Backstory: This coming Saturday there's an audition in town that I was considering going to. Even though I would have to get there late, because my Business Venture ties me up for a good chunk of my Saturdays. I can't let that stop me! Plus, I think I would be well-suited to that one role. No, not the sax player. I am not in the slightest bit emo, but I have range. Although, ironically, and for the first time ever, I may be too tall.
Of course, if you read all the small print, winning the audition would include not simply playing an emo character, but ... becoming part of an actual emo band. And while I would love to play a character and/or be in a band, there are certain lines that cannot be crossed. Which lead me to my decision of "no."
But!! Not until I had already tarted myself up emo-style to prove to myself I could. And took pictures. For the record, this is generally what my awesome new hair looks like. It looks even better when I'm not wearing all black and lipstick for eyeliner.
Emo!
Emo!!
Emo!!!
I feel the strange urge to get a MySpace.
Showing posts with label the bees knees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the bees knees. Show all posts
Sunday
rest of the cast listed alphabetically:
So, remember when I was in that movie that's sort of about the Beatles but not really? Apparently it will be coming to a theater that may near you in less than a fortnight. Go see it! I hope it doesn't suck! In any case, though, it'll be nice to know what it's about, finally. I hear it has something to do with the 60s.
So, I'm an extra in this movie. And not even a glorified one a that. And, well, my career's slowed down a little since then. However, if you follow the link above, and you check out the cast list, you may notice that the rather expansive assembly are in just that same boat, playing "high school students" and "protesters" and "hippies" and what have you. For most of them, it is their only credit.
What this means, basically, is that I have every opportunity to, like my fellow props and scenery, claim involvement and grab myself an IMDb page. I have not done this. I've debated doing it, but so far I have not.
I'm not 100% clear on why this is. It may have something to do with the fact that nothing I do is ever good enough. I was in a movie! Yeah, but I was an extra. I was in another movie where I was actually in the credits! Yeah, but it was a short, and I didn't have any lines. I directed a play off-off-Broadway! Yeah, but it was in a crappy theatre. I have yet to impress myself with anything I've done. And I don't just mean professionally, I mean in pretty much all aspects of my life. There are some notable exceptions: When I was about 12, I made a lemon cake, and it looked just like a picture. It was gorgeous. I faux-painted my dining room, and I still can't get over how great it looks.
If I think of anything else, I'll let you know.
On the other hand, this may also have something to do with the fact that, no, really, I haven't done anything worth mentioning. I mean, you have these people. They've been in one legitimate film, hidden in a shady corner for two frames, and as soon as they get home from the shoot, they're zipping to the Internet Movie Database to add themselves. This is ridiculous, and I can't help but scorn these people. Let's leave aside the question of why it's a big deal to get an IMDb page in the first place. I'm not really sure. I don't want to be one of these people. Would I like to see my name on there? I sure would! But I would like to see it on there for something legitimate. Did I work on the movie? Yes. Did they pay me? Yes. SAG waived, actually! Will my name be listed anywhere in the credits? No. Does anyone have any idea who the fuck I am, and do they care? No. As such, I have no business being listed anywhere on the internet as having been in the "cast". They don't list who was working for craft services, either, you know.
Then, you know, what if I never do anything else? And, let's be honest, that has every chance of happening. Just about everything in my life has tended to end in unrepentant failure. So, what if I do this, and then nothing else ever happens to me. What if I die? How embarrassing! A lasting digital monument to my lifelong mediocrity. Excellent.
Am I making too big a deal out of this? Possibly.
So, I'm an extra in this movie. And not even a glorified one a that. And, well, my career's slowed down a little since then. However, if you follow the link above, and you check out the cast list, you may notice that the rather expansive assembly are in just that same boat, playing "high school students" and "protesters" and "hippies" and what have you. For most of them, it is their only credit.
What this means, basically, is that I have every opportunity to, like my fellow props and scenery, claim involvement and grab myself an IMDb page. I have not done this. I've debated doing it, but so far I have not.
I'm not 100% clear on why this is. It may have something to do with the fact that nothing I do is ever good enough. I was in a movie! Yeah, but I was an extra. I was in another movie where I was actually in the credits! Yeah, but it was a short, and I didn't have any lines. I directed a play off-off-Broadway! Yeah, but it was in a crappy theatre. I have yet to impress myself with anything I've done. And I don't just mean professionally, I mean in pretty much all aspects of my life. There are some notable exceptions: When I was about 12, I made a lemon cake, and it looked just like a picture. It was gorgeous. I faux-painted my dining room, and I still can't get over how great it looks.
If I think of anything else, I'll let you know.
On the other hand, this may also have something to do with the fact that, no, really, I haven't done anything worth mentioning. I mean, you have these people. They've been in one legitimate film, hidden in a shady corner for two frames, and as soon as they get home from the shoot, they're zipping to the Internet Movie Database to add themselves. This is ridiculous, and I can't help but scorn these people. Let's leave aside the question of why it's a big deal to get an IMDb page in the first place. I'm not really sure. I don't want to be one of these people. Would I like to see my name on there? I sure would! But I would like to see it on there for something legitimate. Did I work on the movie? Yes. Did they pay me? Yes. SAG waived, actually! Will my name be listed anywhere in the credits? No. Does anyone have any idea who the fuck I am, and do they care? No. As such, I have no business being listed anywhere on the internet as having been in the "cast". They don't list who was working for craft services, either, you know.
Then, you know, what if I never do anything else? And, let's be honest, that has every chance of happening. Just about everything in my life has tended to end in unrepentant failure. So, what if I do this, and then nothing else ever happens to me. What if I die? How embarrassing! A lasting digital monument to my lifelong mediocrity. Excellent.
Am I making too big a deal out of this? Possibly.
Thursday
Oh, hey!!
That movie I was in comes out this September!
I'm totally in the trailer. You didn't see me because you weren't looking hard enough.
I'm totally in the trailer. You didn't see me because you weren't looking hard enough.
Wednesday
But is it art?
I often say that I have always wanted to be an actress. To be honest with you, this is not an entirely accurate representation. The first thing I ever wanted to be, and ever told people that I wanted to be, was an "artist." Always forward thinking I, I left it vague. While performance was always swirling around at the top, I also had ambitions to be a singer, a painter, a ballerina, a sculptor, a musician, a photographer, a writer, or what have you. If it fell under the "art" then I wanted to do it. This is still, for the most part, true.
Now, my li'l ol' heart's desire is to be an actress. This is clear. However, it's become apparent to me that performing arts differ from other types of arts in a key, maddening, way: you don't actually get to do much art. Acting doesn't often get recognized as being an art these days, and that makes me sad. Writing or music, I think, has an advantage in that you do your thing first, and then your challenge is to get someone to recognize it. With acting, you need to jump through all manner of hoops before you even get to do your thing. Expressively yourself creatively is like a prize that you have to fight and claw for. Depressing.
