Halloween comes early this year folks.
This is so...creepy. Is this for real?
Have we forgotten the last time we had a cute little cherub of a kid begin a creepy song of devotion to the Dear Leader? They shut down Liza Minelli's nightclub!
Seriously, guys. I think it may be over. Look at those kids. Look at those parents. Look at the nut who's conducting them. They're crazy. And if there's one thing I've learned since moving here it's that
YOU CAN'T BEAT CRAZY.
Crazy doesn't just go away. Crazy can't be reasoned with. Crazy has to run its course. And we just have to be there to pick up the pieces when the nuts come to their senses again.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
The Unpleasant Ultimatum
It's over after today.
The last performance of RotL.
"Unpleasant" is the word I choose to describe the overall experience. Now, don't get me wrong, there was tons of fun to be had throughout the process and the whole thing contributed once again to making me a better, cleaner, more specific actor.
But the CAST....
Unpleasant.
In the nightmare scene... they've lifted me up and are carrying me around the stage to torment me for being a hard-to-handle diva. Dolores, playing the director, takes the spot closest to my head and WHISPERS into my ear, "This'll f*(king teach you to f#%&*() with my show, you G*(Dam$% C%NT!"
Unpleasant.
Valerie, who plays the swaggering love interest, has worked with the Teddibly Impressive Shakespeare Company for years and years so she has an air of superiority about her otherwise VERY friendly demeanor. So when she's running the somewhat unnecessary fight call at the beginning and you want to ask, "Can we not do this full-out? I'd like to save my voice," her eyes get really wide, she smiles really big and says, with lots of breath, "I think this would be a good opportunity for you to practice using your voice!"
I get the VERY distinct feeling that, as the show has gone on, she duddn' like me very much anymore. A shame. And also...
Unpleasant.
Sue is the woman who peed her pants on opening night. Nobody knows why. She just did. She is also so HOSTILE toward ANYONE who isn't Obama-mad that it's scary. Honestly, it REALLY DOES make me feel like I'm living in one of those movies set in pre-WWII Germany. You know. Where you've got this one main plot going on, meanwhile in the background you've got the subplot of Hitler rising to power which will eventually force its way into the foreground and act as the Iceberg-Titanic catalyst to rend the main plot into tragic tatters?
I would be the character from the main plot--the young actor new to the City, full of dreams, ready to work, ready to beat Mega Man 9. And about two thirds of the way through the movie, you have the crazed German who speaks passionately about this young savior who will lead the country to a time of great prosperity. The suspicious young artist (who is also very talented and handsome with a great six pack) is seemingly the only one who doesn't buy into the hype and is the only one who sees dark thunderheads rumbling on the horizon.
Unpleasant.
The costumes are frilly and lacy and snag on everything. By the end of every show I need to call on my mice to repair my gown.
Unpleasant.
The women burp a LOT backstage.
Unpleasant.
The women curse and swear and damn Palin to hell for having the nerve to look as good as she does.
Unpleasant.
The play begins as a fluffy comedy but takes a turn for the dark 2/3rds through--and it never returns to funnytown. Which makes trudging through the final chunk a completely UNPLEASANT experience.
But it's over today. So...maybe I ought to just shut up and focus on the silver lining--which is at LEAST we won't be doing this show when Palin does her debate. Because the last place on earth I would like to be is in a dressing room with them.
The last performance of RotL.
"Unpleasant" is the word I choose to describe the overall experience. Now, don't get me wrong, there was tons of fun to be had throughout the process and the whole thing contributed once again to making me a better, cleaner, more specific actor.
But the CAST....
Unpleasant.
In the nightmare scene... they've lifted me up and are carrying me around the stage to torment me for being a hard-to-handle diva. Dolores, playing the director, takes the spot closest to my head and WHISPERS into my ear, "This'll f*(king teach you to f#%&*() with my show, you G*(Dam$% C%NT!"
Unpleasant.
Valerie, who plays the swaggering love interest, has worked with the Teddibly Impressive Shakespeare Company for years and years so she has an air of superiority about her otherwise VERY friendly demeanor. So when she's running the somewhat unnecessary fight call at the beginning and you want to ask, "Can we not do this full-out? I'd like to save my voice," her eyes get really wide, she smiles really big and says, with lots of breath, "I think this would be a good opportunity for you to practice using your voice!"
