Or however many times I have tried to quit smoking thus far. Yes, friends, today is day 1. Day 1, which fills me with such a sense of loathing and bitterness, that I always vow never to have to live through it again, but, well, here we are. I've just passed hour 12 since my last cigarette. Challenges tonight include a production meeting with smoker who's always been more than willing to bum me a ciggie in my time of need. But it's time.
Jesus, listen to me. You'd think Candy Finnegan or Jeff VonVondervonvon were going to ambush me at the bus stop on my way home. Quitting sucks.
But doesn't smoking suck? Yes, in the global picture, smoking does suck, and it is gross and isn't a terribly vegetarian thing to do, and so on and so on. But I have to admit, I kind of like the physical act of smoking. I like having a prop. I like having an "out" to take a break from conversations or stressful situations. I like the secret society of smokers, we who are outcasts from healthy, intelligent society.
Still, I'm doing my best to quit. Can I guarantee that I won't ever have a single cigarette again? Probably not. I would love to be the three-times a year kind of smoker, but I don't know that I can be. In any case, I'm just trying to get through the next 12 hours without (a) bursting into tears (b) murdering someone because everyone is just so goddamned irritating! or (c) eat my weight in reduced-to-clear easter chocolate.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
A Mouse In Our House
It's true, we are infested. But just a little bit. As in, one mouse. And I know, I know that there is no such thing as a singular mouse, but we have cleaned the house top to bottom, and found no other mice, not even one nugget of poop. Is it possible that we had a mouse just dash through our kitchen as he stayed one night to review us for TripAdvisor? I suppose not. And laugh at me if you must, but I'm going to get one of those humane traps, because if there's one thing I don't want to deal with, it's throwing out dead mouse bodies.
Our cat is absolutely no help. I blame it on his upbringing, how I reared him to lie on the couch watching Project Runway and Intervention in a semi-conscious state. Being so sucked into the idiot box that any movement seen out of the corner of one's eye is brushed off with a "meh, it's probably my contacts".
In other news, I am working like a crazy woman, and trying to get (a) the show and (b) the workshop with The Producing Theatre Company off the ground. I have no idea why I am organizing the workshop. Well, I'm not organizing it as much as I am being the cattle prod that ensures it gets done and I don't get emails like "Oh, by the way, we're having a workshop tomorrow, the actors and I will see you there." I want people to be organized like me! And I'm not that organized! Yesterday in the wake of house-mouse-driven-house-cleaning, I was opening mail from 2 months ago that I just hadn't bothered to open. Pay stubs and bank statements. And thinking I should get a shredder, because I'm pretty sure my method of tearing things up into bits, mixing them up and pouring old salad dressing over everything (to gross out identity thieves) is neither efficient nor protective.
I've been trying to stay on track, foodwise. Part of me feels like it's useless, because the scale really hasn't budged in, oh, about, 2 months, despite exercise and good eating. And sometimes part of me feels like I can do it. It's not clear which side is going to win here.
Anyway, I am off to the eye doctor's, where they put tainted q-tips and paper strips on my eyeballs, and then my pupils get big like I'm on drugs and I try to find my way home, looking mysterious and old-Hollywood in my sunglasses. Or I assume I will. I won't really be able to see.
Cheers, friends!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
I did it!
Are you wondering what exactly it is that I did? Especially since I seem to start so many things and never talk about finishing them? Well, yesterday I took advantage of having a day off, and trucked myself down to Fabricland where I bought a membership, some fabric, and these two patterns!
They are McCall's 5631, and Simplicity 2501, a skirt and blouse respectively. Initially I just wanted a blouse pattern, since I've never really made one, and I thought it would be a good wardrobe-builder for work clothes. But I just couldn't resist a cute skirt. Mine won't be the view in the photo, it's going to be plainer with just overstitching on the hem.
In retrospect, I should probably have gotten fabrics that matched so I could wear them together, but I have a hard time with decisions to begin with, much less picking two things that will also go together.
Of course I don't know when I'm going to have time to start something new-- I think this may have to wait until closer to summer-- at least until the show opens.
But I do recommend the Fabricland membership to anyone who's going to be buying fabrics-- the discount totally paid for itself on my first visit. Plus now I get cheap cheap patterns-- so I'm going to wait until those awesome vintage Vogue and Butterick patterns go on sale. Dramatic Joan Crawford-style ladies' hats, anyone?
Monday, March 22, 2010
Customers Who I Do Not Prefer
1. The passive-aggressive customer who finds smug and "subtle" ways to point out his superiority to the CSR, alternating with painting himself as the victim of the CSR's trickery.
2. The yeller. Not to be confused with the profanitizer, who is also not a preferred customer of mine.
3. The loud talker. Ms. Loud Talker, allow me to introduce you to one of our premium products called "The Inside Voice". Has anyone ever said to you "I'm right here in the same room with you? Really? In any case, being on the phone with you is not only like being in the same room together, it's being in the same room and speaking directly into each other's ears. So pipe down, wouldya?"
4. The eater. Now, I haven't had any in-person customers eat while we conduct our transaction, but I can't imagine it would gross me out nearly as much as hearing someone eat while talking to them on the phone. "I'd
5. S/He Who Thinks I Have Power. Or That It's All My Fault. I mean, I do have some power. Customers, you should really know that. Just as waitresses have the power to decide how much spit makes it into your meal, CSR's have some ability to proverbially spit into your file. Or at the very least, we sometimes have the power to make exceptions for you. But no matter how unjustly you feel you've been treated, no matter how much I seem not to understand the unfairness of it all, tearing a strip off me will not make your life any easier. It will not get your problem solved any faster. And really, ask yourself this: how likely is it that someone with any decision-making, policy-shaping abilities is going to be the one you're talking to at 7:55 pm on a Friday night?
6. The ATVIP. That's the Assistant To the VIP. And yes, I feel slightly guilty for calling out assistants here. I've been an assistant many times over the years. But certain executive assistants call in, on behalf of their bosses, who may be city councillors, or oil executives or judges, or someone else who is too busy with lofty matters to attend to real life, and act like I should have a big red button that stops everything. They drop names like I should gasp in awe, thanking my lucky stars for the chance to serve one so exalted. They get impatient if I ask how to spell the VIP's name. They're always in a hurry. They have to check with their boss, who they refer to as "My Minister" or "his Honour" or "his Excellency" or some other title. And a lot of times I get the feeling that they're ticked that I didn't sense their call coming, and have everything done and waiting for their stamp of approval.
7. The Crazies. OK, the Crazies would probably be my most preferred customers of this group. They can be entertaining, at least. Like the lady who wanted me to change her phone number because the people in her walls were reporting her to the CIA, but I wasn't allowed to say her new phone number out loud, because the people in her walls would hear it, and then she'd just have to get her number changed all over again. Or the guy who came in to the box office (he had an assistant crazy person, a guy who followed him around and said "yeah! yeah!" and repeated the last couple of words in this guy's sentences) and told me he was donating $100 million dollars to the paper to give scholarships for my children, and could he leave these torn polaroids inserted into various brochures in the lobby because the RCMP would know where to find missing kids, and by the way, I should never go to Tim Horton's because of his impending lawsuit about a shooting there.
8. The Everyone's-A-Suspect. Now, I don't like being called at home either, and of course I try to let businesses I deal with know that. And of course I try to limit some of the personal information I give out about myself. But I try to maintain a standard across the board. Like, if I wouldn't give you my phone number, I'm probably not going to give you my video store password. And I certainly wouldn't give you my wifi password. And so on. But if you're going to say "God! Don't you have my credit card on file?" and then sarcastically read the digits to me, you can't freak out and scream at me because I asked you if the address we have on file is correct. In fact, if you freak out and scream at me saying I have no right to your address, you really shouldn't call back in a month later demanding to know why you never got your subscription package.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Hey, y'all...
And due to the accursed limitations of the medium, you'll just have to imagine the "Oh,hay, y'awwll!" inflection, tinged with a mixture of sadness and guilt. I've been a negligent blogger. It seems that you can divide my blog posts into a couple of different categories here: non-posting guilt, and feeling more/less fat posts.
How terrible is that, y'all?
But seriously. Nothing happens to me. I'm currently working a minimum of 12 hours a day, split between two jobs. Any concept of nutrition I ever had has gone out the window. (This lead to the unfortunate veggie sandwich incident, where in my cravings for actual vegetables I decided to try a different place at the food court on my way to job #1. Thank you, giant chunk of tuna salad right in the middle of my sandwich! Mmm, mmm good!)
I am stressed. Terribly stressed, in fact. In that I currently have many expectations piled on me (including a show in 2 months, har har har), and I am constantly working and never doing anything I want to do. With no real end in sight. Oh, until mid-June, when there will be some serious relaxing happening. I'm talking margaritas and gin and tonics while eating 7-layer-dip and wearing those shorts that I would never be seen in publicly relaxing.
Did I just say that? Clearly that is not a healthy-lifestyle thought. Once in a while, though...
Things that have happened:
I found out I have two cavities that need to be filled. Eek. I could probably put it off for a while, but I figure I should just get it over with.
