coming home again

I have a friend, who I won't name, in case she doesn't want the inner workings of our relationship (and, in part, her life) to be known to the k8-blog-reading public. I will call her Kate, just so it's confusing.

Kate and I have been friends forever. (Ok, ten years.) She is the oldest active friend I have (I have friends from high school who I see once or twice a year, but I don't really think they count at this point... they're more Acquaintances I Have Loved for a Long Time). Kate and I have been really close for the last six months or so, since she moved to a far-flung corner of the world and from there back to so-called civilization.

We've both been through a lot lately, with breakups and dating and general soul searching ("why am I an actor?" "gosh, I don't know, why am I?"), and we had evolved (or devolved, depending on how you look at it) into a pattern, where Kate would come to me with a problem, I would try to fix it (even though I wasn't asked to do so) and then I would get frustrated that Kate wasn't listening to my advice and then Kate would get angry because I was judging her. We'd exchange a few snarky emails and each go off into our separate corners to lick our wounds for a day or two.

But last time it was bad. And when Kate went off into her corner, I was afraid I might never see her again. And I looked at my own behavior, the judgements, the positions I held about Kate and her life and what she was doing with it, and I felt awful. I felt like a bad person, let alone a bad friend. But I didn't know how to stop loving her the way I was loving her. So I felt like I had to let her go.

Kate was the third girlfriend I had broken up with in the last a year and a half. While I knew that neither of the other two were good for me anymore, this was the first time I felt that I wasn't good for her.

I asked around -- how do you love someone, who from your perspective is hurting herself, without judging her for doing just that? I got a lot of "you just don't," but no clear answers.

Time passed. I missed Kate so much that I was worried about myself. Was I caving in on my principles just because I was lonely? If I called her, would I go back to just judging her? Would I enable her? Would I disable her? Could we find a way to be good for each other?

Friday night I sat crying on the couch of Sean, the guy I'm dating, about how much I missed Kate (which may or may not have been the sexiest thing I could do... but that's another story) and he just turned to me and said, "Call her. Just call her. You love her, you're hurting, you'll find a way to make it work. Just. Call. Her."

So I did, and it was like coming home again.

We talked about everything that had gone on while we were apart -- she told me she's dumping the guy she's dating, I told her about Sean and Lear and work (and all the nothing), and she told me she was in therapy, and committed to it. And just talking to her made such a difference. She sounds like the burden of seeing through the muck that was her depression has finally lifted, and she can see things more clearly. She's not perfectly happy (I'd be scared if she was), but she doesn't sound as miserable as she did before, and I see the pathway to a new kind of friendship.

I no longer feel responsible for her safety or sanity, and no longer see a place where judgment is useful, let alone necessary. I feel more like equals, partners, real friends.

Thank you for coming back to me, Kate. I've missed you so!

nothing will come of nothing

When King Lear asks Cordelia what she can say about how much she loves him, she replies (famously) with "nothing." He responds to her (also famously) with "Nothing will come of nothing, speak again."

Sadly, these days, when people ask me what I am up to, I tend to reply with "nothing," as well. And, while I don't think my father will banish me and then go nuts and I'll eventually die, I do think that my response bodes less than well for me. Nothing will come of nothing, in terms of conversation enthusiasm. I mean, what are you supposed to ask next? "How's that nothing treating you?" "I hear nothing's really big these days!"

And beyond that, I am up to a lot of things. I'm doing King Lear, for one. I'm dating. I'm seeing shows. I'm reading. I'm eating too much cake at my favorite kid's third birthday party. I'm watching parades full of mermaids (and assorted other flotsam and jetsam, but that's another story). I'm living my life. It just feels, somehow, that I'm waiting for the next big thing. And in the waiting, I'm doing nothing.

There's this expectation in the acting community (and in many others, I imagine) that you should be running around like a chicken with its head cut off, doing a reading here, a callback there, and six or seven pending projects all across the country, especially in the in-between-gigs time. And I'm doing none of that. I'm not taking any classes. I'm not meeting any agents. I'm not going on any big auditions. And I think that the more I focus on that, the more I drop my energy down and get depressed, the less I'll actually manage to do any of those things.
Nothing, will indeed, come of nothing.

The same holds true for this stupid day job. What do I do here? Nothing, really. I answer the phone, make copies, file documents and do a variety of unpredictable and irritatingly random things. And my creativity and brain power go out the window (or would, rather, if I sat anywhere near one). My ability to keep in touch with friends, to place orders for things I need online, to even read the news -- all of this is hindered by the sheer boredom I experience on a day to day basis. The more nothing I do here at work, the more nothing I do everywhere else in my life.

