Bath Time

Bath Time 2
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I spent a weekend at home without really reading my email or any webcomics or any of my usual internet activities. It was four days. It felt like four months.

Everything moves too fast on the internet. I sort of kept up with Twitter, but I didn't read every single Tweet posted by every single person I follow. The result of missing large chunks of others' Twitter streams lead to my unfollowing a lot of them. It wasn't personal, I just realized that I wasn't that interested in what they had to say. I wouldn't be offended if one of you five people stopped reading my blog because you were no longer interested in what I had to say. My pride might be hurt, but I wouldn't be offended.

So, I guess I should spill the Big Can o' Beans: I've signed a contract to be a teaching artist in Korea next year. My contract runs from February 2010 to February 2011. I'm really excited for this adventure. I get to do something I really like doing AND get paid for it AND live in Asia AND pay off some debt and squirrel away some money for the Future. This is going to be a really cool year.

I'm nervous, though. My departure date is inching closer, and the reality of what's about to happen is hitting me, and my (very natural) fear of the unknown is creeping up on me. I shouldn't be nervous. I will know several people who are there already, and signs are in English and Korean, and it's apparently not that different that living in New York (cleaner, though!), so what am I nervous about?

I guess it's that I'll be uprooting my life once again for uncharted territory, which means that I have to pack up everything here in New York and Do Something with it, whether it's selling it, giving it away, or sending it back to Minnesota. (I'd really like to leave that last option as a last resort. The only things I want to take from here are my favorite clothes, shoes, and books.) I really loathe moving, as I've done it six times in the last two years (SIX TIMES). I'll also have to say goodbye to a lot of really awesome people and comforting routines for new people and new routines. Yes, yes, it'll be great, but it will also be uncomfortable. I don't enjoy being uncomfortable.

I know, I know. I'll get over it. And no, I shouldn't agonize over it now. I'm not really. I'm just...processing the magnitude of what I'm about to undertake. So many people never leave their state for an extended period of time, let alone the country of their birth.

This is weird.

I'm Not Alone

I have an issue. Ok, I have many "issues," but one in particular has caused me a whole lot of grief from as far back as junior high or high school.

I can't stand mouth noises.

I can't tolerate lip-smacking, gum-popping, tooth-sucking, finger-licking, chip-crunching, apple-mushing, or repeated sniffing. All the sounds of mastication are abhorrent to me. A lot of people say, "Well, yeah! It's rude to chew with your mouth open." That's not what I mean. Bad manners are annoying. These sounds, the sounds of mouths and breathing and liquid sloshing around tongues, produce a very particular reaction in me: I get violently angry, and I want nothing more than to smack the offender in the face to get them to stop or flee the room immediately.

I used to describe the sensation as "wanting to rip the person's tongue out and wrap it around their head to get them to stop." Not pretty, not rational.

Riding the subway with a gum-cracker is the 9th Circle of Hell. If I don't have my iPod to drown out the sound, I have to close my eyes and attempt to concentrate on something else, just to quiet the "beast rocking in the corner," to keep from screaming or doing the gum-cracker serious bodily harm.

I keep quiet about it. When I have mentioned it in the past, people look at me blankly, and I can almost hear their thoughts: "Cuh-razy. Plumb crazy." I mentioned it to my family long, long ago. They thought I was being melodramatic. They often tease me by smacking their lips.

Until today, I thought I was the only one who flew into a violent rage when she couldn't escape from those sounds. I thought I was alone. I honestly thought that there was something very, very wrong with me. I'd given up thinking that there was anything I could do about it. I figured I'd just have to exercise enormous self-control every time I was around someone with a noisy mouth.

Turns out I'm not alone.

Selective Sound Sensitivity can occur in people of all ages, and can have a sudden or gradual onset, often around puberty. [ding!] Most often cited objectionable sounds include lip smacking [ding!], chewing [ding!], swallowing, breathing, [ding! ding!]...

Reactions can include rage [ding!], sadness, panic attack [ding!], indecision, loss of cognition, physical itching or crawling sensations, urge to flee, or fight [ding! ding! ding!]. Some people have to make vocalizations in response to the aggravating sound [I totally pop a piece of gum when I can't escape; it helps], others wear earplugs in an attempt to avoid provocation [I've considered doing this on the subway, but felt like too much of a dingus to do it].