I get the VERY distinct feeling that, as the show has gone on, she duddn' like me very much anymore. A shame. And also...
Unpleasant.
Sue is the woman who peed her pants on opening night. Nobody knows why. She just did. She is also so HOSTILE toward ANYONE who isn't Obama-mad that it's scary. Honestly, it REALLY DOES make me feel like I'm living in one of those movies set in pre-WWII Germany. You know. Where you've got this one main plot going on, meanwhile in the background you've got the subplot of Hitler rising to power which will eventually force its way into the foreground and act as the Iceberg-Titanic catalyst to rend the main plot into tragic tatters?
I would be the character from the main plot--the young actor new to the City, full of dreams, ready to work, ready to beat Mega Man 9. And about two thirds of the way through the movie, you have the crazed German who speaks passionately about this young savior who will lead the country to a time of great prosperity. The suspicious young artist (who is also very talented and handsome with a great six pack) is seemingly the only one who doesn't buy into the hype and is the only one who sees dark thunderheads rumbling on the horizon.
Unpleasant.
The costumes are frilly and lacy and snag on everything. By the end of every show I need to call on my mice to repair my gown.
Unpleasant.
The women burp a LOT backstage.
Unpleasant.
The women curse and swear and damn Palin to hell for having the nerve to look as good as she does.
Unpleasant.
The play begins as a fluffy comedy but takes a turn for the dark 2/3rds through--and it never returns to funnytown. Which makes trudging through the final chunk a completely UNPLEASANT experience.
But it's over today. So...maybe I ought to just shut up and focus on the silver lining--which is at LEAST we won't be doing this show when Palin does her debate. Because the last place on earth I would like to be is in a dressing room with them.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
WHAM.
Today autumn slammed into New York like a ton of orange, gold, and red colored anvils.
It wasn't gradual this year. Normally we spend a bit more time in 70sville before dwindling down into 60stown.
About this time every year I get what I've come to refer to as the "Fall Melancholy". I'm delighted by the gorgeous weather, the turning leaves, and promise of end-of-the-year festivities and merrymaking, and at the same time infected with a creeping depression that gnaws at the edges of my soul--death is on its way. Persephone is returning to the underworld.
And *man* does that get me down.
But while the F.M. usually works like a slow-acting poison, this year it's worked a little bit more like a bludgeon to the noodle. It's like Manhattan grabbed me by the shirt this morning and said, "Fall's here, muthuhf*#kuh!"
It then forced me to hand over my varied collection of smiles, songs, and hopes I normally keep locked safely in my heart.
Matters have been made considerably worse by the knowledge that today my Dad forever locked the doors on our family's house in Texas. The key on my keyring which remained a symbol of security and promise of a warm meal and cozy bed waiting for me somewhere across the miles has been relinquished.
Mom says, "You'll always have memories." Well, yeah. But that doesn't mean it doesn't suck.
Then there's all this political garbage. I don't know what it's like where you live, but in New York, it's a veritable battlefield of nasty, nasty headlines on every "news"paper you see. The media up here is positively beside themselves with delight at the prospect of turning vitriol into dollars as people exchange quarters for rags reading "Scandal!", "Shock!", and "Certain Doom!"
Everyone's mad. Everyone's ready to fight. And if you *don't* think and profess that one "S.P." is the Baba Jaga and eats orphaned baby sea otters for lunch every day, get ready to be fed to the lions. It's just dreadful.
And 28 is half over. Oh God. Oh GOD! I don't say that as an oath either. But as a cry for mercy. Where's my fancy job, sack of money, house, wife, kid, and SUV?
Part of me adores my family (I'm thinking, specifically of the "family" that happens when we're all together in South Carolina). After all, if I continue along in this Peter Pan existence and spend the rest of my days penniless and alone, at least I know someone will be around to begrudgingly bury my Forkish bones (thanks in advance, Li'l Allie). I find great comfort in spending time with them.
