Short version: Assholes.
Long version:
Yesterday, somebody blew up a Buddhist shrine in a tourist spot in Thailand. Twelve hours later, it looks like 18 dead, over a hundred more injured. http://the-japan-news.com/news/article/0002363580
Nobody's saying, "It was me," yet. There are a half-dozen religious, political, and religious/political groups considered potentially responsible, and the always-popular deranged individual theories.
So our range of motivations basically come down to these three:
1. I think Buddhism is bad, and I want people to stop being Buddhist, so I will kill them to make them afraid and demonstrate that my religion will kill people who don't join us.
2. I think the government is bad, and I want to deprive them of reputation and revenue, so I will kill tourists and make people afraid to come to my country because they'll think it's not safe.
3. I think people in general need to be hurt or punished, because they deserve it and/or because it gives me pleasure or makes me feel better about my own life.
It's probably at least two, if not all three.
Now, the first two are, in the long run, self-defeating. Though you might frighten people off from a religion for a bit, or destabilize a government, you sure as hell aren't going to attract anyone to your own religion, or inspire confidence in the government you're trying to put in place.
The third - what can possibly be more self-centered? And is there really much doubt that it's at the heart of the political and religious folks who claim to be serving some higher ideal?
So that's my definition of an asshole - the person who says, "I deserve this, and you do not." The person who says, "I deserve this at your expense." The person who says, "If I can't be happy, then NOBODY can be happy." The person who is so wrapped up in their own precious suffering and fragile sense of self-worth that anyone who infringes on - or fails to acknowledge - their superiority MUST be put in their place.
No group is free of assholes. None. No mission statement, no religious creed, no political platform, no club, no guild, no trade organization, no nation, no ethnicity, no team, no genre, no fandom, no online community. There's no badge you can pin on that says, "This guarantees the wearer is not an asshole."
At the same time, no group is ALL assholes. Even in the craziest nutjob extremist group that was founded based on hating some other subset of society, there are a few folks who are there because they're desperate to belong to something, because being on a team, not being alone, having someone say "You're a good guy," is a stunningly important part of human existence, and they haven't been able to find it from anyone else. There are a few folks who legitimately think they're doing good work, not because they hate, but because they actually don't understand how their actions are affecting others.
So what do we do?
We don't make blanket statements. We don't say, "If they were all dead, the problem would be solved." We don't say, "You're __________, therefore you're __________." We interact with each other as humans rather than as objects.
We deal with the assholes in our own groups. We speak up and say, "The things you say and do are not acceptable." We take the time to talk about the possible consequences of any course of action. We don't snap back when someone offends us.
We apologize and try to understand better, and move forward together.
It's exhausting. It's waaaaay easier to say, "These people are like me, those people are not like me." It's how society has existed for millennia. But we now live in a time when anyone - any one - out of the 7 billion people on the planet can go out and casually disrupt and destroy the lives of hundreds or thousands of people.
We can't afford to let the assholes win. We can't afford to push each other away.
I love you.
Monday, August 17, 2015
Monday, March 23, 2015
The Final Countdown
Suddenly, I leave for Japan tomorrow.
For the last few months, it's been a thing (in my head) that happens "in a while." Three months, a couple months, a few weeks - then, somehow, it jumped straight to "Wow, this is really happening SOON."
I'm mostly packed - I think/hope, and haven't forgotten anything critical. Probably. I'm trusting that my new employers have a good plan for getting us all settled in and trained, since they've been organized so far. I keep telling myself to just be patient with all the nonsense at the airport - and then again at the airport on the other end. I (mostly) know my lines.
Our apartment here feels like home. We have routines, spots we prefer to sit on the couch, art on the walls. It isn't quite done, but it's done enough. It's the reference point from which I calculate distance and travel time now.
What will I miss most?
The weird balancing act of being a scrappy looking-for-work actor: Scouring audition listings for worthwhile projects, the weird roller-coaster of hope and disappointment, the little frustrations and delights of every show or film that seem SO SIGNIFICANT, the times I run into an old friend at an audition or a rehearsal.
Our cats' weird personalities: Savini, who just wants me to stay still so he can clamber into my lap, fall asleep, and drool all over my hands. Isi, who will happily grumble and chirp her way through an entire conversation, and loves to burrow under the blankets at 6 AM. Calamity, who's still kitten-fascinated by the world, and wants to climb everything and chase everything and run from everything, and so, so gentle.
Simple times with my wife: slouching around in our bathrobes with coffee in the morning, separately checking our email and assorted websites before getting on with the day. Scrounging Netflix for a hopefully-good movie, and knowing we'll have pretty much exactly the same reaction to whatever we find. Walking to the park for some lazy reading in the sun.
The familiar, I suppose. Super secret about me which will surprise nobody: I don't like new things.
This year will either get me over that forever, or drive me so crazy that I'll spend the rest of my life at home, only eating frozen pizza and tortilla chips, watching old Star Trek on Netflix. We'll see.
For the last few months, it's been a thing (in my head) that happens "in a while." Three months, a couple months, a few weeks - then, somehow, it jumped straight to "Wow, this is really happening SOON."
I'm mostly packed - I think/hope, and haven't forgotten anything critical. Probably. I'm trusting that my new employers have a good plan for getting us all settled in and trained, since they've been organized so far. I keep telling myself to just be patient with all the nonsense at the airport - and then again at the airport on the other end. I (mostly) know my lines.
Our apartment here feels like home. We have routines, spots we prefer to sit on the couch, art on the walls. It isn't quite done, but it's done enough. It's the reference point from which I calculate distance and travel time now.
What will I miss most?
The weird balancing act of being a scrappy looking-for-work actor: Scouring audition listings for worthwhile projects, the weird roller-coaster of hope and disappointment, the little frustrations and delights of every show or film that seem SO SIGNIFICANT, the times I run into an old friend at an audition or a rehearsal.
Our cats' weird personalities: Savini, who just wants me to stay still so he can clamber into my lap, fall asleep, and drool all over my hands. Isi, who will happily grumble and chirp her way through an entire conversation, and loves to burrow under the blankets at 6 AM. Calamity, who's still kitten-fascinated by the world, and wants to climb everything and chase everything and run from everything, and so, so gentle.
Simple times with my wife: slouching around in our bathrobes with coffee in the morning, separately checking our email and assorted websites before getting on with the day. Scrounging Netflix for a hopefully-good movie, and knowing we'll have pretty much exactly the same reaction to whatever we find. Walking to the park for some lazy reading in the sun.
The familiar, I suppose. Super secret about me which will surprise nobody: I don't like new things.
This year will either get me over that forever, or drive me so crazy that I'll spend the rest of my life at home, only eating frozen pizza and tortilla chips, watching old Star Trek on Netflix. We'll see.
