Bad Taste

It is one of the precious few sunny and warm days of the year – in stark contrast to the other April ’09 days so far – hasty wind with inconsiderate rain. I am happy to finally be free to walk around the city and enjoy my Sunday. It is 4:30pm and I’ve been on a film set for an independent horror film since 9:00am. I didn’t know how long the shoot would be, and I am happy to be done this early. I only had to shoot this one day. I played a quirky young woman who – due to circumstances beyond her control – turns into a vampire. I performed fight choreography where I got to throw men twice my size across the room. I had to wear demonic-looking contact lenses, which to everyone’s disappointment; I could not get inside my sensitive eyes. So we had to do without them. I spent 40 minutes with the makeup artist for her to expertly paint my face to create an “un-dead” look. I wore fanged teeth held into place by Fixodent denture paste. I had pretend blood, in the form of red corn syrup, poured into my oral cavity, so that it could ooze out and dribble down my lips (to look like I had satisfactorily snacked on my prey). I have never worked on a horror film like this before, and I have never had special effects makeup applied on me, nor have I ever taken part in a fight sequence. It was cool! I also got along great with the crew and the other actors on set. They were all friendly, kind, and good-humored. The director said he was happy with how the scenes today looked. I rehearsed with him and the lead actress yesterday and he told me he liked my character development. I heard more positive feedback today from the crew and other cast members. So why is there a nagging sadness inside of me? After my big vampire-on-the-loose scene, the director took some shots of me hissing into the camera lenses as I crouched on the floor. And then, he just started to pack up his camera and speak to his assistant about the next scene to shoot. He didn’t say anything to me. I was still on the floor as he was doing this. The special effects blood had dripped onto my torso and was causing my cotton shirt to stick uncomfortably to my skin. My vampire teeth were beginning to cause a dull pain pressing up against my human teeth and I could feel sores forming on my gums. Corn syrup was dribbling down my chin.

“Michael – did you get everything you need? Is it okay if I take out my teeth?”

He nodded. I went in the holding room to remove this uncomfortable mouth piece. Fixodent coated my real teeth like a blanket; it had a bitter, medicinal taste- like melted aspirin. My hair was matted to my forehead, drenched in sweat. I was a little confused at this point, because I knew that was my last scene to shoot, but he did not tell me I was wrapped. I went out to speak with him as he set up for the next scene:

“So…you said I could remove my teeth, and I know that was my last scene. Does that mean I’m wrapped? Am I free to go?”

“Yup,” he said. And that was it.

As I cleaned myself up and got changed, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I thanked, and said goodbye to the crew and actors who were not shooting at that moment. “Great job,” they enthusiastically said. I have worked on about 10 different films, and on every set there has always been the standard, “that’s a wrap- thank you!” from the director at the end of the shoot. To be dismissed from him like this has left me feeling deflated. As I walk into the outside sunlight, I still have some denture paste lingering on my gums, and I can now feel it on my tongue. The corn syrup blood that I tried so hard not to swallow permeates the inside of my mouth, and has crept its way to the back of my throat with sickening sweetness. Despite the day’s overall success, I am left with a bad taste in my mouth.

Two days later I received a gracious Facebook wall posting from the director, thanking me for my participation and complimenting my performance. The bad taste has dissipated. But because of the way I felt when I left the shoot, I am reminded that there are other ways an actor can feel the sting of rejection, in addition to not getting offered the role they auditioned for. Anytime my expectations of being treated a certain way are not met, I feel the same sinking disappointment And I have come to learn that in show business, there are many opportunities to feel this way.

When a friend or family member does not say anything positive – not even a simple “good job” - after seeing me perform onstage, especially when I am confident I did good work, it’s like: “hello?! Did you not just see me out there?!” It gets me so angry and frustrated. One time, a filmmaker friend cast me in his upcoming feature length dramatic thriller. He also offered me a position as script supervisor. I was excited! He told me it would be, “a lot of money.” That he had multiple investors linked to this project; that the script took the audience on a twisted, disturbing, yet absorbing journey. But I slowly became disillusioned with him. He refused to give anyone the full script (even me, the SCRIPT supervisor), for fear of it being “leaked.” He said that no one would get paid until the film was complete. He sent out strangely drafted “agreements” outlining all of the stipulations. He kept telling us that production was getting delayed because people weren’t returning their signed agreements to him. Oh is that the only reason? I kept thinking to myself sarcastically.

