Unscripted - A Blog for Actors - Backstage

The Turkey's The Turkey, You Turkey.

Bad idea.  I got in at about 7 tonight - after my trip home lasted 2 hours longer than it should have thanks to wretched weather and the usual post-holiday trek en masse back to the city.  Fucking awful.  And I am coming down with something - and not just a little bit, like A LOT.  I am coming down with a lot of something.  I blame the wee little germ carriers I swooshed through the air and cuddled and kissed.  They may look innocent...

Somebody Stole My Camera!

Either that, or...I lost it.  I prefer to think some wicked-cute pickpocket a la Oliver Twist snatched it out of my bag rather than the probability that I just put it down haphazardly and never picked it back up.  Regardless, I apologize for another repeat photo while I figure out a solution to my photography problem.

Since I'm camera-less, what better thing to do than act in a play?  It'll be a fun experience, I think, working with this particular company; especially because I'll be writing my scenes as much as acting them, which is something I'm interested in, for sure.  It's a low time-commitment project, with a 4 week run starting in January, and, after two rehearsals, I'm really enjoying my castmates and director.  Like many other things here in LA, I never would have done this in New York.  For some reason, my first instinct when I get cast in a project is to always, always turn it down. 

80 Hours A Weak?

I just finished the last week of my on-camera acting class...actually, I finished the class two months ago but I needed to make-up the very last class (not because I'm a bad student, but because I missed it due to a family emergency).  In any case, I had convinced myself that this last class would provide the bow on an otherwise somewhat informative but mostly frustrating session.  I had convinced myself that the teacher was going to reveal a pearl of wisdom that would change my life and make the class fee worth it.  Well, the teacher did just that.  When I walked into the room, there was a bold statement on the chalk board:  Anything less than a 40 hour a week commitment is just a hobby.  I quickly did the math and realized that from this point forward if I wanted to be "committed" to my craft, I'd need to commit to an 80 hour work week.

This is my goodbye to everyone and everything else that means something to me. 

Say "Yes".

Hey Y'all, this week has been a whirlwind of activity.  It started off with a surgery - I had to have benign tumor removed from my upper back.  It was simple: local anesthesia, drove myself home, took some pain medication that made me dopey...that's when my manager called to tell me that I had an audition the next day and that I should take a look at the script and let her know if I wanted to do it, and if not, she completely understood.  Even through my drug-induced haze, I could see the red flag waving.  Whether it was beckoning me or warning me, I wasn't sure.

Listen Up, DELTA : A List of 10 Flight-Revolutionizing Alterations

For the first time in my blogging life, I am not going to write about the sheer horror of airlines, airports, airline people at airports, freakish Delta personnel or otherwise.  Today, for virtually the first time ever, I had a fantastic flight home from sunny and palmtree-filled St. Petersburg, Florida.  Naturally, this trip [like all of mine] included the ingestion of several massive cups [read: liters] of coffee. 

So as I sit here practically vibrating due to the caffeine induced semi-hyper-comatic state I've concocted within myself, I'm inspired to write about how I would make the airlines better. 

My 2008 Petition for Delta

1)  Install Parachutes -- What good does a life flotation device do if, god forbid, there's a massive clan of terrorists on Delta flight 1405, or a tornado hits the plane mid-air?  Is the unlucky responsibility-laden dude in the Exit row going to actually heft the 31-pound door open at 30,000 feet and have the passengers jump?  Absolutely!  However, not much will await them besides a divine death-by-concrete mushing, or the drowning in one of the World's glorious oceans.  We could avoid all that dreary death simply by installing parachutes.  Ejecting oneself from a crashing plane has never seen such adventure!

Cornucopia of Hollywood

I liken myself to our forefathers, the pilgrims, this week.  Like them, I'm far away from my homeland.  Also like them, I'm toiling away and wondering if I'll survive the winter.  Unlike them, I don't wear hats much, and am planning to, at least, not die of hypothermia, but only because I now live in Los Angeles.  So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, that happy feast so long ago when the Native Americans shared their cornucopia and general wisdom about surviving the beast of a state known as Massachusetts, I'm going to share my thanks.  (Don't worry, I'll keep it strictly business.  Otherwise I'd be thanking the creator of Pinkberry and JK Rowling, and that's more of a personal blog thing, wouldn't you say?)

