On the Roller Coaster

I auditioned for another community theater play. The first night was Tuesday and the second was last night. There are three roles for women and three for men. If community theater is anything like school theater, it was a very unusual audition in that the men far outnumbered the women. There were perhaps five men who are age-appropriate to play the male lead, and two of them were PHENOMENAL. I got to read with one of them, and it was amazing. I felt almost like a real actor just standing next to him from the energy pouring off him. There were several candidates for the younger male characters, but only two were especially memorable in a good way. I know which one I would choose were I the director, and particularly if I were somehow cast.

Between the two nights of auditions, there were only seven women auditioning for three roles. One of the women was only age-appropriate for one role—she had been in Matilda with Maggie!—and in a pinch, most of the rest of the women could also play the younger-ish character. (35-55 years vs. 20-40 years) The first night, I was asked to read all of the women, and there was only one side that I felt like I stumbled through a little because I hadn't realized it had a character for which I was auditioning, so I hadn't read it beforehand.

Last night, when I walked in, the director remembered my name. (Maybe not a big feat considering there had been six women, and two were named Jessica, but still. He remembered!) I was asked to read (I think) more times than any of the other women and only for the lead role. The other woman who seemed to be in the running based on what she was asked to read is well-known to everyone in the theater and most of the actors, and she had a far more mature, confident interpretation of the character. I played it a lot more insecure and frightened than weary and exasperated, and I hope they recognized that it was a (possibly bad) acting choice and not just newbie nerves—which I did have, but not like that.  

If I'm right and it's between me and her, I'm sure she'll get it.

But like Schrödinger's cat, until I hear back, it's theoretically possible that I might be cast or I might not. Some people DO win the lottery, so many things are possible. But hearing back is like waiting for college application responses, except instead of big envelope/little envelope, it's either an offer phone call or a sorry email. 

I will know by Monday, but I'm going to be on the edge of my seat until then. 😬

UPDATE:

Not cast. Shocker.

Ghost Story

I was scrolling through LinkedIn and I saw the automatic post about my brother's work anniversary. I had seen it last year too, two months after he died. It brings you up short. You're tooling along, thinking about other things, and then you're crying at the reminder of the loss. 

I expected their birthdays to be bad, and of course, the anniversaries of my mom's and brother's deaths. (Last year suuuuuuuuuucked.) But to have the internet just reach out and punch me in the chest on a random day in October is unfair. 

In 2009 or 2010, I found out on FaceBook that a high school classmate whom I barely remember, some friend of a friend, had killed himself, leaving his FaceBook page frozen in time. It was the first time I thought about the digital loose ends left behind. A decade later, a social media friend was dying of cancer, and he gave a friend his FB login info so that they could announce when he passed for all the far-flung people who cared about him. I heard that FaceBook implemented some feature to convert people's pages to memorials after they die. 

When G died suddenly, Lucy needed a couple of days before she could write and post the announcement of his death. I don't know if she converted his account, if he still had one, since I'm not on FaceBook any more. I kinda doubt they post death anniversary reminders, but maybe. Maybe that's a choice the survivors can make? 

I have abandoned social media accounts of my own. FaceBook, my original (The Social Media Platform Formerly Known as) Twitter account. I have others I've deleted completely. There might be people who wonder or care.

I feel like there's a novel, or at least a short story, in there somewhere about digital ghosts, but I need to go cry so maybe it will come to me later.

Back In MY Day....

I have these old person moments of sticker shock and then subsequent hatred of capitalism. (Yeah, I know. Something different for me.)

I dropped my car off to have its bumper replaced after I was gently rear ended at a light. The shop couldn't tell me how long it would take to fix until they had taken the car apart to check for more possible damage than the visible scars in the plastic. I dropped it off the day *they* requested, so I don't think I'm being excessively impatient to have expected a repair time estimate by end of business. But that's only part of what's bothering me.