But the other part **loathes** them for the very reason my brother Forko always hated "them". Sitting around the table at Thanksgiving, these perfectly dear but bored people insist on making the guy with the funny hair into a birthday party clown.
"Why didn't you bring your stilts?"
"Why aren't you playing your ukulele?"
"When are you gonna be on Broadway?"
"Put on a play for us!"
"Do a trick for the baby! You're an *actor* after all. You're supposed to do tricks!"
"You need to get your mom to give you a haircut!"
Funny that no one asks for a demonstration of my mad modeling skillz.
So we three (my echo, my shadow, and me) are anticipating these coming trips to SC over the holidays to be a soft-serve chocolate swirl of creamy relaxation with that unmistakable when's-the-expiration-date-on-this-thing sour edge of apprehension and defensiveness.
That and with the second great depression all up ons...it's all a person can do to keep from drowning a sack of kittens to protect them from the torture of being alive in a world gone bonkers.
Kittens...Nelson...oh my son! Forgive me!
That's Fall, Folks!
It wasn't gradual this year. Normally we spend a bit more time in 70sville before dwindling down into 60stown.
About this time every year I get what I've come to refer to as the "Fall Melancholy". I'm delighted by the gorgeous weather, the turning leaves, and promise of end-of-the-year festivities and merrymaking, and at the same time infected with a creeping depression that gnaws at the edges of my soul--death is on its way. Persephone is returning to the underworld.
And *man* does that get me down.
But while the F.M. usually works like a slow-acting poison, this year it's worked a little bit more like a bludgeon to the noodle. It's like Manhattan grabbed me by the shirt this morning and said, "Fall's here, muthuhf*#kuh!"
It then forced me to hand over my varied collection of smiles, songs, and hopes I normally keep locked safely in my heart.
Matters have been made considerably worse by the knowledge that today my Dad forever locked the doors on our family's house in Texas. The key on my keyring which remained a symbol of security and promise of a warm meal and cozy bed waiting for me somewhere across the miles has been relinquished.
Mom says, "You'll always have memories." Well, yeah. But that doesn't mean it doesn't suck.
Then there's all this political garbage. I don't know what it's like where you live, but in New York, it's a veritable battlefield of nasty, nasty headlines on every "news"paper you see. The media up here is positively beside themselves with delight at the prospect of turning vitriol into dollars as people exchange quarters for rags reading "Scandal!", "Shock!", and "Certain Doom!"
Everyone's mad. Everyone's ready to fight. And if you *don't* think and profess that one "S.P." is the Baba Jaga and eats orphaned baby sea otters for lunch every day, get ready to be fed to the lions. It's just dreadful.
And 28 is half over. Oh God. Oh GOD! I don't say that as an oath either. But as a cry for mercy. Where's my fancy job, sack of money, house, wife, kid, and SUV?
Part of me adores my family (I'm thinking, specifically of the "family" that happens when we're all together in South Carolina). After all, if I continue along in this Peter Pan existence and spend the rest of my days penniless and alone, at least I know someone will be around to begrudgingly bury my Forkish bones (thanks in advance, Li'l Allie). I find great comfort in spending time with them.
But the other part **loathes** them for the very reason my brother Forko always hated "them". Sitting around the table at Thanksgiving, these perfectly dear but bored people insist on making the guy with the funny hair into a birthday party clown.
"Why didn't you bring your stilts?"
"Why aren't you playing your ukulele?"
"When are you gonna be on Broadway?"
"Put on a play for us!"
"Do a trick for the baby! You're an *actor* after all. You're supposed to do tricks!"
"You need to get your mom to give you a haircut!"
Funny that no one asks for a demonstration of my mad modeling skillz.
So we three (my echo, my shadow, and me) are anticipating these coming trips to SC over the holidays to be a soft-serve chocolate swirl of creamy relaxation with that unmistakable when's-the-expiration-date-on-this-thing sour edge of apprehension and defensiveness.
That and with the second great depression all up ons...it's all a person can do to keep from drowning a sack of kittens to protect them from the torture of being alive in a world gone bonkers.
Kittens...Nelson...oh my son! Forgive me!
