What a week. A busy, crazy week. I remember, less than a year ago, when I would spend 40 hours a week working my 9-5 job, how often I would see my beautiful husband looking consternated (I had to google if that was a word...I'm still not sure if it really is), and wonder how, with his seemingly less time consuming work, he could be so frazzled. Now I get it. Last week I didn't work 40 hours. Maybe I worked 20. But I had acting class, I had my singing lesson, I had practice for my acting class, I saw a play, read two more plays, I learnt lines, I had to arrange to get new headshots done, hunt for auditions every day, sign up to a new audition website, keep writing our screenplay and meet some friends for budget-friendly brunch and coffee. Now, understandably, this may not seem like a lot of stuff. But when you try to cram a to-do list of all of those things into one person's head, it's more difficult than it sounds.
My busy week began last Monday with my first actual acting class - after the acting class I missed but kind of feel I caught up on cause of helpful classmates. It was such a joyful experience, I really don't have the words to describe it. But here goes. It was like all of a sudden, everything I'd ever thought I could be and doubted I could be was being offered to me. And all I had to do was try. They don't expect you to be anything you're not, or criticize you for not being talented enough. All they ask is that you come and you listen and you absorb and you try. And where I once felt that having no strong acting training was a setback, here it's actually a good thing. There's nothing to interfere with what they're teaching me. It's an experience...I wanted to write a 'humbling experience' but it's not that. It's a kind voice telling me that I've got what it takes. And who doesn't need that?
Tuesday was weird. I had a 'trial' at my local 24 hour diner. After an hour I told them that I wanted to leave, cause it was too busy (only two waiters and around 40 tables...come on!!!). They convinced me to stay until more waiters arrived at 11am, and it was definitely better. I had three tables, and everything went ok. I even learnt how to carry plates (one would think I should already know this, but at Outback we use big trays that you lift over your shoulder, so I never learnt!). But, after working a full day, when the owner's wife told me I'd passed my trial and to come in tomorrow, I realized I should have discussed hours with her before I started. Turns out, she wanted me to work five 10 hour shifts a week. Umm. No. Waste of a day...aside from my new plate carrying skills and a few tips.
Wednesday was another Outback day, much better than the previous week, mostly due to the fact that it was a lunch shift and the crazy people mainly come out at night.
Thursday was interesting. I had my first ever commercial audition. In front of a camera and everything. They even made me sign a confidentiality agreement, so I could be in jail right now for posting this. But I sat in front of a camera and they told me to look a certain way and say a certain thing and I did it and it was fun. SO much more fun than singing for people...well...so much more fun that audition singing for people! I didn't get the job, but now I've done a commercial audition, so that's pretty cool. That night I saw a play at Atlantic Theatre Company called 'Dreams of Flying Dreams of Falling'. I loved it. It was funny and bizarre and had me sitting on the edge of my seat. It's on until Sunday if anyone is in New York and gets the chance to see it.
Friday was Repetition practice, singing lesson and Outback. Saturday was Outback. And Sunday was a blessed day of nothingness...except some screenplay writing with the hubby and watching the next Oscars movie in his project (http://mattvstheacademy.blogspot.com/): Saving Private Ryan. Now THAT'S a tearjerker!
And then we're back to Monday and another acting class. And thus begins another crazy week in the life of another frazzled New York City actor. (Yes, I am an actor. Take that self-doubt).
Monday, October 24, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Trying not to scream or cry at people...
...otherwise known as waitressing. I need cash. People come in, they tell me what they want to eat, I get it, they eat it, they pay me - everyone wins. One would think. No. Oh no. I could describe the many ways this simple sequence is flawed...but perhaps we should just talk about my Wednesday night.
