Every so often, I get into a mood I call "cabin-ish." It's exactly what it sounds like, so long as it sounds like I want to be tucked away in a cabin in the woods instead of where I am at the present. If I was really being honest, I'd say that I am at all times relatively cabin-ish, but the level of cabin-ish changes on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis.
Currently, my cabin-ish level is somewhere between moderate and severe, and if it would only take a very small thing to tip me headfirst into the dangerous severe territories.
I am not a city girl. I'm just not. I pretend to be, and can even pretend that I am so well that I begin to believe it for myself. I enjoy trips to the Other City, but that's solely because of the theatre and cultural experiences, and has nothing to do with the pavement and subways. I like saying that I live in Boston (well, West Roxbury--I know some people take issue with whether or not that is truly considered Boston living), but the fact that I get emotionally stirred thinking about small cabins in the middle of nowhere makes me realize that liking to saying it and liking to live in it aren't really close enough.
The fact remains--I majored in theatre in college. I have student loans that are far higher than any income I'll ever actually make in that field. I have to pay them off. To do so requires a job that pays. To do so, I must live and work here. Once my loans are paid off--the world is my oyster (at least, the low-to-moderately priced world); however, if I ever want to make some sort of an income within my field of interest, I'll have to stay in a city. Not necessarily this one (in fact, probably not this one), but I can't be both a cabin-dweller and a theatrical professional.
Unless, of course, I'm a Nathan Lane or Patrick Stewart, who can easily afford to pop between both worlds.
I like to think I could start some kind of rustic theatrical group--touring through fields and forests to perform for the woodland creatures and A list directors (a sort of theatrical Robin Hood), but the day of minstrels has ended.
Today, the air is heavy with moisture (again), my eyelids are heavy with sleepiness (always), and my heart is just a little bit heavy with the knowledge that someday, I'm going to have to choose between my cabin-ish nature and my love for performance--and because I'll have to choose, I think I'll always be just a little restless.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
At least it wasn't Big Bird.
Whoever the new voice-over non-automatic voice-over man at Back Bay Station is at around 5:25 PM, I think I am in love. Where once there was a woman with little humor, now there is a man with a great deal of it. Even if he wasn't any more helpful than previous commuter rail announcer lady, he made a Friday rush hour delay into a bit of a lark with phrases such as:
"Stoughton train is just sittin' at South Station not going anywhere."
"Stoughton train boarding next on Track 3, I hope. (pause) Please ask the conductor what train it is before boarding."
"If all goes well, the Acela Express will board next on track 1."*
Speaking of a bit of a lark--my reward for recyling (in the spanking new mother of all recycle bins...if I don't decide to renew my lease, it's probably big enough for most of my possessions and my short little self) the moment that I got home from the Friday work rush was a facial wound caused by a renegade sparrow of some sort. I'm just hoping it's not a West Nile renegade sparrow.
Still in my "conservative corporate casual" attire (a la Ann Taylor Loft and Old Navy instead of Ann Taylor the Official and Banana Republic), I carried my recycling out to christen the new recycling bins with copious amounts of empty seltzer cans. I lifted the lid. I dropped my bag 'o cans. I felt Willy the Sparrow (Feature Film for Families anyone?) thwack my face before I saw him coming. Apparently, he was lurking in the bush next to the giant recycling bin waiting for an environmentally friendly victim to come along and fall prey to his evil beak of doom.
It's a good thing I have a pretty durable face. I've been left with merely a scratch from where Willy the Sparrow launched his attack. I saw him fly off into the back yard. Probably to return to his Sparrow brethren and tell them how his plot to thwart Al Gore is moving forward nicely.
Seriously, though--a BIRD CUT MY FACE!
I'm sorry Audubon Society, I have a valid reason to not give you a donation ever again (you can take away the "again" part if you want to get technical).
"Stoughton train is just sittin' at South Station not going anywhere."
"Stoughton train boarding next on Track 3, I hope. (pause) Please ask the conductor what train it is before boarding."
