Thursday, September 29, 2005
what i did for love.
(it had nothing to do for love. but like some things one does for love, it was something i did not initially want to do, but did anyway because i wanted to be a stand-up guy.)
so, without violating my NDA, i can tell you that my dayjob company works with games--computer games, x-b0x games, that stuff. usually when a game is on the table, they're given cheat codes from the game publisher so that they can advance through the levels without having to cultivate a lot of game-specific skill.
but not for the new karaoke game, in which you get points by singing on pitch. the controllers come with headsets and microphones. so they asked for volunteers to do some actual singing. i was volunteered by my boss, who said, hey! actors sing!
if you know me, you may recall that my previous failed attempt at gradschool was punctuated by lots of bad, drunk karaoke at the memories lounge in s@rasota, FL. it was awful and sort of fascinating. and this experience notwithstanding, i am very uncomfortable singing in public. i would rather get naked.
getting naked, though, was not an option. i went along gracefully and did not get in a strop, and at six p.m. sat in a conference room with one of the project managers and attempted to sing stevie wonder's superstition.
oh, my friends.
this game has a little monitor on the screen that tells you when you're off pitch. which was oddly traumatic. apparently i am constantly flat. things were not much better by the time we got to the duet of i've had the time of my life from dirty dancing.
the project manager will not look me in the eye now.
which makes me feel like i was naked and pitchy *both*, and didn't even get overtime.
so, without violating my NDA, i can tell you that my dayjob company works with games--computer games, x-b0x games, that stuff. usually when a game is on the table, they're given cheat codes from the game publisher so that they can advance through the levels without having to cultivate a lot of game-specific skill.
but not for the new karaoke game, in which you get points by singing on pitch. the controllers come with headsets and microphones. so they asked for volunteers to do some actual singing. i was volunteered by my boss, who said, hey! actors sing!
if you know me, you may recall that my previous failed attempt at gradschool was punctuated by lots of bad, drunk karaoke at the memories lounge in s@rasota, FL. it was awful and sort of fascinating. and this experience notwithstanding, i am very uncomfortable singing in public. i would rather get naked.
getting naked, though, was not an option. i went along gracefully and did not get in a strop, and at six p.m. sat in a conference room with one of the project managers and attempted to sing stevie wonder's superstition.
oh, my friends.
this game has a little monitor on the screen that tells you when you're off pitch. which was oddly traumatic. apparently i am constantly flat. things were not much better by the time we got to the duet of i've had the time of my life from dirty dancing.
the project manager will not look me in the eye now.
which makes me feel like i was naked and pitchy *both*, and didn't even get overtime.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
it's always something else.
i wish i could communicate to some of you the intense frustration that is part of living in new york. some of you, of course, are already aware, and very probably consider me something of a whiner. i fully admit to the whiner. and yet i am constantly surprised that simply getting things done here is constantly difficult and does not get easier over time. some of it is the sort of inevitable hassle of trains and commutes and higher prices and lower income nd no car and no time and seriously different population density. but some of it just feels willful.
yesterday i left home early so i could go to the Big Chain Bookstore to look for a book. i hate BCBs, and not just for the dar williams crystal deodorant reasons. they are awful. you know this: they have bad lighting and disheartening displays of oprah picks, chick lit and self-help books and lots of young employees who would clearly rather be playing x-box live. they are often playing john mayer.
i can't find a good bookstore that's near any of my usual routes, though (other than the strand, which is awesome for some things and useless for others), so i end up ordering online or popping by the BCB more often than i'd like. the BCB at union square didn't have my book, though. they directed me to the even bigger CB a few blocks away. that store did have my book, but the young man at the info desk told me it was "in the closed-off section." he wrote the book's name and some kind of call number on a piece of paper and told me someone would go get it for me. i thanked him and started looking for the "closed-off section"--which i assumed was some sort of theft deterrent area for textbooks, given the season. i couldn't find it anywhere.
i asked another man behind another desk. he asked what section the book was in. i told him the "closed-off" one. that's many sections, he said. then i don't know, i said. i gave you the title and the number, can't you look it up?
he taps on his keyboard. tap, tap, tap.
"what section is it in?"
i don't know what section it's in.
"you should have asked someone what section it was in."
i tell him that really all i need to know is where this "closed-off" section was. he told me to follow the orange line. i did so, and found a entire wing of the book store that was without electricity, this big dark cavern of books. it was roped off and grumpy BCB employees were massed at the barrier with flashlights, running into the cave and ferrying books out of the dark area for customers. i showed one of them the piece of paper i'd been given.
"what section is it in?"
and i stabbed her with a plastic fork.
no. i told her i didn't know, but given the subject, i thought it might be in the reference section. she disappeared into the darkness for ten minutes, and then emerged saying she couldn't find it. i began slowly to transform her into a pillar of salt. she went to a computer in the lighted area. tap, tap, tap. five minutes. seven minutes. back into the darkness. six minutes. and then she emerges.
"we don't have it."
and, really, this is a dumb story. i ordered the book from @mazon, the end. it's not a BFD, this BCB episode. but this happens every week. something like this does. and i suppose it's helpful, in the most mind-crunching way, because the larger message must be
you think you're in charge? you're not in charge!
and, yeah. i guess i'm not.
yesterday i left home early so i could go to the Big Chain Bookstore to look for a book. i hate BCBs, and not just for the dar williams crystal deodorant reasons. they are awful. you know this: they have bad lighting and disheartening displays of oprah picks, chick lit and self-help books and lots of young employees who would clearly rather be playing x-box live. they are often playing john mayer.
i can't find a good bookstore that's near any of my usual routes, though (other than the strand, which is awesome for some things and useless for others), so i end up ordering online or popping by the BCB more often than i'd like. the BCB at union square didn't have my book, though. they directed me to the even bigger CB a few blocks away. that store did have my book, but the young man at the info desk told me it was "in the closed-off section." he wrote the book's name and some kind of call number on a piece of paper and told me someone would go get it for me. i thanked him and started looking for the "closed-off section"--which i assumed was some sort of theft deterrent area for textbooks, given the season. i couldn't find it anywhere.
i asked another man behind another desk. he asked what section the book was in. i told him the "closed-off" one. that's many sections, he said. then i don't know, i said. i gave you the title and the number, can't you look it up?
he taps on his keyboard. tap, tap, tap.