I arrive at work 15 minutes early. Good. Time to talk to my boss about the two shifts they forgot to pay me for. No big deal. They were silly shifts anyway - where I had to stand out the front of Spiderman the Musical and hand out Outback flyers as the show was leaving. Not the most fun. But $30 for like 10 minutes of work! I track him down and tell him I wasn't paid...he huffs (he likes to huff at me)...he marches towards his office, I run after him. He says, 'I thought you didn't go.' I pause for a dumbfounded second and then say 'why wouldn't I go?' Oh, cause apparently 'everyone else' comes to Outback first to pick up flyers. I inform him that I took flyers home with me from Outback after the previous shift (why doesn't everyone do this to save time??) and that when I ran out of them there was actually a HUGE box of flyers sitting at the theatre. He says, 'Well, I thought you didn't go. That's why I cut back your shifts this week.' Oh...so that's why I haven't worked for a week and a half? I thought it was just cause I was new...or that he didn't like me...but it was cause he didn't TRUST me. Aha! Good to know. Great relationship. Nice open line of communication. Good. Now let's get to work.
A little quiet to start...I mean, it's 4.45 on a Wednesday. Who's eating? And then, just after 5, influx of hungry people. I get my first table, deal with them, then I get two tables sitting down at once...that's ok, it's a busy surge. But my tables are all in the same little section, so that's fine. Then the hostess asks if I can take an extra table that's not in my section...it's actually quite far away (it's a BIG restaurant). But that's ok, again, it's busy and I'm here to help. But when she asked, I was half-way through taking a really slow order from one of my tables. You know the kind of order where it's: 'So I want this cut of steak, but it can't be an end piece, it has to be cut from the middle, and it has to be very lean, and very rare, and I want broccoli steamed but with no butter, and just half a bread but don't bring any butter with that or I'll eat it, oh and I want water with no ice and with lime. Oh, and where are you from?? I like your accent.' AHHHH! 'Oh, I'm from the land of SHUT UP!' No, I like when people are friendly, and she really was, but I hadn't had the chance yet to go and say hi to my new table on the other side of the restaurant. Too many things. And I thought I was good at multi-tasking! Apparently not so much.
So, it may have been 5 minutes since the hostess told me that she sat them...it couldn't have been much more. I approach the table, and what awaits me? They're having a rather animated conversation with my huffing boss. Bad animated. So I stand on the sidelines and listen to the male customer loudly tell my huffing boss how they've been sitting waiting for their waitress for 15 minutes, they even had to ask the 'really lovely' male bartender to take their drinks and appetiser order cause they couldn't wait any longer. Oh, and this isn't how you should run a business. Oh no. He owns his own business and if he treated customers like this he wouldn't have any. Finally huffing boss calms them down and tells them they'll be completely happy from now on or it will all be on the house. Great. This is going to be excellent. When huffing boss leaves I step in and introduce myself, apologize for the wait and explain that I was dealing with something a little difficult, but they have my full attention and I want to make sure that from now on everything is perfect. (As one would expect it to be when paying $9.95 for a steak and two sides. I mean, come on!) Anyway, he warms up a little and is relatively nice. From then on things mostly went well, except that they got their salads about two minutes before their steaks, and my boss huffed at me again (it was busy, everyone's meant to help running food, but we don't have food runners, only waiters, so you can only do what you can do). When they paid their bill he used his credit card, but gave me a cash tip. He must have made a mistake...cause I swear he still didn't like me. I think he mixed up a $20 with a $1, but I walked away with around $24. I don't like cheating people...when I saw it I even went back to tell him, but he was gone. But whatever. Suck it, mean man. Oh, and before they left, they told me that the reason they came to Outback was because they had just walked out of TGI Fridays when they didn't see their waitress for 15 minutes, and when she finally noticed them she ignored them. I think they may just be really bad at telling time. And selecting fine dining establishments.
So, first annoying table gone and everything is going ok now. I've settled into the rhythm of the night - everyone being a little needy and asking for extra things. That's ok. But I do appreciate the two Australian guys who order two beers and two steaks, straight off the menu. Thank you! I DON'T appreciate the group of 4 who don't speak English (I don't care about that - they're on holidays!), take up a lot of my time (which I am happy to give now, cause stupid 'you kept me waiting' man is gone), and then pay for their meal and say 'keep the change'...which ends up being around 63 cents. Oh, did I mention that I have to pay 3% of my sales to the house. Not 3% of my tips, but 3% of my SALES. So I have to take money OUT of my tips to pay the bussers, hostess and bartender - even if the table doesn't tip. This country! It's so great that the restaurant gets away with paying me $5 an hour, benefiting them in every way, while I have to struggle for tips and then give them away. Ahhh! I know, bussers, the hostess and the bartender do great work. So why doesn't the restaurant pay them accordingly?? Come on America!
