hi folks, we're back

Gosh, I nearly got dragged down into inertia there. Wait, I think I'm mixing my metaphors... no matter. The point is that I could very easily have let my blog muscle atrophy, but gosh-darnit I won't do it. And I hate waiting until January 1st to start doing my "to do's" - too much pressure there. So, here I am, fighting the good fight and keeping up the ol' brain dumping. By which I mean, writing stuff that I think about, not secretly getting rid of gray matter.

Speaking of which, hubby and I finally visited the Pirate Store at 826 Valencia (http://www.826valencia.org/) a couple of weeks back and they had for sale a "brain bucket!" Yes, they did. They also had a kitten plank - you know, so you can get your kitten to walk the plank? Anyway, I highly recommend a visit there. I even grabbed a flyer for a Comic Book Writing workshop that I'm hoping to send the kids to in February.

But where was I? Oh yes, I guess I was just here... watching 2009 wind down and having mixed feelings about being in my pajamas at 2:45pm. I keep telling myself that 2010 is going to require a lot of energy, so I might as well soak up the down time while I can.

today I cuddled a stuffed dog on camera and other news from the acting world

I went to today's audition feeling utterly prepared to be a lovesick dog owner. I had the script memorized, I was emanating lovey-dovey vibes all over the place, and I was picturing an adorable black lab in my mind. What I wasn't prepared for was a 12" stuffed beagle wearing a sweater. Looking back I guess I was naive. I mean, if they want to know how you'll look interacting with a real, live canine, what better way than to have you snuggle a plush toy?

The casting director invited me to get comfortable in the cozy chair and to tell the camera just how in love I was with my dog (okay, I realize this sounds weird, but the concept for the commercial was actually kind of cute). But then the final moment: "react as your dog comes into the room and pick him up and love him." Here I am, doing improv in my acting class every Tuesday night, and yet I found myself strangely blocked about how to carry on with this little guy. It didn't help that as I kissed his shiny, vinyl nose, I imagined the germs of all the other dog-loving hopefuls jumping into my mouth. But I did my best, I suppose: I cuddled, I (as mentioned) smooched, I squeezed and hugged and sighed happily. Boy did it seem to take a long time for her to say "cut."

At Nancy Hayes Casting, the people behind the camera are uniformly kind, encouraging and patient. This woman gave me 3 chances to take her direction and do my best. Really, one couldn't ask for a fairer shake, when it comes to the audition experience. So why did I feel like such a dork today? There's just this undeniable x-factor with acting. The whole thing of being "on" or not. And today was a bit... blegh. Nonetheless, it's all experience, and I figure each rejection is one more notch on my belt. How many will there be before I book something? 30? 50? Millions of people have said it before me, but there is something distinctly nuts about undertaking an endeavor where your odds of success, ANY tiny shred of success, are so ridiculously slim. But hey, the joy of not being able to find a job (a straight job, that is) is that I've got nothing but spare time on my hands, baby. So wish me luck.

(not) putting my best foot forward

Worst audition requirement ever, as received today from my agent:
"your bare feet may be shown (fairly close up) so please take the necessary actions to ensure that your feet will be presentable."

Okay, seriously? I know lots of people say their feet are ugly, but mine... mine are like Amy Sedaris in Strangers With Candy, where when she walks her toenails click on the floor. Take some size 10 honkers, adorn them with loonnnng toes (I mean it; the 2nd toe literally dwarfs the big one) and throw in 12 years of ballet to add some truly spectacular calluses. It's not pretty. I haven't worn open toed shoes in several years. The last time, after Scott convinced me that nobody would be looking at my feet, I was at a bar and our friend (who shall remain nameless), looked down and said "wow, you have really weird toes!" (Insert a few hundred extra hours of self-loathing here.) If I'm caught barefoot with company, I'll find a way to put them under a table or sit on them or obscure them in some way. When I get a pedicure, I have to practically medicate myself so I don't imagine what those cute little ladies are saying about honky's monster feet. So, yeah, this may not be the audition for me...

got 30 minutes?

I like Colleen Wainwright (a.k.a. "the communicatrix") because she writes about acting and marketing--two things I seem to keep coming back to in my life. Also because she's pretty funny. Here's part one of her two-part list of things actors can do with just a little spare time: 10 things you can do in 30 minutes

Lady G

Is it me or did Lady Gaga achieve in one year what took Madonna a couple of decades? Superstar. Weirdo. Fashion icon. Friend of the Queen.

Wendy and Lucy... um, really?

