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.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
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.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, March 11, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Reasons Why Being a Non-Equity Actor Sucks: Take One.
Oh, friends. What a life. I've been trying to wait a few days to find the humor in it all. But I think I'd be waiting a real long time. So here it is.
Things are finally picking up on the audition front. I had written in my calendar five auditions to go to this week. Count them. FIVE. How many do you think I was seen for? I'll give you a hint:
It's zero.
zilch.
Nada.
Rien.
Nil.
Goose egg.
None.
Nix.
Naught.
Zip. Zippo. Zipporooney.
Who's not a happy camper? [points to self] This girl.
Let me tell you how it works in the life of a Non-Union Actor. (My actor friends will have experienced this a hundred times already).
Ok, so Monday was my fault. There was a call for a job in a theatre I didn't care about with shows I didn't want to be in, but that is neither here nor there. I should've gone. I need the practice. I need to audition. And I could have tried out one of my new monologues with very little pressure. But I stayed up late watching the Oscars (how ridiculously long was that I tell you. p.s. I love Jennifer Lawrence. Anne Hathaway is still my least favorite person and looked like she bought her dress from Mariposa in the mall. And I think I'm a little bit in love with Daniel Day-Lewis. I never thought he had a sense of humor, so that crack about him and Meryl made my night).
Anyway. By the time the damn show was over, I thought that six am was coming around entirely too soon so I bagged the audition. Big mistake. I was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Because I knew it was my fault. It's one thing for you to not get a job because someone said no. But it's another thing entirely for you to not show up. For then you don't even have the option of a Yes.
After the day of guilt, I knew that was not a mistake I would make again. That kind of self-loathing is a waste of time. Better to just get up and go to the audition.
So Tuesday. Two different shows were holding Equity calls at the same audition studio. How convenient one might say. I could bounce from one room to the other, in theory.
*Shitty Equity Lesson #1: The rule is, if you go to an equity call, they see all union members first. Then they see what they call EMCs which are those people who worked a union job in the past but were still non union. THEN they see non-union (me) actors. What is so friggin sad is, most grad schools will give you your equity status or at least EMC status when you graduate. But since I went to a UK school, I only got UK equity. It does not translate to USA equity. So I go on the bottom of the list.
Back to the Tuesday. I get there at 8am. Auditions don't even start till 10am. ...the line of people winds around the building for both calls. Each of them holding an equity card. By the time I get up to the table, there are 100 equity members signed up, 30 some EMCs, and I am number 62 on the non-equity list. Let us do the math. They see about 150 people on a good day. ...my ass turned around and left.
Wednesday. This is the one that mattered. I REALLY wanted to be seen for these two calls. Both were equity but one was being directed by Julie Taymor, and the other was for Shakespeare in the Park which is a dream of mine. I wasn't about to not go. I learned a new monologue for it for crying out loud. This time I got there at seven. It was pissing down rain. The holding room smelled like wet dog but there were maybe a third of the amount of people there than yesterday. I was number 9 on the non equity list and they were flying through the equity auditioners. It was looking good.
I looked in the mirror. I was wearing an off-white dress. Wait. What is that on my shoulder? I look closely... See the thing about NYC rain, is it ain' clean. My entire left shoulder was marked with brown water spots. Right. Ok. It doesn't matter. I'll just wear my hair down.
Six hours go by. They are still steadily going through the equity list, but the rain has stopped. And when the storm stops, the actors come out of the woodwork.
*Shitty Equity Lesson #2: Even if you got up at the butt crack of dawn and signed up ages before an equity or EMC person, they can walk right in, sign up, and be seen within minutes. They always hold precedence over non union, regardless of when they show up.
75 equity member wandered in throughout the day. The list that once looked so promising, grew to desolation. At 5pm, (when I am three hours late for work but stayed because they kept reassuring us that it looked promising), they finally finished the equity members. And there was time for only a few EMCs. There were 30 EMC people there. I began to hate my life. I looked in the mirror again. Twelve hours of sitting on metal chairs, being talked to by "actors" who just moved to the Big City and this was their first audition and how amazing an experience it was, my eyes are bloodshot, my hair is wilted, my mascara is beneath my eyes, the watermark has expanded on my shoulder so that no amount of hair would cover it...and in walks the dude that was an asshole when I did background work for the Carrie Diaries. No. Way.
The dude that bitched and moaned and threw tantrums. And he's staring at me. Oh God, he's trying to place me. Wait. What is he doing? Is he signing up? Wait. He's EMC?! This assinine piece of swine who is here in dirty khakis, a hairy neck, and a gray thermal with holes in it that looks like he has a mouse problem...he's going to get seen before me? What???