We have a car! It's an old car, that a darling friend has sold us for $1. Of course, we have to get it inspected, insured, and registered, but eventually there will be wonderful, wonderful freedom!
I'm going to try and make some time to get to Fabricland and get some fabric and a membership and get back to sewing. I've been reading all about the fabulous projects on Sew Retro, and those folks blow me away!
How terrible is that, y'all?
But seriously. Nothing happens to me. I'm currently working a minimum of 12 hours a day, split between two jobs. Any concept of nutrition I ever had has gone out the window. (This lead to the unfortunate veggie sandwich incident, where in my cravings for actual vegetables I decided to try a different place at the food court on my way to job #1. Thank you, giant chunk of tuna salad right in the middle of my sandwich! Mmm, mmm good!)
I am stressed. Terribly stressed, in fact. In that I currently have many expectations piled on me (including a show in 2 months, har har har), and I am constantly working and never doing anything I want to do. With no real end in sight. Oh, until mid-June, when there will be some serious relaxing happening. I'm talking margaritas and gin and tonics while eating 7-layer-dip and wearing those shorts that I would never be seen in publicly relaxing.
Did I just say that? Clearly that is not a healthy-lifestyle thought. Once in a while, though...
Things that have happened:
I found out I have two cavities that need to be filled. Eek. I could probably put it off for a while, but I figure I should just get it over with.
We have a car! It's an old car, that a darling friend has sold us for $1. Of course, we have to get it inspected, insured, and registered, but eventually there will be wonderful, wonderful freedom!
I'm going to try and make some time to get to Fabricland and get some fabric and a membership and get back to sewing. I've been reading all about the fabulous projects on Sew Retro, and those folks blow me away!
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Anyone home?
Yes, I haven't been here in a while. Not for lack of spending time on the computer. Writing some online content, trying to make some cash. Sending copies of the script to people who should really have had script copies sent to them months ago. Oops! And that's not including my various blog reading and fuck-offery that I usually do on the internet. So you can see why I haven't had time to keep up.
Nothing much is new. Still working jobs#1 and 2, except now I'm in charge of the rest of the project at Job 2. Which sounds important, but is actually not that important, because there's a lot of cogs in that wheel. However, this week I'm working 12 hours a day minimum, making it tough to get in the 30 Day Shred. It's way easier NOT to fit it into my day, which is something I need to deal with.
Singing: argh. Blerg. Poop! The required musculature has been taken over by various heffalumps and woozles, subconscious, psychological, obstinate, or otherwise.
I saw this Andy Warhol quote on someone else's blog, and I thought it just espoused one of my life's philosophies so well:
"They always say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself."
I just want to carve that into a pumpkin, or put it on a cake, or spell it out with alphagetti. I'm not sure why that would give it more meaning (well, other than giving it more weight... Hey-oh!). Perhaps it's best not to examine that too closely.
Be back sooner, all.
Nothing much is new. Still working jobs#1 and 2, except now I'm in charge of the rest of the project at Job 2. Which sounds important, but is actually not that important, because there's a lot of cogs in that wheel. However, this week I'm working 12 hours a day minimum, making it tough to get in the 30 Day Shred. It's way easier NOT to fit it into my day, which is something I need to deal with.
Singing: argh. Blerg. Poop! The required musculature has been taken over by various heffalumps and woozles, subconscious, psychological, obstinate, or otherwise.
I saw this Andy Warhol quote on someone else's blog, and I thought it just espoused one of my life's philosophies so well:
"They always say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself."
I just want to carve that into a pumpkin, or put it on a cake, or spell it out with alphagetti. I'm not sure why that would give it more meaning (well, other than giving it more weight... Hey-oh!). Perhaps it's best not to examine that too closely.
Be back sooner, all.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Ouch!
Holy Hannah!
I tried out level one of the 30 Day Shred a few hours ago-- it pretty much kicked my ass. In a good way, mind you, in the way that when you're done you're standing up straight and feeling like a tight and toned size 2. But I can tell I'm going to be sore tomorrow, especially in the upper body-- all my years of figure skating gave me a lot of lower body endurance, but I have weak, pudgy arms. Using my hilariously small 2 lb weights was enough weight for me, thank you very much.
I don't know if I can do it again tomorrow-- I'm thinking I might alternate days for the first week, depending on how sore I am tomorrow. But I can definitely see how this gets results. And I was surprised that Jillian wasn't a super bitch, just a supportive trainer who doesn't tolerate bullshit.
I tried out level one of the 30 Day Shred a few hours ago-- it pretty much kicked my ass. In a good way, mind you, in the way that when you're done you're standing up straight and feeling like a tight and toned size 2. But I can tell I'm going to be sore tomorrow, especially in the upper body-- all my years of figure skating gave me a lot of lower body endurance, but I have weak, pudgy arms. Using my hilariously small 2 lb weights was enough weight for me, thank you very much.
I don't know if I can do it again tomorrow-- I'm thinking I might alternate days for the first week, depending on how sore I am tomorrow. But I can definitely see how this gets results. And I was surprised that Jillian wasn't a super bitch, just a supportive trainer who doesn't tolerate bullshit.
Moving On Up...
To the mountains!
Yes, friends and neighbours, on Friday I got the phone call formally inviting me to the SuperPrestigiousPlaywritingColony in the mountains!
I'm stoked. I'm sure as the day to leave approaches, I will be a little terrified, seeing as how I will probably be meeting writers who are famous. Like, whose plays I studied in school. Or whose plays are so good that it makes me want to vomit with jealousy.
Of course, maybe I'm a little bit awesome as well... just don't tell anyone I said that.
On the scale front, things remain largely the same-- down a half a pound, which is just so frustrating. And I know, I should be glad I'm not gaining, but come on. When you watch Dr. Phil and he's all like "Well, if y'all would stop drinking frappucinos, y'all would lose 100 lbs in a year", or whatever. And I'm like "I eat tofu! I eat fruits, vegetables and whole grains! I don't eat whipped cream-laden, chocolate sauce-drizzled blended coffee ice creams! So why am I still fat?
Phew. Just had to get that out.
So I bought a copy of Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred. I'm jumping on the bandwagon on this one. Not that I think that the "You can lose 20 lbs in 30 days" statement applies to very many people, and I don't expect to lose that much. But realistically, a workout that's high intensity and only 20 minutes is appealing, because who doesn't have 20 minutes to work out? Even if I don't want to work out, it can be over in 20 minutes! Or I can just start doing it, and by the time I realize that I'm exercising, it'll be almost time for cooldown.
I'll try and blog a little about it, but I am afraid. I've heard it's a pretty ass-kicking little workout.
Yes, friends and neighbours, on Friday I got the phone call formally inviting me to the SuperPrestigiousPlaywritingColony in the mountains!
I'm stoked. I'm sure as the day to leave approaches, I will be a little terrified, seeing as how I will probably be meeting writers who are famous. Like, whose plays I studied in school. Or whose plays are so good that it makes me want to vomit with jealousy.
Of course, maybe I'm a little bit awesome as well... just don't tell anyone I said that.
On the scale front, things remain largely the same-- down a half a pound, which is just so frustrating. And I know, I should be glad I'm not gaining, but come on. When you watch Dr. Phil and he's all like "Well, if y'all would stop drinking frappucinos, y'all would lose 100 lbs in a year", or whatever. And I'm like "I eat tofu! I eat fruits, vegetables and whole grains! I don't eat whipped cream-laden, chocolate sauce-drizzled blended coffee ice creams! So why am I still fat?
Phew. Just had to get that out.
So I bought a copy of Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred. I'm jumping on the bandwagon on this one. Not that I think that the "You can lose 20 lbs in 30 days" statement applies to very many people, and I don't expect to lose that much. But realistically, a workout that's high intensity and only 20 minutes is appealing, because who doesn't have 20 minutes to work out? Even if I don't want to work out, it can be over in 20 minutes! Or I can just start doing it, and by the time I realize that I'm exercising, it'll be almost time for cooldown.
I'll try and blog a little about it, but I am afraid. I've heard it's a pretty ass-kicking little workout.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
News, Knits, and No Exit Strategy
Howdy,friends and neighbors!
I thought I'd stop by and give an update-- that very prestigious playwrights' retreat (hint: it's in Banff)? Well, I am officially on the waiting list. Which I guess is pretty impressive for a play that had absolutely no support from anyone wanting to produce it. I'm not on their "A" list, but I like to think I'm on the "We would totally want you here if we had more funding" list. And the depressingly-toned email they sent assures me that they'll let me know if a space opens up, it seems like they are also saying "fat chance". Because who doesn't go to something like that? And I wouldn't feel good wishing family emergencies on playwrights everywhere, so I'm just going to have to wait and see.
On the positive panda front, I found this website through a blog the other day. It's a super cute idea, and just the thing I need these days-- short, digestible, positive affirmations.
Oh, and the play I'm writing? That we're producing in May? I have no exit strategy. I just keep churning out my 5 pages a day, with no end in sight, no conceivable structure. I know this is an easy fix, just have someone read it, or read it myself and cut out all the crap bits. But I need an end. Good GOD, I need an end. I will feel so much better once it's done, no matter how shitty the draft, no matter how much rewriting it needs. Because I will finally have the albatross that is this play lifted from my shoulders.
