I had to post this too, because I Googled "He's Just Not That Into You" with various opposing adjectives attached (patronizing, insulting, realistic, honest, condescending, etc.) to see what others think about it. And it turns out I'm not the only one who takes issue with it. Now, AGAIN, I don't hate the concept altogether. I just think it's not an end-all, be-all RULE for any and all relationships.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/feb/10/hes-just-not-that-into-you
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Hopelessly Devoted To You
Okay. I just finished watching the movie "He's Just Not That Into You" and I'm conflicted. I did enjoy certain aspects of this movie. But for a fluffy romantic comedy, it made me think. And I became extremely pessimistic about the future of relationships in general.
Disclaimer: I'd like to preface this by saying I don't have that much relationship experience, so what do I know? About anything? I'm only 27. However, what do the writers of this movie know? What do men know, what do women know? What gives any of us the authority to refer to everything in such black and white terms? Nothing, that's what. We might think we know, but no one KNOWS anything for sure. But if those writers are allowed to put out a book and a movie--adding a pop culture phrase to the lexicon and claiming it as truth, I'm allowed to express my thoughts about it. Also, this is my blog. ;) The point is, neither of us is completely right or completely wrong. What I'm saying AND what they're saying are pretty much matters of opinion. Because (and this is one of this movie's "lessons") there are always exceptions to the "rules". (But wait, there are no "rules" anymore, are there? Because it's 2009 and therefore, those rules are meant to be broken. Or, wait, are they? Uh...what?)
Oy.
I'm going to start by saying that I completely agree with the fact that a woman should not stay with, be with, or entertain excessive thoughts about a man who is not giving her what she wants. Fine. I don't think there is ANYTHING wrong with getting some tough love in order to be able to move on and find what makes you happy. Self-esteem, empowerment, blah blah blah, woot. The problem with this is that this movie, book, premise is hinting at the idea that most of what we want from men (consideration, consistency, and any kind of vulnerability whatsoever) is unreasonable and irrational, especially from someone who hasn't made a commitment to us yet. And if we follow this school of thought, it suspiciously seems as if NO guy, ever, is going to treat us the way we want to be treated--because they ALL act like this and we should have known that going into it. How dumb are we, women? Moreover, we won't get any kind of commitment until he decides that we're SO worth it that he can't live without us. It's all or nothing. And how often does THAT happen (unless you're in a star-studded cast and therefore only hang out with people who are freakishly attractive)? So why should we even bother trying? It might as well be called, "He's A Douchebag...Until He Isn't." I mean, there are so many girls out there, right? He has to try everyone and everything else until he realizes that, wait, she IS the one that I want after all! I can't stop thinking about her, so I guess she'll do--she beat me into submission just by being herself! Damn her! I was a fool and now I DO want her! Come back to me--please, baby baby please! (Until I get sick of her and see some hot, busty blonde in a grocery store and SHE turns out to be the one I want, even though I've only known her for ten minutes!)
Men and women are constantly, CONSTANTLY given conflicting advice on how to "behave" around each other. Girls, you shouldn't call him. Let him call you. If he wants to talk, he'll call you--because after all, he's the man and he should be totally in control of where this "relationship" is going (and by the way, don't you dare ask "where it's going", ever, because only crazy girls do that). What he wants out of it is the main factor of how it's all going to go, and he also doesn't have to share his thoughts about that with you. Ever. Until you ask, which you're not "supposed" to do and which also means you're forcing him. What he thinks about it is what matters the most--guys want what they want, but only for right now, and that's how they are. Deal with it until he decides that, hey, maybe he IS "into you"--so much that he wants to marry you. And then you should drop everything and forget about how unavailable he was and how he felt it was completely acceptable to treat you however he wanted. Because he was right all along--he just needed time. And now you win! What a lucky lady you are; take him back immediately!
But wait! Wait! Men like a confident woman who knows what she wants and can take charge, right? And he wants to know that you care enough to call, too, right? RIGHT? If you don't call at all, you're clearly a prissy, spoiled bitch who expects him to do all the work. (I bet you'll never pay for anything when you go out on dates, too.) So yeah, maybe you should call. It's 2009, for God's sake--but, speaking of God, God forbid you call too much or too soon, because then you're a psycho. How dare you express any kind of fondness toward someone who indicated that he liked you, you psycho? What a stalker you are for thinking about him so often! Control your thoughts, and yourself! Why can't you be more like him--instead of having feelings for one person, imagine how awesome and entirely plausible it would be to fuck every single reasonably attractive person of the opposite sex? He is SO smart for thinking that way, and you're just a flowery, overemotional, weak woman who's staying at home, writing about him in your diary on a Friday night. So change your ways--oh, but while you're imagining (and possibly following through on) having sex with all those people (by the way, you're a whore for doing that, but he isn't), you should keep him in mind, though. Because he might come back. And then you should get married.
"But for seven years, he said he didn't believe in marriage!"
Well, he does now. He changed his mind.
"But you can't change people--"
Yes, yes you can. Wait long enough and he'll come around.
"But--"
SHHHH! Shhhhh--here's a pretty diamond.
"Oooooooh! Yay!"
Disclaimer: I'd like to preface this by saying I don't have that much relationship experience, so what do I know? About anything? I'm only 27. However, what do the writers of this movie know? What do men know, what do women know? What gives any of us the authority to refer to everything in such black and white terms? Nothing, that's what. We might think we know, but no one KNOWS anything for sure. But if those writers are allowed to put out a book and a movie--adding a pop culture phrase to the lexicon and claiming it as truth, I'm allowed to express my thoughts about it. Also, this is my blog. ;) The point is, neither of us is completely right or completely wrong. What I'm saying AND what they're saying are pretty much matters of opinion. Because (and this is one of this movie's "lessons") there are always exceptions to the "rules". (But wait, there are no "rules" anymore, are there? Because it's 2009 and therefore, those rules are meant to be broken. Or, wait, are they? Uh...what?)
Oy.
I'm going to start by saying that I completely agree with the fact that a woman should not stay with, be with, or entertain excessive thoughts about a man who is not giving her what she wants. Fine. I don't think there is ANYTHING wrong with getting some tough love in order to be able to move on and find what makes you happy. Self-esteem, empowerment, blah blah blah, woot. The problem with this is that this movie, book, premise is hinting at the idea that most of what we want from men (consideration, consistency, and any kind of vulnerability whatsoever) is unreasonable and irrational, especially from someone who hasn't made a commitment to us yet. And if we follow this school of thought, it suspiciously seems as if NO guy, ever, is going to treat us the way we want to be treated--because they ALL act like this and we should have known that going into it. How dumb are we, women? Moreover, we won't get any kind of commitment until he decides that we're SO worth it that he can't live without us. It's all or nothing. And how often does THAT happen (unless you're in a star-studded cast and therefore only hang out with people who are freakishly attractive)? So why should we even bother trying? It might as well be called, "He's A Douchebag...Until He Isn't." I mean, there are so many girls out there, right? He has to try everyone and everything else until he realizes that, wait, she IS the one that I want after all! I can't stop thinking about her, so I guess she'll do--she beat me into submission just by being herself! Damn her! I was a fool and now I DO want her! Come back to me--please, baby baby please! (Until I get sick of her and see some hot, busty blonde in a grocery store and SHE turns out to be the one I want, even though I've only known her for ten minutes!)
Men and women are constantly, CONSTANTLY given conflicting advice on how to "behave" around each other. Girls, you shouldn't call him. Let him call you. If he wants to talk, he'll call you--because after all, he's the man and he should be totally in control of where this "relationship" is going (and by the way, don't you dare ask "where it's going", ever, because only crazy girls do that). What he wants out of it is the main factor of how it's all going to go, and he also doesn't have to share his thoughts about that with you. Ever. Until you ask, which you're not "supposed" to do and which also means you're forcing him. What he thinks about it is what matters the most--guys want what they want, but only for right now, and that's how they are. Deal with it until he decides that, hey, maybe he IS "into you"--so much that he wants to marry you. And then you should drop everything and forget about how unavailable he was and how he felt it was completely acceptable to treat you however he wanted. Because he was right all along--he just needed time. And now you win! What a lucky lady you are; take him back immediately!
But wait! Wait! Men like a confident woman who knows what she wants and can take charge, right? And he wants to know that you care enough to call, too, right? RIGHT? If you don't call at all, you're clearly a prissy, spoiled bitch who expects him to do all the work. (I bet you'll never pay for anything when you go out on dates, too.) So yeah, maybe you should call. It's 2009, for God's sake--but, speaking of God, God forbid you call too much or too soon, because then you're a psycho. How dare you express any kind of fondness toward someone who indicated that he liked you, you psycho? What a stalker you are for thinking about him so often! Control your thoughts, and yourself! Why can't you be more like him--instead of having feelings for one person, imagine how awesome and entirely plausible it would be to fuck every single reasonably attractive person of the opposite sex? He is SO smart for thinking that way, and you're just a flowery, overemotional, weak woman who's staying at home, writing about him in your diary on a Friday night. So change your ways--oh, but while you're imagining (and possibly following through on) having sex with all those people (by the way, you're a whore for doing that, but he isn't), you should keep him in mind, though. Because he might come back. And then you should get married.
"But for seven years, he said he didn't believe in marriage!"
