Back from set!

I've gone and done exactly what I meant not to do. It's take me over two weeks to post again. I entirely meant to post the day after the shoot, but I went to work, then I had a show, then I had to sleep, then and then and then ... you get the rest.

For the interested parties, then, let me fill you in how my first commerical shoot in about a decade went. (Photo courtesy jasonlam via Flickr's creative commons.)

To begin with, we did not, as I originally suspected, shoot outdoors. We shot against a green screen, which I was thought would look cheesy, since my character was in the woods. However, when I saw how they were going to use the footage and that the spot would look intentionally stylized, I understood it. As it was cold outside, I was fine with staying indoors. Though, I must admit, I was somewhat concerned it may actually be less comfortable under the hot lights (and they get hot, folks) than in the February briskness.

I did as the stylist had instructed me: packed anything in my closet that looks like it could go on the "campground." As I have not been camping in years, I owned a lot fewer of those options than I had thought. I brought a rolling carry on bag worth of clothes and a couple pair of beat up shoes. When I arrived at the studio, a production assistant was outside and asked if I was Molly or Gretchen. I told her I was Molly and then followed her instructions to the green room (aka, the waiting area, not to be confused with the green screen). Immediately, I reckoned they must've hired two "mothers" or maybe two "mother-daughter" sets, they'd shoot both and then blend the two. I later found out that Gretchen was the little girl who'd play my daughter. Of course! Why would a client spend all that money on two sets? Haven't I made enough products to know that a client is going to go for the cheapest way to get a message out?

The stylist sifted through my clothes and showed me the options she had purchased and we agreed to let the director decide, after she pulled her favorites. Into the makeup chair I went, in the meantime. That was great! On the only other shoots I've been on, in which I've been in front of the camera, I've had to use my own street make up and apply it myself. And I'm not cosmetically inclined so I have no idea how it looks, in the end. It felt great having someone else paint my face. Since we were shooting in high-def, she used high-def ready make up. I've always been amazed the few times I've gotten to see makeup artists do their stuff. The face really is their canvas.

It was when I was in the makeup chair that I got to meet my "daughter." And really, I should remove the quotes. I heard Gretchen and her mother enter the green room, just off from the makeup room, and then the little girl peeked her head into the make up room to see what was going on. What I saw was the spitting image of how I've imagined my daughter would look at age 5 or 6. She was a petite little thing with the same squarish shaped face as me; bright, gentle, round blue eyes; fair skin like mine, but more akin to Honey's coloring; and strawberry red hair - the same color I had from birth to about three - blunt cut just below her chin. I had, just two weeks earlier, gotten my near waist-length hair cut to just above shoulder-length. We looked like the same character at different periods in her life. It was uncanny. When I stepped out of the makeup room, her mother did a double-take. Frankly, I looked more like her mother than her own mother did. One crew member actually thought I was her mom before I had to direct him to the real "Gretchen's mom." For the rest of the time we were both on set, I could hear people murmuring, "Can you believe the resemblance?" and "They're not even related!" (The picture is of me at 5 - when my mom used to cut my bangs. I'm still kind of blown away by how much we look alike.) So, my hats off to casting. Well done, folks. Well. Done. [insert slow clap here]

I had already decided that I was going to attach myself to the kid, before knowing who was cast. My thoughts were 1) I'll be more comfortable if I have a partner; 2) there's a good possibility that she's been on sets more recently than I have, so I could follow her lead; 3) if she's a sweet kid, she'll probably be less intimidating to me than the crew, since I'm an out of practice novice and 4) if I want this relationship to look even remotely genuine, we've gotta do some quick "bonding." Luckily, Gretchen was exactly the kind of kid you want on set: sweet, well-behaved, articulate, bright, very comfortable around adults and strangers and still full of a sense of fun. Also luckily, her mother was warm and approachable. The stagemother stereotype is nasty and, I hope in most cases, unfair, but I'll admit I was concerned about it. She was not the stereotype. This is just what her kids do - like soccer or ballet. Gretchen and I chatted and got along really well. I was so glad she was comfortable in the realm of adults. Frankly, it reminded me of me when I was a gradeschooler. I was always more comfortable with adults than kids when I was a kid. It was well into my teen years before that shifted any, and I was in college before I preferred my peers' company over that my parents' peers. Yeah. I'm a dork.

We only had a few lines each, and only one scene together. It had been a while since I'd been on a set, and I couldn't remember how many takes people normally capture. I must have done a minimum of 20 takes for each line, trying to hit various moods that the director wanted. At some point, I know I zoned out during at least one or two reads. Autopilot took over and I tried to wrest back control, but I can't say for sure that I did. All in all, though, I felt like I kept my energy up, if not my mental stamina. I hope they got what they needed.

I probably shot a solid hour, maybe a few minutes more, of footage. Though with all the lighting adjustments, my total time in front of the green screen was probably closer to 2.5 hours. That, I could deal with. What surprised me was the photoshoot. Oh, yeah. This was news to me! Apparently, they're incorporating a print campaign. It has taken me a long time to feel comfortable in front of a motion picture camera - camera intimidation always manifested itself as facial tenion, and 90% of that was easily missing this time - but a still camera ... ? Still? As in posed work? I don't mind having my picture taken candidly or a striking a quick pose with friends, but deliberately posed studio stuff? Blech! Shake it off, Molly. They're paying you. Do your best.

I had a quick wardrobe change and tried to take direction from the photographers, adjusting miniscule head-tilts and hip-shifts. "Look proud, but concerned," was the direction I remember best. Huh? I tried to contort my face for their purposes. The shot they liked best of me, cracked me up. "That's not my 'proud' face. That's the look I get when I'm in an awkward conversation at a party and don't know how to get out of it," I told them. Oh, well. It's their baby.

All in all, it was a great day. I was in by 8:30 and wrapped by 2:30. And the pay for those 6 hours, even if it was what I would normally expect based on what little I know of typical pay in this area, would've been bigger than what I'm paid in a day at my current job. However, the compensation for this project was about 2 - 4 times what I've seen advertised for similar jobs, so this means in those 6 hours, I made more than I do in a week at my desk job - working full time. Sure, I'll have to pay an ugly chunk to self-employment tax, but I'm sincerely pleased!