I know i'm not supposed to compare myself to anyone else. But after twelve hours, see how good YOU feel. I have a masters. I was on the Globe stage last year. And this is beyond humbling. It's part humiliating. And you know what? It's part of the game.
But the most frustrating part of it is, I don't mind having a door shut in my face. If it's a no, fine. But to have the door locked to begin with? That's just gut wrenching. To not even have the opportunity. To have gone through all that stress and preparation. This is why people choke when they finally GET seen. Because they're exhausted waiting. And they are out of practice because no one will give them a chance.
I left that audition and walked straight to work. One of my jobs is working at a performing arts school. And to pour salt in the wound, that evening it was my job to check coats of all the agents that were coming to see the students' showcases. I had a moment and asked myself, is this it? Am I going to be the servant forever?
This is a normal thing, friends. This crap happens when you want to go to calls that actually pay and are good productions. And it is so true that if there is anything else I could do that would make me happy, you are damned right I'd do it. People are lying when they say auditioning is fun. It's not. It's torture. But the job, once you have it...nothing has ever been better.
I got home that night to find an email from a grad student director who called me in for an audition on sunday. I have an appointment. So no wasted time there. And a shakespeare company has asked for a video audition that I can make from the comfort of my living room. Now THAT's how to do it. No waste. No wilting. No pissing down rain. Lord, please send me more of that.
*Shitty Equity Lesson #3: It never ends. Being equity does not solve all problems. Neither does having an agent. Or even having an Oscar. Case in point. On my way out of the building on Weds, I rode the elevator down from the sixth floor. It stopped on the fifth and in walked Cuba Gooding Jr. The elevator was crowded, and I looked at my feet to avoid staring. That, and I was afraid I'd have a tourette's moment and shout at him "SHOW ME THE MONEY!" ...like he hasn't heard that before. Or even worse, I'd say "eek, Snow Dogs...what were you thinking?" But what really occurred to me is he has an Academy Award. And he is still hustling just like the rest of us. It is rare to be Daniel Day-Lewis or Meryl Streep. Where you are at the top and you stay there. I have friends who were on Broadway last year and then this year they are back to hourly jobs and going to open calls. That's the way it is. It is huge highs, and even larger lows. But the highs can be so very beautiful.
I did manage to look up at Cuba for a hot second and he looked right back. He knew that I knew who he was. And I think he may have been grateful. The elevator hit the ground floor and people shuffled out (no one saying a thing to him), he let me pass in front of him and I thanked him. He nodded and said, "you're welcome." And that was that.
And I didn't even ask him if he kept his Oscar in his bathroom. Pretty proud of myself. Look Ma! I got couthe.
Things are finally picking up on the audition front. I had written in my calendar five auditions to go to this week. Count them. FIVE. How many do you think I was seen for? I'll give you a hint:
It's zero.
zilch.
Nada.
Rien.
Nil.
Goose egg.
None.
Nix.
Naught.
Zip. Zippo. Zipporooney.
Who's not a happy camper? [points to self] This girl.
Let me tell you how it works in the life of a Non-Union Actor. (My actor friends will have experienced this a hundred times already).
Ok, so Monday was my fault. There was a call for a job in a theatre I didn't care about with shows I didn't want to be in, but that is neither here nor there. I should've gone. I need the practice. I need to audition. And I could have tried out one of my new monologues with very little pressure. But I stayed up late watching the Oscars (how ridiculously long was that I tell you. p.s. I love Jennifer Lawrence. Anne Hathaway is still my least favorite person and looked like she bought her dress from Mariposa in the mall. And I think I'm a little bit in love with Daniel Day-Lewis. I never thought he had a sense of humor, so that crack about him and Meryl made my night).
Anyway. By the time the damn show was over, I thought that six am was coming around entirely too soon so I bagged the audition. Big mistake. I was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Because I knew it was my fault. It's one thing for you to not get a job because someone said no. But it's another thing entirely for you to not show up. For then you don't even have the option of a Yes.
After the day of guilt, I knew that was not a mistake I would make again. That kind of self-loathing is a waste of time. Better to just get up and go to the audition.
So Tuesday. Two different shows were holding Equity calls at the same audition studio. How convenient one might say. I could bounce from one room to the other, in theory.
*Shitty Equity Lesson #1: The rule is, if you go to an equity call, they see all union members first. Then they see what they call EMCs which are those people who worked a union job in the past but were still non union. THEN they see non-union (me) actors. What is so friggin sad is, most grad schools will give you your equity status or at least EMC status when you graduate. But since I went to a UK school, I only got UK equity. It does not translate to USA equity. So I go on the bottom of the list.