Well, he does now. He changed his mind.
"But you can't change people--"
Yes, yes you can. Wait long enough and he'll come around.
"But--"
SHHHH! Shhhhh--here's a pretty diamond.
"Oooooooh! Yay!"
Contradictory, much? And while we're on the subject, I'd just like to quickly say that I'm just not that into diamonds. They're pretty, I agree. I like the idea of having a symbol of your commitment, and I'm not opposed to wearing a diamond ring. But they all look more or less the same to me. I've never gushed about anyone's ring before because quite simply, they're just "nice" to me.
The most honest part of this movie was when Gigi , the main character (played by Ginnifer Goodwin) tearfully tells Alex (Justin Long) that even though she obsesses over everything and has embarrassed herself many times, she is closer to finding love than he is. Which is absolutely true. I just don't see the problem with expressing how you feel about someone. If you want to call/email/text/visit often, DO IT! I hate the "wait a few days in between" rule. Everyone's always talking about "living life to the fullest, no day but today, tell people how you feel when you love them, you never know when something bad will happen, eat dessert first" blah blah blah. But when we tell people that we like them ("like" like) and that person's not ready, it's suddenly wrong. It's more like: you should always tell people how you feel, except in almost every single romantic situation that could possibly arise (if you're unmarried). Don't want to freak anyone out, after all. We're all so scared of losing each other that no one wants to express anything anymore. It hits close to home for me too--I'm not saying I'm right in this respect. I do it too. I've been described as "guarded"--well, it's no fucking wonder when you experience people's reactions to complete honesty. We think one thing and do the opposite--we want to be closer to someone, so we withdraw in order to appear "normal" and not frighten them. And we say we're going to call people back and hang out again in order to be polite--but in actuality, lying to them is much more impolite than just gently-but-firmly saying, "It's not going to happen." Sure, it smarts to hear that, but it smarts even more in the long run when you think you're doing and saying all the right things and the other person just disappears as a way to say they're not interested. And this is not male-exclusive. Girls do it too, maybe even more so, because we don't want to hurt feelings.
This whole blog/rant/essay could be considered hypocritical, so I just want to be clear here--I do, and think, many of the stupid things that were portrayed in this movie. When I first started watching it, I thought, "Wow! I've been there many times and so have all of my friends, male and female." I'm actually very much "into" someone right now, so it's just as much a learning process for me as it is for everyone else. And it's ongoing for all of us, I suppose. We're all constantly "walking the plank." I do think that some of the movie was true to life. And women do need to be smarter about their decisions and affections (also, men could stand to be a bit more open and honest) but that doesn't make any of it right. It doesn't solve anything. So what do we do, as a people? It's an age-old thing, playing "the game". Call her/don't call her too soon. Play hard to get/be available. Tell him how you feel/be cool and distant. Love should be easy/relationships are hard work. What are we to believe? It is all so exhausting. There shouldn't have to BE a "game" but there so obviously is. And it's heartbreaking to think that even if we find that someone and everything works out, it could still fall apart in a day, an hour, ten minutes. Even if you're married, that's not a guarantee for monogamy, forever, commitment, or happiness. In any way. So what do we do?
I guess we just find someone who can put up with all of our bullshit. Because we've all got it. I do, you do. No one is uncomplicated. We've all got stupid, unnecessary bullshit, moodiness, suspicions and past experiences that we bring to the table. Each of us is just a mosaic of our past experiences, upbringing, environment. A glass mosaic, even, that could shatter at any moment. And a relationship is like trying to fuse those two mosaics together to create something beautiful. And it does happen, right? We'd like to believe so. But the fragility is the scary part.
The bottom line is, love feels good. Platonically or otherwise, we all just want to be loved, and be AWARE that we're loved. If love is kept inside, as a secret, it's useless. So instead of giving up on each other completely, we should probably just be as honest and as real as we can be. Then it's all on the table. Oh, and let's try to keep hope alive. If we don't have each other, we have nothing.
xoxo
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?
Hey kids!
It’s been a while (for me) so I thought I’d write about today’s fun experience—my audition for the national tour of “Dreamgirls”. I had sent in a headshot and resume via email a few weeks ago, and they responded with what seemed to be a form letter that said something like, “Thank you for submitting. If we need anything further from you,we will be sure to contact you.” So I figured, fine, but what are the chances of hearing from them about this? I'd basically forgotten about it until...
At the same time I was successfully escaping jury duty, I received the aforementioned voicemail. I went into the restroom in central jury to check, because it was an unfamiliar number. And the first thing I think when I get a voicemail from an unfamiliar number is, “What if it’s a casting person?" And it was. They set me up for today at 2:50. They sent me some material to have prepared, and instructed me to wear something sexy. (In the casting agent’s words: “…like a sexy dress, show some leg, and wear a high heel.” It was nice of them to tell me that, because although I would have looked appropriate no matter what, I wouldn’t have thought to go quite so sexy with it.
There’s all this crazy prep that goes into an audition—at least, for me there is. I think it’s this way for any performer, but ESPECIALLY the ladies. First, I knew I would have the material memorized. If there’s adequate time to have something memorized, that’s what I’m going to do. Even if it’s overnight, I will have spent most of the night and well into the next morning committing that shit to memory. And this was over a week, so I thought, “Hell yes. I can do this.” You can always tell what really matters to a person by how much they’re willing to go through and how much prep they’ll gladly do, in order to do it right.
*Straight men, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. I promise you will not care about this part.* I’d like to point out that the dress I wore (which I’m still wearing as I write this) for the audition cost $15. I bought it on Sunday, and it has been my greatest victory today. I’ve gotten at least six compliments on it. Who says you can’t look great and be extremely thrifty? It’s all about your attitude, kids. That, and having a good eye for things that look more expensive than they are. My hair was in a bouffant-flip. For effect, I was also wearing faux-eyelashes. They’re fun, and very 60’s when you do cat’s-eye liquid eyeliner. In the elevator on the way up to the 6th floor, I put on my highest heels—a brutal, black vinyl pair that make my feet hurt like nobody’s business, but make my legs look great. They would more commonly be known as “FMP’s.”
So not only is there all that visual prep, there's also the prep that every good performer has to do every time he or she goes on an audition. Stretching, breathing excercises, vocal warmup--and for me, at least ten minutes inhaling from my personal steamer and warm tea with honey. We each have our own ritual. And in my case, it probably also involves stapling headshots and resumes together (sometimes at the very last minute possible) and taping my music, and arranging it JUST SO in order for the accompanist to be comfortable playing it. Some of them are brilliant and can pick up whatever music you give them right away (like today's, and another particular one I can think of off the top of my head), but not all of them. I've had a few not-so-great experiences. But I don't want to be a pain in the ass and have difficult, incomprehensible music. That's not fun for anyone involved, and you want to make a good impression on everyone. You just never know what they're going to say/think about you when you leave.
Bottom line, being a performer (not to mention balancing all this with your regular day job) is exhausting, challenging and takes a lot of dedication to very detailed processes. But if you love it enough and want it enough, you can find a way. It's like that with everything (and everyone), isn't it? I can't help but think that when I'm being lazy and not auditioning for things, I deserve everything I get (or don't get, rather). God helps those who help themselves, right? Lately, working my ass off at my "day" job and still auditioning meant that I was trying my hardest, and as a result I had two good auditions for really big, great shows. It must mean something.
So I gave myself plenty of time to get all this ready, left the apartment early, and went to Binder. The office I went to was much smaller than I'd expected, and in the hallway was a girl who clearly was also auditioning for Effie's understudy. Around the corner, in the tiny lobby, was another. Now, this is something I also noticed/thought about at the audition for "The Color Purple" but it was more pronounced in this situation: I was the lightest-skinned girl there. Black people (women especially, I've found) are sometimes guilty of prejudice against members of our own race. This obviously goes back to the days before any of us were born (paper-bag test, anyone?), but there's still a misconception sometimes that light-skinned girls think they're superior to and prettier than darker girls, that we get all the men because that's what they "prefer", etc. etc. I always feel just a momentary flash of insecurity when I'm the lightest black person in a group full of darker people--because I automatically think everyone's judging me, like, "Oh, she thinks she's cute because she's light" or, in the case of casting directors, "she's not dark enough for this role". Simply put, I worry just for a few seconds that I'm not black enough. I'm always able to get over that pretty quickly, but still, that's my first instinct. I remember, when I got the part of Dessa Rose, specifically talking about this with Gwen, who played my mama. We agreed that it was entirely plausible (perhaps even MORE plausible and way more interesting, psychologically) for Dessa to be the child of her slave mother and a slaveowner, and therefore it didn't much matter HOW dark the actress was who would be playing her.
As usual, I pushed that out of my mind, told myself I was just as capable as those girls, and started doing my thing--making sure my music was ready and that I looked good. While we were waiting, I found out that the first girl I'd seen in the hallway had A) come all the way from Virginia for this audition (and "Color Purple"--I know because I asked), B) never sung the "Dreamgirls" songs before (I had a leg-up--I'd done two of them for performance demos at AMDA) and C) not actually learned the songs. She didn't really even fully know them. WHHHAAAAAT?! She was hoping she wouldn't have to sing the stuff from the show--and if she did, she was going to go in there and hold her music in her hands. Oh. My. God. If that's not a clear message to the casting people that you don't care enough, I don't know what is. I acted like I sympathized but secretly I was like, "Yessssssss! You don't know them, and I know them so well I don't even have to think about it!" S'alright--more credibility for me, sis.