Not that the goal is any less attractive for this realization. But. As I've been sitting around lately, all melancholy and at-loose-ends, I've realized that I might pursue other artistic avenues. You know, add some pretentious slashes to my career goals. Also, over the past year I've ... gotten fat. I'm working on it! I'm eating much better and I plan on actually doing something physical with my body sometime soon. But no one is going to hire me when I'm fat. This must be what it is, since I rock in precisely all other capacities. I need something to do in the meantime, though.
But what! I don't know. I'm good at many things. [/HUMILITY ALERT] But I don't really have a driving passion for any of them. I make figurines out of clay, like the kind I could sell at art fairs for primo buckos, but we got rid of our wooden kitchen table when we moved, and I haven't done anything since because that was my work station. In a similar vein, I rock at embroidery. At an art fair like mentioned above, I saw these embroidery works by this Asian lady that she was selling for hundreds of dollars. I believe it. Unfortunately, I know how hard she had to work for that price tag. "I could do that," I pompously thought, but the truth is I don't have the time. I don't have the time! Plus, art fairs? Eh .
I could take up painting, I guess? When I was in 7th grade and taking natural sciences, we had an assignment to draw pictures of the various types of clouds. Instead of doing that I busted out with an OIL PAINTING of clouds, Bob Ross-stylee. (I did random and crazy shit like this all the time, do not be alarmed.)
I could always write, as many people have told me. Not that you can tell from reading anything I say on the internet, I actually have a fair amount of skill at writing. Unfortunately, I have no skill whatsoever at storytelling. (I apologize if this sounds familiar to some readers, as I have totally discussed this with people before.) The first time anyone told me I was good at writing, I was 10 and in 6th grade. We were commissioned to write short stories for Halloween and I kicked it out of the park and my teacher actually discussed my mad skill with my parents. What they didn't know, however, is that I really had to work to come up with actual events for my story. In the end I wound up opting for a generic kids-investigate-haunted-house type thing. I have at least 3 ideas for major works that have lived in my head for a while. But no storylines. Just a gaggle of well developed characters with complex relationships and lives and thoughts who do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. (Talk about "write what you know," right? Shit.) I guess this is why I like acting. The story's already written for you, you just have to fill in the details. (Ooh! Ooh! That reminds me. You remember my friend Jen? Jen was a kick-ass artist in the field of drawing. She used to draw pictures, and I would color them in with colored pencils, totally re-inventing Chiaroscuro all by myself. No, seriously, they looked awesome. But I only ever liked the shading. I never could have done anything if she didn't draw the picture for me first. I have no idea why I'm saying this here, but it does fit with the theme.)
I've even taken a class (no, wait, two) in storytelling, and I'm still not any good at it. I've read "Story" by Robert McKee, and I'm still not any good at it! I don't know. I shouldn't really make it seem like I'm bad at it, because the truth is, I don't actually try. I feel something akin to social anxiety when I need to make actual plot decisions. I took a class in screenwriting, and as a final I wrote a short-film. My professor told me that mine was very good, but he didn't understand why the main character made the decision that lead to the action of the story. Not a big deal, but it still took me two years to realize and admit to myself that he was right.
I'm starting to not have a point. Upshot: I don't know if writing is the path for me. I'd be willing to give it a shot, because I may be wrong. I could also write stories based on my dreams. [/another post entirely]
Finally, I could be a musician of some sort. Problem with that is, of course, I don't really play any instruments. At least until I teach myself bass. I could sing, but people hate singers who do nothing else (people = I). Also, music requires a.) writing songs, which combines my issues with writing fiction AND my issues with writing poetry, b.) the ability to read music (probably) which I never learned, and c.) meeting and dealing with other people, if you want to be in a band. I hate people. Other than this, I'd probably love it.
Speaking of which (sort of), here's an anecdote designed solely to present my life as more interesting and glamorous than it actually is:
My father's friend owns an honest-to-goodness literal castle that used to house his law firm. Also, in the 70s it housed a cult until the leader was extradited to India after he tried to poison people with salmonella. They've been trying to sell the joint for about four years now.
The company that I work for sells insurance. Today we were speaking with a woman who put in an offer for the place that she feels was well-received (I called my father for the skinny). Currently, this woman runs a bed-and-breakfast that doubles as her headquarters for her personal management service for death metal rock bands.
AWESOME. Of course, there is every possibility that she will not wind up getting the house because, due to the historical significance of the property, she has to go through a hearing wherein she is reviewed by two towns and the county and they will probably freak the fuck out about her business. My father said he'd take me if they hold it. And also, my company will probably not wind up insuring her in any event, because they're really a tiny family-run operation and this is kind of out of their depth. But! Wouldn't that be neat? If I started my hypothetical band, perhaps she'd hypothetically represent me! She is looking to expand to other genres.
Now, my li'l ol' heart's desire is to be an actress. This is clear. However, it's become apparent to me that performing arts differ from other types of arts in a key, maddening, way: you don't actually get to do much art. Acting doesn't often get recognized as being an art these days, and that makes me sad. Writing or music, I think, has an advantage in that you do your thing first, and then your challenge is to get someone to recognize it. With acting, you need to jump through all manner of hoops before you even get to do your thing. Expressively yourself creatively is like a prize that you have to fight and claw for. Depressing.
Not that the goal is any less attractive for this realization. But. As I've been sitting around lately, all melancholy and at-loose-ends, I've realized that I might pursue other artistic avenues. You know, add some pretentious slashes to my career goals. Also, over the past year I've ... gotten fat. I'm working on it! I'm eating much better and I plan on actually doing something physical with my body sometime soon. But no one is going to hire me when I'm fat. This must be what it is, since I rock in precisely all other capacities. I need something to do in the meantime, though.
But what! I don't know. I'm good at many things. [/HUMILITY ALERT] But I don't really have a driving passion for any of them. I make figurines out of clay, like the kind I could sell at art fairs for primo buckos, but we got rid of our wooden kitchen table when we moved, and I haven't done anything since because that was my work station. In a similar vein, I rock at embroidery. At an art fair like mentioned above, I saw these embroidery works by this Asian lady that she was selling for hundreds of dollars. I believe it. Unfortunately, I know how hard she had to work for that price tag. "I could do that," I pompously thought, but the truth is I don't have the time. I don't have the time! Plus, art fairs? Eh .
I could take up painting, I guess? When I was in 7th grade and taking natural sciences, we had an assignment to draw pictures of the various types of clouds. Instead of doing that I busted out with an OIL PAINTING of clouds, Bob Ross-stylee. (I did random and crazy shit like this all the time, do not be alarmed.)
