thewildcard
I'm in this for the ice cream.
healthIf I go to yoga hungover, then smoke a cigarette and go to McDonald's on the way home, it still counts, right??
So. Out of practicality and not upset:
Here I am in NYC. I have probably been to. . .150 auditions, had a good handful of callbacks, and been cast in. . .NOTHING. Awesome! Eight months here.
Well, I WAS an extra on Law and Order and got offered a lot more extra work but it sucked and didn't pay well and had nothing to do with acting so I decided not to do any more of that.
I'm having a fabulous time. I have a great Manhattan apartment, a waitressing job that I can't really complain about; it's good exercise and I'm fed and it's kinda fun some days. I go on dates, I go out, my childhood best friend and I are close again, I love all this LIFE that NY has to offer.
But I haven't work in eight months. I worked constantly in Minneapolis. Acting is starting to feel like my nasty, abusive boyfriend I should dump. Seriously, like all the songs on the radio sound to me like they're about me and the profession, the art, the whole shebang.
So. . .no updates lately from me because honestly, since I moved from Minneapolis, virtually no progress.
I'm toying with a few different ideas.
1. Grad School for something crazy (aka normal)
2. Move back to MN and act and have a waitressing job forever
3. Start over again in NY when my lease is up and do everything as though I've just arrived, only with the knowledge I have now
4. Move to Australia
5. Just keep plugging along in what is starting to feel like a vast cesspool of dead end where even the tony winning actors can't make their rent.
6. Write my autobiography and move to an island in the Carribbean (LOL)
7. Become a stripper
So, I'm off to my yoga job now (I work four hours a week in exchange for all the free yoga I can stand). It will be relaxing.
Here I am in NYC. I have probably been to. . .150 auditions, had a good handful of callbacks, and been cast in. . .NOTHING. Awesome! Eight months here.
Well, I WAS an extra on Law and Order and got offered a lot more extra work but it sucked and didn't pay well and had nothing to do with acting so I decided not to do any more of that.
I'm having a fabulous time. I have a great Manhattan apartment, a waitressing job that I can't really complain about; it's good exercise and I'm fed and it's kinda fun some days. I go on dates, I go out, my childhood best friend and I are close again, I love all this LIFE that NY has to offer.
But I haven't work in eight months. I worked constantly in Minneapolis. Acting is starting to feel like my nasty, abusive boyfriend I should dump. Seriously, like all the songs on the radio sound to me like they're about me and the profession, the art, the whole shebang.
So. . .no updates lately from me because honestly, since I moved from Minneapolis, virtually no progress.
I'm toying with a few different ideas.
1. Grad School for something crazy (aka normal)
2. Move back to MN and act and have a waitressing job forever
3. Start over again in NY when my lease is up and do everything as though I've just arrived, only with the knowledge I have now
4. Move to Australia
5. Just keep plugging along in what is starting to feel like a vast cesspool of dead end where even the tony winning actors can't make their rent.
6. Write my autobiography and move to an island in the Carribbean (LOL)
7. Become a stripper
So, I'm off to my yoga job now (I work four hours a week in exchange for all the free yoga I can stand). It will be relaxing.
My Pet Peeve (. . .of the day. ha!)
My pet peeve of the day is when someone can't shut the fuck up about something you already know.
My example this evening was:
At work, I was a closer. Part of my closing duties includes collecting the candle votives (or, as human beings call them, tea lights in shot glasses), then dumping all the candles out and sending the glasses to the dishwasher.
As I was doing this, one of the busboys saw a couple of trays already filled wth lit candles and blew them out. I don't know if he did it due to irresistable urge or stupidity--I've seen evidence of both in this particular young man--but having no desire to burn up my hands relighting them, I went and continued collecting lit candles.
With a full tray of lit candles, I headed out to where my trays of now-extinguished candles were. Geez this buildup is dull. The payoff s dull, too. You should probably stop reading now.
I run into the bartender on the way to said trays. He stops me and says "You know, let me just tell you something." He walks me over to the candles. I know what he's going to say and I keep hoping he won't, but he does: "You shouldn't blow out these candles; they get hard and then they stick to the sides and you can't dump--"
"I know," I interrupt. "I think one of the busboys did it."
"Yes," he says, even perhaps a bit annoyed, "but the wax is going to be all cold and you should never blow them out or you can't dump them."
"I didn't blow them out. I know that. I close this restaurant all the time."
"But just so you know, you shouldn't blow them--"
"I know."
"I'm just saying that you shouldn't--"
. . .and I believe at this point I shouted at him. He had it coming. Sort of.
Actually, I probably would have handled it better except for that I'm uber-hormonal right now. My you-knows hurt and my cravings are taking me through a course in shellfish awareness.
Don't worry. Definitely not pregnant.
My example this evening was:
At work, I was a closer. Part of my closing duties includes collecting the candle votives (or, as human beings call them, tea lights in shot glasses), then dumping all the candles out and sending the glasses to the dishwasher.
As I was doing this, one of the busboys saw a couple of trays already filled wth lit candles and blew them out. I don't know if he did it due to irresistable urge or stupidity--I've seen evidence of both in this particular young man--but having no desire to burn up my hands relighting them, I went and continued collecting lit candles.