Back to the Tuesday. I get there at 8am. Auditions don't even start till 10am. ...the line of people winds around the building for both calls. Each of them holding an equity card. By the time I get up to the table, there are 100 equity members signed up, 30 some EMCs, and I am number 62 on the non-equity list. Let us do the math. They see about 150 people on a good day. ...my ass turned around and left.
Wednesday. This is the one that mattered. I REALLY wanted to be seen for these two calls. Both were equity but one was being directed by Julie Taymor, and the other was for Shakespeare in the Park which is a dream of mine. I wasn't about to not go. I learned a new monologue for it for crying out loud. This time I got there at seven. It was pissing down rain. The holding room smelled like wet dog but there were maybe a third of the amount of people there than yesterday. I was number 9 on the non equity list and they were flying through the equity auditioners. It was looking good.
I looked in the mirror. I was wearing an off-white dress. Wait. What is that on my shoulder? I look closely... See the thing about NYC rain, is it ain' clean. My entire left shoulder was marked with brown water spots. Right. Ok. It doesn't matter. I'll just wear my hair down.
Six hours go by. They are still steadily going through the equity list, but the rain has stopped. And when the storm stops, the actors come out of the woodwork.
*Shitty Equity Lesson #2: Even if you got up at the butt crack of dawn and signed up ages before an equity or EMC person, they can walk right in, sign up, and be seen within minutes. They always hold precedence over non union, regardless of when they show up.
75 equity member wandered in throughout the day. The list that once looked so promising, grew to desolation. At 5pm, (when I am three hours late for work but stayed because they kept reassuring us that it looked promising), they finally finished the equity members. And there was time for only a few EMCs. There were 30 EMC people there. I began to hate my life. I looked in the mirror again. Twelve hours of sitting on metal chairs, being talked to by "actors" who just moved to the Big City and this was their first audition and how amazing an experience it was, my eyes are bloodshot, my hair is wilted, my mascara is beneath my eyes, the watermark has expanded on my shoulder so that no amount of hair would cover it...and in walks the dude that was an asshole when I did background work for the Carrie Diaries. No. Way.
The dude that bitched and moaned and threw tantrums. And he's staring at me. Oh God, he's trying to place me. Wait. What is he doing? Is he signing up? Wait. He's EMC?! This assinine piece of swine who is here in dirty khakis, a hairy neck, and a gray thermal with holes in it that looks like he has a mouse problem...he's going to get seen before me? What???
I know i'm not supposed to compare myself to anyone else. But after twelve hours, see how good YOU feel. I have a masters. I was on the Globe stage last year. And this is beyond humbling. It's part humiliating. And you know what? It's part of the game.
But the most frustrating part of it is, I don't mind having a door shut in my face. If it's a no, fine. But to have the door locked to begin with? That's just gut wrenching. To not even have the opportunity. To have gone through all that stress and preparation. This is why people choke when they finally GET seen. Because they're exhausted waiting. And they are out of practice because no one will give them a chance.
I left that audition and walked straight to work. One of my jobs is working at a performing arts school. And to pour salt in the wound, that evening it was my job to check coats of all the agents that were coming to see the students' showcases. I had a moment and asked myself, is this it? Am I going to be the servant forever?
This is a normal thing, friends. This crap happens when you want to go to calls that actually pay and are good productions. And it is so true that if there is anything else I could do that would make me happy, you are damned right I'd do it. People are lying when they say auditioning is fun. It's not. It's torture. But the job, once you have it...nothing has ever been better.
I got home that night to find an email from a grad student director who called me in for an audition on sunday. I have an appointment. So no wasted time there. And a shakespeare company has asked for a video audition that I can make from the comfort of my living room. Now THAT's how to do it. No waste. No wilting. No pissing down rain. Lord, please send me more of that.
*Shitty Equity Lesson #3: It never ends. Being equity does not solve all problems. Neither does having an agent. Or even having an Oscar. Case in point. On my way out of the building on Weds, I rode the elevator down from the sixth floor. It stopped on the fifth and in walked Cuba Gooding Jr. The elevator was crowded, and I looked at my feet to avoid staring. That, and I was afraid I'd have a tourette's moment and shout at him "SHOW ME THE MONEY!" ...like he hasn't heard that before. Or even worse, I'd say "eek, Snow Dogs...what were you thinking?" But what really occurred to me is he has an Academy Award. And he is still hustling just like the rest of us. It is rare to be Daniel Day-Lewis or Meryl Streep. Where you are at the top and you stay there. I have friends who were on Broadway last year and then this year they are back to hourly jobs and going to open calls. That's the way it is. It is huge highs, and even larger lows. But the highs can be so very beautiful.