But I promised some knitting chat.
Now, I absolutely cannot resist buying knitting needles secondhand. At Value Village, at yard sales, if you're getting rid of knitting needles, I will buy them. Consequently, I end up with a lot of weird sizes of circular needles, yet always have to go buy the right size for a new project. I did score an awesome set of vintage straights in delicious metallic colours, but circulars always seem to do me in.
But no more!
My mom got me these for Christmas:
Not only are they interchangeable, but they are Addis!
They are amazing. Incredibly lightweight and easy to knit with. I'm a huge fan of metal needles, anyway, and these are the best I've ever used. Plus I can make any length circular I want!
I've just been making a test scarf, as I'm currently between patterns-- a friend moved to Australia for a few months, taking most of my knitting books with her! Quel scandal! But once I get paid, I think I'm going to pick a pattern, something juicy and difficult, and really break in these needles.
And that's all the news that is the news!
I thought I'd stop by and give an update-- that very prestigious playwrights' retreat (hint: it's in Banff)? Well, I am officially on the waiting list. Which I guess is pretty impressive for a play that had absolutely no support from anyone wanting to produce it. I'm not on their "A" list, but I like to think I'm on the "We would totally want you here if we had more funding" list. And the depressingly-toned email they sent assures me that they'll let me know if a space opens up, it seems like they are also saying "fat chance". Because who doesn't go to something like that? And I wouldn't feel good wishing family emergencies on playwrights everywhere, so I'm just going to have to wait and see.
On the positive panda front, I found this website through a blog the other day. It's a super cute idea, and just the thing I need these days-- short, digestible, positive affirmations.
Oh, and the play I'm writing? That we're producing in May? I have no exit strategy. I just keep churning out my 5 pages a day, with no end in sight, no conceivable structure. I know this is an easy fix, just have someone read it, or read it myself and cut out all the crap bits. But I need an end. Good GOD, I need an end. I will feel so much better once it's done, no matter how shitty the draft, no matter how much rewriting it needs. Because I will finally have the albatross that is this play lifted from my shoulders.
But I promised some knitting chat.
Now, I absolutely cannot resist buying knitting needles secondhand. At Value Village, at yard sales, if you're getting rid of knitting needles, I will buy them. Consequently, I end up with a lot of weird sizes of circular needles, yet always have to go buy the right size for a new project. I did score an awesome set of vintage straights in delicious metallic colours, but circulars always seem to do me in.
But no more!
My mom got me these for Christmas:
Not only are they interchangeable, but they are Addis!
They are amazing. Incredibly lightweight and easy to knit with. I'm a huge fan of metal needles, anyway, and these are the best I've ever used. Plus I can make any length circular I want!
I've just been making a test scarf, as I'm currently between patterns-- a friend moved to Australia for a few months, taking most of my knitting books with her! Quel scandal! But once I get paid, I think I'm going to pick a pattern, something juicy and difficult, and really break in these needles.
And that's all the news that is the news!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Production Value
So, the scale is the same. A frustrating 173. But I've made it through almost 21 days of gluten-free vegan! I'm pretty proud that I haven't cracked and eaten a donut or something. I am going to gracefully end the cleanse tomorrow, as it's Hallmark Invented Day, and we are going out for Indian food before J heads out on tour this week. I'm excited to eat bread again, but it has made me really think about what I could be eating, and how I *can* eat healthy, yummy food.
But in other news... I had a long-awaited meeting with an artistic director today. It had really become something of a joke, because we kept trying to reschedule and he kept blowing me off, and it just seemed like it was never going to happen. And when I say "meeting with an artistic director", it seems like it's the huge poopoochichi thing, and it's not. Other places, it might be. Here, everyone knows each other and can tell you five stories about who the person at the table next to you is sleeping with.
In any case, I was having this meeting about a play I've written, a play I applied with to a prestigious writer's colony with, a play I really, really hope will one day be produced. And I was just kind of straight up about it, which really surprised me, but I get tired of the runaround. Long story short, it sounds like we're doing a workshop in March, a public reading in May, and if things go my way, my play will open the 2011/2012 season!
!!!
I was so thrilled I came home and wrote another 5 pages on the play I'm supposed to be writing, like, yesterday. For me, writing can be kind of like working out-- you have to do it as soon as you get the idea, and suffer through it because it feels so good when it stops. And it's good for you. And, you get worthwhile results.
!!!
!
But in other news... I had a long-awaited meeting with an artistic director today. It had really become something of a joke, because we kept trying to reschedule and he kept blowing me off, and it just seemed like it was never going to happen. And when I say "meeting with an artistic director", it seems like it's the huge poopoochichi thing, and it's not. Other places, it might be. Here, everyone knows each other and can tell you five stories about who the person at the table next to you is sleeping with.
In any case, I was having this meeting about a play I've written, a play I applied with to a prestigious writer's colony with, a play I really, really hope will one day be produced. And I was just kind of straight up about it, which really surprised me, but I get tired of the runaround. Long story short, it sounds like we're doing a workshop in March, a public reading in May, and if things go my way, my play will open the 2011/2012 season!
!!!
I was so thrilled I came home and wrote another 5 pages on the play I'm supposed to be writing, like, yesterday. For me, writing can be kind of like working out-- you have to do it as soon as you get the idea, and suffer through it because it feels so good when it stops. And it's good for you. And, you get worthwhile results.
!!!
!
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Well, duh...
Do you ever have those moments of epiphany where you realize something that alters your way of thinking, but is so staggeringly obvious that you don't understand how you couldn't have realized it before?
I had one of those moments today after my singing lesson.
Let me tell you a story about me and singing:
One of my earliest career aspirations was to be an opera singer. I remember my dad listening to Saturday Afternoon At The Opera every weekend, and being incredibly interested in the curtain call segment of the proceedings. All those people yelling "Bravo!", and the applause, and my imaginings of roses raining down on the singers (yes, I was a mildly overdramatic child) made me think "That's something I want to do." Of course, I can't discount the fact that the singing orange on Sesame Street may also have influenced me.
I loved singing. I sang all the time. I still do, probably to the annoyance of people around me. I asked my parents for singing lessons, but that never quite panned out. But we did get a piano, which I taught myself to play so I could sing old show tunes to my heart's content. I remember once my dad saying "You know, if you stopped fooling around, you'd probably have a good voice." Needless to say, I wasn't fooling around.
Long story short, when I was 16, and decided to audition for the local arts high school. (It is nothing and everything like Fame, for those of you wondering.) I got accepted into the drama program and the music program, and there was no question that I was going to go into music. Since I'd already moved out of my parents house, this was a BIG SCARY INDEPENDENT STEP that I was taking.
Somehow, as I took voice lessons, as I was surrounded by other singers, something changed for me. I felt... different. I didn't sound like other people, and there were so many people who were so good. So many people that it seemed like it was so easy for, while I was struggling. I felt blocked. I felt frustrated. I started to hate singing in public, because I felt like I wasn't good enough, wasn't good at all. I got tired of getting put in the alto section because I was loud and everyone else was blossoming into these lyric sopranos. I got critiques from a lot of people (one of the hazards of pursuing the arts-- you're expected to accept criticism with good grace, from just about anyone). I wanted so much to audition for a musical theatre program, but I lost my nerve. Not just because of my singing, but because of a lot of other things. There were plenty of other things I didn't like about myself besides my voice, but that's a dark tale for another time. But I hated my voice. I hated singing.
Instead of going away to become a singer, I stayed in my hometown and went to theatre school instead. Which was fabulous, and I learned a lot. But somehow, I kept drifting back to singing. I'd pick up with a new teacher every few year, hoping that they'd have the magic key that would unlock my poor blocked voice. No one did, and I'd get frustrated, realize I couldn't really afford to study something that was going nowhere, and quit after about a year. Incidentally, a friend told me her daughter's piano teacher refuses to take adult students, because adults who want to study an instrument "are always trying to work out some unresolved childhood issue." True? Or maybe they just want to take piano lessons.
I even had a job where I had to sing, last year, doing a school tour, I had to open the show singing a song in French (it was a French touring show). And even when people told me I was fine, good even, I didn't feel like it was good enough. Like somehow they weren't telling me the truth, that I just wished I could be a singer, and whatever I was doing, it didn't feel like it.
Fast forward to last year. My old teacher was moving away to teach elsewhere, and she recommended another teacher for me, if I was still interested in continuing. I hemmed and hawed over it for a while. Let's face it, I thought, I have a weird voice and I kind of suck and it's frustrating. But I decided to give it another shot. And I'm glad I did, because my voice teacher now is awesome. I mean, I still think I have a weird voice, and I'm not exactly fantastic yet, but I'm beginning to remember the things I loved about singing in the first place. And that I don't have to feel judged for doing it. So much so that I'm contemplating singing in front of people, seriously, for the first time in years and years.