With a full tray of lit candles, I headed out to where my trays of now-extinguished candles were. Geez this buildup is dull. The payoff s dull, too. You should probably stop reading now.
I run into the bartender on the way to said trays. He stops me and says "You know, let me just tell you something." He walks me over to the candles. I know what he's going to say and I keep hoping he won't, but he does: "You shouldn't blow out these candles; they get hard and then they stick to the sides and you can't dump--"
"I know," I interrupt. "I think one of the busboys did it."
"Yes," he says, even perhaps a bit annoyed, "but the wax is going to be all cold and you should never blow them out or you can't dump them."
"I didn't blow them out. I know that. I close this restaurant all the time."
"But just so you know, you shouldn't blow them--"
"I know."
"I'm just saying that you shouldn't--"
. . .and I believe at this point I shouted at him. He had it coming. Sort of.
Actually, I probably would have handled it better except for that I'm uber-hormonal right now. My you-knows hurt and my cravings are taking me through a course in shellfish awareness.
Don't worry. Definitely not pregnant.
I am sick of auditioning. Sick!
The great thing about being an actress in NY is that there are always so many auditions. The rough thing is that there are always so many auditions.
Whenever I'm not working and not about to die (for one reason or another), I check the AEA website and go to whatever's going that day. Actually, for about a month now, I plan it all out ahead on Sunday--which is also my day for sending gratuitous postcards--on a big piece of printer paper.
I have been doing the regular audition circuit for about. . .four or five months.
Free time? What's that? Free time, unless it's the wee hours of the morning or I've already been to the auditions that day, is WORK time.
People do quit. People move back to Kansas. People become lifer-waiters and make plenty of money and don't spend it all on postage and audition hoohah. People go to grad school and become something else.
Why do I hang on? Well, callbacks keep coming, and that makes me feel like I'm getting somewhere. The Equity monitors all know me now. Some of the casting directors are showing a flicker or recognition in their eyes.
I guess I haven't lost hope yet. BUT I GET WHY PEOPLE DO.
When you walk out of your last audition of the day, even if the first two were business as usual, and you get the wrong look from the casting director. . .well, it's no way to live. Sitting in a waiting room all day on my off-days is no way to live. Taking good care of yourself ALL THE TIME so you don't chip the paint, so to speak, or wreck your voice or figure or face, when you are sans specialists like chefs and trainers and such is. . .well. . .that's probably how one ought to live, but I'm sick of it!! I'd like to not feel guilty about throwing my voice out at a party or sleeping through possible auditions because I had a night of beautiful insomnia.
Oh, this is so boring and I am spoiled. Rant over. I just need more sleep. Nothing insurmountable here. I'd better go to bed; two auditions tomorrow.
I'm just going to keep on trucking until the law of averages tips the scale in my favor. I mean, I'm reasonably talented; talented enough for practical purposes, certainly, so there must be a finite number of auditions I can go to before ACCIDENTALLY landing a role. Right? Or something? I mean, the number might be in the 10,000's, but the finite-ness is encouraging.
The great thing about being an actress in NY is that there are always so many auditions. The rough thing is that there are always so many auditions.
Whenever I'm not working and not about to die (for one reason or another), I check the AEA website and go to whatever's going that day. Actually, for about a month now, I plan it all out ahead on Sunday--which is also my day for sending gratuitous postcards--on a big piece of printer paper.
I have been doing the regular audition circuit for about. . .four or five months.
Free time? What's that? Free time, unless it's the wee hours of the morning or I've already been to the auditions that day, is WORK time.
People do quit. People move back to Kansas. People become lifer-waiters and make plenty of money and don't spend it all on postage and audition hoohah. People go to grad school and become something else.
Why do I hang on? Well, callbacks keep coming, and that makes me feel like I'm getting somewhere. The Equity monitors all know me now. Some of the casting directors are showing a flicker or recognition in their eyes.
I guess I haven't lost hope yet. BUT I GET WHY PEOPLE DO.
When you walk out of your last audition of the day, even if the first two were business as usual, and you get the wrong look from the casting director. . .well, it's no way to live. Sitting in a waiting room all day on my off-days is no way to live. Taking good care of yourself ALL THE TIME so you don't chip the paint, so to speak, or wreck your voice or figure or face, when you are sans specialists like chefs and trainers and such is. . .well. . .that's probably how one ought to live, but I'm sick of it!! I'd like to not feel guilty about throwing my voice out at a party or sleeping through possible auditions because I had a night of beautiful insomnia.
Oh, this is so boring and I am spoiled. Rant over. I just need more sleep. Nothing insurmountable here. I'd better go to bed; two auditions tomorrow.
I'm just going to keep on trucking until the law of averages tips the scale in my favor. I mean, I'm reasonably talented; talented enough for practical purposes, certainly, so there must be a finite number of auditions I can go to before ACCIDENTALLY landing a role. Right? Or something? I mean, the number might be in the 10,000's, but the finite-ness is encouraging.
Glamorous and Delusional.
Awesomely Bad Links
. . .Was Here.