Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Where in the World is My Prince?
"I have countries and counties and physical bounties, and orchards of orchids and quince. I have barrels of rubies and breathtaking boobies, but where in the world is my prince?"
Okay, well, unlike the heroine singing this Jerry Herman tune, I don't have most of those things, but still, I find myself pondering this question much more frequently lately. It seems like everyone I know is either getting engaged, getting married, getting pregnant or having babies. And then there's me, who can't even get a boyfriend. Well, okay, I guess that's wrong. I COULD get a boyfriend, but I just haven't found anyone that I like enough to date seriously... well, no, I take that back too. Every guy who seems to really like me, I can't see a future with for a myriad of huge reasons. And every guy I really like either doesn't realize (or care) that I exist, or he runs incredibly hot and cold-- at first, it seems like he's interested, and then... nothing. And unfortunately, there's never a happy medium: both of us equally into each other.
Let me tell you, it's all getting pretty lonely.
I certainly don't begrudge any of my friends their happiness. I mean, really, what kind of a friend does that? And it's not that I don't want to hear about all the exciting events going on in peoples lives. Of course I do! I love when people post their updates on Facebook or share pictures of their weddings or their adorable little ones. I smile, I comment happily, I feel a vicarious thrill. But then, deep in the pit of my stomach, there is a little niggling feeling that is growing increasingly more prominent as the weeks and months and years pass by.
I've never been one of those people who is perfectly content being single. It's not that I don't feel whole without a boyfriend or a husband, or that my life simply cannot be complete without a man by my side. Please. I'm a stronger person than that. I have a good family, a great extended family, co-workers who I like and get along with and lots of good friends. Not a tight circle of best friends, or even one best friend, per say, but lots of people in my life who care. I am not without love in many shapes and forms.
But I have always wanted to get married. I've always wanted a family. From a very young age, that's just always how I've pictured my life: wife, mother... and of course, actress, but I just figured that they would all go hand in hand. I mean, people do it all the time, right? I wouldn't have to pick one over the other. I never dreamed, though, that at this point in my life, I would be very steadily single, not to mention have no kids, and that I would be acting, but not necessarily successful at it. Working, yes, but not always consistently and not always at the top theaters or in top roles. I'm not complaining about that-- I'm happy to work hard to carve out a name for myself and to make my way up the ladder, step by step. I just thought I might have been a few rungs higher by now.
There's an old saying that says, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans". Or maybe it's not so old-- I've seen it attributed to Woody Allen in places, but nevertheless, it's true. But it's not like I actually set those kinds of goals for myself: to be married by 25, to have my first kid at 27, my second at 29 and to win the Tony at 30. I mean, sure, it would have been nice if things had worked out that way, but plans? No. I mean, an actress has a non-traditional career path. How could I possibly have reasonably expected something like LIFE to work on a tightly scripted time table?
But I think I'm a pretty decent person. People have told me that I'm attractive. I don't necessarily believe them, but it has been said. People have told me that I'm funny. I'm not going to be joining the Second City troop any time soon, but I have been known to make the occasional person laugh. I'm a smart girl. I'm not trying to brag or anything, just trying to say that I can hold intelligent conversations about socially relevant matters-- politics and the state of the world and religion and such. I'm no expert, but I can hold my own. So then... what's wrong with me? If all of that is true, why can't I find anyone to share my life with? Why haven't I even come relatively close?
My parents keep telling me that maybe I'm too picky. I don't necessarily think that's true-- I mean, there's a difference between being picky and knowing what you want, knowing what you need. And there's also a difference between picky and being perceptive.
I'm not the type of girl who values looks over everything-- over anything, really. I don't have a laundry list of physical qualities my Mr. Right should have-- over 6 foot, blonde hair, blue eyed, chiseled abs, perfect smile... I also don't have a laundry list of things he shouldn't have or shouldn't be. I'm not going to not date someone because he's shorter than me or because he's scrawny, not brawny.
That's not to say I don't have some standards, or some things that I feel I need in a relationship. But I don't think they're asking too much: intelligence, sincerity, kindness, a sense of humor, personal strength... that he be somewhat near my age and not old enough to be my father. I don't want to date anyone who gives me the willies, who the minute I look at him sends a chill (not a thrill) down my spine. And that doesn't mean anything at all about his looks-- if something a guy does or says creeps me out, if there's something in his demeanor that's just... off... But that's about gut instinct, not pickiness.
And I think I'm a pretty good judge of character, so I can tell the difference between nerves and creepy. I'm not so good at telling the difference between a chronic flatterer and sincerity, but that's another story. And I can tell when a guy is just not right for me. That's not to mean he's not a nice guy, that I wouldn't want him as a friend. It just means that there's no future for us romantically.
If a guy is a milquetoast, I'll end up walking all over him. He'll never stand up to me, never tell me when I'm wrong. That's not to say I want someone controlling, because that's just about the biggest turn off there is and the quickest way to make me run far far away. And not that I need someone head-butting everything I say every two seconds, but I need someone who is strong enough to let me be who I am, but rein me in when I need to be reined in. Because, let's face it: I can sometimes be headstrong and... dare I say it... stubborn. I need someone who is not afraid to call me on it, someone who is not afraid to defend me in public, but tell me privately when I'm wrong.
If we can't hold a conversation without long, gaping black holes of silence every two seconds because we can't find anything to talk about beyond 'How was your day?', that's not going to work either.
And if he says something offensive on a first date and can't understand why what he said might possibly have put me off... well, need I say more?
Again, though: picky or prudent?
And I'm not going to date just for the sake of dating, like some have suggested. Yes, it's good to get out there, to get some experience, but if I honestly know in my heart of hearts that a guy is not for me, why am I going to keep seeing him? Because that's just unfair to him. That, to me, is leading someone on. And I don't want to be the type of girl who continues going out with a guy because he's there and he's willing, but she's just waiting for someone better to come along. If I choose to continue seeing someone, I want it to be because I honestly feel that we might have a chance together.
So, here I remain, waiting for my own personal Prince Charming to come along. And I keep thinking that he will, that I don't necessarily need to go out and 'search' because I do honestly believe in the idea of a soulmate, of someone being your 'other half', of there being one right person out there for everyone, that two people who are destined for each other will somehow cross paths. Maybe I'm not doing myself any favors by falling for the fairy tale notion that we will just find each other someday. Maybe I do need to actively 'look' for him. Maybe his GPS is broken. But somehow, the idea of online dating just seems a little... contrived. I mean, how many people are on those dating sites? Just a small fraction of the single population. What if my other half thinks those sites are as dubious as I do? What if he hasn't gotten desperate enough yet to create a profile? And I'll admit-- I've tried them. Not for any extended length of time at all, but I haven't exactly gotten the most thrilling results. How many more blase profiles do I need to look through before making an actual love connection-- if there is any actual internet love connection to even be had?