That's Fall, Folks!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Mega
Sorry it's been so quiet lately. I'm pretty worn out these days. What with more modeling, then running about going to auditions.
It's been quite a week. For one thing, Megaman 9 came out! That's a big deal. It's been about ten years since 8 was released.
Megaman was a big part of my childhood. I remember reading about Megaman 2 in that one issue of Nofriendo Power...read that issue till the cover fell off. We had just gotten a Nofriendo and were looking for games to play on it. And I decided I had to had to HAD to have Megaman 2.
My Dad took me to a Kay-Bee Toy Store (remember those?!) and I RAN to the Nofriendo game case. No Megaman 2. I thought there must be some mistake. It was in Nofriendo Power magazine. That meant it was out, right?
The lady at the register said they wouldn't get it in for another week. Or two.
I was crushed. I pointed at Donkey Kong Classics. It had Mario on the box. It looked like it might be fun. I'd take THAT game instead.
My Dad said, "No. We're not going to get that game just because they didn't have the one you REALLY want."
At the time I thought that was cruel. My hopes were so high. I had to leave with SOMETHING.
But no. I had to wait.
And I'm so glad I didn't get the dumb game with the monkey on the box.
Because the second I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and plugged Megaman 2 into my Nofriendo...my life was never to be the same.
It was my first video game. All the other ones were shared betwixt my brother and sister and me. But THIS one...THIS one was aaaaaaaall mine.
Thanks Dad!
It's been quite a week. For one thing, Megaman 9 came out! That's a big deal. It's been about ten years since 8 was released.
Megaman was a big part of my childhood. I remember reading about Megaman 2 in that one issue of Nofriendo Power...read that issue till the cover fell off. We had just gotten a Nofriendo and were looking for games to play on it. And I decided I had to had to HAD to have Megaman 2.
My Dad took me to a Kay-Bee Toy Store (remember those?!) and I RAN to the Nofriendo game case. No Megaman 2. I thought there must be some mistake. It was in Nofriendo Power magazine. That meant it was out, right?
The lady at the register said they wouldn't get it in for another week. Or two.
I was crushed. I pointed at Donkey Kong Classics. It had Mario on the box. It looked like it might be fun. I'd take THAT game instead.
My Dad said, "No. We're not going to get that game just because they didn't have the one you REALLY want."
At the time I thought that was cruel. My hopes were so high. I had to leave with SOMETHING.
But no. I had to wait.
And I'm so glad I didn't get the dumb game with the monkey on the box.
Because the second I ran up the stairs, two at a time, and plugged Megaman 2 into my Nofriendo...my life was never to be the same.
It was my first video game. All the other ones were shared betwixt my brother and sister and me. But THIS one...THIS one was aaaaaaaall mine.
Thanks Dad!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Waiting
I'm live-blogging from the waiting room watching 'Soccer Dog' with all the other poor people.
With any luck I'll be cured by the end of the day.
So something happened to the stock market yesterday and Obama is blaming it on Sarah Palin. While I'm sure every Palin-hater would love to raise the banner high and blame her for what happened...except nobody knows exactly WHAT the stock market is/does.
I know I don't. I don't understand all those big numbers. All I know about money is if you give it to people, they give you food, apartments, and spray-on tans.
With any luck I'll be cured by the end of the day.
So something happened to the stock market yesterday and Obama is blaming it on Sarah Palin. While I'm sure every Palin-hater would love to raise the banner high and blame her for what happened...except nobody knows exactly WHAT the stock market is/does.
I know I don't. I don't understand all those big numbers. All I know about money is if you give it to people, they give you food, apartments, and spray-on tans.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Eyyyyy?
I keep having weird health issues.
Here's the latest: I can't hear anything out of my right ear.
I've taken to sleeping on my side lately. Sometimes when I wake up, it takes a couple of bonks on the side of my head to get my ear to "pop open" again after sleeping on it. But really, it's not been anything to worry about.
Until three days ago when, no matter how much I bonked, shook, rattled, rinsed, blew, steamed, and hung upside down, I CANNOT get my right ear to open back up.
Imagine going around all day plugging your ear with your finger. Now you know how it feels.