After the first girl finished, they called me in. I sang from the bridge to the end of "Vanishing" by Mariah Carey. It's from her very first album--it's just her and a piano, and it's one of my favorite songs of all time to sing (and perfectly appropriate as an audition song for this show). If you can sing it well, you can really "take 'em to church" with it. The casting director seemed to like that a lot; he was nodding his head to the rhythm. The accompanist, as I mentioned, was really great. I'd done all this copying and pasting to make it easy on him, and he handled the slight jumpy ghetto-ness of the sheet music beautifully. He played it really boldly and fluidly, without a hitch. Next, by request of the casting director, I sang "And I Am Telling You (I'm Not Going)" which, if you don't know the show, is that big showstopper that Jennifer Holliday originated and that bad singers like to ruin at American Idol auditions. It is the definition of a torch song. And you have to be able to not just sing, but "SANG" to do it. (As in, "You bettah SANG!") Luckily--even though it sounds super snotty to say so--I indeed can "sang". So I did. And I felt great doing it. Then I read some lines with a woman who was in the room, and those went well too. The casting director was one of those benign, emotionless ones who is completely pleasant, but on whom you can't really get a read. He said "Good job" a couple of times while I was in there. Then, when I'd finished all this, he asked, "So you're 5'5", wearing flats?" I said yes, he thanked me for coming, and I walked out. Happy. I know I did my best in there--I did everything passionately, and my voice was strong today. Those high notes came right out.
I couldn't resist telling the girl from VA that yes, we had to do the song. THAT song. She started panicking a little more--and with good reason. I mean, if someone tells you to prepare something, do it. Or you probably won't get the job. It's not rocket science, it's performing. Know your shit so you can focus on emoting, not your lines or your notes.
I'll know if I got a callback by Monday, I guess, because that's when they're being held. Of course, there's always a chance that they'll still call after that, if things fall through with someone (it happens), but I'd think after Monday the chances will be slim. So keep thinking good thoughts, kiddos, and I'll let you know the instant I hear anything. If.
xoxo
It’s been a while (for me) so I thought I’d write about today’s fun experience—my audition for the national tour of “Dreamgirls”. I had sent in a headshot and resume via email a few weeks ago, and they responded with what seemed to be a form letter that said something like, “Thank you for submitting. If we need anything further from you,we will be sure to contact you.” So I figured, fine, but what are the chances of hearing from them about this? I'd basically forgotten about it until...
At the same time I was successfully escaping jury duty, I received the aforementioned voicemail. I went into the restroom in central jury to check, because it was an unfamiliar number. And the first thing I think when I get a voicemail from an unfamiliar number is, “What if it’s a casting person?" And it was. They set me up for today at 2:50. They sent me some material to have prepared, and instructed me to wear something sexy. (In the casting agent’s words: “…like a sexy dress, show some leg, and wear a high heel.” It was nice of them to tell me that, because although I would have looked appropriate no matter what, I wouldn’t have thought to go quite so sexy with it.
There’s all this crazy prep that goes into an audition—at least, for me there is. I think it’s this way for any performer, but ESPECIALLY the ladies. First, I knew I would have the material memorized. If there’s adequate time to have something memorized, that’s what I’m going to do. Even if it’s overnight, I will have spent most of the night and well into the next morning committing that shit to memory. And this was over a week, so I thought, “Hell yes. I can do this.” You can always tell what really matters to a person by how much they’re willing to go through and how much prep they’ll gladly do, in order to do it right.
*Straight men, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. I promise you will not care about this part.* I’d like to point out that the dress I wore (which I’m still wearing as I write this) for the audition cost $15. I bought it on Sunday, and it has been my greatest victory today. I’ve gotten at least six compliments on it. Who says you can’t look great and be extremely thrifty? It’s all about your attitude, kids. That, and having a good eye for things that look more expensive than they are. My hair was in a bouffant-flip. For effect, I was also wearing faux-eyelashes. They’re fun, and very 60’s when you do cat’s-eye liquid eyeliner. In the elevator on the way up to the 6th floor, I put on my highest heels—a brutal, black vinyl pair that make my feet hurt like nobody’s business, but make my legs look great. They would more commonly be known as “FMP’s.”
So not only is there all that visual prep, there's also the prep that every good performer has to do every time he or she goes on an audition. Stretching, breathing excercises, vocal warmup--and for me, at least ten minutes inhaling from my personal steamer and warm tea with honey. We each have our own ritual. And in my case, it probably also involves stapling headshots and resumes together (sometimes at the very last minute possible) and taping my music, and arranging it JUST SO in order for the accompanist to be comfortable playing it. Some of them are brilliant and can pick up whatever music you give them right away (like today's, and another particular one I can think of off the top of my head), but not all of them. I've had a few not-so-great experiences. But I don't want to be a pain in the ass and have difficult, incomprehensible music. That's not fun for anyone involved, and you want to make a good impression on everyone. You just never know what they're going to say/think about you when you leave.
Bottom line, being a performer (not to mention balancing all this with your regular day job) is exhausting, challenging and takes a lot of dedication to very detailed processes. But if you love it enough and want it enough, you can find a way. It's like that with everything (and everyone), isn't it? I can't help but think that when I'm being lazy and not auditioning for things, I deserve everything I get (or don't get, rather). God helps those who help themselves, right? Lately, working my ass off at my "day" job and still auditioning meant that I was trying my hardest, and as a result I had two good auditions for really big, great shows. It must mean something.
So I gave myself plenty of time to get all this ready, left the apartment early, and went to Binder. The office I went to was much smaller than I'd expected, and in the hallway was a girl who clearly was also auditioning for Effie's understudy. Around the corner, in the tiny lobby, was another. Now, this is something I also noticed/thought about at the audition for "The Color Purple" but it was more pronounced in this situation: I was the lightest-skinned girl there. Black people (women especially, I've found) are sometimes guilty of prejudice against members of our own race. This obviously goes back to the days before any of us were born (paper-bag test, anyone?), but there's still a misconception sometimes that light-skinned girls think they're superior to and prettier than darker girls, that we get all the men because that's what they "prefer", etc. etc. I always feel just a momentary flash of insecurity when I'm the lightest black person in a group full of darker people--because I automatically think everyone's judging me, like, "Oh, she thinks she's cute because she's light" or, in the case of casting directors, "she's not dark enough for this role". Simply put, I worry just for a few seconds that I'm not black enough. I'm always able to get over that pretty quickly, but still, that's my first instinct. I remember, when I got the part of Dessa Rose, specifically talking about this with Gwen, who played my mama. We agreed that it was entirely plausible (perhaps even MORE plausible and way more interesting, psychologically) for Dessa to be the child of her slave mother and a slaveowner, and therefore it didn't much matter HOW dark the actress was who would be playing her.
As usual, I pushed that out of my mind, told myself I was just as capable as those girls, and started doing my thing--making sure my music was ready and that I looked good. While we were waiting, I found out that the first girl I'd seen in the hallway had A) come all the way from Virginia for this audition (and "Color Purple"--I know because I asked), B) never sung the "Dreamgirls" songs before (I had a leg-up--I'd done two of them for performance demos at AMDA) and C) not actually learned the songs. She didn't really even fully know them. WHHHAAAAAT?! She was hoping she wouldn't have to sing the stuff from the show--and if she did, she was going to go in there and hold her music in her hands. Oh. My. God. If that's not a clear message to the casting people that you don't care enough, I don't know what is. I acted like I sympathized but secretly I was like, "Yessssssss! You don't know them, and I know them so well I don't even have to think about it!" S'alright--more credibility for me, sis.
After the first girl finished, they called me in. I sang from the bridge to the end of "Vanishing" by Mariah Carey. It's from her very first album--it's just her and a piano, and it's one of my favorite songs of all time to sing (and perfectly appropriate as an audition song for this show). If you can sing it well, you can really "take 'em to church" with it. The casting director seemed to like that a lot; he was nodding his head to the rhythm. The accompanist, as I mentioned, was really great. I'd done all this copying and pasting to make it easy on him, and he handled the slight jumpy ghetto-ness of the sheet music beautifully. He played it really boldly and fluidly, without a hitch. Next, by request of the casting director, I sang "And I Am Telling You (I'm Not Going)" which, if you don't know the show, is that big showstopper that Jennifer Holliday originated and that bad singers like to ruin at American Idol auditions. It is the definition of a torch song. And you have to be able to not just sing, but "SANG" to do it. (As in, "You bettah SANG!") Luckily--even though it sounds super snotty to say so--I indeed can "sang". So I did. And I felt great doing it. Then I read some lines with a woman who was in the room, and those went well too. The casting director was one of those benign, emotionless ones who is completely pleasant, but on whom you can't really get a read. He said "Good job" a couple of times while I was in there. Then, when I'd finished all this, he asked, "So you're 5'5", wearing flats?" I said yes, he thanked me for coming, and I walked out. Happy. I know I did my best in there--I did everything passionately, and my voice was strong today. Those high notes came right out.
