Adventures in Acting

So I've decided I'm going to chronicle my adventures in the world of professional acting. So far, I haven't got much to write. I've got more to write about all the weirdos I've met on my various trips to the city than I do about my actual acting experiences. But those people add a little flavor to a story, so I'm thankful for them.
Anyway, I got up at four a.m. recently to go to an audition in New York City. Four. They say you have to be a little insane to be an actor--I think I've got that part covered. I felt the audition went quite well, but later I find out that the stand-alone copies i brought in for sheet music aren't gonna cut it in the biz. Apparently, it screams 'amateur.' So I've since put a music book together, and I feel more professional and confident knowing now that people will see me as more professional.
So after that audition, I went to TVI Actor's Studio to meet up with my consultant and sing for him so he could evaluate me for consideration in musical theatre classes. It didn't go as well as I had hoped. I just wasn't as into it as I wanted/needed to be. My energy was lacking, I wasn't acting enough while I sang--I did sing well, and loudly, so that was good, but the rest was missing. I vowed that that would be the last time I gave a lackluster performance of any kind, regardless of the circumstance.
Even more recently, I woke up at 3 am to go to another audition. This time, it was for Broadway. I arrived at the audition location at 7a.m., two hours before sign-in was scheduled to begin--and saw a line. Okay, not surprising. But this was a very long line. I made sure it was the right line, then began walking to the end of it. Well, at least I got here two hours early, I thought. I won't have to wait too long. I walked to the end of the line--only to find that that was not the end at all. The line continued to the left, around the corner of the building. All the way down to the next cross-street. I walked all the way down there, only to find that the line continued around the next corner further down than I could see. I walked, more and more disheartened with every step, until at last I came to the end--nope, wait, just a gap in the line where some maintenance guy had told the other auditionees they couldn't stand, cause they were blocking some door. Keep walking. Ah, yes, the end. Really, this time. The real end of the line. There were at least four hundred people ahead of me. I calculated in my head that if the auditors saw someone every two minutes--and that was wishful thinking, believe me--in eight hours (the absolute maximum amount of time they would be there), they still wouldn't see me. it was an open call, meaning they were seeing people in order of arrival. I was about to turn around and go back home, but I stayed because I started talking to a few kids who had come in together from New Jersey. if not for them, I probably would have left. Anyway, I decided to stay until 9 a.m., just to see how the line was moving, and make a decision after that point. So, we start moving a little after 9, slowly, believe me, but we're moving, so that's encouraging. Then, someone comes around and tells us that the auditors are going to be 'typing' today--that means lining people up and choosing who gets to audition based on physical type, i.e., look. If you've got the look they're going for, you get to audition--so long as they don't already have enough people with your look. If you don't have the look they want, you're s.o.l. The young woman who tells us about the typing says there are over 1,000 people here to audition. Over 1,000. Is this American Idol or an audition for a play? I mean, sure, it's Broadway, but are you serious?! So, around 9:30, I get my return time, when I'm supposed to come back to be typed. It's 2:00. I have to leave the area and return at 2pm to see if they want to have me audition. Oh, well. What have I got to lose by waiting, right? I mean, I came here for this anyway, might as well see it through. I kill all four and a half hours at Starbucks, during which time I order only one thing there and read and eat my lunch. I go back to be typed--and I get chosen to audition! At this point, I'm psyched. This means getting up at 3 a.m., screwing up my whole sleep cycle, spending my entire day in the city, was all worth it, because I get to sing a minute of a song for the auditors. I sing well, I'm pleased, and out I go. Ready to go home. Successful day, as far as I'm concerned. Yeah, definitely got the insanity part covered.

"Religion"

What if people just started religions based on anything they wanted? Oh, wait. They already do. Some of them. Or at least it seems that way. Then again, maybe some of these religions we laugh at only seem silly to us because they haven't been around nearly as long as the established ones like Christianity, Judaism, Islam, etc., and aren't nearly as popular, so they don't have the same credibility yet. Anyway, I was reading a user comment on imdb (the Internet movie database) recently, and someone wrote that she was starting a religion based on the movie "Supergirl." I hope she was kidding--but I'm not sure. Actually, it's much funnier--though scarier--if she's not kidding. Kara, the Supergirl character--is the "goddess' of this "religion." Basically, the premise is that all the followers worship Kara and her perfect ways, and basically that acting like Supergirl is what everyone should do. What if this person took this thing to the next level and actually got converts and followers? And they had actual meetings? What would they talk about?
"I tried to fly like Kara today...it didn't work out. Yes, that's why I'm in a wheelchair. Kara be praised."
"I'm still trying to figure out where that darn magic orb is that was stolen from Krypton. it's somewhere here on Earth."
"Keep looking, Susan. Don't give up. Kara is with you."
"Today, I tried to stop a car full of bad guys fleeing from the cops--that also didn't quite work. Would everyone please sign my full-body cast? Oh, just not across the chest--that spots reserved for Kara's signature when she returns."
Maybe there's a rival religion that worships Lex Luthor. The goal is world domination--and thwarting the efforts of the Kara-ites, of course. Followers of this religion would all be completely hairless, of course, like Luthor. They'd probably have ritualistic hair removal procedures.