It's REALLY weird. You know how people with one eye don't have depth perception? Well, I no longer have SOUND perception.
That is, in the last two shows this weekend, I could hear that the audience WAS laughing, but I couldn't tell how LOUDLY they were laughing. So I didn't know if I needed to hold for laughs or keep going.
At the Good Stuffs Art Academy, some girl put on her bluegrass mix. Not my first choice, but whatevs. No big deal. Oh wait--now everything is just a wash of noise. I can tell that people ARE talking, but I can't make out what ANYBODY is saying.
I'm wondering if this is like one of those little God Curses of yore. You know. Like what'shisface being struck dumb for not believing his wife was gonna have John the Baptist.
Maybe I need to fast. Or get married to a woman who's going to have a baby prophet.
Whatever happens, it's really dreadful. And what's worse, today, in the middle of my second modeling gig, I was struck down with ANOTHER MIGRAINE! That's TWO IN TWO DAYS! I wonder if they're related to my hearing issues.
Oh geeze. I hope I'm not dying. Who will pay for my funeral?
Here's the latest: I can't hear anything out of my right ear.
I've taken to sleeping on my side lately. Sometimes when I wake up, it takes a couple of bonks on the side of my head to get my ear to "pop open" again after sleeping on it. But really, it's not been anything to worry about.
Until three days ago when, no matter how much I bonked, shook, rattled, rinsed, blew, steamed, and hung upside down, I CANNOT get my right ear to open back up.
Imagine going around all day plugging your ear with your finger. Now you know how it feels.
It's REALLY weird. You know how people with one eye don't have depth perception? Well, I no longer have SOUND perception.
That is, in the last two shows this weekend, I could hear that the audience WAS laughing, but I couldn't tell how LOUDLY they were laughing. So I didn't know if I needed to hold for laughs or keep going.
At the Good Stuffs Art Academy, some girl put on her bluegrass mix. Not my first choice, but whatevs. No big deal. Oh wait--now everything is just a wash of noise. I can tell that people ARE talking, but I can't make out what ANYBODY is saying.
I'm wondering if this is like one of those little God Curses of yore. You know. Like what'shisface being struck dumb for not believing his wife was gonna have John the Baptist.
Maybe I need to fast. Or get married to a woman who's going to have a baby prophet.
Whatever happens, it's really dreadful. And what's worse, today, in the middle of my second modeling gig, I was struck down with ANOTHER MIGRAINE! That's TWO IN TWO DAYS! I wonder if they're related to my hearing issues.
Oh geeze. I hope I'm not dying. Who will pay for my funeral?
Opening
Well, we got through the first of three weekends. Here's hoping more people turn out for this than did for that ukulele musical...
And one of the actresses peed her pants in the middle of the opening night performance.
And one of the actresses peed her pants in the middle of the opening night performance.
Friday, September 12, 2008
ZOMG
It's only been thirty minutes, and already I'm in a state of panic. I don't know what to do. Really. I feel like I shouldn't leave my apartment. Like I'll be naked and exposed--well--MORE naked and exposed. Oh LORD! This AGONY!
I forgot my Blackberry at the theatre.
I don't know how I'll go on! I may as well just DIE until they open the theatre at 6:30 tomorrow.
On the bright side...if someone steals my BB bebefore I get to it, I guess I'll have no choice but to get that iPhone iI've been iLusting after.
I forgot my Blackberry at the theatre.
I don't know how I'll go on! I may as well just DIE until they open the theatre at 6:30 tomorrow.
On the bright side...if someone steals my BB bebefore I get to it, I guess I'll have no choice but to get that iPhone iI've been iLusting after.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Nevermind
I was going to do some kind of mondo post.
I was going to talk about how two years ago I quit my dead-end job at Eventual Practical Financial Services and about how my mother and I packed up and threw away just about every last thing I owned. How I slept on an air mattress and woke early every morning with nothing really to do except wake up super-early every morning and go on shirtless jogs around the apartment commune to show off my hot new 'Midsummer' abs and dreadful spray-on tan. I started listening to this one album by a Japanese singer. I didn't understand the words, but the tunes were catchy. That was great because I was so nervous about moving to New York that words would've probably just freaked me out.