I could always write, as many people have told me. Not that you can tell from reading anything I say on the internet, I actually have a fair amount of skill at writing. Unfortunately, I have no skill whatsoever at storytelling. (I apologize if this sounds familiar to some readers, as I have totally discussed this with people before.) The first time anyone told me I was good at writing, I was 10 and in 6th grade. We were commissioned to write short stories for Halloween and I kicked it out of the park and my teacher actually discussed my mad skill with my parents. What they didn't know, however, is that I really had to work to come up with actual events for my story. In the end I wound up opting for a generic kids-investigate-haunted-house type thing. I have at least 3 ideas for major works that have lived in my head for a while. But no storylines. Just a gaggle of well developed characters with complex relationships and lives and thoughts who do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. (Talk about "write what you know," right? Shit.) I guess this is why I like acting. The story's already written for you, you just have to fill in the details. (Ooh! Ooh! That reminds me. You remember my friend Jen? Jen was a kick-ass artist in the field of drawing. She used to draw pictures, and I would color them in with colored pencils, totally re-inventing Chiaroscuro all by myself. No, seriously, they looked awesome. But I only ever liked the shading. I never could have done anything if she didn't draw the picture for me first. I have no idea why I'm saying this here, but it does fit with the theme.)
I've even taken a class (no, wait, two) in storytelling, and I'm still not any good at it. I've read "Story" by Robert McKee, and I'm still not any good at it! I don't know. I shouldn't really make it seem like I'm bad at it, because the truth is, I don't actually try. I feel something akin to social anxiety when I need to make actual plot decisions. I took a class in screenwriting, and as a final I wrote a short-film. My professor told me that mine was very good, but he didn't understand why the main character made the decision that lead to the action of the story. Not a big deal, but it still took me two years to realize and admit to myself that he was right.
I'm starting to not have a point. Upshot: I don't know if writing is the path for me. I'd be willing to give it a shot, because I may be wrong. I could also write stories based on my dreams. [/another post entirely]
Finally, I could be a musician of some sort. Problem with that is, of course, I don't really play any instruments. At least until I teach myself bass. I could sing, but people hate singers who do nothing else (people = I). Also, music requires a.) writing songs, which combines my issues with writing fiction AND my issues with writing poetry, b.) the ability to read music (probably) which I never learned, and c.) meeting and dealing with other people, if you want to be in a band. I hate people. Other than this, I'd probably love it.
Speaking of which (sort of), here's an anecdote designed solely to present my life as more interesting and glamorous than it actually is:
My father's friend owns an honest-to-goodness literal castle that used to house his law firm. Also, in the 70s it housed a cult until the leader was extradited to India after he tried to poison people with salmonella. They've been trying to sell the joint for about four years now.
The company that I work for sells insurance. Today we were speaking with a woman who put in an offer for the place that she feels was well-received (I called my father for the skinny). Currently, this woman runs a bed-and-breakfast that doubles as her headquarters for her personal management service for death metal rock bands.
AWESOME. Of course, there is every possibility that she will not wind up getting the house because, due to the historical significance of the property, she has to go through a hearing wherein she is reviewed by two towns and the county and they will probably freak the fuck out about her business. My father said he'd take me if they hold it. And also, my company will probably not wind up insuring her in any event, because they're really a tiny family-run operation and this is kind of out of their depth. But! Wouldn't that be neat? If I started my hypothetical band, perhaps she'd hypothetically represent me! She is looking to expand to other genres.
Friday
What!!
Oh come on ! I got an O on my WOMBAT, for Heaven's sake! Also, I contend that five of my answers should have been acceptable. The correct answer was: Peter Pettigrew. I wrote: Wormtail. Come on now. Also, some of my wild guesses wound up being annoyingly close.
In other news! Earlier this week, I got to hang out with some of the members of a band called The Fabulous Entourage. Libby, the lead singer in pink, borrowed my necklace, and then we got lost driving around Hoboken. [/not explaining]
I got the chance see them perform one of their songs (about twenty times), which was pretty entertaining (about nineteen times). I wouldn't say that it's the sort of thing I'd go crazy over out of context, but I think I'll be picking up a CD in support. And if you're any sort of shady internet friend to me, you'll consider checking them out, right? They're good peops. Glam rock and Motown? Oh, you are intrigued.
I would drive five-hundred ... ow!
Hi blog! How have you been? Unread? Unwritten in? Oh well.
It was my plan to update soon with something, I just wasn't sure what. My brand new odometer said on Wednesday night that I had driven 1234 miles. All by myself! I was going to mention something when I hit 1000, but that mark came and went without my noticing. Of course, I should mention, this is since I got the car in September. So I'm probably averaging about 1500 miles a year? I don't drive very much, is my point.
I was planning on doing several things yesterday, Thursday, but instead I got to spend the night in the emergency room! This post is my way of letting you know that I spent Thursday night in the emergency room. This, after the very sudden onset of some very intense abdominal pain.
I had a kidney stone. What the hell! It was very painful. I must say that I was in considerable pain. Considerable. Pain. I've had very bad pain before. It's not that I wasn't used to that. But this was a type of pain I'd never had before, and it was in the abdomen, where there's so much that can go wrong. I didn't know if it was my appendix, or my ovaries exploding, or what.
It was a kidney stone. I don't know why I had one. But I think it's out of my body now. After around three hours of constant, horrible pain, and standing around freezing and moaning, I finally got to get shot full of all sorts of drugs. Then I was okay! Then my mother (who brought me to the emergency room) called my father, and I hung out with my parents while on three different painkillers. Trippy indeed. Then I had a CT scan and other tests, and then I think I passed the stone. Awkward!
I feel much better today, even though my side is still sore, and as the day has progressed I've felt more pain. They didn't mention if there's anything else going on in my kidneys, so I don't know if this is going to happen again. The internet hasn't been very helpful. I'm going to see my doctor on Monday. Also, I'm currently on Percocet. Wheeeee!
Tomorrow I will get back on my feet by going to an audition. But first I will go back to sleep.
It was my plan to update soon with something, I just wasn't sure what. My brand new odometer said on Wednesday night that I had driven 1234 miles. All by myself! I was going to mention something when I hit 1000, but that mark came and went without my noticing. Of course, I should mention, this is since I got the car in September. So I'm probably averaging about 1500 miles a year? I don't drive very much, is my point.
I was planning on doing several things yesterday, Thursday, but instead I got to spend the night in the emergency room! This post is my way of letting you know that I spent Thursday night in the emergency room. This, after the very sudden onset of some very intense abdominal pain.
I had a kidney stone. What the hell! It was very painful. I must say that I was in considerable pain. Considerable. Pain. I've had very bad pain before. It's not that I wasn't used to that. But this was a type of pain I'd never had before, and it was in the abdomen, where there's so much that can go wrong. I didn't know if it was my appendix, or my ovaries exploding, or what.
It was a kidney stone. I don't know why I had one. But I think it's out of my body now. After around three hours of constant, horrible pain, and standing around freezing and moaning, I finally got to get shot full of all sorts of drugs. Then I was okay! Then my mother (who brought me to the emergency room) called my father, and I hung out with my parents while on three different painkillers. Trippy indeed. Then I had a CT scan and other tests, and then I think I passed the stone. Awkward!
I feel much better today, even though my side is still sore, and as the day has progressed I've felt more pain. They didn't mention if there's anything else going on in my kidneys, so I don't know if this is going to happen again. The internet hasn't been very helpful. I'm going to see my doctor on Monday. Also, I'm currently on Percocet. Wheeeee!
Tomorrow I will get back on my feet by going to an audition. But first I will go back to sleep.
