Last week, on Wednesday, a member of my inner circle made it to Broadway.
Now, I’ve had friends on the Great White Way before, and certainly some of my colleagues are up there on a regular basis. But this, my friends, is inner circle. Rob is my best friend since I was 12 years old. We survived Texas together. He busted his ass to graduate from Julliard. We lived together in the summers up in Syracuse where I was going to school and we painted houses to try and pay our rent. We were really poor. We ate Army rations a friend had sent me as a joke when we ran out of money and food. We graduated from our glorious institutions and dove right into student loans and the hustle of making things work. Rob applied for and received a Fullbright scholarship (!) and then he went to work and teach in Colombia, South America for almost 10 years. (And when he went there he didn’t speak Spanish, he had to learn when he got there.)
He came home from South America, and many of his friends from school were already working at a very visible level. And he had to work, really, really hard to get back up to speed here in the USA. Very hard. Blood sweat and tears soul-busting hard.
And now he’s going to be on Broadway. He’ll be covering the lead in The 39 Steps, and I hope like hell he gets to go on sometime in July or August. (He’ll have at least 6 months to go on, but I want to see him up there NOW!) I can’t wait. He’s amazing, he’s brilliant and he’s where he’s supposed to be.
My best bud is stepping into the light -- and it feels so good.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Boomerang
I don’t know what’s in the air, but recently I’ve reacquainted with some folks I had worked with in my past. Back then, I found these people to be unbelievable successful. They made a lot of money, they had big, important jobs and fancy apartments and they basically made me wish I were more like them. They seemed somehow more together. More professional. Better than I was.
I was always running around to auditions and scrambling to make money and fighting tooth and nail to make my art. Where they were savvy, I was scrappy. They were smooth, I was rough and always wearing the wrong clothes. They were “there” in the land of “made it” -- and I was always looking in the window wondering what they were eating and if I would ever be that successful.
You might know the feeling I’m talking about.
Fast-forward to today, me meeting these folks again, having a cup of coffee and talking about what’s gone down in the past 15 to 20 years or so. And while I sit there and listen to them I realize how wrong I was to compare myself to them. How being envious of them was a complete and total waste of time.
They had all the stuff that I thought I wanted, sure, but they didn’t know what they were doing any more than I did. And because they were so busy trying to keep what they had, they never stuck their necks out. They just stuck.
A couple of the people I’ve reacquainted with are a friggin’ MESS. Not all of them, certainly, but some of them -- sheesh! They better send up a flair and hope for a life boat.
And here’s my overextended, blown-out metaphor for the entire experience:
When I was in my twenties, those friends of mine seemed like fancy, exotic, ascot-wearing heirs to the universe with perfect bodies who went to all the best parties and crapped money and pissed good luck. And they never understood why I stressed out about paying my bills.
I, on the other hand, was like a feral hillbilly who had to figure out how the hell to get around the jungle of Gotham with just my knife made out of goat bone and a weensie bottle of moonshine. (And a big stupid-looking straw hat.)
I learned the lay of the land from the inside out, a very messy hands-on process, because I had to. They stayed on the glossy outside of things because they could.
And some of them don’t know their way around anymore. And know what? I feel as bad for them now as I did for me then, which is arrogant I know, but it’s true.
I hope they remember what it is they really want to do. All that maintaining the picture seems to have taken away the want and the dream.
Have faith, kids. Those people who make you green with envy only look good on the outside. Do your thing. Follow your heart.
It’s the only thing that really matters.
I was always running around to auditions and scrambling to make money and fighting tooth and nail to make my art. Where they were savvy, I was scrappy. They were smooth, I was rough and always wearing the wrong clothes. They were “there” in the land of “made it” -- and I was always looking in the window wondering what they were eating and if I would ever be that successful.
You might know the feeling I’m talking about.
Fast-forward to today, me meeting these folks again, having a cup of coffee and talking about what’s gone down in the past 15 to 20 years or so. And while I sit there and listen to them I realize how wrong I was to compare myself to them. How being envious of them was a complete and total waste of time.
They had all the stuff that I thought I wanted, sure, but they didn’t know what they were doing any more than I did. And because they were so busy trying to keep what they had, they never stuck their necks out. They just stuck.
A couple of the people I’ve reacquainted with are a friggin’ MESS. Not all of them, certainly, but some of them -- sheesh! They better send up a flair and hope for a life boat.
And here’s my overextended, blown-out metaphor for the entire experience:
When I was in my twenties, those friends of mine seemed like fancy, exotic, ascot-wearing heirs to the universe with perfect bodies who went to all the best parties and crapped money and pissed good luck. And they never understood why I stressed out about paying my bills.
I, on the other hand, was like a feral hillbilly who had to figure out how the hell to get around the jungle of Gotham with just my knife made out of goat bone and a weensie bottle of moonshine. (And a big stupid-looking straw hat.)