Anyway, second annoying table of the night (bad tippers don't count - it happens so often!). They order a T-Bone steak to share (that's fine) and he wants it cooked medium and she wants it well done. I explain that it's on the bone so we can only cook it one way. She says that last time they came here they were able to do both. What? It's a T-Bone steak. It has a bone in it. So I send out huffing boss to talk to them. Great - they want us to cut the meat OFF the bone, and then cut the little tender filet piece in two, and cut the strip side in two, and cook them separately. Meanwhile, I bring them their blooming onion appetizer (delicious, but deadly - an onion, breaded and fried). A minute or two later another waiter tells me they want to see me. Apparently their onion isn't cooked enough on the inside. So I take it back, the nice lady manager has a conversation in Spanish with the cook. He takes it back and whacks it back in the oil. I come back in 5 minutes to check on it. 'Wont be long'...or something like that (I should learn Spanish). I come back another few minutes later and what else do I see going on? Oh, great. Huffing boss is getting their crazy T-Bone steak plated and ready to send out. I tell him about the onion saga. He says, 'Did you wait until they got their appetizer before you put through the order for the steak?' I say, 'No, but they had it 10 minutes ago and would be finished by now if it wasn't for them not being happy with it.' He huffs at me. I take their even fattier blooming onion out and ask if they want the steak now since it's almost ready, or if they'd prefer to wait. Thank goodness they don't care, so I take that out to them as well. From now on they're fine, since they're happy with the steak. He did try to give me $5 less than the actual bill, which I thankfully noticed before he left. He tells me he misread it as $10 less. Hmm...whatever. He pays properly. Done and gone.
Last crazy story of the night, I promise. My last table. They both order food. She orders a cocktail. When they finish their food he orders an extra Caesar salad (weird, but whatever). When she's almost finished her cocktail, she asks how much for a shot of the rum that was in it, so that she can mix it in the dregs of her cocktail (weird, but whatever). I ask and find out it's $8 (expensive rum!). That's too much, she tells me, and to go back and find out what the cheapest shot is that she can get - doesn't matter what it is - ideally, for around $2. These people are going to leave me the best tip ever. Ok. When I ask the bartender what their 'cheapest shot, ideally for around $2' is, a guy eating at the bar overhears and thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. I'm finally able to take her a 'floater', which is the teeniest, tiniest bit of liquid ever, but it's $2. Of course when they go to pay she gives me a $25 gift card which has mostly been used - there's only $9 left. She tells me to try it again cause she's never used it and got it as a gift - great friend she has there! I don't believe her but try again and, obviously, the card's magnetic strip didn't lie the first time and hasn't changed its mind. So she pays the balance and even gives me an ok tip - did not expect that!
So, that's what it's like to be a waiter. There are moments I've genuinely considered just walking out. But then the rational side of my brain kicks in (or at least the part that knows about consequences) and I decide to stay. And it's not always that bad. And it pays the bills until my fame is enough that people throw gold at me everywhere I go. It shouldn't be long. Maybe only 15 minutes...I just have to try not to walk out or yell at anyone in the meantime.
I arrive at work 15 minutes early. Good. Time to talk to my boss about the two shifts they forgot to pay me for. No big deal. They were silly shifts anyway - where I had to stand out the front of Spiderman the Musical and hand out Outback flyers as the show was leaving. Not the most fun. But $30 for like 10 minutes of work! I track him down and tell him I wasn't paid...he huffs (he likes to huff at me)...he marches towards his office, I run after him. He says, 'I thought you didn't go.' I pause for a dumbfounded second and then say 'why wouldn't I go?' Oh, cause apparently 'everyone else' comes to Outback first to pick up flyers. I inform him that I took flyers home with me from Outback after the previous shift (why doesn't everyone do this to save time??) and that when I ran out of them there was actually a HUGE box of flyers sitting at the theatre. He says, 'Well, I thought you didn't go. That's why I cut back your shifts this week.' Oh...so that's why I haven't worked for a week and a half? I thought it was just cause I was new...or that he didn't like me...but it was cause he didn't TRUST me. Aha! Good to know. Great relationship. Nice open line of communication. Good. Now let's get to work.