Sunday
I've been up to stuff!
I am in the midst of a six-day weekend, my friends. It's pretty awesome! I mean, I have activities planned for every day, but just the fact that I'm not going to work makes it highly enjoyable. If they didn't pay me, I don't think I'd go. Which, on one level: hah hah, but I believe that a worthwhile goal would be to exclusively do activities about which that is not true.
My mother and I took up the carpet in the dining room. (Because: CARPET IN A DINING ROOM. WHAT THE HELL.) It went okay! It was labor intensive.
Today we went to New York (only I managed to refer to it as "going into town") to see a play written by ejbronte of the WD. It was pretty good! Much better than I expected, really. Some, but not all, of the acting was very good, and the production values were decidely professional. They had some trouble with the lighting, though. And they spent twenty minutes at intermission trying to fix the problem. They should have just rolled with it. The important part, the writing, was crisp and clever. I was very impressed. And I also got to meet the lady herself (#72), who was nothing at all like I expected. She's very small and effervescent and full of smiles.
I considered writing this on the board, but I honestly did think anyone cared. The most important thing, though, is that I did *not* meet anyone who I would have had to punch in the neck. This is something that I have to worry about when I go into town, and at this locale the danger was slightly elevated. Although I probably never had to worry.
Then I went out to dinner with my mother at a restaurant on 46th called "No Pants." Okay, not really. It was called Le Sans Culottes, but I prefer to think of it as "No Pants." ... The name was the bulk of the reason we wound up going there. But the food was delicious. I had duck and creme brulee. And 3/4 a glass of red wine, which means that I was totally drunk. Possibly close to shit-faced. But I held it together. Mostly by reminding myself that the situation made me so incredibly lame. And then I bought four bottles of tea! Joy!!
Oh, also I watched the Lost finale. But you know that.
Tomorrow we will work on the floor some more.
On Tuesday I will be photographed for a multimedia project.
Last night I was inspired to write all sorts of things, but I was very tired and opted against writing any of it down. Instead, I just thought about it until I fell asleep, which means that I may have worked it out of my system, which means I will probably never write about those things. Or maybe I will! But probably not.
My mother and I took up the carpet in the dining room. (Because: CARPET IN A DINING ROOM. WHAT THE HELL.) It went okay! It was labor intensive.
Today we went to New York (only I managed to refer to it as "going into town") to see a play written by ejbronte of the WD. It was pretty good! Much better than I expected, really. Some, but not all, of the acting was very good, and the production values were decidely professional. They had some trouble with the lighting, though. And they spent twenty minutes at intermission trying to fix the problem. They should have just rolled with it. The important part, the writing, was crisp and clever. I was very impressed. And I also got to meet the lady herself (#72), who was nothing at all like I expected. She's very small and effervescent and full of smiles.
I considered writing this on the board, but I honestly did think anyone cared. The most important thing, though, is that I did *not* meet anyone who I would have had to punch in the neck. This is something that I have to worry about when I go into town, and at this locale the danger was slightly elevated. Although I probably never had to worry.
Then I went out to dinner with my mother at a restaurant on 46th called "No Pants." Okay, not really. It was called Le Sans Culottes, but I prefer to think of it as "No Pants." ... The name was the bulk of the reason we wound up going there. But the food was delicious. I had duck and creme brulee. And 3/4 a glass of red wine, which means that I was totally drunk. Possibly close to shit-faced. But I held it together. Mostly by reminding myself that the situation made me so incredibly lame. And then I bought four bottles of tea! Joy!!
Oh, also I watched the Lost finale. But you know that.
Tomorrow we will work on the floor some more.
On Tuesday I will be photographed for a multimedia project.
Last night I was inspired to write all sorts of things, but I was very tired and opted against writing any of it down. Instead, I just thought about it until I fell asleep, which means that I may have worked it out of my system, which means I will probably never write about those things. Or maybe I will! But probably not.
Saturday
Half this entry is about Harry Potter.
There are many shirts that I would like for Christmas. Or, just in general really. For example, there's a shirt I'd like to get that says "You have a friend in cheeses."
I could have gotten it today, too! Because I was near both of the two retail locations of Murray's Cheese Shop, where one can purchase this item. But I was too busy walking the streets of SoHo in the rain! And wind! My shoes were soaked. The squishing was ridiculous. It was kind of enjoyable, though. But this is the sort of thing that Phoebe should do. In my imaginary world. Only she does it uptown.
When I got home, there was hail, which was kind of great. And I had a cream soda, which was also great. However, as in most instances where I walk more than I think I will, I'm now sporting an impressive laceration on my heel.
You don't care about any of this, though! You care about the Potter.
[Begin Spoiler for My Horrible Prediction For Book Seven. — Highlight to view]
One of the twins will die. And only one.
Here is why I think this.
Ms. Rowling has put forth the general knowledge that the final book will contain multiple casualties. Oh no! There are nine Weasleys altogether. This, I think, makes the odd pretty long that all of them are going to make it through unscathed. Plus there's some foreshadowing, like Mrs. Weasley's boggart, etc.
It can't be Ron, because Ron has to marry Hermione and make, like, a thousand red-headed babies. IT'S JUST THE FACTS HERE, PEOPLE.
It can't be Ginny, because Ginny exists in this dramatic circle with Harry and his mother. A red-haired woman who loved Harry gave her life to save him when this started. When this ends, a red-haired woman who loves Harry can't also die to save him. The reason you revisit the past is to provide a different outcome. I mean, I'm seriously talking out of my ass right now, but it wouldn't feel right to have Ginny die.
It won't be Bill, because he's already been ticked for having something terrible happen to him. If he died on top of it, that would be a little much. What did Bill ever do to anyone? Likewise, Mr. Weasley. He's already been attacked and recovered. He's done on tragedy.
It might be Mrs. Weasley, but, damn, that would suck. Harry's the one with the dead parent issues. He likes the Weasleys because they don't have any of that.
It might be Charlie. Nothing's really happened to him so far. But of all the Weasleys, he's the one we've seen the least, and hence know the least. His death would lack a certain emotional resonance. Likewise with Percy. I mean, would you miss Percy at this point? It makes more sense for his arc to have some sort of epiphany and do something to redeem himself. But he's not evil, so his redemption doesn't need to include death. In my opinion, anyway.
This leaves the twins. They're done. They're goners. They've already completed the transition from children to adults. They've made a useful contribution (the joke shop) to both the plot and the world of the book. And they notoriously get away with everything. Nothing bad has ever happened to them. You know, aside from that time that they couldn't play Quidditch. But what's that? I think at least one of them is on his last lucky chance. Why do I think just one? Um. No reason, really, except that OMG WOULDN'T THAT BE SO MESSED UP?? I mean, to kill off one twin? Wouldn't that be terrible? What the fuck is the matter with me!
And if you want me to pick which one ... Fred. Because Fred is the more assertive one. And, well, it's Fred and George, isn't it? If you take out Fred, you just have "and George." It would drive home the lack just a little bit more.