I learned the lay of the land from the inside out, a very messy hands-on process, because I had to. They stayed on the glossy outside of things because they could.
And some of them don’t know their way around anymore. And know what? I feel as bad for them now as I did for me then, which is arrogant I know, but it’s true.
I hope they remember what it is they really want to do. All that maintaining the picture seems to have taken away the want and the dream.
Have faith, kids. Those people who make you green with envy only look good on the outside. Do your thing. Follow your heart.
It’s the only thing that really matters.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Check Your E-Mail
OK, for those of you who took my "Business of the Business" class you'll remember how I'm always saying, "check your e-mail, check it -- CHECK IT!" Well, my commercial agents have started sending on camera auditions via e-mail, and I didn't check it until just now -- and boy howdy do I have to do some serious schedule shuffling right now to make tomorrow work. Just sayin' is all!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Monkeys
OK. So yesterday I’m at this on-camera commercial audition, and I’m out in the waiting room and it seems to be moving really, really slowly. Then, when the group that had been auditioning finally comes out, they all look completely freaked out and frazzled. I peek in the audition room, and sure enough, there she is. The casting director. Let’s call her Claudette. I know her, and seeing that she’s running the session explains why it’s running so late and why everyone who comes out of the audition looks shell-shocked.
Claudette is nice enough, she has a certain flair, but she’s also very temperamental. And she really doesn’t care too much about time. At least not yours.
My group goes in. And Claudette is really, really directing us. Not the typical short, quick, “I want more this less of that,” kind of commercial directing -- oh, no. She’s digging in.
We do a take. She talks for about ten minutes, then we do another take. This goes on and on. The voices in my head start screaming all at once. I don’t know which is worse, Claudette talking about Orwell, Beckett and existentialism at an audition for a commercial, or the monkeys screaming in my brain.
Finally, I decide to take action in the only place I can. In my head. I silence the chatty voice in my mind that keeps saying, “Holy cow. Is she serious? Is she drunk? What the heck does she think this is?!” Then I silence the voice that keeps screeching, “There are probably 50 people out there right now wondering what is going on in here!” I even shut up the voice that is picking on me saying, “If you were any good she wouldn’t be directing you so hard.”
I give the monkeys bananas and I shut all those voices up.
And once I shut them up, I really concentrate on what the casting director is saying, and what she is trying to say. And I super-focus and hunker down and do exactly what she’s trying to get me to do. (Which I don’t totally agree with, but I’m the actor and she’s the director so I go with it. That’s my job, after all.)
And, once I stop the monkeys and focus I can tell she’s getting more of what she wants from me and we do take after take after take.
We spent at least 35 minutes on that commercial audition. I don’t know if I’ll get a callback, but at least I got a refresher course in commercial auditioning. And I also learned to quiet the brain monkeys. Now that’s something.
Claudette is nice enough, she has a certain flair, but she’s also very temperamental. And she really doesn’t care too much about time. At least not yours.
My group goes in. And Claudette is really, really directing us. Not the typical short, quick, “I want more this less of that,” kind of commercial directing -- oh, no. She’s digging in.
We do a take. She talks for about ten minutes, then we do another take. This goes on and on. The voices in my head start screaming all at once. I don’t know which is worse, Claudette talking about Orwell, Beckett and existentialism at an audition for a commercial, or the monkeys screaming in my brain.
Finally, I decide to take action in the only place I can. In my head. I silence the chatty voice in my mind that keeps saying, “Holy cow. Is she serious? Is she drunk? What the heck does she think this is?!” Then I silence the voice that keeps screeching, “There are probably 50 people out there right now wondering what is going on in here!” I even shut up the voice that is picking on me saying, “If you were any good she wouldn’t be directing you so hard.”
I give the monkeys bananas and I shut all those voices up.
And once I shut them up, I really concentrate on what the casting director is saying, and what she is trying to say. And I super-focus and hunker down and do exactly what she’s trying to get me to do. (Which I don’t totally agree with, but I’m the actor and she’s the director so I go with it. That’s my job, after all.)
And, once I stop the monkeys and focus I can tell she’s getting more of what she wants from me and we do take after take after take.
We spent at least 35 minutes on that commercial audition. I don’t know if I’ll get a callback, but at least I got a refresher course in commercial auditioning. And I also learned to quiet the brain monkeys. Now that’s something.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Sand Art
It’s been so good to hear from so many of you lately! It’s great to know that you’re well and finding your own paths in this nutty world.
Some of you wrote about being shy or embarrassed because you didn’t dive immediately into the professional acting thing, or may have found great joy in a different field altogether. Folks, we all have our different roads to what it is we are meant to do. Training as an actor prepares you for ANYTHING. You don’t have to be acting to be an artist. I’d love to hear from you no matter what you’ve found, and I know we can all learn from what you are discovering.
