Have you ever heard of a GoogleNope? It's a phrase that, when put between quotations and searched in google yields no results. (Like "Madeline Albright's School of French Kissing," or "diarrhea is tasty" for example.)
I learned the term recently and thought for sure that what I shouted in the shower the other day -- "FOUR LIMERICK OYSTERS, THANK GOD!" -- would count. (It does, kind of, but let me backtrack a moment.)
In Ye Olde Days, when I was an actor, I used to use a vocal warmup that was very extensive and confusing, and was intended to be said all in one breath. The contents of that warm up were these:
One hen;
two ducks;
three squawking geese;
four Limerick oysters;
five corpulent porpoises;
six pairs of Don Alverso's tweezers;
seven thousand Macedonians in full battle array;
eight brass monkeys from the ancient sacred crypts of Egypt;
nine apathetic, sympathetic, diabetic old men on roller skates with a marked propensity toward procrastination and sloth;
ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who will hall and stall at the corner of the quivvy and the quay, all at the same time.
Now, apparently, I must have been dreaming of this warm up because when I woke up, I was reciting it. Except I couldn't remember what four was. (Well, truthfully, I thought four was the corpulent porpoises.)
Anyway, I thought the woman who had taught me this warm up had made it up but apparently it's some Tibetan Memory Trick. So, to my surprise, when I googled "Four Limerick Oysters," the phrase actually exists.
And I was deprived of my long-awaited GoogleNope.
And now I would like some chocolate and a nap.
Showing posts with label acting schmacting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label acting schmacting. Show all posts
Monday, August 18, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
a show I think EVERYONE should see (except for really old people)
So if I haven't already let it slip, I used to be an actor. (Yeah, yeah, most of you already know this. There are some new folks here, so be patient.)
That, of course, means I have an extra-special relationship to theatre (kind of like an ex-boyfriend). As such, I've been friendly towards it, but have generally avoided making contact with it for the last six months to a year.
All of that changed on Thursday. I saw the most amazing show I've seen in YEARS, which has reheartened me, and reminded me that while there is a great deal of shit theatre in New York City, there are also some gems that shouldn't be missed for all the tea in China.
Passing Strange is one of them.
This rock musical is written and performed by Stew, a wildly smart, lyrically witty guy who, through the course of the show, tells us about how he searched for years to find something that's "real." First he looked to the church, then he looked to Amsterdam and finally to Berlin to really find himself and a feeling that was real.I don't want to spoil the show, but there are some really REALLY amazing lyrics in it, two of which I can remember are:
"why you want to leave, just when it was starting to feel real?" and
"how does it feel to be seen and be seen through?"
If you're an artist and have struggled with your art, with why you make it, with what's important to you, with love, with relationships, with family, with yourself... this show will speak to you.
I wholeheartedly recommend it. (And I am usually really stingy on the praise.)
Oh, and the reason I don't think really old people should see it? It's kind of loud. (I also sat in free seats right next to the speaker, which may or may not have had something to do with that.) So if you don't like loud rock music, you might want to skip it, but otherwise get thee to the Belasco!
That, of course, means I have an extra-special relationship to theatre (kind of like an ex-boyfriend). As such, I've been friendly towards it, but have generally avoided making contact with it for the last six months to a year.
All of that changed on Thursday. I saw the most amazing show I've seen in YEARS, which has reheartened me, and reminded me that while there is a great deal of shit theatre in New York City, there are also some gems that shouldn't be missed for all the tea in China.
Passing Strange is one of them.
This rock musical is written and performed by Stew, a wildly smart, lyrically witty guy who, through the course of the show, tells us about how he searched for years to find something that's "real." First he looked to the church, then he looked to Amsterdam and finally to Berlin to really find himself and a feeling that was real.I don't want to spoil the show, but there are some really REALLY amazing lyrics in it, two of which I can remember are:
"why you want to leave, just when it was starting to feel real?" and
"how does it feel to be seen and be seen through?"
If you're an artist and have struggled with your art, with why you make it, with what's important to you, with love, with relationships, with family, with yourself... this show will speak to you.
I wholeheartedly recommend it. (And I am usually really stingy on the praise.)
Oh, and the reason I don't think really old people should see it? It's kind of loud. (I also sat in free seats right next to the speaker, which may or may not have had something to do with that.) So if you don't like loud rock music, you might want to skip it, but otherwise get thee to the Belasco!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
me + absinthe = rock star!
Don't worry mom, I'm not actually drinking Absinthe. It happens to be a show, running in the Spiegeltent (by the South Street Seaport) for the summer. And it's absolutely one of the coolest experiences I've had in a long time!
First off, the Spiegeltent itself is a fantastic creation. It's half merry-go-round, half tent, half café and half church. (see? Already it's twice the fun!) It's got a boardwalk-y feel to it, being situated on Pier 16, and when the doors are open, you get that slight fishy/harbory funk. Around the edges of the tent are small mirrored panels, stained glass windows and wooden folding chairs for the audience. In the center, there's a small, round, raised platform, on which a majority of the acts take place.
I won't tell you about all the acts, because some of them are so amazing in part because you aren't expecting them. I will, however, tell you about a) the one that went wrong, b) the one that involved me and c) a vague outline of something that defies even the best of writing (let alone the excited ramblings of a chatty girl on a rainy day).
A) Oh Shit! (or the one that went wrong)
According to Justin, who has seen the show three times already (four, by the time this gets posted), and who got us free tickets, the acts change somewhat often. If any given performance of the show contains ten acts, I'd guess there are maybe thirteen acts in the whole repertoire, and they switch it up to give performers nights off. Anyway, the contortionist who started the show when I saw it, was apparently not the regular opening act.
She entered from the ceiling (which was totally cool) and descended on a wire until she came to rest on this bizarre jungle gym-type structure. It was cylindrical in shape, with climbing bars up either side, and a ring on top, where she balanced precariously while flinging her legs over her head and whatnot. (Where most humans have vertebrae, I think this woman has jell-o.) She descended one side of the cylinder, all slithery-like, and we (and by "we" I mean "those of us who are prone to see theatrical disasters coming") noticed a slight detachment of the legs of the right hand side of the cylinder from the ring at the top.
Luckily, a costumed stage hand also noticed that break, and stepped in, to hold the unit together. Which worked... for about a minute. But as soon as she started climbing on the other side of the cylinder, the whole left side (climbing bars and top ring) went tumbling down, and careening into the aisle in the audience. She knocked over a light, landed on her side, and had a small metal jungle-gym come tumbling after. We gasped, the lights went up a bit, and the next act rushed the stage, trying to get us to forget what had happened.
Amazingly, we did. Thanks primarily to the antics of the emcee, a guy called "The Gazillionaire," who was fictitiously footing the bill for the production of Absinthe. He was very funny, and took to harassing the audience -- fluffing up Justin's hair, calling it "Seventies Bush" and then humping his head. (He offered to hump my head, but I politely declined. Then he asked me to touch his crotch, and, well, I did (you had to be there to understand why). When he wanted to see my boobs in return, again, I politely declined. He then called me a pricktease and moved on to pick on someone else.)
B) k8 the rock star (or the part where I'm involved):
One of the acts involved a pair of what can only be described as figure (roller) skaters. They were a couple (Justin says he's 48 and she's 50, but I'd have put them both somewhere in their mid-forties) who did amazing tricks on roller skates. Scarier stuff than you've seen on figure skating, too – he flung her around in circles, with her face mere centimeters from hitting the floor, or tucking one skate of her skates behind his neck, and flinging her around in circles with no hands, while she's doing a split. You know, the stuff we all normally do at home. (un-fucking-believable!)
Anyway, at one point, they were eyeing this nice, long haired short woman behind me, and wanting her to come up on stage as a volunteer. She flatly refused, and they eventually shifted their focus onto me. It took me all of one second to decide to get up there!
I climbed the stairs in the back, had a stage hand remove my sunglasses from the top of my head, and the two skaters wound their arms around mine, while the woman whispered in my ear "keep your arms the way they are and stay as straight as you possibly can." So I did that (which was not hard).
THEN THEY FLIPPED ME UPSIDE DOWN AND WE SPUN AROUND IN CIRCLES!!! It was the most awesome thing! Having had a glass of wine already, opening my eyes proved to be an upsetting idea, so I kept them squeezed shut, and tried to keep my smile from flying off my face into my ears. I can't tell you how many times we went around (ten? A hundred?) but when they put me down, I was very dizzy, and, well, they were on roller skates, so we almost had our own tumbling disaster, trying to keep our balance. (Mind you, I was also in heels!)
