My favorite form of punctuation is the ellipse. Because so...much can happen betwixt those three little dots...
Monday, April 30, 2007
Mopping the stage
So it's over, that play, the teenager one, the pie one.
Sigh.
I really liked that one too. I could have played her for another month and been happy, but such is the circle of life. Character life. You play them and then they die.
I have to say that I really enjoy striking sets though. It physicalizes the closure on everything, ripping up your apartment, knocking down the walls, lugging the luanne down 5 flights of stairs, stacking flats, sanding stuff down, re-painting everything black, getting paint all over you, sweeping everything up into big saw dusty piles of screws and nails and hinges, getting the space back to neutral. I mopped the stage last night after everything was cleared. The crew sat in the audience, exhausted. We were all slap happy at this point. Someone said, "I like this play. Plimco with the mop." Then they proceeded to comment on the production, critique it, but it was really beautiful this moment. Me, alone on a bare stage, mopping, with an audience. I don't want to say too much about it, because it will sound stupid, but... It was just simple and beautiful and cleansing and funny and perfect. Me. Mopping.
Then I tried to turn a cartwheel, but the floor was slippery and I fell on my ass and everyone laughed because I am a genius.
I started rehearsals for my next play on Saturday. I should probably tell you about those characters at some point. Oh and I got asked to do this other thing at the big theatre downtown, but... I think I'll let you enjoy the bare stage for just a bit longer before we move on...
Sentences of the Weekend
4/27
"So they're all soccer moms, but they're in really good shape because, you know, they're pole dancers."
4/28
"Have you ever been to her heart, sweethouse?"
4/29
"It smells like doo doo down here."
Labels: sentence
Friday, April 27, 2007
Rocks
My grandfather was a geologist. He knew everything there was to know about rocks. A drive that would take the average family 30 minutes to make would take us 2 hours because he'd constantly pull over on the side of the road and say, "OOOooooo! Look what we have here!" Then we'd all pile out of the car and he'd tell us about the rocks.
Man could get excited about some rocks.
And I suppose they are fascinating...if you think about them long enough. I mean, gracious, they sure have been around for a while and are going to be for a while yet. Rocks are smart. They know how to stick around.
Rocks.
Yeah.
Anyhow, I just showed up at my desk today and there was a slightly sparkledy rock sitting at the foot of my chair and it got me thinking about Grandpa and how he would think it was pretty...and could probably tell me more than I ever wanted to know about it.
Sentence of the Day 4/26
"First thing you do is to make sure there aren't any big hair balls floating."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, April 26, 2007
I cannot talk on the phone to my father without getting upset
I never call him. Sometimes he calls me. Sometimes mom calls me and hands the phone to him. I swear I cannot have a telephone conversation with the man without hanging up and getting upset.
I actually did call him last night. It was my first night off all month I think and I figured I should call people I hadn't talked to for a while and find out what was going on in the world.
Every time I hang up with my father, since I moved away from home in 1996, he's concluded the conversation with, "Is there anything I can do for you, baby?" Nice, right? Since 1996 the answer has been no. (Except for those college years when I needed money.) When I first started rehearsals for this teenager play and I spoke to him, he asked if there was anything he could do for me. I said, actually Dad? Yes. There is. He has business contacts in Russia. Since I was playing an adopted Russian I was hoping to get some inside information about what the welfare system is like there, what orphanages are like currently, the poverty level, etc. Hell, he was just there last year. He said he would get in touch with his contacts and get back with me. He didn't. Then I spoke to him and my mother a week or so later. I reminded him. He apologized for forgetting and said he would get right on that, asked mom to write it down so that he didn't forget. I reminded him a third time, a third apology. My play opened. I did my own research. He hasn't asked any more if there's anything he can do for me.
I just always thought that was a genuine question, that he wanted to do something...if he could. He could. He didn't. Apparently I'm still holding a grudge about that.