When I found this Yahoo! Group and read the description, I started to cry. It's such a relief to know that my reaction to these noises is not something I manufactured for whatever reason. I kept repeating to myself, "It's real. It's real." I may now be an official resident in Crazytown, but at least the population is greater than 1. Scroll down to the responses on the bottom of this page, and you'll see just how many other people have Selective Sound Sensitivity.

So what happens now? I don't know. I'll keep researching, and I'm awaiting approval to join the Selective Sound Sensitivity Yahoo! Group. Some message groups have tossed around therapy ideas, from "pink noise" CDs to Prozac. I certainly hope it doesn't come down to drugs, but honestly, I won't rule them out.

For now, it's enough to know that I'm not the only one.

Rhodes

Rhodes
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Oh, the blank page.

The empty text box that pops up on Flickr for the "Blog This" function is intimidating today. I find that I'm not burning to say anything or expound on a photo or rant. That's a scary time, when there's nothing in the well. (Well, there's something in there, but it's frustration, and a feeling of being blocked at every turn, but that's not much fun to read, so I refrain.)

The blank page taunts me. It speaks in the voices of the doubters and cynics. It says, "Who do you think you are? What makes what you have to say so important?" I don't have an answer to that question. I don't. I only know that I'm compelled to keep doing this, keep putting one word after another, even if it's not anything anyone else wants to read or hear. I wish I had an explanation for the compulsion, because it would make me feel a whole lot better (*controlfreak*), but I don't. I write because I must. And when I don't write, something goes wrong inside that is equally impossible to explain.

The fear of the blank page is why I do NaNoWriMo. At least once every year I abandon the idea that I can only write when the muse strikes me. I hogtie the taunting voices. I toss aside the notion that every word has to be profound and just tell a story. It's a lurching, sometimes grotesque thing, the story that emerges, but NaNoWriMo doesn't care about pretty. Pretty and Perfect is boring. Grotesque gives me something to work with.

I'm feeling naked now. I think that's ok.

Clearing

I just murdered a whole bunch of credits on my acting resume. Bonnie Gillespie, L.A. casting director, told me that I need to get rid of them, and therefore, away they go. I'm sad, but it's confirmation of what I've been struggling with for the past 11 months: I really have started over, and everything I did before doesn't count here.

I don't mean that my experience on set or on a stage, or the classes I've taken, or the people I met before New York don't matter. They do, immensely. They've shaped me and encouraged me and challenged me and prepared me to be resilient in the face of New York elitism.

However, no one cares what I did in Minneapolis. They want to know if I've done anything in New York that matters (i.e. NOT background work, as exciting and affirming as it was), and until I have, they'll let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I don't matter.

I don't believe them, but I'm willing to play by their rules - for a while - to get what I came here to get: a viable acting career. And until I make the decision to stop, nothing can make me.

Silkworm Cocoons

Silkworm Cocoons
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Catering a lot. That's good!
It makes me lazy in my off time. That's bad.
Doing more background (extra) work today. That's good!
No work tomorrow. That's bad.
Anxious to get my demo reel cut together. That's good!
Can't get the video ripping software to work. That's bad.
Generally a whole lot more cheerful these days. That's good!
The weather's supposed to be in the upper 70s today. That's...not so bad, actually.

NaNoWriMo starts in, like, three weeks. I have no idea what I'm writing about, but I'm DOING IT. I keep trying to coerce people to do it with me. "Come on, don't you want to go nuts for a month? No, there are no official prizes. Isn't self-satisfaction after abject suffering enough for you?"

Heh.

Mykonos

Mykonos
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Goodness. What a weekend.

So, to recap:

- 12-hour catering shift in Westchester, broken down bus, home at 4:30am
- keys lost, locked out until Monday afternoon, wandered around Manhattan from 4:30 until 9:00 am on Sunday, called a locksmith, couldn't cough up $240, checked into a hotel
- 5 am call for catering on Monday morning
- interview this morning with a really great company, torn about what to do next if offered the job

Catering again tonight. Fortunately for me, it's in Brooklyn, about three stops away on the subway.

I have some decisions to make, and many tasks to do, but all I want to do is sleep. The chaos of the weekend really messed up my routine, and I feel like I need a day to get back on track. I'm not going to get one, though.