"what section is it in?"
i don't know what section it's in.
"you should have asked someone what section it was in."
i tell him that really all i need to know is where this "closed-off" section was. he told me to follow the orange line. i did so, and found a entire wing of the book store that was without electricity, this big dark cavern of books. it was roped off and grumpy BCB employees were massed at the barrier with flashlights, running into the cave and ferrying books out of the dark area for customers. i showed one of them the piece of paper i'd been given.
"what section is it in?"
and i stabbed her with a plastic fork.
no. i told her i didn't know, but given the subject, i thought it might be in the reference section. she disappeared into the darkness for ten minutes, and then emerged saying she couldn't find it. i began slowly to transform her into a pillar of salt. she went to a computer in the lighted area. tap, tap, tap. five minutes. seven minutes. back into the darkness. six minutes. and then she emerges.
"we don't have it."
and, really, this is a dumb story. i ordered the book from @mazon, the end. it's not a BFD, this BCB episode. but this happens every week. something like this does. and i suppose it's helpful, in the most mind-crunching way, because the larger message must be
you think you're in charge? you're not in charge!
and, yeah. i guess i'm not.
Monday, September 26, 2005
it's always something.
in the tradition of these guys . . . overheard in the time warner center whole foods, across from a special "jewish needs" display (mostly challah):
"jesus christ, is it rosh hashanah already?"
"jesus christ, is it rosh hashanah already?"
Thursday, September 22, 2005
schenkman, how i have loved you.
ben schenkman got married. i knew this was coming, but still: oh. chances were always slim that ben and i would make a go of it, but i guess they are even thinner now.
speaking of not getting married.
you guys have, for the most part, been very polite about this, but some poeple are not so polite. it's a common question when the monkey and i are out together. it's amazing how people who barely know us will occasionally pop out,
when are you kids getting married?
and we never freak out, and we usually change the subject, but the answer is always
fuck if we know!
i don't like talking about it, and that's not because i think it's a bad idea. i don't want to talk about it until we are Ready To Talk About It, and that won't be when some yutz brings it up over cocktail peanuts at an opening night reception. and until then, let's just shutthefuckup about it so that it doesn't become old hat or some sort of drabby grey foregone conclusion so that when we're thirty-five and forty-two, you lamely suggest while we're waiting in line at the dry cleaners, "hey, you wanna . . ."
remember when your acting teacher used to keep saying, "raise the stakes! raise the stakes!"? if you already know the answer to that question, the stakes are not that high when you finally ask it. there is no dramatic conflict, no risk. and you, my friend, my friend that i sleep with, my monkey, you need to have something on the table when this question comes out. i love you, but are sometimes what we call a scaredy cat. when you are ready to ask this question, it will be a very meaningful day--and sure, partly because it's how i always imagined it happening in my Barbie Dream Gazebo, but also it will mean so much to see you step up.
we are not there, my friends. we are on awfully good ground, and i am very pleased but i am not fooling myself: we are not there yet. even though when the monkey and i were talking about how ben s. got married, i said:
"do you think he stepped on the glass?"
"oh, definitely."
"really? what if he's not religious?"
"it's a tradition."
"for everyone? so, what, are we going to do it?"
pause.
"not that we're getting married."
"not that we're jewish."
speaking of not getting married.
you guys have, for the most part, been very polite about this, but some poeple are not so polite. it's a common question when the monkey and i are out together. it's amazing how people who barely know us will occasionally pop out,
when are you kids getting married?
and we never freak out, and we usually change the subject, but the answer is always
fuck if we know!
i don't like talking about it, and that's not because i think it's a bad idea. i don't want to talk about it until we are Ready To Talk About It, and that won't be when some yutz brings it up over cocktail peanuts at an opening night reception. and until then, let's just shutthefuckup about it so that it doesn't become old hat or some sort of drabby grey foregone conclusion so that when we're thirty-five and forty-two, you lamely suggest while we're waiting in line at the dry cleaners, "hey, you wanna . . ."
remember when your acting teacher used to keep saying, "raise the stakes! raise the stakes!"? if you already know the answer to that question, the stakes are not that high when you finally ask it. there is no dramatic conflict, no risk. and you, my friend, my friend that i sleep with, my monkey, you need to have something on the table when this question comes out. i love you, but are sometimes what we call a scaredy cat. when you are ready to ask this question, it will be a very meaningful day--and sure, partly because it's how i always imagined it happening in my Barbie Dream Gazebo, but also it will mean so much to see you step up.
we are not there, my friends. we are on awfully good ground, and i am very pleased but i am not fooling myself: we are not there yet. even though when the monkey and i were talking about how ben s. got married, i said:
"do you think he stepped on the glass?"
"oh, definitely."
"really? what if he's not religious?"
"it's a tradition."
"for everyone? so, what, are we going to do it?"
pause.
"not that we're getting married."