Which brings me back to my "duh" moment. Had a great lesson this morning, made some real progress. Thinking on the bus ride on my way to work about the things people have said to me about my voice, things I have said to myself about my voice. And I suddenly realized a couple of things:
*Just because people say something to me, it doesn't mean it's true
*I don't have to hold on to negative stuff forever and ever to torture myself with
*Keeping score of positive comments vs negative comments is exhausting and pointless
*Really, I'm sure most of the people involved wouldn't remember saying anything to me, so why should I keep hitting myself in the face with it in lurid technicolour detail?
*It's none of my business what other people think of me.
So there is my realization for the day. Other than that, I'm eager for the cleanse to be over so I can go and have some Indian food with naan bread!
I had one of those moments today after my singing lesson.
Let me tell you a story about me and singing:
One of my earliest career aspirations was to be an opera singer. I remember my dad listening to Saturday Afternoon At The Opera every weekend, and being incredibly interested in the curtain call segment of the proceedings. All those people yelling "Bravo!", and the applause, and my imaginings of roses raining down on the singers (yes, I was a mildly overdramatic child) made me think "That's something I want to do." Of course, I can't discount the fact that the singing orange on Sesame Street may also have influenced me.
I loved singing. I sang all the time. I still do, probably to the annoyance of people around me. I asked my parents for singing lessons, but that never quite panned out. But we did get a piano, which I taught myself to play so I could sing old show tunes to my heart's content. I remember once my dad saying "You know, if you stopped fooling around, you'd probably have a good voice." Needless to say, I wasn't fooling around.
Long story short, when I was 16, and decided to audition for the local arts high school. (It is nothing and everything like Fame, for those of you wondering.) I got accepted into the drama program and the music program, and there was no question that I was going to go into music. Since I'd already moved out of my parents house, this was a BIG SCARY INDEPENDENT STEP that I was taking.
Somehow, as I took voice lessons, as I was surrounded by other singers, something changed for me. I felt... different. I didn't sound like other people, and there were so many people who were so good. So many people that it seemed like it was so easy for, while I was struggling. I felt blocked. I felt frustrated. I started to hate singing in public, because I felt like I wasn't good enough, wasn't good at all. I got tired of getting put in the alto section because I was loud and everyone else was blossoming into these lyric sopranos. I got critiques from a lot of people (one of the hazards of pursuing the arts-- you're expected to accept criticism with good grace, from just about anyone). I wanted so much to audition for a musical theatre program, but I lost my nerve. Not just because of my singing, but because of a lot of other things. There were plenty of other things I didn't like about myself besides my voice, but that's a dark tale for another time. But I hated my voice. I hated singing.
Instead of going away to become a singer, I stayed in my hometown and went to theatre school instead. Which was fabulous, and I learned a lot. But somehow, I kept drifting back to singing. I'd pick up with a new teacher every few year, hoping that they'd have the magic key that would unlock my poor blocked voice. No one did, and I'd get frustrated, realize I couldn't really afford to study something that was going nowhere, and quit after about a year. Incidentally, a friend told me her daughter's piano teacher refuses to take adult students, because adults who want to study an instrument "are always trying to work out some unresolved childhood issue." True? Or maybe they just want to take piano lessons.
I even had a job where I had to sing, last year, doing a school tour, I had to open the show singing a song in French (it was a French touring show). And even when people told me I was fine, good even, I didn't feel like it was good enough. Like somehow they weren't telling me the truth, that I just wished I could be a singer, and whatever I was doing, it didn't feel like it.
Fast forward to last year. My old teacher was moving away to teach elsewhere, and she recommended another teacher for me, if I was still interested in continuing. I hemmed and hawed over it for a while. Let's face it, I thought, I have a weird voice and I kind of suck and it's frustrating. But I decided to give it another shot. And I'm glad I did, because my voice teacher now is awesome. I mean, I still think I have a weird voice, and I'm not exactly fantastic yet, but I'm beginning to remember the things I loved about singing in the first place. And that I don't have to feel judged for doing it. So much so that I'm contemplating singing in front of people, seriously, for the first time in years and years.
Which brings me back to my "duh" moment. Had a great lesson this morning, made some real progress. Thinking on the bus ride on my way to work about the things people have said to me about my voice, things I have said to myself about my voice. And I suddenly realized a couple of things:
*Just because people say something to me, it doesn't mean it's true
*I don't have to hold on to negative stuff forever and ever to torture myself with
*Keeping score of positive comments vs negative comments is exhausting and pointless
*Really, I'm sure most of the people involved wouldn't remember saying anything to me, so why should I keep hitting myself in the face with it in lurid technicolour detail?
*It's none of my business what other people think of me.
So there is my realization for the day. Other than that, I'm eager for the cleanse to be over so I can go and have some Indian food with naan bread!
Monday, February 08, 2010
It occurs to me...
That I do a lot of bitching and moaning and insecuritizing in my blog. Which is okay, I mean, if blogs aren't for pretending your venting matters to others, then what are they for?
But it does occur to me that maybe all this bitching and moaning and insecuritizing isn't great for my life and my creative pursuits. I'm not saying I've suddenly discovered "The Secret" and am busy making an inspiration board, but I have been thinking that maybe you do attract what you put out there.
I was chatting with another artist friend the other day about feeling blocked, and jealous, and left behind. And how I realized that probably everyone I know feels this way, probably right at this very moment to some degree. And how that still didn't help, you see, because I felt like *I* was actually the only one who was sucking the big benucci at this thing called living a creative life.
And do you know what she said?
"You just have to remember your inherent awesomeness."
Now, normally, the bitter, chain-smoking, washed up drag queen who lives inside me would have rolled her heavily-false-lashed eyes at her and ordered another daquiri. But for some reason, this made sense. Remember my inherent awesomeness? But... I'm not awesome. Not at all.
Am I?
I mean, I have some pretty insecure artist friends who are pretty damn awesome, and can't see it to save their lives. Could I in fact, be like them?
You see where I'm going with this?
In any case, I'm going to try and be more positive in my life for a little while. Hey, it can't hurt. And if I don't like it, I figure I can always make a triumphant return to bitterness. Not that I'm wholly bitter, because the bitter artist is an iconic figure whom I particularly loathe. I mean, everyone gets frustrated, but at the same time, no one's holding a gun to your head, forcing you to choose this career.
Which is something I have to remember.
So, friends and neighbours, any of you who are still with me-- how do you stay positive? Are you relentlessly chipper? Do you secretly drink in the mornings to keep a shine on the day? Do you remember your inherent awesomeness?
But it does occur to me that maybe all this bitching and moaning and insecuritizing isn't great for my life and my creative pursuits. I'm not saying I've suddenly discovered "The Secret" and am busy making an inspiration board, but I have been thinking that maybe you do attract what you put out there.
I was chatting with another artist friend the other day about feeling blocked, and jealous, and left behind. And how I realized that probably everyone I know feels this way, probably right at this very moment to some degree. And how that still didn't help, you see, because I felt like *I* was actually the only one who was sucking the big benucci at this thing called living a creative life.
And do you know what she said?
"You just have to remember your inherent awesomeness."
Now, normally, the bitter, chain-smoking, washed up drag queen who lives inside me would have rolled her heavily-false-lashed eyes at her and ordered another daquiri. But for some reason, this made sense. Remember my inherent awesomeness? But... I'm not awesome. Not at all.
Am I?
I mean, I have some pretty insecure artist friends who are pretty damn awesome, and can't see it to save their lives. Could I in fact, be like them?
You see where I'm going with this?
In any case, I'm going to try and be more positive in my life for a little while. Hey, it can't hurt. And if I don't like it, I figure I can always make a triumphant return to bitterness. Not that I'm wholly bitter, because the bitter artist is an iconic figure whom I particularly loathe. I mean, everyone gets frustrated, but at the same time, no one's holding a gun to your head, forcing you to choose this career.
Which is something I have to remember.
So, friends and neighbours, any of you who are still with me-- how do you stay positive? Are you relentlessly chipper? Do you secretly drink in the mornings to keep a shine on the day? Do you remember your inherent awesomeness?
Friday, February 05, 2010
The Path of Most Resistance
Well, I realized I didn't post my weight last week. That was probably some kind of subconscious thing-- it was 176. Yikes!
Fortunately, today's weigh-in was better-- 173. I'm on day 12 of the cleanse, and feeling good about what I'm eating. I think I've definitely managed to get out of the eating junk for the sake of eating habit. Then again, I would really like a tofurkey sandwich...
I've been thinking a lot about resistance. I has it. I was reading "The War of Art" (which I recommend to any and all creative people), and he talks a lot about resistance. That which keeps us from doing, which keeps us trapped in wishing we could be doing something.
Yeah, I've got some of that.
I'm a results-oriented person. I'm always thinking about the end result, the performance, the finished project. Even when I'm just starting something. Which is, you know, a lot of pressure. I'm trying to get out of the habit of doing that, but it's hard.
I'm resistant to overcoming my resistance.
I'm a bit of a jealous person. As long as I can remember, I've had this idea in the back of my mind that life is supposed to be fair. Ridiculous, right? But I have a very highly developed sense of justice and fairness. I get jealous of people who are jerks who are successful, who are mean and still get cast, who bitch all the time despite having a show in a major company's season.