I sent my family the grand review from the big important newspaper. I heard back from everyone saying congratulations, woo hoo, you rock, etc. Except my father. On the phone last night I asked if he read it. He said he did. And? He said it was a nice review. He proceeds to ask me if I've thought about going back to school, thought about teaching theatre instead. I respond with, well. It's not really the direction I want to head in right now. I mean, if I were getting clues from directors, not getting cast in anything, not getting consistent work, I would probably pursue that path, but as it is, I seem to be consistently improving, getting better work, more recognition, better roles. I work really really hard all the time, Dad. I mean, the largest publication in this city just said my performance was "brilliant". My father then said, "Well don't get a big head about it."
Don't get a big head about it. This is what I get? Does he not see? Does he have no grasp of how much I do, how hard I work, how this is improvement, advance?
I fucking don't know what I can do to please that man, to prove to him that what I'm doing is somewhat noble. Not noble, but Jesus, Dad. I'm good at it. Look! The paper says so. Can you see that? I'm GOOD at it. Pretty fucking good. And you're telling me I should go back to school and try to do something else. Fuck you.
I'm so glad I don't live close to him, that I don't have to see him all the time. I couldn't deal with it. I can have the praise of hundreds in my field and still, my fucking father can make me feel like shit in a single sentence.
I'd just like to be able to hang up the phone with him some time and not have to cry for a while. That would be nice.
He's says he'd like to see more of me, that he misses me, that it's hard to go from Christmas to August without seeing me. Gee, Dad. Maybe I'd want to see more of you if you didn't make me feel like a fucking failure after having a whole 15 minute conversation with you. You think?
It just pisses me off that still. Still. He's able to have this effect. And maybe he knows that and that's why he does it. Fuck that. If that's a kind of love of a father for his daughter? I'd just as soon do with out it. If that's the only way he knows how to love me. Fuck it.
I forgot to tell you the best part
When I was walking out of the theatre last Saturday, there was this group of ladies standing around a vehicle with a lady inside it with her window rolled down. They had seen the play, I recognized them from the reception after, so I smiled at them and made my way down the sidewalk. Then the lady inside the car leans her head out and shouts, "You are such a bitch!" I turned and said, Excuse me? She repeated, "Bitch!" and they all laughed. I said, oh ha ha. You mean my character was a bitch. I am actually a very nice person. The lady said, "You should take it as a compliment.... Bitch."
My gracious. Nothing like being shouted at by strangers on the street that I am a bitch.
Sentence of the Day 4/25
"Everyone has time for love because love is like gumbi – it molds around your schedule."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Buried
My lesbian preacher play closed on Monday. I did the first staged reading of that play, when it was still a work in progress, the summer of 2005. We started rehearsals that fall. I've been performing it for a year and a half. That is the longest I've ever worked on a single piece of theatre.
I have to say, I feel as though a weight has been lifted. Knowing that I don't have to go through that again any time soon is a relief. It was an intense fucking play packing all of the stages of grief, imposing those on me, encapsulating it all in 90 minutes. It was really fucking hard.
But it's over! For now. There's a possibility we'll do it again, but it's over! When I buried my grandfather on Monday, he's going to stay buried...for a while anyhow. That's nice.
Whewph.
Not that I didn't enjoy myself and learn a butt load of stuff throughout the process, I did. I learned so much. I'm so glad I did it. I'm just equally glad it's over.
Monday night's show was scary. I almost passed out on stage. I've just been pushing myself so hard lately going from performance to performance to performance, character to character to character, not to mention the crazy viruses and fevers of the weekend and my body just...almost had to quit right there on stage. Make me take a break. It was really bad timing though, body. Really bad timing. The room started spinning, my heart rate went up, my knees got week, I was thiiiis close to saying, "You guys, I just have to sit down for a minute." But somehow, I just looked into the eyes of the actor on stage with me, locked onto them, held eye contact for fear I would fall, went on auto pilot, heard myself saying the words I'd said a million times before in this strange echo chamber and... I made it through. One actor said he saw all the color run out of my face, watched me blanch, but other than that...They didn't know anything was going on. So that's good. I just hated that I wasn't present for them for the last show.
Then yesterday I had to grieve for my dead baby all day. So much grieving!
Then I took the best nap that could end all naps, the nap of princes and princesses, the nap of a weary soldier in a sunny field between battles, the nap of an infant with a full tummy, the nap of so many kittens. And I woke up and felt like me again. Energy me. Ready for the next thing.