"not that we're jewish."
messing about with boats.
i am not always jumping up and wanting to do stuff. i really like staying home and reading, or watching netflix in my pajamas. i do not enjoy going to "clubs." but if you tell me you know of a boat i can get on, i am all over that shit. i will miss ER and put down _anna karenina_ (week seven; 5/8 inch left) for that.
k.to called and asked if i wanted to come to a birthday thing for her friend maria. maria had decided that, for her birthday, she wanted all her friends to come on this SOLSTICE CRUISE run by the friends of hudson river park association. even though it was not the SOLSTICE, or the EQUINOX or whatever, but the day before those things, but the boat company had made a typo in the literature and now they had to have the cruise on the wrong day!
it was fun.
i got there way early and bought a few cheap domestic beers. the boat was a little creaky, and full of old people and smooth jazz. and the scent of marine fuel. we each got a pink ticket for THE BUFFET. THE BUFFET included penne pasta with salt, pepper, and jalapenos; chicken parts (YOU ONLY GET TWO); potatoes ("no potatoes, thank you." "no potatoes?" "no, thanks." "you don't want any potatoes?" "um, no." blank stare. "i, uh, don't like potatoes." "you don't like potatoes?"); and a whole-wheat dinner roll (YOU CAN ONLY HAVE ONE ROLL. "what if i didn't have any potatoes?" "YOU CAN ONLY HAVE ONE ROLL." so i took five butter pats.).
and best of all, this older guy NARRATED the whole voyage with stories about Points of Interest on the Hudson River. and i cannot reproduce for you any of his actual narration, because it wouldn't work in written form. but it was very soothing. i do remember that he mentioned that recently pollution in the river had decreased enough that the striped bass had come back ("you know those striped bass you eat in the restaurant? they all winter here, in the hudson river!" GACK.). then he told a couple of jokes, the second of which was an ethnic joke about adam and eve!
i lied. that is not best of all. best of all is that the birthday person was this really lovely woman who i would totally be friends with. i love when that happens. not very often do i walk into a situation where i'm trapped in a confined space with old people and strangers and find it entertaining, but this time i did. because boats are magic.
plus, i got to say "starboard" three times.
k.to called and asked if i wanted to come to a birthday thing for her friend maria. maria had decided that, for her birthday, she wanted all her friends to come on this SOLSTICE CRUISE run by the friends of hudson river park association. even though it was not the SOLSTICE, or the EQUINOX or whatever, but the day before those things, but the boat company had made a typo in the literature and now they had to have the cruise on the wrong day!
it was fun.
i got there way early and bought a few cheap domestic beers. the boat was a little creaky, and full of old people and smooth jazz. and the scent of marine fuel. we each got a pink ticket for THE BUFFET. THE BUFFET included penne pasta with salt, pepper, and jalapenos; chicken parts (YOU ONLY GET TWO); potatoes ("no potatoes, thank you." "no potatoes?" "no, thanks." "you don't want any potatoes?" "um, no." blank stare. "i, uh, don't like potatoes." "you don't like potatoes?"); and a whole-wheat dinner roll (YOU CAN ONLY HAVE ONE ROLL. "what if i didn't have any potatoes?" "YOU CAN ONLY HAVE ONE ROLL." so i took five butter pats.).
and best of all, this older guy NARRATED the whole voyage with stories about Points of Interest on the Hudson River. and i cannot reproduce for you any of his actual narration, because it wouldn't work in written form. but it was very soothing. i do remember that he mentioned that recently pollution in the river had decreased enough that the striped bass had come back ("you know those striped bass you eat in the restaurant? they all winter here, in the hudson river!" GACK.). then he told a couple of jokes, the second of which was an ethnic joke about adam and eve!
i lied. that is not best of all. best of all is that the birthday person was this really lovely woman who i would totally be friends with. i love when that happens. not very often do i walk into a situation where i'm trapped in a confined space with old people and strangers and find it entertaining, but this time i did. because boats are magic.
plus, i got to say "starboard" three times.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
getting a fix.
so, i don't have health insurance anymore, since i changed jobs. which is not great, but not catastrophic because there is a clinic in midtown that's free for members of the performing arts unions. the doctor there is a good one, and i like him, and i called his office this morning because i am almost out of birth control pills and figured since he'd prescribed them for me before, he would again.
but his receptionist told me that i would have to have the results of my latest pap smear faxed over (the one i got while i had insurance) before he would write the prescription.
and really, that isn't a terrible idea. i know there are some people who are not good about routine preventative health care, and that there have to be some checks to ensure that everyone's getting adequate exams and not just cruising in for birth control.
but this doctor's office i went to while i had insurance, where the exam was done, was terrible. they never call me back. they never call the pharmacy back. some of the doctors are assholes. sometimes when i call, no one answers. they were always at least twenty-five minutes late getting me in for my appointments, sometimes forty. i was transferred four times on the phone this morning when i tried to talk to them about getting the records transferred, during which time two different people told me that faxing the test results would be impossible. i eventually left a message for someone named paula, who i hope is more capable than her outgoing voicemail message implies. she has not yet called back. and i can't help feeling that it should be enough that i tell the doctor that i did, in fact, have a pap smear like a good girl, and it was normal.
because i did. and by the time the doctors' offices get it together (which will undoubtedly require three more mornings of phone calls), i will be out of pills. and the reason i don't want to be out of pills isn't because i'm a junkie, or a sex-fiend, or an irresponsible consumer who cares only about her immediate needs and can't be trusted to organize her own health care. it's because i don't want to get pregnant.
it could be a lot worse; it'll just take phone time and some moderate frustration. but it shouldn't be this hard at all. there shouldn't be so many hoops. i'm not trying to get away with something. it's birth control, not methadone.
paternalistic bastards. if men got pregnant, you'd be able to get the pill in gumball machines.
but his receptionist told me that i would have to have the results of my latest pap smear faxed over (the one i got while i had insurance) before he would write the prescription.
and really, that isn't a terrible idea. i know there are some people who are not good about routine preventative health care, and that there have to be some checks to ensure that everyone's getting adequate exams and not just cruising in for birth control.
but this doctor's office i went to while i had insurance, where the exam was done, was terrible. they never call me back. they never call the pharmacy back. some of the doctors are assholes. sometimes when i call, no one answers. they were always at least twenty-five minutes late getting me in for my appointments, sometimes forty. i was transferred four times on the phone this morning when i tried to talk to them about getting the records transferred, during which time two different people told me that faxing the test results would be impossible. i eventually left a message for someone named paula, who i hope is more capable than her outgoing voicemail message implies. she has not yet called back. and i can't help feeling that it should be enough that i tell the doctor that i did, in fact, have a pap smear like a good girl, and it was normal.