Dude. So messed up.
[End Spoiler]
I could have gotten it today, too! Because I was near both of the two retail locations of Murray's Cheese Shop, where one can purchase this item. But I was too busy walking the streets of SoHo in the rain! And wind! My shoes were soaked. The squishing was ridiculous. It was kind of enjoyable, though. But this is the sort of thing that Phoebe should do. In my imaginary world. Only she does it uptown.
When I got home, there was hail, which was kind of great. And I had a cream soda, which was also great. However, as in most instances where I walk more than I think I will, I'm now sporting an impressive laceration on my heel.
You don't care about any of this, though! You care about the Potter.
[Begin Spoiler for My Horrible Prediction For Book Seven. — Highlight to view]
One of the twins will die. And only one.
Here is why I think this.
Ms. Rowling has put forth the general knowledge that the final book will contain multiple casualties. Oh no! There are nine Weasleys altogether. This, I think, makes the odd pretty long that all of them are going to make it through unscathed. Plus there's some foreshadowing, like Mrs. Weasley's boggart, etc.
It can't be Ron, because Ron has to marry Hermione and make, like, a thousand red-headed babies. IT'S JUST THE FACTS HERE, PEOPLE.
It can't be Ginny, because Ginny exists in this dramatic circle with Harry and his mother. A red-haired woman who loved Harry gave her life to save him when this started. When this ends, a red-haired woman who loves Harry can't also die to save him. The reason you revisit the past is to provide a different outcome. I mean, I'm seriously talking out of my ass right now, but it wouldn't feel right to have Ginny die.
It won't be Bill, because he's already been ticked for having something terrible happen to him. If he died on top of it, that would be a little much. What did Bill ever do to anyone? Likewise, Mr. Weasley. He's already been attacked and recovered. He's done on tragedy.
It might be Mrs. Weasley, but, damn, that would suck. Harry's the one with the dead parent issues. He likes the Weasleys because they don't have any of that.
It might be Charlie. Nothing's really happened to him so far. But of all the Weasleys, he's the one we've seen the least, and hence know the least. His death would lack a certain emotional resonance. Likewise with Percy. I mean, would you miss Percy at this point? It makes more sense for his arc to have some sort of epiphany and do something to redeem himself. But he's not evil, so his redemption doesn't need to include death. In my opinion, anyway.
This leaves the twins. They're done. They're goners. They've already completed the transition from children to adults. They've made a useful contribution (the joke shop) to both the plot and the world of the book. And they notoriously get away with everything. Nothing bad has ever happened to them. You know, aside from that time that they couldn't play Quidditch. But what's that? I think at least one of them is on his last lucky chance. Why do I think just one? Um. No reason, really, except that OMG WOULDN'T THAT BE SO MESSED UP?? I mean, to kill off one twin? Wouldn't that be terrible? What the fuck is the matter with me!
And if you want me to pick which one ... Fred. Because Fred is the more assertive one. And, well, it's Fred and George, isn't it? If you take out Fred, you just have "and George." It would drive home the lack just a little bit more.
Dude. So messed up.
[End Spoiler]
Thursday
I am thankful for monkeys.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday that is not my birthday. It is a day that is orange, and orange is my second favorite color after purple. Today I wore an orange sweater and ate orange food, and it was good.
Also, this year is the first year in ... perhaps ever that I did not have Thanksgiving at my house. Well, except for those few years when my mother was not doing holidays. I forget what I did then. It was kind of a blur. But this year we went up to my sister's because ... I don't know. Complicated reasons that no one really remembers any more. I was completely surprised by all the traffic. But at least we weren't going south. Whoa nelly!
The evening went about 85% great. A seven-year-old girl is adorable and loves me. My sister made me hot cocoa. THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE LACK OF SMOKE AND IT MADE THINGS EXCELLENT. We watched Million Dollar Baby On Demand and it was a terrible, terrible movie. My mother got cranky towards the end of the night, but a frigid ride home put her to rights.
The important thing is that I now have two large containers filled with sweet potatoes in my refrigerator. This will surely last me until my birthday, which was the plan all along. SO GOOD.
Also today I told my family some good news that I received on Monday but hadn't mentioned until today. Yes, that's right. I had good news that I intentionally told no one. I don't know why I did that! It's not like I was making a choice not to say anything. I just kind of ... didn't. And people asked me "Is anything going on?" And I said, "Not really." Not really!
Tomorrow I will go see RENT with my mommy. Then we will go look for Elton John sheet music. I swear these events are unrelated! Heeeeee! Oh, I also have to call this cat toy company because I need to obtain a very specific product for my neurotic cat who is losing her mind without it.
In conclusion, "What are you thankful for?"
"Monkeys."
Also, this year is the first year in ... perhaps ever that I did not have Thanksgiving at my house. Well, except for those few years when my mother was not doing holidays. I forget what I did then. It was kind of a blur. But this year we went up to my sister's because ... I don't know. Complicated reasons that no one really remembers any more. I was completely surprised by all the traffic. But at least we weren't going south. Whoa nelly!
The evening went about 85% great. A seven-year-old girl is adorable and loves me. My sister made me hot cocoa. THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE LACK OF SMOKE AND IT MADE THINGS EXCELLENT. We watched Million Dollar Baby On Demand and it was a terrible, terrible movie. My mother got cranky towards the end of the night, but a frigid ride home put her to rights.
The important thing is that I now have two large containers filled with sweet potatoes in my refrigerator. This will surely last me until my birthday, which was the plan all along. SO GOOD.
Also today I told my family some good news that I received on Monday but hadn't mentioned until today. Yes, that's right. I had good news that I intentionally told no one. I don't know why I did that! It's not like I was making a choice not to say anything. I just kind of ... didn't. And people asked me "Is anything going on?" And I said, "Not really." Not really!
Tomorrow I will go see RENT with my mommy. Then we will go look for Elton John sheet music. I swear these events are unrelated! Heeeeee! Oh, I also have to call this cat toy company because I need to obtain a very specific product for my neurotic cat who is losing her mind without it.
In conclusion, "What are you thankful for?"
"Monkeys."
Saturday
"...now that they make frozen vegetables..."
Tonight my mother and I went and hung out in the triangle below Canal and attended a screening of the short film that I was in last year. My sister was also supposed to be there (in fact, she was supposed to drive us, since that's where she spent most of the last half of the nineties and new where we could park for free and get a great salad) but she came down with about five different kinds of illness this week, because she works with children, who are gross. It's just as well, though, because the traffic was stupefying. But we made it in ample time.
Film: 12 minutes. Apparently, any longer than 15 and festivals will spit on you. Next year: Sundance. So maybe Will can get to see it. I wound up staying for both showings, because after the second there was a "DVD featurette" of behind-the-scenes footage. A 7-minute film about the making of the 12-minute film. All in all, it was kind of awesome. The film was pretty great, and the writer/director/star was a pretty terrific actor. I had no idea when I was hangin' out with him. The blonde chick? Not so much. But not horrible, either. In between, I got in some good schmooze with the producer.