Over the past few days I've realized.... This lifestyle isn't normal. People don't live like this. It's kind of crazy. Most people are able to sit on the couch and keep up with a television program or three, people go to the grocery store when they need to, take showers at their leisure, have whole weekends where they can do whatever they choose without an obligation to get in front of a bunch of people and entertain. It's been practically daily for over a month now. Getting up in the morning and knowing that today, at some point, I am to get up in front of a bunch of people and entertain them...hopefully. I started adding up the hours, just for fun. I took last week, the hours spent working and... I stopped counting at 80 because I got creeped out.
And it comes in waves and ebbs and flows, but this year so far it's been pretty consistent, the work. Simultaneous. One on top of the other the gigs, the characters. I fucking love it, I eat it up, but dang. It's a lot. It's not normal.
I start rehearsal for my new play on Saturday. I have the teenager show that night. Here we go again. Weeeeeeeeeee! I hope my body does a better job of keeping up this time.
Sentence of the day 4/24
"Like I'll poop into her butt hole and then she'll poop it back into my butt hole and we'll keep going like that back and forth with the same poop. Forever."
Labels: sentence
Sentence of the Day 4/23
"Umm...you know you're not really on a road right now, right?"
Labels: sentence
Monday, April 23, 2007
When the state of your bowels must become public knowledge
I've been ill all weekend. Friday night I did the show with a fever. That was fun. Saturday was sunny and in the 70s for the first time all year. I spent the day wearing two sweatshirts and shaking under a blanket before dragging myself to the theatre that night. At some point during the day, I started shooting fire liquid out of my ass. The liquid didn't stop. I kept trying to keep myself hydrated, but I'll be damned if it just went straight through me. So, I show up at the theatre looking like hell, knowing full well that my understudy is across town doing that other play that I was supposed to be doing tonight.
I had taken Pepto-Bismol. I took some more when I got to the theatre. And yet, 5 minutes before the show is to begin, where am I? In the bathroom, shooting fire liquid out of my ass and wondering how the hell I'm going to be able to be on stage for an hour and a half.
I had to suck it up and tell everyone what was going on and that I needed about a truck load of Imodium AD STAT.
Gracious, how fucking humiliating. Hello everyone. Here we are in a professional business-like situation and I must report to you in gruesome detail the status of my bowels. There are not many other professions where this becomes a priority. Fixing the bowels. So, the Assistant Stage Manager runs across the street for Imodium. She's still on headset with the Stage Manager and the House Manager. I'm in the dressing room pinching my cheeks together and hoping. The Stage manager listens to his headset and then reports to us, "There's no Kaopectate across the street." The room shouts at him, "Imodium! She needs Imodium!" "There's none of that either, she's going down the street to look." The clock on the wall is ticking. I run into the bathroom and squirt again. Where is it coming from? I have nothing in my system.
Finally the ASM returns, Imodium in tow, and I swallow enough to stop up a horse for a week. I doubt I'll be pooping again until May. I squirt some more. Down a Red Bull in hopes of scraping up some sort of energy, say a brief plea to Thespis, pinch my butt cheeks together and go to places.
The actor who plays my mom said that when she first looked at me under the stage lights, I was so pale, she forgot what she was supposed to do next. She said she spent the first 5 minutes of the play talking herself out of being worried about me.
I felt like I was on acid. It was bizarre. I was on Zicam, Dayquil, Pepto, Imodium, Red bull. I was in this medicinal haze and I felt like I was tripping, but I'll be damned if I didn't make it through that show without a single fuck up. Without hot ass juice running down my leg. The audience had no idea that I had a fever and explosive diarrhea. They call it acting. Woo hoo.
So, yeah. I hope I never have to go through that again. It sucked.
Sentences of el Weekend
4/20
"I used to be on the board, so I'll make a phone call."
4/21
(sung) "Even hamsters fall in love, just as you'd expect them to."
4/22
"Welcome to Friendlies, are you all ready to order?"