because i did. and by the time the doctors' offices get it together (which will undoubtedly require three more mornings of phone calls), i will be out of pills. and the reason i don't want to be out of pills isn't because i'm a junkie, or a sex-fiend, or an irresponsible consumer who cares only about her immediate needs and can't be trusted to organize her own health care. it's because i don't want to get pregnant.
it could be a lot worse; it'll just take phone time and some moderate frustration. but it shouldn't be this hard at all. there shouldn't be so many hoops. i'm not trying to get away with something. it's birth control, not methadone.
paternalistic bastards. if men got pregnant, you'd be able to get the pill in gumball machines.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
keep it simple, stupid.
everyone is telling such great stories.
i thought i would try to tell one, too, but i'm having a hard time coming up with anything.
there must be something.
i'm working on it.
it's a little disturbing to consider that all my stories are actually anecdotes that are over in a paragraph.
anyway. if you can think of one, you should let me know.
i thought i would try to tell one, too, but i'm having a hard time coming up with anything.
there must be something.
i'm working on it.
it's a little disturbing to consider that all my stories are actually anecdotes that are over in a paragraph.
anyway. if you can think of one, you should let me know.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
because i know you're not tired of this yet!
one of my friends, the one i spoke about in the last post, strongly suggested that i talk to as many people as i can in the next months, as i'm trying to make this graduate school decision. so i wrote emails the next day to this dramaturg i know, this writer guy who teaches at a community college in manhattan, a former college professor and a couple friends-of-friends.
my old college professor, someone i really like, sent me an email that returned me right back to the euphoria i felt when i first thought i'd decided to do this. i actually cried a little.
It's so good to hear from you! Not that I ever doubted that you'd show up at some point, but still...it's nice to know that you've not been run over by a bus or some other terrible thing. Then again, making major decisions regarding your career is no walk in the park...
I (think I) understand exactly what you're up against: Should you continue to do what you love, even though it requires more or less constant struggle, or should you take a chance on an academic option and achieve greater stability? Honestly, I think that the academic option is exactly the right one. You would still be able to act, and, equally important, you'd be living a life in which you still eat, drink, and breathe theatre...that is, you'd be discussing it, and criticizing it, and teaching it, and reading about it. You'd also be professionally obliged to attend it, and you'd remain connected to it as an industry or institution, both locally and nationally.
Here's the other part: I think you'd be a terrific teacher, and you would thrive on the energy from students just as they would find your energy and vitality irresistable.
By the by, I don't advise everyone to go into academics. In fact, I tell lots of people that I don't think it's the right path for them; however, you'd fit perfectly into a college campus as a faculty member.
I think you should go back to school and do the MA, and probably the Ph.D., although that's another conversation (one involving whether you love marathons, and the question of how rewarding you find research). Sorry--I'm being sort of brutally unequivocal with your life and options, but I trust you to take this with a grain of salt, as the old saying goes.
Let me know what you wind up deciding.
Best wishes! Good luck!
--David
my old college professor, someone i really like, sent me an email that returned me right back to the euphoria i felt when i first thought i'd decided to do this. i actually cried a little.
It's so good to hear from you! Not that I ever doubted that you'd show up at some point, but still...it's nice to know that you've not been run over by a bus or some other terrible thing. Then again, making major decisions regarding your career is no walk in the park...
I (think I) understand exactly what you're up against: Should you continue to do what you love, even though it requires more or less constant struggle, or should you take a chance on an academic option and achieve greater stability? Honestly, I think that the academic option is exactly the right one. You would still be able to act, and, equally important, you'd be living a life in which you still eat, drink, and breathe theatre...that is, you'd be discussing it, and criticizing it, and teaching it, and reading about it. You'd also be professionally obliged to attend it, and you'd remain connected to it as an industry or institution, both locally and nationally.
Here's the other part: I think you'd be a terrific teacher, and you would thrive on the energy from students just as they would find your energy and vitality irresistable.
By the by, I don't advise everyone to go into academics. In fact, I tell lots of people that I don't think it's the right path for them; however, you'd fit perfectly into a college campus as a faculty member.
I think you should go back to school and do the MA, and probably the Ph.D., although that's another conversation (one involving whether you love marathons, and the question of how rewarding you find research). Sorry--I'm being sort of brutally unequivocal with your life and options, but I trust you to take this with a grain of salt, as the old saying goes.
Let me know what you wind up deciding.
Best wishes! Good luck!
--David
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
one of these things is not like the others! actually, none of these things is like the others!
i forgot to say that when i was talking to my friend, she suggested that going back to school wasn't the only way to catalyze a large-scale change in my life.
and my response was, yes. i suppose that's true.
pause.
i could become a buddhist. or have a baby.
but i couldn't think of anything else, so apparently that's it! change comes in three flavors! school, codification of the spiritual, or spawn!
and my response was, yes. i suppose that's true.
pause.
i could become a buddhist. or have a baby.
but i couldn't think of anything else, so apparently that's it! change comes in three flavors! school, codification of the spiritual, or spawn!
pennywise.
why am i dithering about what oven we are going to have?
there is $120 difference between the one i really want and the one that is just okay. i used to buy suits that cost more than that. i don't anymore, which is probably why it seems like a bigger deal now, but this isn't a suit, it's a major appliance. i am not going to donate this oven to the chicken soup brigade once it has moth holes in it. it isn't frivolous, we do need an oven, and the nicer it is the better it will work and the longer it will last.
kee-rist.
perspective is in short supply. decisions are beyond me.
i need to go put some pants on.
god knows how long that's gonna take.
there is $120 difference between the one i really want and the one that is just okay. i used to buy suits that cost more than that. i don't anymore, which is probably why it seems like a bigger deal now, but this isn't a suit, it's a major appliance. i am not going to donate this oven to the chicken soup brigade once it has moth holes in it. it isn't frivolous, we do need an oven, and the nicer it is the better it will work and the longer it will last.