He strung me (and the rest of the actors) along for months of rehearsals and meetings only to send an abrupt email, informing us that one of the investors pulled out and he couldn’t make the film anymore. This did not surprise me. I suspected he was full of hot air. But I was pissed, and even felt used. Mostly though, I was annoyed at myself. How could I let him waste my time like that?

But I think the worst strain of rejection I experienced was when my boyfriend’s playwriting partner, and good friend, had his one-act play accepted to a prestigious festival. He cast another actress in the role I originally played, without giving me any sort of heads-up. I know that my boyfriend (a brilliant actor, director, playwright, and monologue coach – quadruple threat!!) was extremely disappointed as well - that a good friend and colleague could be so callous. Of course, it is his play and it is his right to cast whoever he wants. But because of the pre-existing relationship, I expected at least a phone call, or email from him. Admittedly, I’m sure I would have still been mildly disappointed to have not been asked to reprise the role I worked so hard on. But I would have understood, and respected his decision. At least I would have not felt so disrespected and disposable, like he could not give two shits about ever working with me again.

AFTRA anxiety

I am a brand spankin new AFTRA member. I joined because I worked on All My Children in 2008, and so ever since then I have been in the category of a must-join (for you non-showbiz people out there, i will explain it later. i have to get off the internet soon cause the boyfriend has to go to bed). So anyways...I decided to finally join because there were certain TV shows (like the new FX show 'Lights Out') that were specifically requesting AFTRA or non-AFTRA, no must-joins, and so I thought I should suck it up and join. Especially since I am trying to do more soap work, even though pretty soon there will only be one left shooting in NY (One Life to Live). So anyway...I (very nervously) paid the $1600+ initiation fee. Since then two of the shows I was interested in submitting to (White Collar and Rescue Me), which were AFTRA, are NOT AFTRA AT THE MOMENT. IT SEEMS THEY HAVE SWITCHED TO SAG. My stomach is absolutely turning as I write this. I am having so many self-doubts lately about my talent and abilities and future as an actress...I was watching a late night TV preacher last night during a bout of insomnia last night, and he said that the only way to conquer fear is with faith. So, let's pray for my insanity's sake that I will get cast on SNL, The Onion, One Life to Live, As The World Turns (before they are off the air in July) and any of the other AFTRA TV show that shoots in NY.

UNRELIABLE

To make myself feel better, I just posted this on a review site for the Blackberry Pearl that I own:

"This morning I relied exclusively on my blackberry pearl alarm to wake me up and the this piece of crap did not work. Now I learned my lesson never to rely on this piece of garbage I call my blackberry again.
Summary: slow on internet, no memory (I only can save about 5 pictures in it), UNRELIABLE, it's so easy to accidentally press the stupid button that let's it voice initialize and then it takes forever to get it to stop."

I had volunteered for this program where professional artists go to a school where the kids write original short plays and we (the actors) read them and perform. I was asked to do this through contacts I made at an audition. Although I thought it sounded fun as well as understood how it could be beneficial to me (experience, rewarding, credit, networking, a chance to work with this reputable company), I was regretting (a little bit) agreeing to this because it was all the way out in Princeton, NJ. Princeton is an 1 and 15 mins. to get to by train from Penn Station, I live in Westchester, where I would have to take a 6:48am train from here to catch a 7:53 train to Princeton from Penn Station. I am not a morning person at all, and so, I was regretting the fact that I agreed to do it. However, I was all set to do it and make the best of it. I had to wake up at around 5:30-5:45am to fully get ready to catch the metro north train that would get me to the NJ transit train that would get me to Princeton in time for the car to pick me up and take me to the school.

I usually set both the regular alarm, as well as my blackberry alarm. Last night, after a long day of auditions and a friend's father's funeral, I was ready to try and get an early night sleep while my significant other watched TV outside (he has the week off from work and has been enjoying sleeping in everyday). "What time did you set the alarm for?" he asked me from out in the living room.