Intermission followed not long after, and I was stopped by a number of people, all saying what a trooper I was and what a good sport, and what was it like? One guy came up to me and said that they almost did get to see my boobs after all! I can understand refusing them (especially after a crash in the first act) but come on! How many times in your life have you been flipped upside down and swung around by a couple on roller skates???
Oh, me? Just once.
C) Indescribable beauty, grace and oh-my-godness (yeah, I don't know what else to say about it)
One of the most surprising acts was comprised of two (beautiful) women, who danced and swung and contorted on this square made from metal bars suspended from the ceiling on chains like a chandelier. The way they moved together, and supported each others' weight, and the things they could do… it was gorgeous, it was sexy, it was dangerous, it was jaw dropping. I swear I had to pick mine back up off the floor when it was over.
And, not surprisingly, it was still smiling!
First off, the Spiegeltent itself is a fantastic creation. It's half merry-go-round, half tent, half café and half church. (see? Already it's twice the fun!) It's got a boardwalk-y feel to it, being situated on Pier 16, and when the doors are open, you get that slight fishy/harbory funk. Around the edges of the tent are small mirrored panels, stained glass windows and wooden folding chairs for the audience. In the center, there's a small, round, raised platform, on which a majority of the acts take place.
I won't tell you about all the acts, because some of them are so amazing in part because you aren't expecting them. I will, however, tell you about a) the one that went wrong, b) the one that involved me and c) a vague outline of something that defies even the best of writing (let alone the excited ramblings of a chatty girl on a rainy day).
A) Oh Shit! (or the one that went wrong)
According to Justin, who has seen the show three times already (four, by the time this gets posted), and who got us free tickets, the acts change somewhat often. If any given performance of the show contains ten acts, I'd guess there are maybe thirteen acts in the whole repertoire, and they switch it up to give performers nights off. Anyway, the contortionist who started the show when I saw it, was apparently not the regular opening act.
She entered from the ceiling (which was totally cool) and descended on a wire until she came to rest on this bizarre jungle gym-type structure. It was cylindrical in shape, with climbing bars up either side, and a ring on top, where she balanced precariously while flinging her legs over her head and whatnot. (Where most humans have vertebrae, I think this woman has jell-o.) She descended one side of the cylinder, all slithery-like, and we (and by "we" I mean "those of us who are prone to see theatrical disasters coming") noticed a slight detachment of the legs of the right hand side of the cylinder from the ring at the top.
Luckily, a costumed stage hand also noticed that break, and stepped in, to hold the unit together. Which worked... for about a minute. But as soon as she started climbing on the other side of the cylinder, the whole left side (climbing bars and top ring) went tumbling down, and careening into the aisle in the audience. She knocked over a light, landed on her side, and had a small metal jungle-gym come tumbling after. We gasped, the lights went up a bit, and the next act rushed the stage, trying to get us to forget what had happened.
Amazingly, we did. Thanks primarily to the antics of the emcee, a guy called "The Gazillionaire," who was fictitiously footing the bill for the production of Absinthe. He was very funny, and took to harassing the audience -- fluffing up Justin's hair, calling it "Seventies Bush" and then humping his head. (He offered to hump my head, but I politely declined. Then he asked me to touch his crotch, and, well, I did (you had to be there to understand why). When he wanted to see my boobs in return, again, I politely declined. He then called me a pricktease and moved on to pick on someone else.)
B) k8 the rock star (or the part where I'm involved):
One of the acts involved a pair of what can only be described as figure (roller) skaters. They were a couple (Justin says he's 48 and she's 50, but I'd have put them both somewhere in their mid-forties) who did amazing tricks on roller skates. Scarier stuff than you've seen on figure skating, too – he flung her around in circles, with her face mere centimeters from hitting the floor, or tucking one skate of her skates behind his neck, and flinging her around in circles with no hands, while she's doing a split. You know, the stuff we all normally do at home. (un-fucking-believable!)
Anyway, at one point, they were eyeing this nice, long haired short woman behind me, and wanting her to come up on stage as a volunteer. She flatly refused, and they eventually shifted their focus onto me. It took me all of one second to decide to get up there!
I climbed the stairs in the back, had a stage hand remove my sunglasses from the top of my head, and the two skaters wound their arms around mine, while the woman whispered in my ear "keep your arms the way they are and stay as straight as you possibly can." So I did that (which was not hard).
THEN THEY FLIPPED ME UPSIDE DOWN AND WE SPUN AROUND IN CIRCLES!!! It was the most awesome thing! Having had a glass of wine already, opening my eyes proved to be an upsetting idea, so I kept them squeezed shut, and tried to keep my smile from flying off my face into my ears. I can't tell you how many times we went around (ten? A hundred?) but when they put me down, I was very dizzy, and, well, they were on roller skates, so we almost had our own tumbling disaster, trying to keep our balance. (Mind you, I was also in heels!)
Intermission followed not long after, and I was stopped by a number of people, all saying what a trooper I was and what a good sport, and what was it like? One guy came up to me and said that they almost did get to see my boobs after all! I can understand refusing them (especially after a crash in the first act) but come on! How many times in your life have you been flipped upside down and swung around by a couple on roller skates???
Oh, me? Just once.
C) Indescribable beauty, grace and oh-my-godness (yeah, I don't know what else to say about it)
One of the most surprising acts was comprised of two (beautiful) women, who danced and swung and contorted on this square made from metal bars suspended from the ceiling on chains like a chandelier. The way they moved together, and supported each others' weight, and the things they could do… it was gorgeous, it was sexy, it was dangerous, it was jaw dropping. I swear I had to pick mine back up off the floor when it was over.
And, not surprisingly, it was still smiling!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Girls' Weekend! (the musical)
When I first got tickets to see Girls' Weekend! (the musical), I have to say, I was a little put off by the fact that the theatre was so far off Broadway. But, I dug deep to find my humility and began to accept that, while merely "a stepping stone to New York," (as cited by my sister's high school ex-boyfriend who now lives there) Boston could have its own decent theatre.
Did it? Well, let's put it this way. If you expect anything resembling a plot, action or character development, Girls' Weekend! (the musical) is not the show for you. However, if you want to laugh your ass off (and get a shitload of new used clothing), get your tickets now!
The show opened with a long, rain-filled car trip (complete with a real-life folding wheelchair in the backseat), featuring Lois Surgeon as "Mom" and her real-life daughter, one-time New York STAR, Kate Surgeon as "Kate." Mrs. Surgeon gave an exceptionally convincing and specific portrayal of a funny mother with a broken foot -- so much so, that I could actually imagine the pin she had inserted into her hammertoe!
Scene two (called "God It's Early, Let's Just Sit Around for a While" in the program) introduced the show's other daughter "Priscilla," perfectly executed by Boston's own Mrs. Rocket. Her balance of hostessing warmth and eh-you-know-where-everything-is-so-help-yourselves rang really true. But it was in scenes three, four and five that all actresses were given the chance to shine.
Now, if I had to come up with one complaint about this show, it would be this: the scene design of scene three ("Kohl's") looked an awful lot like that of scene four ("Target") and scene five ("The Christmas Tree Shop"). There were some nice flair elements -- like the rack of ugly yellow clearance shirts the girls wheeled their mother into (and then abandoned her to fight her way out of) at Kohl's versus the sixteen four-gallon jugs of pistachios featured prominently in the Chirstmas Tree Shop, but all in all, those "stores" looked an awful lot alike.
Barring my complaints, however, the women built their momentum up to a fever pitch in the last few numbers ("Why Are There No Size Sixes?" and "Mom! That Bra Gives You Six Boobs!" were a nice numerical counterpoint and (coincidentally) two of my personal favorites). The chase scene between the girls and their mother, when she discovered that only one foot had had surgery and that the other was completely capable of pushing her around the store (albeit backwards) was just hilarious -- especially with Mrs. Surgeon's exquisite timing, disappearing behind the sunglasses rack just as the girls appeared in that aisle.
Having all three women in one dressing room was a bit much, perhaps, especially with Ms. Surgeon trying on seventeen different bathing suits and having a hard time deciding which one fit best -- although her emotional plight at not being able to see the mirror through her sister spoke to younger sisters throughout the audience.
After a well-deserved intermission, the show picked up with a number called "EBay Auction," which I think could have stood a little explanation. Apparently -- and this is what I gathered from talking to other theatregoers afterwards -- this family periodically brings all their old clothes to each others' houses and "auctions" it off to other members of the family. It's a complex ritual, but Ms. Surgeon's turn as the auctioneer was outrageous! With lyrics like "No one wants a suit/ That looks like banana puke!" and "Did you say you liked it? No? Well it's yours anyway," she really brought the house down.