The spot should start airing later this month or early next around the northeast quadrant of the United States. By that I mean if you were to cut a map of the continental U.S. in four mostly equal parts, then those in the upper right hand corner will probably see this spot. Apparently, they're going to focus the heaviest airing in the upper midwest.

Now, I have another notch in my belt, another piece to add to my resume. And I have another guidepost along this path of decision-making. I'm still not sure if acting is something I want to fully invest in, but it's becoming clear to me that maybe I should revisit it more often than I have in the last 10 years and explore it again. I've always known I can't go too long without acting. I perform regularly and am difficult to live with if I'm not on the stage often enough. But I don't want to take something I love and let it become a "job." I know Robert Frost says we should aim to marry our vocation with our avocation, but I don't ever want activities I love to feel like a chore. For me, I think there could be a fine line.

But you know what? I really don't have to make that decision right now. I'm not going to project this right now. I'm going to take it all one day at a time, because all I have is today, right? And today, I'm going to rehearse, write and walk the dog: three things I love.

My Preconceived Notions Are Wrong, Apprarently

As I think I've mentioned before, I recently cut back to a part-time schedule at work. The idea was that I would reduce work-related stress that was not only weighing on me, but Honey, and allow myself to re-evaluate my priorities and explore other activities and interests a little more. I've discovered that I really do like a part-time schedule. The last time I worked part time was about three years ago, and though I wasn't particularly thrilled with the actual work I was doing then (kind of as now), I found it worked well with my personality and temperament.

Despite the fact that I've not blogged as much as I should, I have been finding more opportunities to write - and about movies, no less; a personal favorite. And last week, on one of my days off, I decided on a whim to go to a casting call for a commercial. It was an open audition, the call for which crossed my inbox by way of a professional listerve I belong to. I hadn't been to a call like that in years. At least nine years - since before I moved to the east coast. I dressed the part, as well I could (outdoorsy early-30s mom) and just figured I'd go to get an idea of the experience. Not only had it been a long time since I'd done a casting call, I'd gone to precious few in the past, so I really did just want to get an idea of how these things ran. I got to the casting office, signed in, and was a little nervous; despite my attendance solely for the sake of curiosity, nerves still kicked in. Then I started looking at all the women there reading for the same part that I was there for. They were all at least 2" - 4" taller than me, and quite visibly leaner. I easily had 10 pounds on each of them. Their hair was better prepared and their make up more immaculate. Once I realized I was out of my league, I actually relaxed a lot more. They're not going to cast me. My resume is terribly thin, and most of it is related to Clinton-era college shows, and for as "outdoorsy momsy" as I may look in real life, I've worked in and around media enough to know you have to hire a hot mom, not a real mom. This isn't my primary career anyway, so I really have nothing to fear. I can just get this one under my belt and learn more for next time. When it was my turn to go into the room, I slated for the camera, did a few readings of the lines, adjusting them according to the director's requests, and was out in less than 3 or 4 minutes.

As per usual, I replayed the whole action in my head on the drive home, wondering if I could have done anything differently that would have made a better impression. Could've done this; could've done that. Oh well; these are definitely notes I'll remember for the next time, whenever the hell that may be. Also part of the mental meanderings on the ride home were: "Wow, that was fun! Do I want to get back into this? I know don't want to pursue a stage career, but what about commercials and the like? That's short; good for my interest span. But I hate hustling. But maybe I'm a better place in my life to do this now than when I was out of college. Hmm."

Then, the improbable happened. Yesterday afternoon, I was just plugging away at work when my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but answered anyway. It was the casting agency. Oh, this is the "thanks, but no thanks," call. I wasn't expecting it, but I think many places do that sort of thing, so ... "I'm calling to let you know that they'd like to use you," the agent's assistant stated matter of factly. "Okay," I replied, not missing a beat or betraying the extraordinary surprise I was actually feeling. She gave me the information I needed and later I talked to the stylist a couple of times in the evening to get an idea of what kind of personal wardrobe to bring, in addition to what she was bringing.

I was in a tickly haze for about an hour after the call. I went to this audition, as a whim; as a shy toe to test the water. I wasn't expecting to be cast at all. I'm terribly excited - scared, since I'm normally before a live audience, not a camera - but excited. I'll be getting call time and more information later today. We'll be shooting outside, so I'm sure it'll be seriously cold, but as I'm positive I'll have a lot of nerves racing, I don't know that I'll be freezing. In retrospect, maybe they cast me because I really do look like I could be someone's mom, not an unattainable, idealized hot mom. Maybe I exude a playful nurturing? One of my best friends thinks it helps that I have a very corn-fed, middle-America look (think Jessica Lange or Jodie Foster) ie, prone to be outdoors. So my strawberry-amber mane, my stubborn jawline and my ample hips and bosom paid off for me this time. Who'd've thunk?

All I know is: I'm more comfortable with the idea of my being cast, now. And I've decided to approach this with a sense of fun. When I'm thrown into performance situations with new people with whom I've never performed, I find I'm braver in my performances, because I have no preconceptions. Well, this will be an all new bunch for me. Preconceptions are just speedbumps. This will also be a good learning experience. Hopefully, it'll help me decide if this is something I am interested in pursuing more regularly. I'm not competitve by nature, and when I was in college and immediately after, I felt like auditioning was competing and I hated it. But I'm older (hopefully wiser) now, and maybe I can change my attitude: it's not a competition, it's a chance to play and have fun. I perform - and audition - so much better when I have fun.

The shoot is a day away. Right now, I'm calm and eager. If I can just stay out of my head, it'll all be great. Deep breaths; load the iPod; no preconceived notions.

* photo courtesy of Penguin Feeding Time via Flickr Creative Commons

Life-changing Art and Books?

Despite the silliness of everyone on Face book listing 25 random things about themselves, I must admit, I'd rather enjoyed quick-tour catch-ups on old friends, or learning more about new friends, and people I'm generally interested in. Now a college friend of mine decided she'd start her own "better-know-a-friend" note: name one book that changed your thinking.