Then we went out for eats! We couldn't find the place my sister recommended, because my mother was unwilling to wander the streets and figure out where we were. My mother steadfastly refuses to believe that I know how to navigate in the city. Because I'm five. It turns out that I knew precisely where we were because we were a block from the restaurant where I had my first date with the boy. Awww. It was a highly coincidental experience.
But we wound up going to a Japanese restaurant where we dined on tempura, green tea ice cream, and a sample of plum wine. SO STUFFED. Also, my mother commented afterwards that my eyes looked a little bloodshot. I am so cheap a drunk, my drink was free. It's sad and adorable, I know.
On the way home, we enjoyed some people watching. The above quote is courtesy of some chick on the bus, and I swear to God she said that . Sadly, the strap of my Italian leather purse gave way after many years of use. If you've seen me in the last five years, you know the one of which I speak. I think it's finally done. The metal loop broke, and then fell off on the bus somewhere. This makes me very sad. I guess I'll just have to get another on or something!
Also, I looked really pretty.
All in all, it was a pretty terrific evening, I'd have to say.
Film: 12 minutes. Apparently, any longer than 15 and festivals will spit on you. Next year: Sundance. So maybe Will can get to see it. I wound up staying for both showings, because after the second there was a "DVD featurette" of behind-the-scenes footage. A 7-minute film about the making of the 12-minute film. All in all, it was kind of awesome. The film was pretty great, and the writer/director/star was a pretty terrific actor. I had no idea when I was hangin' out with him. The blonde chick? Not so much. But not horrible, either. In between, I got in some good schmooze with the producer.
Then we went out for eats! We couldn't find the place my sister recommended, because my mother was unwilling to wander the streets and figure out where we were. My mother steadfastly refuses to believe that I know how to navigate in the city. Because I'm five. It turns out that I knew precisely where we were because we were a block from the restaurant where I had my first date with the boy. Awww. It was a highly coincidental experience.
But we wound up going to a Japanese restaurant where we dined on tempura, green tea ice cream, and a sample of plum wine. SO STUFFED. Also, my mother commented afterwards that my eyes looked a little bloodshot. I am so cheap a drunk, my drink was free. It's sad and adorable, I know.
On the way home, we enjoyed some people watching. The above quote is courtesy of some chick on the bus, and I swear to God she said that . Sadly, the strap of my Italian leather purse gave way after many years of use. If you've seen me in the last five years, you know the one of which I speak. I think it's finally done. The metal loop broke, and then fell off on the bus somewhere. This makes me very sad. I guess I'll just have to get another on or something!
Also, I looked really pretty.
All in all, it was a pretty terrific evening, I'd have to say.
Thursday
It's so involved being me.
Okay, I think I'm resolute on something now.
[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars Season 2 — Highlight to view]
I like Veronica and Duncan together. I realize this puts me at odds with most fans. But whatev! That's nothing new. I also realize that, as this is tv, there's no way they'll last out this season. But I still hope they do. I'm in favor.
Perhaps I empathize.
[End Spoiler]
In other news, I've been listening to new music, I made a charitable contribution to a humanitarian organization, I purchased candy some of which I now intend to eat, and I'm going to wait around to hear back about my Next Project.
My life is no where near as glamorous as I'm pretending it is, but at least I'm aware that I'm using the internet to construct an escapist fantasy. And that's something, right?
Also, I wish my brain could just go ahead and decided whether or not I'm actually depressed, because the mood swings are getting pretty damn annoying.
[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars Season 2 — Highlight to view]
I like Veronica and Duncan together. I realize this puts me at odds with most fans. But whatev! That's nothing new. I also realize that, as this is tv, there's no way they'll last out this season. But I still hope they do. I'm in favor.
Perhaps I empathize.
[End Spoiler]
In other news, I've been listening to new music, I made a charitable contribution to a humanitarian organization, I purchased candy some of which I now intend to eat, and I'm going to wait around to hear back about my Next Project.
My life is no where near as glamorous as I'm pretending it is, but at least I'm aware that I'm using the internet to construct an escapist fantasy. And that's something, right?
Also, I wish my brain could just go ahead and decided whether or not I'm actually depressed, because the mood swings are getting pretty damn annoying.
Wednesday
*DEAD*
I considered many various witty (?) and descriptive (?) titles, but, in the end, this seems to encapsulate everything.
I just got back from Jamaica (...Queens), and boy am I fucking tired! In other words, FILMING!
On ... what was it, Tuesday? I got up at 5:45 so that I could make it to my call time of 8:30. I didn't figure out until I got into the Port Authority at 7:50 that this might have been a bit early. But it's not like I ever travel (or wake up) in the morning, so I didn't know what traffic would be like.
Filming took place at the Jamaica High School, which is so totally nicer than my high school . They have a grounds. And a dean. I didn't have any of that crap. So, I and about a hundred others were shuffled around like cattle to the auditorium, where we waited endlessly for hair and makeup while sitting about in our woolen garments. We got around to shooting at some time around 1:30, and we finished sometime before six. I now have a story to tell by way of pointing at a screen and saying "It was one billion and twelve degrees when we shot this." Just like Pop Up Video. Does VH1 still have that? Anyway. I stood around in the 82 degree heat, under the sun, in a polyester dress, wool cardigan, fleece-lined coat, and scarf. Because it was cold out. (Which makes several things in the scene irrational, but no matter) This is why, when I finally got home and got around to taking pictures of myself (I forgot my camera on both days. My hair is mostly documented, though, which is the important thing) I looked completely melted. My hair was adorable and flippy and poofy in the morning. 12 hours later, when I photgraphed it, it was not so much. MELTED. For us there was no recourse. For the small group of principle girls, there was frequent makeup touch-ups. Then there was the young ingenue, the star of the film, who for argument's sake I will call "Miss W." Miss W. had someone following her around with a big black parasol.
Stuff and business. Then I went home. I got home between 8:30 and 9. Then I called for my call day for today. (Is it still today?) Which was for 4:30AM.
Blink.
"Damn."
Then I had to figure out how I was going to get there. There's no public transportation that runs that early. Or, late. A small parental extortion later, and I had scheduled a cab to pick me up at 3:45. Then I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I went to sleep. Or rather, I had a brief nap. Then I got up again! And went back in.
Today we had our prom. Aw. It was one of the musical numbers. The song was "Hold Me Tight." An interesting choice! It was actually sung by Miss W., who is a suprisingly good singer. Surprising because I've never really thought about whether or not she can sing. But she certainly can!
Hair was an immense undertaking. Makeup too, but mostly hair. And all the ladies wore corsetesque bras that I'm pretty sure have bruised my hip bones. I wore my big pink puffball, and waited for hair and makeup. And somehow, despite being one of the first people on line, I was one of the last to get finished up. I was tired and disappointed. And I wound up being a wallflower, because they ran out of gentlemen for the ladies to dance with. Except for three young black men, who, as denizens of the 1960s, were unacceptable mates. So I sat and tapped my toes and looked disappointedly at the dance floor. It was an entirely authentic performance, I assure you.