I did manage to look up at Cuba for a hot second and he looked right back. He knew that I knew who he was. And I think he may have been grateful. The elevator hit the ground floor and people shuffled out (no one saying a thing to him), he let me pass in front of him and I thanked him. He nodded and said, "you're welcome." And that was that.
And I didn't even ask him if he kept his Oscar in his bathroom. Pretty proud of myself. Look Ma! I got couthe.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Sometimes You Just Gotta Get a Little Drunk...
Sometimes you just gotta get a little drunk with a friend to find a little perspective, to remember your dreams. In vino veritas.
Now, I'm not saying y'all should go out there and drink your sorrows away, but sometimes you gotta dig yourself a hole to climb out of. And if you have the right friend, it can be fun doing it.
I choose to drink with Faith. And by Faith, I don't mean religion. Faith is an actual person. She ain' Jesus, but sometimes she's just as effective.
Faith is a 5'2" african american spitfire of a woman who's life goal is to be the next Oprah/Martha Stewart. And she'll do it, too. She has a little poodle dog mix named Marilyn (named after Marilyn Monroe) who is a gluttonous hussy that goes back and forth from begging to be pet to taking luxurious naps on her back with her legs spread eagle.
When you are in Faith's home, it's like entering the very epitome of Life. Even during her current rocky transition/remodeling, you walk in and are instantly set at ease. It is a place of welcome. A place to put your feet up and exhale. She is a gift.
SIDENOTE: I am writing this blog entry whilst on the subway at the 157th street station. We are being held here due to a police investigation. Apparently somebody just got his butt whooped and they've halted all trains on the Red Line. Welcome to NYC. Where everyone is shouting obscenities about how they are being inconvenienced at 11pm on a Sunday and no one is concerned about the poor fool who got his ass handed to him. Most notably, there is a dominican woman who is shouting at the conductor (though it isn't his fault) and setting an excellent example for her 5year old son. Now we see where they learn it. Social etiquette begins on the subway.
Anyway. Back to the drinking.
I had just finished my stage management gig today which went very well. I lucked out and got an extremely nice group of students. Afterwards I decided it was time to call Faith to see what she was up to. As of late I've been excessively mercurial (ooooh, check me out and my fancy adjectives) and Faith always manages to inspire me and remind me that anything's possible. Everyone should have a Faith. And a bottle of wine. I hope you all get to be so lucky.
I trekked my way up to Faith's place in Wash Heights and four hours later, I am revived. Was it the wine? Maybe. Partly.
But mostly it's the company you keep. It is so very important (like we're talking popsicles in summer important) to find a true friend in this world that you believe in and one that believes in you. When you look at your "friends," when you leave their presence, how do you feel? That's a question I ask myself a lot lately. Many a time in the past I noticed that I'd leave a meeting or coffee date and I'd feel completely drained. Like that person sucked the energy right out of me. And guess what? That's bad.
Most people seem to want to be loved by many, but in truth, all you really need is a handful of friends to tell you the truth when you need it, believe in you when you don't have the strength to believe in yourself, to tell you when you are being stupid, and to drink you under the table when you need to forget your troubles for a hot second. Then you pick yourself up, and keep it moving.
I'm very lucky in that I have that handful of friends. And one of those people is Faith. She has an "ism" for almost any situation.
If someone is being shady at work, she'd say, "somethin' in the milk ain' clean."
Some guy is toying with your emotions? she'd say, "Serve your love with a long handled spoon."
If someone tries to run your life, she'd say, "opinions are like assholes- everyone has one."
And while these are gems, what I love most is that I can voice any dream or scheme I may have and she'll think it's as common as breathing. "Of course you will get it. Consider it done."
We have a mutual generosity that in the end we nod at each other and think, "we are going to rule the world. Just give us time."
So, I've given myself a few days of blah but as Faith says, what have I done to spin the blah into those Yes's of progress?
I've scheduled a monologue workshop for next monday.
I've pulled two more monologues to learn.
I've pulled four songs to get taped and workshop.
I've scheduled an interview for catering (job #5)
I'm sitting down tomorrow to make a plan of attack for auditions
I'm toying with the idea of producing a 1940s play and having a reading.
And i've written 18 pages of a novel.
Never seems like enough but we do what we can. And I'm feeling some good YES's coming on. Just give me time.
Now, I'm not saying y'all should go out there and drink your sorrows away, but sometimes you gotta dig yourself a hole to climb out of. And if you have the right friend, it can be fun doing it.