And so many people tell me that when I stop thinking about it, stop looking for it, love will come my way. That it's happened this way for so many people. That when people give up their search and resign themselves to being single, their one and only falls right into their lap. Well, if that's the way things work out... I may be doomed. You see, I'm not the type to lose hope, to relinquish a dream, to resign myself to anything. I'm tenacious (Stubborn, remember?). I simply don't want to give up. Ever. Because by giving up... a little piece of me will just die inside. The piece of me that believes I am worthy of that one single relationship we all hope to find more than any other in life.
And I just can't let myself do that. Because I do think I'm worthy. We all are, no matter what other people might tell us or indicate to us... no matter what we might tell ourselves.
So, if you happen to come across a nice, intelligent, funny, non-milquetoast, non-creepy knight in shining armor whose GPS has run out of batteries... send him my way, will you? I'll still be waiting.
Okay, well, unlike the heroine singing this Jerry Herman tune, I don't have most of those things, but still, I find myself pondering this question much more frequently lately. It seems like everyone I know is either getting engaged, getting married, getting pregnant or having babies. And then there's me, who can't even get a boyfriend. Well, okay, I guess that's wrong. I COULD get a boyfriend, but I just haven't found anyone that I like enough to date seriously... well, no, I take that back too. Every guy who seems to really like me, I can't see a future with for a myriad of huge reasons. And every guy I really like either doesn't realize (or care) that I exist, or he runs incredibly hot and cold-- at first, it seems like he's interested, and then... nothing. And unfortunately, there's never a happy medium: both of us equally into each other.
Let me tell you, it's all getting pretty lonely.
I certainly don't begrudge any of my friends their happiness. I mean, really, what kind of a friend does that? And it's not that I don't want to hear about all the exciting events going on in peoples lives. Of course I do! I love when people post their updates on Facebook or share pictures of their weddings or their adorable little ones. I smile, I comment happily, I feel a vicarious thrill. But then, deep in the pit of my stomach, there is a little niggling feeling that is growing increasingly more prominent as the weeks and months and years pass by.
I've never been one of those people who is perfectly content being single. It's not that I don't feel whole without a boyfriend or a husband, or that my life simply cannot be complete without a man by my side. Please. I'm a stronger person than that. I have a good family, a great extended family, co-workers who I like and get along with and lots of good friends. Not a tight circle of best friends, or even one best friend, per say, but lots of people in my life who care. I am not without love in many shapes and forms.
But I have always wanted to get married. I've always wanted a family. From a very young age, that's just always how I've pictured my life: wife, mother... and of course, actress, but I just figured that they would all go hand in hand. I mean, people do it all the time, right? I wouldn't have to pick one over the other. I never dreamed, though, that at this point in my life, I would be very steadily single, not to mention have no kids, and that I would be acting, but not necessarily successful at it. Working, yes, but not always consistently and not always at the top theaters or in top roles. I'm not complaining about that-- I'm happy to work hard to carve out a name for myself and to make my way up the ladder, step by step. I just thought I might have been a few rungs higher by now.
There's an old saying that says, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans". Or maybe it's not so old-- I've seen it attributed to Woody Allen in places, but nevertheless, it's true. But it's not like I actually set those kinds of goals for myself: to be married by 25, to have my first kid at 27, my second at 29 and to win the Tony at 30. I mean, sure, it would have been nice if things had worked out that way, but plans? No. I mean, an actress has a non-traditional career path. How could I possibly have reasonably expected something like LIFE to work on a tightly scripted time table?
But I think I'm a pretty decent person. People have told me that I'm attractive. I don't necessarily believe them, but it has been said. People have told me that I'm funny. I'm not going to be joining the Second City troop any time soon, but I have been known to make the occasional person laugh. I'm a smart girl. I'm not trying to brag or anything, just trying to say that I can hold intelligent conversations about socially relevant matters-- politics and the state of the world and religion and such. I'm no expert, but I can hold my own. So then... what's wrong with me? If all of that is true, why can't I find anyone to share my life with? Why haven't I even come relatively close?
My parents keep telling me that maybe I'm too picky. I don't necessarily think that's true-- I mean, there's a difference between being picky and knowing what you want, knowing what you need. And there's also a difference between picky and being perceptive.
I'm not the type of girl who values looks over everything-- over anything, really. I don't have a laundry list of physical qualities my Mr. Right should have-- over 6 foot, blonde hair, blue eyed, chiseled abs, perfect smile... I also don't have a laundry list of things he shouldn't have or shouldn't be. I'm not going to not date someone because he's shorter than me or because he's scrawny, not brawny.
That's not to say I don't have some standards, or some things that I feel I need in a relationship. But I don't think they're asking too much: intelligence, sincerity, kindness, a sense of humor, personal strength... that he be somewhat near my age and not old enough to be my father. I don't want to date anyone who gives me the willies, who the minute I look at him sends a chill (not a thrill) down my spine. And that doesn't mean anything at all about his looks-- if something a guy does or says creeps me out, if there's something in his demeanor that's just... off... But that's about gut instinct, not pickiness.
And I think I'm a pretty good judge of character, so I can tell the difference between nerves and creepy. I'm not so good at telling the difference between a chronic flatterer and sincerity, but that's another story. And I can tell when a guy is just not right for me. That's not to mean he's not a nice guy, that I wouldn't want him as a friend. It just means that there's no future for us romantically.
If a guy is a milquetoast, I'll end up walking all over him. He'll never stand up to me, never tell me when I'm wrong. That's not to say I want someone controlling, because that's just about the biggest turn off there is and the quickest way to make me run far far away. And not that I need someone head-butting everything I say every two seconds, but I need someone who is strong enough to let me be who I am, but rein me in when I need to be reined in. Because, let's face it: I can sometimes be headstrong and... dare I say it... stubborn. I need someone who is not afraid to call me on it, someone who is not afraid to defend me in public, but tell me privately when I'm wrong.
If we can't hold a conversation without long, gaping black holes of silence every two seconds because we can't find anything to talk about beyond 'How was your day?', that's not going to work either.
And if he says something offensive on a first date and can't understand why what he said might possibly have put me off... well, need I say more?
Again, though: picky or prudent?
And I'm not going to date just for the sake of dating, like some have suggested. Yes, it's good to get out there, to get some experience, but if I honestly know in my heart of hearts that a guy is not for me, why am I going to keep seeing him? Because that's just unfair to him. That, to me, is leading someone on. And I don't want to be the type of girl who continues going out with a guy because he's there and he's willing, but she's just waiting for someone better to come along. If I choose to continue seeing someone, I want it to be because I honestly feel that we might have a chance together.
So, here I remain, waiting for my own personal Prince Charming to come along. And I keep thinking that he will, that I don't necessarily need to go out and 'search' because I do honestly believe in the idea of a soulmate, of someone being your 'other half', of there being one right person out there for everyone, that two people who are destined for each other will somehow cross paths. Maybe I'm not doing myself any favors by falling for the fairy tale notion that we will just find each other someday. Maybe I do need to actively 'look' for him. Maybe his GPS is broken. But somehow, the idea of online dating just seems a little... contrived. I mean, how many people are on those dating sites? Just a small fraction of the single population. What if my other half thinks those sites are as dubious as I do? What if he hasn't gotten desperate enough yet to create a profile? And I'll admit-- I've tried them. Not for any extended length of time at all, but I haven't exactly gotten the most thrilling results. How many more blase profiles do I need to look through before making an actual love connection-- if there is any actual internet love connection to even be had?