Then SAG members and faux-SAG members (of which I was one) had a hour of lunch for reasons I can't guess at, because immediately after lunch we went home. I kept my hair and makeup, even though I might have looked like a drag queen up close. A very nice woman spent about half an hour elaborately painting me, and she was sure that I was going to be right up front. Which was nice of her. But I guess it will depend on which shot they use. Um. I kept the hair and makeup so that I could take pictures, which I did, and also show my mother, which I have.
And now, having written this on a sleep ratio of 4/38 hours, I plan to try to remove the makeup which will no doubt take me the better part of a year. And then I will pass out.
I just got back from Jamaica (...Queens), and boy am I fucking tired! In other words, FILMING!
On ... what was it, Tuesday? I got up at 5:45 so that I could make it to my call time of 8:30. I didn't figure out until I got into the Port Authority at 7:50 that this might have been a bit early. But it's not like I ever travel (or wake up) in the morning, so I didn't know what traffic would be like.
Filming took place at the Jamaica High School, which is so totally nicer than my high school . They have a grounds. And a dean. I didn't have any of that crap. So, I and about a hundred others were shuffled around like cattle to the auditorium, where we waited endlessly for hair and makeup while sitting about in our woolen garments. We got around to shooting at some time around 1:30, and we finished sometime before six. I now have a story to tell by way of pointing at a screen and saying "It was one billion and twelve degrees when we shot this." Just like Pop Up Video. Does VH1 still have that? Anyway. I stood around in the 82 degree heat, under the sun, in a polyester dress, wool cardigan, fleece-lined coat, and scarf. Because it was cold out. (Which makes several things in the scene irrational, but no matter) This is why, when I finally got home and got around to taking pictures of myself (I forgot my camera on both days. My hair is mostly documented, though, which is the important thing) I looked completely melted. My hair was adorable and flippy and poofy in the morning. 12 hours later, when I photgraphed it, it was not so much. MELTED. For us there was no recourse. For the small group of principle girls, there was frequent makeup touch-ups. Then there was the young ingenue, the star of the film, who for argument's sake I will call "Miss W." Miss W. had someone following her around with a big black parasol.
Stuff and business. Then I went home. I got home between 8:30 and 9. Then I called for my call day for today. (Is it still today?) Which was for 4:30AM.
Blink.
"Damn."
Then I had to figure out how I was going to get there. There's no public transportation that runs that early. Or, late. A small parental extortion later, and I had scheduled a cab to pick me up at 3:45. Then I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I went to sleep. Or rather, I had a brief nap. Then I got up again! And went back in.
Today we had our prom. Aw. It was one of the musical numbers. The song was "Hold Me Tight." An interesting choice! It was actually sung by Miss W., who is a suprisingly good singer. Surprising because I've never really thought about whether or not she can sing. But she certainly can!
Hair was an immense undertaking. Makeup too, but mostly hair. And all the ladies wore corsetesque bras that I'm pretty sure have bruised my hip bones. I wore my big pink puffball, and waited for hair and makeup. And somehow, despite being one of the first people on line, I was one of the last to get finished up. I was tired and disappointed. And I wound up being a wallflower, because they ran out of gentlemen for the ladies to dance with. Except for three young black men, who, as denizens of the 1960s, were unacceptable mates. So I sat and tapped my toes and looked disappointedly at the dance floor. It was an entirely authentic performance, I assure you.
Then SAG members and faux-SAG members (of which I was one) had a hour of lunch for reasons I can't guess at, because immediately after lunch we went home. I kept my hair and makeup, even though I might have looked like a drag queen up close. A very nice woman spent about half an hour elaborately painting me, and she was sure that I was going to be right up front. Which was nice of her. But I guess it will depend on which shot they use. Um. I kept the hair and makeup so that I could take pictures, which I did, and also show my mother, which I have.
And now, having written this on a sleep ratio of 4/38 hours, I plan to try to remove the makeup which will no doubt take me the better part of a year. And then I will pass out.
Friday
I'm one degree from Kirsten Dunst!
Ask me how!
Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.
I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.
Also. I have determined that my new hair cut makes me look alarmingly like the film depiction of Pansy Parkinson. Not in the picture I posted, though, so don't compare.
I'll leave it to Beth to determine what this says about my taste in boys.
Thursday
Oh, yeah, incidentally?
I'M FUCKING BALD!!!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
My hair has not been this short in ... dude. I don't even frigging know. Also, when I was trying to get a decent picture, I realized that I look alarmingly like my mother. This could be the hair, or it could be my RAPID DEGENERATIVE AGING DISEASE.
Also, this is (hopefully) not how my hair will look. This is how it looked immediately after getting home after walking through some rain and hideous humidity. I'm still wearing those clothes. And my shirt still has small sliced hairs upon it. Because that's how real time this is, bitches!
I have no hair!
Wednesday
A haircut, a real job, and the attainment thereof.
So far, I've been paid to have people dress me up and do my hair.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
I would have to say that I've definitely chosen the right profession for me. Now all I have to do is do this all the time. And not, say, just this once. We'll see how that goes.
In other news, my real world job told me to fuck off on Monday. Wait. No. That's what I told them. Only, in my head. They said they no longer required my services.
AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER.
Monday
NATTY GANN!
I was fitted for costumes today. I don't want to say anything until I'm stuck in front of a camera, because crazy paranoia has settled in.
Anyway, I was shuffled in front of the costume designer for inspection. Then the nice fellow dressing me took me back to make some alterations. I asked him if we'd show the costume director again when we were done, and he looked at me with this look of terror, waved his hands and shook his head a little when he said "Oh no." In the same quiet voice he went on to explain that the short little old man I'd just met had won two Oscars. It was kind of awesome and hilarious.
He's also been nominated for three other projects. One of which. Is The Journey Of Natty Gann.
I am more excited about this than anything else so far. I'm so serious. You have no idea.
Anyway, I was shuffled in front of the costume designer for inspection. Then the nice fellow dressing me took me back to make some alterations. I asked him if we'd show the costume director again when we were done, and he looked at me with this look of terror, waved his hands and shook his head a little when he said "Oh no." In the same quiet voice he went on to explain that the short little old man I'd just met had won two Oscars. It was kind of awesome and hilarious.
He's also been nominated for three other projects. One of which. Is The Journey Of Natty Gann.
I am more excited about this than anything else so far. I'm so serious. You have no idea.
Saturday
Wait, what?
Okay. So. Last week on the 18th (which, incidentally, was my cousin's 25th birthday) I was not at work. Beth figured this out because I was not using webmail, which formats my emails differently then they are usually formatted. But I didn't really tell anybody beforehand. I told Beth, obviously. And Lauren.
I went to an audition for this movie, directed by this director and starring a young acclaimed actress. It has something to do with the Beatles but not directly. They said, "dress up like 60s people." And so I did, purchasing a dress from the internet in short order and doing my hair and makeup as best I was able. I decided to be a mod (heeee) since I was sure 90% of everybody would be showing up as hippies. I think I was totally right.