The dinner scene was rowdy, chaotic and delicious looking. Mrs. Rocket and Ms. Surgeon actually whipped up roast beef, salad, garlic-mint potatoes and warm bread on stage to the oohs and ahhs of the other attendant women, friends and cousins of the starring trio.
Act two scene three was a welcome change of pace, although the duet between Mrs. Rocket and Mrs. Surgeon ("Hangover/Fat Ass Medley") was particuarly stirring. Mrs. Surgeon's "How could I eat all that/ My butt is wicked fat" contrasted achingly with Mrs. Rocket's "Too much Seven and Gingie/ Makes my tummy twingey"
I got the sense that scene four was supposed to involved a sightseeing plan, but instead just ended up being a welcome homage to A Couple of White Chicks Sitting Around Talking. Mrs. Rocket's "I'm Not Having Kids (And You Can't Make Me)" wove itself beautifully with Ms. Surgeon's "I Have No Career, But Could You Please Make Me?" The clincher, though, was Mrs. Surgeon's "Do You Have A Garbage Bag? I Need It For the Shower." Not a dry eye in the house!
The ending beautifully paralleled the opening (with less rain and more traffic) and I was truly sad to see it go. What outstanding performances! What outrageous hijinks! I would highly recommend seeing anything these three women put their minds to!
[Except maybe a musical entitled "Three Rocket Surgeons in a Dressing Room." That one I'd skip.]
Did it? Well, let's put it this way. If you expect anything resembling a plot, action or character development, Girls' Weekend! (the musical) is not the show for you. However, if you want to laugh your ass off (and get a shitload of new used clothing), get your tickets now!
The show opened with a long, rain-filled car trip (complete with a real-life folding wheelchair in the backseat), featuring Lois Surgeon as "Mom" and her real-life daughter, one-time New York STAR, Kate Surgeon as "Kate." Mrs. Surgeon gave an exceptionally convincing and specific portrayal of a funny mother with a broken foot -- so much so, that I could actually imagine the pin she had inserted into her hammertoe!
Scene two (called "God It's Early, Let's Just Sit Around for a While" in the program) introduced the show's other daughter "Priscilla," perfectly executed by Boston's own Mrs. Rocket. Her balance of hostessing warmth and eh-you-know-where-everything-is-so-help-yourselves rang really true. But it was in scenes three, four and five that all actresses were given the chance to shine.
Now, if I had to come up with one complaint about this show, it would be this: the scene design of scene three ("Kohl's") looked an awful lot like that of scene four ("Target") and scene five ("The Christmas Tree Shop"). There were some nice flair elements -- like the rack of ugly yellow clearance shirts the girls wheeled their mother into (and then abandoned her to fight her way out of) at Kohl's versus the sixteen four-gallon jugs of pistachios featured prominently in the Chirstmas Tree Shop, but all in all, those "stores" looked an awful lot alike.
Barring my complaints, however, the women built their momentum up to a fever pitch in the last few numbers ("Why Are There No Size Sixes?" and "Mom! That Bra Gives You Six Boobs!" were a nice numerical counterpoint and (coincidentally) two of my personal favorites). The chase scene between the girls and their mother, when she discovered that only one foot had had surgery and that the other was completely capable of pushing her around the store (albeit backwards) was just hilarious -- especially with Mrs. Surgeon's exquisite timing, disappearing behind the sunglasses rack just as the girls appeared in that aisle.
Having all three women in one dressing room was a bit much, perhaps, especially with Ms. Surgeon trying on seventeen different bathing suits and having a hard time deciding which one fit best -- although her emotional plight at not being able to see the mirror through her sister spoke to younger sisters throughout the audience.
After a well-deserved intermission, the show picked up with a number called "EBay Auction," which I think could have stood a little explanation. Apparently -- and this is what I gathered from talking to other theatregoers afterwards -- this family periodically brings all their old clothes to each others' houses and "auctions" it off to other members of the family. It's a complex ritual, but Ms. Surgeon's turn as the auctioneer was outrageous! With lyrics like "No one wants a suit/ That looks like banana puke!" and "Did you say you liked it? No? Well it's yours anyway," she really brought the house down.
The dinner scene was rowdy, chaotic and delicious looking. Mrs. Rocket and Ms. Surgeon actually whipped up roast beef, salad, garlic-mint potatoes and warm bread on stage to the oohs and ahhs of the other attendant women, friends and cousins of the starring trio.
Act two scene three was a welcome change of pace, although the duet between Mrs. Rocket and Mrs. Surgeon ("Hangover/Fat Ass Medley") was particuarly stirring. Mrs. Surgeon's "How could I eat all that/ My butt is wicked fat" contrasted achingly with Mrs. Rocket's "Too much Seven and Gingie/ Makes my tummy twingey"
I got the sense that scene four was supposed to involved a sightseeing plan, but instead just ended up being a welcome homage to A Couple of White Chicks Sitting Around Talking. Mrs. Rocket's "I'm Not Having Kids (And You Can't Make Me)" wove itself beautifully with Ms. Surgeon's "I Have No Career, But Could You Please Make Me?" The clincher, though, was Mrs. Surgeon's "Do You Have A Garbage Bag? I Need It For the Shower." Not a dry eye in the house!
The ending beautifully paralleled the opening (with less rain and more traffic) and I was truly sad to see it go. What outstanding performances! What outrageous hijinks! I would highly recommend seeing anything these three women put their minds to!
[Except maybe a musical entitled "Three Rocket Surgeons in a Dressing Room." That one I'd skip.]
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
remind me again why i'm getting out of the business?
Oh yeah, because something like this passes for a legitimate casting call:
(although, secretly, I can't WAIT to see the commercial!)
(although, secretly, I can't WAIT to see the commercial!)
Monday, April 23, 2007
the trouble with showmances
showmance noun [shoh-mans]
1. a romantic affair or endeavour centered around the experience of working together on a theatrical production; a love affair of the same nature.
Ok, so they're not typically found in the dictionary, but showmances abound in an actor's life (but let's be honest here -- particularly in mine). They are passionate, ardent affairs, leading to emphatic (and premature) declarations of love on Brooklyn subway staircases, to desperate kisses in the bathroom of a dingy midtown bar and to bodies slammed against the security grate of a closed laundromat at 2 o'clock on a Thursday morning. (All excellent experiences, really.)
They break up relationships. They start new ones. They personify and embody the delirium and ecstasy of actually doing what we as actors dream of doing -- being on stage every night. Of living that ideal life, in which being a secretary or a waitress or a messenger really does take a back seat to being an artist. Because of the intensity of emotions involved in theatre and the short time period a show lasts, the participants of a showmance subliminally agree to see only the bright side of each other -- as actors/directors/playwrights/producers, not as human beings with wildly inherent flaws. Just as you don't judge the character you're playing, you suspend judgment (hah! perfect phrase) on your showmance. You believe, albeit however briefly, that this is the most perfect person, and that you are going to have the most perfect relationship ever.
There are platonic showmances, as well. Those you carry on with married folks (keep your snickers to yourselves, peanut gallery), or with cast members of the same sex. These are often called "Show Friends" (as distinguished from "Real Friends"). Thea, Lisa and RJ are the perfect example of show friends turned real friends. Thea and I met working on a truly showmantic play (one in which I met a boyfriend of two years) and Lisa and RJ and I met on an all-female Measure for Measure... and yes, despite the lack of men, I had a showmance (in my head) with the woman playing Angelo. Can't help it. When you're a showmance junkie, you get your fix where you can.
Here's what's tricky about all of this: a showmance makes you feel really alive and tingly all over. You can't wait to get back into the theatre, back into the company of people who support you, who fill all the holes provided by your regular life. It's community. It's family. It's... addictive. I mean, what's better than the look in your showmance's eye when he tells you that you've done more for this play than he could ever imagine?
Ahhhhh... I digress.
I bring this up, not because I'm in a show and have found myself a hot new showmance (alas), but rather because a Work Friend (read, a Show Friend Of A Different Origin) who recently left the law firm has me worrying that he won't successfully make the transition to Real Friend. I don't think it's a particularly difficult transition, but it does take a concentrated effort to stay in touch with someone you no longer see everyday. And that's the number one reason Show Friends don't make the transition. Friendship that requires no additional effort is much, much easier... but is it friendship, or just convenience?
And, ok, maybe I bring it up because it's been at least a year since I was even in a showmance, and I just want another hit (even though I've sworn off deluding myself). I really wish I could just find someone Real, someone as passionate and electric as the Actor, as strong and focused as the Director, as genius and soulful as the Playwright... and, yeah, maybe I'd like to see that person through the blinders of a showmance, if for no other reason than to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop in three licks.
