Acting

Struggling to get cast, I decided to try an acting class several months ago, thinking I could perhaps hone and refine, get some feedback and guidance.  I met with the head instructor for my interview, was accepted, and was eager. I'd been told that the class used action to bring out character, etc., which appealed to me because I'm not a fan of the School of Emotional Regurgitation. (When I was in therapy in my 20s, my therapist brought up the subject of group therapy, and I responded that I really didn't have the patience for other people's demons or emotions, just as I'm sure my demons were not all that interesting to anyone but me. He didn't push it, as he wasn't all that sure I needed it - I was working pretty hard on my own.)

So first day of class. Four boys, two girls, one woman. Yep, everyone but me was in their 20s. And guess what? Everything was based on emotions an impulses. Act on your impulses. Well, you have a 20-something boy on stage with a 20-something girl, and guess what the impulses are. Yep, lots of kissing, Of course, those impulses did not translate in my scenes, because I was not fuckable to them, nor were they to me. And we all know that most boys feel one of two things toward women: lust or contempt Yeah; it was fun. I'd paid $300 to be an outcast again, only I didn't have the safety of the Latin Club this time around.

In one scene , one of the guys tried to get me to "open up" by taking off his shirt. In the scene analysis afterward, the instructor (there were four) suggested that had I followed my impulses I might have rubbed my hands over the boy's chest.

If I'd followed my impulses, I'd have walked off stage and the incredible feeling of discomfort at the prospect of any kind of sexual encounter with someone I could have given birth to.

In on wordless scene, I was told that I'd come across as "angry" when I looked through some CDs. "Angry about what?" I'd asked, mystified. "I was looking for a CD."

Of course, instead of pointing out that when I get focused I look angry, which might have helped me with my technique, they insisted I was in denial of my true feelings.

True feelings of rage, apparently that sorting through CDs engenders in most people.

I stuck with the class, feeling old, isolated, and more and more, as Morales says in A Chorus Line "that this bullshit was absurd."

Finally, in one class one of the guys decided to take it upon himself to show me how truly angry I was, help me uncover the anger that I was in such denial of, and began insulting me and calling me names, ridiculing me. I should mention that in another scene in the previous week, another guys had told him that I disgusted him. So basically, here I was, a true grown up, being emotionally assaulted by a bunch of kids who think that by being cruel they are somehow experiencing artistic growth.

I ended up in the bathroom in tears, and walked out of the class. I did not return. I did not go through a childhood and adolescence of crippling shyness and self-consciousness, serious depression, and therapy to have these people tell me how I feel. I have faced riot police, gangs, muggers, bad dates, and a verbally abusive alcoholic father; trust me, I know what it feels like to be afraid and angry. Anger is not something I'm going to vomit up like some parlor trick to satisfy some kid with half my life experience who's decided I need to dance to his tune.

And I fail to see how it will make me a better actress. From what I can see, the main things standing in my way are my age and my hair, because nonprofessional theater in Chicago seems more and more like some post-college party for mediocre twentysomethings who think a woman has to be under 35 and have hair to her ass to be feminine. This is the Midwest, were inspiration goes to die.

I've begun discussions with a woman I know form my last show who's near my age and feeling the same way. We're talking about just putting on our own show. If you can't get cast, cast your own damn self.

Today is SP's birthday.

I guess as you get older, birthdays are less about cake and presents than they are about taking stock.

SP is my best friend. What I mean by that is that I am lucky to have one person on the planet that I trust absolutely, without reservation.

We met 16 years ago. I was 32; he was 20. He lives in London now with his boyfriend, but they are in the process of applying to move to Canada next year. Being on the same continent again will be my birthday present.

Happy Birthday, SP!

I'm in here.

Sorry to be absent for so long - I've not found my life all that interesting lately, which says that I either have to make my life more interesting or get a better perspective.

Here we are in summer. I'm still at the same job, but it's become easier, mostly because I know how to do it and I'm no longer micromanaged. I've proven myself enough, I guess. The problem is that I have a sort of goofy, kinetic, expressive persona, which leads a lot of people to conclude that I'm ditzy or reckless or immature, but over time people see that when it comes to work, I'm Type A all the way, and serious as a heart attack.  A heart attack that does impressions from "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" to tweak Claims Guy.

"I don't want YOUR claim, and I don't want HIS claim, or HIS claim, or HIS claim! I want MY claim, so can I please have my claim now, Nurse Ratched?!?"

There was dry ice left over from some catering event, and Claims Guy put it in a cup with water. I carried the frothing cup around making theremin noises and singing "Science Fiction Double Feature."  And then I saw the department head looking at me from where she'd gotten up, and remembered she was back from her London trip. Fortunately, she finds me amusing. Very fortunately.

Bunny Leroy has a new companion, Sparrow (Lady Jane Sparrow), and they are sickeningly in love. Smitten bunnies. Nothing cuter.

I'm still president of my condo board, and that, too is going easier. We have a terrific board, despite a couple of difficult people, and we're getting a lot done. i'll be presiding over my first hearings of people contesting noise complaints. When it comes to being rude and loud, I'm a hanging judge.