I could go on. But I won't, because it feeds the jealousy. And I hate jealousy. It's a useless emotion. It traps you. And "poor me" doesn't get you anywhere, it just keeps you stuck in the past, or some undefined future when you'll get yours. I need to be in the now, working my own thing, on my own path. I have to trust the path I'm on. Hell, I should probably start out by trusting that there is in fact a path.
Otherwise, I will become that thing I loathe: the bitter artist.
But hey, 173!
Fortunately, today's weigh-in was better-- 173. I'm on day 12 of the cleanse, and feeling good about what I'm eating. I think I've definitely managed to get out of the eating junk for the sake of eating habit. Then again, I would really like a tofurkey sandwich...
I've been thinking a lot about resistance. I has it. I was reading "The War of Art" (which I recommend to any and all creative people), and he talks a lot about resistance. That which keeps us from doing, which keeps us trapped in wishing we could be doing something.
Yeah, I've got some of that.
I'm a results-oriented person. I'm always thinking about the end result, the performance, the finished project. Even when I'm just starting something. Which is, you know, a lot of pressure. I'm trying to get out of the habit of doing that, but it's hard.
I'm resistant to overcoming my resistance.
I'm a bit of a jealous person. As long as I can remember, I've had this idea in the back of my mind that life is supposed to be fair. Ridiculous, right? But I have a very highly developed sense of justice and fairness. I get jealous of people who are jerks who are successful, who are mean and still get cast, who bitch all the time despite having a show in a major company's season.
I could go on. But I won't, because it feeds the jealousy. And I hate jealousy. It's a useless emotion. It traps you. And "poor me" doesn't get you anywhere, it just keeps you stuck in the past, or some undefined future when you'll get yours. I need to be in the now, working my own thing, on my own path. I have to trust the path I'm on. Hell, I should probably start out by trusting that there is in fact a path.
Otherwise, I will become that thing I loathe: the bitter artist.
But hey, 173!
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Remembrance of auditions past, part 2
Okay, so where was I? Oh, right, I was contemplating hustling my way through the picket sign folks to ask the abortion clinic if I could use their phone to call a cab to get me to my audition on time.
So I didn't do it. Just as I was about to, a bus came around the corner. Hallelujah! I thought. I am saved!
Only I wasn't, not yet. This bus, being a milk run bus at the best of times, had to stop at every. single. stop. on its way to downtown. I was losing it, checking my watch every 3 seconds and wishing I had left earlier, wishing the iron hadn't barfed up cat hair on my skirt, wishing I'd stayed at a hotel instead. I just about lost my shit on the guy who got on the bus and proceeded to have a 4-minute argument about why are bus fares in Calgary so high, and maybe he didn't want to ride the bus today after all.
But finally, we made it. As we were turning into the downtown core, I felt the bus... slowing down. Stopping. Stopping in front of an A&W. And then the bus driver got off and slowly meandered into the restaurant.
I couldn't take it any more. I still had 4 minutes to get there on time, and I was Going To Get There On Time. I grabbed my stuff, and leapt off the bus, my docs pounding the pavement through downtown.
Now, I'm not that familiar with Calgary. Calgary is confusing. It's on a grid system, meaning that it's set up on a Cartesian plane kind of dealie. So there's Centre Street and Centre Avenue, which is (0,0) on the grid. And then the streets and avenues go north, south, east and west. So there's 1st street SE, 1st street SW, 1st street NE, 1st street NW. The grid system does give you the advantage of being able to figure out roughly where one place is in relation to another, but it just looks like so many numbers to me... I get the math panic. You know how it goes.
In any case, the place I was headed for was near the Calgary Tower, a pretty easy landmark to find. And so I, a non-runner (and I stress this heartily) ran about 15 blocks to the stage door entrance. I must have looked like a hot mess when I got there, barely managing to gasp out "Where are the auditions?" Wordlessly, the security guard pointed up a looooonnnng flight of stairs.
Crap. I dragged my sweating, gasping self up those stairs, sprinting the last couple of steps and around the corner to find... another actress, waiting for her audition.
"They're running late," she said.
Thank God! This time, I truly had been saved! I sat down and tried to catch my breath while simultaneously going over my monologues. I was going to be charming, calm, composed and confident. I was going to nail it.
And here's where I do great, get cast and become the toast of Calgary, right? Credits roll as I accept an award, or take a bow at a sold-out show, right?
Right?
Wrong. I had it pretty together when they called me in, had some nice chat with the two artistic directors about my resume, and then they said "What are you going to do for us today?" And I told them. And got ready to show them my stuff.
Now, I still don't know what happened. My best guess is that all the adrenaline from freaking out and running suddenly kicked in. Or, conversely, completely left my body in a mass exodus. But I started my monologue, and...
I started shaking.
And it wasn't the fine tremor of nerves that "no one will notice but you". It was a full on body shaking. Like, the kind of shaking that makes you wonder if the person is going through some kind of withdrawal, or has a brain tumor or something shakes.
Curious, I thought. And I decided to muscle it out. At the time I assumed it was just nerves, and that it would subside as I continued my monologue.
Nope. Just kept on sh-sh-sh-aking through the whole thing. And the two people behind the table were staring at me in horrified fascination, looking at me, looking at my resume, looking at me again. You know we know this resume is totally fake, right? You realize that no one could possibly have hired you to do anything in front of people, right? This is what they were thinking. I could tell. It's what I would have been thinking on the other side of the table.
I finished. The shaking stopped. Completely. I was myself again, apparently. And the people behind the table paused for a moment, and then kindly asked "Do you have anything else?"
Did I? Boy howdy, now that this shaking thing was over with, I was going to blow them away with my serious, touching monologue. And I began.
And so did the shakes. Again, full body shaking. Start acting-- start shaking. Stop acting-- stop shaking.
I recall wanting the floor to open up and swallow me, or for a meteor to hit the building, anything to stop me from having to finish this mon-n-n-n-ologue. Of course, it didn't. And I finished. And stopped shaking. And they graciously said "Thank you" and asked "Do you have any questions?"
And I've always been of the mindset that you should have questions in those situations. Job interviews, auditions-- questions make you seem interested, give you the opportunity to make an impression. And so I asked the only question that sprang to mind.
"Will you be having callbacks?"
I know. As if I, of all people, needed to know that information. Oh, honey, their eyes seemed to say. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that.
And so, I left. I still had a few hours to kill before the bus home. And I went back to my friend's house and ate ice cream and m&m's while watching soap operas. And cried.
Actually, I didn't go out for auditions for quite a while after that. Fortunately, the theatre company in question has changed artistic directors since then, and I'll be mailing my stuff to them asking for a general this week.
And this time I will definitely be staying in a hotel. A hotel within a 6-block radius of the theatre.
So I didn't do it. Just as I was about to, a bus came around the corner. Hallelujah! I thought. I am saved!
Only I wasn't, not yet. This bus, being a milk run bus at the best of times, had to stop at every. single. stop. on its way to downtown. I was losing it, checking my watch every 3 seconds and wishing I had left earlier, wishing the iron hadn't barfed up cat hair on my skirt, wishing I'd stayed at a hotel instead. I just about lost my shit on the guy who got on the bus and proceeded to have a 4-minute argument about why are bus fares in Calgary so high, and maybe he didn't want to ride the bus today after all.
But finally, we made it. As we were turning into the downtown core, I felt the bus... slowing down. Stopping. Stopping in front of an A&W. And then the bus driver got off and slowly meandered into the restaurant.
I couldn't take it any more. I still had 4 minutes to get there on time, and I was Going To Get There On Time. I grabbed my stuff, and leapt off the bus, my docs pounding the pavement through downtown.
Now, I'm not that familiar with Calgary. Calgary is confusing. It's on a grid system, meaning that it's set up on a Cartesian plane kind of dealie. So there's Centre Street and Centre Avenue, which is (0,0) on the grid. And then the streets and avenues go north, south, east and west. So there's 1st street SE, 1st street SW, 1st street NE, 1st street NW. The grid system does give you the advantage of being able to figure out roughly where one place is in relation to another, but it just looks like so many numbers to me... I get the math panic. You know how it goes.
In any case, the place I was headed for was near the Calgary Tower, a pretty easy landmark to find. And so I, a non-runner (and I stress this heartily) ran about 15 blocks to the stage door entrance. I must have looked like a hot mess when I got there, barely managing to gasp out "Where are the auditions?" Wordlessly, the security guard pointed up a looooonnnng flight of stairs.
Crap. I dragged my sweating, gasping self up those stairs, sprinting the last couple of steps and around the corner to find... another actress, waiting for her audition.
"They're running late," she said.
Thank God! This time, I truly had been saved! I sat down and tried to catch my breath while simultaneously going over my monologues. I was going to be charming, calm, composed and confident. I was going to nail it.
And here's where I do great, get cast and become the toast of Calgary, right? Credits roll as I accept an award, or take a bow at a sold-out show, right?
Right?