"If all goes well, the Acela Express will board next on track 1."*
Speaking of a bit of a lark--my reward for recyling (in the spanking new mother of all recycle bins...if I don't decide to renew my lease, it's probably big enough for most of my possessions and my short little self) the moment that I got home from the Friday work rush was a facial wound caused by a renegade sparrow of some sort. I'm just hoping it's not a West Nile renegade sparrow.
Still in my "conservative corporate casual" attire (a la Ann Taylor Loft and Old Navy instead of Ann Taylor the Official and Banana Republic), I carried my recycling out to christen the new recycling bins with copious amounts of empty seltzer cans. I lifted the lid. I dropped my bag 'o cans. I felt Willy the Sparrow (Feature Film for Families anyone?) thwack my face before I saw him coming. Apparently, he was lurking in the bush next to the giant recycling bin waiting for an environmentally friendly victim to come along and fall prey to his evil beak of doom.
It's a good thing I have a pretty durable face. I've been left with merely a scratch from where Willy the Sparrow launched his attack. I saw him fly off into the back yard. Probably to return to his Sparrow brethren and tell them how his plot to thwart Al Gore is moving forward nicely.
Seriously, though--a BIRD CUT MY FACE!
I'm sorry Audubon Society, I have a valid reason to not give you a donation ever again (you can take away the "again" part if you want to get technical).
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Welcome back to the Spirit of America
I was in Prince Edward Island yesterday morning. Things are green there. Oh, so green. And peaceful. And just...lovely. This is a fact that keeps running around my brain in potentially record-setting laps--and also a bit of knowledge that only enhanced my city-dwelling misery today.
It all started with wearing the wrong shoes. I left in a hurry this morning for my first day back at work (after an all too fleeting vacation), and slipped on a pair of shoes that didn't match. On the train, I noticed that there was a giant stain on the upper right bosom area of my dress.
These would have been trivial inconveniences on a normal day. But tonight I was meeting with a friend. A male friend. The kind of male friend who pays for my meal and holds the car door for me, and not the kind of male friend who considers me asexual and/or has similar taste in shoes as I do.
Halfway through the day, I went to use the restroom and discovered, much to my chagrin, that my good ole period decided to make itself known.
I should have mentioned that I was wearing a white dress.
Incredibly, the situation hadn't gone beyond all hope. I remedied it. I still had mismatched shoes, and the boob stain was still there, but at least I didn't have the Red Red Robin Beep Bop a Lobbin Along my backside.
My friend was leaving on the last bus home from South Station at 6:15. I get out of work at 5:15, and learned via mbta.com that I could pick up the Providence line to South Station at Back Bay at 5:27, which would give us a little less than 45 minutes to grab a quick bite in the station and see one another (this friend lives out of state, you see, until September). I waited. And waited.
I text messaged him to say that the train was running late, but since they hadn't made an announcement, it wouldn't be long.
Five minutes later, an Acela Express seemed to be stuck on our tracks.
He called. Apparently, I sent the text to a wrong number. He was still waiting for me, wondering where I was. I explained the situation, but said I'd be there as soon as I could--and the train pulled in.
I boarded. I waited. I was informed that the train would be canceled, and to take the T instead. An option I didn't consider earlier, because even if it was a bit late, the commuter rail would be much faster than taking the Orange Line and then changing lines at Park Street to the station.
It was now 5:55. There was no way to get to him. I called to tell him I couldn't make it.
I should mention now that had he not been waiting to see me, he could have left Boston at noon.
So I went, sticky from the heat, needing some aspirin something terrible, over to the other track to await the 6:00 train home.
No such luck. Not only were several trains of delayed passengers waiting in the oppressive platform air, but our train was announced to be 15-20 minutes late.
I grumbled, but I waited. And my phone rang. It turned out to be some guy named Ryan. Whose number I mistakingly text messaged. He told me that I sounded "hot." I spent the first half of the conversation thinking he was my brother (who shares a name with the boy I was seeing that evening), so I thought he was just being a prankster. And then I realized it was not, in fact, my brother.