I was also going to talk about booking that plane ticket, thinking how clever I was getting a September 11th ticket, then feeling a real sense of dread as our plane closed in on Manhattan...five years to the day since the attacks. Suddenly I wasn't feeling so clever anymore. I said a prayer asking God to please not let our plane crash--at least let New York City...a mugger, a runaway bus, a bad hot dog...let the City kill me. Not some crazed terrorist's idea of a fun anniversary party.
I was also going to talk about that same feeling I had waking up every morning not knowing what to do with myself. The apartment was empty so the first thing I did was make numerous trips to Bed, Bath, and Bathyond to furnish the place. I got a gym membership on the 12th.
And I got my first modeling gig the very next week. It took a little longer to figure out the acting bit but eventually I discovered acting in New York is exactly the same as it is everywhere else in this crazy country. It just looks scarier, there aren't usually any dressing rooms, and there are a whole lot more bad actors at the auditions.
Oh, at I was also going to talk about the first time I got sick. Really, really sick. My throat was on fire. I couldn't breathe without coughing and getting that terrifying little taste of blood in the back of my mouth. The world was spinning. I was burning up. And I had three auditions that day. And it was snowing. At one point, I was far away from home...way over on the Lower East Side (I had NO idea where I was! Isn't that cute!) and I thought, "I can't take another step. I don't have money for a cab. I think I might actually die. I might actually collapse in a snowbank."
But I didn't die. In fact, I got cast in my third New York show that day.
And now...here we are, two years later. Two Christmases at Nofriendo World, one Thanksgiving and Christmas here by myself, nine Off-Off Broadway shows (after tonight), a whole bunch of great new friends...
Yeah. I was going to blog about all that stuff. But we're opening our show tonight and I'm way too tired to go into all that stuff.
I hope you understand.
:^)
I was going to talk about how two years ago I quit my dead-end job at Eventual Practical Financial Services and about how my mother and I packed up and threw away just about every last thing I owned. How I slept on an air mattress and woke early every morning with nothing really to do except wake up super-early every morning and go on shirtless jogs around the apartment commune to show off my hot new 'Midsummer' abs and dreadful spray-on tan. I started listening to this one album by a Japanese singer. I didn't understand the words, but the tunes were catchy. That was great because I was so nervous about moving to New York that words would've probably just freaked me out.
I was also going to talk about booking that plane ticket, thinking how clever I was getting a September 11th ticket, then feeling a real sense of dread as our plane closed in on Manhattan...five years to the day since the attacks. Suddenly I wasn't feeling so clever anymore. I said a prayer asking God to please not let our plane crash--at least let New York City...a mugger, a runaway bus, a bad hot dog...let the City kill me. Not some crazed terrorist's idea of a fun anniversary party.
I was also going to talk about that same feeling I had waking up every morning not knowing what to do with myself. The apartment was empty so the first thing I did was make numerous trips to Bed, Bath, and Bathyond to furnish the place. I got a gym membership on the 12th.
And I got my first modeling gig the very next week. It took a little longer to figure out the acting bit but eventually I discovered acting in New York is exactly the same as it is everywhere else in this crazy country. It just looks scarier, there aren't usually any dressing rooms, and there are a whole lot more bad actors at the auditions.
Oh, at I was also going to talk about the first time I got sick. Really, really sick. My throat was on fire. I couldn't breathe without coughing and getting that terrifying little taste of blood in the back of my mouth. The world was spinning. I was burning up. And I had three auditions that day. And it was snowing. At one point, I was far away from home...way over on the Lower East Side (I had NO idea where I was! Isn't that cute!) and I thought, "I can't take another step. I don't have money for a cab. I think I might actually die. I might actually collapse in a snowbank."
But I didn't die. In fact, I got cast in my third New York show that day.
And now...here we are, two years later. Two Christmases at Nofriendo World, one Thanksgiving and Christmas here by myself, nine Off-Off Broadway shows (after tonight), a whole bunch of great new friends...
Yeah. I was going to blog about all that stuff. But we're opening our show tonight and I'm way too tired to go into all that stuff.
I hope you understand.