I couldn't resist telling the girl from VA that yes, we had to do the song. THAT song. She started panicking a little more--and with good reason. I mean, if someone tells you to prepare something, do it. Or you probably won't get the job. It's not rocket science, it's performing. Know your shit so you can focus on emoting, not your lines or your notes.
I'll know if I got a callback by Monday, I guess, because that's when they're being held. Of course, there's always a chance that they'll still call after that, if things fall through with someone (it happens), but I'd think after Monday the chances will be slim. So keep thinking good thoughts, kiddos, and I'll let you know the instant I hear anything. If.
xoxo
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Rebel Rebel: Jury Duty, Part Two
I got up today in a better mood, ready to get this whole thing over with. I dressed slightly more conventionally, but still in typical V style. (God forbid I show up looking like anyone else there: in this and every other situation.) I had my laptop with me, but thankfully, there wasn't much downtime today. After about 20 minutes or so, I was called to be part of the next panel for jury selection. Something else I forgot to mention yesterday, in conjunction with the whole "lack of following directions" observation: we were always instructed to say "here" in a loud, clear voice when called to go stand/sit in a group. Still, though, some people insisted on not bothering to say "here"--they'd just stand up and walk to the group, prompting the clerk to repeat their name. Really? Is it really that difficult to say "HERE" when you hear your name? Is it really that difficult to LISTEN for your name? Sometimes people would have to hear it twice to realize what was happening. God, people. Get with it.
Anyway, we had to write the room number of the courtroom on our ID cards, and were given Juror Handbooks. Led by a clerk, we went across the street to the actual courthouse (why "central jury" and the courtrooms are not in the same building, I'll never know), and went up to the 6th floor. We waited there for a few minutes, and then were told to go back down to the 5th floor. (Do you see how pointless all of this moving around tends to be?) We entered the room and were told that 16 of us were going to be chosen to be in the actual jury box. Guess whose name was called last?
There was a LOT of questioning by the judge, during which it was revealed that at least two people in the room didn't fully understand English. Now, there were many opportunities before that moment to mention that little tidbit to...anyone who could have gotten these people out of serving, but I guess if you don't understand what's going on, there's no way to tell anyone. Also, if you don't understand, it's embarassing to try to explain that so late in the game. Probably you feel like you should have said something before, and rightly so. I guess they all just thought they'd try to squeak by. But no dice--the judge dismissed two women before we had a full prospective English-speaking jury. Many more questions followed--who has served on a jury before, have any of you been a victim of a crime, do you have children, married, single, etc. In front of everyone, too. And some of this stuff was bordering on personal.
Then the lawyers made their opening statements. Now, all along, while everyone was asking (in thirteen different ways) if each of us was capable of providing a fair judgement, I kept thinking, "Maybe I should say something. Maybe I should say something." You see, the case had to do with a man who was accused of violating a restraining order by hitting a woman he used to be in a relationship with. He was right there in the room with us. And while I didn't feel particularly emotional about it, per se, I have had experience with a restraining order as a result of domestic violence. At the last minute, I decided to tell the defense lawyer about this. She asked if anyone had seen or been a part of a messy divorce that ended with the courts being involved, and I raised my hand. I just felt like it would have been dishonest if I DIDN'T say anything. So I told her that it had happened to me, but that I still believed I could be unbiased in my decision. When she asked why I felt that way, I replied that this was a different situation with different people. She said, "So you still feel that you would be able to look at this case...without..." I finished for her: "Objectively?" She smiled and said, "Good word. Yes." The bottom line is, the lawyers and the judge need to know whether or not you can, as a juror, provide an impartial judgement on the case. And if you've had a similar experience, know anyone involved in the case, or even have a law enforcement background or history of crimes being committed against you, you probably can't serve.
Ding ding ding!
After the judge and lawyers from each side had a deliberation, we were told that the people whose names were called should stay in the room. And mine wasn't. So the rest of us went back to central jury, and after about fifteen more minutes, we were told that we were dismissed! We were done! For at least six years! YESSSSSS! And I didn't even have to lie!
The moral of the story: fucked-up family history can really come in handy. Be patient, and one day you can use it. Onstage, if you're a performer, AND to get out of jury duty.
Also, while I was waiting in central jury to be told what to do, I got a voicemail from Binder Casting. I submitted my headshot and resume a few weeks ago for the Dreamgirls tour, and guess what? I get to audition to be Effie's understudy/pit singer/swing. It's next Wednesday. I have to prepare three songs from the show ("Move", "And I Am Telling You" and "I Am Changing") and some lines from the script. I'm very familiar with the latter two songs, and the first one I know fairly well. So this should be fun. I'll be listening to nothing but those three songs until Wednesday. I also have to wear a sexy dress and do full hair and makeup. That, I can do.
I willingly had too much ice cream a little while ago--B&J's DMB (abbreviations, ahoy!) Magic Brownies, which is black raspberry and sweet cream flavors with gooey, mushy brownie pieces mixed in. SO yum. Try it if you haven't. And my lovely, supportive mama sent me $50 today, just because she loves me and wants me to, you know, eat. And I talked to her, my sister, Christopher, and Markus today on the phone--all of whom I enjoy immensely. ♥
Back to work tomorrow, and you know what? I'm thankful for that. And even though everything these days isn't necessarily going exactly the way I want, someone was obviously smiling down on me today.
xoxo
Anyway, we had to write the room number of the courtroom on our ID cards, and were given Juror Handbooks. Led by a clerk, we went across the street to the actual courthouse (why "central jury" and the courtrooms are not in the same building, I'll never know), and went up to the 6th floor. We waited there for a few minutes, and then were told to go back down to the 5th floor. (Do you see how pointless all of this moving around tends to be?) We entered the room and were told that 16 of us were going to be chosen to be in the actual jury box. Guess whose name was called last?
There was a LOT of questioning by the judge, during which it was revealed that at least two people in the room didn't fully understand English. Now, there were many opportunities before that moment to mention that little tidbit to...anyone who could have gotten these people out of serving, but I guess if you don't understand what's going on, there's no way to tell anyone. Also, if you don't understand, it's embarassing to try to explain that so late in the game. Probably you feel like you should have said something before, and rightly so. I guess they all just thought they'd try to squeak by. But no dice--the judge dismissed two women before we had a full prospective English-speaking jury. Many more questions followed--who has served on a jury before, have any of you been a victim of a crime, do you have children, married, single, etc. In front of everyone, too. And some of this stuff was bordering on personal.
Then the lawyers made their opening statements. Now, all along, while everyone was asking (in thirteen different ways) if each of us was capable of providing a fair judgement, I kept thinking, "Maybe I should say something. Maybe I should say something." You see, the case had to do with a man who was accused of violating a restraining order by hitting a woman he used to be in a relationship with. He was right there in the room with us. And while I didn't feel particularly emotional about it, per se, I have had experience with a restraining order as a result of domestic violence. At the last minute, I decided to tell the defense lawyer about this. She asked if anyone had seen or been a part of a messy divorce that ended with the courts being involved, and I raised my hand. I just felt like it would have been dishonest if I DIDN'T say anything. So I told her that it had happened to me, but that I still believed I could be unbiased in my decision. When she asked why I felt that way, I replied that this was a different situation with different people. She said, "So you still feel that you would be able to look at this case...without..." I finished for her: "Objectively?" She smiled and said, "Good word. Yes." The bottom line is, the lawyers and the judge need to know whether or not you can, as a juror, provide an impartial judgement on the case. And if you've had a similar experience, know anyone involved in the case, or even have a law enforcement background or history of crimes being committed against you, you probably can't serve.
Ding ding ding!
After the judge and lawyers from each side had a deliberation, we were told that the people whose names were called should stay in the room. And mine wasn't. So the rest of us went back to central jury, and after about fifteen more minutes, we were told that we were dismissed! We were done! For at least six years! YESSSSSS! And I didn't even have to lie!
The moral of the story: fucked-up family history can really come in handy. Be patient, and one day you can use it. Onstage, if you're a performer, AND to get out of jury duty.
Also, while I was waiting in central jury to be told what to do, I got a voicemail from Binder Casting. I submitted my headshot and resume a few weeks ago for the Dreamgirls tour, and guess what? I get to audition to be Effie's understudy/pit singer/swing. It's next Wednesday. I have to prepare three songs from the show ("Move", "And I Am Telling You" and "I Am Changing") and some lines from the script. I'm very familiar with the latter two songs, and the first one I know fairly well. So this should be fun. I'll be listening to nothing but those three songs until Wednesday. I also have to wear a sexy dress and do full hair and makeup. That, I can do.
I willingly had too much ice cream a little while ago--B&J's DMB (abbreviations, ahoy!) Magic Brownies, which is black raspberry and sweet cream flavors with gooey, mushy brownie pieces mixed in. SO yum. Try it if you haven't. And my lovely, supportive mama sent me $50 today, just because she loves me and wants me to, you know, eat. And I talked to her, my sister, Christopher, and Markus today on the phone--all of whom I enjoy immensely. ♥
Back to work tomorrow, and you know what? I'm thankful for that. And even though everything these days isn't necessarily going exactly the way I want, someone was obviously smiling down on me today.
xoxo
Monday, July 6, 2009
Rebel Rebel: Jury Duty, Part One
Within the few months after my first time voting in Astoria, I received a notice in the mail. It basically said that there was a good chance I would be chosen for jury duty soon. Nice of them to let me know, right? So then, a few weeks ago, I got a "telephone summons" that instructed me to start calling on July 3rd to see if I was required to report. And sure enough, an automated voice told me that the monkey wrench was officially being thrown into my life--today I had to report to my first day of jury duty.