Friday, March 6, 2015
California Dreaming
This past Wednesday evening, we turned south at Barstow, and before too long, we hit the long downhill stretch of freeway - seemed like ten or fifteen miles of downhill. The sun was just starting to set, and our introduction to our new home city came with a magenta sky and lights beginning to come on in the valley below us.
We'd been driving for three days, staying in cheapo motels, gradually wearing down our humanity in the way that only long travel seems to do. The cats had become resigned to their new itinerant life, and mainly slumped around in the backseat, stress-numb and travel sick. Our car had served amazingly well on this trip - no hint of any issues (I suspect it was as glad as we were to be leaving Chicago winter).
And then we were here.
Everything here looks to me like those scrabbly little vacation towns along the gulf coast of Florida.
Franchise businesses are scattered among local independents, and everything's sun-bleached, dusty, and a little home-made looking. It all feels so, so spread out - there's really not much within walking distance of our apartment, whereas in Chicago, it was only the last couple years that I even felt it necessary to have a car.
So it's different.
We've been errand-running like crazy, trying to fill in all the gaps, trying to remember what exactly is still on the way (95% of our stuff will be arriving next week), trying not to exhaust ourselves. It's a strange in-between time, when we don't really live here yet, but don't live anywhere else. Neither Kitten nor I has a real job at the moment - I have prep work and lines to learn, and she's submitting for auditions, but nothing regular to act as a foundation, a ground wire, as ballast to keep us steady in the midst of all this.
Tonight we get to go out and see people other than each other for a bit. It'll be good. It'll be tiring. Neither of us is fantastic at small talk, and we're going to be around a couple (one?) people we've worked with but don't really know, and an unknown number of strangers. We'll see.
This weekend we can catch our breath a bit and get to know our new city a little. I hope it likes us.
We'd been driving for three days, staying in cheapo motels, gradually wearing down our humanity in the way that only long travel seems to do. The cats had become resigned to their new itinerant life, and mainly slumped around in the backseat, stress-numb and travel sick. Our car had served amazingly well on this trip - no hint of any issues (I suspect it was as glad as we were to be leaving Chicago winter).
And then we were here.
Everything here looks to me like those scrabbly little vacation towns along the gulf coast of Florida.
Franchise businesses are scattered among local independents, and everything's sun-bleached, dusty, and a little home-made looking. It all feels so, so spread out - there's really not much within walking distance of our apartment, whereas in Chicago, it was only the last couple years that I even felt it necessary to have a car.
So it's different.
We've been errand-running like crazy, trying to fill in all the gaps, trying to remember what exactly is still on the way (95% of our stuff will be arriving next week), trying not to exhaust ourselves. It's a strange in-between time, when we don't really live here yet, but don't live anywhere else. Neither Kitten nor I has a real job at the moment - I have prep work and lines to learn, and she's submitting for auditions, but nothing regular to act as a foundation, a ground wire, as ballast to keep us steady in the midst of all this.
Tonight we get to go out and see people other than each other for a bit. It'll be good. It'll be tiring. Neither of us is fantastic at small talk, and we're going to be around a couple (one?) people we've worked with but don't really know, and an unknown number of strangers. We'll see.
This weekend we can catch our breath a bit and get to know our new city a little. I hope it likes us.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
The In-Between Time
Lately, there's been a lot of treading water.
Let's expand that metaphor, and make it even more convoluted and complex:
A bunch of shipwreck survivors are scraping out a living on an island. They all know that once in a while, a boat passes by, but it can't be seen from the island, and there's no good way to predict when it'll arrive. Sometimes the people on the boat are nice, and they'll rescue anyone they find in the ocean. Sometimes they won't. Or sometimes they'll let you on board for a bit and then throw you back in the ocean.
So you prepare - you build a raft, practice swimming along shore, stock up on coconuts and parrot meat. Many of those around you have decided to make the best of things on the island, and their life looks pretty good in comparison to your scrabbling. You have a few friends who have caught a boat - messages in bottles occasionally wash up, and you have other friends who are also preparing to try.
A few times a week you swim out to sea and back, never really expecting a boat, but also too stubborn to give up. Then one day, there it is. Big-ass boat, out on the horizon. And there's a person on the deck waving a flag and yelling to you.
You shout back to your spouse on the beach, who loads all your stuff on the raft and kicks it out to meet you. Together you kick further out into the ocean, to the point where it'd be really tough to make it back. That person out on the boat is lowering a ladder and a rowboat, but it's going to be a while - and you still don't know exactly what kind of boat it's going to turn out to be.
Still with me?
A couple weeks ago (seriously? it's only been two and a half weeks?) I accepted a job offer from Universal Studios Japan, and Kitten & I started uprooting our lives to make it happen. We're fitting in a move to Los Angeles before my contract starts, which entails all kind of stress and complexity. The whole thing is occurring on this weird, drawn-out timeline where we know there are lots of things that NEED to be done, but there's not much we CAN do yet.
Kitten's heading to LA to look for apartments at the end of the month, but we can't really prep yet - nothing for an end-of-February move is being listed yet. We're semi-started packing and clearing out things that aren't worth moving, but there's still 2 months of living here to do. We can't really look for acting work in a serious way, beyond the occasional 1-2 day short term, last minute stuff that comes up.
So, we're out on the raft, treading water for now. We're hoping this boat means great things. It's going to be a tough trip, either way.
In the meantime, we're swinging back and forth between desperately wanting to hang out with all our favorite people, and just wanting to curl up and watch Farscape on Netflix (if you want to watch Farscape with us, it's win-win). Please put up with us if we're weirder than usual for a while.
Let's expand that metaphor, and make it even more convoluted and complex:
A bunch of shipwreck survivors are scraping out a living on an island. They all know that once in a while, a boat passes by, but it can't be seen from the island, and there's no good way to predict when it'll arrive. Sometimes the people on the boat are nice, and they'll rescue anyone they find in the ocean. Sometimes they won't. Or sometimes they'll let you on board for a bit and then throw you back in the ocean.
So you prepare - you build a raft, practice swimming along shore, stock up on coconuts and parrot meat. Many of those around you have decided to make the best of things on the island, and their life looks pretty good in comparison to your scrabbling. You have a few friends who have caught a boat - messages in bottles occasionally wash up, and you have other friends who are also preparing to try.
A few times a week you swim out to sea and back, never really expecting a boat, but also too stubborn to give up. Then one day, there it is. Big-ass boat, out on the horizon. And there's a person on the deck waving a flag and yelling to you.