And that, my friends, is the trouble with showmances. They allow you to operate in a world where that kind of blindness is regular, if not the norm. The romance gets intense too quickly, feels too good too soon, and then evaporates before you even start to get to know that person.
And we all know that's not the way to get me what I want long term... even if it feels overwhelmingly like it will give me what I want right now. Stupid showmances. They're such ruiners!!
1. a romantic affair or endeavour centered around the experience of working together on a theatrical production; a love affair of the same nature.
Ok, so they're not typically found in the dictionary, but showmances abound in an actor's life (but let's be honest here -- particularly in mine). They are passionate, ardent affairs, leading to emphatic (and premature) declarations of love on Brooklyn subway staircases, to desperate kisses in the bathroom of a dingy midtown bar and to bodies slammed against the security grate of a closed laundromat at 2 o'clock on a Thursday morning. (All excellent experiences, really.)
They break up relationships. They start new ones. They personify and embody the delirium and ecstasy of actually doing what we as actors dream of doing -- being on stage every night. Of living that ideal life, in which being a secretary or a waitress or a messenger really does take a back seat to being an artist. Because of the intensity of emotions involved in theatre and the short time period a show lasts, the participants of a showmance subliminally agree to see only the bright side of each other -- as actors/directors/playwrights/producers, not as human beings with wildly inherent flaws. Just as you don't judge the character you're playing, you suspend judgment (hah! perfect phrase) on your showmance. You believe, albeit however briefly, that this is the most perfect person, and that you are going to have the most perfect relationship ever.
There are platonic showmances, as well. Those you carry on with married folks (keep your snickers to yourselves, peanut gallery), or with cast members of the same sex. These are often called "Show Friends" (as distinguished from "Real Friends"). Thea, Lisa and RJ are the perfect example of show friends turned real friends. Thea and I met working on a truly showmantic play (one in which I met a boyfriend of two years) and Lisa and RJ and I met on an all-female Measure for Measure... and yes, despite the lack of men, I had a showmance (in my head) with the woman playing Angelo. Can't help it. When you're a showmance junkie, you get your fix where you can.
Here's what's tricky about all of this: a showmance makes you feel really alive and tingly all over. You can't wait to get back into the theatre, back into the company of people who support you, who fill all the holes provided by your regular life. It's community. It's family. It's... addictive. I mean, what's better than the look in your showmance's eye when he tells you that you've done more for this play than he could ever imagine?
Ahhhhh... I digress.
I bring this up, not because I'm in a show and have found myself a hot new showmance (alas), but rather because a Work Friend (read, a Show Friend Of A Different Origin) who recently left the law firm has me worrying that he won't successfully make the transition to Real Friend. I don't think it's a particularly difficult transition, but it does take a concentrated effort to stay in touch with someone you no longer see everyday. And that's the number one reason Show Friends don't make the transition. Friendship that requires no additional effort is much, much easier... but is it friendship, or just convenience?
And, ok, maybe I bring it up because it's been at least a year since I was even in a showmance, and I just want another hit (even though I've sworn off deluding myself). I really wish I could just find someone Real, someone as passionate and electric as the Actor, as strong and focused as the Director, as genius and soulful as the Playwright... and, yeah, maybe I'd like to see that person through the blinders of a showmance, if for no other reason than to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop in three licks.
And that, my friends, is the trouble with showmances. They allow you to operate in a world where that kind of blindness is regular, if not the norm. The romance gets intense too quickly, feels too good too soon, and then evaporates before you even start to get to know that person.
And we all know that's not the way to get me what I want long term... even if it feels overwhelmingly like it will give me what I want right now. Stupid showmances. They're such ruiners!!
Thursday, April 19, 2007
i'm so famous (again)!
Stop!
Look:
(at the headshots article in Backstage Magazine, either in print or online... I can't link to it because I no longer have a subscription...)
And Listen:
http://www.nyte.org/pcast/nythpod111.mp3
And then be on your merry way.
Friday, March 2, 2007
hey kate, tell me a story!
Well, kiddo, I can't right now, I'm too busy to tell you a story. But if you go here, you can listen to me telling a few minutes of a few different stories.
And then perhaps you'll hire me...
And then perhaps you'll hire me...
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
dear florida, you're kidding, right?
I realize this is not breaking news, but am I the last person to hear that a Florida theatre, doing a charity production of Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, changed the name on the marquee of the theatre to The Hoohaa Monologues because a passer-by complained about it?
(Not kidding. I wish I were.)
Apparently a woman was driving past with her niece, who, after seeing the marquee, asked her aunt what a vagina was. The woman then called the theatre to complain that she was faced with the question -- I can only imagine how she answered it. ("Well, dear, a vagina is a secret place you never tounch until you meet a man who really loves you, and marries you, and then he puts his love wand there to make babies.") The theatre changed the marquee, but the director told them (thank god) that they only had the rights to the production if no part of it (including the title... duh) was censored.
Even thinking of calling that play the Hoohaa Monologues is a million degrees away from the point the play makes -- that vaginas are not something to be ashamed of.
My hoohaa is appalled. My gynie is angry. My twinkleplace is outraged!
(Not kidding. I wish I were.)
Apparently a woman was driving past with her niece, who, after seeing the marquee, asked her aunt what a vagina was. The woman then called the theatre to complain that she was faced with the question -- I can only imagine how she answered it. ("Well, dear, a vagina is a secret place you never tounch until you meet a man who really loves you, and marries you, and then he puts his love wand there to make babies.") The theatre changed the marquee, but the director told them (thank god) that they only had the rights to the production if no part of it (including the title... duh) was censored.
Even thinking of calling that play the Hoohaa Monologues is a million degrees away from the point the play makes -- that vaginas are not something to be ashamed of.
My hoohaa is appalled. My gynie is angry. My twinkleplace is outraged!
Friday, February 9, 2007
balls in the air
Some people can live life with sixteen balls in the air at all times. I admire those people. (Some people can eat 15 and a half feet of sushi. I admire them, too, but for completely different reasons.) I go crazy when I've got as few as three balls in the air, even when the other thirteen are neatly glued to their seats, basking in the glow of my approval.
Being an actor, you learn to live life with some balls in the air (balls! Balls! BALLS! ooh, it just feels so dirty) because you can't plan on when you'll be working and when you won't. So you just learn to be flexible. And after a while (i.e., 8 years), that gets really old.
"Can you come to the beach with us in August?""I don't know, Dad, I'd really like to get a job in summer stock this year.""Ok," he says, sighing. And I die a little more on the inside.
So you'd think that in transitioning out of acting, the balls would all fall from the sky and behave. That's the end goal. To get there, though, you have to throw some really fucking big balls into the air, and then have faith that they'll eventually fall back to Earth. Perhaps you recognize them?
To counteract some of my anxiety, I took an Occupational Assessment Test last night, to find out what a little booklet thought I should do with my life.
It's not good.
Based on my answers, there are SEVEN jobs I should be doing. And they're all really weird, and I wonder what question I answered wrong to get such an odd outcome.
The jobs I'm supposed to enjoy include (and are limited to):
- Police Artist
- Instrumental Musician
- Type Copyist
- Optical-Effects Layout Person
- Singing Messenger
- Licensed Practical Nurse
- Hand Sign Writer
What the booklet doesn't understand is that a) I can't draw, b) I can't play any instruments well enough to count, c) I HATE typing (unless it's my own writing), d) I wear glasses, e) I can't sing, f) I have a terminal fear of vomit, and g) my handwriting stinks!
So I went back and took the test again, with a more moderate view on things -- instead of what do you want to do, I answered with more of a would you be interested in doing this... and it didn't change my answers.
What's completely unfair about this (other than the fact that those jobs are all weird and lame) is that there are other outcomes that offer at least sixty different occupational options. Why couldn't I have had the option of being a:
- gunsmith or
- a shop tailor or
- a weather observer or
- a tractor-trailer-truck driver or
- a barometers calibrator?
How about a:
- dairy scientist or a
- periodontist or a
- hazardous waste management specialist or a
- geodetic surveyor or an
- acupuncturist?
No, no, I'd prefer to be a:
- pullman conductor or a
- bricklayer supervisor or a
- oil-well services superintendent or a
- automobile service station manager or a
- ship mate!
Truly, they seem just about as appropriate.
Monday, January 15, 2007
don't play with your food
Last week, I actually was a working actor! (Just when you're ready to say farewell, the fat lady gets a hairball and can't sing…)
I was cast in a project in Connecticut called Play with Your Food, which is a monthly series where the audience is given lunch and then watches anywhere between one and three short readings. (Cute idea, no?) The woman in charge of casting (who I will call Kate, simply because that's what I seem to do when I don't want to reveal someone's real name) worked as an actor for a friend of mine, who recommended me for this project.