My problem is that I can't. I'm not unaffected by what I read, but I'm hard-pressed to find a book that, when I put it down, leaves me feeling measurably changed. There are books that have spoken to some un-articulated truths I'd carried around inside me. God is a Verb, a book about mystical Judaism, articulated what I'd been growing to feel about our relationship with the divine. In particular, the notion of "creationing" or "raising holy sparks." It's been years since I've read the book, but if I remember, essentially, divinity is mutually nurtured by God and people (or, if you want to get into my micro-understanding: all creation). God communicates holiness to us via love and creation, and whenever we act in creation and mercy, we "raise holy sparks" back into divinity. And it's like an engine from there: God powers creation and creation powers God. A poor description on my part, but the book spoke to me, despite that I was wary because of the faddishness of Kabbalah. But it didn't change my thinking per se. It voiced what I already suspected to be true. Similarly, I ate far less fast food after reading Fast Food Nation, and I eat almost none, now. My response to the book didn't change my perception or action in grandiose ways. I'd worked in fast food before; I had family who had worked in meat-packing plants. The information wasn't new to me - just distilled. My pivot wasn't huge.

I'm always fascinated and confounded by people's claims that a work of art or a book or literature changed their lives. To be able to reflect and identify a piece of music, a poem, a painting, a play or whatever as a critical hinge in one's perceptions or an inspiration for action, suggests that that piece was personally earth-shaking. This leaves me wondering if I'm missing something. If other people can identify the piece of art, or the book that changed the way they viewed the world, then am I just callow? I'm not unaffected by art and literature. I'll reflect for days on something I've seen or read that's particularly good. And that reflection, I'm sure nudges my worldview in one direction or another. But nothing identifiably earthshaking. My earthshakings don't happen - or haven't yet happened - because of print or performance.

As earthshaking epiphanies go, personal experiences are my volcanoes, where art and literature are the geysers. Moving across the state, in the midst of puberty, to a much smaller town changed my life; living there for five and a half years changed my perception of it. Having to drop out of college after one semester due to lack of funds changed my life in that I had to start all over again. I ended up going to a different university where I made friends whose understandings of life shaped my understanding. There, I also met the man I eventually married. Dropping out of college changed my life. Getting married not only changed my life, but changed my perception of life. Moving across the country changed my perception of life. September 11 changed my life and my perception of life. The medical demons I've been wrestling the last couple of years have changed my perception of life, though not yet the way I live my life. If we ever have children, I anticipate that changing both the actions of my life and my perceptions of life. In fact I welcome the change - at least the latter.

Art was important to me during these shifts. Discovering that I enjoyed acting during my teenage years kept me emotionally intact and gave me a creative outlet for my frustrations. A few years later, the Chieftains and classical music lunch-hours serenaded my depression that resulted from dropping out of school. I read poetry during those months, which is something I'd never really done before or since. I also journaled like crazy, took a modern dance class that was a breath of fresh air and discovered, appropriately, Fresh Air. I can say with certainty that, during that time, Tchaikovsky's 4th symphony, especially the 2nd movement, followed by the 3rd, expressed the uncertainty of the those days, chased by the quirkiness and optimism that ultimately drives me. I fell in love with it. But did it change my life? Did it change my thinking? Did any of those activities or discoveries measurably change my perception of life? I'm positive they did, but their effects are very, very small compared to the events that drove me to them.

There probably is a book, or a play, or a film or piece of music that would rock the foundations of my world. But until or unless I come across it, print and art will slowly shift the ground beneath my feet, but the accidents and incidents of life will continue to the be the big shapers of the landscape of my perception. Am I alone in this?

I'm a Wreck Because of a Stupid Wreck

Right now would be a good time for a cry, but I can't quite bring myself to do it. Today sucked. I wish I could say it was a bunch of big, consequential things, but really, it was a bunch of little things that all revolved around a medium-sized thing and aggravated by some other things. Things! Things! Things! ARGH!

To begin with, it was rainy all day. Rain in the winter rarely inspires happiness. I began my day with a visit to my therapist for the first time in months. It was good catching up with her, but visiting reminded me of how in limbo I feel right now and I've got elephants in my room to deal with and the biggest one I really have very little control over and the other two I'm not sure I'm managing well. Basically, it sucked having to confront the uglies.

After therapy, and a light lunch, I headed to an exurb of the city to buy cheap liquor for my husbands' employees. He's a really good boss (IMHO) and gives his employees rum for the holidays each year. I'm happy to play Santa. But it was raining, and though I'm familiar with the route to this banal bedroom community, I hydroplaned instead of turning with the curve of the highway and crashed up on the median, head-on, driving over the reflector. I really think this threw me off all fucking day.
A stupid hydroplaning wreck.

I was rattled and humiliated. As soon as my car came to a stop - which it wasn't doing AT ALL as I applied the brakes - I called Honey. Don't know why; I probably should've called 911, but I was unhurt, the car was out of harms' way of other cars and the airbag didn't even deploy. I was bracing for it to, but it didn't. Fucking wreck. I could see it coming and I tried to stop it and there was little I could do. (How much of a metaphor for my health concerns these days is this, by the way??) I'm just glad I was in the outer lane that bordered the median, otherwise I would've almost certainly hit another car.

I called 411, since I wasn't hurt, but was placed on hold and as soon as I ... wait a second, I should've called 311 in a non-emergency. Shit. I couldn't even remember that. Anyway, as soon as I was hanging up with them to call 911, a fire engine pulled up behind me. The fireguy who looked like a short Dennis Quaid walked me through getting unstuck from the median, inspecting the underside of my car for damage, and refilling oil. I felt like such a dolt. Yeah, I was going too fast in the rain and I've not checked my oil level in months. Ugh. Driving off, I felt a mild tug on the driver's side front wheel, so Honey called to tell me about a nearby garage which was a few blocks from the liquor store.

But still, my plans were thrown off. Instead of getting to the liquor store, getting the rum and returning to do some shopping for Honey and family, as well as some much-needed proofreading, I had to take my car to the shop to make sure I'd survive the ride home. As it was near a mall, I decided to walk up to the mall, in the cold winter rain that turned my umbrella inside out at one point, and do a little shopping there. But I hate shopping malls, as a rule, and particularly during Christmas. I bought a few things for Honey, and then started looking for a new bra for me, but didn't find any in my fantastic new fit-just-for-me size. And I really hate that exurb and that mall. And it blew having to be stuck here when I knew the store I wanted to visit today was no where near this bloody leech-town.