You shout back to your spouse on the beach, who loads all your stuff on the raft and kicks it out to meet you. Together you kick further out into the ocean, to the point where it'd be really tough to make it back. That person out on the boat is lowering a ladder and a rowboat, but it's going to be a while - and you still don't know exactly what kind of boat it's going to turn out to be.
Still with me?
A couple weeks ago (seriously? it's only been two and a half weeks?) I accepted a job offer from Universal Studios Japan, and Kitten & I started uprooting our lives to make it happen. We're fitting in a move to Los Angeles before my contract starts, which entails all kind of stress and complexity. The whole thing is occurring on this weird, drawn-out timeline where we know there are lots of things that NEED to be done, but there's not much we CAN do yet.
Kitten's heading to LA to look for apartments at the end of the month, but we can't really prep yet - nothing for an end-of-February move is being listed yet. We're semi-started packing and clearing out things that aren't worth moving, but there's still 2 months of living here to do. We can't really look for acting work in a serious way, beyond the occasional 1-2 day short term, last minute stuff that comes up.
So, we're out on the raft, treading water for now. We're hoping this boat means great things. It's going to be a tough trip, either way.
In the meantime, we're swinging back and forth between desperately wanting to hang out with all our favorite people, and just wanting to curl up and watch Farscape on Netflix (if you want to watch Farscape with us, it's win-win). Please put up with us if we're weirder than usual for a while.
Friday, December 26, 2014
The wand chooses the wizard.
Back in August, on a whim, I submitted to audition for Universal Studios Japan. They come through Chicago once a year or so on a round-the-world audition tour, casting assorted singers, dancers, actors, and stunt people for their shows. I'd seen the audition listings in the past, and generally laughed it off - what a crazy idea, right?
Lately I've been trying to learn to not reject myself for roles - if I'm not right, you can be sure someone will tell me, but if I never audition, I'll never know - so... I sent in my headshot and resume. There was only one part I was qualified for (since I'm not a Broadway-style singer/dancer, not a stunt person, and don't speak Japanese), and I'm at the bottom of the age range they were looking for, so I figured my odds were low, but:
1. I actually like auditioning. The worst they can say is no, there's no critics, and nobody's going to applaud you either way, so it's my chance to rock out and do things totally my way.
2. I try to test my limits. Every once in a while I push myself to audition for something one level up, professionally, from where I've been working.
3. To keep working as an actor, you constantly look for work. Say you get called in for 1/3 of what you submit for, and get called back for 1/4 of what you audition for, and get cast in 1/5 of what you're called back for. That's 60 submissions for 1 job. So I cast a wide net.
And, hey, they had me come in to audition.
There was a whole raft of dancers there when I arrived, who had just been through the miserable culling that, I gather, is typical of dance auditions. The surviving few were getting measured and interviewed. Three other actory types of varying degrees of awkwardness were hanging around, and we all had pretty low expectations of our chances.
And we did our Japanese language/British accent monologues, and a nice Australian woman interviewed me, and I got my measurements taken, and somehow in the space of an hour I'd been put on the short list of job candidates.
Whoa.
No idea how seriously to take this, at this point. They were holding auditions in, like, 15 cities around the world, in pretty much any country where people could pass for English. They had no idea how many jobs would even be open (returning cast gets 1st dibs). And then September, October, and November came & went with basically no word from them. Early December was the "casting takes a long time" email. I had pretty much written this off.
December 21, job offer. I can go work as a wandkeeper at Ollivander's. In Japan. For 13 months. No wife, no cats. Three days to reply & return signed paperwork if interested.
Now, far be it from me to judge this whole process, but that's not something you dump on people who are already in the midst of Christmas travel stress. Really, now.
Skip ahead a week: after lots of talks with my wife, sharing the news with immediate family, and letting the idea sink in a bit, the official announcement:
More details will follow in later posts. We'll be in Chicago for a while yet, so don't panic. Just wanted to let you all in on the fun.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Not the center of the universe
For the first time in a long time, I'm doing a show where I'm not needed at every rehearsal, there are lots of scenes I'm not in, and I'll have time to kill backstage during the performance. It's weird.
It's actually pretty normal, for theater, and I remember a time it was normal for me. Not lately. For the last two years or so, I've done very ensemble-y stuff, where if you weren't onstage at the moment, you were grabbing your next costume, bag of candy props, puppet or mask, or helping someone else with theirs. From the moment the show started, if there was a moment's break, it was for catching your breath and drinking as much water as possible.
I've also been doing a lot of film work, and while it's a totally different sort of schedule than theatre, there's a kind of bustle or urgency on set that's rarely present for stage work. (Unless, presumably, you're working on such a modern classic as GHOST - THE MUSICAL.)
It's weird.
It makes me think about the ways I use theater as a time filler, an excuse for putting off other things (I can't do _____ this week, rehearsals are crazy...). And about the ways it's way too easy to start overvaluing myself as an actor (Well, I'm not technically the lead, but I AM in pretty much every scene...).
I've got a nice solid supporting part. A few lovely scenes. It's a part that really suits me as an actor. But it's not sucking up my time, and I can't, by any stretch, pretend the production revolves around me.
Those are good things, but they're things I wasn't expecting to be quite this aware of. It's like a big note from myself, that says, "Hey - get over yourself, do your job, keep life moving forward." It's a chance to use those days off rehearsal with purpose, rather than "Ugh, I'm so tired from rehearsal, I need a day off."
I suppose the lesson in all this is -
Hang on. Come see BAT-HAMLET! It's exactly what it sounds like. I'll be playing Lord Riddles, and my lovely wife will be playing Barbara Gordrick, daughter of the late king of Gothic Castle. Every single person I know will enjoy some aspect of this production. March 28-April 26 at the Cornservatory, 4210 N Lincoln.
- to not get too comfortable, too cocky, too lazy. Right? Or something?
BAT-HAMLET!
It's actually pretty normal, for theater, and I remember a time it was normal for me. Not lately. For the last two years or so, I've done very ensemble-y stuff, where if you weren't onstage at the moment, you were grabbing your next costume, bag of candy props, puppet or mask, or helping someone else with theirs. From the moment the show started, if there was a moment's break, it was for catching your breath and drinking as much water as possible.
I've also been doing a lot of film work, and while it's a totally different sort of schedule than theatre, there's a kind of bustle or urgency on set that's rarely present for stage work. (Unless, presumably, you're working on such a modern classic as GHOST - THE MUSICAL.)
It's weird.
It makes me think about the ways I use theater as a time filler, an excuse for putting off other things (I can't do _____ this week, rehearsals are crazy...). And about the ways it's way too easy to start overvaluing myself as an actor (Well, I'm not technically the lead, but I AM in pretty much every scene...).