Whew

So, I got released at 9 pm. Not as much overtime as I'd hoped, but still an 11 and a half hour day. Not bad.

A few semi-famous folks on set, and a few famous ones.

The semi-famous:

Gretchen Mol



Michael Imperioli



Jason O'Mara, the lead (had *no* idea he was Irish)



The famous:

Harvey Keitel



There were some other people, but I didn't recognize them or know their names, so I can't look them up. And I am tired. I want to sleep. So good night.

More live-blogging on Thursday!

Self-Care

Self-Care
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I don't even know what to say today.

I have 12 headshots and letters ready to go in the mail today. I'm proud of that.

I'm waiting for the coffee to kick in.

I miss going to dance class. More than I'll admit on a daily basis.

I have to buy a loft bed today.

My apartment was a mess yesterday and I cleaned it up, put my clean clothes away where they belonged, and made neat piles on my desk. I'm proud of that, too.

I have a deep affection for the Brooklyn Public Library.

The Raw Shark Texts was quite boring. And then it got good. Really good. Another winner, in my opinion.

I need a sharp change in the weather. I need a change, period. I feel like I'm covered in silt, like I've drifted into a still pool, out of the main current and into one of those cloudy, weed-littered pools that line a rushing river. I've settled to the bottom and I'm covered with sediment. I need a good, swift kick from an accidental toe to send me back into the current.

Or maybe I just need some vegetables.

Boo Boo

Boo Boo
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Happy Independence Day Eve! Hope you have fun at your barbecues and pic-a-nics and other assorted goodies. I gotta work.

Letters have been written and printed. Now I just need to print off some resumes and the first five will be off! Baby steps.

Fountain Pen with Moleskine

Fountain Pen with Moleskine
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Wouldn't it be great if I could write all my cover letters using my fountain pen? It would make it fun instead of tedious.

Ugh. Cover letters suck. They just do. Alrighty. Just 71 more to go.

*whimper*

New Yorker

New Yorker
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I got my New York license. W00t! It came quickly. I just applied last week and it arrived two days ago. Overall, I have to commend the NY DMV. Yeah, I had to stand in line, and fill out forms, and shuffle around like cattle in a pen, and the whole experience took an hour and a half, but overall? They moved as quickly as they could, they kept their senses of humor, they are efficient, and I thought it was pretty painless. Congrats, New York DMV: you beat the stereotype.

It's going to be a hot one today, which is why I'm staying in my skivvies as long as possible before I have to suit up to leave the house. The weekend looks stormy but Monday should be fair and pleasant.

---------

I am in the midst of reading a John Guare play titled Marco Polo Sings a Solo. I can't recall having ever experienced Mr. Guare's writing before this, and it's odd. As an actor, all I can think about is, "How would I, if I were cast, make sense of these words?" I'll admit that it's daunting. I imagine, though, if I had the time and opportunity to play with them, they - the words - would eventually make themselves make sense, and I wouldn't have to force anything on them. I can't say I'd jump at the chance to perform in this particular play, though. It's good, but not my cup of tea.

Speaking of performing, Ishy-girl, I have finished my spreadsheet for my headshot mailing. Celebrate with me, just for a moment, with a little chair dance. What does this "finishing my spreadsheet" mean, you ask? It means that I am now organized to start firing off letters and headshots to casting agencies. I am taking my baby steps. W00t, again!

I [heart] the Brooklyn Public Library

I [heart] the Brooklyn Public Library
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I woke early yesterday morning. Six am to be exact. My upstairs neighbor was dragging furniture around. At six am. Who does that?

I wasn't sleepy anymore, so I hopped out of bed and got moving. I accomplished quite a bit yesterday morning. I finished unpacking, showered, and got my butt to the Central Library to check out some more books. As you can see, I got, um, a few. I went a little nuts. But they're free! Freeeeeee! After having to buy an unexpected plane ticket, I'm a little strapped for cash. Free books make me go crazy!

I left the library and wandered through Park Slope to catch the train. It is beautiful over there, with or without the Stroller Mafia. I passed a mansion and the thought occurred to me, "I could have that. If I really, truly wanted it and made it a goal, I could have that." It was an empowering thought. Right on its heels came the thought, "Do I really want it?" I'm not so sure I do.