Pictures, incidentally, are available. I'm either totally pretty or depressingly hideous, depending on my mood.
Also, according to the form I filled out, this film may have naked people in it. I'll totally not be one of them.
I got a call yesterday morning from a fellow named Robert. It was around noon, so I was totally still in bed and I got up to check the phone, which was displaying "Unavailable#." Interesting, but I went back to sleep until I felt I could adequately did with things. And I showered and got dressed before I listened to the message, because I'm weird.
He wanted to know about my availability. For the movie. And then I had a orderly conversation, and scheduled an appointment to be fitted for costume. And then I called my mother and spent 15 minutes hopping around.
... Keen-eyed readers may have noticed that I am not at my house.
I went to an audition for this movie, directed by this director and starring a young acclaimed actress. It has something to do with the Beatles but not directly. They said, "dress up like 60s people." And so I did, purchasing a dress from the internet in short order and doing my hair and makeup as best I was able. I decided to be a mod (heeee) since I was sure 90% of everybody would be showing up as hippies. I think I was totally right.
Pictures, incidentally, are available. I'm either totally pretty or depressingly hideous, depending on my mood.
Also, according to the form I filled out, this film may have naked people in it. I'll totally not be one of them.
I got a call yesterday morning from a fellow named Robert. It was around noon, so I was totally still in bed and I got up to check the phone, which was displaying "Unavailable#." Interesting, but I went back to sleep until I felt I could adequately did with things. And I showered and got dressed before I listened to the message, because I'm weird.
He wanted to know about my availability. For the movie. And then I had a orderly conversation, and scheduled an appointment to be fitted for costume. And then I called my mother and spent 15 minutes hopping around.
... Keen-eyed readers may have noticed that I am not at my house.
Friday
Poor Tiny Lauren!
She's going to have to buy so many movie tickets!
Just because I'm going to be in some movie about the Beatles.
HOLY CRAP!
...Extra. But, still.
Just because I'm going to be in some movie about the Beatles.
HOLY CRAP!
...Extra. But, still.
Saturday
And a different 66.6%...
Are crazy Buffy fans.
WHAT
So, the other day I set out what is most likely going to be the rehearsal schedule. I gave everyone Monday night off, because everyone needs a break and we are, as I've mentioned "moving apace." The young man from Virginia approved, because apparently Monday is the one night of the week when he has a standing social engagement.
I found out today that that social engagement involves going to a gay bar downtown where they serve half-priced drinks and watch two hours of Whedon shows. They're currently working on Firefly.
Holy crap! I was invited to go along! But I've only seen up to "Shindig."
Today in the bus station, I helped a elderly blind gentleman to his gate.
Then on the bus, I was thrown for a loop because I needed to get off about 10 blocks from my normal stop. Because apparently that was the last stop before the bus became EXPRESS! I don't know! That's never happened before. But I got off by the Dunkin Donuts. And then I walked home. But not before I had a very pleasant chat with this man, who was also on the bus, and also upheaved. He complimented my headphones! It was awesome.
In a little while, my father is going to take me to see Batman Begins .
To borrow a phrase off Soupy: Life's so rad.
WHAT
So, the other day I set out what is most likely going to be the rehearsal schedule. I gave everyone Monday night off, because everyone needs a break and we are, as I've mentioned "moving apace." The young man from Virginia approved, because apparently Monday is the one night of the week when he has a standing social engagement.
I found out today that that social engagement involves going to a gay bar downtown where they serve half-priced drinks and watch two hours of Whedon shows. They're currently working on Firefly.
Holy crap! I was invited to go along! But I've only seen up to "Shindig."
Today in the bus station, I helped a elderly blind gentleman to his gate.
Then on the bus, I was thrown for a loop because I needed to get off about 10 blocks from my normal stop. Because apparently that was the last stop before the bus became EXPRESS! I don't know! That's never happened before. But I got off by the Dunkin Donuts. And then I walked home. But not before I had a very pleasant chat with this man, who was also on the bus, and also upheaved. He complimented my headphones! It was awesome.
In a little while, my father is going to take me to see Batman Begins .
To borrow a phrase off Soupy: Life's so rad.
Thursday
"It was raining... it was pouring ... I may have been snoring..."
This is a quote from my father, describing the FREAK ASS weather system that hit around and about my living area today. My mother suggested it may have been a tornado. I suggested that she was being dramatic.
I was taking a shower through the bulk of the scariness. Though the thought did cross my mind several times as I was listening to the booming, crashing thunder that I hoped a tree didn't come crashing through my house and cause me to die a painful and undignified death. You have to consider things like this.
Speaking of raining, pouring, and considering things. I just got an email asking me to set up an audition for a play in Princeton. Not at the McCarter, but that's quite alright. The date? July 2nd. The day my show opens. Available times start at 10am, and I'd need to prepare a stylized classical monologue, preferrabley in verse. I was really hoping to get an audition for this. It's for the lead! And for money! Em. I mean ... for art.
So, do you think I can/should get up ass early in the morning, ship myself down to Princeton, audition, and then come back up here and get ready and be at the theatre by 4, which is the call time? Am I nuts!
Also -- Holy Crap!
On a completely unrelated note, a while back I heard something about how playing a bass guitar is much like playing a violin. I don't know if that's actually true, but since then I've been enamoured with the idea of learning to play one. I've even gone so crazily far as to LIE and tell someone that I WAS learning to play one. (Also, this is yet another instance where it seems like I'm trying to model myself after Miss Jenny Taylor, but I swear I'm not doing it on purpose.) So, now, even though I have no idea how to play this instrument and only the vague idea of what it actually *is* ... I have picked out my perfect instrument. I bet it costs a billion dollars.
I am completely uncool.
I was taking a shower through the bulk of the scariness. Though the thought did cross my mind several times as I was listening to the booming, crashing thunder that I hoped a tree didn't come crashing through my house and cause me to die a painful and undignified death. You have to consider things like this.
Speaking of raining, pouring, and considering things. I just got an email asking me to set up an audition for a play in Princeton. Not at the McCarter, but that's quite alright. The date? July 2nd. The day my show opens. Available times start at 10am, and I'd need to prepare a stylized classical monologue, preferrabley in verse. I was really hoping to get an audition for this. It's for the lead! And for money! Em. I mean ... for art.
So, do you think I can/should get up ass early in the morning, ship myself down to Princeton, audition, and then come back up here and get ready and be at the theatre by 4, which is the call time? Am I nuts!
Also -- Holy Crap!
On a completely unrelated note, a while back I heard something about how playing a bass guitar is much like playing a violin. I don't know if that's actually true, but since then I've been enamoured with the idea of learning to play one. I've even gone so crazily far as to LIE and tell someone that I WAS learning to play one. (Also, this is yet another instance where it seems like I'm trying to model myself after Miss Jenny Taylor, but I swear I'm not doing it on purpose.) So, now, even though I have no idea how to play this instrument and only the vague idea of what it actually *is* ... I have picked out my perfect instrument. I bet it costs a billion dollars.
I am completely uncool.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