I've got a nice solid supporting part. A few lovely scenes. It's a part that really suits me as an actor. But it's not sucking up my time, and I can't, by any stretch, pretend the production revolves around me.
Those are good things, but they're things I wasn't expecting to be quite this aware of. It's like a big note from myself, that says, "Hey - get over yourself, do your job, keep life moving forward." It's a chance to use those days off rehearsal with purpose, rather than "Ugh, I'm so tired from rehearsal, I need a day off."
I suppose the lesson in all this is -
Hang on. Come see BAT-HAMLET! It's exactly what it sounds like. I'll be playing Lord Riddles, and my lovely wife will be playing Barbara Gordrick, daughter of the late king of Gothic Castle. Every single person I know will enjoy some aspect of this production. March 28-April 26 at the Cornservatory, 4210 N Lincoln.
- to not get too comfortable, too cocky, too lazy. Right? Or something?
BAT-HAMLET!
Saturday, October 5, 2013
"You're in this for the money..." (and other bullshit people say to actors)
A few days ago I was talking to an acquaintance who I've worked with a few times as an extra for TV and movies. He's some variety of person who makes piles of money as an investor, and is looking to get into the producing side of filmmaking. We were talking about "Breaking Bad," since the series finale had just aired.
He asked, "Now on a show like that - a really great role, like Brian Cranston's - would you do that for no money?"
Moment of thought. "No."
"What do you mean, you'd turn that down?"
"No. I mean, I'd probably do it for scale, for the first season - because that'd be a great opportunity, at this point in my career. But then it'd be time to renegotiate."
"Wait, so what you're saying, is, you're in this for the money?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Because this is my career. And somebody's making a pile of money off that show, and the actors deserve a cut."
He think a moment. "OK, you know, I can respect that. That's honest."
[For those of you not in the industry, "scale" is the minimum a production company is allowed to pay a union actor for the specific type of work they're doing.]
This past year, as I've worked very deliberate ways to turn acting from an exhausting, time-consuming, expensive hobby into an exhausting, time-consuming, expensive way to make a living, I've been more and more aware of the ways that people, even (sometimes, particularly) people within the performing community, look down on actors who expect to be fairly compensated for their work.
When I needed to miss one rehearsal (out of a six-month rehearsal process) to work on a film, our assistant director accused me of having "gone Hollywood."
When the cast of a show I was working on suggested that perhaps it would be better to hire an assistant stage manager to: set up the theater before each show, tear down the set after every show, and run the lights during the show; rather than making the cast responsible for those duties, we were chastised. We were scolded. We were told, "That's just how theater is." We were accused of being ungrateful.
I read a smug blog in which the author admitted, "I didn't cry when I said goodbye to my friend" (moving to LA), and praised herself for staying in Chicago, because "some are not in search of fame or sun or a change of pace."
(I'm going to try and trim most of the profanity from my response to all this. No guarantees, though.)
Nobody accuses a computer programmer of just being "in it for the money." Or someone running a restaurant. Or a florist. They all expect to be paid for their work - because they're doing something that people value, and over time they've acquired the skills to do it well, either through training or work experience. What makes acting different?
In every job, a person grows in ability over time, and becomes more valuable, and is generally paid more as a result. But even on their first day, when they're completely inept, they get their $7.25 an hour, because we, as a society, have said, "You can't pay people nothing." You know, unless they're performers. Somehow every acting job is thought to be so fulfilling, so educational, such an artistic expression that it's fine to abuse and impoverish actors. And actors have been trained to believe that as well.
Working for no money doesn't make your work pure and artistic. Frankly, it's more likely to make your work half-assed, since you'll be perpetually late (because you're coming from your day job), impossible to schedule for (because your day job boss won't let you have Saturdays off to rehearse), and constantly sick (since you likely don't have insurance and certainly can't afford the time or money to eat decently).
Theater companies complain that they can't pay actors, because the money just isn't coming in from ticket sales. Here's a thought: maybe, just maybe, if you can't sell tickets to your shows, paying your actors would help.
Paid actors are grateful actors.
I will go way the hell out of my way to promote a show that's treating me well, or one that's giving the cast a cut of the box office. Because I want that theater company to keep existing. If you treat me like shit and every night I show up hoping there's no audience and we cancel? If I've got no incentive to bring people in? I'll share the event on facebook.
Paid actors are good actors.
A theater that pays get way more actors to choose from at their auditions. More choice = better cast = better show = happier audience = puppies and unicorns for everyone. If you have to beg and plead people to come to your auditions, if you have to cast every guy who shows up and put mustaches on some women, if you have to recruit the parents of the kid who's in your show: no choice = painful rehearsals = embarrassingly bad show = uncomfortable audience = awkward silence when you ask your friends, "So, what did you think?"
Paid actors are responsible actors.
Acting is a job. If a job doesn't pay, who gives a shit if you show up on time? Or at all? Or if you've done the work that was assigned to you, met your deadlines? Because frankly, what are they going to do? Take away your opportunity to give up your Saturday afternoon performing a bad show for an audience of four? Oh, no, Br'er Fox, please don't throw me in the briar patch.
And here's the other possibility if a company is in the "but we don't have any money" situation.
Maybe, maybe, just possibly maybe, you should stop. Maybe Chicago doesn't need another theater company that was founded to produce the re-imagined adaptation of Three Sisters that could only have been produced by you and your six friends who all went to theater school together. Maybe nobody has a sufficient audience base because there are approximately 80,000 "storefront" theater companies in Chicago. Maybe if nobody's doing the kind of work you want to do, you should learn from the kind of work they want to do. Maybe if nobody wants to hire you to direct, it's because you're 22 and you think that improv games are necessary at the beginning of rehearsals, because that's how your teachers killed time in college.
Now, before you kill me: I think community theater is great. It's OK to do theater that's about training the people who work on the shows, about making theater accessible where it otherwise wouldn't be. I learned a lot performing for no money - I didn't get a degree in acting, so working for free was my GED as a performer.
I think we need a new name for that kind of theater. "Community theater" just makes me think of Waiting for Guffman, and I think it's nonsense to call yourself a professional theater company if you're not paying people a reasonable wage.
But please, just because you don't intend to make a career out of acting doesn't mean that those who do are in it for the money, seeking fame and sun, or throwing away their art. So stop sneering, stop asking stupid questions.
Because I swear, next person who does, I'm going to smash a breakaway chair over their head, beat them up in a carefully choreographed fight sequence, and throw you off a fake balcony onto an air bag. AND THAT CHEAP STAGE BLOOD WILL STAIN YOUR SKIN FOR LIKE THREE DAYS.
So there.
[PS: Stirring up controversy! Yay! But seriously, if you have a strong opinion, or even a mild opinion, share it. A lot of this was off the top of my head, and I might even be convinced to revise some stances.