He sent me a text message that had his picture on it.
At 6:30, the train pulled in to take me home. The A/C wasn't working.
To sum things up:
-Left the house looking bad, returned to the house 11.5 hours later feeling worse.
I need my rice and beans to finish cooking so I can eat. That's another thing. Because I was away, I have no food in the house.
Oh, PEI, how I miss thy blue skies and green fields and red cliffs and fresh air and strangers who initiate conversations that don't involve asking for money or explaining, in no uncertain terms, how they would "tap" me.
It all started with wearing the wrong shoes. I left in a hurry this morning for my first day back at work (after an all too fleeting vacation), and slipped on a pair of shoes that didn't match. On the train, I noticed that there was a giant stain on the upper right bosom area of my dress.
These would have been trivial inconveniences on a normal day. But tonight I was meeting with a friend. A male friend. The kind of male friend who pays for my meal and holds the car door for me, and not the kind of male friend who considers me asexual and/or has similar taste in shoes as I do.
Halfway through the day, I went to use the restroom and discovered, much to my chagrin, that my good ole period decided to make itself known.
I should have mentioned that I was wearing a white dress.
Incredibly, the situation hadn't gone beyond all hope. I remedied it. I still had mismatched shoes, and the boob stain was still there, but at least I didn't have the Red Red Robin Beep Bop a Lobbin Along my backside.
My friend was leaving on the last bus home from South Station at 6:15. I get out of work at 5:15, and learned via mbta.com that I could pick up the Providence line to South Station at Back Bay at 5:27, which would give us a little less than 45 minutes to grab a quick bite in the station and see one another (this friend lives out of state, you see, until September). I waited. And waited.
I text messaged him to say that the train was running late, but since they hadn't made an announcement, it wouldn't be long.
Five minutes later, an Acela Express seemed to be stuck on our tracks.
He called. Apparently, I sent the text to a wrong number. He was still waiting for me, wondering where I was. I explained the situation, but said I'd be there as soon as I could--and the train pulled in.
I boarded. I waited. I was informed that the train would be canceled, and to take the T instead. An option I didn't consider earlier, because even if it was a bit late, the commuter rail would be much faster than taking the Orange Line and then changing lines at Park Street to the station.
It was now 5:55. There was no way to get to him. I called to tell him I couldn't make it.
I should mention now that had he not been waiting to see me, he could have left Boston at noon.
So I went, sticky from the heat, needing some aspirin something terrible, over to the other track to await the 6:00 train home.
No such luck. Not only were several trains of delayed passengers waiting in the oppressive platform air, but our train was announced to be 15-20 minutes late.
I grumbled, but I waited. And my phone rang. It turned out to be some guy named Ryan. Whose number I mistakingly text messaged. He told me that I sounded "hot." I spent the first half of the conversation thinking he was my brother (who shares a name with the boy I was seeing that evening), so I thought he was just being a prankster. And then I realized it was not, in fact, my brother.
He sent me a text message that had his picture on it.
At 6:30, the train pulled in to take me home. The A/C wasn't working.
To sum things up:
-Left the house looking bad, returned to the house 11.5 hours later feeling worse.
I need my rice and beans to finish cooking so I can eat. That's another thing. Because I was away, I have no food in the house.
Oh, PEI, how I miss thy blue skies and green fields and red cliffs and fresh air and strangers who initiate conversations that don't involve asking for money or explaining, in no uncertain terms, how they would "tap" me.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Bellevue Blues
http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2008/06/25/train_fatally_strikes_boy_15_crossing_tracks_in_roslindale/
That's my station. Those are my train tracks. That's my neighborhood. That's around my commute time (it happened not long after I got off of the outbound train at around 5:45). I have brothers who are his age.
This hit home. Literally, really, since that's right around the corner from my apartment. I heard a lot of sirens not long after I got home, but since the police station is right next door and there are hospitals every which way in close proximity, I didn't think anything of it.
I don't know who that boy is, but I am so so saddened by this tragedy. My heart goes out to his family, and to his friends--especially the one who was with him when it happened.