What do I want? I want to get out of debt and stay out. I want a cozy, comfortable home without the worry of how I'm going to pay for it. I want a career in which I get to be as creative and variegated as I am when I'm not working. I want to do it all: write, act, direct, make films, create performance art, dance, photograph, produce, organize, design clothing, paint, daydream, learn, relax. I want adventure, whimsy, romance, good food, movement and color. And I want to get paid for it. I believe I can.

Unfinished

Cahier sketch
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

But how much is anything ever truly "finished"? One just decides to stop and move on to the next project. I decided to stop sketching and move on to the next project.

Which happens to be freaking out; the next project, that is. For FADE, the film I did two years ago, is having a premiere, two years later.

What: FADE
When: Friday, June 20th, 7:00pm
Where: Suburban World Theater, Uptown, Minneapolis


I'll admit it: I'm terrified. I haven't seen the film yet, so I have no idea what my performance is like. And that terrifies me.

I'm a control freak. I really am. I'm a Type A Control Freak. I like to have my hands on the reins/dials/levers/steering wheel and I don't want anyone else touching them. I won't throw open the shutters or pull all the stops or leave the cylinders wide open unless I know it's perfectly safe to do so. (This tendency sometimes makes me a bad actor.) This is absurd, of course, because I have absolutely no control over what other people are thinking or doing and my rational mind knows this, but I still prefer to live in the illusion that I AM IN CONTROL.

This premiere? Totally outside my control. I have to sit there, in the dark, with other people watching my performance and judging it, silently or vocally. I will have to sit there and take it and be ok with it and this is terrifying.

But it's a good lesson. It's an opportunity to practice doing something that scares me. I just might need someone to hold my hand while I do it.

"Thanks."

Thanks.
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

Lisa tucked a stray hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck. She scanned her section and created her mental list: 35 looks comfy; 37 looks ready for a check; 41 can rot. She exhaled and organized her cash.

Table 37 was indeed looking all around the dining room, that searching gaze that sets of the "Coming right away, sir" circuits in the server's brain. Pulling the black folder from her pocket, Lisa checked the bill once more to make sure everything looked right. She donned her server smile and headed to the table.

"How was everything?" Lisa asked, hovering a polite distance from the table.

"Great, great," the man at 37 said. "We're ready for our bill."

"Here you go," Lisa said, placing the black folder on the table. "Enjoy the rest of your stay in New York."

"Thanks!" the bubble woman at 37 said. And I hope you enjoy your audition tomorrow!"

"Thanks," Lisa said, edging away from the table. The man looked over the bill and pulled out his wallet.

"So how does that work, anyway?" the bubbly woman said. "Do you just...go in there and read something?" Lisa sighed, silently.

"Sometimes you read from what's called a side," she explained. "And sometimes they ask you to prepare a piece before you come in the room."

"What kind of piece?"

"A monologue. Something short that shows a range of character?"

"Well I think that's just great," the bubbly woman said.

"Do you get much from those auditions? Are you in something right now?" the man asked, closing the black folder.

"No," Lisa said, keeping her voice light and friendly. She wanted to scream, "Why do you think I'm working here?" Instead, she replied, "There are a lot of actors in this town, and while there are a lot of jobs, not all of them pay well."

"Well I think that's just great," the bubbly woman said again.

"We're all set," the man said, patting the bill.

"Thanks," Lisa said, picking up the bill. "Have a great afternoon." She escaped to the hutch behind the bar and opened the black folder to close the check. They'd left her a dollar. On an $80 tab. She cursed, silently.

"I'd rather they'd have just shut up and left me a decent tip," she said, stabbing the touch screen on the computer.

"Did you get stiffed?" Henry, another server, asked.

"Oh no. They left me a tip. A lovely little portrait of George Washington. On an $80 tab."

"Awesome."

Lisa sighed again and tucked the cash in her pocket. She peeked around the wall separating the dining room and bar from the back of the house and saw that 37 and 39 were both gone. She grabbed a tray and headed back out to bus 39. They had been a quiet table that didn't need much. Seemed like curmudgeonly old people at first, but really low maintenance. They didn't talk much to each other or her, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves so she'd pretty much left them alone.

Arriving at the table, she cleared the glasses, plates, silverware and rumpled napkins, placing the check in her pocket last of all. It was company policy that servers wait until they were out of sight of customers before they looked at checks.