Heh. Nah.]
He asked, "Now on a show like that - a really great role, like Brian Cranston's - would you do that for no money?"
Moment of thought. "No."
"What do you mean, you'd turn that down?"
"No. I mean, I'd probably do it for scale, for the first season - because that'd be a great opportunity, at this point in my career. But then it'd be time to renegotiate."
"Wait, so what you're saying, is, you're in this for the money?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Because this is my career. And somebody's making a pile of money off that show, and the actors deserve a cut."
He think a moment. "OK, you know, I can respect that. That's honest."
[For those of you not in the industry, "scale" is the minimum a production company is allowed to pay a union actor for the specific type of work they're doing.]
This past year, as I've worked very deliberate ways to turn acting from an exhausting, time-consuming, expensive hobby into an exhausting, time-consuming, expensive way to make a living, I've been more and more aware of the ways that people, even (sometimes, particularly) people within the performing community, look down on actors who expect to be fairly compensated for their work.
When I needed to miss one rehearsal (out of a six-month rehearsal process) to work on a film, our assistant director accused me of having "gone Hollywood."
When the cast of a show I was working on suggested that perhaps it would be better to hire an assistant stage manager to: set up the theater before each show, tear down the set after every show, and run the lights during the show; rather than making the cast responsible for those duties, we were chastised. We were scolded. We were told, "That's just how theater is." We were accused of being ungrateful.
I read a smug blog in which the author admitted, "I didn't cry when I said goodbye to my friend" (moving to LA), and praised herself for staying in Chicago, because "some are not in search of fame or sun or a change of pace."
(I'm going to try and trim most of the profanity from my response to all this. No guarantees, though.)
Nobody accuses a computer programmer of just being "in it for the money." Or someone running a restaurant. Or a florist. They all expect to be paid for their work - because they're doing something that people value, and over time they've acquired the skills to do it well, either through training or work experience. What makes acting different?
In every job, a person grows in ability over time, and becomes more valuable, and is generally paid more as a result. But even on their first day, when they're completely inept, they get their $7.25 an hour, because we, as a society, have said, "You can't pay people nothing." You know, unless they're performers. Somehow every acting job is thought to be so fulfilling, so educational, such an artistic expression that it's fine to abuse and impoverish actors. And actors have been trained to believe that as well.
Working for no money doesn't make your work pure and artistic. Frankly, it's more likely to make your work half-assed, since you'll be perpetually late (because you're coming from your day job), impossible to schedule for (because your day job boss won't let you have Saturdays off to rehearse), and constantly sick (since you likely don't have insurance and certainly can't afford the time or money to eat decently).
Theater companies complain that they can't pay actors, because the money just isn't coming in from ticket sales. Here's a thought: maybe, just maybe, if you can't sell tickets to your shows, paying your actors would help.
Paid actors are grateful actors.
I will go way the hell out of my way to promote a show that's treating me well, or one that's giving the cast a cut of the box office. Because I want that theater company to keep existing. If you treat me like shit and every night I show up hoping there's no audience and we cancel? If I've got no incentive to bring people in? I'll share the event on facebook.
Paid actors are good actors.
A theater that pays get way more actors to choose from at their auditions. More choice = better cast = better show = happier audience = puppies and unicorns for everyone. If you have to beg and plead people to come to your auditions, if you have to cast every guy who shows up and put mustaches on some women, if you have to recruit the parents of the kid who's in your show: no choice = painful rehearsals = embarrassingly bad show = uncomfortable audience = awkward silence when you ask your friends, "So, what did you think?"
Paid actors are responsible actors.
Acting is a job. If a job doesn't pay, who gives a shit if you show up on time? Or at all? Or if you've done the work that was assigned to you, met your deadlines? Because frankly, what are they going to do? Take away your opportunity to give up your Saturday afternoon performing a bad show for an audience of four? Oh, no, Br'er Fox, please don't throw me in the briar patch.
And here's the other possibility if a company is in the "but we don't have any money" situation.
Maybe, maybe, just possibly maybe, you should stop. Maybe Chicago doesn't need another theater company that was founded to produce the re-imagined adaptation of Three Sisters that could only have been produced by you and your six friends who all went to theater school together. Maybe nobody has a sufficient audience base because there are approximately 80,000 "storefront" theater companies in Chicago. Maybe if nobody's doing the kind of work you want to do, you should learn from the kind of work they want to do. Maybe if nobody wants to hire you to direct, it's because you're 22 and you think that improv games are necessary at the beginning of rehearsals, because that's how your teachers killed time in college.
Now, before you kill me: I think community theater is great. It's OK to do theater that's about training the people who work on the shows, about making theater accessible where it otherwise wouldn't be. I learned a lot performing for no money - I didn't get a degree in acting, so working for free was my GED as a performer.
I think we need a new name for that kind of theater. "Community theater" just makes me think of Waiting for Guffman, and I think it's nonsense to call yourself a professional theater company if you're not paying people a reasonable wage.
But please, just because you don't intend to make a career out of acting doesn't mean that those who do are in it for the money, seeking fame and sun, or throwing away their art. So stop sneering, stop asking stupid questions.
Because I swear, next person who does, I'm going to smash a breakaway chair over their head, beat them up in a carefully choreographed fight sequence, and throw you off a fake balcony onto an air bag. AND THAT CHEAP STAGE BLOOD WILL STAIN YOUR SKIN FOR LIKE THREE DAYS.
So there.
[PS: Stirring up controversy! Yay! But seriously, if you have a strong opinion, or even a mild opinion, share it. A lot of this was off the top of my head, and I might even be convinced to revise some stances.
Heh. Nah.]
people
who do show after show after show and five, ten years later realize
that no real work has been done - See more at:
http://www.chicagoelevated.com/2013/09/30/ones-stay/#sthash.aVkq2Ygy.dpuf
people
who do show after show after show and five, ten years later realize
that no real work has been done - See more at:
http://www.chicagoelevated.com/2013/09/30/ones-stay/#sthash.aVkq2Ygy.dpuf
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
What did real men fear in the '60s? Just watch Star Trek.
Confession: There are quite a few episodes of original Star Trek I'd never seen. I recently set out to remedy that, since they're on Netflix now, and it's like watching a show that was made by a different culture. You know - like when you watch a European movie, and you can understand it, but you don't really relate to it.
Since Captain James Tiberius Kirk is the epitome of manly man-ness (tough but compassionate, intelligent and overprotective), I figured if Kirk flips out over something, it probably means it's something the Real Men of the 1960s were worried about, too.