"I didn't set the regular alarm," I replied, "Just my blackberry."

I do not know why I did this, I just thought one would be enough, since having both of them go off is normally more then enough.

On my own, I woke up this morning at 7:30am, and in a panic realized there was no way I could make the 7:53 train from Penn at that time, that I had totally missed the train. I walked over to my piece of shit Blackberry Pearl and it was inititalizing. Is that why this stupid piece of crap did not go off?? After yelling at, I called my contact person for today. I told him the truth of why I couldn't make it today, and how this never happens to me (it doesn't - I am always little miss prompt and dependable). Lucky for me, he was very nice about it, and said he appreciated me telling him. I love when people are nice to me!

However, today, my blackberry and I are both rendered unreliable.

CLASS ACT

It is time to go to acting class. My throat feels dry and my hands are clammy. The butterflies that are supposed to be in my stomach have moved up to my chest and it feels tight and constricted. My temples begin to throb. I don’t want to go to class. I know what is ahead. The berating, the indignation, the reminders of how much harder I need to work to achieve my goals. I walk in the entrance to the school on the 2nd floor of the shabby office building in midtown Manhattan. The kitchen area is to my left. I see her – my teacher and school’s owner- at the sink fixing herself a cup of tea. “Hello,” I gamely say to her, knowing she will not say “hello” back. She responds with her trademark greeting that is somewhere between a sigh and a “mmm” as she turns her back to me and retreats into her office off of the kitchen. I walk into the theatre. Some students are already there warming up. Making non-sensical noises as they stretch. I put my stuff down and do the same. Not feeling connected, but simply copying what they are doing. The teacher walks in, with her straight posture, fiery red hair, and icy blue eyes, observing us as we do our warm-ups. Eventually, it is time for me to get up and do my scene.

“You have not incorporated any technique into this,” she admonishes.

“Yes I have,” I defensively reply.

“Well then, maybe you have no talent,” she says.

One of my classmates raises her hand. Students are encouraged to critique other students at this school.

“I agree that she has no talent. This is supposed to be a dramatic piece, but the way she played it, it looked comical.”

“Why am I here?” I think to myself.

I did not study theatre in college, but at 11-years-old I studied at a Musical Theatre Performing Arts Academy. This was followed by many performances in community and regional theatre productions, private singing lessons, a year of concentrated training in drama and musical theatre at a Performing Arts High School, followed by performing in an off-off Broadway musical, which subsequently won an award. Naively, I believed my limited experience and training was enough to get me cast as Nessarose in Wicked on Broadway, or Penny Pingleton in Hairspray, followed by a contract role on One Life to Live.

Soon, reality hit. Once I began attending every audition and open call I could, I realized I was way out of my league. In the audition room I felt helpless, and even embarrassed. And finding an actable objective after reading a script was foreign to me. I realized I needed an acting class, but I was confused on what kind to take, and where. I knew other performers, but they had all attended college for acting or musical theatre, or full-time three-year conservatories. I was intimidated, and I didn’t want to show my lack of knowledge by asking for advice on a school. “I can research and decide on my own, without anyone clouding my judgment,” I justified.
When I googled: “acting class NYC” tons of hits came up. But me being as green, desperate, and unfocused as I was at that time in my life, I did not establish any criteria for myself for choosing a school. I simply looked at the various NYC acting school websites that came up in my search, and narrowed them down by the ones with class descriptions that resonated with me. I signed up for a class at a well regarded school. Unfortunately, the class did not meet my idealistic expectations (to have a wonderfully fulfilling creative experience with kind people who would become life-long collaborators, and to emerge with a solid acting technique). When this class was finished, I felt uninspired, and confused as ever.

I did some more internet searching, and found myself frequently returning to the website of one school in particular. Not only did this school use the technique I was interested in learning, but it promised to train actors in a supportive environment. It boasted that it taught actors a process they could use for any performance or audition situation, and any medium. After sleeping on it for a few days, I called the school for an interview with the school’s founder and sole instructor. We’ll call her Ms. Teacher. A tall, striking, red-head in her late 30’s, she had a sophisticated British accent and she believed I would do well in her classes. It would be a challenge, she said, but she thought I would fit in there. So I enrolled. I felt like I was starting an exciting journey.