And it's getting exhausting!

I'm not saying I want the Positivity Patrol up my ass (for that would be crowded) but I do need to start focusing on the positive and making the best of the seven hours a day I sit here doing, well, nothing. It's just that I'm finding it terribly, terribly hard.

stupid work emails redux

Several weeks ago, I posted my first series of stupid work emails. They're a collection of the finest emails a law firm can produce. And mind you, except for the ones where I say they were intended for me only, these are emails that go out to the entire firm.
There's dumb, and then there's spellcheck.
Requests for certain kinds of behavior:
Requests (from the same individual, mind you) for important legal references:
I love my job!

positivity and crap like that

In addition to my day job, I work a few nights a month at one of those Actors' Seminar Companies, where actors pay exorbitant fees (up to $31)to meet (for five minutes) with agents and/or casting directors, who are then paid by the company to do, what, in my opinion, they should be doing for free -- meeting actors. To protect the innocent, we'll just call this company Schmactors Schmonnection.

What I do for them is to host these seminars. Basically, I act as a combo stage-manager/maitre'd, checking in the other actors, getting the guest to the seminar, and then timing each one-on-one session between the actors and the industry guest. It's so simple even a monkey could do it, which is the only reason (I believe) the owners actually trust actors to do it.

[Having recently complained about the inappropriateness of actor jokes, I hope you all see that I say that from the point of view of the owners, who I assume from their need to control us completely, think actors are stupid pieces of crap. I, however, love actors. (just as much as I hate them.)]

Last night I had a mandatory four hour meeting in which one of the current co-owners (who is easily the most "positive" person I know, which really just means she smiles at you when she disagrees with and dismisses you) started to (cringe) "build a team" of hosts for the (blech) "new opportunities ahead." Barf bags were not provided, but munchkins were, which offset the misery of this meeting but little.

The first thing we did was to come up with The Rules of the Team. The inside of my skin started to itch almost instantaneously. We came up with a variety of them -- be on time, treat others with respect, only give information you're sure about, blah blah blah. All very positive, but all very much common sense. Personally, I think the only rule we really needed was "Don't be a Fucking Idiot," but that's phrased in a negative way, so maybe "Be Smarter than a Bag of Hair" would be a better choice.

Here's the thing. This woman wants positive, upbeat, reliable people to run her seminars and to represent the face of Schmactors Schmonnection in her absence. I can totally understand that. It's her business, and she wants to create an atmosphere of complete service, so she can compete in the marketplace. However, she is only willing to pay these representatives $8 an hour. You know what you get for that pay scale?

"You want fries with that?"

And actually, my problem is not the payscale. I have a day job to make money. I host these seminars because we used to get a free seminar credit for every seminar we hosted. (due to things like state laws, they've had to change that, and now they have to pay us in money, not credit.) My problem is with this front of positivity and her complete lack of faith in her employees (or whatever the hell we are) to behave like grown ups with common sense and decency. And the need I felt from her to control every aspect of our interaction with the clients.

For example, a big war was fought over whether "leave your personal stuff at the door" should be a rule. I for one, found it retarded. You should always leave your negativity and garbage at the door -- especially if you're meeting an industry guest! Hello, no agent wants to sign Cranky Carol! But to make it a rule? For which there are consequences if you break it? No thanks. I'd rather self-police than have the Positivity Patrol up my ass.

I left the meeting feeling manipulated, dismissed and otherwise used. I am not a ridiculously positive person, but neither am I an outrageously negative one. And all I felt she focused on was how, even without being there herself, she could fill the halls with Stepford Hosts.

Where, after four hours, was my incentive to excel at customer service for Schmactors Schmonnection, to be that perfect host? What's in it for me? Because as much as I want to "leave my ego at the door" (no, it's not a rule, but it is in the Code of Honor... can you imagine four hours of that???) the only cause I'm really interested in working to benefit is me. Not Schmisa Schmold, not Schmactors Schmonnection. Because this is not about Art, my friends, it's about Business. And this is a woman who wants each of her employees to "Come to the Office with a Higher Cause."

I think my days at Schmactors Schmonnection may be drawing to a close. And maybe that's the most positive thing there is.

kate throws up and dies (and other theatre news)

King Lear is now up and running! And enjoyed a very successful (if not ironic) Fathers' Day performance, at which my parents were in attendance.

Post show conversation:
Mom: We loved it! Oh, it was so good! Now, tell us what we didn't like.

Kate does.

Mom: Oh, well, yeah, I can see that.