And so many people tell me that when I stop thinking about it, stop looking for it, love will come my way. That it's happened this way for so many people. That when people give up their search and resign themselves to being single, their one and only falls right into their lap. Well, if that's the way things work out... I may be doomed. You see, I'm not the type to lose hope, to relinquish a dream, to resign myself to anything. I'm tenacious (Stubborn, remember?). I simply don't want to give up. Ever. Because by giving up... a little piece of me will just die inside. The piece of me that believes I am worthy of that one single relationship we all hope to find more than any other in life.
And I just can't let myself do that. Because I do think I'm worthy. We all are, no matter what other people might tell us or indicate to us... no matter what we might tell ourselves.
So, if you happen to come across a nice, intelligent, funny, non-milquetoast, non-creepy knight in shining armor whose GPS has run out of batteries... send him my way, will you? I'll still be waiting.
Friday, August 6, 2010
99 Years Old and Still Going Strong
Today is the would be 99th birthday of one of my idols, the great Lucille Ball. It amazes me how many people can't believe the fact that, yes, I really do love Lucy. I've had people at the bookstore ask me for something I Love Lucy related and then feel the need to explain to me who Lucille Ball was. I've had people look at my I Love Lucy wallet and ask me if I actually know who that is. Yes, in fact, I do. I've read every book available about Lucille Ball and her classic TV castmates. I've seen every episode of I Love Lucy so many times that I can practically recite them. I've also seen every episode of The Lucy Show, almost every episode of Here's Lucy (at least what's available on DVD), as well as the majority of Lucy's movies. I own a vast collection of Lucy memorabilia. I am, indeed, a big fan.
I was pretty young when she died, but for some odd reason, I remember that day very vividly. My mom was up in our kitchen, which overlooks the family room where I was watching TV before heading off to school. She must have been watching the news on the TV in the kitchen (because I don't think the newspaper would have gotten the details of Lucy's passing yet) and all of a sudden, she let out a big, "Awwww."
"What?" I asked her.
"Lucille Ball died."
And then I said, "Who's Lucille Ball?"
That's right. I didn't know. Like I said, I was pretty young.
My mom was stunned. "You mean you've never seen I Love Lucy?" She asked.
"No."
"Oh, it was this very funny show that was on TV when I was a kid." And I, in all my infinite wisdom, wondered to myself how in the world she expected me to have seen this television show when, obviously, I was not around when she was young. "Well," she said. "I'm sure some TV station will be running a marathon or some sort of tribute to her soon. When I find one, we'll watch it together." And I thought, 'Whatever.'
Well, true to her word, when Fox aired a Lucille Ball tribute/I Love Lucy marathon a few weeks later, she sat me down to watch it with her. The very first episode was one of, if not the most iconic I Love Lucy episode ever: "Job Switching", more commonly known as 'The Chocolate Factory episode'. And guess what?
I hated it.
I couldn't tell you why I felt so strongly against it, but the natural critic in me came out that afternoon. I remember being so upset that at the end, Lucy waited for Ethel to faint before she collapsed on to the couch as well. How fake. How staged. I don't remember how many episodes we watched that day-- I only recall that one. I do remember, however, my mother telling me how Lucy and Ricky were married in real life, and I remember my telling her how romantic that was, that they met on a TV show playing husband and wife and then fell in love and got married for real. And when she told me that they were married before they did the TV show, I remember thinking that they were very lucky to have auditioned for the same show and both gotten cast...
It was about 4 years later when I became a fan. It was 10:00 one summer vacation morning, and I had come in from playing outside to watch one of my favorite TV programs... which wasn't on that day. I wasn't ready to go back out into the sun, so I decided to channel surf and see what else was on. The only thing of interest I found was an old, black-and-white television show that I'd seen one episode of, a show that I remember my mother telling me was very funny. I decided to give it another chance. 'Maybe,' I thought to myself. 'I just caught a bad episode.'
Maybe I just caught a bad episode. As I type this, I am shaking my head.
I don't remember what episode it was that day, but I guess it wasn't all that bad because at 10:30, after another round of channel surfing, I again landed back on that same station, on a second episode of I Love Lucy. And for the rest of the week, when my program still wasn't on, I still channel surfed, but I always came back to Lucy.
It went on like that for the rest of the summer. When my program returned, I found myself determining what episode was on, and if it wasn't one that I liked, switching to Lucy. Then, it got to the point where I would just check to see which episode of my program it was, and if it wasn't one of my absolute favorites, it was off to Lucy hour. Eventually, I didn't need to check anymore. I just tuned in to the redhead.
I Love Lucy was also on at 2:00 and 2:30 on Saturday afternoons. It became a weekend staple. And one Saturday afternoon, my dad came into my room during Lucy hour to tell me that we were leaving for church a little early that day (because we, being good Catholics, went to Saturday afternoon mass instead of getting up early on Sundays) so that we could stop at the library. "You know what?" I told him, indicating the TV screen. "I like her. When we go to the library, I'm going to get a book about her."
My dad beamed with pride. "That is so great," he said. "When you find that you like something, you want to go out and learn about it. That is just fantastic."
Today, I bet he wishes he'd said, "You know what? I changed my mind. Let's not go to the library." Because that trip set a huge snowball into motion.
I checked out two books that day, an adult biography called Lucy & Desi and a kids book called Lucille Ball: Pioneer of Comedy. I was done with the kids book by the time we pulled into the parking lot at church, tears rolling down my cheeks as I read this beautiful tribute that an acting school in Hollywood wrote on their marquis the day she passed away: 'They needed a laugh in Heaven. Good-bye Lucy.' By the end of that book, I was officially hooked and there was no turning back. For my birthday that September, I got my first of many Lucy-related presents: The I Love Lucy Book by Bart Andrews and a VHS tape of Yours, Mine and Ours. I also got an I Love Lucy t-shirt, which I proudly wore as often as my mom's laundry schedule would allow.
That led to Lucy collecting galore, both as gifts from others and purchases with my own hard-earned allowance money. My Lucy t-shirt collection multiplied like rabbits. Soon, I had enough Lucy clothing to wear a different Lucy shirt every day of the week... and I did wear them, every day of the week.
I saw nothing wrong with that-- I mean, people wore t-shirts with their favorite TV characters to school all the time. But I was the only one advertising a TV show that ran when our parents were kids. And I was judged for it. Harshly. Very harshly. As if it wasn't bad enough that I was picked on because I was a geek (aka I wasn't blonde and pretty and I wore glasses), I started to get picked on for being a Lucy fan. I can't even begin to tell you the torment I was put through. I would come home crying because people made fun of me and my shirts and the fact that I always had a Lucy related book with me. My mom suggested that if it upset me so much, I should maybe stop wearing the shirts to school. But I refused. There's nothing wrong with them, I reasoned. I love Lucy-- lots of people love Lucy. It's a classic television show, and not wearing my shirts just to stop their immature comments is like admitting that I'm ashamed of what I like. And I'm not. So, I made my choice. And I paid for it.