They did, however, provide an estimate of the cost: $1520. For a new rear bumper. The parts are only $253, which was surprisingly low considering that, purchased piece by piece, I think my car must be worth half a million dollars. Plus $187 in paint supplies. I'm genuinely stunned that the plastic bumper evidently needs painting? Like, wtf? If it's plastic, make it in all the VW colors, pop that sucker on, and let me drive off. This was definitely not manufactured for serviceability, which has broadly been true of every Volkswagen I've ever owned. (I had a Jetta whose antenna died and the entire interior roof lining had to be removed...with all the labor time that requires...to change the...antenna. Instead, I lived without radio for the rest of the time that I owned that car.)

But what really shocks me is that they are estimating nearly $1000 in labor. I really, really, really doubt that the technician who is doing the labor is going to make anywhere near $1000 from it. Salary.com says the average auto mechanic pay is about $27/hour. I guess the remaining $48/hour goes to maintaining the shop and its equipment, paying the receptionist to NOT call me with a time estimate, the billing person to argue with insurance about their doubled cost estimate, (one hopes) health insurance for everyone, and most crucially, profit for the owner.

And still no estimate of when it will be ready because "just in time" parts inventory translates to "don't even bother hoping we'll have the parts any time soon."

I'm thinking that, like the busted radio in my Jetta, I should have just lived with the battle scars.

Welp.

That was short-lived. 

The second night of auditions was evidently the night all the real actors showed up. Lit-er-al-ly, the lead from the show that Maggie was just in came to audition. Half the women knew each other and the ACT staff from other shows. Many had their pictures on the walls.

If I'm honest, last night was what I expected from the first night: twenty or so people who were way more experienced and obviously better than I am, who were all part of the local theater scene. The fake-out was a small pool of decent, but not outstanding, amateur actors that first night, not people who studied theater in college, have acted for decades, and fell just short of their Broadway dreams, so now they do community theater Upstate as an unpaid vocation.

Last night, I was clearly one of the worst actors, though I probably shouldn't presume to call myself that. To my surprise and contrary to their stated plan for what was going to happen, I did get to read twice even though I had been at the first night and should have only gone once toward the end, you know, if there was time. So that was either very kind of them, or possibly cruel, in case they just wanted to silently laugh at me and my zero experience, then gossip about it afterward, my not having even realized the first night that I should make sure to stand in the light. Doh. 

Jose and Maggie say I'm being too hard on myself, assuming that they were being pityingly generous. But when the director literally said to the first night of small, evidently modestly talented turnout, "you're all so good, you're making my job hard"? And the disclaimer that if you were asked to leave after the first round, it did not mean the director didn't like you, but only that she had seen what she needed to see? And saying they were pleased to see new faces in addition to welcoming back old hands? Except that as we, the dismissed, all scattered out into the night, it was clear the big kids were taking the ball back into the theater to play for real. So it's hard to believe that they aren't just being nice—which, don't get me wrong, is lovely. It just leaves me wondering whether I should give up the whole stupid idea—admittedly as I have nearly every other thing that I wasn't instantly good at. But even if I took acting classes for the next five years before auditioning again, I would still fall short of their individual and collective experience. 

And I don't think I would have felt quite so bad about it if not for that first night that gave me such hope that I had even a sliver of a chance of actually getting a role, rather than my initial expectation of learning how auditions go.

🎵God, I Hope I Get It!🎵

 Adding to the list of things I never expected in my life, I auditioned for a role in a community theater play last night.

EEEEEK!!!!

I'll admit I have had fantasies of being an actor. I've seen bad acting and thought, "I can do better than that." I've imagined myself on a set and rehearsed my Oscars speech in the shower. One of my favorite short stories is Kurt Vonnegut's "Who Am I This Time?" about a small town community theater. But it was never a real plan. I would have DIED before doing anything toward that goal and life when I was young.  

Well...