The first week was fine. I wasn't in love with the play we were doing (My Cup Ranneth Over, by a playwright whose name I've already forgotten), but I was working with a woman I had seen audition when I was a reader for Tara Rubin Casting -- Natalia Payne. (I highly recommend her. Fellow Yalie and quite excellent!) We'd take the train to CT, do the reading, and take the train back to NYC (and then I'd go to work and stay there until all ungodly nighttime hours).
At the end of the first week, we were handed our checks and next week's train tickets, and Kate told me that we'd be having rehearsal on Monday (since it's a holiday). "No problem," I said, "any time is fine for me that day."
Friday and Saturday passed, and I got a message from Kate. "We'll be at Chelsea Studios from 11-1 on Monday. See you there." I filed that information away and thought that I was all set – I had already told her I'd be there.
Sunday afternoon, while at the Museum of Natural History with Lisa and Max (a NYC museum with a toddler is a fascinating experience… especially on a holiday weekend! But you'll have to wait on that story.) I got a message from Kate saying that she didn't know if I had gotten her message, and would I please confirm? So I called her later that night (on the phone number she called me from) and left a message that, yes, as I had said before, I was still good and planning to be there.
I stayed up very late on Sunday night (winning at cards… mostly) and got up earlier than I really wanted to on Monday, just to get to rehearsal on time. I got hosed by the F train (surprise, surprise) and I got to rehearsal ten minutes late: only to find someone else rehearsing my part!
Kate pulled me aside and said that since she never heard back from me, she had panicked. She had called and called, she said, and since I hadn't called back she had to replace me. But then she didn't bother to call me to tell me so!!
I was so flabbergasted and appalled (and Kate was appropriately mortified) that I told her I understood what she had done, and that I probably would have done the same thing in her situation. (Except I probably would have left eighteen messages, each one progressively more threatening and irritated, and I definitely would have given someone a warning -- "if I don't hear from you by 10 tonight I'm replacing you...") I left the building crying, furious, and offended that someone who had actually worked with me for a week would think I was that flaky or irresponsible.
I cooled off and managed to compose an email to Kate later, which I think was actually pretty good, so I share it here with you:
Hi Kate [obviously not the name I actually typed],
While I understand the straits you felt yourself in, and told you that I'd have done the same thing, I'm not sure I would have handled it the same way; I'd like to give you a few things to consider the next time you find yourself in this situation.
First, I never gave you any indication that I couldn't come to rehearsal or to the shows next week. I acknowledge that not all actors are good at sticking to something they've committed themselves to, but I consider myself an extremely reliable person, and am hurt that you would think otherwise of me. I know you don't know me beyond our brief interaction, but I didn't miss a beat last week, was always committed to this project, and would hope that would speak to my responsibility.
Second, I only ever got two phone messages from you. The first told me where to be and when, and the second said you hadn't heard from me. Not that you were excessively worried, not that you were going to replace me if you didn't hear from me, simply that you had not heard from me and would like to. I know that you called me at home, but you left no message there, either. I had no indication (other than the email that I didn't get until now, as I have crappy email service at home) that you were not going to be using me. Which is a professional courtesy I would have appreciated so as not to waste my time this morning coming to a rehearsal at which I was not needed.
This kind of misunderstanding and miscommunication is exactly why actors have unions and contracts. These formalities create security for producers as well, as you have some recourse to the union if an actor breaks his or her contract and leaves you in the lurch. I would strongly recommend using them in the future, if you feel you are working with actors who are less than fully committed to your work, which I was not.
I am very sad that things happened this way, and wish you the best with your series.
Kate [me, the real Kate]
In the end, I'm a little relieved to be free from the reading series, but since I consider myself such an atypical actor (especially in relation to responsibility, maturity and communication) it was just so stunning to be lumped in with the stereotype.
And yes, tsk tsk, I was working outside union jurisdiction. Since it was only a reading (and everyone else was Equity, too), I didn't feel too badly about it, but my fingers are burnt, and I won't reach for that hot pot again anytime soon. The union seems to do so little for us (in terms of actually enabling us to work) that sometimes I forget the good things it does do.
Additionally, I'd ilke to take this opportunity to thank every producer who has not replaced me. It's an appalling situation, and one I HIGHLY recommend avoiding at all costs.
Now somebody get the fat lady something to drink. I'm pretty sure I want this to be over.
I was cast in a project in Connecticut called Play with Your Food, which is a monthly series where the audience is given lunch and then watches anywhere between one and three short readings. (Cute idea, no?) The woman in charge of casting (who I will call Kate, simply because that's what I seem to do when I don't want to reveal someone's real name) worked as an actor for a friend of mine, who recommended me for this project.
The first week was fine. I wasn't in love with the play we were doing (My Cup Ranneth Over, by a playwright whose name I've already forgotten), but I was working with a woman I had seen audition when I was a reader for Tara Rubin Casting -- Natalia Payne. (I highly recommend her. Fellow Yalie and quite excellent!) We'd take the train to CT, do the reading, and take the train back to NYC (and then I'd go to work and stay there until all ungodly nighttime hours).
At the end of the first week, we were handed our checks and next week's train tickets, and Kate told me that we'd be having rehearsal on Monday (since it's a holiday). "No problem," I said, "any time is fine for me that day."
Friday and Saturday passed, and I got a message from Kate. "We'll be at Chelsea Studios from 11-1 on Monday. See you there." I filed that information away and thought that I was all set – I had already told her I'd be there.
Sunday afternoon, while at the Museum of Natural History with Lisa and Max (a NYC museum with a toddler is a fascinating experience… especially on a holiday weekend! But you'll have to wait on that story.) I got a message from Kate saying that she didn't know if I had gotten her message, and would I please confirm? So I called her later that night (on the phone number she called me from) and left a message that, yes, as I had said before, I was still good and planning to be there.
I stayed up very late on Sunday night (winning at cards… mostly) and got up earlier than I really wanted to on Monday, just to get to rehearsal on time. I got hosed by the F train (surprise, surprise) and I got to rehearsal ten minutes late: only to find someone else rehearsing my part!
Kate pulled me aside and said that since she never heard back from me, she had panicked. She had called and called, she said, and since I hadn't called back she had to replace me. But then she didn't bother to call me to tell me so!!
I was so flabbergasted and appalled (and Kate was appropriately mortified) that I told her I understood what she had done, and that I probably would have done the same thing in her situation. (Except I probably would have left eighteen messages, each one progressively more threatening and irritated, and I definitely would have given someone a warning -- "if I don't hear from you by 10 tonight I'm replacing you...") I left the building crying, furious, and offended that someone who had actually worked with me for a week would think I was that flaky or irresponsible.
I cooled off and managed to compose an email to Kate later, which I think was actually pretty good, so I share it here with you:
Hi Kate [obviously not the name I actually typed],
While I understand the straits you felt yourself in, and told you that I'd have done the same thing, I'm not sure I would have handled it the same way; I'd like to give you a few things to consider the next time you find yourself in this situation.
First, I never gave you any indication that I couldn't come to rehearsal or to the shows next week. I acknowledge that not all actors are good at sticking to something they've committed themselves to, but I consider myself an extremely reliable person, and am hurt that you would think otherwise of me. I know you don't know me beyond our brief interaction, but I didn't miss a beat last week, was always committed to this project, and would hope that would speak to my responsibility.
Second, I only ever got two phone messages from you. The first told me where to be and when, and the second said you hadn't heard from me. Not that you were excessively worried, not that you were going to replace me if you didn't hear from me, simply that you had not heard from me and would like to. I know that you called me at home, but you left no message there, either. I had no indication (other than the email that I didn't get until now, as I have crappy email service at home) that you were not going to be using me. Which is a professional courtesy I would have appreciated so as not to waste my time this morning coming to a rehearsal at which I was not needed.
This kind of misunderstanding and miscommunication is exactly why actors have unions and contracts. These formalities create security for producers as well, as you have some recourse to the union if an actor breaks his or her contract and leaves you in the lurch. I would strongly recommend using them in the future, if you feel you are working with actors who are less than fully committed to your work, which I was not.
I am very sad that things happened this way, and wish you the best with your series.
Kate [me, the real Kate]
In the end, I'm a little relieved to be free from the reading series, but since I consider myself such an atypical actor (especially in relation to responsibility, maturity and communication) it was just so stunning to be lumped in with the stereotype.