kee-rist.
perspective is in short supply. decisions are beyond me.
i need to go put some pants on.
god knows how long that's gonna take.
suckered. sucking.
i let myself get got. i had what i thought was a relatively successful first audition for a (crappy showcase of) a play i love, and then i was out with a friend when my phone rang the night before the callback, the night of the last day of initial auditions.
i really thought it was them.
it totally was a hangup, and the voice mail was just the sound of a cradled receiver and phone tone.
not a big deal, but i feel particularly bad about it when i let my guard down. it's surprising how much i thought it mattered.
i talked with the friend last night about a potential move to an academic graduate program. she advised (appropriately) caution; which is fine, i just . . . gah. this decision is not getting made, and i'm starting to feel like it's just a lose-lose. a year away from auditioning and a move towards something else is not giving up on the dream, but it is sort of writing off new york, because if i thought it was going to work or i would progress appreciably, i wouldn't bow out for a year.
on the other hand, if i don't go and then spend the next calendar year like the last two, i will feel like a chump. even if, yeah, i don't know exactly why this master's degree is a good idea or what i really want or any of that. i don't want to make a dumb decision, but some days a perpetuation of the staus quo seems like as dumb as dumb gets.
crap.
i really thought it was them.
it totally was a hangup, and the voice mail was just the sound of a cradled receiver and phone tone.
not a big deal, but i feel particularly bad about it when i let my guard down. it's surprising how much i thought it mattered.
i talked with the friend last night about a potential move to an academic graduate program. she advised (appropriately) caution; which is fine, i just . . . gah. this decision is not getting made, and i'm starting to feel like it's just a lose-lose. a year away from auditioning and a move towards something else is not giving up on the dream, but it is sort of writing off new york, because if i thought it was going to work or i would progress appreciably, i wouldn't bow out for a year.
on the other hand, if i don't go and then spend the next calendar year like the last two, i will feel like a chump. even if, yeah, i don't know exactly why this master's degree is a good idea or what i really want or any of that. i don't want to make a dumb decision, but some days a perpetuation of the staus quo seems like as dumb as dumb gets.
crap.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
sweating for no good reason.
if there ever is a time when what i do for money is more closely related to what i love, i will be grateful for the obvious reasons, but also because it is so much work to care this much about two things this different.
or maybe anxiety rather than work. don't get me wrong; i could give a flying crap about testing software. unless it was software that had to do with muppets or tom stoppard or curing cancer. but because i work a job that i am always on the edge of not being experienced enough to do, there is often this low-grade fever of what am i gonna do/i'm gonna get found out going on during business hours. my strong inclination to do as little as possible for The Man exacerbates this malaise when it hits, because honestly, my desire to increase my knowledge and mastery of this industry is nil. and then i double-time it, motivated by fear rather than any wish to excel at improving a product that exists only to make money for businesstypes and adds literally no value to my community or anyone else's. except, i guess, for the bosses whose hot tubs in the hamptons it pays for.
so on one hand: dayjob can suck it. on the other hand, like everyone: i need it. so when i feel like i'm in over my head and i'm tap dancing as fast as i can and my sloth may have finally caught up with me AND my "art" or "career" or whatever is careening down Shit Street . . .
a majority of the day is stress rather than satisfaction. in both ends of life i feel like i'm wearing a miss america sash that reads, i'm not capable! at least i'm relatively well-paid and i can leave this part here at six pee em. and go home and tap dance to an entirely different tune.
or maybe anxiety rather than work. don't get me wrong; i could give a flying crap about testing software. unless it was software that had to do with muppets or tom stoppard or curing cancer. but because i work a job that i am always on the edge of not being experienced enough to do, there is often this low-grade fever of what am i gonna do/i'm gonna get found out going on during business hours. my strong inclination to do as little as possible for The Man exacerbates this malaise when it hits, because honestly, my desire to increase my knowledge and mastery of this industry is nil. and then i double-time it, motivated by fear rather than any wish to excel at improving a product that exists only to make money for businesstypes and adds literally no value to my community or anyone else's. except, i guess, for the bosses whose hot tubs in the hamptons it pays for.
so on one hand: dayjob can suck it. on the other hand, like everyone: i need it. so when i feel like i'm in over my head and i'm tap dancing as fast as i can and my sloth may have finally caught up with me AND my "art" or "career" or whatever is careening down Shit Street . . .
a majority of the day is stress rather than satisfaction. in both ends of life i feel like i'm wearing a miss america sash that reads, i'm not capable! at least i'm relatively well-paid and i can leave this part here at six pee em. and go home and tap dance to an entirely different tune.
Monday, September 12, 2005
update.
the monkey just showed up at dayjobland with his beautiful, beautiful face and an anniversary milkshake.
maybe it's the tryptophan, but i do feel calmer.
maybe it's the tryptophan, but i do feel calmer.
three years ago today.
last night i got very excited about going to bed at ten with my book. i'd had some healthy food, plus two cookies and some potato chips, i'd watched a small amount of television and done some work. the day itself had been sort of up and down--i'd used the last of a spa gift certificate the monkey gave me last christmas to have a massage. that part was great. when i came home i needed to rehearse a monologue for an audition the next day (today).
and that part didn't go so well. unconfidence abounds. i'm sucking, and i can tell that what would really help is managing to accomplish something encouraging. doing something well. lacking this, i am starting to feel so bad about Doing Acting that i want to put my head in a bucket and sing songs rather than go to another audition that just seems bound to prolong the cycle.
i finally just gave up, and decided what happened today was going to happen. and i crawled into bed, and got a small warm bump of happy at the idea of reading as long as i wanted while lying down somewhere soft.
and i did, but when i turned the light off, the night anxiety came creeping through the bushes to get me. it starts with odd bits of wakefullness just as i'm starting to fall asleep. the monkey will make a breath sound and i'll feel my heart jump as if he'd dropped a brick next to my head. i start to get afraid. and then there isn't any stopping it.