I'm utterly flabbergasted by this movie's Rotten Tomatoes' rating (check it out at http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/wendy_and_lucy/). Sure, Michelle Williams is frickin' wonderful, just like she always is. Those big limpid brown eyes and her subtly expressive face melt your heart as you contemplate the life of a young, homeless woman with no prospects and a dwindling handful of money. But I was warned: our friend Jay said, "great movie... if you don't mind that NOTHING HAPPENS." Wow, I don't know how to add to that. This movie can pretty much be summed up as follows:
- Wendy walks in the Oregon countryside
- Wendy walks in a depressed Oregon city
- Wendy sleeps in her car
- Wendy's car breaks down
- Wendy shoplifts dog food for her dog, Lucy
- Wendy gets arrested
- Wendy loses Lucy
- Wendy walks some more
- Wendy goes to a gas station bathroom a few times
- Wendy's eyes look all sad and victimized
- Wendy finds out her car will cost too much to fix
- Wendy finds her dog but... oh no, wait, I'm not going to give away the big ending (hint: it's not big)

In fact, I just realized that my synopsis is making this movie sound way more exciting than it really is. Maybe I'm just greedy, but dang if this movie isn't a steaming pile of blegh. I needed a Star Trek palette cleanser just to get my blood flowing again.

another day, another audition

After a month of silence on the audition front, it seems that things are picking up. Following the migraine episode, I was sent to an honest-to-goodness national commercial audition followed by another go-see for a print ad. So far no callbacks and no jobs, but I have a feeling this won't get depressing until I'm turned down at least 20 times. After all, it's so very apparent that it's all about type. I can comfort myself with the fact that when I walk in there they may already have in mind a 5'6" blond with a perky nose, and no amount of personality or talent will make one whit of difference. Okay, I can comfort myself with that fact OR get very depressed about it. I choose the former. And with that in mind, it's all fun and games.

On the other hand, nothing makes one's expendability hit home like a room full of beautiful "moms," "doctors," and plain ol' "35-40 year old females" in corporate casual. Yikes. At least when you interview for a job, you see - at most - one other candidate coming or going. Here, it's all out on the table: you are one of many and you're probably not The One.

But I can say this: after just 3 experiences at casting calls, I've learned quite a bit, specifically:
- Show up on time and be prepared for things to run 20-90 minutes behind schedule.
- "The competition" are nicer than expected–out in the waiting room, there's a comforting sense of "we're all in this together" since everyone knows every audition is a huge long shot.
- The casting agents are pretty nice too.
- "Well groomed" means many things to many people.
- Looking generic makes you feel generic -- life is too short to not be yourself. After all, what else are you selling?
- I sweat when I'm nervous.

amazing animation for the New Zealand Book Council

This is a whole lotta wow.

thankful

I've been pretty caught up in my own little world of worry lately. The H is O (heat is on, people!) to start making some money, I don't know where I'm going to land job-wise, and living off our savings is, apparently, not a sustainable plan (darn). On the bright side, my "3 month sabbatical" (4 months and counting) has – at least partly – done what it was supposed to do: I'm feeling refreshed, reconnected with home life, and confident that I'm meant for some more creative purpose in life. Of course, this is also the down side... i.e., it's making it a little hard for me to contemplate a return to a 40-hour work week.

I've spent the last few weeks beginning my job hunt: reaching out to old friends, coworkers and employers, announcing my availability on Facebook, and perusing Craig's List (an activity that generally thrusts me into a state of depression so instant and deep that I have to curl into the fetal position and squeeze my eyes shut til I'm seeing spots). So far I've had two informational interviews, a few email exchanges that may net future work, and a lot of well-wishes from friends who are just sure that there are hoards of companies out there who would want to hire me.

So I find myself heading into the holidays with no idea what the future holds. And, from day to day I can't decide whether anxiety-bordering-on-panic or faith-in-an-abundant-universe is the right mental approach. I'd sure hate to look back 3 months from now, when I'll conceivably be employed, overworked and time-constrained once again, and wish that I had enjoyed the final weeks of my freedom. Besides which, I'm a little worried that "the universe" has picked up on my inner conflict: sure, I want a job; I'm just not sure I want want one. Or rather it's a cake/eat it too scenario whereby I'm more than willing to work my ass off, but I don't want to give up my recently admitted dream of pursuing acting (whatever that turns out to mean). Ah, there's the rub: I gave myself 3 months to follow a dream that really requires 3 years just to get started. What was I thinking again?

Okay, all of this contemplation aside, here's the deal: it's Thanksgiving. Me, hubby and the kids are warm, full of food, and lounging about with a half-played game of Monopoly and a stack of comics. Life is good – really good, and I'm having a hard time worrying. I am so very fucking thankful. For my family, my health, my family's health, my home, my cat Lucky (and even a little bit for Mia that damn little runt), good eats, this beautiful county we live in, Novato Charter School, amazing friends, music, art, acting, books, Dlisted.com, House M.D., and so much more. Okay, so I gotta get a few things in order, like my livelihood and whatnot, but let's not blow things out of proportion. So here's to believing in an abundant future. Couldn't hurt, might help.

letting out my inner goth

Yesterday I had the pleasure of participating in filming of the last scene of Blank Slate – an independent film being made by my pals Tully and Eric. We shot at the Mayflower Pub in San Rafael and it was a low-stress, kick ass good time. Congrats to them for completing principal photography... and here's wishing them good luck with post-production.