Labels: sentence
Friday, April 20, 2007
I think I probably drive my financial advisor insane
Bless her cotton socks, she's saved me over $21,000 in interest and I'm going to be out of debt by 2011 instead of 2035, but I imagine her leaving my house and finding a brick wall to bash her head against repeatedly. She shows me those spread sheets with numbers and is all trying to tell me what my financial status is and the rule of 73 or something and percentages and interest and I'm all, wait. I need 2 million dollars to retire on? Is that normal? Or is that just America? Are you serious? There's so much poverty in the world and the standard is 2 million dollars to retire on in the US? Woah woah woah. What's a share? Wait. I already HAVE a mutual fund?! Cool! That's what this is? Oh. I had no idea. So, why do they manage the money for me? Hey! How does the stock market even work? Why does it work? I mean, philosophically. Isn't there a lot of trust involved? Do other countries have stock markets? They do? Huh. What's a bond? I have bonds? Cool! But they're conservative? I'm not conservative. Yes! Let's be aggressive! I'm young enough to be aggressive? Then let's do it! Let's move this pie chart around, baby! WOOOOO! More stocks!!! ALL IN STOCKS!!! I'M THE STOCK MASTAH! Sorry. I got the dog excited and now she's drooling on your lap. Ok, wait wait wait. If the stock market does really really shitty and all my imaginary money in there goes down-- Huh? It's not imaginary? It's real? It's mine? But I can't touch it. It may as well be imaginary. Anyhow. So all my thousands of pretend dollars in there, let's say the stock market sucks and I loose money. Would I ever lose so much that I OWE money? No? Cool! Then let's play the market, woman! What are we waiting for?! Do I have any Advil? I think so. Somewhere.
The circle of life
So, I was talking to this 10-year-old yesterday and she noticed a memorial card by my desk and said, "Who is that?" I said that it was my friend's mom. She said, "Is she dead?" I said that she was and then made a sad face. The ten-year-old looked at me quizzically and said, "There's no need to be sorrowful. It's the circle of life. We all die. I'm going to die. You're going to die. There's no reason to be sad about it."
About five minutes previous to this conversation, my Llama told me that her Oma had passed away.
I looked at the ten-year-old and said, You're right. Then she said, "Besides, maybe when we're dead we can reach our hands through people and buildings and stuff. It could be really cool. Cooler than this anyhow."
And then I laughed and agreed that yes, that would be pretty cool.
Sentence of the Day 4/19
"Of course it's pretty hard to find intelligent, smokin' hot nymphomaniacs with perfect tits and a sizable personality."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, April 19, 2007
My first understudy
I can't be two places at once. I wish I could, but I can't. There's a minister play Saturday as well as a teenager play. The minister play was booked after the publicity went out for the teenager play, so that's the one I'm going to be performing Saturday night. Enter my first understudy for the preacher play.
I've never had one. I've BEEN an understudy, but I've never had one myself. It feels so extravagant and fancy and just.... very very strange. Tuesday was fine because I'd been in teenager land for so long and I was just at rehearsal to watch my understudy run the play and help out with any blocking questions or line notes or whatever. It messes with your brain though because you're sort of watching a mirror image suddenly. But I was so separated from that character (though I've been playing her for about a year and a half now) I could handle it. Sort of. It was very strange. I feel bad for the rest of the cast having to put in extra rehearsal time and stuff just to accommodate me, but I think they forgive me.
But last night, I ran the show because I'm performing it Sunday and Monday. This is going to be a crazy weekend. I'm a teenager Friday/Saturday, a minister Sunday/Monday, and just to make things really fun, I'm the mother with the dead baby at the hospital all day Tuesday. Yee Haw. Giddyup, Cow Plimco. Dang. I'm going to be sick of crying in front of people come Tuesday.
But, OK. It's acting and I know it's acting and I'm PRETENDING to be these people in these worlds and these lives, but I'll be damned if I didn't get jealous as hell last night when my understudy ran the sex scenes with MY lover. I had just run the whole show, but since the understudy has the show Saturday, she wanted and needed to run some of the more physical scenes and... I about couldn't handle it. I was this close to running up on stage and pushing her filthy hands off my woman. Who does she think she is anyway? Oh. Right. Never mind that MY lover is a married woman in real life. Never mind that. In the world of that play she's MINE. Anyhow, I got over it, but it was a very intense and real sense of jealousy there for a moment and kind of took me off guard.