this was a bad one. i started shaking, which hadn't happened before. i took a pill, but it didn't kick in for a bit. i nudged the monkey and told him what was going on, but he didn't fully wake up. he put his arm around me protectively, which was nice, but didn't stop the shaking. and then i conked out when the pill started.
yesterday was the first september eleventh that i haven't remembered what day it was right away. i'd forgotten until i turned the television on and they were reading the names. i listened until i had to leave for the spa, which seemed sort of . . . inappropriate. but i guess i know now how they could fit me in on such short notice. not so much call for aromatherapy wraps on a date that's become a shorthand for horror and destruction.
maybe that was part of the scariness in the night.
this morning i gave the monkey a card i'd made for our third anniversary. i'm still feeling oddly scared, and like i'd rather put my head in a bucket, but i'll go to this audition and do my thing, even if it sucks, and then i will go read stage directions at this reading i couldn't say no to because it's as close as i've come in six months to being in a play, and i will not get to have romantic thai food with my boyfriend, and i will go home tired, and then maybe tomorrow will feel better.
and that part didn't go so well. unconfidence abounds. i'm sucking, and i can tell that what would really help is managing to accomplish something encouraging. doing something well. lacking this, i am starting to feel so bad about Doing Acting that i want to put my head in a bucket and sing songs rather than go to another audition that just seems bound to prolong the cycle.
i finally just gave up, and decided what happened today was going to happen. and i crawled into bed, and got a small warm bump of happy at the idea of reading as long as i wanted while lying down somewhere soft.
and i did, but when i turned the light off, the night anxiety came creeping through the bushes to get me. it starts with odd bits of wakefullness just as i'm starting to fall asleep. the monkey will make a breath sound and i'll feel my heart jump as if he'd dropped a brick next to my head. i start to get afraid. and then there isn't any stopping it.
this was a bad one. i started shaking, which hadn't happened before. i took a pill, but it didn't kick in for a bit. i nudged the monkey and told him what was going on, but he didn't fully wake up. he put his arm around me protectively, which was nice, but didn't stop the shaking. and then i conked out when the pill started.
yesterday was the first september eleventh that i haven't remembered what day it was right away. i'd forgotten until i turned the television on and they were reading the names. i listened until i had to leave for the spa, which seemed sort of . . . inappropriate. but i guess i know now how they could fit me in on such short notice. not so much call for aromatherapy wraps on a date that's become a shorthand for horror and destruction.
maybe that was part of the scariness in the night.
this morning i gave the monkey a card i'd made for our third anniversary. i'm still feeling oddly scared, and like i'd rather put my head in a bucket, but i'll go to this audition and do my thing, even if it sucks, and then i will go read stage directions at this reading i couldn't say no to because it's as close as i've come in six months to being in a play, and i will not get to have romantic thai food with my boyfriend, and i will go home tired, and then maybe tomorrow will feel better.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
agony.
this happened ten blocks from my apartment. i tried to think of something to say about it, but my head just makes white noise.
and speaking of inexplicable horrors, thank god someone appreciates the necessity of direct, concrete aid to the drowning and starving of new orleans. "slowly" and "ineffectually," you say? well, maybe if you call jesus slow and ineffectual!
>>Bush Pledges to Expedite Aid to Gulf Region; Day of Prayer Is Set
WASHINGTON, Sept. 8 - President Bush said today that he would work with Congress to "cut through the red tape" and get federal aid as fast as possible to people whose lives had been disrupted by wind and flood along the Gulf Coast.
"The government is going to be with you for the long haul," Mr. Bush said in a brief speech at the White House as he and Vice President Dick Cheney tried to counter charges that their administration had reacted slowly and ineffectively to the crisis. The president said that Sept. 16, next Friday, would be designated a national day of prayer and remembrance.<<
i guess if you can't get a bottle of water, a can of tuna, or a ride out of hell, you can at least get an amen.
There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread. -- Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist
and speaking of inexplicable horrors, thank god someone appreciates the necessity of direct, concrete aid to the drowning and starving of new orleans. "slowly" and "ineffectually," you say? well, maybe if you call jesus slow and ineffectual!
>>Bush Pledges to Expedite Aid to Gulf Region; Day of Prayer Is Set
WASHINGTON, Sept. 8 - President Bush said today that he would work with Congress to "cut through the red tape" and get federal aid as fast as possible to people whose lives had been disrupted by wind and flood along the Gulf Coast.
"The government is going to be with you for the long haul," Mr. Bush said in a brief speech at the White House as he and Vice President Dick Cheney tried to counter charges that their administration had reacted slowly and ineffectively to the crisis. The president said that Sept. 16, next Friday, would be designated a national day of prayer and remembrance.<<
i guess if you can't get a bottle of water, a can of tuna, or a ride out of hell, you can at least get an amen.
There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread. -- Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
and so it begins.
the couch came.
may not seem like a big deal to you, but this is the single most expensive thing i've ever bought that wasn't an apartment. sofa-things are way more expensive than i thought. when we knew we needed a couch for the new apartment, there were almost no options between the ikea futon sofa and upwards of a thousand bucks.
sometimes, i can't believe i can even type "thousand bucks." being so well-off you can use that kind of money for something to sit on, even if it's yours because someone died and gave it to you and home is a nice thing to make, makes me a little bit queasy.
but i did it, so i guess i'm not so above all that.
also, the man came today and planned the ikeazation of our gross pullman kitchen. about to be not gross! anonymous and birchy, perhaps, but not. gross. for the amount of time it's taking and worry involved, though, i feel like we are gestating and birthing the kitchen, not buying it.
you're all invited to the kitchen warming/cookie party we're throwing in december. the first time we had the cookie party, we only invited one other couple, and they ended up practically getting divorced in the kitchen. the story of the second time i've already told. three: please be a charm.