My friends wrote me a collective note one day that told me I wasn't cool because I liked I Love Lucy and because they hung out with me, people thought they weren't cool either, so they didn't want to be my friends anymore. Luckily, I eventually fell in with a couple of girls who were also considered 'social outcasts', who didn't mind that I liked an old TV show-- and actually watched my favorite episodes and movies with me at sleepovers and such. In the end, I was much better off because I had found friends who accepted me for who I was, but that didn't mean that the rejection didn't hurt. It did. A lot. I think it really changed my view of friendship and made it a lot harder for me to make friends, a lot harder for me to open up to and trust people. It's something I still struggle with today. Don't ever think that old wounds don't scar, don't run deep.
I'm glad, however, that even at such a young age, even in the midst of such peer pressure, I remained true to myself. Looking back, that took a lot of guts. When I got to high school, a different school than most of my grade school classmates, and I was able to get away from 95% of those kids (including those girls who ditched me), I got to start anew. A clean slate. I didn't wear my Lucy shirts right away, at least for the first couple of weeks. I tested the waters first. But when I did add them back into my wardrobe... people thought it was cool. I suddenly became 'vintage'. On the speech team, some of my teammates actually thought it was so cool that they started calling me 'Lucy'. I couldn't think of a higher compliment.
I wouldn't trade my love affair with all things Lucy for anything in the world. And even though those of you who know me know that I have found another curly-haired redhead to idolize, just as much as, if not more than I idolize Lucy (like anyone thought that was even possible!), my first flame-haired love will always have a special hold on my heart. Watching her has taught me so much. Everything I know about comic timing, I learned from her. Even at such a young age, as I sat there with my eyes glued to the TV screen, I was studying. I didn't know it at the time, but I was. I was taking her in, watching her every move, understanding what she was doing that made her so funny. And in reading about her-- about her life, about her way of approaching her work, of her fire, her passion, her intelligence, her wisdom-- I learned how to be a dedicated performer, a good business person, and most of all, a strong woman.
Thank you, Lucy, for everything. Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for the inspiration. Thank you for the legacy you have left for generations and generations to come. Thank you for being a pioneer for all those aspiring actresses like me. And thank you, Lucy, for being such a solid pillar of my childhood. When I came home from school crying and dejected, you were there on my TV screen, ready with a good laugh to lift my spirits. You helped me to discover who I am, to find my sense of self, even in the face of adversity. You were an original, and I was able to be an original too, because I had you to look up to. You didn't even know I existed when you were alive, but you have been such a guiding force in my life, and still continue to impact me, day, after day, after day.
Happy 99th birthday, Lucy. I'll have some chocolates in your honor today.
I was pretty young when she died, but for some odd reason, I remember that day very vividly. My mom was up in our kitchen, which overlooks the family room where I was watching TV before heading off to school. She must have been watching the news on the TV in the kitchen (because I don't think the newspaper would have gotten the details of Lucy's passing yet) and all of a sudden, she let out a big, "Awwww."
"What?" I asked her.
"Lucille Ball died."
And then I said, "Who's Lucille Ball?"
That's right. I didn't know. Like I said, I was pretty young.
My mom was stunned. "You mean you've never seen I Love Lucy?" She asked.
"No."
"Oh, it was this very funny show that was on TV when I was a kid." And I, in all my infinite wisdom, wondered to myself how in the world she expected me to have seen this television show when, obviously, I was not around when she was young. "Well," she said. "I'm sure some TV station will be running a marathon or some sort of tribute to her soon. When I find one, we'll watch it together." And I thought, 'Whatever.'
Well, true to her word, when Fox aired a Lucille Ball tribute/I Love Lucy marathon a few weeks later, she sat me down to watch it with her. The very first episode was one of, if not the most iconic I Love Lucy episode ever: "Job Switching", more commonly known as 'The Chocolate Factory episode'. And guess what?
I hated it.
I couldn't tell you why I felt so strongly against it, but the natural critic in me came out that afternoon. I remember being so upset that at the end, Lucy waited for Ethel to faint before she collapsed on to the couch as well. How fake. How staged. I don't remember how many episodes we watched that day-- I only recall that one. I do remember, however, my mother telling me how Lucy and Ricky were married in real life, and I remember my telling her how romantic that was, that they met on a TV show playing husband and wife and then fell in love and got married for real. And when she told me that they were married before they did the TV show, I remember thinking that they were very lucky to have auditioned for the same show and both gotten cast...
It was about 4 years later when I became a fan. It was 10:00 one summer vacation morning, and I had come in from playing outside to watch one of my favorite TV programs... which wasn't on that day. I wasn't ready to go back out into the sun, so I decided to channel surf and see what else was on. The only thing of interest I found was an old, black-and-white television show that I'd seen one episode of, a show that I remember my mother telling me was very funny. I decided to give it another chance. 'Maybe,' I thought to myself. 'I just caught a bad episode.'
Maybe I just caught a bad episode. As I type this, I am shaking my head.
I don't remember what episode it was that day, but I guess it wasn't all that bad because at 10:30, after another round of channel surfing, I again landed back on that same station, on a second episode of I Love Lucy. And for the rest of the week, when my program still wasn't on, I still channel surfed, but I always came back to Lucy.
It went on like that for the rest of the summer. When my program returned, I found myself determining what episode was on, and if it wasn't one that I liked, switching to Lucy. Then, it got to the point where I would just check to see which episode of my program it was, and if it wasn't one of my absolute favorites, it was off to Lucy hour. Eventually, I didn't need to check anymore. I just tuned in to the redhead.
I Love Lucy was also on at 2:00 and 2:30 on Saturday afternoons. It became a weekend staple. And one Saturday afternoon, my dad came into my room during Lucy hour to tell me that we were leaving for church a little early that day (because we, being good Catholics, went to Saturday afternoon mass instead of getting up early on Sundays) so that we could stop at the library. "You know what?" I told him, indicating the TV screen. "I like her. When we go to the library, I'm going to get a book about her."
My dad beamed with pride. "That is so great," he said. "When you find that you like something, you want to go out and learn about it. That is just fantastic."
Today, I bet he wishes he'd said, "You know what? I changed my mind. Let's not go to the library." Because that trip set a huge snowball into motion.
I checked out two books that day, an adult biography called Lucy & Desi and a kids book called Lucille Ball: Pioneer of Comedy. I was done with the kids book by the time we pulled into the parking lot at church, tears rolling down my cheeks as I read this beautiful tribute that an acting school in Hollywood wrote on their marquis the day she passed away: 'They needed a laugh in Heaven. Good-bye Lucy.' By the end of that book, I was officially hooked and there was no turning back. For my birthday that September, I got my first of many Lucy-related presents: The I Love Lucy Book by Bart Andrews and a VHS tape of Yours, Mine and Ours. I also got an I Love Lucy t-shirt, which I proudly wore as often as my mom's laundry schedule would allow.