The good news is that, though my front end was indeed thrown significantly out of alignment, the repair was manageable. Less than $100, which I guess is all I can ask for. The liquor store had all the rum I needed and gave me a discount. And I still had time to make more truffles when I got home tonight to bring with me to my show. And Honey, dear, sweet Honey, cleared his schedule for the afternoon and came home early to make sure I was alright.

But this stupid wreck threw off my groove for the whole bloody day. It began to feel like everything I touched broke. Seriously: two items I handled at the mall either broke or somehow didn't work right afterward; as I left for the show tonight, I dropped a glass bottle of tea on the floor as if it were a water wiener(almost shattered, but not quite); and during warm up, I screwed up a song for the team. Yea, me! I was going to have a good show, though. I could feel it. However ... As a whole, our show went well, but I wasn't pleased with my performance. My contribution was good, objectively speaking, but it just didn't feel good to me at all. What sucked worst was that after the show, people were so happy with how well it went and I just felt like I was was this side of awful. Frankly, I fell quickly into Debbie Downer mode and knew I needed to extract myself from people before I could really be a pain in the ass and they'd seek to drown me. So I fled. Not before feeding a few other people some chocolates.

It was such a minor wreck. The kind of thing people would normally blow off after the even. But it jarred me for the entire day. And I really wish I could just cry right now and have it done with, so I can have a good day and a good show tomorrow. Blech! Maybe I'll watch that video on YouTube about the British guys and their pet lion. That makes me cry.

3BT: avocation, aspiration, admiration

It was cold and alternately weeping rain today and into tonight. So, it feels like a good time to sit back and reflect a la Clare, on three beautiful things that popped out at me, today.

1. After an aggravating morning, I decided to call one of my best girlfriends, who lives a good 4 or 5 hours away, on my ride into work. She'd just loaded her kids in the car and was driving the 4 year old to preschool. I vented and ranted and she chimed in and offered her ear. We had a good visit, and we said our goodbyes as I pulled into my office driveway. Moments later she called me back. Her daughter had apparently asked who she was on the phone with, "Aunt Molly," she'd replied. "I want to go to Aunt Molly's house after school!" That turned my morning around

2.
I came across this today. A cousin of mine died almost 13 years ago from MD. This young man (who's already survived my cousin by 4 years) looks physically very similar to my cousin, though he has more use of his upper body, and more muscle mass, than my cousin did. Though I don't know if my cousin ever felt suicidal, there's no doubt in my mind that the mental anguish he carried must've been intense. However, like this young man, my cousin pursued all that his financial and physical resources allowed during his short time here. Seeing this interview reminded me of S and that being blessed is really a state of mind.

3. At a party tonight, a colleague told me that she loved some sweeping dance move that I and another performer improvised in a show a few weeks ago. Apparently, she's a ballet nerd and thought that we looked graceful and that I looked like I knew what I was doing and it just took her breath away. We didn't, of course. But I love that for once gravity was not my nemesis and I was evidently, if even accidentally, swanlike!

Shifting

Change is a comin'. And I'm not just talking about the upcoming election.

I'm tired of my job. I've been there for a little less than two years and I think I burned around mid-September. I approached my boss about two months ago with the possibility of a promotion and a raise and he was receptive, provided I continue to prove myself through the crunch period of a project that culminated the first week of this month. Yesterday we continued the conversation. He thinks I should talk more in depth about raise and title change with my immediate supervisor. I am excited by the prospect, but the truth is, I'm exhausted. I need something different. I do love what I do, though frankly, I've never been excited about where I do it or the products we produce nor the clients for whom we produce them. My tolerance for any job has always been about a year, so I'm overdue. Maybe all I need is a long vacation. Not just a week, but two or three - something that is anathema to Americans and certainly the American work structure.

... and I'm enjoying performing again. Not that I ever really stopped enjoying it. I always love it. But I'm enjoying it differently these days. My degree is in acting and I never really pursued it: I'm not that disciplined or competitive to make a career of it, plus too much of anything, not matter how much I love it, turns me off, for a while at least. I don't think I want to go back to working towards a stage career, maybe not even a local TV career, but I am seeing that I can make money - if not a living - locally by performance gigs in the region. The gist of all this is that I'd like to find some way, ultimately, to create a work/life path whereby I can pursue performance more, make money at that as well, and still continue in my line of work, making money at that and start writing, in earnest, making money at that and ideally, have better control over my time, so that quality time with my family is not just a pie-in-the-sky concept. This is probably impossible, but I figure I have to at least attempt it.

So, I'm beginning to take steps and I've decided to do something each day - no matter how great or small - to nudge the path a little forward. Yesterday, I continued the conversation with my boss about advancement and management projects they're giving me. While that continues me in my current office, it still puts me in a position that allows me to bandy for something better when I look outside the office. Additionally, I started dropping crumbs of discontent, specifically about work/life and work/work balance. (Though I rarely get paid for my performance gigs, I've decided to classify them as work, because they are labor intensive and I'm starting to look for paying gigs more.) Hopefully, it won't come out of the blue later this month when I start talking to him about the possibility of job-share - a conversation I had with a semi-freelance colleague of mine who worked with us through the big nasty project this summer and fall. She wants more hours, more stability and ultimately a full-time staff job. I want fewer hours and, provided I learn how to sell myself and manage my time better (big HA on both), ultimately I imagine freelance to be something I'd like to do. At issue is this: she's been in the industry longer, has a higher title than mine - internally, the title to which I am currently aspiring and which probably most other offices would assign me or hire me on. If we successfully pitch this job-share idea, it will be hard to also successfully pitch me as worthy of the title and/or pay adjustment. Honey and I brainstormed negotiations the other day. We'll see how things go over the weeks and months.