The Verdict: Things May Be More Complex Than They Appear.

About 90 minutes into our deliberations yesterday, I guess the defense got nervous (they said long deliberations usually signal a verdict in the plaintiff's favor) and settled.  Everyone - even our bailiff - seemed shocked we were taking so long (and requested to see the only 2 pieces of visual evidence again, and have the law pertaining to our case re-read to us again).  Even we were shocked it was taking so long.  It seemed like a fairly straight-forward personal injury case... but perspective changes interpretation.

Even after 90 minutes we were still split down the middle.  Those of us (including myself) who saw no negligence - according to the law - were adamant, and those who believed there was negligence were also adamant. One thing we all agreed on though, was that the judge and both lawyers seemed to have phoned the whole thing in.  Not that it was an involved case - it wasn't, but that's precisely the thing: it seemed like they knew it was no biggie and so therefore didn't really try.  The judge - I swear I am not making this up - was checking his cell phone and reading the paper during the proceedings, and when he read us the law and all of our instructions... it was WORSE (this is NOT an exaggeration) than Ben Stein's monotonous teacher in Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  

The Trapeze of Professionalism : Email the Casting Director? (!)

2:47 am.  Sitting here attempting to reign in my insomnia "slash" total-mind-permeating OCD, sipping at a really old Corona... and staring at the contents of my old childhood bedroom.

Gotta love coming home for the holidays. 

Something interesting occurred last night / this morning, as I was having another pace-the-entire-house fit and scanning Breakdowns.  Not that I have access to them, or anything.  Mentally imagining them, if you will, in a Sookie Stackhouse, True Blood kind of way.  Sigh, weird analogy.  It is 3 a.m.

So in my scan, I saw a certain Big New York Soap finally casting a role I felt like I was right for.  She was brunette, early 20s, coniving, and a dancer.  I wrote a draft to Fabulous Manager and CCed agent... and saved it to my inbox (I've been using this tactic to reign in my impulsive enthusiasm, lately).  I told them about the various dayplayer work that I'd done for this particular Big New York Soap for the past year and how I had a great relationship with the associate casting director, to the point where we corresponded through email.

Then I thought of something, mid-munch over a piece of home-baked White Chocolate Peppermint Bark.  I wasn't pigeon-puffing in the least.  I did have a prett great relationship with this particular C.D.; likely the most friendly out of all the C.D.'s I'd taken classes with or gone in for repeatedly.  I gathered my "man parts" and began another draft.

"Hey there, [Massive Associate C.D.]...."

Back To The Drawing Board?

Ohhhh... why, why, why? 

Last night during my second rehearsal, as I lay on the cold and dusty concrete stage floor under an even dustier sheet, the thought smacked me in the head that perhaps taking on this show was a bad idea.  Or, maybe not a bad idea so much as one without merit.  I don't think I should ask any agents to come see me in this show.  And if I am not getting paid, not advancing in terms of prestige of theatre company or role, can't use the opportunity to build on the momentum I'd gained with agents this fall, and the process is more of a headache than a heart-warmer... What is the point?

California Dreamin' (On Such a Winter's Day)

Amazing.  There's a hazy overcast for a day and the potential of rain tomorrow, and my old Northeast seasonal weather-soaked melancholy kicks in and I start listening to downtrodden Radiohead albums like it's my job.  Okay, I'll stop obsessing over the weather.  (But, secretly, this place is weird.)

So.  In keeping with my promise to myself to be involved in theater is some way as much as possible, even if it is just as an audience member, I went to see "The Holy Mother of Hadley, New York" at Theatre of Note this weekend.  Besides it being one of those names in the theater scene here that just pops up over and over, my lovely and talented friend Nina Harada is one of their newest members, and, you know, you gotta support your girlies.  It was such a great night, and it was a great space too, AND on top of that, everyone was super nice.  Again!  I feel sometimes like I'm in a "Truman Show" sort of situation, because I keep stumbling upon the nicest people ever here.  I'm very thankful.  And not just because Tuuuuurkeeeeey Day is coming up!

Okay, okay, I'll save my "I'm Thankful for My Mom, Obama, and Trader Joe's" Thanksgiving Day speech for later, but I will say, in all honesty, after almost two months in LaLaLand, I am extraordinarily grateful for the awesome people I've met here so far.