That led to Lucy collecting galore, both as gifts from others and purchases with my own hard-earned allowance money. My Lucy t-shirt collection multiplied like rabbits. Soon, I had enough Lucy clothing to wear a different Lucy shirt every day of the week... and I did wear them, every day of the week.
I saw nothing wrong with that-- I mean, people wore t-shirts with their favorite TV characters to school all the time. But I was the only one advertising a TV show that ran when our parents were kids. And I was judged for it. Harshly. Very harshly. As if it wasn't bad enough that I was picked on because I was a geek (aka I wasn't blonde and pretty and I wore glasses), I started to get picked on for being a Lucy fan. I can't even begin to tell you the torment I was put through. I would come home crying because people made fun of me and my shirts and the fact that I always had a Lucy related book with me. My mom suggested that if it upset me so much, I should maybe stop wearing the shirts to school. But I refused. There's nothing wrong with them, I reasoned. I love Lucy-- lots of people love Lucy. It's a classic television show, and not wearing my shirts just to stop their immature comments is like admitting that I'm ashamed of what I like. And I'm not. So, I made my choice. And I paid for it.
My friends wrote me a collective note one day that told me I wasn't cool because I liked I Love Lucy and because they hung out with me, people thought they weren't cool either, so they didn't want to be my friends anymore. Luckily, I eventually fell in with a couple of girls who were also considered 'social outcasts', who didn't mind that I liked an old TV show-- and actually watched my favorite episodes and movies with me at sleepovers and such. In the end, I was much better off because I had found friends who accepted me for who I was, but that didn't mean that the rejection didn't hurt. It did. A lot. I think it really changed my view of friendship and made it a lot harder for me to make friends, a lot harder for me to open up to and trust people. It's something I still struggle with today. Don't ever think that old wounds don't scar, don't run deep.
I'm glad, however, that even at such a young age, even in the midst of such peer pressure, I remained true to myself. Looking back, that took a lot of guts. When I got to high school, a different school than most of my grade school classmates, and I was able to get away from 95% of those kids (including those girls who ditched me), I got to start anew. A clean slate. I didn't wear my Lucy shirts right away, at least for the first couple of weeks. I tested the waters first. But when I did add them back into my wardrobe... people thought it was cool. I suddenly became 'vintage'. On the speech team, some of my teammates actually thought it was so cool that they started calling me 'Lucy'. I couldn't think of a higher compliment.
I wouldn't trade my love affair with all things Lucy for anything in the world. And even though those of you who know me know that I have found another curly-haired redhead to idolize, just as much as, if not more than I idolize Lucy (like anyone thought that was even possible!), my first flame-haired love will always have a special hold on my heart. Watching her has taught me so much. Everything I know about comic timing, I learned from her. Even at such a young age, as I sat there with my eyes glued to the TV screen, I was studying. I didn't know it at the time, but I was. I was taking her in, watching her every move, understanding what she was doing that made her so funny. And in reading about her-- about her life, about her way of approaching her work, of her fire, her passion, her intelligence, her wisdom-- I learned how to be a dedicated performer, a good business person, and most of all, a strong woman.
Thank you, Lucy, for everything. Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for the inspiration. Thank you for the legacy you have left for generations and generations to come. Thank you for being a pioneer for all those aspiring actresses like me. And thank you, Lucy, for being such a solid pillar of my childhood. When I came home from school crying and dejected, you were there on my TV screen, ready with a good laugh to lift my spirits. You helped me to discover who I am, to find my sense of self, even in the face of adversity. You were an original, and I was able to be an original too, because I had you to look up to. You didn't even know I existed when you were alive, but you have been such a guiding force in my life, and still continue to impact me, day, after day, after day.
Happy 99th birthday, Lucy. I'll have some chocolates in your honor today.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Lazy Readers
Working in a bookstore, you see almost everything. Really, working retail, you see almost everything, but book retail in and of itself seems to have its own unique set of... 'customer challenges' to overcome.
I love the people who come in and say, "I'm looking for a book-- it was on one of your tables somewhere up front there about 3 months ago and it was blue. What was it?" I love people who come in and say, "I saw a book on the news this morning. I don't know the title, I don't know the author, and I don't really know what it was about, but it looked interesting." I love the people who come in and say, "I'm looking for a particular book, but all I know about it is that it has the word 'The' in the title." I love the people who are completely surprised that you, as a bookseller, haven't actually read every single book in the store. And I love the people who come in looking for a book that they don't really want to read.
I'm not talking about kids in school, either. Believe me, I remember being in high school and being assigned book after book after book to read for my Honors English classes. You'd think, as an avid reader, that that would have been a joyous assignment for me, but really, it bred me to loathe certain works or certain authors. And I loathed them for nothing other than the sheer fact that I was being forced to read them at a point in time where I either a) couldn't really connect to what I was reading, or b) was so completely bogged down with schoolwork and extra-curriculars that I simply didn't have the time to sit and decipher 300+ pages of text for theme, symbolism, metaphors, etc, etc, etc. And most of the time, there was a lot of both a and b going on. I will freely admit that Cliffs Notes became my best friends. They got me through Great Expectations, The Once and Future King, The Scarlet Letter, Walden, Julius Caesar...
It's not that I didn't try to actually read them-- I did. I really did want to delve into these classics and become immersed in them, but I very easily got bogged down in the language, or in the endless pages of dry and boring narrative, and the book quickly lost my interest. I remember only a few books that I really enjoyed being made to read: Saint Maybe by Anne Tyler, Tara Road by Maeve Binchy, Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut.... and I think that's it. I remember the projects I had to do in my Junior year, though, where I had to pick a piece of classic literature, not from any set list, but just something that I wanted to read (teacher approved, of course), and do a creative project about it. I chose Pygmalion, Green Mansions, Breakfast at Tiffany's (notice the Audrey Hepburn theme there), and To Kill a Mockingbird.
QUESTION: What was the difference between these classics and the ones that I simply couldn't seem to get through?
ANSWER: That I wanted to read them.
Now, I am not advocating taking reading assignments out of the school. Quite the contrary. I think making kids read is a good thing. Otherwise, many of them would simply choose not to do it at all and then where would society be? Do I think that kids should have a bit more choice in their reading curriculum? Definitely. It made English assignments a lot more fun for me. Do I think classics should go by the wayside? Absolutely not! They are classics for a reason and deserve to be read and studied. Some people actually enjoy them. Should they be taught differently? Well... that might help. Because let me tell you, if I was reading The Great Gatsby simply to engross myself in the story rather than committing 'murder of enjoyment of a novel by means of forced over-analysis', I'll bet you any money that I would have liked it more. Or liked it at all. (Note to teachers: discussion after reading= good. Worksheets to be filled out as you're reading= bad. And now they make kids highlight in 5 different colors and take notes in the margins and practically desecrate the book in the process of reading!)