And yes, tsk tsk, I was working outside union jurisdiction. Since it was only a reading (and everyone else was Equity, too), I didn't feel too badly about it, but my fingers are burnt, and I won't reach for that hot pot again anytime soon. The union seems to do so little for us (in terms of actually enabling us to work) that sometimes I forget the good things it does do.
Additionally, I'd ilke to take this opportunity to thank every producer who has not replaced me. It's an appalling situation, and one I HIGHLY recommend avoiding at all costs.
Now somebody get the fat lady something to drink. I'm pretty sure I want this to be over.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
the suitcase
Here are a couple of photos from the short film I shot this fall, the Suitcase. They're not great shots (a little wobbly and fuzzy) but I like the way they look. Especially the second one.
You'd never know how cold I was that day. (well, at least not in the second one...)
You'd never know how cold I was that day. (well, at least not in the second one...)
Thursday, December 7, 2006
much like dave matthews, I have so much to say!
It's been really busy at work lately, and I have a great number of things I want to address, but I have to keep switching back and forth between writing and, oh, I don't know, copying, filing, answering phones, stuffing holiday cards and otherwise generally schlepping for the man.
So I'm breaking it down into bite sized chunks.
1. First Flight
The reading series went really well. The first piece I was in was a great deal of fun, being that it was a black farce that played to a great number of my favorite acting chops. The second piece was a lot harder for me to get into -- it was an extremely stylized, meticulous piece which was really beautiful, but not my favorite style of acting. I almost wish I could have seen it instead of been in it; I think I may have enjoyed it more from a viewer's perspective. And as such, I don't think I was a particularly helpful collaborator. I was defensive, lumpish, and embarrassingly not very easy to work with. (Sorry Greg, I wanted to be so much more)
This was some interesting fuel for the fire. I'm thinking a lot about the kinds of theatre I want to do. I don't sing and dance, so musical theatre's out. I find that children's theatre can be painfully cloying (if it's not written by Noah Smith). I don't want to tour. I don't want to do movement-based pieces. I'm not so good with the multi-media. I need a very concrete character and through-line to feel like I'm participating in something I can really sink my teeth into. So, basically, I like very narrative straight plays, and classics. Just like all the other white 20something girls out there.
Which segues nicely into...
2. Other things I've been thinking about doing:
I hesitate to say these outloud, only because I don't want anyone to think that I'm committing to them. (i.e., don't go home, tell your mom that I'm going to be a teacher and then have her call my mom and say, "How's Kate's teaching career?" It could be awkward.)
In no particular order, I'm considering (ok, the first one is actually first, and all the others are in no particular order) audiobooks, teaching, coaching, public speaking, tour guiding, and being queen of the world.
I've been examining and evaluating what I love about acting, and it all come back to Connection. Really being with another person, and trying to impact them in some way or another. And while acting was the obvious choice for me (ever since second grade), there are other options out there that require far less sacrifice and provide far more psychic feedback.
3. An article that caught my eye:
Minority Actors Struggle: Casting calls might violate federal anti-discrimination laws.
The article says that "69% of available acting roles are designed for white actors, either explicitly or by unspoken consensus, and that minority actors were limited to no more than 8.1% of jobs, depending on the ethnic group." It goes on to recommend that producers not put race or gender specifications in their casting calls. While I understand the idea behind this whole line of thinking, it's a waste of time. The entertainment industry is one of the only industries where they can reject you based on the size of your butt. If they want a white actor in a role, they'll find a way to make it happen. Producers (and by that I mean the apocryphal, capital P Producers in the sky) can be very unimaginative and stubborn. Just ask casting directors. Getting them to think outside the box can take a minor miracle.
And the other thing the article doesn't consider? How many minority actors are going out for the 8.1% of roles? Because my guess is that it's not the same actors to parts ratio as you'll find in the 20something white girls category...
4. Vox, by Nicholson Baker
I read this dirty little book for the first time in high school, and was seriously tittilated by the explicity of the writing. I re-read it this week, and while it's still a filthy little book, it's very funny. Right up my alley, as I like to joke around while I make out. Anyone too serious would not enjoy me. (or this book!)
5. Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
So, when Brian was here, he bought this great new coat at Old Navy. But on the day he was leaving, it was 95 degrees in New York. So he was sweating his butt off, wearing this fantastic jacket.
We actually wrote a great song about it. Kind of a soft shoe, actually...
Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
Wears his winter coat when the temp's sky high, he's
Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
or
Sweatin' so damn much that he wants to die, he's
or (my favorite)
Dresses for Alaska when he's in Mumbai, he's
So I'm breaking it down into bite sized chunks.
1. First Flight
The reading series went really well. The first piece I was in was a great deal of fun, being that it was a black farce that played to a great number of my favorite acting chops. The second piece was a lot harder for me to get into -- it was an extremely stylized, meticulous piece which was really beautiful, but not my favorite style of acting. I almost wish I could have seen it instead of been in it; I think I may have enjoyed it more from a viewer's perspective. And as such, I don't think I was a particularly helpful collaborator. I was defensive, lumpish, and embarrassingly not very easy to work with. (Sorry Greg, I wanted to be so much more)
This was some interesting fuel for the fire. I'm thinking a lot about the kinds of theatre I want to do. I don't sing and dance, so musical theatre's out. I find that children's theatre can be painfully cloying (if it's not written by Noah Smith). I don't want to tour. I don't want to do movement-based pieces. I'm not so good with the multi-media. I need a very concrete character and through-line to feel like I'm participating in something I can really sink my teeth into. So, basically, I like very narrative straight plays, and classics. Just like all the other white 20something girls out there.
Which segues nicely into...
2. Other things I've been thinking about doing:
I hesitate to say these outloud, only because I don't want anyone to think that I'm committing to them. (i.e., don't go home, tell your mom that I'm going to be a teacher and then have her call my mom and say, "How's Kate's teaching career?" It could be awkward.)
In no particular order, I'm considering (ok, the first one is actually first, and all the others are in no particular order) audiobooks, teaching, coaching, public speaking, tour guiding, and being queen of the world.
I've been examining and evaluating what I love about acting, and it all come back to Connection. Really being with another person, and trying to impact them in some way or another. And while acting was the obvious choice for me (ever since second grade), there are other options out there that require far less sacrifice and provide far more psychic feedback.
3. An article that caught my eye:
Minority Actors Struggle: Casting calls might violate federal anti-discrimination laws.
The article says that "69% of available acting roles are designed for white actors, either explicitly or by unspoken consensus, and that minority actors were limited to no more than 8.1% of jobs, depending on the ethnic group." It goes on to recommend that producers not put race or gender specifications in their casting calls. While I understand the idea behind this whole line of thinking, it's a waste of time. The entertainment industry is one of the only industries where they can reject you based on the size of your butt. If they want a white actor in a role, they'll find a way to make it happen. Producers (and by that I mean the apocryphal, capital P Producers in the sky) can be very unimaginative and stubborn. Just ask casting directors. Getting them to think outside the box can take a minor miracle.
And the other thing the article doesn't consider? How many minority actors are going out for the 8.1% of roles? Because my guess is that it's not the same actors to parts ratio as you'll find in the 20something white girls category...
4. Vox, by Nicholson Baker
I read this dirty little book for the first time in high school, and was seriously tittilated by the explicity of the writing. I re-read it this week, and while it's still a filthy little book, it's very funny. Right up my alley, as I like to joke around while I make out. Anyone too serious would not enjoy me. (or this book!)
5. Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
So, when Brian was here, he bought this great new coat at Old Navy. But on the day he was leaving, it was 95 degrees in New York. So he was sweating his butt off, wearing this fantastic jacket.
We actually wrote a great song about it. Kind of a soft shoe, actually...
Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
Wears his winter coat when the temp's sky high, he's
Weather Inappropriate Jacket Guy
or
Sweatin' so damn much that he wants to die, he's
or (my favorite)
Dresses for Alaska when he's in Mumbai, he's
There's more, but now I have to copy some agreements.
BARF!
Friday, December 1, 2006
"you're an actor?"
I've worked at this law firm for five years now. It's way too long, and I'm definitely starting to feel the strain. But I've been a fairly integral part of the Intellectual Property department now for half a decade, supporting almost half of its partners. And this morning, one of the litigators (who I don't work for) came by my desk while I was discussing the reading I was in last night, saying, "well, I do readings mainly just to remind myself that I'm an actor." And this litigator turned to me and said, "You're an actor?" as if I had just said I was an alien with advanced knowledge of physics and a fleet of Mercedes that I park on the street in Brooklyn. I said, "Yes. I always have been." And he said, "How would I know? You look like a normal person to me."
Awesome.