When I found out, I immediately thought, "I wonder if there's a way I could legitimately get out of this." Of course, as soon as I started telling people I had to report, they all said the same thing: "Just act really crazy/racist and they'll let you off." Well, it's clearly worked for someone before, so I can't blame everyone for thinking that, but I'm sure at this point you REALLY have to outdo yourself to get off the hook. I mean, I'm sure they're aware that people will try anything and could totally lie about having Tourette's Syndrome/seeing unicorns/hating The Man/hating every race other than their own. Then again, if you're willing to go the distance and act your way out of jury duty, maybe they figure you really don't want to be there. And it might be too much of a risk to choose someone who's just screwing around. And there's always a chance you really aren't lying. Just last week I heard an old man with a cane loudly refer to someone's wife as "the dirty black one" and, after I gave him a sideways 'did you just say that' look, he muttered, "Nigger lover." Right in front of me, and clearly to offend me. I wanted to shove him down the subway stairs, but I chose not to react. That's what he wanted, after all, and I refused to give him the satisfaction. I believe in karma. He'll get his.
But I digress.
I would find this jury duty thing kind of interesting if it didn't mean that I had to skip work for what could be up to two weeks. It could not have come at a worse time--after having done a show in Jersey and having to go to the eye doctor and pay for medicine to rid myself of the Terminator eye (still not completely gone--thanks for nothing, Dr. Ettinger), things are quite lean. I've been working a lot to make up for money I lost/spent while in the show, and things will be better soon, but now I have to skip out on more shifts. Not pleased. And when my alarm went off this morning, at 6:30 AM, I thought, "Eff this." If they were going to make me do this, I was going to show up and be the most radical-looking, disinterested one in the room. I didn't plan on going in there and causing a ruckus, mind you, because everyone knows I'm a good girl at heart. But everyone also knows that if I'm not into something, I have no problem expressing my disgust. And I woke up in a very "I don't give a rat's ass" kind of mood.
So I kept my hair the way I wore it yesterday--messy half-Mohawk with two cornrows on the right side. Glasses, one guitar-pick earring, my Larso shirt (here it is: go to this site and support my co-worker, Delaney: http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=12617002), red pleated knit skirt, black pleather leggings and gray zipper ballet flats. This is something I really would wear in everyday life, so it's not like it was that much of a stretch, but I knew full well I was supposed to wear something more appropriate for court. (Even though, you know, it wasn't my case.) Those of you who see me on a regular basis know that I like to change up my look daily. I could have just as easily shown up all business-professional and proper, complete with adorable secretary-esque accessories. But I didn't feel like it when I rolled out of bed after a scant amount of sleep. I also don't like the idea of someone taking up my time and telling me I "have" to do anything.
I made my way to Kew Gardens and immediately headed in the wrong direction upon exiting the subway. I turned around, made it to the courthouse, and got in the huge line to go through the metal detector. While we were waiting in line, I could tell people were looking at me--to which I responded with my "I fucking dare you" glare. It's something I've perfected from living in New York--you'd think people would be more progressive, since this IS the city, but you'd be surprised how many people have no problem staring at someone with spiky hair or an off-kilter outfit. You'd also be surprised by how intimidated they get if you stare right back at them. Granted, I often look as if I'm on my way to (or am coming from) dress rehearsal for a concert, but that's the way I want it. If there's anything I know how to do (besides sing), it's dress uniquely. It's all about your attitude--have the right one and you can pull off whatever you want.
We were required to take out our jury summons, our keys, and our cell phones and put them in plastic buckets, put our bags through the x-ray machines, and walk through the metal detector: a la airport security. We all went into this huge room where there were TVs overhead, computers, vending machines and many, many chairs divided into two large sections. One of the court...officials (that may be the wrong term) was using a microphone to announce that we should all fill in the seats closest to the front desk (which required some of us, including me, to move--this arbitrary moving around seemed pointless, and happened to me three times over the course of two hours). Long story short, we all filled in the questions on the back of the summons, handed them in, and waited around. All along I kept thinking, "Sheep...sheep, sheep, sheep." It all had a vaguely creepy feel to it--each of us having a number, the "selection" process, people in uniform instructing us to move around the room en masse. Gross.
When there's a huge group of people who are all supposed to be going through the same motions, inevitably a few certain people will prove themselves to be completely idiotic and/or terrible at listening. From working with the public, I knew this going in. Sure enough, this was proven at several moments throughout the day; the biggest example being the restriction of cell phone usage. I will point out that I, like many people, soundly ignored the constant warnings to cease all phone usage and checked my phone a few times during the wait. I, however, had the good sense to A) make absolutely sure my phone was on SILENT and B) only use it in tiny increments of time while hiding it in my bag, and then immediately turn it back off. But there are some people who were born with a sense of entitlement and/or lack of common sense who didn't bother to turn off their phones--just let them go ahead and chirp away like no one had warned them. One woman behind me even had a short conversation on hers, despite all threats of confiscation.
Then there was the "separate your juror ID card and turn in your summons" step. Sounds easy enough, but with the aforementioned preponderance of idiots in the room, things were bound to go wrong somehow. There was much glancing around, handing in the wrong piece of the summons, not actually HAVING the necessary piece of the summons, whispering "do we keep this part" to neighboring prospective jurors, etc. etc. etc. If you had questions, concerns, or trouble with English, you weren't supposed to hand in your summons. Then, row by row, the people who had concerns were called up to plead their case to the officials. I stayed seated because I couldn't think of a good enough reason to leave (besides "I'm broke as a joke"), but among the 250+ people in the room, many of them got dismissed. I don't know how they did it, but they did. It was a long, boring process.
People were randomly called into a first group to go across the street and get started on the actual selection process. Phones sporadically continued to ring. People continued to ignore the rules and get up to ask questions even though it wasn't their turn. Non-natives continued to be confused. Officials asked, "Can anyone translate Korean/Mandarin" (and maybe another language too--I don't remember). A second random group of people was called to go across the street, and still I sat there. We watched Rachael Ray (ew) with special guest Paula Deen (YAY!) on the TVs, which were turned on and off accordingly so as not to distract us when something important was being announced. Those of us who were left were instructed to move to the left side of the room. Then, one by one, we were each called back and told to sit...where we just were, only in tighter formation in the front. Pointless.
And then we were told that our particular case had been held over until tomorrow and we were free to leave. It was 11 AM.
LAME.
I mean, it was nice not to have to stay until 5, and everyone acted really excited and relieved. But really, it was just delaying the inevitable. We have to go back tomorrow at 9 AM. At least I have tomorrow off already, so I won't be losing any money. I'm hoping that whatever this case is, it'll be quick.
As we filed outside, I overheard one girl sigh contentedly, "I love America." I laughed out loud. I still don't know whether or not she was being sarcastic.
I'm sure I won't be at liberty to discuss the case until after it's over, but I'll be sure to continue to pass judgement on all of my fellow jurors and report on that. I found out today that although you are not, under any circumstances, supposed to be using your phone in the room, you CAN use your laptop. And there IS Wi-Fi.
Round two, coming up. Stay tuned.
When I found out, I immediately thought, "I wonder if there's a way I could legitimately get out of this." Of course, as soon as I started telling people I had to report, they all said the same thing: "Just act really crazy/racist and they'll let you off." Well, it's clearly worked for someone before, so I can't blame everyone for thinking that, but I'm sure at this point you REALLY have to outdo yourself to get off the hook. I mean, I'm sure they're aware that people will try anything and could totally lie about having Tourette's Syndrome/seeing unicorns/hating The Man/hating every race other than their own. Then again, if you're willing to go the distance and act your way out of jury duty, maybe they figure you really don't want to be there. And it might be too much of a risk to choose someone who's just screwing around. And there's always a chance you really aren't lying. Just last week I heard an old man with a cane loudly refer to someone's wife as "the dirty black one" and, after I gave him a sideways 'did you just say that' look, he muttered, "Nigger lover." Right in front of me, and clearly to offend me. I wanted to shove him down the subway stairs, but I chose not to react. That's what he wanted, after all, and I refused to give him the satisfaction. I believe in karma. He'll get his.
But I digress.
I would find this jury duty thing kind of interesting if it didn't mean that I had to skip work for what could be up to two weeks. It could not have come at a worse time--after having done a show in Jersey and having to go to the eye doctor and pay for medicine to rid myself of the Terminator eye (still not completely gone--thanks for nothing, Dr. Ettinger), things are quite lean. I've been working a lot to make up for money I lost/spent while in the show, and things will be better soon, but now I have to skip out on more shifts. Not pleased. And when my alarm went off this morning, at 6:30 AM, I thought, "Eff this." If they were going to make me do this, I was going to show up and be the most radical-looking, disinterested one in the room. I didn't plan on going in there and causing a ruckus, mind you, because everyone knows I'm a good girl at heart. But everyone also knows that if I'm not into something, I have no problem expressing my disgust. And I woke up in a very "I don't give a rat's ass" kind of mood.