But the point I'm trying to make here (in a long, roundabout way) is that there are so many adults out there who are looking for books... books that no one is forcing them to read, that they have some interest in-- interest enough it inquire about them at the bookstore-- but that they don't have any desire in actually reading.
For instance, the man who asked me if we had Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men and after I found it for him, asked me if we instead had it in graphic novel form because he had been watching the movie and really liked it, but somehow missed the ending and just wanted to see how the story wrapped up. Or the people who come in looking for audio books because they have no desire to actually sit down and read a book-- they just want the story recited to them. All of the fun and none of the work.
Don't get me wrong-- I love audio books. I mean, have you heard the ones for the Harry Potter series? Jim Dale, who narrates them, uses HUNDREDS of fantastic and unique character voices. I have never heard a book come so alive on tape. In fact, I've been listening to HP & the Deathly Hallows in the car for the past week or so. They're a great form of entertainment during the times when I literally cannot read at the moment: behind the wheel, or running at the gym.
But there is nothing like actually sitting down and reading a book-- using your imagination to envision the world that the author has created, instead of letting someone else interpret that world for you. As a book lover, I just don't understand the desire to gravitate away from the traditional printed page. I know that any interest in reading is good interest. Would I rather have someone listen to an audio book or read a graphic novel than not read a book in any form at all? 100% of course. But why are some people so determined to shy away from the actual novel? Where did this come from? Is this a recent thing? Has the invention of the graphic novel and the rise of the audio book possibly hurt the traditional novel format? I don't have any sort of an answer to that, but customers like the ones I mentioned certainly make me wonder, make me think.
Or is it because they were forced to read books that were uninteresting to them in their early school years? Did that tarnish their enjoyment of reading later on? I've loved books from the time I was born, but it certainly did for me, at least in some ways. Give me anything with any period language in it and my eyes glaze over. However, I still have Emma, The Mystery of Edwin Drood and Oliver Twist sitting on my bookshelf, waiting for me to read them... someday... No promises about how soon that's actually going to happen. I still do want to read them, though, so I guess I'm probably a little atypical. Maybe my own experiences don't really figure into answering this.
I'd love to ask these people where this aversion to actual books comes from. Were they not big readers to begin with? Did Dickens and all his 'paid by the word' description scare them away? Was War and Peace too intimidating because you could probably use it to fill in the space of any missing bricks on your house? Did they start reading The Jungle, thinking it was about exotic animals and safaris only to find that the animals in question weren't lions but cows, and that they would never again be able to look at a hamburger in the same way again?
Or is it plain and simple laziness? Are Cliff and his notes somewhat to blame? Have we become such a 'quick fix' society that we automatically look for the easiest way out? To those of us who enjoy reading, that idea is simply ludicrous. But to those for whom reading is somewhat of a chore...
I had to keep myself from laughing the other day at the high school student who asked me if we had Cliffs Notes for The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. Read the book, I told them. Not only because, no, Cliff has not taken notes on that yet, but because it was good. I read it all in one night. You'll probably like it. You're lucky you get to read that instead of, oh, say... The Awakening, like I had to read in high school. Of course, when I was that age, on the search for Cliffs Notes for Moby Dick (which they do have, thank God, and which, yes, I know, would be incredibly hard to read in one night), if a bookseller had said the same thing to me, I probably would have hurt them.
And, I swear, if anyone today comes in and asks for Cliffs Notes for any Jodi Picoult novel, I will seriously have to hurt them too.
:)
I love the people who come in and say, "I'm looking for a book-- it was on one of your tables somewhere up front there about 3 months ago and it was blue. What was it?" I love people who come in and say, "I saw a book on the news this morning. I don't know the title, I don't know the author, and I don't really know what it was about, but it looked interesting." I love the people who come in and say, "I'm looking for a particular book, but all I know about it is that it has the word 'The' in the title." I love the people who are completely surprised that you, as a bookseller, haven't actually read every single book in the store. And I love the people who come in looking for a book that they don't really want to read.
I'm not talking about kids in school, either. Believe me, I remember being in high school and being assigned book after book after book to read for my Honors English classes. You'd think, as an avid reader, that that would have been a joyous assignment for me, but really, it bred me to loathe certain works or certain authors. And I loathed them for nothing other than the sheer fact that I was being forced to read them at a point in time where I either a) couldn't really connect to what I was reading, or b) was so completely bogged down with schoolwork and extra-curriculars that I simply didn't have the time to sit and decipher 300+ pages of text for theme, symbolism, metaphors, etc, etc, etc. And most of the time, there was a lot of both a and b going on. I will freely admit that Cliffs Notes became my best friends. They got me through Great Expectations, The Once and Future King, The Scarlet Letter, Walden, Julius Caesar...
It's not that I didn't try to actually read them-- I did. I really did want to delve into these classics and become immersed in them, but I very easily got bogged down in the language, or in the endless pages of dry and boring narrative, and the book quickly lost my interest. I remember only a few books that I really enjoyed being made to read: Saint Maybe by Anne Tyler, Tara Road by Maeve Binchy, Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut.... and I think that's it. I remember the projects I had to do in my Junior year, though, where I had to pick a piece of classic literature, not from any set list, but just something that I wanted to read (teacher approved, of course), and do a creative project about it. I chose Pygmalion, Green Mansions, Breakfast at Tiffany's (notice the Audrey Hepburn theme there), and To Kill a Mockingbird.
QUESTION: What was the difference between these classics and the ones that I simply couldn't seem to get through?
ANSWER: That I wanted to read them.
Now, I am not advocating taking reading assignments out of the school. Quite the contrary. I think making kids read is a good thing. Otherwise, many of them would simply choose not to do it at all and then where would society be? Do I think that kids should have a bit more choice in their reading curriculum? Definitely. It made English assignments a lot more fun for me. Do I think classics should go by the wayside? Absolutely not! They are classics for a reason and deserve to be read and studied. Some people actually enjoy them. Should they be taught differently? Well... that might help. Because let me tell you, if I was reading The Great Gatsby simply to engross myself in the story rather than committing 'murder of enjoyment of a novel by means of forced over-analysis', I'll bet you any money that I would have liked it more. Or liked it at all. (Note to teachers: discussion after reading= good. Worksheets to be filled out as you're reading= bad. And now they make kids highlight in 5 different colors and take notes in the margins and practically desecrate the book in the process of reading!)
But the point I'm trying to make here (in a long, roundabout way) is that there are so many adults out there who are looking for books... books that no one is forcing them to read, that they have some interest in-- interest enough it inquire about them at the bookstore-- but that they don't have any desire in actually reading.
For instance, the man who asked me if we had Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men and after I found it for him, asked me if we instead had it in graphic novel form because he had been watching the movie and really liked it, but somehow missed the ending and just wanted to see how the story wrapped up. Or the people who come in looking for audio books because they have no desire to actually sit down and read a book-- they just want the story recited to them. All of the fun and none of the work.
Don't get me wrong-- I love audio books. I mean, have you heard the ones for the Harry Potter series? Jim Dale, who narrates them, uses HUNDREDS of fantastic and unique character voices. I have never heard a book come so alive on tape. In fact, I've been listening to HP & the Deathly Hallows in the car for the past week or so. They're a great form of entertainment during the times when I literally cannot read at the moment: behind the wheel, or running at the gym.