A little quiet to start...I mean, it's 4.45 on a Wednesday. Who's eating? And then, just after 5, influx of hungry people. I get my first table, deal with them, then I get two tables sitting down at once...that's ok, it's a busy surge. But my tables are all in the same little section, so that's fine. Then the hostess asks if I can take an extra table that's not in my section...it's actually quite far away (it's a BIG restaurant). But that's ok, again, it's busy and I'm here to help. But when she asked, I was half-way through taking a really slow order from one of my tables. You know the kind of order where it's: 'So I want this cut of steak, but it can't be an end piece, it has to be cut from the middle, and it has to be very lean, and very rare, and I want broccoli steamed but with no butter, and just half a bread but don't bring any butter with that or I'll eat it, oh and I want water with no ice and with lime. Oh, and where are you from?? I like your accent.' AHHHH! 'Oh, I'm from the land of SHUT UP!' No, I like when people are friendly, and she really was, but I hadn't had the chance yet to go and say hi to my new table on the other side of the restaurant. Too many things. And I thought I was good at multi-tasking! Apparently not so much.
So, it may have been 5 minutes since the hostess told me that she sat them...it couldn't have been much more. I approach the table, and what awaits me? They're having a rather animated conversation with my huffing boss. Bad animated. So I stand on the sidelines and listen to the male customer loudly tell my huffing boss how they've been sitting waiting for their waitress for 15 minutes, they even had to ask the 'really lovely' male bartender to take their drinks and appetiser order cause they couldn't wait any longer. Oh, and this isn't how you should run a business. Oh no. He owns his own business and if he treated customers like this he wouldn't have any. Finally huffing boss calms them down and tells them they'll be completely happy from now on or it will all be on the house. Great. This is going to be excellent. When huffing boss leaves I step in and introduce myself, apologize for the wait and explain that I was dealing with something a little difficult, but they have my full attention and I want to make sure that from now on everything is perfect. (As one would expect it to be when paying $9.95 for a steak and two sides. I mean, come on!) Anyway, he warms up a little and is relatively nice. From then on things mostly went well, except that they got their salads about two minutes before their steaks, and my boss huffed at me again (it was busy, everyone's meant to help running food, but we don't have food runners, only waiters, so you can only do what you can do). When they paid their bill he used his credit card, but gave me a cash tip. He must have made a mistake...cause I swear he still didn't like me. I think he mixed up a $20 with a $1, but I walked away with around $24. I don't like cheating people...when I saw it I even went back to tell him, but he was gone. But whatever. Suck it, mean man. Oh, and before they left, they told me that the reason they came to Outback was because they had just walked out of TGI Fridays when they didn't see their waitress for 15 minutes, and when she finally noticed them she ignored them. I think they may just be really bad at telling time. And selecting fine dining establishments.
So, first annoying table gone and everything is going ok now. I've settled into the rhythm of the night - everyone being a little needy and asking for extra things. That's ok. But I do appreciate the two Australian guys who order two beers and two steaks, straight off the menu. Thank you! I DON'T appreciate the group of 4 who don't speak English (I don't care about that - they're on holidays!), take up a lot of my time (which I am happy to give now, cause stupid 'you kept me waiting' man is gone), and then pay for their meal and say 'keep the change'...which ends up being around 63 cents. Oh, did I mention that I have to pay 3% of my sales to the house. Not 3% of my tips, but 3% of my SALES. So I have to take money OUT of my tips to pay the bussers, hostess and bartender - even if the table doesn't tip. This country! It's so great that the restaurant gets away with paying me $5 an hour, benefiting them in every way, while I have to struggle for tips and then give them away. Ahhh! I know, bussers, the hostess and the bartender do great work. So why doesn't the restaurant pay them accordingly?? Come on America!