Other things great and small I've been doing lately: submitted my resume to a company for whom I'd like to do no-brain work from home stuff (giving me more time to perform and write); started updating my LinkedIn page and getting in touch with more industry colleagues through that site whom I haven't seen in a while; begun creating a website to showcase my talents and not just have some supremely lame vanity place holder; and I'm trying to get better about updating my resume more frequently and tailoring it to certain positions. I despise touching my resume. Not sure why. I'm sure it has something to do with my reluctance for self-promotion, but I gotta get over that. It's agonizing to overcome that revulsion, by the way.

My goal is to be out of that office, doing something different by January; April at the latest. Let's see if that happens. One thing's for sure: if June, the month where the mega-project crunch traditionally gets into high gear, rolls around and I'm still there, then I've failed.

What's Molly dreaming now? Edition 7

Another strange dream last night. This one was themed a "Saved by the Bell" wedding. I dreamt that I was in Dallas for reasons I could not recall and I found myself at the wedding of Principal Belding. The wedding was actually purely a work of fiction; this was a movie set. Jessie Spano was the photographer, and Elizabeth Berkeley looked totally lived-in for someone who's only 30-something. The weird thing was, though this was a movie set, we were treating it like a real wedding. There was no lighting equipment, no cameras, aside from general wedding videography and people were mulling about the open bar waiting for the ceremony to begin.

I'm not sure why I was there. Not only was Principal Belding never my principal, or really anyone else's according to this piece, I was never in any of the casts (Miss Bliss or post-) and though I did watch it more than a rational, ambulatory, articulate person who has the fine motor skills to tie her own shoes should - which is to say at all, much less sporadically - I found the show blazingly stupid. (My brother liked it, and we both liked making fun of it.) It also became apparent that this was going to be a full out Esther Williams-style musical, since the synchronized swimmers were practicing in the massive swimming pool around which the ceremony was to be held. The place was crawling with sinfully rich, Hollywood-hot young people: mostly teens and college-aged. I felt way out of place and didn't know how I got an invitation. Zack Morris was there with some curly-haired brunette who wasn't the vapid vixen what's-her-name from the TV show. I heard "wooooo!" like a wave, come from a congregation of teen girls behind me. I looked over my right shoulder to see Slater strut past, wearing a tuxedo vest that had been cinched tightly around his waist. He, of course, looked like a moron. I rolled my eyes.

I needed to figure out what I was doing in this musical. I wore high-heeled saddle shoes which had rollerskate style abilities. I somehow discerned that I had a short solo during a poolside number. There were two lines of dancers across from each other, stretching the length of the pool. So I skated down the middle of them, doing the splits at one time - a feat I could once accomplish without wincing; these days, not so much - singing something all the way. I was curious why I was in this musical when I could not sing or dance half as well as throngs of other talent out there. Then I turned around and began to skate down the middle again and noticed that smoke was rising off my left shoe. I stopped skating. The dancers were now in the pool doing some synchronized number. And I decided I was supposed to be in the pool, too, so I dove in.

Then somehow, some time had passed and I was out of the pool, dry, still in my dress and switching out my skate-style shoes for another pair. (I did this at my hallway locker, of course.) The guests were all waiting for the ceremony to begin, again. And I felt even more out of place than ever. I was there by myself, I didn't know any of the guests. It was clear that I was too old and plain and not rich enough to talk to. Then, at the end of my dream, I spotted a friend of mine from my college theater department who I have not seen or heard from, nor really thought of, since graduation almost a decade ago. She looked as miserable as I did. Before I could go greet her, I woke up.

I never really liked that show. I found the characters too stereotypical even for lazy sitcome archetypes. Like the show "Friends," I knew these people would not be friends in real-life, particularly not during class-conscious adolescence. And the storylines were always weaker than tissue paper. I haven't thought of that show in years. I think I read a post somewhere recently in which someone referred to Mr. Belding, but as I've been scrambling to get caught up on my post-vacation blog reading, I can't recall who wrote it or what the reference was. I'm sure that was the trigger for the cast in my dream; but why a wedding?

And more importantly, this is the second high-school, "feeling like an outsider" type dream I've had in a week. Is this some new anxiety dream theme for me? I have a doctor's appointment in about 90 minutes for which I'm anxious because I'm hoping it'll shed a good deal of light on what's going on, but why high school? Why not tornadoes and aliens like my normal anxiety dreams? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Three Beautiful Things

1. This five-minute oscar-nominated animated short film. I'll buy it on iTunes once I remember our login.



2. Returning to the stage last night, and despite being out of practice, having a good show.

3. The gentle late winter rain of the last 24 hours.

Laptop Withdrawal

I love my husband. He's such a details nerd.

He's online looking at a road construction plan for a big freeway "to do" that's been going on in our city. He's reading the plans and specs aloud and marveling at how much more efficient it will be. As he has been feeling like death warmed over for the last few days - enough so that he will not be accompanying me to a play tonight and that we had to disinvite friends from a Superbowl get-together tomorrow night - I am satisfied that he is content to geek out over publicly available engineering details.

In the meantime, I have been going through laptop withdrawal. My endearing iBook that I've had for 3 years and some change, suddenly, and without warning, went kaput about a week ago. Thankfully - and amazingly - it was mere moments after I had finished some work for my office and emailed it to myself there. It needs a new harddrive, but right now it's looking like we'll just buy a refurbished (more recent) model. Since we were probably going to buy a whole new one next year, we may as well get one with a few months under the hood this year - especially since the cost of a new harddrive would be half the cost of a refurbished one with a warranty.

All this is to say: this is why I haven't posted, surfed blogs or sent you the delicious bananas foster recipe I promised. (Okay, I've promised none of you any such thing, but it's the comedy rule of three. I needed a punchline.) I've been leeching off of my computer at work to do my personal email, and it's been weird to come home and not go check out the sites I wouldn't dare check at work. (None of them dirty, just ... you know. Not cool for workies to see.)