So I kept my hair the way I wore it yesterday--messy half-Mohawk with two cornrows on the right side. Glasses, one guitar-pick earring, my Larso shirt (here it is: go to this site and support my co-worker, Delaney: http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=12617002), red pleated knit skirt, black pleather leggings and gray zipper ballet flats. This is something I really would wear in everyday life, so it's not like it was that much of a stretch, but I knew full well I was supposed to wear something more appropriate for court. (Even though, you know, it wasn't my case.) Those of you who see me on a regular basis know that I like to change up my look daily. I could have just as easily shown up all business-professional and proper, complete with adorable secretary-esque accessories. But I didn't feel like it when I rolled out of bed after a scant amount of sleep. I also don't like the idea of someone taking up my time and telling me I "have" to do anything.
I made my way to Kew Gardens and immediately headed in the wrong direction upon exiting the subway. I turned around, made it to the courthouse, and got in the huge line to go through the metal detector. While we were waiting in line, I could tell people were looking at me--to which I responded with my "I fucking dare you" glare. It's something I've perfected from living in New York--you'd think people would be more progressive, since this IS the city, but you'd be surprised how many people have no problem staring at someone with spiky hair or an off-kilter outfit. You'd also be surprised by how intimidated they get if you stare right back at them. Granted, I often look as if I'm on my way to (or am coming from) dress rehearsal for a concert, but that's the way I want it. If there's anything I know how to do (besides sing), it's dress uniquely. It's all about your attitude--have the right one and you can pull off whatever you want.
We were required to take out our jury summons, our keys, and our cell phones and put them in plastic buckets, put our bags through the x-ray machines, and walk through the metal detector: a la airport security. We all went into this huge room where there were TVs overhead, computers, vending machines and many, many chairs divided into two large sections. One of the court...officials (that may be the wrong term) was using a microphone to announce that we should all fill in the seats closest to the front desk (which required some of us, including me, to move--this arbitrary moving around seemed pointless, and happened to me three times over the course of two hours). Long story short, we all filled in the questions on the back of the summons, handed them in, and waited around. All along I kept thinking, "Sheep...sheep, sheep, sheep." It all had a vaguely creepy feel to it--each of us having a number, the "selection" process, people in uniform instructing us to move around the room en masse. Gross.
When there's a huge group of people who are all supposed to be going through the same motions, inevitably a few certain people will prove themselves to be completely idiotic and/or terrible at listening. From working with the public, I knew this going in. Sure enough, this was proven at several moments throughout the day; the biggest example being the restriction of cell phone usage. I will point out that I, like many people, soundly ignored the constant warnings to cease all phone usage and checked my phone a few times during the wait. I, however, had the good sense to A) make absolutely sure my phone was on SILENT and B) only use it in tiny increments of time while hiding it in my bag, and then immediately turn it back off. But there are some people who were born with a sense of entitlement and/or lack of common sense who didn't bother to turn off their phones--just let them go ahead and chirp away like no one had warned them. One woman behind me even had a short conversation on hers, despite all threats of confiscation.
Then there was the "separate your juror ID card and turn in your summons" step. Sounds easy enough, but with the aforementioned preponderance of idiots in the room, things were bound to go wrong somehow. There was much glancing around, handing in the wrong piece of the summons, not actually HAVING the necessary piece of the summons, whispering "do we keep this part" to neighboring prospective jurors, etc. etc. etc. If you had questions, concerns, or trouble with English, you weren't supposed to hand in your summons. Then, row by row, the people who had concerns were called up to plead their case to the officials. I stayed seated because I couldn't think of a good enough reason to leave (besides "I'm broke as a joke"), but among the 250+ people in the room, many of them got dismissed. I don't know how they did it, but they did. It was a long, boring process.
People were randomly called into a first group to go across the street and get started on the actual selection process. Phones sporadically continued to ring. People continued to ignore the rules and get up to ask questions even though it wasn't their turn. Non-natives continued to be confused. Officials asked, "Can anyone translate Korean/Mandarin" (and maybe another language too--I don't remember). A second random group of people was called to go across the street, and still I sat there. We watched Rachael Ray (ew) with special guest Paula Deen (YAY!) on the TVs, which were turned on and off accordingly so as not to distract us when something important was being announced. Those of us who were left were instructed to move to the left side of the room. Then, one by one, we were each called back and told to sit...where we just were, only in tighter formation in the front. Pointless.
And then we were told that our particular case had been held over until tomorrow and we were free to leave. It was 11 AM.
LAME.
I mean, it was nice not to have to stay until 5, and everyone acted really excited and relieved. But really, it was just delaying the inevitable. We have to go back tomorrow at 9 AM. At least I have tomorrow off already, so I won't be losing any money. I'm hoping that whatever this case is, it'll be quick.
As we filed outside, I overheard one girl sigh contentedly, "I love America." I laughed out loud. I still don't know whether or not she was being sarcastic.
I'm sure I won't be at liberty to discuss the case until after it's over, but I'll be sure to continue to pass judgement on all of my fellow jurors and report on that. I found out today that although you are not, under any circumstances, supposed to be using your phone in the room, you CAN use your laptop. And there IS Wi-Fi.
Round two, coming up. Stay tuned.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Leaving So Soon?
Hey kids,
I've decided to keep up this "song titles as blog titles" thing. This one is a Keane song. Keane is one of the most underrated bands out there, to me. Their songs are thoughtful, innovative and heartfelt. I just love them. And I forgot how much I love this song. Isn't it amazing when artists can perfectly capture the way you feel through song, as if they know you? This is why we all need music. When someone says "I'm just not really a music person" it makes me want to never speak to them again. How do people live without constant music in their lives?
Anyway, here's a video of the live version. Tom Chaplin is a really talented singer, yes? I mean, he really SINGS--with this really strong, soaring, unique voice.
"Leaving So Soon" by Keane
You must think I'm a fool
So prosaic and awkward and all
D'you think you've got me down?
D'you think I've never been out of this town?
Do I seem too eager to please to you now?
You don't know me at all
I can't turn it on, turn it off like you now
No, I'm not like you now
Now you're here
I bet you're wishing you could disappear
I'm trying to be kind
I get the feeling you're just killing time
You look down on me
Don't you look down on me now
You don't know me at all
A slap in the face
In the face for you now
Just might do now
You're leaving so soon
Never had a chance to bloom
But you were so quick to change your tune
Don't look back
If I'm a weight around your neck
Cause if you don't need me
I don't need you
I've decided to keep up this "song titles as blog titles" thing. This one is a Keane song. Keane is one of the most underrated bands out there, to me. Their songs are thoughtful, innovative and heartfelt. I just love them. And I forgot how much I love this song. Isn't it amazing when artists can perfectly capture the way you feel through song, as if they know you? This is why we all need music. When someone says "I'm just not really a music person" it makes me want to never speak to them again. How do people live without constant music in their lives?
Anyway, here's a video of the live version. Tom Chaplin is a really talented singer, yes? I mean, he really SINGS--with this really strong, soaring, unique voice.
"Leaving So Soon" by Keane
You must think I'm a fool
So prosaic and awkward and all
D'you think you've got me down?
D'you think I've never been out of this town?
Do I seem too eager to please to you now?
You don't know me at all
I can't turn it on, turn it off like you now
No, I'm not like you now
Now you're here
I bet you're wishing you could disappear
I'm trying to be kind
I get the feeling you're just killing time
You look down on me
Don't you look down on me now
You don't know me at all
A slap in the face
In the face for you now
Just might do now
You're leaving so soon
Never had a chance to bloom
But you were so quick to change your tune
Don't look back
If I'm a weight around your neck
Cause if you don't need me
I don't need you
In other news, today I had to train someone new at work. Training is kind of a bitch sometimes, because I've been at the restaurant/club for years now and am so used to doing my own thing in a fast, efficient manner. To have someone right behind me the whole time, watching what I'm doing, is not the part that bothers me--it's just tiresome to have to explain each tiny thing I'm doing. But hey, someone had to train me too. And we are not like any other restaurant out there. You can't just waltz in and start working just because you've had restaurant experience. Only the strong survive our training program--it's not for the faint of heart. Many people leave during trails because they just can't handle the intensity. So we'll see how this new guy works out. He's good with the guests and I want him to make it, but only time will tell. I'll be training a new girl on Sunday as well. Also, one of my managers told me today that since one of our trainers is leaving, I'll be training a lot more in the coming weeks. Sigh. At least I get $20 in training vouchers off each one of these newbies. I'm going to start making each of them drop and give me twenty in the middle of the shift.
I do so love "So You Think You Can Dance". I think it's something I can objectively enjoy because dancing is something I just do for fun. (See my entire last blog for explanation.) It's not something I'm ever going to be an expert at, although I plan on getting better. I've always respected dancers, not only because it's an art/form of expression, but because it is HARD if you're good at it. Singing is too, but in a different way. Sure, I have to work on my voice and keep it tuned, just like an instrument, to make it function properly. Nothing wrong with extra voice lessons. But I've been very, very lucky--it's always been effortless for me, to an extent. Singing is just what my body likes to do. I feel like dancers are constantly criticizing the TINIEST details in their own performances and hurting themselves physically and bursting into tears and all that. Dancers were always the most emotionally fragile ones at my school. It's an unforgiving profession--people tend to give singers more allowances, I think. If my voice is extra smoky one day or I feel like changing it up by backphrasing or trying out a different tempo altogether, it can still work just as well. Dancers can't really change it up too much--everything tends to be too precise. Too "choreographed", if you will.