Anyway, second annoying table of the night (bad tippers don't count - it happens so often!). They order a T-Bone steak to share (that's fine) and he wants it cooked medium and she wants it well done. I explain that it's on the bone so we can only cook it one way. She says that last time they came here they were able to do both. What? It's a T-Bone steak. It has a bone in it. So I send out huffing boss to talk to them. Great - they want us to cut the meat OFF the bone, and then cut the little tender filet piece in two, and cut the strip side in two, and cook them separately. Meanwhile, I bring them their blooming onion appetizer (delicious, but deadly - an onion, breaded and fried). A minute or two later another waiter tells me they want to see me. Apparently their onion isn't cooked enough on the inside. So I take it back, the nice lady manager has a conversation in Spanish with the cook. He takes it back and whacks it back in the oil. I come back in 5 minutes to check on it. 'Wont be long'...or something like that (I should learn Spanish). I come back another few minutes later and what else do I see going on? Oh, great. Huffing boss is getting their crazy T-Bone steak plated and ready to send out. I tell him about the onion saga. He says, 'Did you wait until they got their appetizer before you put through the order for the steak?' I say, 'No, but they had it 10 minutes ago and would be finished by now if it wasn't for them not being happy with it.' He huffs at me. I take their even fattier blooming onion out and ask if they want the steak now since it's almost ready, or if they'd prefer to wait. Thank goodness they don't care, so I take that out to them as well. From now on they're fine, since they're happy with the steak. He did try to give me $5 less than the actual bill, which I thankfully noticed before he left. He tells me he misread it as $10 less. Hmm...whatever. He pays properly. Done and gone.
Last crazy story of the night, I promise. My last table. They both order food. She orders a cocktail. When they finish their food he orders an extra Caesar salad (weird, but whatever). When she's almost finished her cocktail, she asks how much for a shot of the rum that was in it, so that she can mix it in the dregs of her cocktail (weird, but whatever). I ask and find out it's $8 (expensive rum!). That's too much, she tells me, and to go back and find out what the cheapest shot is that she can get - doesn't matter what it is - ideally, for around $2. These people are going to leave me the best tip ever. Ok. When I ask the bartender what their 'cheapest shot, ideally for around $2' is, a guy eating at the bar overhears and thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. I'm finally able to take her a 'floater', which is the teeniest, tiniest bit of liquid ever, but it's $2. Of course when they go to pay she gives me a $25 gift card which has mostly been used - there's only $9 left. She tells me to try it again cause she's never used it and got it as a gift - great friend she has there! I don't believe her but try again and, obviously, the card's magnetic strip didn't lie the first time and hasn't changed its mind. So she pays the balance and even gives me an ok tip - did not expect that!
So, that's what it's like to be a waiter. There are moments I've genuinely considered just walking out. But then the rational side of my brain kicks in (or at least the part that knows about consequences) and I decide to stay. And it's not always that bad. And it pays the bills until my fame is enough that people throw gold at me everywhere I go. It shouldn't be long. Maybe only 15 minutes...I just have to try not to walk out or yell at anyone in the meantime.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
The Acting Class
This week was my very first acting class. I mean, I studied Drama at high school, but that's a little different. The kind of high school drama I did involved learning to walk with a book on my head (always an important skill), learning how to speak clearly (actually a good skill to have), and doing scenes either on my own or with one or two others so that we could go in Eisteddfods and try to win shiny medals. But I never really learnt any type of technique.
So a month ago I was accepted into the Atlantic Acting School's Fall Foundation Level One Program. It sounds like an accomplishment. But I didn't have to audition or anything - just do some scene analysis, go to an interview and tell them why I'd be a good student. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy! I was accepted and only had a month to wait until I could start leaning to be the best actress this side of the East River...and then perhaps the other side of the East River, i.e. Manhattan, which probably has more successful actors than the ones living in Queens.
Class would be every Monday for 10 weeks, starting October 3rd, 2011. The big day came...
I missed it.
I was sick.
Double damn!
For a month I was looking forward to finally doing something scary and fun and exciting and important, and a few days before I begin it all, what happens? I get the FLU.