I choose to drink with Faith. And by Faith, I don't mean religion. Faith is an actual person. She ain' Jesus, but sometimes she's just as effective.
Faith is a 5'2" african american spitfire of a woman who's life goal is to be the next Oprah/Martha Stewart. And she'll do it, too. She has a little poodle dog mix named Marilyn (named after Marilyn Monroe) who is a gluttonous hussy that goes back and forth from begging to be pet to taking luxurious naps on her back with her legs spread eagle.
When you are in Faith's home, it's like entering the very epitome of Life. Even during her current rocky transition/remodeling, you walk in and are instantly set at ease. It is a place of welcome. A place to put your feet up and exhale. She is a gift.
SIDENOTE: I am writing this blog entry whilst on the subway at the 157th street station. We are being held here due to a police investigation. Apparently somebody just got his butt whooped and they've halted all trains on the Red Line. Welcome to NYC. Where everyone is shouting obscenities about how they are being inconvenienced at 11pm on a Sunday and no one is concerned about the poor fool who got his ass handed to him. Most notably, there is a dominican woman who is shouting at the conductor (though it isn't his fault) and setting an excellent example for her 5year old son. Now we see where they learn it. Social etiquette begins on the subway.
Anyway. Back to the drinking.
I had just finished my stage management gig today which went very well. I lucked out and got an extremely nice group of students. Afterwards I decided it was time to call Faith to see what she was up to. As of late I've been excessively mercurial (ooooh, check me out and my fancy adjectives) and Faith always manages to inspire me and remind me that anything's possible. Everyone should have a Faith. And a bottle of wine. I hope you all get to be so lucky.
I trekked my way up to Faith's place in Wash Heights and four hours later, I am revived. Was it the wine? Maybe. Partly.
But mostly it's the company you keep. It is so very important (like we're talking popsicles in summer important) to find a true friend in this world that you believe in and one that believes in you. When you look at your "friends," when you leave their presence, how do you feel? That's a question I ask myself a lot lately. Many a time in the past I noticed that I'd leave a meeting or coffee date and I'd feel completely drained. Like that person sucked the energy right out of me. And guess what? That's bad.
Most people seem to want to be loved by many, but in truth, all you really need is a handful of friends to tell you the truth when you need it, believe in you when you don't have the strength to believe in yourself, to tell you when you are being stupid, and to drink you under the table when you need to forget your troubles for a hot second. Then you pick yourself up, and keep it moving.
I'm very lucky in that I have that handful of friends. And one of those people is Faith. She has an "ism" for almost any situation.
If someone is being shady at work, she'd say, "somethin' in the milk ain' clean."
Some guy is toying with your emotions? she'd say, "Serve your love with a long handled spoon."
If someone tries to run your life, she'd say, "opinions are like assholes- everyone has one."
And while these are gems, what I love most is that I can voice any dream or scheme I may have and she'll think it's as common as breathing. "Of course you will get it. Consider it done."
We have a mutual generosity that in the end we nod at each other and think, "we are going to rule the world. Just give us time."
So, I've given myself a few days of blah but as Faith says, what have I done to spin the blah into those Yes's of progress?
I've scheduled a monologue workshop for next monday.
I've pulled two more monologues to learn.
I've pulled four songs to get taped and workshop.
I've scheduled an interview for catering (job #5)
I'm sitting down tomorrow to make a plan of attack for auditions
I'm toying with the idea of producing a 1940s play and having a reading.
And i've written 18 pages of a novel.
Never seems like enough but we do what we can. And I'm feeling some good YES's coming on. Just give me time.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Sparkle Like a Drag Queen on a Runway
One day blends into the next. I had forgotten how that happens when you live here.
So. I've been here two weeks. And in those two weeks, I have said YES to four jobs, went to a Q&A with Sally Field, saw the Broadway show "The Heiress" (starring Jessica Chastain and Downton Abbey's Dan Stevens), Run/walked three miles a day, had coffee dates with a few friends, memorized four monologues, and...I still feel like I am not doing enough. But let's first focus on those YES's.
Here's how I got to be an extra on The Carrie Diaries TV show. I saw the posting on Casting Networks that was looking for a Tama Janowitz look-a-like (she was a 1980's author that was part of what was basically deemed as the Brat Pack of literature). I googled her and low and behold, I kind of looked like her. That is, if you took away the crazy hair and make-up. I hesitated on submitting because she was quite slim in the 80s and I more resemble her nowadays. This is the point in which I would normally say NO to myself and move on. But instead, I pushed the submit button. I hmm'd and haw'd over whether I should add a note saying that I probably wasn't slim enough but then my increasingly growing backbone screamed at me, "Ju dumbass, don't ju write jorself outta a part. ju gotta wait for someone else to tell ju NO, mija." Apparently, my backbone is hispanic. Who knew?