Oh, I played Eric's goth girlfriend who he met playing World of Warcraft. I was pretty pleased with my makeup.

Dear Migraine, Screw You.

I have to say, Migraine, you've taken things to a new low. Granted, your presence in my life over the past five months has never been welcome, yet you have – more or less – allowed me to live my life and meet my commitments. But yesterday? Yesterday was just plain cold. Cold and mean.

There I am, on a San Francisco street in the chilly, bright November air. I've got on grown up makeup, my hair is looking almost convincingly bouncy, I'm wearing khakis for God's sake. You see, Migraine, I'm unusually well-groomed because I'm about to enter a casting agency for MY FIRST AUDITION since I landed my commercial acting agent almost a month ago. Yeah... first one. Sort of important. But does that stop you, Migraine? No, it doesn't. As I pull out my phone to see if it's time to go in, I get the telltale flashing, the sudden blind spots, the weird lack of depth perception and the sick feeling of anticipation in my gut that tells me in approximately 45 minutes I'll be experiencing an icepick-like sensation to the eyebrow region.

I stood there, trying to will you to leave me alone, just this once. But you're a heartless bastard, Migraine, and you – in the evil personification I've assigned to you – just rocked back on your heels and rubbed your palms together while letting out a high-pitched cackle... you were just getting started.

After a couple of minutes' deliberation, I decided that I had time on my side, to some degree. If I could get in there, stumble through the audition, and get out before the pain set in, I could avoid the shame of missing my first ever "go-see." Worst case scenario, I figured, was that I'd topple over like I was having a seizure and give everyone a good scare.

Now, I will say that it's a little hard to fill out an information card when you've got a blind spot the size of a kiwi fruit and are seeing tracers, but hey, that's what keeps it exciting, right Migraine? I slowly, steadily filled in my name and vital statistics with writing that looked like a third grade version of my own. And then, I sat. Sat and took a look at the competition. The part called for a female engineer – tall, "somewhat" attractive, but approachable... a Tina Fey type. I thought, "this part was MADE for me!" Funny thing is, there are quite a few Tina Feys in SF... go figure. So, I peered around, with eyeballs that I was sure looked like acid-induced saucers, and began to feel like a moron for ever thinking this acting thing was a good idea. "They've all done this before," I thought, "none of them have hair that's struggling to return to its natural, scraggly state," and "goddamn, that woman has a perfect tiny waist and ass. Goddamn her." And goddamn you, Migraine, in case I haven't mentioned it lately.

So, we sat in these plastic chairs, waiting our turn, and as I write this I'm not sure how much of what goes on in an audition is confidential, but luckily I have a readership of... well: me. So, we sat there and listened to dance music pumping out of the audition room. We could see the camera flash from around the corner and I'm thinking "I'm pretty sure that they don't play that type of music unless they want you to, you know, dance." I sat. I waited. I couldn't even look at my phone or read because my vision was swimming, but I knew that I still had a full 30 minutes before the pain would start. The one and only thing I can thank you for, Migraine, is that with all of my dread focused on the impending nausea and pain, I couldn't spare any for being nervous about the audition.

After about 15 minutes, it was my turn. I was brought into the photo studio, home of the dance music, where I was given a lab coat and clipboard. They took some pictures of me posing "like I was really used to holding a clipboard," and then I had to dance, or rather, sort of freeze in dance poses so they could catch it on film. I shit you not, Migraine, THIS is me trying to live the dream. God help me.

So, I did it. I clutched that damn clipboard, I imagined great enginering successes and tried to show it on my face, I did bizarre and erratic dance moves in a lab coat, goddamn it. And who knows? Maybe my eyeballs looked normal from the outside.

And that was that. I got my ass in the car. I drove (probably ill-advisedly) home with white knuckles, extreme focus and lots of little whimpering noises, and I made it to the safety of a dark room and my warm covers. If getting me to lay down was the goal, then I guess, Migraine, you won.

So no, I don't think I'll be getting that part, but I just found out I have another audition tomorrow. So there, Migraine – you can suck it.

wherein I add my voice to the cacophony

4 months ago I left my job as an account director at an interactive agency. My "sabbatical" as I called it (to make it sound like I knew what the hell I was up to) was intended to give me time to focus on my renewed love of acting as well as to get some much needed downtime and regain my sanity and purpose. And now? Well, I'm happy to say that I got myself a head shot, pulled together an acting resume (nevermind that 10 year hiatus!), and managed to land an agent. Yep, I'm officially ready and waiting for auditions... in what is arguably the weakest commercial acting market ever! But no matter, I'm on my path. Or I'm on a path anyway. Now for the part where I figure out the big "what next?" i.e., "how about a real job that pays money?" Every day seems to bring a new scheme, followed by a new (and massive) wave of fear, followed by me snapping at my husband for something inconsequential, followed by mindless, yet oh so comforting, consumption of dlisted.com and Glee on Hulu. I figured why not catalog this uncertain time here, in a blog? After all, I prefer my bandwagons somewhat out-of-date.