Now, side note, I hate when people say they have the flu when they have a cold. I still remember my husband collapsing on the floor of our bathroom in Australia when he had the flu...it wasn't good. So, while I didn't go to the doctor here to actually find out if what I had was the flu, I don't remember feeling so bad because of a cold in the past. So let's call it the flu. I was so sick. So. Sick. Monday morning, the beginning of my acting career, came around. I dragged myself out of bed, forced myself into the shower, got dressed, packed my bag with a box of tissues, lozenges, handkerchief (in case the tissues ran out), water and cold and flu medication, made toast, felt too sick to eat it, took my temperature to find out I indeed still had a fever, woke up my husband and told him I wasn't going. Poop.
So, that was my first acting class - feverish episodes of old tv shows with buckets of tissues, orange juice and matzo ball soup.
However, Atlantic Acting School take things very seriously. Two absences (no matter the reason!) and you're out...a little frightening. And they give you homework! Like actual school. So that night I got an email from one of the guys from class, sent to the whole class, about setting up a time to meet to discuss. This was very exciting, as I was feverishly dreaming that because of missing my first ever acting class William H. Macy himself would hijack my Oscar's acceptance speech just as I was thanking Atlantic Acting School, stealing my Oscar and yelling 'you'll never work in this town again' and then zip-lining away through the crowd as I was sucked into the mouth of a Dementor. Yippee (about the email)! A few emails later and I had set up an acting date on Friday with a classmate to review Monday's class, and then another acting date with a couple of others the same day to practice something called Repetition...
...Repetition (see what I did? No? I repeated it...see? Yep.) is this crazy acting exercise used to help actors recognize the emotions they see in another person's expressions. The reason this is important is because at this school the technique you learn is all about acting in the moment and being able to recognize and respond to what you see in another person at that specific moment in time. So you don't practice and learn the best way to say a line. You say a line based on what you want out of that other person and on what you're seeing at that exact moment in that other person. It's kind of cool. But it's hard. Which is why Repetition is such a big part of that.
So what is Repetition? It's weird and a little uncomfortable. And at the moment, since it's the Foundation Level One class, it's pretty basic. Two of us stand a few metres apart. One person starts. They say something they observe in the other person, e.g. 'you have blonde hair'. The other person says 'I have blonde hair'. The first person repeats 'you have blonde hair'. It goes back and forth. Quite fast - like you would play ping pong. When one of the pair notices something else they then say it: 'you have dark eyebrows', 'I have dark eyebrows', 'you have dark eyebrows'. It goes on and on, generally until someone says something silly and you both laugh. After a few weeks of class it will progress from purely physical observations to things like 'you're surprised' or 'you're barraging me'. That sounds trickier. But we will see.
So now I'm on a one way trip to acting glory, with only one more absence my only potential downfall. Fingers crossed for no car accidents or power outage alarm resetting incidents. Or sneaky competitive rivals reading this to sabotage my gold filled future. Shit.
And now it's Saturday night, time for our weekly whoever does a lap of the apartment fastest with a book on their head gets to wear the St George Eisteddfod Medal race. Stay tuned for the winner of that.
So a month ago I was accepted into the Atlantic Acting School's Fall Foundation Level One Program. It sounds like an accomplishment. But I didn't have to audition or anything - just do some scene analysis, go to an interview and tell them why I'd be a good student. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy! I was accepted and only had a month to wait until I could start leaning to be the best actress this side of the East River...and then perhaps the other side of the East River, i.e. Manhattan, which probably has more successful actors than the ones living in Queens.
Class would be every Monday for 10 weeks, starting October 3rd, 2011. The big day came...
I missed it.
I was sick.
Double damn!
For a month I was looking forward to finally doing something scary and fun and exciting and important, and a few days before I begin it all, what happens? I get the FLU.