Here’s what I’ve discovered lately acting in the grad student production of NO EXIT:
What we do, as actors or anything really, is a whole lot like being one of those Tibetan monks who make sand art.
We spend a spectacular amount of time crafting a wonderful story, or beautiful work – and then we open the window and let the wind blow it to smithereens.
Each project we accomplish, whether it be a show, a day at the office, or even a well-made cappuccino (yes, I was a barista before it was cool) – each endeavor shimmers in the moment before it passes and is consumed by time.
And then we start over.
Doing the craft is what is important. It’s not what we get from it. It’s doing the thing and staying in the moment while we create.
What do we get out of it? I don’t know. It changes. Sometimes it’s just the satisfaction that we’ve done it and finished it before we let our minds race forward to THE NEXT BIG THING.
For right now, I’m staying in the here and now. (For a change.) Talk to me after Sunday, when we show our work for the first and only time to observers who don’t know the story.
Then I’ll move on to the next thing, whatever that may be. For now – I’m doing my job, and I’m going to do it to the best of my ability.
I hope you are all well.
Some of you wrote about being shy or embarrassed because you didn’t dive immediately into the professional acting thing, or may have found great joy in a different field altogether. Folks, we all have our different roads to what it is we are meant to do. Training as an actor prepares you for ANYTHING. You don’t have to be acting to be an artist. I’d love to hear from you no matter what you’ve found, and I know we can all learn from what you are discovering.
Here’s what I’ve discovered lately acting in the grad student production of NO EXIT:
What we do, as actors or anything really, is a whole lot like being one of those Tibetan monks who make sand art.
We spend a spectacular amount of time crafting a wonderful story, or beautiful work – and then we open the window and let the wind blow it to smithereens.
Each project we accomplish, whether it be a show, a day at the office, or even a well-made cappuccino (yes, I was a barista before it was cool) – each endeavor shimmers in the moment before it passes and is consumed by time.
And then we start over.
Doing the craft is what is important. It’s not what we get from it. It’s doing the thing and staying in the moment while we create.
What do we get out of it? I don’t know. It changes. Sometimes it’s just the satisfaction that we’ve done it and finished it before we let our minds race forward to THE NEXT BIG THING.
For right now, I’m staying in the here and now. (For a change.) Talk to me after Sunday, when we show our work for the first and only time to observers who don’t know the story.
Then I’ll move on to the next thing, whatever that may be. For now – I’m doing my job, and I’m going to do it to the best of my ability.
I hope you are all well.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
No Exit Open Rehearsal
We're having an open rehearsal of No Exit at The New School this Thursday evening at 8pm in room 207. (April 10)
The New School is at 151 Bank St, near the old West Beth Theater, which is now the Bank St. Theater.
No lights, no costumes, just wooden blocks. It really is a rehearsal.
Right now run throughs are timing at about 1 hour and 35 minutes, we're hoping to take off 7 to 12 of those minutes.
If you can't make it, that's totally OK. Just wanted to let you know.
The New School is at 151 Bank St, near the old West Beth Theater, which is now the Bank St. Theater.
No lights, no costumes, just wooden blocks. It really is a rehearsal.
Right now run throughs are timing at about 1 hour and 35 minutes, we're hoping to take off 7 to 12 of those minutes.
If you can't make it, that's totally OK. Just wanted to let you know.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Oh, right. Process.
So I’ve been acting in this grad student project down at The New School. I posted about it a few weeks ago. At the time, I was really nervous about cramming all the lines into my head before we had to show it to the director’s class.
Since then I’ve had time to rehearse, study the script outside of rehearsal, and do the imagination work that one needs to do in order to fill out the character.
I’m getting really excited to do the gig, because now I’m enjoying the process. I can see things growing and changing and the picture is becoming clearer.
The first part of any project, writing, acting or otherwise -- the first part is always a mess. A big old chaotic, scary mess. For some reason I always forget this. I just dive in expecting results. But first you have to make a map. And that requires patience, time, and process. Beginning is a sticky process.
Once you get the initial work done, though, it starts to feel better. It might not be easier, but it feels better.
Funny how you learn some things again and again and again.
Since then I’ve had time to rehearse, study the script outside of rehearsal, and do the imagination work that one needs to do in order to fill out the character.
I’m getting really excited to do the gig, because now I’m enjoying the process. I can see things growing and changing and the picture is becoming clearer.
The first part of any project, writing, acting or otherwise -- the first part is always a mess. A big old chaotic, scary mess. For some reason I always forget this. I just dive in expecting results. But first you have to make a map. And that requires patience, time, and process. Beginning is a sticky process.
Once you get the initial work done, though, it starts to feel better. It might not be easier, but it feels better.
Funny how you learn some things again and again and again.
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