You know what other show I love (and this is absolutely a guilty pleasure)? "16 And Pregnant" on MTV. Now, listen--MTV sucks. It sucks bigtime. We all know there are no videos on MTV and the whole purpose and spirit behind its inception has been obliterated. It's kind of like how people are always bemoaning the state of punk music, or lack thereof--MTV is not what it used to be. And yet...I have still seen every episode of "16 And Pregnant". It's a lot like "True Life", which is probably why I love it. I will watch "True Life" no matter what the topic, even if I've seen it before. Well, this show is like that, only there's just the one topic--"Surprise! I'm Still in High School and I'm Knocked Up!" The thought of having a baby right now, at age 27, terrifies me to my very soul. If I had to have one at age 16...I positively shudder at the thought. So far, on the show, it's been the trend that the pregnant girl does pretty well at growing up on the fly, taking responsibility and what have you, whereas the boy has trouble adjusting and growing up and just wants to fuck around with his friends and play Guitar Hero or whatever. I mean, it's to be expected of a 16 year-old boy, but if the girl should have to grow up, the guy should too. Takes two to tango. And accidentally make a baby.
Holy crap. While I was editing this, I found out there's a show on TLC called "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" and it's about exactly what it sounds like it's about. Amazing!
I just realized that even though I posted my first two blogs on what I considered to be the same night, one was posted on the 30th and the next was the 1st. So not only was it technically two different days, it was also two different months. Kinda cool. I'll take it as an auspicious beginning--it adds to the general kooky nature of the blog itself.
I don't much mind the summer rain we've been having. Well, I didn't mind it today, anyway. It was so schizo earlier--sunny, then pouring rain for ten minutes, then sunny again as if nothing had happened, then a monsoon, and so on. Kind of fun, really, but only because I had nothing to do outside. And I remembered my umbrella. As long as it's not cold, rain doesn't much bother me, and if I'm inside, I especially like it. It's the romantic in me, I suppose--I love falling asleep to the sound of rain. It's been legitimately hot only a handful of times so far, but I haven't yet felt that "it's so hot I want to die" feeling that is usually so common to summer in New York. And the last thing we need, as New Yorkers, is another reason to feel frustrated with our environment. ;)
Okay. Time to get going. I've got Netflix to tend to. (Can you believe I've never seen "What's Eating Gilbert Grape"?) Probably going to a party on the 4th in Brooklyn; the Better Borough, as one of you calls it ;)
More soon. Have a lovely holiday, darlings!
xoxo
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Dancing With Myself
Yesterday, I auditioned for the national tour of "The Color Purple". Not out of the ordinary, right? I'm a singer/actress, I audition for things. But that's just it. I'm a singer/actress...and this, my friend, was a dance call.
I have never, ever been to a call that was specifically for dancers. I am a singer who moves. On a dance floor at a club or a bar, I'm a blast. Give me some great pop music and I will go crazy out there. However, despite the fact that I took a lot of dance at AMDA, I still would never qualify as "a dancer". I'm strictly a singer/actress who can pick up some moves if you give me enough time. Ample time. More time than everyone else.
The singer/actor call was on Monday. I'd already picked up a shift at work and wanted desperately to go to that call, but alas, I also need money. So I decided to go to the dance call because at AMDA they always told us to take a chance, and if you have the right attitude, they may still like you.
I got up at 6 AM in prep for this. I rolled out of bed, put on a hat and DRAGGED myself, against my will, all the way to Chelsea Studios. I was exhausted and thought, as I always do when it's too early, of staying in bed and sitting this one out. But this past week or so has been dedicated to The Hustle, for me. I've been working my ass off (7 shifts last week) and still going to early morning auditions on my days off. It's time to be an adult, pull myself up by those bootstraps and, quite simply, fuck shit up.
So anyway, it was an open call, non-equity, so you never can tell how many people (especially girls) are going to be there. And when I got there, I was the first one. That alone is an accomplishment. About 15 minutes later, a guy showed up who was also going for TCP and we made friends. We also started a male list and a female list, so we didn't lose our spots. After we got upstairs, we stayed in the holding room alone. The monitor showed up at about 9:30, and after getting confirmation from her that I could come back later without losing my spot, I went back to Astoria. The female call was not until 2 PM. (Yes, I'm crazy for showing up that early. Crazy like a FOX...anyway, some more girls had shown up by the time I left. Just a few, but they were there.) I prettied myself up, put on dance clothes, grabbed my music book/shoes/a dress (just in case) and trekked all the way back. No time to rest, just time to prepare.
By the time I got back, there were more girls, with more arriving sporadically. In the end there were about 40-50 of us. (MANY less than I thought there would be--but I heard that the singer/actor call was PACKED all day long, so it turned out to be a smart idea to get seen at the dancer call.) And when I saw these girls, the panic started creeping in. And then it very firmly set up camp.
Again, this was my first dance-specific call. And it was so obvious that nearly every other girl in the room was a dancer. (There was ONE that I saw dance later who obviously was at about the same level as me.) All athletically toned, yogic, limber--doing crazy stretches and splits and contortions. And a few of them were just intimidatingly gorgeous. And I thought, for at least a few minutes, about leaving. Pretending I had an emergency. Just getting up and walking out. Why in God's name did I think it was a good idea to come to a dance call? What the hell was I thinking? I was going to get kicked out of the building. Those girls were going to throw pig blood on me and laugh hysterically.
But then it was time to hand in my headshot and resume, and there was no turning back. Granted, I still could have left, but I couldn't bear the thought of wasting my whole day and not getting anything out of it. And my friends and family would have killed me if I didn't try. I would have killed me if I didn't try. So I went in with the rest of the girls.
And it wasn't awful. The dance we learned (on the spot, for those of you who have never done this) was REALLY technical. Arabesque, dégagé, developpe, passé, various foot positions, etc. etc. And all really fast. We learned it, then we split into small groups and went for it, in front of two choreographers and the casting director. And each other. And of course, I was in the last group. Of. Course.
So it was obvious I wasn't a dancer, right? But all the people who were teaching/watching us were so very nice and accepting that I didn't feel that embarrassed. Sure, I was probably the worst one in the room, but you cannot deny my moxie. All day, I thought, "Your spunkiness will get you through this." And it did. The choreographer pointed at me after I finished one of my practice rounds and said, "Good" like she meant it, like she knew I was trying my best even though it wasn 't my thing. I hoped all along that my courage would win her over. And at one point they told a group of four girls that it didn't look like they were having fun--they were all too stone-faced. I spent most of my time smiling at the casting people, hoping they'd notice that I still had a good attitude, even in the midst of my suckage. My cheerfulness was my only hope.
So after the second large group of girls went, they told us to stick around and get our music books out in case they needed to see more from us. In other words, they were making cuts. I had a teeny shred of hope, but I pretty much figured I should pack up my shit and get ready to leave. The casting director said we should line up outside the door to the room we'd just danced in, in the order he called our names. And then the first name out of his mouth was "Vanessa Robinson."
WHAAAAAAAT?!
Before I went in, the director looked at me and winked, then said, "Come on in, darling." How nice was he? So I went in there, belted a song from "Dessa Rose", and wowed them. I know I did. They liked me. At the end of my 16 bars, they were taken aback, if I do say so myself. In a good way. There was just the slightest impressed pause, and then they said, "....okay! Thank you so much for your time." I left the room and the girls outside were like, "You SANG that song! You belted it!" So, even though they don't know me and I had nothing to prove, I still felt like I'd made up for being the least experienced dancer in the room.
All auditions should be like this. Those people put me at ease. They treated each of us respectfully; like real people, not just numbered bodies they were being forced to watch. They were interested in us, and they knew we weren't going to be perfect and it would still be okay. I've always wondered why some directors/monitors/people in charge seem to be on a mission to make performers feel uncomfortable. You're most likely already a little nervous, so why do they want to make it worse? No one can do their best when they already feel like they haven't got a chance. And these people were so positive and supportive and...just a pleasure to perform for.
And when it was over?
I felt so good.
For having gotten up early and powering through my exhaustion. For wanting it enough. For having had the courage to show up. For sticking it out when I wanted so badly to run. For smiling through my embarrassment. For being given a chance to sing, and for being given the voice and spirit that I've got. For making them remember me, no matter what. For being a presence.
This is what it's all about, for me. This is my life's purpose.
xo
I have never, ever been to a call that was specifically for dancers. I am a singer who moves. On a dance floor at a club or a bar, I'm a blast. Give me some great pop music and I will go crazy out there. However, despite the fact that I took a lot of dance at AMDA, I still would never qualify as "a dancer". I'm strictly a singer/actress who can pick up some moves if you give me enough time. Ample time. More time than everyone else.
The singer/actor call was on Monday. I'd already picked up a shift at work and wanted desperately to go to that call, but alas, I also need money. So I decided to go to the dance call because at AMDA they always told us to take a chance, and if you have the right attitude, they may still like you.