(the show went great last night. no potatoes to speak of.)
may not seem like a big deal to you, but this is the single most expensive thing i've ever bought that wasn't an apartment. sofa-things are way more expensive than i thought. when we knew we needed a couch for the new apartment, there were almost no options between the ikea futon sofa and upwards of a thousand bucks.
sometimes, i can't believe i can even type "thousand bucks." being so well-off you can use that kind of money for something to sit on, even if it's yours because someone died and gave it to you and home is a nice thing to make, makes me a little bit queasy.
but i did it, so i guess i'm not so above all that.
also, the man came today and planned the ikeazation of our gross pullman kitchen. about to be not gross! anonymous and birchy, perhaps, but not. gross. for the amount of time it's taking and worry involved, though, i feel like we are gestating and birthing the kitchen, not buying it.
you're all invited to the kitchen warming/cookie party we're throwing in december. the first time we had the cookie party, we only invited one other couple, and they ended up practically getting divorced in the kitchen. the story of the second time i've already told. three: please be a charm.
(the show went great last night. no potatoes to speak of.)
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
i covet the bucket of shoes.
i'm doing my bit of solo show, tonight. as much as it's necessary to keep showing it in pieces--mostly so i have a deadline for the drafts--and i should be grateful for the shot, i sort of hate the way it happens. i tell myself that it isn't a big deal, that it's a reading of a work in progress, but then the evening never feels like that all. the evening feels like you landed in an opening night without a dress rehearsal, and none of the people there are going to come back once you know what you're doing. which doesn't sound so much like a "show" as an audition.
and everyone knows how fun those are.
to compound the nervousy, i have had a crippling case of social anxiety all weekend. we went to a play directed by a friend--someone we really like, and would like even if he were a plumber, but who also is sort of a Big Dog and we'd like to ensure he has a chance to help us out professionally. here is the thing: he knew the monkey during their childhood years when the monkey, raised catholic, used to go to methodist y0uth r@llies to meet girls (i may have told you that story before. sorry if it's a repeat.). it is a very tenuous connection. and yet this guy has decided he LOOOVES the monkey. he lurves him. i have actually spent more time in the Big Dog's company--i took a scene study class with him recently, and on the first day of class he didn't recognize me, despite having met me three times. i kind of wish i'd missed those auditions and just gone to more methodist youth rallies.
he asks the monkey to go have lunch, he comes to see his fringe shows, he says that we should double date. but he never says it to me, he always says it while he's pointed towards my boyfriend. this sort of makes me feel like arm candy, since i have had no shows for him to come see so that he can profess that he loves me, too. he said nice things to me in the class he taught, but i heard him say nice things to almost every young woman there. to make matters worse, his very cool and smart girlfriend is a casting director, and when the monkey and i stand with the two of them, i slowly descend into panic mode. the monkey blithely makes seamless and witty social talk, and i stand there silently like i am made out of potatoes.
so that was the weekend, and tonight is the show. the "show." and i am nervous. please don't let me be made out of potatoes when the lights come up.
and everyone knows how fun those are.
to compound the nervousy, i have had a crippling case of social anxiety all weekend. we went to a play directed by a friend--someone we really like, and would like even if he were a plumber, but who also is sort of a Big Dog and we'd like to ensure he has a chance to help us out professionally. here is the thing: he knew the monkey during their childhood years when the monkey, raised catholic, used to go to methodist y0uth r@llies to meet girls (i may have told you that story before. sorry if it's a repeat.). it is a very tenuous connection. and yet this guy has decided he LOOOVES the monkey. he lurves him. i have actually spent more time in the Big Dog's company--i took a scene study class with him recently, and on the first day of class he didn't recognize me, despite having met me three times. i kind of wish i'd missed those auditions and just gone to more methodist youth rallies.
he asks the monkey to go have lunch, he comes to see his fringe shows, he says that we should double date. but he never says it to me, he always says it while he's pointed towards my boyfriend. this sort of makes me feel like arm candy, since i have had no shows for him to come see so that he can profess that he loves me, too. he said nice things to me in the class he taught, but i heard him say nice things to almost every young woman there. to make matters worse, his very cool and smart girlfriend is a casting director, and when the monkey and i stand with the two of them, i slowly descend into panic mode. the monkey blithely makes seamless and witty social talk, and i stand there silently like i am made out of potatoes.
so that was the weekend, and tonight is the show. the "show." and i am nervous. please don't let me be made out of potatoes when the lights come up.
Friday, September 02, 2005
i want to wear a hard-hat.
i'd been ruminating about anonymity--or rather, pseudonymity, i guess. there's been an explosion of blogs among my friends and sort-of-acquaintences, and most everybody i know who's started in the last year uses his or her real name--or at least doesn't hide it.
when i started, i had this idea that i'd know who some of you were, but none of you would know who i was! because i would be crafty and not let any identifying details slip! that lasted for about four days!
so now i'm sort of pseudo-anonymous, since it's next to impossible to write about anything half-way interesting without imparting clues to your identity, even with a tortured system of code names for everyone who you don't want to find the blog when they google themselves.
this is an appropriate tangent: i google myself regularly. i'm sure everyone does. i also google some of the very people i was once concerned would find this blog: the monkey, certain and possible employers, ex-boyfriends, ex-wives. i would like to add that those are some completely fine people, except for one; it's just that without the protection of the fake name i was (am) convinced i would run into one of them at cafe ladro and s/he would look at me with this certain glint that says, i know something about you and i would immediately begin to stammer or submissively urinate. awkward.
there are a couple people i am constantly waiting to run into. i am practicing my reaction, so i will have it down pat when the time comes and all i can see is white light and i can't remember any verbs. three guesses who the first one is. the other one is this guy i thought was The Guy, before i met the monkey.
