A True New York City Morning

October 1st.  Fresh, crisp, fall.  I head to Union Square and am greeted by the sight of police, barricades and chanting girls clad a variety of creative and bizarre outfits ranging from "Hot Topic" to "Hair."  It was the SlutWalk aka, as so eloquently put by a friend of mine, "every NYU lesbian's ex-girlfriend parade." 

(...Actually, when I was in Ithaca last week, Cornell's slut walk also passed by me... the sluts are following me?  At the same time they happened upon a group of 80 year old alumni taking a campus tour... after which the fratty male tour guide found himself forced to attempt an explanation of the situation...)

Anyway, I head away from Union Square, as the "sluts" stream towards me, and head to my audition, one of the only logical reasons in my mind to be up and at 'em before noon on a Saturday.  I arrive at Theater for a New City, a cool (and large!) space, which appears to have been pulled right out of RENT, that I must have passed by a number of times in my life but never really noticed.  I walk in and am greeted by a younger Johnny Depp rocking this look (and I dare say, pulling it off) minus the facial hair, who of course turns out to be the director of the film I'm auditioning for.

oh hey.

But wait!  Minor major snafu!  The e-mail with the audition information, which was slightly unclear to begin with, only went out the girls... who were supposed to read with the guys... so this is going to be a "practice" audition... and we'll have the "real one" sometime next week.  Ok...?  Out of 21 girls invited to audition during the vague time frame of "noon-5" (apparently narrowed down, along with 18 guys, from a pool of 650+, as we were so informed in our e-mail...) only 5 of us are there by 1pm.  One of them is not a day under 35 (though she resembles a taller Kristin Chenoweth) and another, while also super cute, has an exotic foreign accent (and I do believe the type here was supposed to be all-American girl next door, age 20-28, but hey, I'm not one to judge!)

oh hey.

I have my "practice audition" and the adorably sheepish director who clearly has no idea what he is doing gives me a high five and compliments (at least, I think that was a compliment... was that a compliment?) my "obvious" theater background.  Then he makes note of some possible line edits and asks if I'd like to read again in a bit or if I feel ready to come back in next week to read with "the big dogs" or "hot shots" or some other cliched term.  I choose option 2 and exit with a friendly smile and a wave. 

Back to Union Square where I pick up a not-as-healthy-as-it-looks lunch from the Whole Foods salad bar and the fall air inspires a clearly very necessary pumpkin cookie to go with it.  I pop on the train to Herald Square to spend my in-between audition time hiding out at my mom's office, a convenient resting spot for those awkward chunks of time where the upper east side seems far to far away, but killing 3 1/2 hours at a Starbucks seems entirely unappealing.

As I exit the train, I feel loud music wash over me, and what's this?  More barricades, police, and a gigantic red and yellow clad Asian-marching band?  Oh good, it's the tail end of the "Korea Times Parade."  Well then.  After a bit of crowd-darting and an elevator ride in which a student who appears to be moving two floors blocks me in the elevator with her cart, I am safe and sound, finally quiet and at peace... where instead of hunkering down to learn lines and review sides I plop down in front of instant netflix and determinedly write this blog post despite the fact that firefox crashes three times before I can finish.  Thank goodness blogger saves drafts.

Barely 3pm, it's pouring now and I have two more auditions and my final monologue coaching session spread out oh so conveniently (note the sarcasm) in time and space before this day ends.

Happy October New York.

P.S. I was thinking of holding on publishing this post on the off-chance that someone (perhaps even Mr. Depp Jr. himself) were to come across it before the completion of the casting process for this film and it were to hurt my chances. However, I decided to take the risk. If you are reading this Johnny Jr. I hope you will disregard it or look on it favorably, as something charming that perhaps a witty and sarcastic character, such as Kaitlyn herself, would write, and know that none of it was meant in an insulting manner. I would love to work with you on your super cute film and think that if you want your Kaitlyn to be 22 years old, I'm your girl ;) Also, If you're still having trouble with the dog's name, I think simply "Murphy" is much better name than "Mr. Murphy Lee."  I think the kind of girl that names her dog "Mr. Murphy Lee" is probably really annoying. Thank you. That is all. I think.

I love the old people at equity.