I hope my understudy does well Saturday and doesn't fuck up my show. Ha. I'm sure she'll be fine. It was kind of nice to talk to her after that first run she did that I saw and say, "It's hard, isn't it?" and to have someone understand. It is a difficult role. She's quite a bit shorter than me though, so when my lover grinds her packed dick in her pants against my understudy, she gets a dick in the back which is kind of funny.
Ok, I'll admit it. It's really fun to be able to employ the use of that term and it mean something. My understudy. MY understudy. My UNDERstudy. Heh. I am so cool.
Sentence of the Day 4/18
"It was very nice to meet you at that exotic Morroccan place with the nargiles after your performance, especially on your birthday."
Labels: sentence
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
It's so good, I'm suspicious
The review. The big important review from the big important newspaper. The first day it came out, I was in shock. I'd have to read it every 15 minutes or so to be sure I wasn't making it up. That day was full of sudden bursts into gales of laughter and head shakings. It's that good. Let me give you an example of some of the adjectives that were used.
Exemplary
Near-perfect
Brilliant (Brilliant!)
Absolutely believable
Riveting
I mean, how can you ask for better adjectives? I couldn't have written a better review myself. And these adjectives, most of them refer to me. My actual performance. My specific acting. Me. Plimco. What the hell? There's not a single negative comment in the review that I can focus on and analyze and develop a complex about. It's all positive.
Today I am suspicious. Nobody gets a review this perfect. Something must be going on. There's some sort of conspiracy somewhere.
Of course, I'd like to believe that it is mine, this public praise. That it's hard-earned and well-deserved and uniquely mine. You know? That I worked really really really fucking hard on something, for something and that there is something in my being that makes me worthy of it. That I wasn't particularly helped in any way by any outside forces. I still can't shake this feeling though that my father made a phone call to the newspaper and asked them to do him a favor. How stupid is that? Why can't I just accept it as what I'd like to hope it is?
You know what it comes down to? Respect. Respect for the god of luck. Not that I'm a polytheist. But there's Fortune, right? And just like the month of April, Fortune cannot be trusted. Fortune can seem all bright and shiny and promising and then will turn around and bite you in your ass. And so you have to respect that flux, that inherent mercurial nature and get the fuck used to it, you know? You have to embrace it and dance around with it and curl up with it at night. The good fortune, the bad fortune. Rejection. It's such a huge part of this profession. It has to be. You have to get so used to it, that it becomes natural, a second skin and then, I guess what happens... What is happening, I suppose is that I miss it. It seems missing. The bad fortune.
That is so fucked up.
But I know it's around the corner, that it has to be or else I'm not a real actor. That I have to feel that again, the defeat, the rejection. And so I don't want to take it for granted all of this... Glory, if you will. This glory of the good lately. And I'm suspicious of it because it's not the way things work. I know enough and have been doing this long enough to know that this isn't the way things are supposed to work.
But it's fucking terrifying when you realize that even the good feels bad. Unsettling. But aren't most actors masochists? Doesn't the bad, most of the time, feel good? I'm constantly saying that in rehearsals, after shows. A director or co-actor will ask, "How did that show feel?" Feel. And I'll say, well. It felt like shit and was really fucking depressing, but... I think that's the way it was supposed to feel, so...I guess that means it was a really good show.
And I keep coming back to this quote from a play I read/saw recently that I would have been cast in if I hadn't taken this other role and. It's just... true.
"No, it's not triumphs we need to act out, friends, not triumphs. We do failures better, they're our staple diet."
Fuck me, it's so true. I'm used to failing. It's what I do. On stage. In my profession. I have learned to fail. Well. Publicly and well.
That is so fucked up.
Sentence of the Day 4/17
"So, yeah. You can be Looch... Lou set... However the hell you say her name."