But there is nothing like actually sitting down and reading a book-- using your imagination to envision the world that the author has created, instead of letting someone else interpret that world for you. As a book lover, I just don't understand the desire to gravitate away from the traditional printed page. I know that any interest in reading is good interest. Would I rather have someone listen to an audio book or read a graphic novel than not read a book in any form at all? 100% of course. But why are some people so determined to shy away from the actual novel? Where did this come from? Is this a recent thing? Has the invention of the graphic novel and the rise of the audio book possibly hurt the traditional novel format? I don't have any sort of an answer to that, but customers like the ones I mentioned certainly make me wonder, make me think.
Or is it because they were forced to read books that were uninteresting to them in their early school years? Did that tarnish their enjoyment of reading later on? I've loved books from the time I was born, but it certainly did for me, at least in some ways. Give me anything with any period language in it and my eyes glaze over. However, I still have Emma, The Mystery of Edwin Drood and Oliver Twist sitting on my bookshelf, waiting for me to read them... someday... No promises about how soon that's actually going to happen. I still do want to read them, though, so I guess I'm probably a little atypical. Maybe my own experiences don't really figure into answering this.
I'd love to ask these people where this aversion to actual books comes from. Were they not big readers to begin with? Did Dickens and all his 'paid by the word' description scare them away? Was War and Peace too intimidating because you could probably use it to fill in the space of any missing bricks on your house? Did they start reading The Jungle, thinking it was about exotic animals and safaris only to find that the animals in question weren't lions but cows, and that they would never again be able to look at a hamburger in the same way again?
Or is it plain and simple laziness? Are Cliff and his notes somewhat to blame? Have we become such a 'quick fix' society that we automatically look for the easiest way out? To those of us who enjoy reading, that idea is simply ludicrous. But to those for whom reading is somewhat of a chore...
I had to keep myself from laughing the other day at the high school student who asked me if we had Cliffs Notes for The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. Read the book, I told them. Not only because, no, Cliff has not taken notes on that yet, but because it was good. I read it all in one night. You'll probably like it. You're lucky you get to read that instead of, oh, say... The Awakening, like I had to read in high school. Of course, when I was that age, on the search for Cliffs Notes for Moby Dick (which they do have, thank God, and which, yes, I know, would be incredibly hard to read in one night), if a bookseller had said the same thing to me, I probably would have hurt them.
And, I swear, if anyone today comes in and asks for Cliffs Notes for any Jodi Picoult novel, I will seriously have to hurt them too.
:)
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Artsy Fartsies
One of my teachers has consistently told me during my blue times that "artsy fartsies" are the people who get rejected the most, due to the very nature of our careers, and yet, we are the people who feel the pain of rejection the deepest. We take things to heart, the hearts we wear our on our sleeves.
Nothing could be more true.
I have become accustomed to rejection-- after all, I am an actress. People think that actors and actresses' jobs are working in their preferred medium, but really, auditioning is the job. The project you get is the payoff, the icing on the cake. In good times, I would be going on 3 to 4 auditions a week, maybe even more. In current times, when theatres are cutting budgets and tending to cast more within their 'pools' rather than holding auditions, that number is significantly less, and because of that, the auditions become even more valuable. Not only that, but as I have progressed in my career, I've stopped auditioning for anything and everything that comes along, but have become more choosy about what I go out for, auditioning only for the projects that look like they would really be a good fit for me, personally or professionally, and most importantly, the things that I really WANT to spend my time on.
That means the rejection is all the harder. Not only am I being rejected, I am being rejected from the things I most want to do.
I'm not complaining-- I know that this is the life I've chosen for myself and the rejection just comes along with the territory. And I can handle it. Really, I can. I am a big believer in the saying, 'Everything happens for a reason'. And I do believe that. It's just that sometimes... the reason isn't all that apparent. And sometimes, it doesn't matter if there's a reason for what happens; it just plain sucks.
I don't get blue about losing parts all that often. That's because I try to remind myself that there are other things around the bend. Another audition next week. Another show that's coming up that I want to do. But sometimes, when I have no auditions on the immediate horizon, when there are no other shows going up in the near future that I am interested in, when I lose a show that I love, or a role that I'm dying to play, or when it's a production that I would sell my soul to the devil to be in... I get in a total funk when things don't go my way. And even though I know that I must have some modicum of talent-- I've done professional theatre, I get called in for good shows with good companies based on things they've seen me do-- I admit... I start to doubt myself.
And I know that I shouldn't. I know that I shouldn't let the business get to me like that. After all, I chose to live this crazy life. It was my decision, and I knew what I was getting myself into when I started down this path. But I can't help it. It does get to me. Does that mean that I ever consider quitting? No. Absolutely not. That's because performing is my life- I eat, sleep and breathe it. It's what I love to do more than anything. It defines me. And without it-- if something ever happened where I couldn't do it anymore-- I would be completely lost. I will feel like I have lost my identity. But I let it get into my head and I start to wonder, "What's wrong with me?" It becomes personal, even though so much of what goes on in the casting process, I know, isn't.
I let it hurt me more than it probably should. I get a case of what Holly Golightly called "The Mean Reds". I lock myself in my room. I either don't eat or eat too much (usually the latter). There is usually a significant amount of crying and an even more significant amount of moping. I sleep. I don't want to talk to anyone and if my family dares try to ask me questions or even worse, hold a conversation, I snap at them. Basically, it's like a major bout of depression. I don't know how long it will last, but it makes going about my day to day life a chore. It's an effort to drag myself out of the solace of my room to do the things that need to be done, like going to work or to a doctors appointment or whatever may be on my to-do list. I basically go into mourning. It's stupid, I know. To get depressed about something that to most people, seems so trivial. But to us artsy fartsies, one blow like that can feel like the whole world has come crashing down around us.
And that feeling lasts for awhile, sometimes a few days, sometimes longer. And then it's over. I move on. If I wasn't always able to do that at some point, I would start to think that I had major problems and needed some professional help. But somehow, something always comes along that pulls me up, even if it's just the ability to finally shift my mindset from 'poor me' to 'I'll show you.' I'll work harder, I'll climb the ladder, I'll be important someday. Someday, I'll prove to you that I'm good enough. Sometimes, that's all I have to get me through the mean red periods. The thought of the future, of what I want to be, of where I want to be, of what I want to do with the rest of my life.
Sometimes, it really sucks to feel so deeply. My lows are really low, but on the other hand, my highs are really high. Because my emotions run so deep, I am able to empathize well with other people. I can be a good sounding board for my friends and my family during their rough times because I can put myself in their shoes and really understand what they're going through. It probably makes me a much better actress and a much better writer because I am able to pour all that emotion into the characters I create on the stage and on the page.
But at times like these, it just makes me ache all over.
Boy, I guess it's a good thing I don't date very much, isn't it? All these artsy fartsy highs and lows wading though the murky waters of the dating pool...