This morning, there was no sign that it had happened--just a couple police officers surveying the scene (I don't know what for, except maybe they expected people to investigate the tracks themselves?).
That's my station. Those are my train tracks. That's my neighborhood. That's around my commute time (it happened not long after I got off of the outbound train at around 5:45). I have brothers who are his age.
This hit home. Literally, really, since that's right around the corner from my apartment. I heard a lot of sirens not long after I got home, but since the police station is right next door and there are hospitals every which way in close proximity, I didn't think anything of it.
I don't know who that boy is, but I am so so saddened by this tragedy. My heart goes out to his family, and to his friends--especially the one who was with him when it happened.
This morning, there was no sign that it had happened--just a couple police officers surveying the scene (I don't know what for, except maybe they expected people to investigate the tracks themselves?).
Friday, June 13, 2008
FAIL
I won't lie. I gave up on the Celtics last night. I had to tune into So You Think You Can Dance between 9-10, and during that time, I used my commercial breaks to check in on the game. After SYTYCD ended, I flipped permanently to the game. I was tired. The game was depressing. I turned it off.
Why oh why did I turn it off?
I regret that decision oh so very much.
I want them to beat LA very much. I do. I think they're uber-talented. I think that Boston deserves this after the Superbowl fiasco. I think Kobe Bryant is a tool.
And yet, I gave up on the boys in green last night. I should have remembered that our mascot is Lucky. Although, Heaven knows, from what I've read in the game recaps, luck had very little to do with it.
Why oh why did I turn it off?
I regret that decision oh so very much.
I want them to beat LA very much. I do. I think they're uber-talented. I think that Boston deserves this after the Superbowl fiasco. I think Kobe Bryant is a tool.
And yet, I gave up on the boys in green last night. I should have remembered that our mascot is Lucky. Although, Heaven knows, from what I've read in the game recaps, luck had very little to do with it.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Do you have an actor friend? Is he/she living in Boston?
If so, then I have some magnificent advice for you.
1) Never ask your actor friend if a gig she got is paying or not. If it is paying, chances are, she will tell you (because in Boston, that is a rare and precious thing). If it is not paying, congratulations, you just succeeded in making her feel like the part she just won is incredibly insignificant.
WRONG EXAMPLE:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast as So-in-So in "So-in-So the Musical!" I'm so excited, I have always loved this show!
YOU. Wow, congratulations! Does that pay?
ACTOR FRIEND. No, actually.
YOU. Oh. Well, still, that's great.
ACTOR FRIEND. Thanks.
Good job. She now feels like it's not worth anything that she was cast because she's not making money. You just killed her buzz. You are a buzz killer.
RIGHT EXAMPLE:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast as So-in-So in "So-in-So the Musical!" I'm so excited, I have always loved this show!
YOU. Congratulations, when is it?
ACTOR FRIEND. Next month!
YOU. I will have to come see it. That's great!
ACTOR FRIEND. Thanks!
Great! Your actor friends feels like her hard work is being acknowledged, and knows that it is indeed a good thing that she is playing her dream role.
2) Never ask your actor friend how big her role is. You can ask her to tell you about the character. A part will seem so much more meaningful if she can answer, "She's in her upper twenties, kind of a rebel, and she hates the main character" as opposed to answering, "Oh, not very big."
WRONG:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast in that Shakespeare play I auditioned for!
YOU. Oh, wow! What part did you get?
ACTOR FRIEND. I'm Ursula!
YOU. Is that a big role?
ACTOR FRIEND. Well, it's not a lead or anything, but I'm in a few scenes.
YOU. Oh, cool.
Your friend now thinks that you only think it's worth getting excited over big roles. She now thinks that her excitement in landing the role seems awkward, since you apparently only think big roles are exciting. You are a loser.
RIGHT:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast in that Shakespeare play I auditioned for!
YOU. Oh, wow! What part did you get?
ACTOR FRIEND. I'm Ursula!
