning.  I can do Ugly. 

Anyway.  So I'm gonna keep on hustling and see what happens.  Theater has been a dead end as of right now.  If I get seen, they want me to sing.  When I sing in auditions, I mess up or freak out.  I don't know why singing for auditions puts the fear of jeebus in me but it does.  And I haven't figured out if it's a good or bad fear.  The good fear is one that you should push through.  The bad is the kind that is telling you to back off.  I like to sing for fun or I'd like to sing in a smoky underground speakeasy with only torch songs and jazz standards to keep me warm.  Not 16 bars with an accompanist I don't know with people staring expectantly in my face.  It's just not enjoyable.  And it makes me nauseous. 

So that's that.  Am I 2.5 seconds away from running off to New Orleans in search of something new?  Or a horse ranch in Texas?  Or a shack by the ocean where I can write nothing but dark empty prose and curse the world for its fickleness?  Oh my, yes.  But I'm still here.  I'm still kicking.  And the discipline and streamlining coming up in my life is only going to get worse.  Or better.  Depending on how you look at it. 

But I can guarantee by the end of this chapter of my life, no one will be able to say I didn't try.

Skinny Jeans and a Sh*t Ton of Yes's.

Getting back to acting is like squeezing into your old pair of skinny jeans.  I dont mean the crap style they have today that cause a muffin-top on purpose.  I'm talking about that one pair of jeans you keep at the back of your closet in the hopes that one day you'll bring it out again and it will fit like a glove.  Or,  like a properly fitted pair of jeans.  

This past week I've taken the "jeans" out per se. And they fit for the most part... but it's slightly tougher to breathe in them.

Acting is a gear in a machine that constantly needs oiled.  It will get rusty after awhile and sometimes just stops working if left neglected.  Above all things, I think nerves and low self esteem cause the most rust.  The longer you are out of commission, the further that gear deteriorates and the stiffness spreads.

Have I overwhelmed you with excessive metaphors? It ain' over yet.

There's nothing like feeling well oiled. (ok, for once that was not a double entendre so just stop your sick little selves right there). But truly, the feeling of being prepared and well practiced is like going to the gym on a good day and hitting your stride after the first 3k. Well, it is for me at least. Everything is warm and working and responsive. And you feel good. Really good. Like maybe you can do this. Be this. Get this life you want.

After the last post, I was ready to have a serious pity party.  But I hung in there and lo and behold, within a week I've gone on two film auditions, filmed an audition for a Shakespeare company, signed on as a lightboard operator for a show, signed on to help out at Broadway Backwards next week, written another two pages of my book, scheduled a reading of The Philadelphia Story, rehearsed two songs and a scene for a showcase I am doing in two weeks, and have scheduled another scene to be performed in April.  I've also signed on to a committee for a small festival called Mass Rhetorics with a theatre company where I read new plays that are submitted and help choose five to put up at the end of April.  I also booked a side job helping out at a couture wedding trade show in April for a weekend.  So...I think I'm busy. 

Sad thing is, finances will still be tight. Even after all that.  But I'm getting by.  I need to remember that everything I'm doing has to do with the industry. And if it doesn't, I'm doing things I enjoy.  Patience is not really my thing so I'm working on being ok with where I am now.
As Faith told me tonight, "I know what I want.  And I want it now.  Why is that so difficult for people to understand?"  I completely get where she's coming from.  But every YES is a success.  And I've just piled on a sh*t ton of YES's.

Should be a fascinating month.