Wrong. I had it pretty together when they called me in, had some nice chat with the two artistic directors about my resume, and then they said "What are you going to do for us today?" And I told them. And got ready to show them my stuff.
Now, I still don't know what happened. My best guess is that all the adrenaline from freaking out and running suddenly kicked in. Or, conversely, completely left my body in a mass exodus. But I started my monologue, and...
I started shaking.
And it wasn't the fine tremor of nerves that "no one will notice but you". It was a full on body shaking. Like, the kind of shaking that makes you wonder if the person is going through some kind of withdrawal, or has a brain tumor or something shakes.
Curious, I thought. And I decided to muscle it out. At the time I assumed it was just nerves, and that it would subside as I continued my monologue.
Nope. Just kept on sh-sh-sh-aking through the whole thing. And the two people behind the table were staring at me in horrified fascination, looking at me, looking at my resume, looking at me again. You know we know this resume is totally fake, right? You realize that no one could possibly have hired you to do anything in front of people, right? This is what they were thinking. I could tell. It's what I would have been thinking on the other side of the table.
I finished. The shaking stopped. Completely. I was myself again, apparently. And the people behind the table paused for a moment, and then kindly asked "Do you have anything else?"
Did I? Boy howdy, now that this shaking thing was over with, I was going to blow them away with my serious, touching monologue. And I began.
And so did the shakes. Again, full body shaking. Start acting-- start shaking. Stop acting-- stop shaking.
I recall wanting the floor to open up and swallow me, or for a meteor to hit the building, anything to stop me from having to finish this mon-n-n-n-ologue. Of course, it didn't. And I finished. And stopped shaking. And they graciously said "Thank you" and asked "Do you have any questions?"
And I've always been of the mindset that you should have questions in those situations. Job interviews, auditions-- questions make you seem interested, give you the opportunity to make an impression. And so I asked the only question that sprang to mind.
"Will you be having callbacks?"
I know. As if I, of all people, needed to know that information. Oh, honey, their eyes seemed to say. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that.
And so, I left. I still had a few hours to kill before the bus home. And I went back to my friend's house and ate ice cream and m&m's while watching soap operas. And cried.
Actually, I didn't go out for auditions for quite a while after that. Fortunately, the theatre company in question has changed artistic directors since then, and I'll be mailing my stuff to them asking for a general this week.
And this time I will definitely be staying in a hotel. A hotel within a 6-block radius of the theatre.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Remembrance of Auditions Past...
So I subscribe to the Equity email list for auditions and stuff-- most often the audition notices and ticket discounts are for Toronto, but once in a while something pops up closer to me.
So. There's a theatre in Calgary which is asking for submissions for generals. And it just so happens that I had the worst audition of my life there a few years ago.
But wait! Some of you may be asking. What are "generals"?
Well, Virginia, I'm glad you asked. Every year or two years, theatre companies will hold general auditions, in which they invite people whose work they aren't familiar with to come and audition for them. Union houses like this one are obligated by Equity to give Equity actors a chance to be seen, at least every two years. The plus: you get to go in and be seen by the artistic director. And often other artistic directors in town will tag along to see actors. The cons: really, by the time they do generals, many theatres have already cast their season. Unless they're looking for something ultra-specific, it's less likely you'll get cast in the upcoming season.
Anyway, it's an audition. You go in, hand them your picture, and do two monologues for them, everyone thanks each other, and you leave. What could possibly go wrong?
Flash back a couple of years ago. Actually, maybe about 5 or 6 years ago. I'd been trying to get out-of-town auditions, and had managed to get one with this company. I was feeling pretty proud of my independence as I took the Greyhound down to Calgary the day before the audition. I was staying with a friend, I was familiar with the bus routes into downtown, I'd been working on my monologues for a while. I was pretty sure I was set.
The morning of, I got up nice and early to eat breakfast and get dressed. I was going for that weird eclectic look that only people in movies seem to be able to pull off-- big doc boots, black skirt with a print, some kind of top. The friend I was staying with had cats, and thus I had been extra careful to keep my clothes away from them. But as I zipped up my skirt, I noticed it had a little crease in it. I spotted an iron and ironing board in the kitchen, and decided I had plenty of time to give it a go. I heated up the iron and went to town.
Big mistake. It was like the iron had a cat in it or something. My first pass across my black skirt left a white furry trail.Then, perhaps not believing that this could really be happening, I took another pass at the skirt. Yep. Hot wide streaks of white cat hair.
While desperately looking for some tape to de-hair my skirt, I realized that I was missing my bus. No problem, I thought. That bus comes every 15 minutes. Which was true. When I'd been taking it the previous summer during rush hour. During regular time, it was one of those random buses that seem to come at the whim of the driver. But I didn't realize that as I was cheerfully walking through the sunshine towards the bus stop, headshot my lucky purple folder in my bag. As far as I was concerned, I had plenty of time.
Plenty of time passed. I kept checking my watch, realizing that the chances of my getting to this audition on time were decreasing by the second. This was before I had a cell phone, so if I was going to call a cab, I needed a public phone. I looked around...
Now, the funny thing about this bus stop is it is literally in the middle of nowhere. Even though it's in the middle of a residential neighborhood, there aren't really even houses by it. The only place of business nearby that might potentially have a phone was across the street. I squinted to see what it was. There certainly seemed to be a lineup outside the place, anyway.
That's right, it was an abortion clinic. And it wasn't a lineup, those were protesters hassling people going into the clinic. I immediately flashed back to my days of watching Degrassi Jr. High, when one of the twins is going into the clinic and all those people were shoving rubber fetus dolls at them.
Should I go into the abortion clinic and ask to use their phone? I wondered. Do I show the protesters my headshots and tell them I really just need to call a cab? That's probably the oldest trick in the book for avoiding abortion protesters on your way into the clinic. Plus I thought the people in the clinic would think I was weird. Plus I didn't want the hassle.
I stood there, contemplating this for some time, as my audition time inched ever closer...
OK, that's enough typing for now. I'll finish this fascinating tome later!
So. There's a theatre in Calgary which is asking for submissions for generals. And it just so happens that I had the worst audition of my life there a few years ago.
But wait! Some of you may be asking. What are "generals"?
Well, Virginia, I'm glad you asked. Every year or two years, theatre companies will hold general auditions, in which they invite people whose work they aren't familiar with to come and audition for them. Union houses like this one are obligated by Equity to give Equity actors a chance to be seen, at least every two years. The plus: you get to go in and be seen by the artistic director. And often other artistic directors in town will tag along to see actors. The cons: really, by the time they do generals, many theatres have already cast their season. Unless they're looking for something ultra-specific, it's less likely you'll get cast in the upcoming season.
Anyway, it's an audition. You go in, hand them your picture, and do two monologues for them, everyone thanks each other, and you leave. What could possibly go wrong?
Flash back a couple of years ago. Actually, maybe about 5 or 6 years ago. I'd been trying to get out-of-town auditions, and had managed to get one with this company. I was feeling pretty proud of my independence as I took the Greyhound down to Calgary the day before the audition. I was staying with a friend, I was familiar with the bus routes into downtown, I'd been working on my monologues for a while. I was pretty sure I was set.
The morning of, I got up nice and early to eat breakfast and get dressed. I was going for that weird eclectic look that only people in movies seem to be able to pull off-- big doc boots, black skirt with a print, some kind of top. The friend I was staying with had cats, and thus I had been extra careful to keep my clothes away from them. But as I zipped up my skirt, I noticed it had a little crease in it. I spotted an iron and ironing board in the kitchen, and decided I had plenty of time to give it a go. I heated up the iron and went to town.
Big mistake. It was like the iron had a cat in it or something. My first pass across my black skirt left a white furry trail.Then, perhaps not believing that this could really be happening, I took another pass at the skirt. Yep. Hot wide streaks of white cat hair.
While desperately looking for some tape to de-hair my skirt, I realized that I was missing my bus. No problem, I thought. That bus comes every 15 minutes. Which was true. When I'd been taking it the previous summer during rush hour. During regular time, it was one of those random buses that seem to come at the whim of the driver. But I didn't realize that as I was cheerfully walking through the sunshine towards the bus stop, headshot my lucky purple folder in my bag. As far as I was concerned, I had plenty of time.
Plenty of time passed. I kept checking my watch, realizing that the chances of my getting to this audition on time were decreasing by the second. This was before I had a cell phone, so if I was going to call a cab, I needed a public phone. I looked around...
Now, the funny thing about this bus stop is it is literally in the middle of nowhere. Even though it's in the middle of a residential neighborhood, there aren't really even houses by it. The only place of business nearby that might potentially have a phone was across the street. I squinted to see what it was. There certainly seemed to be a lineup outside the place, anyway.
That's right, it was an abortion clinic. And it wasn't a lineup, those were protesters hassling people going into the clinic. I immediately flashed back to my days of watching Degrassi Jr. High, when one of the twins is going into the clinic and all those people were shoving rubber fetus dolls at them.
Should I go into the abortion clinic and ask to use their phone? I wondered. Do I show the protesters my headshots and tell them I really just need to call a cab? That's probably the oldest trick in the book for avoiding abortion protesters on your way into the clinic. Plus I thought the people in the clinic would think I was weird. Plus I didn't want the hassle.