YOU. And what kind of character is she?
ACTOR FRIEND. Oh, she's a lady-in-waiting to Hero, and she's very clever, and she's in love with Hero's uncle. It's a really fun part.
YOU. I am so happy for you!
Now your actor friend is aware that you share her joy in being cast. What a good friend you are.
3) Do not think that saying, "You were the best one up there," "It looked like you were having fun up there," "I loved your costume in the third act," or "Good job memorizing all of those lines" are acceptable compliments after seeing your friend in a performance. We actors realize that those are just clever ways of saying that you didn't enjoy the show. If you don't like the show, or your friend's performance, lie. The only time it is acceptable not to lie, unless you are a casting director, is if the actor friend has warned you that the show/her performance isn't very good.
4) Don't judge an actor/play by its venue. Seriously, don't. Size, as it turns out, does not matter. And in the Boston area, chances are your friend is not going to be performing to a crowd of 5,000. Or 500. Don't assume that the show in the black box theatre is worth any fewer accolades than one at the Colonial.
Got all of that? Good. Now pay attention--this final tip is the one to follow above all others.
5) Never under any circumstances ask your actor friend about the results of an audition unless she brings it up first. If your friend has not told you that she was cast, she wasn't, and asking her will only force an awkward situation. She does not want your pity. She does not want your advice to rally because "if it's not this, it will be something better." Unless your friend walks into your office and says, "So I didn't get the part," she doesn't want to talk about it. In fact, she probably wants to forget all of the hours and hours she spent at auditions and callbacks that ultimately led to nothing.
On behalf of all actors who have ever been rejected, been in a terrible show, devoted hours to a show without pay, performed for a crowd of 15, or played High School Student #3, I thank you.
1) Never ask your actor friend if a gig she got is paying or not. If it is paying, chances are, she will tell you (because in Boston, that is a rare and precious thing). If it is not paying, congratulations, you just succeeded in making her feel like the part she just won is incredibly insignificant.
WRONG EXAMPLE:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast as So-in-So in "So-in-So the Musical!" I'm so excited, I have always loved this show!
YOU. Wow, congratulations! Does that pay?
ACTOR FRIEND. No, actually.
YOU. Oh. Well, still, that's great.
ACTOR FRIEND. Thanks.
Good job. She now feels like it's not worth anything that she was cast because she's not making money. You just killed her buzz. You are a buzz killer.
RIGHT EXAMPLE:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast as So-in-So in "So-in-So the Musical!" I'm so excited, I have always loved this show!
YOU. Congratulations, when is it?
ACTOR FRIEND. Next month!
YOU. I will have to come see it. That's great!
ACTOR FRIEND. Thanks!
Great! Your actor friends feels like her hard work is being acknowledged, and knows that it is indeed a good thing that she is playing her dream role.
2) Never ask your actor friend how big her role is. You can ask her to tell you about the character. A part will seem so much more meaningful if she can answer, "She's in her upper twenties, kind of a rebel, and she hates the main character" as opposed to answering, "Oh, not very big."
WRONG:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast in that Shakespeare play I auditioned for!
YOU. Oh, wow! What part did you get?
ACTOR FRIEND. I'm Ursula!
YOU. Is that a big role?
ACTOR FRIEND. Well, it's not a lead or anything, but I'm in a few scenes.
YOU. Oh, cool.
Your friend now thinks that you only think it's worth getting excited over big roles. She now thinks that her excitement in landing the role seems awkward, since you apparently only think big roles are exciting. You are a loser.
RIGHT:
ACTOR FRIEND. Hey, guess what? I just got cast in that Shakespeare play I auditioned for!
YOU. Oh, wow! What part did you get?
ACTOR FRIEND. I'm Ursula!
YOU. And what kind of character is she?
ACTOR FRIEND. Oh, she's a lady-in-waiting to Hero, and she's very clever, and she's in love with Hero's uncle. It's a really fun part.
YOU. I am so happy for you!
Now your actor friend is aware that you share her joy in being cast. What a good friend you are.