Now, side note, I hate when people say they have the flu when they have a cold. I still remember my husband collapsing on the floor of our bathroom in Australia when he had the flu...it wasn't good. So, while I didn't go to the doctor here to actually find out if what I had was the flu, I don't remember feeling so bad because of a cold in the past. So let's call it the flu. I was so sick. So. Sick. Monday morning, the beginning of my acting career, came around. I dragged myself out of bed, forced myself into the shower, got dressed, packed my bag with a box of tissues, lozenges, handkerchief (in case the tissues ran out), water and cold and flu medication, made toast, felt too sick to eat it, took my temperature to find out I indeed still had a fever, woke up my husband and told him I wasn't going. Poop.
So, that was my first acting class - feverish episodes of old tv shows with buckets of tissues, orange juice and matzo ball soup.
However, Atlantic Acting School take things very seriously. Two absences (no matter the reason!) and you're out...a little frightening. And they give you homework! Like actual school. So that night I got an email from one of the guys from class, sent to the whole class, about setting up a time to meet to discuss. This was very exciting, as I was feverishly dreaming that because of missing my first ever acting class William H. Macy himself would hijack my Oscar's acceptance speech just as I was thanking Atlantic Acting School, stealing my Oscar and yelling 'you'll never work in this town again' and then zip-lining away through the crowd as I was sucked into the mouth of a Dementor. Yippee (about the email)! A few emails later and I had set up an acting date on Friday with a classmate to review Monday's class, and then another acting date with a couple of others the same day to practice something called Repetition...
...Repetition (see what I did? No? I repeated it...see? Yep.) is this crazy acting exercise used to help actors recognize the emotions they see in another person's expressions. The reason this is important is because at this school the technique you learn is all about acting in the moment and being able to recognize and respond to what you see in another person at that specific moment in time. So you don't practice and learn the best way to say a line. You say a line based on what you want out of that other person and on what you're seeing at that exact moment in that other person. It's kind of cool. But it's hard. Which is why Repetition is such a big part of that.
So what is Repetition? It's weird and a little uncomfortable. And at the moment, since it's the Foundation Level One class, it's pretty basic. Two of us stand a few metres apart. One person starts. They say something they observe in the other person, e.g. 'you have blonde hair'. The other person says 'I have blonde hair'. The first person repeats 'you have blonde hair'. It goes back and forth. Quite fast - like you would play ping pong. When one of the pair notices something else they then say it: 'you have dark eyebrows', 'I have dark eyebrows', 'you have dark eyebrows'. It goes on and on, generally until someone says something silly and you both laugh. After a few weeks of class it will progress from purely physical observations to things like 'you're surprised' or 'you're barraging me'. That sounds trickier. But we will see.
So now I'm on a one way trip to acting glory, with only one more absence my only potential downfall. Fingers crossed for no car accidents or power outage alarm resetting incidents. Or sneaky competitive rivals reading this to sabotage my gold filled future. Shit.
And now it's Saturday night, time for our weekly whoever does a lap of the apartment fastest with a book on their head gets to wear the St George Eisteddfod Medal race. Stay tuned for the winner of that.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
It All Starts Now...
Well, it all actually started a little over two years ago. May 27th, 2009 to be precise. That's when 'The American Bubble' began...
First, let me explain what I mean by 'The American Bubble'. It doesn't really mean anything. Well, nothing profound. But 'The American Dream' sounded so used, daggy and serious, so when I typed 'dream' into thesaurus.com the first word that came up was 'bubble'. So I went with that. But truthfully, this is just one more story about a girl who wanted to be something who had to go somewhere else to do that thing she wanted to do. But it's not really a story. It's my life.
Two years and four and a bit months later and what have you got? Someone just starting out.
The summary of those many months: We left Australia and arrived in New York City into the welcoming arms of my husband's cousins. For most people moving continents isn't so easy, but if you have a Jewish husband, chances are they will have a cousin or a family friend in your destination country who will take you in. The move was easy and hard - we knew we had somewhere to go and people to stay with so it didn't seem like such a big deal, but saying goodbye to people from home was hard. Who knew when we would be back? Were we moving for good? Who was I going to have coffee and talk about my week with? My husband doesn't even like coffee.
So we arrived and settled in, found an apartment and moved to Astoria, Queens on July 1st, 2009. That's where all the struggling artists live. Except, I don't like struggling so much, so the first thing I did was find myself a full time job. Yes. We come to America, the Land of Bubbles, and the first thing I do is get a full time job which will not allow me to take time off to audition. Did I mention I'm a singer/actress?