Labels: sentence
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Things I do that make me a horrible person
Do you people do this? Ok. Sometimes I call people hoping to get their answering machine. I don't want to talk to them. I just want to leave them a message because they probably left me a message so that they now have the responsibility of getting in touch with me, that's off my shoulders now, but I don't really want to talk to you. I just want to leave you a message. That's kind of awful. It's even more awful when they actually answer and I don't have time to disguise the disappointment in my voice when I realize that I have to talk to them. Oh. Hi. You're there. Sigh.
I'm a horrible person.
Lately, you know what else I do that's awful? I've been convincing people that it's my birthday so that I can get free shit. Mostly gullible audience members. So then they'll take me out after the show and buy me bottles of wine and calamari and jasmine hookahs. People I don't even necessarily like or want to talk to, but it's nice to unwind with a vice or three after a show and I'm broke, so otherwise I wouldn't be able to enjoy such extravagances, so yeah. I don't come right out and say it though. The secret to getting people to believe that it might be your birthday is acting like you don't really want to talk about it. Brushing it off like it's no big deal. Just another birthday. Oh, you don't have to buy me that. It's just my birthday. Well, if you insist. Thank you very much. Heh heh heh.
I'm a horrible person.
Stop. Sentence time.
Do doo doo doot. Do doot. Do doot. Can't read this. Dooo do do doot. Do doot do doot.
Oh hi.
Here we go:
4/13
"Once I found a cricket in my underpants."
4/14
"Well it sure is a rainy Mule Day here today."
4/15
(sung)"I'm getting tired of useless desire."
4/16
"Plimco is brilliant and absolutely believable."
Labels: sentence
Friday, April 13, 2007
I would also like to take this opportunity to state...
...that I accidentally poured a pot of boiling water all over my left hand last night. If this is a phase, it needs to end. Soon.
Media jinxing and repetition of the word "petulant"
So, I've been doing this little show for the past two weekends, right?
Hey, Plimco! How's it going?
Well, thank you for asking, Internet. How nice of you to show an interest in my acting career. I'll tell you.
Fine, I guess. I've done two weekends worth of performances and I have 3 more to go. It's....(doing some math)...a 5 week run.
So, I have to tell you about the weirdness going on though. The media strangeness that's been attached to this show so far.
Ok. So. Right. Before I was asked to do this show, a previous director of mine approached me about doing this other wacky-ass show where I would get to shoot a gun on stage. I've always wanted to shoot a gun on stage. Not only shoot a gun, but kill me some birds on stage. BAM! BAM! BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!!! It was a leeetle role, but shooting a gun would make it all worth it. That play was fucked up though. Fucked up in that What-the-hell-does-this-even-mean?-but-it-sure-is-depressing kind of way. Anyhow, that director told me just to show up at call back auditions since I'd already done a show with him and he was well aware of my magnificence already.
Fuck. I'm taking too long to tell this story.
So, I get offered the other role, the one I'm doing. The teenager with the blue nail polish. It's a much bigger role and more challenging and was just kind of obvious that it was the role I needed to take, bird shooting aside.
The director for the bird play was kind of pouty and pissed off, but he got over it and cast someone else. (Who did a fine job. I saw the show last night.)
So, bop skee dop we rehearse simultaneously these two separate plays on separate sides of town doot bee doot be doo. Different universes. Different genres. Different actors, producers, playwrights. Nothing connects these two plays. Well, except me, I suppose.
Then we both open. Simultaneously. This little newspaper goes to see each show. Not at the same time. Then lo and behold, this little newspaper writes a review. Of each separate show. In the same article. As in, there's a picture of the bird shooting show, a whole review and then as an afterthought tagged on at the end is a paragraph about my show. Huh? How does that make any sense at all? Why connect the two?
Jinx.
It gets better.
Before I continue, I would like to reiterate that this is not a small town. It is, in fact, a city.
Ok, so this other little newspaper. Ok, big. The biggest newspaper in town publishes this little guide to your weekend or whatever every week, right? It's very very nice to be mentioned in this guide because it's what all the lazy theatre-goers refer to when planning their weekend.
