Auditioning is Almost as Much Fun as Having Food Poisoning!

It's been years now since I've posted; I have nothing to say in my defense save a busy social calendar since my return to the land of the living, combined with my shitty new seating arrangement at the stupid day job and the fact that my stolen internet connection at home seems to be on heavy drugs. I think it took an hour to get to this page.

I have thankfully taken a leap back into auditioning with renewed commitment despite the fact that most of the time the EPAs (Equity Principle Auditions- any company that wants to hire union actors is required to have open auditions for the entire membership, which usually tends to be a bit of a farce as these auditions are only held because they are required and most casting occurs through casting agents and directors) are for shows already cast. It's frustrating, but I try to regard it as a sharpening stone for auditioning skills...it certainly takes away any and all fear, between the sheer number of auditions attended and knowing they're somewhat worthless. I've gotten wonderful feedback from a lot of casting directors, but no work thus far. While wonderful feedback is incredibly gratifying for the ego, it unfortunately does not get me out of stupid day job hell.

So yesterday I schlepped off to an EPA for Theatre for a New Audience, of course hoping it would miraculously lead to Work for a Desperate Actor, and was shocked to find that the actual casting director was in the audition room. Usually one finds people a bit lower on the food chain in these EPAs- assistants, assistants’ assistants, the janitor, etc. The Equity lounge, dubbed "losers lounge" for its mass collection of out of work actors by my director friend and general career motivator/kick-in-the-seat-of-my-pants-provider Saint Slick, was all abuzz with this thrilling news seemingly equivalent to an Elvis sighting. I bravely trudged in (and it does take bravery, as the reception in these tiny studios ranges from huggable warmth to boredom to being looked at as if you had cat vomit dripping off your head) with smiles and friendly "you really want to hire me!” energy, and found a rather unintimidating though clearly no-nonsense woman seated behind the table. It’s always a toss up as to how to interact, as each casting director (or assistant et al) has a different preference as to the level of interaction they really like to engage in. She asked rather quickly what I was going to be showing her, so I announced my piece and began.

The audition itself went rather well; I took my time with the piece, and although it was different than usual, it worked for the role I would be eligible for and was honest, simple and powerful. I felt pretty good about it. She then thanked me, and caught me off guard by asking me about having lived in France (my resume states fluent in French and dual citizenship). This was a prime opportunity not to be squandered! Yes, yes...this is what I had been hoping for, a mini-interview of sorts with a top casting director; a chance to show off my sparkling personality and great wit and charm! I opened my mouth to let the wit and charm flow forth and found that what spewed forth from my pre-coffee useless stump of a brain was instead 2 tiny boring useless sentences giving the appearance of one utterly devoid of any semblance of a personality. She smiled and thanked me again, and I stumbled out of the room feeling like an utter ass. Fucking up an interview opportunity is far worse than fucking up your monologue. I can only hope that my useful Eurodentity and fluency in French will override my apparent idiocy and garner me an audition opportunity in the future. I wrote my follow-up postcard immediately and put "(the French woman)" after my name, just to remind her of my marketability despite the seeming lack of personality.

Ah yes, the fun of this career never ends. I begin a commercial class quite soon, hoping that if I could perhaps get a little cash flow in from commercials, then I wouldn't be so exhausted all the time from trying unsuccessfully to balance the need for rent with pursuing my career and having a social life. Balance has never been my strong suit (actually its been more of an elusive ideal I can't seem to get anywhere near) despite much effort to the contrary; I am a person of extremes. Right now, I am extremely in need of an acting job, before I become completely (as opposed to partially) insane. I need to get out a round of agent mailings sometime before my 65th birthday (a tough goal at the rate I've been going with these mailings) and all sorts of other fun and exciting marketing crap that gives me a giant migraine to think of.

I luckily just received a call from one of my gay boyfriends, Mr. Saucy Funnybuns (his buns aren't funny, he is), and we are to have wine and laundry night tonight- a welcome relief as my pile of laundry is about as tall as my sawnky new loft bed at this point and I found long ago that drunken laundry with a friend becomes far less of a chore than schlepping it to the corner laundromat where the angry asian woman yells at everyone and the homeless guy is always being kicked out for trying to wash his shoes. I love when I am able to combine socializing and actually get crap done; it makes life a tiny fragment less stressful.

I did manage to score free Equity tickets to Beckett's Happy Days for Saturday night for Mr. Artsy Hotpants and myself, which is infinitely exciting as its been forever since I've seen a show. Mr. Artsy Hotpants is my favorite person of all time to go see theatre with; although we usually have very similar opinions, the spirited discussion afterwards is always incredibly interesting and rewarding. I need to remember to check the Equity board more often for free tickets, though usually if they're offering free tickets it means the production isn't selling that well and one has to wonder if there isn't perhaps a reason for this. We'll see, and I'm sure Mr. Artsy Hotpants will blog about it, whether it’s good or bad.

I now have to drag myself to the horror of the stupid day job, where I will finish listening to Pride and Prejudice on tape and bemoan the hours wasted on managed behavioral healthcare (aka we deny everything). If I'm incredibly lucky I will be able to return an e-mail or two, but the cavalier days of internet freedom seem to be sadly long gone.