I got up at 6 AM in prep for this. I rolled out of bed, put on a hat and DRAGGED myself, against my will, all the way to Chelsea Studios. I was exhausted and thought, as I always do when it's too early, of staying in bed and sitting this one out. But this past week or so has been dedicated to The Hustle, for me. I've been working my ass off (7 shifts last week) and still going to early morning auditions on my days off. It's time to be an adult, pull myself up by those bootstraps and, quite simply, fuck shit up.
So anyway, it was an open call, non-equity, so you never can tell how many people (especially girls) are going to be there. And when I got there, I was the first one. That alone is an accomplishment. About 15 minutes later, a guy showed up who was also going for TCP and we made friends. We also started a male list and a female list, so we didn't lose our spots. After we got upstairs, we stayed in the holding room alone. The monitor showed up at about 9:30, and after getting confirmation from her that I could come back later without losing my spot, I went back to Astoria. The female call was not until 2 PM. (Yes, I'm crazy for showing up that early. Crazy like a FOX...anyway, some more girls had shown up by the time I left. Just a few, but they were there.) I prettied myself up, put on dance clothes, grabbed my music book/shoes/a dress (just in case) and trekked all the way back. No time to rest, just time to prepare.
By the time I got back, there were more girls, with more arriving sporadically. In the end there were about 40-50 of us. (MANY less than I thought there would be--but I heard that the singer/actor call was PACKED all day long, so it turned out to be a smart idea to get seen at the dancer call.) And when I saw these girls, the panic started creeping in. And then it very firmly set up camp.
Again, this was my first dance-specific call. And it was so obvious that nearly every other girl in the room was a dancer. (There was ONE that I saw dance later who obviously was at about the same level as me.) All athletically toned, yogic, limber--doing crazy stretches and splits and contortions. And a few of them were just intimidatingly gorgeous. And I thought, for at least a few minutes, about leaving. Pretending I had an emergency. Just getting up and walking out. Why in God's name did I think it was a good idea to come to a dance call? What the hell was I thinking? I was going to get kicked out of the building. Those girls were going to throw pig blood on me and laugh hysterically.
But then it was time to hand in my headshot and resume, and there was no turning back. Granted, I still could have left, but I couldn't bear the thought of wasting my whole day and not getting anything out of it. And my friends and family would have killed me if I didn't try. I would have killed me if I didn't try. So I went in with the rest of the girls.
And it wasn't awful. The dance we learned (on the spot, for those of you who have never done this) was REALLY technical. Arabesque, dégagé, developpe, passé, various foot positions, etc. etc. And all really fast. We learned it, then we split into small groups and went for it, in front of two choreographers and the casting director. And each other. And of course, I was in the last group. Of. Course.
So it was obvious I wasn't a dancer, right? But all the people who were teaching/watching us were so very nice and accepting that I didn't feel that embarrassed. Sure, I was probably the worst one in the room, but you cannot deny my moxie. All day, I thought, "Your spunkiness will get you through this." And it did. The choreographer pointed at me after I finished one of my practice rounds and said, "Good" like she meant it, like she knew I was trying my best even though it wasn 't my thing. I hoped all along that my courage would win her over. And at one point they told a group of four girls that it didn't look like they were having fun--they were all too stone-faced. I spent most of my time smiling at the casting people, hoping they'd notice that I still had a good attitude, even in the midst of my suckage. My cheerfulness was my only hope.
So after the second large group of girls went, they told us to stick around and get our music books out in case they needed to see more from us. In other words, they were making cuts. I had a teeny shred of hope, but I pretty much figured I should pack up my shit and get ready to leave. The casting director said we should line up outside the door to the room we'd just danced in, in the order he called our names. And then the first name out of his mouth was "Vanessa Robinson."
WHAAAAAAAT?!
Before I went in, the director looked at me and winked, then said, "Come on in, darling." How nice was he? So I went in there, belted a song from "Dessa Rose", and wowed them. I know I did. They liked me. At the end of my 16 bars, they were taken aback, if I do say so myself. In a good way. There was just the slightest impressed pause, and then they said, "....okay! Thank you so much for your time." I left the room and the girls outside were like, "You SANG that song! You belted it!" So, even though they don't know me and I had nothing to prove, I still felt like I'd made up for being the least experienced dancer in the room.
All auditions should be like this. Those people put me at ease. They treated each of us respectfully; like real people, not just numbered bodies they were being forced to watch. They were interested in us, and they knew we weren't going to be perfect and it would still be okay. I've always wondered why some directors/monitors/people in charge seem to be on a mission to make performers feel uncomfortable. You're most likely already a little nervous, so why do they want to make it worse? No one can do their best when they already feel like they haven't got a chance. And these people were so positive and supportive and...just a pleasure to perform for.
And when it was over?
I felt so good.
For having gotten up early and powering through my exhaustion. For wanting it enough. For having had the courage to show up. For sticking it out when I wanted so badly to run. For smiling through my embarrassment. For being given a chance to sing, and for being given the voice and spirit that I've got. For making them remember me, no matter what. For being a presence.
This is what it's all about, for me. This is my life's purpose.
xo
Don't Stand So Close To Me
*As an added bonus to the inaugural post, this is something I wrote some time ago. Enjoy!*
I think the popularity of "Self-Checkout" machines at grocery/drug stores is fascinating. If you think about it, they're actually more trouble than if you were to just let the human cashiers check and bag your groceries. People think nothing of letting other people do things I'd personally rather do on my own. Park their cars (the valet could SO easily damage your car or just take it altogether), do their laundry (same deal--ruined or lost clothing), etc...I'd rather do these things for myself because if something goes wrong, I know I'M the one who did it. But checking groceries--what supermarket workers are PAID to do, among other things--is fairly foolproof, and you're right there to watch them do it. And yet, some of us insist on the self-checkout--sometimes waiting in a longer line than the regular ones and enduring countless technological errors to do so. I do it too. In fact, generally if something can be done online or without human interaction, I'll choose that way of doing it. Ordering takeout, shopping, whatever. Part of this is because talking on the phone makes me nervous and I'd rather have time to look things over before I commit. But everyone (at my local grocery store, anyway) loves those self-checkouts. Why do we want to use those so much? There’s always some asshole in front of you who doesn’t get that it’s supposedly “faster” than using the regular checkout and is checking things so slowly and carefully that you end up waiting in line for fifteen minutes. They’re usually the same type as the “I have no idea how to work this thing but I thought I’d give it a shot” people--the ones who cannot figure out what the next step is, how to pay the machine, etc. Then you get up there and even if you’re doing it right, the machine insists over and over that you take out, then put back in, then take out your items from the bag. Then something won’t scan. Then something rings up wrong. Blah blah blah. Why do we constantly subject ourselves to this?
I think that, in New York City specifically, we all just want to be left alone sometimes. New Yorkers get SO MUCH human interaction that when we have a chance to avoid it, we take it. Or at least, I do. We’re constantly forced on each other--you have to actively TRY to keep to yourself in this city. It’s true anywhere--you can’t avoid human interaction ALL the time, but the thing about living here is that every time you go to Manhattan, for example, there are just people everywhere. There’s always someone staring at you, some tourist asking you for directions, someone shoving a flier into your face, some homeless person asking for money. The subway is the most obvious and annoying example of this. My train is almost ALWAYS crowded, no matter the time of day or night. It could be 2 AM and there will still be people on the NW. (And when I've had a long night at work, the last thing I want to put up with is a pack of drunken girls dressed like hookers who have stolen all the seats, even though THEY haven't been at work all night and I bet my feet hurt more.) The 6 train in the morning is particularly cutthroat. I’ve been physically shoved out of the way by guys who just HAD to make that train. I once watched a guy jump from the platform to the dangerous, semi-blocked area in between the train cars and use that door to get in. And if you do happen to make it, there is usually no room to move--barely enough room to breathe. Sometimes I’m in such a mood that I don’t mind it--it’s the nature of the beast, after all. You live in New York, you know it’s crowded. Sometimes when something funny happens or the train conductor is being annoying, there’s a sense of camaraderie that I enjoy. There are those times on the train when you could lose your balance completely and still not fall in any direction, being so surrounded by solid walls of people. Sometimes that’s fine. But there are other times, when I’m the victim of what can only be called nonconsensual frottaging, when I can kiss a stranger if I move my head a few inches, I want to throw my head back and scream at the top of my lungs, “AHHHHHH! Get OFF me! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” Last week this girl got on the train and rested her ass on the armrest--right on my shoulder. If the train’s not crowded, I HATE when people do that. And I had no choice--I couldn’t really move my arm, because of course there was already someone sitting in the middle seat next to me. I wanted to say, “I know you feel one of your cheeks resting on my arm. I KNOW you feel it. You wanna scoot it over, just a tad?!” Eventually I moved around uncomfortably enough to make her remove her behind from my personal space.
Any real New Yorker knows that Times Square is a complete nightmare to avoid whenever possible, and around the holidays, the sheer mass of bodies in the city can drive a person insane. Unless you’re a glutton for punishment, going out on New Year’s Eve has become a search for the least-crowded place to be. Sometimes I get concerned that I don't get out enough--but it's no wonder. Working with the public and then being forced to BE the public whether I like it or not every day--of course the first thing I want to do is run for the quiet of my own apartment. I think sometimes we all just need. a little. SPACE.
I love self-checkout. ;)
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