I leave you with two non-sequitirs:

1) Now that Edwards has dropped out, I'm unsure who to support. Not that I've been bursting at the seams for anyone, really. My gut says Obama, but it's really hard for me to get past his lack of Washington experience. Even Edwards had a solid term under his belt. Nonetheless, I feel he can do a better job of bringing people together than Hillary. As much as I admire her, on many levels, and as popular as she is among the base, the sad truth is, come November, it's not the base that will be voting for her. The electorate will include myriad of people who despise her specifically because she is unapologetic about being a powerful woman. (She shouldn't be, of course, but that's neither here nor there.) There will be myriad voters who despise her for myriad other reasons; many petty, some legitimate. It's hard for me to throw my support behind someone who is essentially a lightning rod; we can't have divisive folks anymore, even if - counter to what Shrub insisted, I fully believe he intended to divide - you go in wanting, with all your heart, to bring two sides together. ... all that, and frankly, I find it hard to support her because I've been watching her since 2000, and until she began her campaign, I don't think she put enough distance between herself and some critical Bush policies. ... so that's what's on my mind as our primary nears.

2) Below is a link to a video of a performance group I love. I think they really challenge us to think about what art is, what performance is, what social experiment is and what the role of the audience is. Enjoy Improv Everywhere's recent "mission." ... oh, and it reminded me of a similar art blog that RocketBoom did a few months ago. (But IE's was cooler!) (PS. It may be sacrosanct in the nerd world, but I like RocketBoom' Joanne Colan a lot better than her predecessor, Amanda Congdon. The former is much more natural than the latter.)

Now, off to see a play!

PS. If anyone can tell me how I embed Youtube/Brightcove/MilkandCookies/etc, etc, videos here, I'd appreciate it. I feel like such a dork just posting links.

Resurrecting Discipline

HA!

In order do resurrect something /someone, that entity had to have lived. I have never been terribly disciplined about anything in my life! (Save for birth control.) Nonetheless, now that the thesis - aka, Grendel - is slain, I recognize I need to get back into the habit of posting on a daily basis and cruising the blogs of friends. I'm sure there is plenty I could blog about today, but as I need to hurry to work, I'll just update and riff and then I need to get dressed and go.

Since my last post, I've been either traveling or traveled upon. My group took our gig on the road in late July where we performed at a marathon festival that included over 100 groups performing back to back to back for 56 hours. Of those, only 3 groups got standing ovations. We were one of them. Considering that included among those scores of groups were a smattering of highly talented professionals and some celebrities even - none of whom received that kind of audience accolade - we were all pretty sauced! Then Honey and I zipped to Texas on a much-needed visit to family. We saw my grandparents (which was good since I think this may have been the last time I see grandpa alive), his grandparents, some cousins, my parents, and lots of friends. And as Texas is a big state and we have pretty much our whole families there, we still missed a lot of people. It was a bit of a whirlwind, traveling up I-35 to see all these folks in the span of 4 days, but I'm glad we did it. We're in that cycle of life where everyone's either getting married/having babies or on the other end, breaking irreparably or dying. Being Home always makes me feel so good and though I'm happy when we're back at this home, I've found lately that I'm literally sick to my tummy when the plane leaves Texas, the last few trips. It just makes me sad to leave, even when there's something wonderful waiting for me in our East Coast home - like BabyDog and Cootie Cat.
... eh, bygones.
My parents followed us back up here and visited for most of last week. That was fun, but it is nice to have our house back. Last night, my best friend from adolescence arrived for a job interview, so we went out for a beer and bocadillos. We lunched with her in Austin 2 weeks ago, but we still had lots to catch up on. It's funny, I saw her maybe a total of twice in the last three years, and then this year, I see her twice in three weeks!

Now that Grendel is rotting in the Great Mead Hall (mmm, mead!) that is the school library, I find I have a teeny bit of free time on my hands. For now, I think I'm just going to enjoy it - especially since work is burbling towards a Vesuvius like eruption and my group is retooling for a bunch of shows this fall. But in the next few weeks, I'd like to start finding other ways to train my creative energy. There's a 10K I'd like to run this fall and I need to start training my soft, flabby self. Likewise, I need to get back into the habit of writing for fun. Maybe fix that horrible screenplay of mine. Eek! That reminds me: I still owe my friend an essay for his site. Schiesse!
Well, off to work! Happy Monday!

My First Improv

My parents enrolled me at a local Kindercare, shortly after my brother was born, when I was four. After a few weeks or months there, the Kindercare was going to put on a "circus performance" for the families by the children. The day that roles were cast, I was so excited! Kids were going to be doing the "acrobatic acts" as well as the "animal acts" and clowning and taming. It was going to be a ball!

Casting day came and roles were divvied up. Molly got bupkus. I wanted to be anything; I didn't care. As an adult, I now suppose there were probably reasons for divvying up the roles the way they did, but as a kid all I got out of it was: "sorry. not even leftovers for you." I'm sure some of the shafted kids didn't care, but as one who's always had a performing bug, this was an insult. (Seriously, it was a circus under the direction of amateurs, at a Kindercare in the Panhandle of Texas. It's not like talent or skill were important.)

During the next few weeks, the kids in the "circus" would break out in their groups to practice their parts. I remembered watching them thinking, "I could do that. Pfft. That's easy," and all those other armchair quarterback observations. I really did watch carefully.

Circus day came - must've been a Saturday - and I had been talking it up at home. I don't know how much my parents knew of it. I don't know if they thought I was performing ... they must've known I wasn't, but ... I was very eager to get to the Kindercare. Dad took me. Mom stayed home with my brother. The show had already begun when we walked in and almost as soon as we walked in, a volunteering mother eyed us and hurriedly waved us over to the entrance of the kitchen which was being used as a dressing room. "We have an extra bear costume," she explained worriedly, "are you a bear?" This was my in. Dad seemed not to know. I couldn't get busted! I nodded. Dad took his seat in the audience and I followed the mother into the kitchen. To this day, I can feel the excitement of vindication that I felt in that flourescent-lit kitchen.

The costumes for the bears were nothing more than brown paper grocery sacks turned inside out and cut with eye - and because we were so little, I believe arm - holes. In retrospect, it's quite clear to me there were extra costumes made because paper bags tear easily, so it would be best to have extra on hand. There was not an extra costume because some kid was a no-show. I remembered watching the bears rehearse quite well. There were three kids. There just happened to be four bags. I knew the routine. When these kids rehearsed, I didn't play with the other stage rejects, I watched them. I knew it.