I've been thinking a lot lately about Acting (yes, capital A Acting). About why I do it. About whether or not what I love about it outweighs what I hate about it. About whether, should I miraculously find myself with the perfect career, I would even like the lifestyle.
I know that art (and, as such, theatre) matters in the world (and New York in particular), but does not-getting-the-chance-to-act really have an impact on society? It's an odd look at the "does art matter" question; it's "does what I do even count as art, and therefore does it matter" question. And I'm not asking from a personal perspective. I know what I do matters to me, my friends and family (and probably my plants). I'm wondering if the thousands of us out there (and there are thousands of us) looking for acting work, waiting tables and answering phones... does what we do really change the lives of anyone else?
Being a legal secretary (which is what I've done for the last six or so years), while it matters to the four people I work for, and the firm as a whole, doesn't have much direct impact on society. Sure, I'm not a burden on society; I pay my taxes, I pay my rent, I even give money to the NYPL. I am merely one of the millions of cogs in the machine that makes up Corporate New York. But that's not what I set out to do. I came here to move people. To touch them. To inspire them and tell them stories. I came here to create something. And all I seem to be creating of late are fedex slips and photocopies.
Has the time come to move on? It's a heartbreaking question, and not one that any actor ever takes lightly. It's like contemplating leaving a boyfriend who's held onto you for years, but only sporadically ever told you he loves you. I've defined myself as an actor since second grade (when I played Alice in Alice in Wonderland and mispronounced the word "deny" because I had never seen it in print before and was so mortified I still remember it over 20 years later), and am petrified to think of how I would define myself without it.
Which might be exactly why it's time to move on.
Luckily, the question of moving on is not one I view in terms of "selling out." I see nothing wrong with leaving a situation if it makes you miserable. My friend Lisa finally realized (a few years ago) that she hated auditioning so much that the process was no longer worth it to her. And while I miss seeing her act, I respect her decision immensely. And have never once thought she sold out. In fact, I still consider her enormously brave.
I have, however, worried about the damage I would do to myself by viewing my departure from acting as "quitting." I hate (HATE) those people who wax poetic about their years as an actor, and how great they would have been... if only... if only. And I know part of me would feel that way. I am an exceptional actor. I have the skills, the passion, the dedication, the dues paid, the groundwork, all of it. But I'm still not acting. And truthfully, I don't know how much longer I can keep rolling this boulder uphill.
My other problem (ah, were it my only other problem) is that I can't, for the life of me, think of something else I want to do. I know there are a lot of jobs I could do, that I am qualified for and smart enough for, but honestly, very few of them even appeal to me. And the real danger is that I make enough money at the law firm that taking an entry level position somewhere might actually mean taking a pay cut. At thirty. Making less in the real world than I did as an actor.
Hmmmmmm.
Anyway, it's not a done deal, it's just something I've been thinking a lot about lately. Things change when you turn thirty, and I'm just 17 days away from it. Someone said to me recently, while discussing approaches to relationships, "I'm not 25 anymore," and that threw me. Because I think part of me still sees myself that way. And maybe now's a time to move on from that.
I'm not sure. I do know, however, that something's got to change. I'm just not sure what.
Awesome.
I've been thinking a lot lately about Acting (yes, capital A Acting). About why I do it. About whether or not what I love about it outweighs what I hate about it. About whether, should I miraculously find myself with the perfect career, I would even like the lifestyle.
I know that art (and, as such, theatre) matters in the world (and New York in particular), but does not-getting-the-chance-to-act really have an impact on society? It's an odd look at the "does art matter" question; it's "does what I do even count as art, and therefore does it matter" question. And I'm not asking from a personal perspective. I know what I do matters to me, my friends and family (and probably my plants). I'm wondering if the thousands of us out there (and there are thousands of us) looking for acting work, waiting tables and answering phones... does what we do really change the lives of anyone else?
Being a legal secretary (which is what I've done for the last six or so years), while it matters to the four people I work for, and the firm as a whole, doesn't have much direct impact on society. Sure, I'm not a burden on society; I pay my taxes, I pay my rent, I even give money to the NYPL. I am merely one of the millions of cogs in the machine that makes up Corporate New York. But that's not what I set out to do. I came here to move people. To touch them. To inspire them and tell them stories. I came here to create something. And all I seem to be creating of late are fedex slips and photocopies.
Has the time come to move on? It's a heartbreaking question, and not one that any actor ever takes lightly. It's like contemplating leaving a boyfriend who's held onto you for years, but only sporadically ever told you he loves you. I've defined myself as an actor since second grade (when I played Alice in Alice in Wonderland and mispronounced the word "deny" because I had never seen it in print before and was so mortified I still remember it over 20 years later), and am petrified to think of how I would define myself without it.
Which might be exactly why it's time to move on.
Luckily, the question of moving on is not one I view in terms of "selling out." I see nothing wrong with leaving a situation if it makes you miserable. My friend Lisa finally realized (a few years ago) that she hated auditioning so much that the process was no longer worth it to her. And while I miss seeing her act, I respect her decision immensely. And have never once thought she sold out. In fact, I still consider her enormously brave.
I have, however, worried about the damage I would do to myself by viewing my departure from acting as "quitting." I hate (HATE) those people who wax poetic about their years as an actor, and how great they would have been... if only... if only. And I know part of me would feel that way. I am an exceptional actor. I have the skills, the passion, the dedication, the dues paid, the groundwork, all of it. But I'm still not acting. And truthfully, I don't know how much longer I can keep rolling this boulder uphill.
My other problem (ah, were it my only other problem) is that I can't, for the life of me, think of something else I want to do. I know there are a lot of jobs I could do, that I am qualified for and smart enough for, but honestly, very few of them even appeal to me. And the real danger is that I make enough money at the law firm that taking an entry level position somewhere might actually mean taking a pay cut. At thirty. Making less in the real world than I did as an actor.
Hmmmmmm.
Anyway, it's not a done deal, it's just something I've been thinking a lot about lately. Things change when you turn thirty, and I'm just 17 days away from it. Someone said to me recently, while discussing approaches to relationships, "I'm not 25 anymore," and that threw me. Because I think part of me still sees myself that way. And maybe now's a time to move on from that.
I'm not sure. I do know, however, that something's got to change. I'm just not sure what.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
please listen to the following announcement
We interrupt your regular programming for a brief moment of self-promotion.
Remember how I'm a literary manager? Well, I finally read all those scripts. And I picked a bunch. And now we're doing readings of them this weekend. And I'm in a couple of them. So if you're free at all this weekend, you should come by.
Remember how I'm a literary manager? Well, I finally read all those scripts. And I picked a bunch. And now we're doing readings of them this weekend. And I'm in a couple of them. So if you're free at all this weekend, you should come by.
presents
WHAT ABOUT THE BONES?
by Sean Michael Welch
(starring me!)
Thursday November 30th at 7pm
When the host of your dinner party suddenly keels over dead, and nobody wants to be accused of murder, what do you do with the body? And when you've done that, what about the bones?
This piece is HILARIOUS. And I don't say that about everything I do. Ok, well, I kind of do, but this one is really funny, I swear!
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL LULLABY YOU'VE EVER HEARD
by Greg Romero
(also starring me!)
Saturday December 2nd at 5pm
Guided by a blind Narrator, The Man and The Woman journey through their broken pasts, broken futures, and broken skin to find the beautiful place inside of the knives.
This piece is awesome. I can't say that I fully understand it yet, but maybe that's not the point. The writing is really beautiful and funny and gut-wrenching and experiencing it will be better than my telling you about it.
PARKING LOT LONELY HEART
By Colin McKenna
Sunday December 3rd at 2pm
Mickey, middle-aged, unemployed and an alcoholic, stands in front of the ruins of his marriage, when he suddenly finds himself a millionaire. It seems like life has given him a second chance. But the demons of his past catch up and the little family spirals down deeper than they could ever imagine.
This piece is really well written. Good pace, hard choices, good characters. I recommend it. (and I'll be there if you want to sit with me)
HEADS
By E M Lewis
Sunday December 3rd at 4:30pm
A British Embassy worker, an American engineer, a network journalist and a freelance photographer are held captive in Iraq. As the threat of death draws closer, hidden agendas emerge - and each hostage must decide what he is willing to do to survive.
I'm really fond of this piece as well. It's very topical, intense, without being too melodramatic. It's human and epic at the same time. Kind of a Two Rooms meets the current administration.
THE SYSTEM
By Isaac Rathbone
Sunday December 3rd at 7pm
Ray Werner's paycheck is wrong. When he questions Payroll, they send him to Human Resources... who direct him to Accounting... who transfers him to Processing... who encourages him to talk to the Head of Operations... who blames it all on The System.