Initially I felt like I was learning a lot about the acting technique that was followed at this school. I was motivated to commit and do the work. But this quickly changed. Ms. Teacher was easily angered and annoyed when students asked questions. Frequently refusing to answer, shouting: “read the book!” She often cracked jokes at student’s expense, and did not interject if a student critiqued another student in an unprofessional way. Actually, she would chuckle when this occurred. Whatever happened to the supportive environment that was advertised? When I worked in class, she would remind me of how much more training I needed. That if I wanted to be a good actor who could work professionally, I MUST stay in her school. When I initially signed up for classes, Ms. Teacher told me it was normal to feel uncomfortable when one begins this training. But was it normal that I continually felt discouraged, and dreaded going to class?

“This is my school, this is my school,” was the mantra I kept repeating to myself. I was sick of waffling. I wanted to make a commitment to something. I wanted to find a teacher, a school, a technique, I believed in. I wanted to feel confident as an actor, to make up for my perceived mistake of not studying acting in college. It took a year of being told I may never be ready for a professional acting career for something to snap in me. Why am I wasting my time and money on studying here, when it’s making me miserable? Before leaving the school, I spoke with Ms. Teacher. I told her why I was leaving. She told me it was not her intention to make me feel discouraged and unhappy, and that she was sorry to see me go.

I never did find that one acting school to spend years of training at, but since then I have taken many different classes which have taught me much. And eventually, I developed a technique to rely on. In the class I’m currently taking, I feel supported, and I walk away each week feeling energized and excited to work further on my craft.

I do not regret the year I spent at my former acting school. Among other things, it taught me that I do not have to feel like the girl who has no control over her fate. If I don’t like the way I am being treated, I can stand up for myself, or I can leave. Eventually I did both. And if I want more training, there are numerous schools (with wonderful instructors) in this city where I can get it.

Sexually Frustrated

I am super freakin frustrated right now. Basically - my live-in boyfriend does not seem to want to have sex with me. A little background - I am a hot 29-year-old who looks about 21, and he is 45.

Before I moved in with him, we had sex 1-3 times a week, on the weekends when we saw each other. Now that we live together, I am lucky if we even have it once a week. I have talked to him about my concerns, and despite a trace amount of effort on his part here and there, the problem has not gone away. He is always tired, or has a stomach ache, or is congested, or some other tired old man excuse. On my 29th birthday this summer he did not give me sex because his stomach hurt. "I'll make it up to you. I promise." But he never did.

Normally we have sex about once a week, initiated by me. The sex is always pretty good and he seems to enjoy it, so I don't understand why we don't have it more often. I have discussed my frustrations with him. Told him I'm sick of being the one to always initiate it. That I feel if I didn't initiate it, we would never have it. That his lack of initiation makes me feel unnattractive. I HAVE ALREADY TOLD HIM ALL OF THIS.

So now, here is the latest. It's been well over a week since we last had sex. This past Sunday, even though he was complaining of being tired and congested, I snuck under the covers. It started with light strokes, then I was full on touching him and made my way under the covers and put him in my mouth and he came pretty quickly. "That was amazing. I want to take care of you now."

"Great," I thought.

"But I will do it tonight. I'm tired now."

Night came and went, but nothing happened because he had a tummy ache. "Tomorrow will be our night," he said.

"You mean MY night," I replied. Gosh - how much effort does it really fuckin take to fuckin reciprocate?

So then the following night: "I know this was the night we were supposed to get romantic, but I'm so mad about things going on at work. You're just going to have to be patient."

I am incensed. I understand he is unhappy over his job, and if this was the first of the sexual problems then I would be patient and understanding. I am still trying to be. But last night was just a new excuse to me. There is always an excuse. I can understand maybe being too tired for full-on intercourse, but he can't even make the smallest fucking effort to make me feel good?