It was time to go out. The other kids seemed to hardly notice that I was there. It was as if the other bear materializing out of no where was just as expected as anything else. Their non-chalance - and let's face it, lack of awareness - just played into my plans. We bears were called out to "the ring" and the tamer began giving us our commands. We stood on one leg danced or did whatever the hell it was the bears were supposed to do. But something happened that I didn't account for in my rush to get my just performance. The bear routine was crafted for three bears, not four. That meant, if we were supposed to stand on balls, there were only three balls to stand on, etc. The only part of the routine I remember with any clarity was the "bears sitting in chairs" routine. We walked over to the chairs and were ordered to sit. I had none so I sat on the floor. I remember the audience laughing, and feeling simultaneously embarrassed and elated. Embarrassed because my grand scheme at vindication clearly was ill-devised in the prop department, but elated because the audience was reacting to me, not the other three kids. I was both chastened and proud. To this day I don't know if Dad knew I faked my way into the performance.

I long considered that my most embarrassing moment. I don't any more, but yesterday, after years of considering it my introduction to public performance, I thought about it from a different perspective. It's kind of a metaphor for my cycles of depression and feelings of failure: I desire it. I'm denied it. I try it. It doesn't go perfectly and I end up embarrassed and without a proper chair. Sure, that's just life and that's how it goes for everyone, so I should stop complaining. But I've got a good personal anecdote to use as a metaphor.

I love Lucy!

Again, I should be doing something productive ... Okay, I already primed the living room so that most of that horrible Robin's Egg Blue is gone, but I mean I should be doing something more productive this instant. Instead, I'm again checking up on my new habit, Lucy over on YouTube.

I found this video made in response to her "Growing Pains" post. Oh, how I wish I knew how to use a camera and cool editing software on my laptop (especially since I work around the damned equipment!), so I could post some cool encouraging post card for her! I would basically tell her what that one guy with the britty accent told her. (And this would go for VirginiaGal, too, since I know she's questioning her decisions and her path right now.) Own your decisions and trust that they are good ones and the ones that need to made right now, and that they will eventually pay off.

Brit guy is very right about "well, med school is right for her, but not for you [Lucy], that's not where your passion is ..." to paraphrase badly. I remember in the year or so after college graduation, many of my friends were going off to either coast to pursue acting full time. I, on the other hand, had moved to Oklahoma to live with my then boyfriend, now husband. After 4 or 5 years of studying acting, I was a little burned out on the craft and wanted a normal life. But I remember feeling guilty about it: I had an acting degree, shouldn't I necessarily be starving in LA or NYC? Everyone else was committing to their careers, shouldn't I be? But one of my cohorts who fled to Chicago to get her career moving helped me put it in perspective: our lives unfold at their own pace and this is where my life is now. Honey is who I want to be with regardless of career and at 24, I had him. We have to grab our opportunities when they're with us. For me, love entered my life before career. I'm 30 and I'm just now getting the whiff of the career path I think I want to pursue. For others - Lucy, for instance - career has presented itself first. Though I often envy people my age (and former classmates) who are further along in their respective careers than I am, I'm ultimately glad about the choice I made. This is my pace. This is my life. It will be good.

I can't help but note the similarity in Lucy's Hollywood life and VirginiaGal's Indian-American life. Both seem to be framed by unrealistic expectations: one determined by unhealthy body image and sexual appeasement by sleazy management types and the other by a community with aging, rigid social prescriptions. Ladies, don't sell out to cheap pressures and unattainable suppositions; you're both far too wonderful to fall prey to others' petty desires. Lucy and VirginiaGal your lives are beautiful and so are you: don't second guess your choices. What you do now, you do because you trust it will make you happier in the long run. I admire you both deeply and am a big fan!

... isn't it adorable how I write this as if someone other than my darling Niamh actually reads this? How goes it in Shropshire, btw, Niamh? How is the box turtle?

I'm rooting for her!

It's Thursday night. There are many things I should be doing right now. I should be doing laundry. I should be scanning e-bay looking for games for my thesis. I should be prowling the web looking for gaming geeks to help me with my thesis. I should be writing some deep post or other. And probably most of all, as it is 10 o'clock and I've not slept much this week, I should be going to bed!

What am I doing, though? I've been cruising YouTube. I was going to cruise looking for Battlestar Galactica fan videos, but I caught sight of a "popular video of the day" on the front page of YouTube and am now hooked. I've just spent the last hour with LUCYinLA. She's a 24 year old woman from Texas (woohoo!) who's trying to make it in Hollywood and decided to start her own video blog. I hope she does make it.

I was too much of a coward to try Hollywood or New York when I left school with a BFA in acting in hand. The older I get, I find the more risk averse I become. When I was 18, I would've been all about it - that's probably when I should have done it; forgone college for the coast - but at 23, I was too scared. At 30, I'm too old in film terms to try to launch from the West Coast, but I still suspect I could get something going out here - local voice overs, extras work, bit parts, etc. The thing about acting is: you become a product and you have to market yourself. I know people talk about that, but - and I see it now more than ever, actually working on a show - it's true.

I'm 5'3" blonde and am about 10 lbs heavier than my happy weight. I'm "cute mom," "awkward date," or "rugged pioneer woman" (think Amy Poehler or Jodi Foster, only with boobs and hips) pretty, but not leading lady or classically beautiful. If I wanted to be serious about acting, I'd have to drop at least 20 lbs, visit the salon on at least a monthly basis for all the hairstyling and coloring, facials and waxings and nail jobs. (How much does that add up to? $200-$300/month, maybe?) I'd have to update my headshots - another $1000 right there, and I'd have to get a better wardrobe, say maybe $200/month on new trendy clothes. And, like Lucy in the video suggests, that's all the cosmetic stuff, that doesn't even address the talent portion. I'd probably need to spend a few hundred bucks a quarter on workshops and classes to stay fresh. I'm one of the lowest-maintenance women I've ever known. All that up-keep is annoying to me. On top of that, I'm one of the cheapest, stingiest people I know: spending that amount of money terrifies me to the core, even if and when I have it. But the real truth of the matter is, even though I'm talented, even though I'm pretty - though not nearly as much of either as I was at 18 or 23 - I'm afraid of being laughed off the stage. It's so much safer to be a working shlub in an office who's abandoned her dreams.