I dig Isaac as a playwright (and a person, too). If you've ever worked in an office, this play will speak to you. And you'll laugh. And then you'll cry, because it's so true. But then you'll laugh some more because it's funny.
FIRST FLIGHT 2006 will be held at
The Arthur Seelen Theater at The Drama Book Shop
250 W 40th Street, NYC 10018
Suggested donation: $3
For more information, visit us at http://www.boomerangtheatre.org/
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
a few scattered thoughts
1. Remember this? 
Now it looks like this:
Yes, I have some very important pear eating to do later today. (and yes, in the interim I've acquired a really cool magnetic wipe-off board which current reads, "Kate Rocks? Yes!"
Now it looks like this:
Yes, I have some very important pear eating to do later today. (and yes, in the interim I've acquired a really cool magnetic wipe-off board which current reads, "Kate Rocks? Yes!"
2. Chocolate cupcakes, while delicious, do not make a good breakfast.
3. Has everyone voted today? If not, go and do it! And, while you're there, consider voting the working families party line. They back the democratic candidates in all the major NY offices, so you're essentially voting democrat, but giving a smaller and lesser known party some important backing and support. More about them here. And over at procrastinet, RJ has some really good political writing (go here).
4. So they're trying to move the Intrepid from its mooring at 42nd Street, except that it's totally stuck. The museum is a client of ours, so one of my bosses went there yesterday for the big removal party, and she called early to say that things weren't going well, but that she wanted to stick around to hear the really big suck sound that the ship was likely to make after all those years in the mud. If that had happened, how utterly gratifying would it have been??
5. I'm a day late and a dollar short, but yesterday was Christina's birthday. Drop by and send her a happy birthday note. And check out her photos. She's super-duper hot. Moreso now that she's not bogged down with all that garbage about being in our 20s. (right?)
6. I wanted to do a whole photo essay on the geriatric pumpkins in my neighborhood, but I've waited too long now, and most of them have been sent off to the Great Pie Factory in the Sky, but this guy was along my route to work this morning. 
Maybe next year...
Monday, October 23, 2006
shooting on the upper east side
[You know you're an actor when you see a headline like "shooting on the upper east side" and instead of worrying about victims, you wonder, "ooh, which film?"]
Saturday morning at 6:15 my alarm clock went off, and, to my own delight, the first words out of my mouth were, "OH-FOR-FUCK'S-SAKE-YOU-HAVE-GOT-TO-BE-KIDDING-ME!" I stumbled into the shower, flipped the switch on the coffee maker that I had set up the night before (because I'm a genius!), and piled myself into sixteen layers of clothes. I slathered foundation on my face (gah), flung my script into my bag, and staggered out the front door.
All in the dark.
When I got to the subway, there was no Manhattan-bound service. No signs, no warnings, no placards in the station at all. Just a piece of tape across the stairs. "NO TRAINS" scrawled semi-legibly.
With more grumbling (and "fuck's saking"), I got on a Brooklyn-bound train, and just as it pulled into the express station, a Manhattan-bound train pulled out. Because holding a train for a minute at 6:55 on a Saturday morning would screw up the whole weekend, I'm sure.
I finally got to the shoot and began to wake up. Only to realize that it was REALLY cold out. And while I was wearing several hundred layers, none of them were warm enough to keep me from getting stiff.
Luckily, though, the crew was competent and efficient and we managed to stick to the schedule. And they were relentless about throwing my jacket onto my back every second the camera was not rolling. Bless them!! You never know what you're going to get on a student film, and I got some of the good ones... even though we were shooting outdoors in the mind-numbing cold.
But what surprised me more than the professionality of my crew was the complete oblivion (or is it disrespect?) with which people walk down the sidewalks of the Upper East Side. Not just the people who don't see the camera (and they abound), but those of whom we made the polite request to hang back for just a moment while we got our shot (none of which were much longer than 30 seconds) and who refused. "Would you mind walking on the other side of the street just for a minute?" we'd ask, and they'd plow right on through our set up, grumbling about why there had to be a suitcase on the sidewalk.
[sidebar: the title of the film is "The Suitcase"]
One guy (and he was a crotchety old bugger) was walking his dog, and the DOG POOPED RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR SET! Now, granted, our set was the south side of 71st Street, between Park and Lex, so I imagine we were actually shooting in that dog's bathroom, but the worst part was how Mr. Grumpyguts, the owner, leaned over, cleaned up three of the five gifts left for us by the poopin' pooch, and then, when we told him he had missed some, he went after them with such gusto, that two more of the gifts fell out of the paper he was using to clean them up! Evenutally, I found some nice big leaves and covered up what he left behind. And then gleefully watched as other people (not cast or crew) walked blindly into the little booby traps.
Did I mention it was cold?
Not half as cold, though, as I imagine it's likely to be next weekend, when we're shooting on the East River at 7:30 in the morning...
Saturday morning at 6:15 my alarm clock went off, and, to my own delight, the first words out of my mouth were, "OH-FOR-FUCK'S-SAKE-YOU-HAVE-GOT-TO-BE-KIDDING-ME!" I stumbled into the shower, flipped the switch on the coffee maker that I had set up the night before (because I'm a genius!), and piled myself into sixteen layers of clothes. I slathered foundation on my face (gah), flung my script into my bag, and staggered out the front door.
All in the dark.
When I got to the subway, there was no Manhattan-bound service. No signs, no warnings, no placards in the station at all. Just a piece of tape across the stairs. "NO TRAINS" scrawled semi-legibly.
With more grumbling (and "fuck's saking"), I got on a Brooklyn-bound train, and just as it pulled into the express station, a Manhattan-bound train pulled out. Because holding a train for a minute at 6:55 on a Saturday morning would screw up the whole weekend, I'm sure.
I finally got to the shoot and began to wake up. Only to realize that it was REALLY cold out. And while I was wearing several hundred layers, none of them were warm enough to keep me from getting stiff.
Luckily, though, the crew was competent and efficient and we managed to stick to the schedule. And they were relentless about throwing my jacket onto my back every second the camera was not rolling. Bless them!! You never know what you're going to get on a student film, and I got some of the good ones... even though we were shooting outdoors in the mind-numbing cold.
But what surprised me more than the professionality of my crew was the complete oblivion (or is it disrespect?) with which people walk down the sidewalks of the Upper East Side. Not just the people who don't see the camera (and they abound), but those of whom we made the polite request to hang back for just a moment while we got our shot (none of which were much longer than 30 seconds) and who refused. "Would you mind walking on the other side of the street just for a minute?" we'd ask, and they'd plow right on through our set up, grumbling about why there had to be a suitcase on the sidewalk.
[sidebar: the title of the film is "The Suitcase"]
One guy (and he was a crotchety old bugger) was walking his dog, and the DOG POOPED RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF OUR SET! Now, granted, our set was the south side of 71st Street, between Park and Lex, so I imagine we were actually shooting in that dog's bathroom, but the worst part was how Mr. Grumpyguts, the owner, leaned over, cleaned up three of the five gifts left for us by the poopin' pooch, and then, when we told him he had missed some, he went after them with such gusto, that two more of the gifts fell out of the paper he was using to clean them up! Evenutally, I found some nice big leaves and covered up what he left behind. And then gleefully watched as other people (not cast or crew) walked blindly into the little booby traps.
Did I mention it was cold?
Not half as cold, though, as I imagine it's likely to be next weekend, when we're shooting on the East River at 7:30 in the morning...
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
to do pile
Think your to do list sucks?
I have to read all these. By November 1st.
Do they make band-aids for your eyeballs?
I have to read all these. By November 1st.
Do they make band-aids for your eyeballs?Monday, September 25, 2006
let out letty (now online!)
Three posts in one day? I know, I know, too much.
BUT, I found my very first short film online, and thought I'd link to it here, so everyone can revel in the cuteness that is Kate Four Years Ago.
The film is called Let Out Letty and can be found on the "Reel" page of Plywood Pictures, the production company.
It's 12 minutes long, so make sure you have that kind of time to spare. Our DP was an electrician on Law & Order, so the whole crew was L&O, and we even had their steadycam operater. Yeah, there's steadycam in my first student film. NYU rocks!
BUT, I found my very first short film online, and thought I'd link to it here, so everyone can revel in the cuteness that is Kate Four Years Ago.
The film is called Let Out Letty and can be found on the "Reel" page of Plywood Pictures, the production company.
It's 12 minutes long, so make sure you have that kind of time to spare. Our DP was an electrician on Law & Order, so the whole crew was L&O, and we even had their steadycam operater. Yeah, there's steadycam in my first student film. NYU rocks!
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