This is where I discuss my hopes and fears. They always say (I don't know who 'they' are) that if you can see yourself doing anything other than performing, then you should do that instead. That if you don't want it more than anything else then you wont make it. Well, I can see myself doing lots of things. That's the problem. In life, when you can, you do things that you like. And no-one likes losing, so we tend not to do things we're bad at. I'm bad at sports. That's why I'm lazy. But I like singing. And I like acting. And I like science. And working with people. And helping people. And money. And comfort. So, when we arrived and we didn't know how we were going to survive as two unemployed struggling artists, I got a job in a fertility centre, being all sciency and using the rational side of my brain. And we had money and health insurance. And I was happy doing that...mostly.
Cut forward a year and a half. Someone (me) turns 30. What the what? I'm 30, living in America, have a full time job, I'm married - wouldn't most people be having a baby or something now? I mean, I want a baby. But what about the singing thing? Did I give that up when I started making babies in dishes (in a working at a desk, not in the lab kind of way)? You can't have a baby, and then give up your job and start from scratch as a performer in New York City, can you? Maybe you can - but it didn't seem like the right order to do things in. So what did I do? I left a job that I loved - the first job that I've ever loved...
And here I am. Three and a half months later, I don't know how many auditions under my belt, some call backs, no roles.
But hey, I'm living my Bubble.
First, let me explain what I mean by 'The American Bubble'. It doesn't really mean anything. Well, nothing profound. But 'The American Dream' sounded so used, daggy and serious, so when I typed 'dream' into thesaurus.com the first word that came up was 'bubble'. So I went with that. But truthfully, this is just one more story about a girl who wanted to be something who had to go somewhere else to do that thing she wanted to do. But it's not really a story. It's my life.
Two years and four and a bit months later and what have you got? Someone just starting out.
The summary of those many months: We left Australia and arrived in New York City into the welcoming arms of my husband's cousins. For most people moving continents isn't so easy, but if you have a Jewish husband, chances are they will have a cousin or a family friend in your destination country who will take you in. The move was easy and hard - we knew we had somewhere to go and people to stay with so it didn't seem like such a big deal, but saying goodbye to people from home was hard. Who knew when we would be back? Were we moving for good? Who was I going to have coffee and talk about my week with? My husband doesn't even like coffee.
So we arrived and settled in, found an apartment and moved to Astoria, Queens on July 1st, 2009. That's where all the struggling artists live. Except, I don't like struggling so much, so the first thing I did was find myself a full time job. Yes. We come to America, the Land of Bubbles, and the first thing I do is get a full time job which will not allow me to take time off to audition. Did I mention I'm a singer/actress?
This is where I discuss my hopes and fears. They always say (I don't know who 'they' are) that if you can see yourself doing anything other than performing, then you should do that instead. That if you don't want it more than anything else then you wont make it. Well, I can see myself doing lots of things. That's the problem. In life, when you can, you do things that you like. And no-one likes losing, so we tend not to do things we're bad at. I'm bad at sports. That's why I'm lazy. But I like singing. And I like acting. And I like science. And working with people. And helping people. And money. And comfort. So, when we arrived and we didn't know how we were going to survive as two unemployed struggling artists, I got a job in a fertility centre, being all sciency and using the rational side of my brain. And we had money and health insurance. And I was happy doing that...mostly.
Cut forward a year and a half. Someone (me) turns 30. What the what? I'm 30, living in America, have a full time job, I'm married - wouldn't most people be having a baby or something now? I mean, I want a baby. But what about the singing thing? Did I give that up when I started making babies in dishes (in a working at a desk, not in the lab kind of way)? You can't have a baby, and then give up your job and start from scratch as a performer in New York City, can you? Maybe you can - but it didn't seem like the right order to do things in. So what did I do? I left a job that I loved - the first job that I've ever loved...
And here I am. Three and a half months later, I don't know how many auditions under my belt, some call backs, no roles.
But hey, I'm living my Bubble.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)