Lo and behold, my play gets a half a page mention complete with a giant picture. Let me describe this picture to you. The picture is on the left side of the newspaper page and takes up about 1/4 of the page. My "mom" and I are sitting on the couch in the picture. My mom is looking at the camera with an expression of what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-her? I'm to the right of her on the couch with my knees pulled up to my chest and staring off to the right of the camera with this sullen ass, stop-fucking-with-me-or-I'll-suck-your-eyeballs-out expression on my face. Got it? Ok. There's an ad for another play on the right side of the page. The photograph for this play is of a different mood entirely. Very jaunty and colorful. There is a girl to the right side of the photo standing in the background looking sheepish next to a colorful painted landscape. To the left side of this photograph is an enthusiastic man with a vest and a cane looking very hopeful outside and to the left of the frame. People? We're literally making eye contact across the page. Him in his picture, me in mine. Him looking hopeful and jaunty, me giving him an evil, fuck you stare.
This gentleman? This actor in this play? My most recent ex-boyfriend.
No. I'm not kidding. What are the chances? I mean, really!
I laughed for about 5 minutes straight when I got that paper. We're cordial now in public if we run into each other at an audition or something (didn't used to be), but we're not really on call-each-other-up-whenever terms. I just wonder what his reaction to that was. I mean.... What are the chances? Bizarre.
Oh and on the home page of my "agent's" website there's this rotating picture of various actors in various shows that they've helped cast and me and a picture of the play I'm in is up there. Then it rotates to a picture of this other play with a guy in it that I somehow ended up making out with a month or so ago at a pub.
It's not that the city is small, it's that the community is maybe.
Good thing I've sworn off dating actors ever ever again.
Oh and critics keep using the word "petulant" when referring to my performances. I think this is the third time in less than a year that a critic as used that word in reference to my performance. Granted, my characters have been petulant, but it's starting to give me a complex. I mean.... I can play something other than petulant. I'm not johnny one-note. I've got me some range, man. Shit. Petulant. Well. Hm. I've got that down.
I've mentioned before here how actors harp on review adjectives. This is my new adjective to harp on. Although one review that came out used petulant in the same sentence as saying that I "nailed it". The role. It's a little difficult to turn that into a negative, but I'm sure there's a way. Nailed it. Hm. Well. Yeah, I guess that's pretty positive. Nailing things. Yay. At least no one's mentioned that I look like a 30-year-old playing an 18-year-old. That would suck. Though we have 3 weeks left. There's still time...
Sentence of the Day 4/12
"You should have a steady."
Labels: sentence
Thursday, April 12, 2007
A mild sense of loss
I get a mild sense of loss when I use a Port-O-Potty. I miss the flush. I just walk out of there....missing it.
The same thing happens when I stand in line at the post office with a package I've prepared. Turning it over and over in my hands, re-reading the address... Holding it as the queue winds round and round. And then you get up to the counter and... They just take it, you know? They take it and throw it in a pile with other people's crap and... You just. Well. What can you do? You just walk out of the Post Office. Empty handed.
Sentences of the Hiatus
4/5
"You make good animal noises."
4/6
"Plimco nails the smoldering petulant teen."
4/7
"You look great and seem pretty happy."
4/8
"Look. The Holiday Inn where we got married turned into a Hilton."
4/9
"Like if I were going to make that building? I wouldn't make it like that. That's a really ugly boring building."
4/10
(sung) "Oops, there goes my shirt up over my head....Oh my."
4/11
"I can't just rent out some woman's uterus like it's a storage locker."
Labels: sentence
Monday, April 09, 2007
Meat Tube in the Grass
I take very little responsibility for this...
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Note to self:
Week old pie tastes kind of like soggy biscuits and furry fruit and hot ass smeared in a pie plate... But it still has some charm.
Oopsie
Hi. I urm.... I think I kind of forgot to tell you people that I wasn't going to be around very often for a week and a half or so. Oops.
I'm not going to be around very often for a week and a half or so.
Carry on.
Smentincesesses
3/30
"You just have so much power up there."
3/31
"But who is that foreigner on your answering machine?"
4/1
"It was really great seeing you today and watching you walk around on high heels. It was quite an experience."
4/2
"Do you have a will?"
4/3
"Alright, I think we've heard just about enough from Mr. Newspaper today."
4/4
(sung) "Everybody's got some days they just can't explain."
Labels: sentence