i was pretty sure. he was not sure. whatever it was we were doing eventually sort of stumbled away to die, but not before an important exchange left me feeling i'd been treated shabbily. no one can blame you for changing your mind, but if you're handing someone's heart back to her, and you fumble and drop it, maybe complete radio silence isn't the best response. especially when you asked the heart-giver repeatedly if you could still contact her, and she was hesitant but eventually told you you could write her a letter if you wanted, and you immediately said you would, and made a point of saying so more than once, and used the word "promise," and even asked her to email the correct mailing address, which made her feel really dumb when it turned out you never wrote to her at all. and then you just sort of left it that way, forever, as if it hadn't happened or you never loved her even back then (maybe you didn't; you said possibly the lamest thing ever after saying i love you, which is: " . . . and i don't know what that means.").
and then she moved to the city you live in, and was convinced for the first six months that it was only a matter of time until the two of you met by accident. she practiced her face a lot and two separate times got all hyperventilatey thinking she saw you on the subway.
she doesn't think about it so much now, but she still googles you once in a while, enough to find out today that you do not live in her city anymore. you and your nice-looking girlfriend, the one you were meeting during the heart-drop episode, have moved to another continent and have a blog. maybe she tried to read the whole blog, skimming to see if she could find any phrases like "at the wedding," or "since we got married." none of those come up, although there is a profile on the blog for a third person, with a boy's name, and she was momentarily petrified that you maybe made a kid before she did. (you didn't. the profile belongs to your cat.)
here is the thing: we both turned out better. that is not in dispute. whatever is going on with you in deepest africa is clearly better than the stunted thing we could never quite get off the ground, and i have to admit that nothing we did or had holds a candle to my current situation. but i'm still theoretically pissed. and still hurt, in a sort of oblique way, like i have a bad break-up shoulder that acts up when it rains. maybe what happened was just a natural imperfect thing, and that's how it goes, but when people say i matter and then act like i don't, i turn into a tornado.
if you are reading this, you, you should say something. i don't think you are, but if you are, you should really pipe up. i like to know my audience.
when i started, i had this idea that i'd know who some of you were, but none of you would know who i was! because i would be crafty and not let any identifying details slip! that lasted for about four days!
so now i'm sort of pseudo-anonymous, since it's next to impossible to write about anything half-way interesting without imparting clues to your identity, even with a tortured system of code names for everyone who you don't want to find the blog when they google themselves.
this is an appropriate tangent: i google myself regularly. i'm sure everyone does. i also google some of the very people i was once concerned would find this blog: the monkey, certain and possible employers, ex-boyfriends, ex-wives. i would like to add that those are some completely fine people, except for one; it's just that without the protection of the fake name i was (am) convinced i would run into one of them at cafe ladro and s/he would look at me with this certain glint that says, i know something about you and i would immediately begin to stammer or submissively urinate. awkward.
there are a couple people i am constantly waiting to run into. i am practicing my reaction, so i will have it down pat when the time comes and all i can see is white light and i can't remember any verbs. three guesses who the first one is. the other one is this guy i thought was The Guy, before i met the monkey.
i was pretty sure. he was not sure. whatever it was we were doing eventually sort of stumbled away to die, but not before an important exchange left me feeling i'd been treated shabbily. no one can blame you for changing your mind, but if you're handing someone's heart back to her, and you fumble and drop it, maybe complete radio silence isn't the best response. especially when you asked the heart-giver repeatedly if you could still contact her, and she was hesitant but eventually told you you could write her a letter if you wanted, and you immediately said you would, and made a point of saying so more than once, and used the word "promise," and even asked her to email the correct mailing address, which made her feel really dumb when it turned out you never wrote to her at all. and then you just sort of left it that way, forever, as if it hadn't happened or you never loved her even back then (maybe you didn't; you said possibly the lamest thing ever after saying i love you, which is: " . . . and i don't know what that means.").
and then she moved to the city you live in, and was convinced for the first six months that it was only a matter of time until the two of you met by accident. she practiced her face a lot and two separate times got all hyperventilatey thinking she saw you on the subway.
she doesn't think about it so much now, but she still googles you once in a while, enough to find out today that you do not live in her city anymore. you and your nice-looking girlfriend, the one you were meeting during the heart-drop episode, have moved to another continent and have a blog. maybe she tried to read the whole blog, skimming to see if she could find any phrases like "at the wedding," or "since we got married." none of those come up, although there is a profile on the blog for a third person, with a boy's name, and she was momentarily petrified that you maybe made a kid before she did. (you didn't. the profile belongs to your cat.)
here is the thing: we both turned out better. that is not in dispute. whatever is going on with you in deepest africa is clearly better than the stunted thing we could never quite get off the ground, and i have to admit that nothing we did or had holds a candle to my current situation. but i'm still theoretically pissed. and still hurt, in a sort of oblique way, like i have a bad break-up shoulder that acts up when it rains. maybe what happened was just a natural imperfect thing, and that's how it goes, but when people say i matter and then act like i don't, i turn into a tornado.
if you are reading this, you, you should say something. i don't think you are, but if you are, you should really pipe up. i like to know my audience.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
he is that good.
the kieran. he is my favorite. don't tell the other babies, but it's true.
didn't stop me from dropping him. he does this thing where he likes to "walk," supported by two grown-up hands for balance and to support his wait. he loves it. he wants to do it constantly. and it's easier for me than for anyone else, because i am closer to the ground and can give him my hands without having to bend over.
except he let go of one hand and leaned over and his sweaty little finger slipped right out of my hand, and his forehead fell right into a tower of plastic blocks.
i broke him.
not a lot. he's fine, with a tiny cheek abrasion. but i feel like i've soiled my auntie reputation. sigh.
my two friends who made him, though, it was so interesting to see them turn into 100% parent. they were on it. they say they don't feel different, but they are totally. parents. now.
so. i'm home.
and it's good, too.
the monkey and i were so happy to see each other, we danced. i have to say, i may talk a lot about what i haven't got, but sometimes i shouldn't. because i am so stupid happy with this guy. you wouldn't believe.
i can wait.
i can wait for a little while.