Anyway, I was contacted two days later for candid photos of the front and back of my head. Now, this is the point when I could have just got out the camera and taken photos of myself normally. But I thought, what the hell, I'll go for it. So even though I was ready for bed, hair in a braid, not a stitch of makeup on, I foofed my hair out super big, put on thick black eyeliner and red lips and took the shot. I remember Sally Field saying in the Q&A, "Don't expect the industry people to have imagination. When they cast people they want the finished product ready to go. When I auditioned for Sybil, I went in crazy. I picked one of the crazy personalities and auditioned like that. Did they think I was crazy? Definitely. But I got the part."
Two days later, I got a phone call saying that I was booked for two days on set at Steiner Studios in Brooklyn. Thanks, Sally.
The best part about it was that it gave me my first SAG waiver. For those of you not in the biz, here's the run down of what that is. SAG is our Union. SAG pays you much better than if you are not union. Most jobs worth having are SAG. It's a pain in the ass to find a way to join SAG. One of the ways is to obain three waivers. You can get a waiver if you work a job where they have to use non-union actors but are under SAG contract. This means they give you SAG pay for the day, feed you like SAG (yes you get better food), and the overtime is $30 an hour (I ended up with almost four hours of overtime on top of the 16 hours of regular work.) And lately it is like pulling teeth to get a waiver these days. So, in short, SAG Waiver (for me)= big deal. That, and the fact that they had to dress us up in 1980s costumes and I had the biggest hair out of anyone didn't suck either. Kinda fun to play dress up once in a while and have professionals primp you like a barbie doll. Although it did take a half an hour to untangle all the teasing and hairspray they used.
Now the experience itself of being a background extra is not even close to being glamourous. In fact, in some ways it can be slave labor. It's not real acting. You are not an actor when doing it. In truth, you feel like an ass most of the time. Pretending to talk to people by mouthing words, people you don't know, and trying not to piss off the crew or director by doing something stupid accidentally. The principle actors (the famous people) are treated like gods. The crew bickers amongst themselves, and the extras are looked upon as something between moving-scenery and cattle. From my observations it's kind of like 25 people in an office, all trying to work in the same cubicle. And all of them feel like what they are in charge of takes precedence. It's a tricky thing. Some sets are better than others. I've been on some where the tone is fun or respectful, some that are like war zones, and some that are like tibetan monasteries.
With all that, I think the worst part about extra work, are the extras themselves. There are a few gems in there that make it fun, but for the most part it is filled with self entitled, egotistical, whiny assholes who think their motivation will make or break the scene. News Flash: "Background" means you stay in the BACK. I had this one girl give me direction in between shots. She felt it important that I laugh at the right moment, lean in at a certain point, and even told me how she was going to look at me and therefore how I should react. I was tempted to tell her how grateful I was for the advice since my Masters clearly didn't cut it...but I refrained. You have to laugh. And remember that it is a choice whether to take these gigs. No one is making you. So you deal with what's been thrown at you.
I like background work because I like learning how a set works. I hope that one of these days I won't feel like I'm always in the way and doing something wrong. Because the more I am around it, the more fascinated I become. And with fascination comes that ultimate hunger to become fucking amazing at it. But I believe to get good you have to DO, not observe. And unfortunately, getting auditions this time of year is beyond sparse. I get very anxious knowing that I haven't been on one yet. But then I have to calm myself down and remind myself yet again that I've been here fourteen days.
It's just that...I feel like, my entire life, all I've done is climb the side of a mountain, then slide back down to the bottom. I've fallen off that mountain more times than I can count. The top is where I want to be; be it physically, mentally, monetarily, spiritually, career, whatever. I am the constant slider. And I notice that it gets harder and harder to pick myself up from the ditch in which I fell and start the climb again. And everytime I look up at the mountain after a fall, the mountain seems bigger and colder and further away. I worry sometimes that one of these days I'll slide to the bottom and just not have it in me to get back up again. That I'll sit on the earth until it grows over me and I'll never move again. That seems a bit dramatic, but remember who you are talking to.
Anyway, I'm at a point right now where I am as far up the mountain as I've ever been. So if there's a way to push further, I want to take it. And I panic if I give myself a break or any allowances. Because you never know if that day I don't go to the gym, that audition I passed up, that cupcake I ate, that NO I said, will be the beginning of the slide. And as many of you know, once you start the slide, there's no stopping it till you've reached the bottom.