I stood there, contemplating this for some time, as my audition time inched ever closer...
OK, that's enough typing for now. I'll finish this fascinating tome later!
Monday, February 01, 2010
The February Blahs
Yes, I get them every year, and every March (or sometimes April), I block them right out of my mind, only to be surprised the following February: What's going on here? Why do I feel so crappy? Oh, right, it's February.
You know that feeling where you feel kind of down, but it mainly just translates to being irritated with everything? Just feeling bored and sick of yourself and everyone else?
If you don't, you're lucky.
I'm in the office alone today. My two cube-mates are out sick, leaving only me in my windowless cell. There is a huge slab of birthday cake only steps away from my desk.
Cake, people. The kind with the disgustingly sweet, edible-oil-product frosting. With yellow roses on it. Yet, I managed to walk on by.
As I've mentioned, I work two jobs-- one is doing box office at a concert hall, and the other... well, I have a feeling they're one of those companies that probably don't want you mentioning them in your blog, even if your blog is read by no one. Suffice it to say that I am working in a facet of the entertainment industry, and that I am very lucky to work here, and a lot of my friends would kill for my job. But there is a lot of food here. Like, they bring in 3 meals a day. Bins of pastries, fresh fruit, yogurts, cheeses. They have sandwich presses and all the fixins, should you so desire. Cereal. Lunch and dinner brought in every day.
Today is day 8. I'm doing well. A little bored with my uncreative dinners, but what are you going to do? Trying to work up a non-intimidating, accomplishable to-do list that will GET DONE for the rest of it.
Making some plans for the future, that kind of thing. Just working through the blahs. Or working with them. Because as much as I'd like to spend February hiding in bed and watching soap operas, I need to make some money!
You know that feeling where you feel kind of down, but it mainly just translates to being irritated with everything? Just feeling bored and sick of yourself and everyone else?
If you don't, you're lucky.
I'm in the office alone today. My two cube-mates are out sick, leaving only me in my windowless cell. There is a huge slab of birthday cake only steps away from my desk.
Cake, people. The kind with the disgustingly sweet, edible-oil-product frosting. With yellow roses on it. Yet, I managed to walk on by.
As I've mentioned, I work two jobs-- one is doing box office at a concert hall, and the other... well, I have a feeling they're one of those companies that probably don't want you mentioning them in your blog, even if your blog is read by no one. Suffice it to say that I am working in a facet of the entertainment industry, and that I am very lucky to work here, and a lot of my friends would kill for my job. But there is a lot of food here. Like, they bring in 3 meals a day. Bins of pastries, fresh fruit, yogurts, cheeses. They have sandwich presses and all the fixins, should you so desire. Cereal. Lunch and dinner brought in every day.
Today is day 8. I'm doing well. A little bored with my uncreative dinners, but what are you going to do? Trying to work up a non-intimidating, accomplishable to-do list that will GET DONE for the rest of it.
Making some plans for the future, that kind of thing. Just working through the blahs. Or working with them. Because as much as I'd like to spend February hiding in bed and watching soap operas, I need to make some money!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Day 6
Today is/was day 6 of the cleanse. It was a hard day, I'll admit. It didn't help that I woke up feeling rather blah and unmotivated-- do you ever have those days where you just have no motivation to do anything? I don't know if it's just that end of January meh feeling I always struggle with, or the fact that today EVERYTHING I WANTED TO EAT HAD GLUTEN IN IT.
I just shouldn't have gone grocery shopping, really. But I had to go get a prescription filled, and get my nails fixed (I've developed an unhealthy depends on my big ole fake nails since the wedding), and it just made sense to pop in to the grocery store and get some mushrooms for tonight's risotto.
As soon as I stepped into the store, my immediate urge was to deny every single chickpea and nugget of quinoa (grain? nugget? niblet?) I've eaten over the past week. Them? No, sorry, never heard of them. I had an instantaneous craving for soy bacon and tomato sandwiches (just the bacon's soy, not the tomatoes, folks. ba-doom-*ching*! thank you! I'm here all week!). I checked the package, knowing the answer wasn't something I wanted to hear. Yep. Gluten.
To make a boring story short, I felt a bit better upon slogging home and making myself some oven sweet potato fries. I'm going to look through some cookbooks tomorrow and try to at least plan something interesting for dinners this week.
Blah blah blah DIET blah blah blah FOOD blah blah blah GLUTEN, right? Am I really that uninteresting? Is this quickly becoming a blah-g? Wait, I can talk about exercise! I put a bunch of workout dvd's on hold at the library, figuring that I might actually find a couple I like, and that I can switch them up and avoid getting bored with the whole situation. The first one I think I'm going to try is called "Dance Off The Inches: Country Line Dancing".
!!!
The cover, from a distance, makes it look like a low-budget porn. (And I worked at a video store with an extensive adult section. I'm well familiar with low-budget porns. From a retail sense, you understand.) Maybe I'll get crazy and post a pic of myself line dancing.
But back to motivation. Gentle readers, do you ever lose your motivation? How do you kick yourself in the ass and get back in gear?
I just shouldn't have gone grocery shopping, really. But I had to go get a prescription filled, and get my nails fixed (I've developed an unhealthy depends on my big ole fake nails since the wedding), and it just made sense to pop in to the grocery store and get some mushrooms for tonight's risotto.
As soon as I stepped into the store, my immediate urge was to deny every single chickpea and nugget of quinoa (grain? nugget? niblet?) I've eaten over the past week. Them? No, sorry, never heard of them. I had an instantaneous craving for soy bacon and tomato sandwiches (just the bacon's soy, not the tomatoes, folks. ba-doom-*ching*! thank you! I'm here all week!). I checked the package, knowing the answer wasn't something I wanted to hear. Yep. Gluten.
To make a boring story short, I felt a bit better upon slogging home and making myself some oven sweet potato fries. I'm going to look through some cookbooks tomorrow and try to at least plan something interesting for dinners this week.
Blah blah blah DIET blah blah blah FOOD blah blah blah GLUTEN, right? Am I really that uninteresting? Is this quickly becoming a blah-g? Wait, I can talk about exercise! I put a bunch of workout dvd's on hold at the library, figuring that I might actually find a couple I like, and that I can switch them up and avoid getting bored with the whole situation. The first one I think I'm going to try is called "Dance Off The Inches: Country Line Dancing".
!!!
The cover, from a distance, makes it look like a low-budget porn. (And I worked at a video store with an extensive adult section. I'm well familiar with low-budget porns. From a retail sense, you understand.) Maybe I'll get crazy and post a pic of myself line dancing.
But back to motivation. Gentle readers, do you ever lose your motivation? How do you kick yourself in the ass and get back in gear?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
One of my worst habits
Is saying "let's work together"! Okay, it's not one of my more annoying habits like constantly singing conversations, or a destructive habit like smoking. But I think it is a bad habit, in a way.
I plan these little projects with people, and we're all excited, and we're going to Make. It. Happen. or Do. Some. Crazy. Shit., and then... well, more often than not, things fizzle out. Life happens. I get busy, or they get busy, or one of us gets a gig, or, or, or... all those things that can derail a project.
And so I am in awe of people who self-promote, self-produce, self-anything, really. Because I have done it in the past, and it's hard. And I'm wondering that if I did it in the past, where did all my motivation go? Which is the real danger for me of planning a project with someone else. Because, really, no one is ever going to be as interested in your career and your creative future as you are. And nor should they be. But I believe that you have to find the right people to connect with, the people who won't fizzle out. I need to (a) put my money where my mouth is, as it were, and (b) follow through, and maybe even (c)find people to work with who are also driven to follow through.
Because it's all very well to have plans... I've always been great at coming up with imaginary futures, and new projects, and plans,plans,plans! It's really the action part I seem to have trouble with.
Scared? You betcha! Trying to outrun my thoughts of "Meh, this probably won't work out anyway"? You know it! But I have to get out of this rut. Out of any rut. And I'm beginning to realize that the only person who can do that is me.
In other news, Day 4 has passed along uneventfully... I refused croissants, biscuits, even fudge cake. (Job #2 has a fully-catered kitchen right by my office, and many many co-workers with delicious treats). I don't even really miss bread that much, which surprised me. Tomorrow is weigh-in day. I'm already amping up not to get discouraged.
Did I mention that one of my other worst habits is a slightly negative attitude towards myself?
I plan these little projects with people, and we're all excited, and we're going to Make. It. Happen. or Do. Some. Crazy. Shit., and then... well, more often than not, things fizzle out. Life happens. I get busy, or they get busy, or one of us gets a gig, or, or, or... all those things that can derail a project.
And so I am in awe of people who self-promote, self-produce, self-anything, really. Because I have done it in the past, and it's hard. And I'm wondering that if I did it in the past, where did all my motivation go? Which is the real danger for me of planning a project with someone else. Because, really, no one is ever going to be as interested in your career and your creative future as you are. And nor should they be. But I believe that you have to find the right people to connect with, the people who won't fizzle out. I need to (a) put my money where my mouth is, as it were, and (b) follow through, and maybe even (c)find people to work with who are also driven to follow through.