I'm only through season one so far, and it seems pretty clear. In order of terrifyingness, Real Men feared:
Failure or loss of personal manliness: 8 episodes
Technology run amok: 8 episodes
Career/workplace failure: 7 episodes
Manipulative women: 4 episodes
Politicians: 3 episodes
Drugs/madness/ignorance: 3 episodes
Women occasionally have to avenge a father, brother, husband, or child, or put up with harassment at work, but they're really only afraid of one thing: Ending up with the wrong man, or no man. And since Kirk is really the only right man, it's a universe of failing. Sorry.
There are more than 29 total, because some episodes are in 2 categories. Here's the complete breakdown, by episode number (the original pilot is under the 2-part episode 11/12). Sometimes women get their own thing to be scared of.
1. I could be tricked (shapeshifting/telepathy) into having sex with a hideous, life-sucking monster.
2. A whiny teenager might steal my job. Women: a whiny teenager might rape me.
3. The guy who works for me might end up as my boss. Women: my boyfriend might be a power-tripping asshole.
4. I might get drunk around my coworkers, and they'd know what I'm really like.
5. If I stop acting tough, people will think I'm some kind of wuss.
6. I might get tricked (drugs) into having sex with an average-looking woman. Women: I might not be gorgeous enough to find a man.
7. Science might steal my humanity. (Women: my boyfriend could replace me with a sexbot.)
8. I might get beat up by a gang of kids. Women: I might die before I find a man.
9. Science might take away my free will. Women: He might just not be into me.
10. I might have a problem I can't punch/shoot my way out of.
11/12. MULTIPLE LESSONS!
I could be tricked (telepathy) into having sex with a woman who's disfigured/not gorgeous.
I could be paralyzed/disfigured and completely conscious but unable to move.
Someone who works for me could screw up my career.
13. The hot chick might be the murderer.
14. Some crazy foreigners might attack us with fancy new technology.
15. Anything that seems remotely enjoyable is actually a deadly trap that distracts me from focusing on my job.
16. A politician might take decision-making power away from the Real Men.
17. Some kid with fancy technology might be more powerful than me.
18. I might be forced to accept a peaceful resolution rather than getting my revenge.
19. I might have to be in a wacky time-travel episode.
20. Somebody might take the word of a computer over the word of a Real Man.
21. A computer could take away my manly rage and make me live a bland, peaceful life.
22. Science (genetics) could make supervillains who take all my stuff.
23. Wartime decisions might be made by a computer instead of by Real Men.
24. Drugs could make me think everything is great. (Side note: everything on Drug Planet apparently is actually great, but is still makes the Real Man mad)
25. Some blue-collar morons could start a war with their uneducated greed.
26. Someone might (telepathically) make me unable to fight/kill my enemies.
27. Someone with an undiagnosed psychological disorder could be in a position to destroy the universe.
28. I might have to let my girlfriend die, because otherwise the wussy "peace movement" will let the Nazis take over the world. (Also, another wacky time-travel episode)
29. Science will let me down when I finally admit I need it.
I mostly found it odd how overt all these things were. At the time, maybe they seemed more familiar ("Of course he wouldn't want to end up with her! She's like 35 or something! She was pretending to be younger!"), but now they seem... weird? sexist? paranoid? insecure?
But don't take my work for it - they're all on Netflix.
Since Captain James Tiberius Kirk is the epitome of manly man-ness (tough but compassionate, intelligent and overprotective), I figured if Kirk flips out over something, it probably means it's something the Real Men of the 1960s were worried about, too.
I'm only through season one so far, and it seems pretty clear. In order of terrifyingness, Real Men feared:
Failure or loss of personal manliness: 8 episodes
Technology run amok: 8 episodes
Career/workplace failure: 7 episodes
Manipulative women: 4 episodes
Politicians: 3 episodes
Drugs/madness/ignorance: 3 episodes
Women occasionally have to avenge a father, brother, husband, or child, or put up with harassment at work, but they're really only afraid of one thing: Ending up with the wrong man, or no man. And since Kirk is really the only right man, it's a universe of failing. Sorry.
There are more than 29 total, because some episodes are in 2 categories. Here's the complete breakdown, by episode number (the original pilot is under the 2-part episode 11/12). Sometimes women get their own thing to be scared of.
1. I could be tricked (shapeshifting/telepathy) into having sex with a hideous, life-sucking monster.
2. A whiny teenager might steal my job. Women: a whiny teenager might rape me.
3. The guy who works for me might end up as my boss. Women: my boyfriend might be a power-tripping asshole.
4. I might get drunk around my coworkers, and they'd know what I'm really like.
5. If I stop acting tough, people will think I'm some kind of wuss.
6. I might get tricked (drugs) into having sex with an average-looking woman. Women: I might not be gorgeous enough to find a man.
7. Science might steal my humanity. (Women: my boyfriend could replace me with a sexbot.)
8. I might get beat up by a gang of kids. Women: I might die before I find a man.
9. Science might take away my free will. Women: He might just not be into me.
10. I might have a problem I can't punch/shoot my way out of.
11/12. MULTIPLE LESSONS!
I could be tricked (telepathy) into having sex with a woman who's disfigured/not gorgeous.
I could be paralyzed/disfigured and completely conscious but unable to move.
Someone who works for me could screw up my career.
13. The hot chick might be the murderer.
14. Some crazy foreigners might attack us with fancy new technology.
15. Anything that seems remotely enjoyable is actually a deadly trap that distracts me from focusing on my job.
16. A politician might take decision-making power away from the Real Men.
17. Some kid with fancy technology might be more powerful than me.
18. I might be forced to accept a peaceful resolution rather than getting my revenge.
19. I might have to be in a wacky time-travel episode.
20. Somebody might take the word of a computer over the word of a Real Man.
21. A computer could take away my manly rage and make me live a bland, peaceful life.
22. Science (genetics) could make supervillains who take all my stuff.
23. Wartime decisions might be made by a computer instead of by Real Men.
24. Drugs could make me think everything is great. (Side note: everything on Drug Planet apparently is actually great, but is still makes the Real Man mad)
25. Some blue-collar morons could start a war with their uneducated greed.
26. Someone might (telepathically) make me unable to fight/kill my enemies.
27. Someone with an undiagnosed psychological disorder could be in a position to destroy the universe.
28. I might have to let my girlfriend die, because otherwise the wussy "peace movement" will let the Nazis take over the world. (Also, another wacky time-travel episode)
29. Science will let me down when I finally admit I need it.
I mostly found it odd how overt all these things were. At the time, maybe they seemed more familiar ("Of course he wouldn't want to end up with her! She's like 35 or something! She was pretending to be younger!"), but now they seem... weird? sexist? paranoid? insecure?