Up until now, I've been afraid of the top of that mountain. What happens if I get there? What would happen if I don't? The unknown was far scarier than anything else; than giving it truly all I've got. But that's changed. The only thing scarier than getting or not getting there, is having it be my fault.
Now don't you worry, my friends. I still give myself days off. I watch movies and have that Wendy's frosty when I earn it. Giving yourself kindness is a very important part of what helps you cling to the sides of the mountain. But I still feel like you gotta give so you can get. And I wanna Get a LOT.
Ok, so I've written entirely too much already and I've barely scratched the surface. But I've been pulling a minimum of fourteen hour days so I'm going to just give bullet points for the rest.
I took an emergency stage management job for the next two weeks that will pay my bills through March which is a huge gift. I signed on with a temp agency that is super flexible and I can basically write my schedule which will help with auditions. And I am a temporary receptionist at a performing arts college for awhile. I am grateful. I just hope I remember how to juggle all this, that I get enough hours to survive, and yet not let it stop me from auditioning. That's how it happened last time and I fell off the mountain.
I've also started writing a novel and I am toying with the idea of somehow producing and directing a 1940s play. May not go anywhere. But you should always keep something for yourself. Something that's yours. It makes you feel not as empty after a day of hustle and bustle.
I'll finish with this little epiphany I had when riding home on the subway the other day.
I used to believe that NYC would make or break you. But actually, I think she only magnifies what you are already. If you come here with holes in you as a human being, if you come here with doubts and fears, and expect her to make you harder, faster, and stronger, she'll just throw you on the tracks and run right over you. All those feelings will double or treble in size.
But if you come here, knowing what you want, knowing you can get it, knowing that you are strong, and worth the best...well, she'll make you sparkle more than a drag queen on a runway.
At least I hope so.
So. I've been here two weeks. And in those two weeks, I have said YES to four jobs, went to a Q&A with Sally Field, saw the Broadway show "The Heiress" (starring Jessica Chastain and Downton Abbey's Dan Stevens), Run/walked three miles a day, had coffee dates with a few friends, memorized four monologues, and...I still feel like I am not doing enough. But let's first focus on those YES's.
Here's how I got to be an extra on The Carrie Diaries TV show. I saw the posting on Casting Networks that was looking for a Tama Janowitz look-a-like (she was a 1980's author that was part of what was basically deemed as the Brat Pack of literature). I googled her and low and behold, I kind of looked like her. That is, if you took away the crazy hair and make-up. I hesitated on submitting because she was quite slim in the 80s and I more resemble her nowadays. This is the point in which I would normally say NO to myself and move on. But instead, I pushed the submit button. I hmm'd and haw'd over whether I should add a note saying that I probably wasn't slim enough but then my increasingly growing backbone screamed at me, "Ju dumbass, don't ju write jorself outta a part. ju gotta wait for someone else to tell ju NO, mija." Apparently, my backbone is hispanic. Who knew?
Anyway, I was contacted two days later for candid photos of the front and back of my head. Now, this is the point when I could have just got out the camera and taken photos of myself normally. But I thought, what the hell, I'll go for it. So even though I was ready for bed, hair in a braid, not a stitch of makeup on, I foofed my hair out super big, put on thick black eyeliner and red lips and took the shot. I remember Sally Field saying in the Q&A, "Don't expect the industry people to have imagination. When they cast people they want the finished product ready to go. When I auditioned for Sybil, I went in crazy. I picked one of the crazy personalities and auditioned like that. Did they think I was crazy? Definitely. But I got the part."
Two days later, I got a phone call saying that I was booked for two days on set at Steiner Studios in Brooklyn. Thanks, Sally.
The best part about it was that it gave me my first SAG waiver. For those of you not in the biz, here's the run down of what that is. SAG is our Union. SAG pays you much better than if you are not union. Most jobs worth having are SAG. It's a pain in the ass to find a way to join SAG. One of the ways is to obain three waivers. You can get a waiver if you work a job where they have to use non-union actors but are under SAG contract. This means they give you SAG pay for the day, feed you like SAG (yes you get better food), and the overtime is $30 an hour (I ended up with almost four hours of overtime on top of the 16 hours of regular work.) And lately it is like pulling teeth to get a waiver these days. So, in short, SAG Waiver (for me)= big deal. That, and the fact that they had to dress us up in 1980s costumes and I had the biggest hair out of anyone didn't suck either. Kinda fun to play dress up once in a while and have professionals primp you like a barbie doll. Although it did take a half an hour to untangle all the teasing and hairspray they used.