Seriously.  I do.  Like the monitor with the red dyed hair (à la Angela Chase), bad bangs and bad glasses.  The other week she was the monitor at an audition I was at and spent the whole time prattling about how she had gotten a call for this commercial audition that afternoon but she's monitoring (at equity auditions there is pretty much always an equity member working as a monitor to sign people in and make sure the call is run under union rules) and oh of course this kind of thing only happens when you're monitoring and it's only a few blocks away and well why couldn't it have been during the lunch break instead of an hour later?  Now she has to call 50 other monitors to see if someone can cover for her and oh she finally found someone but now she has to go all the way home to get a swimsuit...!  Because that's apparently required for the audition and why couldn't she have just known about this sooner!?  And really, I don't mean this to sound pointed and/or rude, the right sarcastic, amused intonation is hard to capture in writing... but I honestly can't think of any product whose sales would benefit from having a commercial featuring you in a swimsuit... whoops?

Then today, the only call at AEA was for Steel Magnolias (aka, an all female cast) and there were all these old men ambling about.  Now I get that they might have other business to attend to there (and the convenience of the equity lounge as a resting place in times square is not lost on me) but there was this one guy who kept answering his cell phone loudly (you 're really not supposed to gab on your cellphone in the lounge...) and who then sat next to another old guy with the gravelly bellows of a longtime smoker, reading the paper and shouting repeatedly at each other about how it was Roy's or somebody's birthday.  There's definitely a punchline in there somewhere.  (The following to be read in an exaggerated old person's "Jewish accent"):

"Normy?  Normy!  There were only three people at the pool today!"
"What's that? There was free pizza at the pool today?  I wish I was there!!!"*

But like, really, what are you guys doing with your lives?

Anyway, red-haired lady was monitoring again today with the same level of verve and vigor and it got me to thinking... these people, all these equity monitors are actors, or at least, were actors... like, at some point, someone decided they were worth paying money to see perform on a stage.

I mean, there are the 50-something monitor guys for whom everything is stand-up comedy hour, and even the lady today who thought my name was Nathalie Frederico... these people, ok, I feel like I can get these people.  But some of these other characters?  Well, I guess that's what they are/what they played... characters.

And all this got me to thinking.  Am I completely crazy?  Do I expect people to pay money to see me perform on a stage?  What's so special or interesting about me?  Maybe these old, lovable crazies are more worth seeing!  Now I know this is like, a major actor trap to fall into... like how we get all depressed about wanting to be liked (which is not the point of acting, or at least, not supposed to be the point) and that's what drives our careers to an earlier end...  And honestly, today was a good audition day for me.  I felt really solid about some of the work I was putting forth, ran into like a gazillion people again, and made some new friends, which is always fun.  But really, what am I doing here?  I mean, I sang today for crying out-loud.  The last time I really sang was my senior year of high school when I played Mabel in The Pajama Game and I was SO nervous I mixed up the words to "I'll Never be Jealous Again" every damn time!  And then I did a Southern accent?  I mean, I'm just goofing around over here.  Is someone really expected to hire me for this shit?  I mean, I know there's this thing called talent and all, and sometimes I even think I have some of it, but I'm not sure talent is really what's going on right here... and I'm not sure talent is even what people often get hired for!

And this isn't any sort of a self-loathing reflection... I promise, I can do self-loathing... this is just really, a musing on the whole thing.  And it's probably two blogs posts that got wrapped around together in my brain right when it was time for bed so I'm tired and not fully coherent but I still wanted to write it down.

I think it probably all boils down to what Angela Chase/Claire Danes/actually probably a writer somewhere said about being introspective (can you tell I'm marathoning My So-called Life right now?)

"What I was thinking, as like a New Year's resolution, is to stop getting so caught up in my own thoughts, 'cause I'm like way too introspective. I think... But what if not thinking turns me into this shallow person? I better rethink this becoming less introspective thing. Okay, so I'll stay introspective, but I do resolve to stop doing Jordan Catalano’s homework."

Or maybe it boils down to the fact that last night my mother had a dream in which I auditioned for a Broadway musical while comatose... and got cast.  I thought this was hilarious and laughed until I cried for a good five minutes but my father seemed rather offended for me.  My mom: "no really, you were good... we like, propped you up or something... I don't know." (beat) "You're a better singer when you're unconscious?!"  (Further laughter ensues from both of us, and also I think maybe I gave her the finger for a second there... and like, guys, also, I don't even really audition for musical theater!)

...Of course, the night before last my mother dreamt that she had a tiny kitten in her pocket that kept flying away... so I don't know how credible a source this is.

But yeah... something like that.

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*Let it be noted that this is a real conversation that once transpire between two of my grandparent's friends, one of them no longer with us, may she rest in peace.

It's a small city after all

Every time I go to an audition, I am reminded of how small this city, and especially the theater world, really is.

Anyone up for a game of 6 degrees of separation?