But don't take my work for it - they're all on Netflix.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Every Political Statement Ever
You know what I'm in favor of? More good stuff for everybody.
You know who's stopping us all from getting it? The jerks over there, in that other group.
Remember, I'm just like you. And nothing is OUR fault, because we're the regular people. Those people over there, they're not like us. And since there's less of them than us, we're gonna get our way.
Those (generically disliked group) people are the ones stopping you from having all the wonderful things you deserve. It's not that there's just not enough, or that you need to work harder, or that uncontrollable factors sometimes affect your life, or that decisions are sometimes made that you don't fully understand the reasons for.
They're doing it on purpose. They're out to get you. It's a conspiracy to deprive you of what you DESERVE.
Luckily, I'm here. We're going to get together and get rid of those guys. Naturally, it'll look like I get a few more privileges than the rest of you, but that's because I'm working so hard to get you what you deserve. And let's not forget how bad those other guys are.
So if they don't watch out and do exactly what we (I) say, they'd better watch out. Cause, I don't want to say it, and I'm the last one to want to hurt anyone, but if we don't get what we want, we're gonna start beating people up and stealing things. And then if we still don't get what we (I) want, we're gonna start killing people. Not that we want to, but see this gun? I'm just saying.
So let's show those guys just how much you all agree with me. Because we all should have all the good stuff they're stopping us from getting. And don't forget - I'm just like you. A regular person who works hard and was somehow ripped off by those other guys.
***For further reading, see: the Old Testament, the US Declaration of Independence, the Communist Manifesto, Mein Kampf, Tea Party propaganda, the Occupy Wall Street movement, the... you get the idea. I'm not saying they're all equally valid or invalid, I'm saying they're all formulaic and ultimately serve to replace one elite with another. And that anyone who sets themselves up as the "regular guy" hero probably isn't.
You know who's stopping us all from getting it? The jerks over there, in that other group.
Remember, I'm just like you. And nothing is OUR fault, because we're the regular people. Those people over there, they're not like us. And since there's less of them than us, we're gonna get our way.
Those (generically disliked group) people are the ones stopping you from having all the wonderful things you deserve. It's not that there's just not enough, or that you need to work harder, or that uncontrollable factors sometimes affect your life, or that decisions are sometimes made that you don't fully understand the reasons for.
They're doing it on purpose. They're out to get you. It's a conspiracy to deprive you of what you DESERVE.
Luckily, I'm here. We're going to get together and get rid of those guys. Naturally, it'll look like I get a few more privileges than the rest of you, but that's because I'm working so hard to get you what you deserve. And let's not forget how bad those other guys are.
So if they don't watch out and do exactly what we (I) say, they'd better watch out. Cause, I don't want to say it, and I'm the last one to want to hurt anyone, but if we don't get what we want, we're gonna start beating people up and stealing things. And then if we still don't get what we (I) want, we're gonna start killing people. Not that we want to, but see this gun? I'm just saying.
So let's show those guys just how much you all agree with me. Because we all should have all the good stuff they're stopping us from getting. And don't forget - I'm just like you. A regular person who works hard and was somehow ripped off by those other guys.
***For further reading, see: the Old Testament, the US Declaration of Independence, the Communist Manifesto, Mein Kampf, Tea Party propaganda, the Occupy Wall Street movement, the... you get the idea. I'm not saying they're all equally valid or invalid, I'm saying they're all formulaic and ultimately serve to replace one elite with another. And that anyone who sets themselves up as the "regular guy" hero probably isn't.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Weirdly Biological
I think of myself as a fairly self-aware person, who can make intellectual, logical decisions even in the midst of situations I'm very involved in. I'm not saying that's inherently a good thing, I'm just saying that's how I am.
Until I get sick. Then I shift into a very primal, animal survival mindset. Everything is about spending the minimum amount of energy necessary. Shuffling around with my head down isn't slouchy, just efficient. The cool side of the bathtub is a great place to rest if I'm a little feverish and barfy - why walk all the way back to my (not cool) bed when I'll probably be back in here in an hour? Hell, no, I'm not going to engage you in polite small talk - I'm a crazy actor, performing while sick, and I need every scrap of energy to pull off the show tonight. I'll be nice again sometime later.
In the same way, when I'm completely healthy, nothing can really faze me. No job? Whatever, I'm a plucky, resourceful chap, I'll find one. Rude people? Ah, sir, I pity your small-mindedness. You see, I feel good, and therefore am on a plane beyond the ordinary.
Most of life happens between those two extremes. So, little, chemical things can have a real, predictable, and significant effect on my personality. A little caffeine brings me up to full activity level. A hit from an inhaler allows me to think about things other than just breathing. After a couple drinks, I won't dance on the bar or anything, but I might tell you that personal story I'm normally too reserved to.
Lately I've been very aware of people around me, and the ways they rely on chemicals to get through the day. The commuters who have a cigarette in their mouth and a lighter in their hand before they're even off the bus. My friend who needs a little pot to get to sleep every night. The guys who aren't having fun until they're drunk. Or from my own life, back when my job was so bad that I was becoming a "have a beer after work" person.
I'm still not sure how I feel about the whole thing. On one hand, we are these meaty lumps of biochemistry, and this stuff (caffeine, nicotine, alcohol, etc.) WORKS. It's predictable and reliable. On the other hand, at what point does it become a substitute for dealing with underlying issues? Maybe I can't sleep because there's simply too much in my life, and I'd be better off clearing out the clutter. Maybe I can't wake up because I'm staying up too late with whatever silly hobby I've got going on. Maybe a drink after work means I need a different job. Maybe my party's no fun without booze because my friends are boring people (or, scarier, I'm boring).
And does it matter? Should ALL of these self-prescribed chemicals have some kind of socially acceptable dosage? Does it depend on the problem we're solving with them, or should we all be living some sort of pure wholesomeness and avoid them all entirely, and face our problems head-on? I'm not sure I'm that brave. Why do we have the dividing lines between OK and not OK where they are?
Until I get sick. Then I shift into a very primal, animal survival mindset. Everything is about spending the minimum amount of energy necessary. Shuffling around with my head down isn't slouchy, just efficient. The cool side of the bathtub is a great place to rest if I'm a little feverish and barfy - why walk all the way back to my (not cool) bed when I'll probably be back in here in an hour? Hell, no, I'm not going to engage you in polite small talk - I'm a crazy actor, performing while sick, and I need every scrap of energy to pull off the show tonight. I'll be nice again sometime later.
In the same way, when I'm completely healthy, nothing can really faze me. No job? Whatever, I'm a plucky, resourceful chap, I'll find one. Rude people? Ah, sir, I pity your small-mindedness. You see, I feel good, and therefore am on a plane beyond the ordinary.