I think that's why I like this girl. She's got the chutzpah I lost several years ago. And she still seems like such a down-to-earth person. I've known other actors who are indeed very nice, but have that "business" air to them. Like the ambition to succeed in show business colors their interactions with everyone. For instance, I have no sway in anything and never have, but I've known some whose niceness seems disingenuous, as if they don't want to insult me, just on the off-chance that I may ascend to some power sometime. Like politeness is an insurance policy and not just the standard. This girl, Lucy, puts off the vibe that she'd be nice to you because she likes you - she seems genuinely joyful. I admire her. I'm rooting for her. Watch her blogs. Go to her movies when they come out!

yyeeeah, thanks ... but you're scary.

I had a show last night. Considering I hadn't practiced or performed in about 3 weeks, I think it went very well. (I probably needed the break to shake me out of a rut.) Anyway, after the show, an audience member and his girlfriend approach me. He had a sort of young Christopher Lloyd "Reverend Jim" from Taxi vibe about him. His swedish beauty barbie girlfriend just stood silently while he ranted to me. He wanted to know about my performance style, inspirations, educational background yadda, yadda and he thought I was really great and had a certain je ne se quois (sic) (and not his words) that set me apart from my cohorts onstage. I thanked him for his interest, explained that it's really late, and it's after a show and I'm really living in a sudafed haze right now, so ... and it basically takes a while to get rid of him.

I'm of two minds. One, I'm ALWAYS flattered and very humbled when an audience member enjoys a performance of mine. Compliments are always appreciated. So I'm particularly flattered that this guy thought so much of my performance that he waited around until after most of the audience had left. AND that he thought I was talented enough that I should pursue this as a career.

On the other hand, it was pretty clear that he was in some chemically altered state, and that has to make me question the sincerity of his compliment, for one. But for another, it really made him not terribly pleasant to banter with. Granted, I'm not that great at banter with strangers whenever they're the ones who initiate. (Hmm. That's something I just realized as I typed it. I should probably ponder that sometime and work on it.) However, this guy kind of wavering and reaching for words - and insisting I incoporate something he specifically prefers into an act - really, really made me wish a more sane person had granted me kudos. Does that make me an ingrate?

Thanks for the compliment, man! Now, please: go sleep it off!

Fun Dream Last Night

So I dreamt last night that I was in the house I lived in while I was an adolescent. There was something amiss about the carpet. Like it hadn't been laid properly, years earlier, so there was a huge lump in it. I think that stems from the episode of Mythbusters we watched last night, in which Adam and Jamie try to find the body of Jimmy Hoffa at Giants stadium. Anyway, so I leave my old house and I'm walking up the street, past a bakery, where I had to stop in and see if Keiffer Sutherland had been stuffed into a wicker basket. He had already escaped by then. (He IS Jack Bauer, you know.) So I walk on up to something resembling a high school cafeteria-meets the cosmetics section of a Whole Foods supermarket and gradually I find myself in a sketch out of Little Britain with Matt Lucas. (He's the chap on the right.) It's not a sketch I'd seen on Little Britain, but nonetheless ... I surmise that I'm supposed to purchase a sucker at a counter, but since this is England - and my dear, imaginary Niamh, I'm sure you can correct me on this - for some reason, it's really called a "sucky pop." And Matt Lucas' character is wearing a druid-style hood and has the personality of the hypnotist guy that he does in some of his sketches. He is supposed to haughtily deny me the sucky pop because I'm vaguely morally repellent or something. So we run the scene - which is completely improvised on my part, btw: remember, I didn't have a script going into the sketch, whereas Mr. Lucas did - and we depart. And as we leave, we pass a few people whom I actually do perform with on occassion and they're acting out some scene of American high school braggadaccios (sic), using finger gun shooting gestures. So then Mr. Lucas and I go into a conversation about violence in comedy and violence in America. At this point, my cat was making a lot of noise on our bed, knocking around a cellophane bow, so I woke up. It ticked me off; I really wanted to complete that conversation.

Randomn Acts

Yeah, I know I misspelled (sic?) random. And I really don't care. Anyhow, this weekend, a group of folks participating in an event hosted by New York's Improv Everywhere were arrested - or was it just "shut down" - by the cops during their annual pantsless subway ride. Too bad. You see, one person riding on a subway pantsless is creepy. One hundred people riding pantsless on the subway is absolutely hysterical. I first heard of this group on This American Life, this summer. I don't know that all of their acts are in great taste, and I really don't care. But what I do love is the idea of creating the unexpected - usually the wonderful and unexpected - in a world where we're all jaded. I'm not sure which act I like best, so far, the Shark Attacks on UNC campus in 2001, or the U2 knockoff, last Spring. Here's a clip from my favorite part of that bit. (note: you'll need Quicktime and if you're at work, put in your headphones.) God love the angry Irish!

In the meantime, I'm proud of myself for having predicted that Superbowl XL would pit the Steelers against the Seahawks. Granted, I made that prediction with only 4 teams to go (a week before the final 2 playoff games), but hey, I still coulda' been wrong. Woohoo, me!

Ho-ly Shiesse: does it always suck?

So I just started watching Macy's Parade. I guess in the last 10 years or so, i haven't really watched it from beginning to end. I kind of drift in late, catch a few balloons or really cheese-filled ballads being sung by TV stars from the bough of a float shaped like a happy pilgrim on meth. So maybe I shouldn't be so freaked out, but I was; by the opening number "We Give Thanks Today" as performed by the 10 trillion kids from Camp Broadway. The kiddoes were all dressed up in mock-footie pajamas or itchy-looking nightgowns that your mother made you wear until you were 11.

A few thoughts as I watched this:

- ARGH!
- my knee-jerk non-PC high school reaction, "this is SO gay"
- wait a second, no, "this is SO straight" because no self-respecting gay person would abuse children with this crappy song, but suburban moms eat this shit up, as do the dads, though they'd never admit to it
- holy crap those kids' faces must be sore from all that smiling
- I would have given my eye-teeth to be anyone of those brats when I was 10.