Because it's all very well to have plans... I've always been great at coming up with imaginary futures, and new projects, and plans,plans,plans! It's really the action part I seem to have trouble with.
Scared? You betcha! Trying to outrun my thoughts of "Meh, this probably won't work out anyway"? You know it! But I have to get out of this rut. Out of any rut. And I'm beginning to realize that the only person who can do that is me.
In other news, Day 4 has passed along uneventfully... I refused croissants, biscuits, even fudge cake. (Job #2 has a fully-catered kitchen right by my office, and many many co-workers with delicious treats). I don't even really miss bread that much, which surprised me. Tomorrow is weigh-in day. I'm already amping up not to get discouraged.
Did I mention that one of my other worst habits is a slightly negative attitude towards myself?
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Cleanse, Days 1-3
Hello, friends and neighbours!
Well, I didn't hear back from the industrial I auditioned for, and today was my last day to worry about it. I like to do that with stuff like this-- give myself a deadline for when I would reasonably hear yes or no, and then... just stop worrying about it. It doesn't mean I still couldn't hear later this week, but I just need to let it go. Because otherwise I would drive myself crazy thinking about it.
As I mentioned before, I'm doing the Quantum Wellness Cleanse for 21 days. Yes, I saw it on Oprah, but I did read both books (Quantum Wellness, and The Quantum Wellness Cleanse). I think I'm really ready to invite some healthy changes into my life, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope I'd lose some weight in the process.
Basically, the Cleanse is about adopting healthier habits nutritionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically. Hmm, it sounds a bit cult-ish when I put it like that. It's not, though. You give up the following for 21 days:
*caffeine
*alcohol
*refined sugar
*gluten
*animal products, including eggs and dairy
I don't drink tons of caffeine, and I'm not usually a big drinker. I'm also already a vegetarian, and since J can't have dairy, we have TONS of vegan cookbooks around the house. In fact, we eat vegan food quite often. Still, I was worried that it would be hard to go full-on vegan for 3 weeks. Turns out, it's gluten that's the difficult one. That shit is everywhere!
Anyway, it's going well heading into day 4 tomorrow. I don't feel much different yet, but I don't feel deprived, either.
Here's what I ate today:
Breakfast: plain oatmeal with soymilk, banana, and a little agave nectar
Snack: unsweetened applesauce
Lunch: Tofu scramble with red peppers, onions, mushrooms, and carrots
Snack: Carrot sticks and a handful of roasted cashews
Dinner: Tacos with refried beans, avocado, tomato, lettuce and soy cheese
I may have some fruit or a rice cake with a little peanut butter later if I get hungry. But it sounds a lot like WW Core, doesn't it? I did buy some gluten-free products like bread, wraps and crackers, but it's pretty expensive. I think next week I'm going to try and focus on rice, beans and greens. Cheap, vegan, gluten-free, and healthy.
It may be TMI, but I have a feeling in a couple of days I'm going to be pooping like a champ!
Well, I didn't hear back from the industrial I auditioned for, and today was my last day to worry about it. I like to do that with stuff like this-- give myself a deadline for when I would reasonably hear yes or no, and then... just stop worrying about it. It doesn't mean I still couldn't hear later this week, but I just need to let it go. Because otherwise I would drive myself crazy thinking about it.
As I mentioned before, I'm doing the Quantum Wellness Cleanse for 21 days. Yes, I saw it on Oprah, but I did read both books (Quantum Wellness, and The Quantum Wellness Cleanse). I think I'm really ready to invite some healthy changes into my life, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope I'd lose some weight in the process.
Basically, the Cleanse is about adopting healthier habits nutritionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically. Hmm, it sounds a bit cult-ish when I put it like that. It's not, though. You give up the following for 21 days:
*caffeine
*alcohol
*refined sugar
*gluten
*animal products, including eggs and dairy
I don't drink tons of caffeine, and I'm not usually a big drinker. I'm also already a vegetarian, and since J can't have dairy, we have TONS of vegan cookbooks around the house. In fact, we eat vegan food quite often. Still, I was worried that it would be hard to go full-on vegan for 3 weeks. Turns out, it's gluten that's the difficult one. That shit is everywhere!
Anyway, it's going well heading into day 4 tomorrow. I don't feel much different yet, but I don't feel deprived, either.
Here's what I ate today:
Breakfast: plain oatmeal with soymilk, banana, and a little agave nectar
Snack: unsweetened applesauce
Lunch: Tofu scramble with red peppers, onions, mushrooms, and carrots
Snack: Carrot sticks and a handful of roasted cashews
Dinner: Tacos with refried beans, avocado, tomato, lettuce and soy cheese
I may have some fruit or a rice cake with a little peanut butter later if I get hungry. But it sounds a lot like WW Core, doesn't it? I did buy some gluten-free products like bread, wraps and crackers, but it's pretty expensive. I think next week I'm going to try and focus on rice, beans and greens. Cheap, vegan, gluten-free, and healthy.
It may be TMI, but I have a feeling in a couple of days I'm going to be pooping like a champ!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Audition #2
So today I had audition #2. And it's funny, the amount of time I spent stressing about it, trying to get my shift covered, learning my sides, getting dressed in a respectable-social-worker fashion, trying to get there in the snow, it all culminated in what was literally a five-minute period of my life. Before I knew it, I was back out on the street, heading home.
I think it went well. It seemed like it did. Of course, you could drive yourself crazy thinking of the various meanings behind "Great job", and "Thank you!" I haven't had too many on-camera auditions yet, but here's how they generally break down so far:
You get there. There's usually a sign-in sheet of some kind. And you can tell who your competition is, because they will all look somewhat like you, or at the very least be dressed like you. Many of these people know each other, and make what can sometimes seem like forced conversation about other gigs they've been working on, how they know the director/casting director/writer/other person of importance on the project. Other people will be smiling tersely, furiously going over their sides.
You wait. See people go in (and sometimes hear their audition through the door), come out. Eavesdrop on any conversations concerning: who and how many people are in the room. Wait some more if they're running behind.
You get called in. There's a cameraman, a reader, the director and/or casting director. You go stand on your mark (a piece of tape in the shape of a T), and be nice, agreeable, nice, energetic, and nice, doing your best to project the attitude that you're confident, together, talented, and easy to work with. You slate yourself, if they ask for it: looking into the camera, state your name, agency, and the role you're reading for.
You audition. The reader may give a lot, or they may be monotone, emotionless, and hard to hear. You might get some direction and get to do it again, or you might get nothing.
You're done! You might hear compliments, you might just hear "thank you". After all, they've got a lot more you's in the waiting room to get through, and they've been doing this all day. And it's pretty much crazy-making to try and figure out any subtext in their comments.
Overall, I feel like it went really, really well. It was definitely the first time I've come out of an on-camera audition feeling so good about it. (I tend to get CAMERA PANIC. Have I talked about this before? You know that episode of 30 Rock where Jack is going to be on the show, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands, and he needs two coffee mugs to walk "naturally"? Sometimes cameras make me feel like that on the inside.) Of course, now the wait begins, but I'm going to try not to focus on it. If I hear, I hear. If not, hey, at least I'm getting called in for stuff, right?
I think it went well. It seemed like it did. Of course, you could drive yourself crazy thinking of the various meanings behind "Great job", and "Thank you!" I haven't had too many on-camera auditions yet, but here's how they generally break down so far:
You get there. There's usually a sign-in sheet of some kind. And you can tell who your competition is, because they will all look somewhat like you, or at the very least be dressed like you. Many of these people know each other, and make what can sometimes seem like forced conversation about other gigs they've been working on, how they know the director/casting director/writer/other person of importance on the project. Other people will be smiling tersely, furiously going over their sides.
You wait. See people go in (and sometimes hear their audition through the door), come out. Eavesdrop on any conversations concerning: who and how many people are in the room. Wait some more if they're running behind.
You get called in. There's a cameraman, a reader, the director and/or casting director. You go stand on your mark (a piece of tape in the shape of a T), and be nice, agreeable, nice, energetic, and nice, doing your best to project the attitude that you're confident, together, talented, and easy to work with. You slate yourself, if they ask for it: looking into the camera, state your name, agency, and the role you're reading for.
You audition. The reader may give a lot, or they may be monotone, emotionless, and hard to hear. You might get some direction and get to do it again, or you might get nothing.
You're done! You might hear compliments, you might just hear "thank you". After all, they've got a lot more you's in the waiting room to get through, and they've been doing this all day. And it's pretty much crazy-making to try and figure out any subtext in their comments.
Overall, I feel like it went really, really well. It was definitely the first time I've come out of an on-camera audition feeling so good about it. (I tend to get CAMERA PANIC. Have I talked about this before? You know that episode of 30 Rock where Jack is going to be on the show, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands, and he needs two coffee mugs to walk "naturally"? Sometimes cameras make me feel like that on the inside.) Of course, now the wait begins, but I'm going to try not to focus on it. If I hear, I hear. If not, hey, at least I'm getting called in for stuff, right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)