Most of life happens between those two extremes. So, little, chemical things can have a real, predictable, and significant effect on my personality. A little caffeine brings me up to full activity level. A hit from an inhaler allows me to think about things other than just breathing. After a couple drinks, I won't dance on the bar or anything, but I might tell you that personal story I'm normally too reserved to.
Lately I've been very aware of people around me, and the ways they rely on chemicals to get through the day. The commuters who have a cigarette in their mouth and a lighter in their hand before they're even off the bus. My friend who needs a little pot to get to sleep every night. The guys who aren't having fun until they're drunk. Or from my own life, back when my job was so bad that I was becoming a "have a beer after work" person.
I'm still not sure how I feel about the whole thing. On one hand, we are these meaty lumps of biochemistry, and this stuff (caffeine, nicotine, alcohol, etc.) WORKS. It's predictable and reliable. On the other hand, at what point does it become a substitute for dealing with underlying issues? Maybe I can't sleep because there's simply too much in my life, and I'd be better off clearing out the clutter. Maybe I can't wake up because I'm staying up too late with whatever silly hobby I've got going on. Maybe a drink after work means I need a different job. Maybe my party's no fun without booze because my friends are boring people (or, scarier, I'm boring).
And does it matter? Should ALL of these self-prescribed chemicals have some kind of socially acceptable dosage? Does it depend on the problem we're solving with them, or should we all be living some sort of pure wholesomeness and avoid them all entirely, and face our problems head-on? I'm not sure I'm that brave. Why do we have the dividing lines between OK and not OK where they are?
Friday, June 24, 2011
Standing up for myself
So this morning, for the first time ever, I walked out of an audition.
Two days ago, I was in for the first round, and they were 1/2 hour late getting started. Luckily, I was first on the schedule - I can't imagine how bad things got for people later in the day, because by the time I got out, there were 20 other actors in the waiting room.
I got a nice phone message asking me to come back in today, and apologizing for the delays and assuring that today, they'd be running on time.
I arrived at 8:50, responsibly early for my 9:10 callback. By 9:20 someone was apologizing, because someone was "just running a little late." At 9:30 they finally got started with their 9:00 actor. When he was still in at 9:45, I was done.
I told the person running the waiting room that I needed to get to work, and walked out. And felt guilty, and stupid, and like I'd just missed my "big break," and like I'd burned bridges. Of course, I also felt angry that they were wasting my time, frustrated that they couldn't get their act together on such a basic level, and glad to avoid films that would probably be just as much of a hassle to work on.
My thinking was: if an actor showed up 45 minutes late for an audition, they'd never get cast. The director would assume they were unreliable/unprofessional/didn't care. The director would assume they would be equally late for rehearsals and performances. Therefore, I've got the same right to make those same assumptions about the people on the other side of the camera. If you can't run an audition, why would I think you can run a shoot?
I still had mixed feelings, like I always do when I stick up for myself. Feeling really justified and righteous, while also feeling like I really had no right to think I had any standing or worth. Bluh.
And then....
I got home after my show tonight to see this email:
Two days ago, I was in for the first round, and they were 1/2 hour late getting started. Luckily, I was first on the schedule - I can't imagine how bad things got for people later in the day, because by the time I got out, there were 20 other actors in the waiting room.
I got a nice phone message asking me to come back in today, and apologizing for the delays and assuring that today, they'd be running on time.
I arrived at 8:50, responsibly early for my 9:10 callback. By 9:20 someone was apologizing, because someone was "just running a little late." At 9:30 they finally got started with their 9:00 actor. When he was still in at 9:45, I was done.
I told the person running the waiting room that I needed to get to work, and walked out. And felt guilty, and stupid, and like I'd just missed my "big break," and like I'd burned bridges. Of course, I also felt angry that they were wasting my time, frustrated that they couldn't get their act together on such a basic level, and glad to avoid films that would probably be just as much of a hassle to work on.
My thinking was: if an actor showed up 45 minutes late for an audition, they'd never get cast. The director would assume they were unreliable/unprofessional/didn't care. The director would assume they would be equally late for rehearsals and performances. Therefore, I've got the same right to make those same assumptions about the people on the other side of the camera. If you can't run an audition, why would I think you can run a shoot?
I still had mixed feelings, like I always do when I stick up for myself. Feeling really justified and righteous, while also feeling like I really had no right to think I had any standing or worth. Bluh.
And then....
I got home after my show tonight to see this email:
Steve wanted me to apologize about our late start today and not being able to get you in before you had to leave for work. He really wants to see you, he specifically wrote the part out for you, so would you let me know the next time you're free so we can bring you back in for your call back? Thanks for your patience, Meg
Of course, now I'm feeling both justified AND flattered. And like any attention-starved actor, I immediately threw my schedule for the next week out the window to make myself available at their convenience. Three cheers for mixed messages!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Obligatory I'm-starting-a-blog post
So...
Yes, I'm the 3rd-to-last person in North America to have a blog. Maybe, but only on Feasel Day. No, I don't really expect anyone to read it, except probably my parents.
Now that your questions are answered, what will generally show up here? Quite likely, lyrics to songs and/or text pieces I'm working on. Feel free to give feedback, but don't expect me to take advice. Bits of whatever seems relevant to my day. Horrible, stupid, probably offensive things that cross my mind. Wonderful, stunning, unpredictable things that happen.
I'd say, be careful about reading any of this stuff, unless you want to know what I really think and feel about stuff. This is going to be my place to be pretty completely un-self-censored. You know, cause all my relatives are on facebook and stuff, and I don't really know what anyone's particular threshold of "Pete's a rude jerk" is, but they can just skip reading all this nonsense. Also, I have a weird sense of humor that people tend to not "get" until they get it. You know.
Oh, and no promises about if/when I ever write anything else.
Yes, I'm the 3rd-to-last person in North America to have a blog. Maybe, but only on Feasel Day. No, I don't really expect anyone to read it, except probably my parents.
Now that your questions are answered, what will generally show up here? Quite likely, lyrics to songs and/or text pieces I'm working on. Feel free to give feedback, but don't expect me to take advice. Bits of whatever seems relevant to my day. Horrible, stupid, probably offensive things that cross my mind. Wonderful, stunning, unpredictable things that happen.
I'd say, be careful about reading any of this stuff, unless you want to know what I really think and feel about stuff. This is going to be my place to be pretty completely un-self-censored. You know, cause all my relatives are on facebook and stuff, and I don't really know what anyone's particular threshold of "Pete's a rude jerk" is, but they can just skip reading all this nonsense. Also, I have a weird sense of humor that people tend to not "get" until they get it. You know.
Oh, and no promises about if/when I ever write anything else.
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