Eventful Month

I am currently in a children's theatre show in NYC encompassing the month of January. It has proved to be rewarding because I like the show/script/my part, most of my fellow actors in the cast, plus it is extremely heartwarming to perform for adorably enthusiastic children. However, this is the type of project I regretted the moment I accepted the role, and also the type of project I swore I would never do again. Why? Because for a mere $100 stipend, I (along with the rest of the cast) am expected to perform a show EVERY SINGLE DAY - 7 DAYS A WEEK for the month of January. On Saturdays and Sundays we peform in the afternoon, and Monday - Friday we peform in the morning for schools or other groups.

When first starting out in the NYC theatre world about 4 years ago, I was happy to accept any role offered to me without complaints. I had a good attitude and I wanted to learn. Over time, however, I became more experienced and more ambitious with my acting career (understandably). And as a result of seeing actors (myself included) get their time wasted and be taken advantage of, I started to become more choosy with my theatre and film projects. And also set certain guidelines for myself, such as: 1)if there is a heavy time committment it should pay, 2)The people involved should be talented and know what they are doing.

So....I finally made piece with the inconsiderate performance schedule. But I feel with this project when I make peace with one aspect of it, other frustrations arise to test my waning patience. First, we were asked to set up and break down the set each and every day. This was something not outlined in the casting notice. The director/producer asked us actors to do this on opening day - what other choice do we have? We have to do it now! Furthermore, there is an ex-con (in the cast) with a heavy Staten Island accent, where every other word out of his mouth is a curse (did I mention this is a CHILDREN'S SHOW), who can't act for shit, and has never been in a theatre production before. As if that wasn't enough, the elevator in this supposedly handicapped accessible space has been broken for a week now, so every day we have to carry a disabled cast member up and down 5 flights of stairs. What will happen next - will we have to climb the facade of the building in order to perform this show?

Eater's Remorse

Do any of you - dear readers - ever experience eater's remorse? 4+ years ago, when my disordered eating was in full swing, I obsessed over (and often regretted) everything I ate after breakfast. I still experience eaters remorse time-to-time, but nothing like I used to. I also do not obsess over my weight or strive to be a size 00. But now I'm experiencing that familiar uncomfortable feeling. I am currently living with my boyfriend in Southern Westchester - just a 30 min. train ride to Grand Central Station. I am in rehearsals for a professional children's theatre show, and since we only had a week of rehearsal before opening we have been rehearsing 4 to 5 hours every day. Today - New Years Day - we had rehearsal from 6:30-10:30. Because it is New Years Day, the train was running on a Sunday schedule, with trains only once an hour, and after 10:30pm even more infrequent.

Rehearsal is at the theatre 5 blocks away from Grand Central. If I had thought to check the return schedule I would have asked the Director if I could leave a couple minutes early so that I could make the 10:32pm train. I did not think of that today, so though rehearsal ended at 10:30, and I got to Grand Central at 10:35, I was stuck waiting for the train - not departing until 11:45!! What did I do with my extra time? Did I use it to go over my lines or blocking, think about my character and her arc in the play, write in my journal and work on my memoir? No! I did not. Instead - I walked into Hudson News, the only overpriced vendor opened in Grand Central at that time,bought a 3 servings bag of Burger King flame broiled potato chips, and proceeded to complete the entire bag before my 11:45 even pulled out of Grand Central. I feel disgusting.

Why did I do this - why did I eat 450 calories of preservative laden packaged food when I wasn't even hungry?

1) First of all, I have been craving steak cut french fries and/or cheese sticks for the past four days, and since I have not been able to attend an establishment that could help me satisfy this craving I have been trying to find "the next best thing." Lesson learned: there is no "next best thing." If you have an intense craving (especially for something junky) lasting longer then 24 hours, then satisfy it. Even if you have to wait a week until it gets satisfied, know that nothing else will do, so don't even try.

2) I was bored, frustrated, and after a tedious 4-hour rehearsal, I didn't feel like doing any of the above productive things to fill the hour of time I had to wait for the train in Grand Central.
Lesson learned: eating will not solve your problems.

3) Finally, even though I feel absolutely disgusting, I will try not to be too hard on myself, because (what I've learned from past experience) the worse I make myself feel, the more likely I will be to partake in emotional (and thus, remorseful) eating next time the opportunity presents itself.

It is important to dissect situations I regret, so that I can learn from it and not repeat my mistakes. Pray for me.