Nothing could be more true.
I have become accustomed to rejection-- after all, I am an actress. People think that actors and actresses' jobs are working in their preferred medium, but really, auditioning is the job. The project you get is the payoff, the icing on the cake. In good times, I would be going on 3 to 4 auditions a week, maybe even more. In current times, when theatres are cutting budgets and tending to cast more within their 'pools' rather than holding auditions, that number is significantly less, and because of that, the auditions become even more valuable. Not only that, but as I have progressed in my career, I've stopped auditioning for anything and everything that comes along, but have become more choosy about what I go out for, auditioning only for the projects that look like they would really be a good fit for me, personally or professionally, and most importantly, the things that I really WANT to spend my time on.
That means the rejection is all the harder. Not only am I being rejected, I am being rejected from the things I most want to do.
I'm not complaining-- I know that this is the life I've chosen for myself and the rejection just comes along with the territory. And I can handle it. Really, I can. I am a big believer in the saying, 'Everything happens for a reason'. And I do believe that. It's just that sometimes... the reason isn't all that apparent. And sometimes, it doesn't matter if there's a reason for what happens; it just plain sucks.
I don't get blue about losing parts all that often. That's because I try to remind myself that there are other things around the bend. Another audition next week. Another show that's coming up that I want to do. But sometimes, when I have no auditions on the immediate horizon, when there are no other shows going up in the near future that I am interested in, when I lose a show that I love, or a role that I'm dying to play, or when it's a production that I would sell my soul to the devil to be in... I get in a total funk when things don't go my way. And even though I know that I must have some modicum of talent-- I've done professional theatre, I get called in for good shows with good companies based on things they've seen me do-- I admit... I start to doubt myself.
And I know that I shouldn't. I know that I shouldn't let the business get to me like that. After all, I chose to live this crazy life. It was my decision, and I knew what I was getting myself into when I started down this path. But I can't help it. It does get to me. Does that mean that I ever consider quitting? No. Absolutely not. That's because performing is my life- I eat, sleep and breathe it. It's what I love to do more than anything. It defines me. And without it-- if something ever happened where I couldn't do it anymore-- I would be completely lost. I will feel like I have lost my identity. But I let it get into my head and I start to wonder, "What's wrong with me?" It becomes personal, even though so much of what goes on in the casting process, I know, isn't.
I let it hurt me more than it probably should. I get a case of what Holly Golightly called "The Mean Reds". I lock myself in my room. I either don't eat or eat too much (usually the latter). There is usually a significant amount of crying and an even more significant amount of moping. I sleep. I don't want to talk to anyone and if my family dares try to ask me questions or even worse, hold a conversation, I snap at them. Basically, it's like a major bout of depression. I don't know how long it will last, but it makes going about my day to day life a chore. It's an effort to drag myself out of the solace of my room to do the things that need to be done, like going to work or to a doctors appointment or whatever may be on my to-do list. I basically go into mourning. It's stupid, I know. To get depressed about something that to most people, seems so trivial. But to us artsy fartsies, one blow like that can feel like the whole world has come crashing down around us.
And that feeling lasts for awhile, sometimes a few days, sometimes longer. And then it's over. I move on. If I wasn't always able to do that at some point, I would start to think that I had major problems and needed some professional help. But somehow, something always comes along that pulls me up, even if it's just the ability to finally shift my mindset from 'poor me' to 'I'll show you.' I'll work harder, I'll climb the ladder, I'll be important someday. Someday, I'll prove to you that I'm good enough. Sometimes, that's all I have to get me through the mean red periods. The thought of the future, of what I want to be, of where I want to be, of what I want to do with the rest of my life.
Sometimes, it really sucks to feel so deeply. My lows are really low, but on the other hand, my highs are really high. Because my emotions run so deep, I am able to empathize well with other people. I can be a good sounding board for my friends and my family during their rough times because I can put myself in their shoes and really understand what they're going through. It probably makes me a much better actress and a much better writer because I am able to pour all that emotion into the characters I create on the stage and on the page.
But at times like these, it just makes me ache all over.
Boy, I guess it's a good thing I don't date very much, isn't it? All these artsy fartsy highs and lows wading though the murky waters of the dating pool...
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
What's a writer to write about?
So, in typical Jeny fashion, I start this wonderful new blog, then get busy and don't update in a few days... I fear that this may become a trend... But, one of the reasons I wanted to create a blog was to keep myself writing, especially on the days when, in the course of working on my novel, the writers block hits me head on. So, I will persevere and make it a goal- a promise to anyone reading, really- to be more on the ball here...
One of the main fears I had when first thinking about blogging is that no one would care about what I wrote. It's so much different being a novelist. Then, you're telling a story. And even though it is YOUR story, it's actually not. The story belongs to your characters. It is their lives that you are transposing on to the page and therefore, so much easier to believe that what they have to share with the world is worthwhile. Meanwhile, me sitting here at my laptop and pounding out my thoughts and stories and ideas seems so... naked. That's right. I feel naked. Exposed. I no longer have the comfy quilt of my characters and their lives to hide behind. This is just me. And sometimes, I fear that 'just me' isn't interesting enough. I'm not always witty. I'm not always incredibly insightful. I'm not inherently funny. I can have my moments of sarcasm, but sometimes, that's about as entertaining as it's going to get.
And along these lines, I've had issues about coming up with blog topics. What do I write about each day? A blog is almost like a very public diary. What do I dare compose, not forgetting that everything posted here goes straight out into the infinite universe and is available indefinitely for anyone and everyone to see? Things posted online can make or break a person. It's a little daunting, I must say.
So, I guess we are on this wild ride together, dear readers... whoever you are... if, indeed, there are any of you out there... These are new waters for both of us- me sharing my random musings and you venturing into my world. I hope that I do not fail you.
One of the main fears I had when first thinking about blogging is that no one would care about what I wrote. It's so much different being a novelist. Then, you're telling a story. And even though it is YOUR story, it's actually not. The story belongs to your characters. It is their lives that you are transposing on to the page and therefore, so much easier to believe that what they have to share with the world is worthwhile. Meanwhile, me sitting here at my laptop and pounding out my thoughts and stories and ideas seems so... naked. That's right. I feel naked. Exposed. I no longer have the comfy quilt of my characters and their lives to hide behind. This is just me. And sometimes, I fear that 'just me' isn't interesting enough. I'm not always witty. I'm not always incredibly insightful. I'm not inherently funny. I can have my moments of sarcasm, but sometimes, that's about as entertaining as it's going to get.
And along these lines, I've had issues about coming up with blog topics. What do I write about each day? A blog is almost like a very public diary. What do I dare compose, not forgetting that everything posted here goes straight out into the infinite universe and is available indefinitely for anyone and everyone to see? Things posted online can make or break a person. It's a little daunting, I must say.
So, I guess we are on this wild ride together, dear readers... whoever you are... if, indeed, there are any of you out there... These are new waters for both of us- me sharing my random musings and you venturing into my world. I hope that I do not fail you.
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