A new "sport"

I saw something recently that really made me laugh. I saw a video of college students playing Quiddatch. yes, the same Quiddatch that is played on broomsticks in the Harry Potter series created by J.K. Rowling. Oh, with one minor exception: they were not flying through the air; they were running on the ground. Holding broomsticks between their legs. It was ludicrous. Now, of course they can't fly through the air, because of that sometimes unfortunate force called gravity. So why play Quiddatch, then? Why stick a broomstick awkwardly in your crotch? Play rugby or dodgeball. Because that's exactly what this was. A cross between rugby and dodgeball. With broomsticks that serve no purpose except to make their riders look like the characters from Harry Potter and enable them to swat away balls thrown at them. But these people didn't look like Harry Potter characters. They looked like a bunch of idiots dressed in wizard hats, running around like mad. And it gets worse. There's a player called a "snitch." The snitch runs around with a sock hanging from the rear of his waist which contains a small ball, to represent the "snitch" in the popular book series. Are you kidding me? So, basically, you've got a bunch of twenty-year-old geek extraordinaires running around with wooden sticks thrust between their legs, pushing each other over and throwing dodgeballs at each other, all the while trying to throw a soccer ball through a hoop and grab a ball dangling from somebody's ass. Sound like fun? Go for it. My alma mater, Boston University, played valiantly at the Intercollegiate Quiddatch World Cup, or so I'm told from the article I read. I couldn't really tell who was on which team from the video, because it looked like a bunch of overgrown wizard wannabes prodding one another with large wooden phalli. I can't tell you how proud this makes me of my school. A large young man dressed as the rugged Hagred put it best when he said, "I love Harry Potter. I really do. I love being Hagred. But grown-ass people playing Quiddatch is the most foolish thing I've ever seen." These Quiddatch players take their "sport" seriously, too. I even heard the word "strategy" mentioned by a girl wearing safety goggles, to her team of Quiddatchians in their tent. The only good thing about this bastardized, real-life form of Quiddatch is that you get to hit people with your body and with dodgeballs. So I say, dispense with the godawful broomsticks--which are more apt to render someone blind or sterile than add any kind of enjoyment whatsoever to the game--and the hanging "snitch"--I'm not even gonna go there--and call it "Dugby" or "Rodgeball"--a dodgeball-rugby hybrid. I think it'll create a nice bond between the Germans and the Scottish, the inventors of each sport (I think, but perhaps that fact just isn't true at all). I think you need to do some serious self-reflection if you're in college and you're still running around pretending you can fly like the wizard children in the fantasy books you read. I'm all for imagination, believe me--but Quiddatch? And I thought "handball" was bad when I watched it on the Olympics. Just wait until Quiddatch is part of the games. Then you'll see some really proud geeks. Broomsticks, away!

Mail

Kids these days have it so easy with email that when they actually have to mail something, they don’t know how. My sister was recently in the post office and wanted to mail a letter. She handed it to the cashier, who weighed it.
“Forty-two cents,” he said.
“No, really,” laughed my sister.
“No, really. Forty-two cents,” the cashier said again.
“I don’t want the whole book of stamps—I just want one,” she explained.
“Yes. One stamp is forty-two cents,” he explained, wondering under what rock my sister had been hiding for the past ten years.
“Are you kidding?!” my sister exclaimed.
The cashier eyed her. “Are you?”
My sister thought that a stamp cost seven cents.

Muffins

The other day, I was with my girlfriend in a coffee shop, and I saw the largest muffin I have ever seen in my life. Three of them sitting right next to each other. It’s actually more frightening as I look back on it now than it was at the time. These were about ten times the size of normal muffins. Enormous. Small footstools, they were. Family-style muffins. For a large family. Imagine eating one of those in one sitting. Holy crap. That’d be your daily value of carbohydrates for about the next week.

Listening

Here's an interesting topic: Talk show hosts on the radio who take calls from listeners—and then don’t let the listeners speak. They talk all day and we listen—they can’t just let someone else speak for the one or two minutes they’re on the air? They took the person’s call, for Pete’s sake! Why do they bother taking calls if they’re just going to shoot down what the person says and reiterate their own view? It seems pretty pointless to me. A discussion would be far better. I understand that these hosts are passionate about the topics on which they speak, and I respect that. But passionate and close-minded need not be one and the same. I’d like to host a talk show. But I would let the listeners speak. Sometimes it’s funny what people say. A lot of times, in fact. If people listened more, they’d get more laughs out of it and maybe have more stories to tell. But it really is true that so many people don’t really listen—they just wait for their turn to speak. Have you noticed this? I’m sure you have. The point was brought up in the movie “Fight Club,” and I thought it was a brilliant observation about humanity. Why don’t we listen more? Why aren’t we more patient? Our culture demands instant gratification, so that’s what we’re conditioned to want and seek. Imagine how much more productive and helpful we could be to each other if we just listened more! Hopefully, someday, more people will begin to realize this.

Human Composition: More than chemical, I say

If all we are is chemicals that have combined randomly to form these bodies in which we live, where do our deepest desires come from? Why do we ask why? Why do we ponder our own existence? Why do we seek knowledge, betterment of self, happiness and love? Why do we have dreams and follow them? Why do we feel emotions and not just physical sensations? Why are we not just simple animals? I say there must be a soul in us humans. Given all our dreams and feelings and passions and philosophical thoughts, I say there must be something that lives on when our hearts have ceased to beat.