Maggie has been doing theater for over a decade, and I've been doing costuming for those plays for over a decade. I've also been running lines with her, reading all of the characters other than hers. And I'm pretty good at it. Now that she is no longer in compulsory school, I'm no longer involved in the productions she's doing, though we are still running lines. And I thought, what the hell? It would be fun to act. 

There are several local community theaters that hold open auditions. I did my research and talked to Maggie about how they are usually run. I might need headshots, which Jose would be more than ecstatic to provide. And I (thought I) needed an acting resume. That is something of a challenge, seeing as how I haven't been in a show since playing the Queen of England in a kindergarten Thanksgiving skit. (Or at least so I've been told. I've seen the pictures of myself in a construction paper crown, but I have no memory of the experience.) A Google search found lots of hits for "resume for beginning actor," though ironically, one of the examples included mention of the actor's Tony award. Not precisely a beginner.

BUT!!! I have seven credits as a costume assistant in Maggie's school shows! I still have the programs with my name in them to prove it! And I have two film studies degrees, which isn't acting, but certainly shows a deep interest in analytically watching actors. And, again, during my overactive speechifying in the shower, I thought about how I could describe my strange hippie childhood, in which we had no TV, but we would read aloud to each other, complete with expression and voices and often gestures. With my own children, we did have a TV, but I still spent years reading aloud to them. Before She Who Must Not Be Named was cancelled for being a bigot, I read all seven Harry Potter books to them. I can still recite the first few pages of "Horton Hatches the Egg" from memory, including distinct voices for Maisie and Horton. It's a kind of performing. 

So armed with a padded resume and zero real experience, I looked up when theaters were having auditions. I found that the first upcoming play had roles for which I was suitable. I listened to the play and determined to go. I told the four people closest to me in my life, and they unanimously said some version of "omg, you'll be great!" 

It's possible I might be a tad...dramatic...in my everyday behavior and presentation? 😳

I was perfectly calm and confident up until the day before the audition. It was a play with only two characters, and I thought that, unlikely as it might be, even if I knocked it out of the park in my very first audition, there was NO WAY anyone in their right mind would cast me, an unknown person with no experience who might not show up to rehearsals, might not be able to memorize the substantial quantity of lines, might just panic and freeze in front of an audience when it came to showtime. So the audition would be entirely an exercise in...auditioning, to the point that I didn't pay much attention to when the shows would be because I assumed the whole venture would begin and end with the first night. 

The day before the audition, however, I had a huge crisis of confidence with the realization that I will never get another proper professional job. No one will hire me to be a technical writer ever again. No one will ever so much as interview me for a technical writing job, given my two decade break from a career that was only three years long to begin with. I'm also wholly unsuited for the corporate world. (See previous post.) It was a bad day and I was ready to hide in my house until I died.

But the morning of the audition, when Maggie left for school, she wished me good luck and told me I'd be great, and the expression of hope and pride and delight on her face put to rest any thoughts of skipping the audition and abandoning the project. 

So I psyched myself up. What's the absolute worst that could happen? I'd look ridiculous in front of a room full of strangers? Maggie said that even if I bombed, no one would laugh. I would get what she thinks is worse: a pity clap. For me, that is actually better because it shows the people aren't total assholes. And what's more, I am so insignificant that nobody would pay much notice since most people are tied up in their own experiences anyway.

So I went. 

I arrived on time, and...theater people are lovely. Broadly smiling gentlemen asked if I'd auditioned there before and didn't stop smiling when I said no. They invited me to fill out my forms, took my picture, showed me the sides (snippets from the play, for the uninitiated *raises hand*) from which we would read. Almost 60 people had RSVPed to the FaceBook announcement, but to my shock, there were a total of seven women, including me, there to audition on the first of two nights. I began to dare to hope. Just a little.

The play is The Half-Life of Marie Curie, about the famous scientist and her best friend, a fellow scientist and a sarcastic, passionate suffragette. Curie is, of course, a legend, but Hertha Ayerton was a turn-of-the-century badass. Though the website said "age will not be a major factor" in casting, if it really is, three of the seven women were honestly a bit too young for the roles, leaving four grown-ass women.