:^)
Happy Birthday to Me
Today I'm exactly two years old. In New York City years, that is.
It's also opening night for my ninth show.
More two-year thoughts later. Just wanted to make the announcement for now!
It's also opening night for my ninth show.
More two-year thoughts later. Just wanted to make the announcement for now!
Monday, September 08, 2008
Naked All Day
I'm probably going to be naked all day today.
Today is the first day of school at Good Stuff Art Academy. We're beginning a four-week pose.
Then I'm "on call" at School for Artists Who Aren't Very Good But Whose Parents Have A Lot Of Money U".
Followed by an evening working for Big Boss.
Yep. Naked all day. Ain't New York a blast?
Today is the first day of school at Good Stuff Art Academy. We're beginning a four-week pose.
Then I'm "on call" at School for Artists Who Aren't Very Good But Whose Parents Have A Lot Of Money U".
Followed by an evening working for Big Boss.
Yep. Naked all day. Ain't New York a blast?
Friday, September 05, 2008
Country Music Star!
Come on. Vote for Megan, y'all! You just have to click!
And while you're at it, if you ever want to see Forkulele Friday again, you're gonna have to give me some ideas for songs. Whaddya want?
And while you're at it, if you ever want to see Forkulele Friday again, you're gonna have to give me some ideas for songs. Whaddya want?
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Laddie or Lady? Part II: Dolores
I could go on and on about all the folks in the cast, but time is limited. So I'll just focus on the crown jewel.
Dolores.
Dolores looks exactly like Geoffrey Rush.
She's a New York Brooklynette, born and raised.
She's QUITE an actress. She plays the director/playwright of our play-within-a-play. The press release says, of her character, that he's "the crankiest playwright of all time!"
Cranky isn't the word I would use.
I'd use words like "scariest", "most terrifying" and "not suitable for children".
That's becase...
Bitch is crazy.
Rehearsing a moment of violence, Dolores got overexcited and grabbed me by the hair and threw me around.
Several times in this process, when the director wants a different stage picture, she'll ask Dolores to cross from one spot to another and deliver her line from such-and-such a place. Dolores' hands flutter up around her ears and she says, "I-I-I'm sAArry, could joo gimmie my motuhvashun? Why would my chahh-rek-tuh croo-awss the stage? That duddn' make sense." Every time. Without fail.
Dolores doesn't act ON the line--that is, she doesn't USE the line to express surprise, disgust, or any number of the emotions "her character" feels in the show. She acts OFF the line. Which means before she says her line, she has to pause, feel the emotion, express the emotion, then speak.
Dolores doesn't give eye contact on stage. She talks AT you, not TO you. She's actually looking about a foot up and to the left of your face.
The fight director had a fun idea for Dolores and suggested she do such-and-such. Dolores paused, considered, then said, in all seriousness, "My character doesn't want to do that."
So we've got all this gender-swapping going on. At one point, she--as the evil playwright/director, grabs me, his leading lady, and threatens me with a pair of scissors. Later in the rehearsal, Dolores told me that scene "gave her character a hard-on".
Dolores only knows how to play one level: Teeth-gnashingly, skull-bustingly, face-cuttingly ANGRY. She follows "impulses" so when someone says something "her character" doesn't like, she starts muttering a string of vile swear words and gets this contorted look on her face like she's possessed by the Jersey Devil.
At one point in a recent run-through, an actress did something funny and new. One of the other actresses watching in the wings laughed loudly. Dolores, in full character, ran to her and screamed in her face, "SHUT UP!"
Dolores belches LOUDLY. Dolores is scary-intense. Dolores is NOT fun to work with. Dolores embodies that old showbusiness philosophy that you don't have to like your fellow actors. You just have to be able to work with them.
And honestly, forks, I don't know how much longer I CAN keep working with her.
Because I can only take so much crazy. And my crazy tank is almost full.
Dolores.
Dolores looks exactly like Geoffrey Rush.
She's a New York Brooklynette, born and raised.
She's QUITE an actress. She plays the director/playwright of our play-within-a-play. The press release says, of her character, that he's "the crankiest playwright of all time!"
Cranky isn't the word I would use.