Today, I went to an EPA (Equity Principal Audition) at AEA (the Actors Equity Audition center) and ran into my friend Lys (who has her own blog about her adventures in NYC) who I studied abroad in London at BADA with.  I had also run into her at an EPA earlier this summer just after she moved here.  She was talking with a guy (Preston) who I recognized from running into an old elementary school friend (Julia) at another call earlier this summer -- I ran into her and he ran into her while we were talking, so we met briefly.  Preston, Julia, and Lys all know each other from Springboard NYC where Lys figured out that she and Julia had actually studied abroad at the same program (BADA) at different times (Julia went in the fall of 2009, Lys and I both went in the Spring of 2010).

The audition went fairly quickly -- as an EMC (Equity Membership Candidate) you are only seen if there aren't Equity members waiting to be seen at that time so sometimes it's hard to say if and when you'll make it in the room -- and Lys was going to another audition downtown at Chelsea studios, which she informed me was pretty empty so I decided to hit that one up as well.  Lys was gone by the time I arrived, but when I got there I ran into Ugo, who is a member of The Bats at The Flea Theater with my good friend (from high school and college) Amanda.  I also ran into Jacqui, a girl I went to summer camp with as a kid, who also happens to be the former roommate of my friend Jodi who I met at a party last summer.  Another friend of mine, Helen, actually met Jodi at Northwestern, before I met her, and thought we would already know each other because we also went to the same summer camp and did circus together.  We did not, but figured all this out when we did meet (she vaguely recognized me and asked me if I had gone to French Woods - I did) and figured out our other mutual friend connections, like Jacqui, with the help of facebook.  Small world.

Confusing much?  And all before noon.

My hungover audition

For some reason this post title reminds me a little bit of my drunk kitchen.  It sort of rhymes. You should probably check that out.  Also, she has a video called Frederick.  That's pretty neat.  Even if she may or may not ask "Frederick" to take her in the butt...

Anyway. For the past two weekends I have been partaking in an incredibly responsible and professional behavior (sarcasm)... attending weekend morning auditions after an evening of drinking and revelry with my friends.  I may tell myself I will not drink much, that I will go home early, but I quickly begin to care exponentially more about the present moment than about the next morning and inevitably do not listen to my better, soberer self.  I stay out far too late and ingest far too many alcoholic beverages for my new status as a post-grad lightweight.  However, no matter how irresponsibly I may behave, I eventually get me to my bed, consume large quantities of water, and go to sleep for far fewer hours than I would like.  When my phone obnoxiously blares Tilly and the Wall's "Rainbows in the Dark" at me, I groan, but get up, get dressed, force myself to consume more water, coffee, and something resembling food, make myself look somehow presentable despite the dark circles under my eyes, and I go.  Honestly, my hangover isn't really that bad, I'm just exhausted.

I walk to the train.  My hungover audition sees your walk of shame and is judging you, however hypocritical this judgment may be.  My hangover audition also sees Minnie Mouse and someone dressed in full bridal-wear singing R&B in Times Square and doesn't know how to deal with this.  My hungover audition wonders why people hold auditions on weekend mornings anyway.  Don't people know that actors like to drink?  Is studio space just cheaper on weekend mornings?  (Probably).  Is whatever my hungover audition is for a worthwhile project anyway?  (Probably not.)

I arrive at my hungover audition, just barely on time, freshen up, and go into the room.  I have to confess, I feel like I nail my hungover audition.  Perhaps my current state of exhaustion means I didn't over-think my performance and I really hit the mark?  Or perhaps my hungover audition and I are so tired and hungover that we are deluded into thinking it went well, when in fact, it did not.


My hungover audition is over, and for the most-part, so is my hangover, but we're going to run with this concept for the rest of the post anyway.  Why?  Because I like it.  It's time to go and my hungover audition really, really does not want to deal with your subway drumming, your weekend train delays and cancellations and the number of slow moving tourists in Times Square.  All my hungover audition cares about now is what terrible, probably fried, nourishment it is going to find for lunch.  It debates for a while over french fries, chicken tenders and pizza, but eventually my hungover audition and my unlimited metrocard decide that it is a good idea to stop in the Grand Central dining concourse for samosas.  My hungover audition thinks it gets two samosas with it's order, and when it gets three, decides it will be virtuous and find a homeless person to receive the spare.  However, after a moment of contemplation, my hungover audition eats the third samosa.  My hungover audition is fed and satisfied and decides that now we can go home.  Though first my hungover audition will walk me around for a while to contemplate finding further, unnecessary sustenance and may or may not buy some fro-yo on special at c-town.

Then, finally, my hungover audition decides it's time to take a nap.

Something wakes me up.  Oh, what's that?  I just got a callback from my hungover audition?  Well there you go.

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The tone of this post also somewhat inspired by: "my period takes me shopping."