We were invited into the theater and assigned sides from which to cold read. Two were monologues and the rest were with partners. We each had two turns, and I did well, I think. I should have moved more, but I was concentrating more on reading the lines correctly and with expression than physically acting. Two of the actors were...ok. Not at all terrible, but not great. Three were good. One was excellent. (She also had on a great dress. I told her so, and she was pleased because it was new!👏)

We were asked to return to the lobby while the director and her compatriots discussed. The assistant came out and asked if we had any requests for the second round, and I asked to read Hertha since I had read Marie both times. I think she confused me with one of the other ladies because when we went back, I was assigned Marie's monologue and the woman who had done Hertha's once before was asked to do it again. I saw the assistant whisper to the director's husband that she had already done it, as if it was a surprise. 

And with that, we were done in just about an hour, but we were asked to return for night two of auditions if we could. And that is where we are at this moment. Tonight I will go back, and we will see who else shows up. In the unlikely even that no one does, I think there are four possible contenders, and I am maybe just barely one of them. Eeek. 

Cue A Chorus Line.

The Flaw in "Mom's World"

My mom used to talk about "Mom's World." There was the world outside our apartment, and there was "Mom's World" inside it. In Mom's World, you could have three parents and it was fine. In Mom's World, you could say curse words that you were never allowed to use in school. In Mom's World, you could occasionally make yourself sick on pink elephant shaped cake. In Mom's World, even as a child, you could speak your mind and have your thoughts and feelings respected, even if she had to point out when you were done that you were factually wrong. In Mom's World, you were the master of your own body and sexuality and nobody would judge you for that as long as no one got hurt or pregnant or diseased. In Mom's World, you could lambast the adults who were not deserving of respect. In Mom's World, you could rail against all of the ways that the world was imperfect and idiotic and disappointing. In Mom's World, Mom was deserving of respect. Mom's World was an act of will by this amazing person whom I love so dearly.

But the trouble is that the world outside exists. And it crushed Mom's World. 

I still deal with the bureaucratic repercussions of having three parents. We three whom she raised got in trouble when we slipped up and cursed at school. We got fat from pink elephant cake. No one wants to hear what we think. We are slut shamed. We must perform respectfulness for people in authority over us, regardless of their unworthiness. The world continues to be stupid and imperfect and wrong. And mothers get no respect. 

I feel very close to my mother right now, which is especially painful now that she's gone. 

She "quit working" when I was ten, when my father got a professional job for the first time after college. She never went back to "working." Don't get me wrong. She was busy literally until the day she died. She took care of me, my brother, my father, and eventually my sister-in-law and my nephew. She went out of her way to do absolutely everything she could to make everyone else's lives easier and happier, even as her body was failing her. 

And it counts for nothing but a fond memory in the minds of the five people who benefited from her ceaseless toil. You see, she didn't have a job, or at least not one that came with humanity validating paycheck. 

Seemingly incapable of learning from other's mistakes, I "quit working" when my first child was born. I spent seventeen years "not working," and now, it will be impossible to pick up my career. I could do the work, but no one will believe that. At the very least, whichever "Human Resources"—a truly vile, ironically dehumanizing phrase—flak responsible for sorting through way too many resumes will look at mine for a few seconds and discard it...because I "didn't work" or because it doesn't fit the soulless AI generated idea of what it "should" say.

But more than that, I feel close to my mom for sharing the utter delusion that my own values, my own convictions that drove my actions could carry me through a world to which they are not suited. I am no more fit to exist in the world than she was. She thought that she could enforce her little corner of the world, and so did I. 

But I can't. 

The world is a stupid, fucked up, irrational place run by the worst people imaginable, and my choices are to try to adjust, or to drown. And I don't think I can adjust.