I'd use words like "scariest", "most terrifying" and "not suitable for children".
That's becase...
Bitch is crazy.
Rehearsing a moment of violence, Dolores got overexcited and grabbed me by the hair and threw me around.
Several times in this process, when the director wants a different stage picture, she'll ask Dolores to cross from one spot to another and deliver her line from such-and-such a place. Dolores' hands flutter up around her ears and she says, "I-I-I'm sAArry, could joo gimmie my motuhvashun? Why would my chahh-rek-tuh croo-awss the stage? That duddn' make sense." Every time. Without fail.
Dolores doesn't act ON the line--that is, she doesn't USE the line to express surprise, disgust, or any number of the emotions "her character" feels in the show. She acts OFF the line. Which means before she says her line, she has to pause, feel the emotion, express the emotion, then speak.
Dolores doesn't give eye contact on stage. She talks AT you, not TO you. She's actually looking about a foot up and to the left of your face.
The fight director had a fun idea for Dolores and suggested she do such-and-such. Dolores paused, considered, then said, in all seriousness, "My character doesn't want to do that."
So we've got all this gender-swapping going on. At one point, she--as the evil playwright/director, grabs me, his leading lady, and threatens me with a pair of scissors. Later in the rehearsal, Dolores told me that scene "gave her character a hard-on".
Dolores only knows how to play one level: Teeth-gnashingly, skull-bustingly, face-cuttingly ANGRY. She follows "impulses" so when someone says something "her character" doesn't like, she starts muttering a string of vile swear words and gets this contorted look on her face like she's possessed by the Jersey Devil.
At one point in a recent run-through, an actress did something funny and new. One of the other actresses watching in the wings laughed loudly. Dolores, in full character, ran to her and screamed in her face, "SHUT UP!"
Dolores belches LOUDLY. Dolores is scary-intense. Dolores is NOT fun to work with. Dolores embodies that old showbusiness philosophy that you don't have to like your fellow actors. You just have to be able to work with them.
And honestly, forks, I don't know how much longer I CAN keep working with her.
Because I can only take so much crazy. And my crazy tank is almost full.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Laddie or Lady?
I really do need to apologize for not blogging about this show I'm in. It's rife. RIFE. But when you get home to an empty, yet somehow cluttered apartment it's difficult to get your brain in "organize your thoughts" mode. Curiously, it's easier to do that while on the train or out in noisy New Yaw-uck (practicing my southern accent).
The show itself is going well. The problem I have is we still have an entire week of rehearsal before we open.
I remember in high school how we'd rehearse a show for two months before we opened. That's what this feels like. Four weeks of rehearsal before tech? What ever happened to the good ol' three week thing?
So I'm tired and trying not to get bored. I suppose that's not something to worry about as everything old will be new again as soon as I do a full run through in the corset, bumroll, and Baby Jane wig.
Yes, instead of doing gender swapping the no-budget way and making us all dress neutral, they're putting us in all these fancy Marie Antoinette coss-chooms (again, excuse my southen accent). I still have to go out and buy lipstick. And I suspect they'll invite me to shave my telltale knuckle hair.
Dignity. Always dignity.
So that's fun in a "whoa i saw ur new facebook pix! !lolz!!" sort of way.
What's even more fun...are the people I'm working with.
To be continued...
The show itself is going well. The problem I have is we still have an entire week of rehearsal before we open.
I remember in high school how we'd rehearse a show for two months before we opened. That's what this feels like. Four weeks of rehearsal before tech? What ever happened to the good ol' three week thing?
So I'm tired and trying not to get bored. I suppose that's not something to worry about as everything old will be new again as soon as I do a full run through in the corset, bumroll, and Baby Jane wig.
Yes, instead of doing gender swapping the no-budget way and making us all dress neutral, they're putting us in all these fancy Marie Antoinette coss-chooms (again, excuse my southen accent). I still have to go out and buy lipstick. And I suspect they'll invite me to shave my telltale knuckle hair.
Dignity. Always dignity.
So that's fun in a "whoa i saw ur new facebook pix! !lolz!!" sort of way.
What's even more fun...are the people I'm working with.
To be continued...
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