Balancing the heavy tray on one hand and steadying it with the other, Lisa shouldered open the swinging kitchen door. Glasses went into the partitioned lugs, plates and silverware in the bus tubs, napkins in the cloth bag. She tucked the tray under her arm and pulled out 39's bill.

They didn't eat much. Their total was only $30. Three $10 bills covered their charges. But underneath the tens was a $20. And written on it, in bright pink marker and swirling script across Andrew Jackson's face, the words, "Good Luck!"

Lisa laughed; a short, exhalation of a laugh. She put the bill in her pocket, then shouldered her way back onto the floor, the door swooshing back and forth in the wake of her passage.

Status

I should write something, shouldn't I. I've been silent lately, just posting photos. That's because this blog is supposed to be about my life as an actor, and there hasn't been too much of that going on lately.

I usually scan the Equity casting call web page for auditions about two or three weeks out, and I put the ones I'd like to attend on my calendar. There hasn't been much of anything I want to attend lately. There are some Equity Chorus Calls (ECCs) and some Equity Principal Auditions (EPAs), both of which require one to sing. (I don't sing at auditions unless forced. Yes, yes, I can sing. Beautifully, even, sometimes. However, I do not sing well in auditions, and musical theatre is not my goal here, so I just don't put in the time and energy to prepare songs for auditions.) Other postings ask for women 40 - 50 years old, others ask for those who can believably play 18. Or the work simply doesn't interest me. So I haven't been auditioning much.

People have been asking me lately how I like New York. I have a two part answer that seems to keep popping up. One part is that I'm forcing myself to stay here for a year before I decide whether or not I like it. It's expensive and exhausting and frustrating, but I've only been here for four months and life (housing, jobs) hasn't settled down yet, so I can't make a judgment call. I don't hate it, but I can't say I like it.

The other part is that I've learned an incredible amount about who I am as an artist and as an actor, what kind of actor I am and the work I'm interested in doing, what I'll put up with, what I won't tolerate, and what kind of life I want. New York has clarified all of that, and for that I'm thankful. I don't think it would have happened in Minnesota, or it would have happened much more slowly. I was forced to make quick decisions here, and in the process the chaff has been threshed away and only the wheat remains. It was kind of painful, but it worked.

So that's the four-month New York status report. Huge changes, but not a whole lot of activity. I'll keep you posted, faithful reader.

PS - I shook Suzan-Lori Parks' hand at the MSP airport.

My folks gave me an iPod Shuffle. They rock.

In 36 hours I leave for New York City. Hopefully the move is permanent, and barring catastrophe, it will be.

Of course, when I say "permanent," I mean at least two years. I'm not the youngin' I once was, so I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stand the pace of NYC life. Nonetheless, I want to give living there a real shot. Who knows: I may fall in love with the city and die in my tiny apartment with cats crawling all over and nibbling on my dead body.

So...how do I feel? People have been asking me that a lot lately. That and "You must be so excited!!!" I am excited, but I really don't know how I feel. It doesn't seem real that I'll be living so far from my folks, that I won't be able to see my beautiful friends whenever our schedules collide. It doesn't seem real that when I come back to visit, the Twin Cities will have moved on without me and there will be buildings and bridges that I don't recognize. It doesn't seem real that I have to look for a job yet again (and that's not a good sign: finding a job is priority number one).

I can't wrap my head around the permanence of this move. Which might mean that I'm living in the moment - which is good - and at the moment I'm in Minnesota. It might mean that I have no sense of the massive amount of hard work that lies in front of me. I really don't know anything.

That's what scares me. That I really don't know anything. I'm excited, and somewhere deep inside, in a place that I'm not letting show to the world at large, I'm terrified. Sure it's exciting to jump without a net. You certainly hope that the net will appear or that the ground is made of marshmallows. Nonetheless there's still a chance that you'll land on rock hard ground like Wile E. Coyote and flatten out like a pancake. Who really knows what's down there?

In spite of my fear, I'm still going. And for that I give myself a little pat on the back. Adventures build character, right? Right?

Progress

Progress
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

It always seems that the motivation to get moving comes right on the heels of the desire to never move again.

I cleaned my room today, purged incredible amounts of paperwork, finally hung my mirrors that used to hang in my apartments, and a shelf that I purchased almost two years ago and NEVER PUT UP. This is progress.