Despite the heat and some opening day jitters (Gloucester was renamed Burgundy, the King of France was renamed Kent, and my exit line got cut, so I had to just pick a point, pretend to puke and hightail it out of there) it was still a solid weekend of performances.

And the actor playing Lear told me that his wife said to him after the first show, "Oh, that second daughter [me] is just evil! She's so pretty and sweet looking but then she just stabs you in the back so badly! I'm thinking we should reconsider giving money to the kids..."

Further performances:June 24 & 25 in Riverside Park (108 & Riverside)July 8 & 9 in Prospect Park (near the tennis house at 9th Street)July 15 & 16 Empire Fulton Ferry (New Dock Street and Water Street)July 22 & 23 Central Park (at 69th Street and CPW)

some pics:
mom calls this one "Kate acts nice"

mom calls this one "kate throws up and dies"________________________________________________________
In other theatre news, check this out! It's the story of some appalling behavior in a theatre -- luckily nobody did this to us!________________________________________________________
And, last but not least, I'm famous. No, really I am. I made some cookies this weekend, and gave them to my friend who works at the Public Theatre (currently working on Macbeth at the Delacorte in Central Park) and he shared them with folks at the theatre. And Liev Schreiber ate one of my cookies. Which makes me instantaneously famous.

Doesn't it?

saving up for a cow

I met someone online recently who was interested in dating me. A solid, but by no means stand-out guy that, sure, I'd accept a brunch date with... except... he's in what he describes as an "open relationship" -- he and his girlfriend have been seeing (and sleeping with) other people after ten years of monogamy, and everyone's cool with that.

Now, I can see how that might work well. If you eat a little peanut butter every day, you won't sit down and eat a jar in one sitting. And as much as I love peanut butter, I've never actually gotten through a whole jar of it, but you also won't find a trace of peanut butter in my house.

So (for more reasons than my lack of self-control with peanut butter) I know that for me, an open relationship is not an option. I don't want to be second to anyone, except maybe the guy himself (or whatever eventual family there might be). Hell, even a guy with a dog is almost more than I can bear... although I'm willing to learn (girl's gotta have some flexibility).

Adapting the standard cow metaphor ("why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free") my personal open-relationship theory is "why even try to find out if you like the milk if you can't always count on the cow to be there?"

ANYWAY, to get to the point, after I had made it clear that I was too jealous a person to get involved romantically with someone who was involved with someone else, he made a joke that, even though I knew he was kidding, was so inappropriate, that it just shut the door on brunch forever. He said, "I suppose if you were capable of sharing attention and affection rather than needing it all for yourself, you wouldn't have become an actor."

[In his defense he apologized later, saying it wasn't a joke about me, or even about actors, but about the stereotype of actors. But come on, I haven't even met you yet and you're making needy actor jokes???]

What really surprised me, though, was how hurt I was by the implication that my desire for exclusivity somehow translated into a need for attention, which in turn was translated into something bad. And by the judgment I felt him making about my life and the choices I've made -- especially when I tried so hard not to judge him based on his.

He wanted me to apologize for the needs I know I have. Which, a few years ago, I probably would have done.

No more selling out, though. I'm going to buy me a cow someday, and I need to start saving.

kill the wabbit

So a few months ago (around April 15th, to be exact) my friend at work got a solid milk chocolate bunny from his girlfriend's mother. For Easter. And, since he's a good friend, he decided to bring the bunny to work to share it, by putting it on the Shelf of Opportunity.

What's the Shelf of Opportunity, you ask? It's the place where all the extra or unwanted (or just plain old bonus) food goes when you've had enough of it. At the moment, there's a granola bar, two packets of oatmeal, some cupcakes, a cookie, a can of juice, a bag of potato chips and a fruit roll up. When the candy machine gives you an extra candy bar, you put it on the shelf. When your boss brings you back some treats from a meeting, you eat what you want and then put the rest on the shelf. And conversely, when you want a snack, you visit the shelf. It's a very egalitarian system, and works very well for us here.

But the bunny was too big for any one person to eat all by him or herself.

And he had to be stored in a plastic bag so that whenever we were ready to eat him, we'd have a sanitary container in which to beat him up.

That day finally came today, nearly two months after the bunny's arrival on the shelf.
With an oversized stapler, two law books and some elbow grease (derived from pure stress), we reduced the bunny to a shadow of its former self:

And then we ate it. (I got the head)
And man alive was it tasty!

Usually, I don't particularly care for my job. It's boring, dull and very much beneath me. But on a day like today, I wouldn't trade it (or my friends at work) for just about anything!