3) Do not think that saying, "You were the best one up there," "It looked like you were having fun up there," "I loved your costume in the third act," or "Good job memorizing all of those lines" are acceptable compliments after seeing your friend in a performance. We actors realize that those are just clever ways of saying that you didn't enjoy the show. If you don't like the show, or your friend's performance, lie. The only time it is acceptable not to lie, unless you are a casting director, is if the actor friend has warned you that the show/her performance isn't very good.
4) Don't judge an actor/play by its venue. Seriously, don't. Size, as it turns out, does not matter. And in the Boston area, chances are your friend is not going to be performing to a crowd of 5,000. Or 500. Don't assume that the show in the black box theatre is worth any fewer accolades than one at the Colonial.
Got all of that? Good. Now pay attention--this final tip is the one to follow above all others.
5) Never under any circumstances ask your actor friend about the results of an audition unless she brings it up first. If your friend has not told you that she was cast, she wasn't, and asking her will only force an awkward situation. She does not want your pity. She does not want your advice to rally because "if it's not this, it will be something better." Unless your friend walks into your office and says, "So I didn't get the part," she doesn't want to talk about it. In fact, she probably wants to forget all of the hours and hours she spent at auditions and callbacks that ultimately led to nothing.
On behalf of all actors who have ever been rejected, been in a terrible show, devoted hours to a show without pay, performed for a crowd of 15, or played High School Student #3, I thank you.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Idiot
Yesterday, I met up with a friend of my twin brothers' during my lunch break. He's likely going to be moving to Boston for grad school at the end of summer, and we've been exchanging emails for about a month or so to try to get to know one another. It'd be great if we remain friends--he'd have a contact in the city/state (he currently lives in Maine), and I'd have a friend who didn't live in the North Shore (one of these days my friends will migrate...).
Anyway, I say this because I felt like it was my duty to introduce him to Boston. I know he's been before, but I still felt that since I'm now a local, I should know all of the secret places to bring him.
And where did I wind up taking him? To SHAW'S on Huntington Ave. Yes. Shaw's. And neither of us needed to buy groceries.
To be fair, we did walk all around Boylston and around Copley Square, but I actually brought him inside Shaw's. THAT was where I choose to say, "Hey, we could go in here and look around." A grocery store.
This happened yesterday, and I still want to bang my head against the keyboard repeatedly. I would, actually, if I knew for sure that no co-worker would walk in on me and immediately refer me to a psychiatrist who deals with masochism.
I am a fun person, I think. I enjoy laughing as much as the next person. I like conversation and verbal debates. I majored in a creative field. Yet as soon as he walked in to meet me, all traces of wit fled my person and rendered me a socially incompetent moron.
I don't even like the Shaw's on Huntington. I don't like Shaw's in general.
I don't think even the knock-off Duck Tours would want to hire me. I clearly have no idea how to enjoy Boston, unless I'm going to a sporting event or play.
Anyway, I say this because I felt like it was my duty to introduce him to Boston. I know he's been before, but I still felt that since I'm now a local, I should know all of the secret places to bring him.
And where did I wind up taking him? To SHAW'S on Huntington Ave. Yes. Shaw's. And neither of us needed to buy groceries.
To be fair, we did walk all around Boylston and around Copley Square, but I actually brought him inside Shaw's. THAT was where I choose to say, "Hey, we could go in here and look around." A grocery store.
This happened yesterday, and I still want to bang my head against the keyboard repeatedly. I would, actually, if I knew for sure that no co-worker would walk in on me and immediately refer me to a psychiatrist who deals with masochism.
I am a fun person, I think. I enjoy laughing as much as the next person. I like conversation and verbal debates. I majored in a creative field. Yet as soon as he walked in to meet me, all traces of wit fled my person and rendered me a socially incompetent moron.
I don't even like the Shaw's on Huntington. I don't like Shaw's in general.
I don't think even the knock-off Duck Tours would want to hire me. I clearly have no idea how to enjoy Boston, unless I'm going to a sporting event or play.
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