Now the experience itself of being a background extra is not even close to being glamourous. In fact, in some ways it can be slave labor. It's not real acting. You are not an actor when doing it. In truth, you feel like an ass most of the time. Pretending to talk to people by mouthing words, people you don't know, and trying not to piss off the crew or director by doing something stupid accidentally. The principle actors (the famous people) are treated like gods. The crew bickers amongst themselves, and the extras are looked upon as something between moving-scenery and cattle. From my observations it's kind of like 25 people in an office, all trying to work in the same cubicle. And all of them feel like what they are in charge of takes precedence. It's a tricky thing. Some sets are better than others. I've been on some where the tone is fun or respectful, some that are like war zones, and some that are like tibetan monasteries.
With all that, I think the worst part about extra work, are the extras themselves. There are a few gems in there that make it fun, but for the most part it is filled with self entitled, egotistical, whiny assholes who think their motivation will make or break the scene. News Flash: "Background" means you stay in the BACK. I had this one girl give me direction in between shots. She felt it important that I laugh at the right moment, lean in at a certain point, and even told me how she was going to look at me and therefore how I should react. I was tempted to tell her how grateful I was for the advice since my Masters clearly didn't cut it...but I refrained. You have to laugh. And remember that it is a choice whether to take these gigs. No one is making you. So you deal with what's been thrown at you.
I like background work because I like learning how a set works. I hope that one of these days I won't feel like I'm always in the way and doing something wrong. Because the more I am around it, the more fascinated I become. And with fascination comes that ultimate hunger to become fucking amazing at it. But I believe to get good you have to DO, not observe. And unfortunately, getting auditions this time of year is beyond sparse. I get very anxious knowing that I haven't been on one yet. But then I have to calm myself down and remind myself yet again that I've been here fourteen days.
It's just that...I feel like, my entire life, all I've done is climb the side of a mountain, then slide back down to the bottom. I've fallen off that mountain more times than I can count. The top is where I want to be; be it physically, mentally, monetarily, spiritually, career, whatever. I am the constant slider. And I notice that it gets harder and harder to pick myself up from the ditch in which I fell and start the climb again. And everytime I look up at the mountain after a fall, the mountain seems bigger and colder and further away. I worry sometimes that one of these days I'll slide to the bottom and just not have it in me to get back up again. That I'll sit on the earth until it grows over me and I'll never move again. That seems a bit dramatic, but remember who you are talking to.
Anyway, I'm at a point right now where I am as far up the mountain as I've ever been. So if there's a way to push further, I want to take it. And I panic if I give myself a break or any allowances. Because you never know if that day I don't go to the gym, that audition I passed up, that cupcake I ate, that NO I said, will be the beginning of the slide. And as many of you know, once you start the slide, there's no stopping it till you've reached the bottom.
Up until now, I've been afraid of the top of that mountain. What happens if I get there? What would happen if I don't? The unknown was far scarier than anything else; than giving it truly all I've got. But that's changed. The only thing scarier than getting or not getting there, is having it be my fault.
Now don't you worry, my friends. I still give myself days off. I watch movies and have that Wendy's frosty when I earn it. Giving yourself kindness is a very important part of what helps you cling to the sides of the mountain. But I still feel like you gotta give so you can get. And I wanna Get a LOT.
Ok, so I've written entirely too much already and I've barely scratched the surface. But I've been pulling a minimum of fourteen hour days so I'm going to just give bullet points for the rest.
I took an emergency stage management job for the next two weeks that will pay my bills through March which is a huge gift. I signed on with a temp agency that is super flexible and I can basically write my schedule which will help with auditions. And I am a temporary receptionist at a performing arts college for awhile. I am grateful. I just hope I remember how to juggle all this, that I get enough hours to survive, and yet not let it stop me from auditioning. That's how it happened last time and I fell off the mountain.
I've also started writing a novel and I am toying with the idea of somehow producing and directing a 1940s play. May not go anywhere. But you should always keep something for yourself. Something that's yours. It makes you feel not as empty after a day of hustle and bustle.
I'll finish with this little epiphany I had when riding home on the subway the other day.
I used to believe that NYC would make or break you. But actually, I think she only magnifies what you are already. If you come here with holes in you as a human being, if you come here with doubts and fears, and expect her to make you harder, faster, and stronger, she'll just throw you on the tracks and run right over you. All those feelings will double or treble in size.
But if you come here, knowing what you want, knowing you can get it, knowing that you are strong, and worth the best...well, she'll make you sparkle more than a drag queen on a runway.
At least I hope so.
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