Oh, and I went on happy pills. What a difference 20 mgs make. I'm baaaack...

Had an audition last Saturday, and  although I thought I did well, I've not heard anything, so still no performance opportunities, which I would very much enjoy. I need cheap hobbies. I watch colleagues in shows, and while I enjoy supporting them, my friend B--said it well: "I'm tired of going to shows and thinking, 'I could do that better.'"

So a couple of friends and I are talking about just producing a show ourselves.

I continue to be a drama magnet: first there was a guy jerking off on my train car (CTA employee, when I told her about it: "Honey, when that happens, I just want to say, "Is that all you GOT?"), then a loopy guy who decided to activate the emergency release on the doors while we were at full speed (I jumped up and made him sit down), then the guy at the post office who stole mail from his estranged wife and was pursued by a pack of us until the police showed up. So yeah, I've been busy.

Off to NH next month to climb Mt. Washington, see my family and some friends. Really looking forward to it.

Random Workness

So I had my annual review in which my department head gushed and told me how the sun shines out my backside.

Well, OK, not really, but pretty close.

And because I've been such a quick learner and because I've transformed things, and because I've so exceeded expectations, they are going to (pick one):

A. Give me a big raise
B. Give me a big raise and a title change
C. Give me lots more responsibility and a 2% cost-of-living raise

I mean, we've all read Tom Sawyer and we know a fence-painting scam when we see one, right? I know the praise was sincere because the department head is a no-nonsense non-ass kisser. They truly think I should be flattered that their solution to other people's lack of organization and technical skill is to just give their stuff to me.

So I emailed a recruiter I know and asked her to find me a job where I won't get punished for being competent. I've already decided I'll walk from my condo if need be in order to take a job I like even if the pay isn't great; I just can't keep dying on the cross of hyper responsibility as I get screwed. Perhaps I should not have finally seen Fight Club because all I keep thinking is, "This is your life. And it's ending one day at a time."

Another day of Granola.

Today was another granola demo day. I'd decided I was going to locate my table somewhere far from an open refrigerator case, as I not longer find the challenge of freezing for four hours a bracing test of my fortitude. Besides, I'm sick of staring at butter and yogurt (who knew there were so many kinds?)

I saw another woman demo-ing some cookies in an aisle closer to the front of the store, and asked her whether she'd mind if I set up near her. I figured we could share some company. She liked the idea, and as she was demo-ing gluten-free cookies, we decided we'd create a gluten-free gauntlet for shoppers to run. She was also almost out of product and would be leaving soon.

We chatted and I discovered she worked for a company that was contracted by clients to demo their products. I also found out that for a flat fee she just handed out samples until the product was gone, and then went home. So for three hours she made twice what I made in four.

I'm calling her company tomorrow.

My new location had me facing the Personal Care section, so I was getting to know the woman who worked there. I asked her about the oddest things she's been asked for.

She looked at passing shoppers, waited until we were alone, and said, "I had a guy once talk at me for a half-hour about improving the morphology of his sperm. He was having trouble getting his wife pregnant.

"Another time a guy said he needed something for itching, and I said I needed to know a little bit more. He just said, 'For itching,' and I asked him to describe the condition of the skin, was there a rash, anything, and he finally yelled, 'IT JUST ITCHES!'"

"And that's when you realized what was itching," I laughed.

"Yep."

I told her I often get people who want to talk at me. They just park themselves at my table and don't pick up on cues that they are in the way.

"The thing is," she said, "the people who come into this store, they have their things, their fancy whatever, but a lot of them are just really lonely." I agreed.

Just then, an elderly woman with a bad wig rolled her shopping cart to the table. She was hunched over it to the point where she had to look up at me through huge plastic glasses.

"What are you sampling here?" she snarled.

"This is granola from Michi--"

"YUCK!" she yelled. I looked at her. Now, I deal with people who range from thoughtless to rude all the time, but today I felt that final straw quivering. I've had a really crappy two months -- a REALLY crappy two months, and my impulse control is almost totally gone. I knew I was going to say something, so I tried to channel it into something less destructive.

Putting on the biggest smile I could, I said, "THANK YOU FOR YOUR CANDOR. IT'S SO REFRESHING."

She glared at me then wheeled away.

And so went another demo day.

Facebook Detox

So I realized I'd developed an unhealthy relationship with Facebook: I'd become preoccupied with what was going on there to the point of addiction. Part of it was the immediacy of being able to post an impulse and have it be read by so many people; part of it was this sense that I was connected to this larger web.

There were side effects. One was that I stopped blogging. Facebook satisfied my craving for communication, leaving me no motivation to create thoughtful entries.

Another was more insidious. I spend most of my free time alone; it's just how my life is. I don't have a BF/husband, and I live alone. I meet tons of people through various activities, but few that have turned into real friendships. A woman in my building put it this way: "Chicago is TOUGH when it comes to making friends. It's almost impossible to break into people's groups."

 I think of the friends I have in Boston, and the ways we met. We could have easily not turned into friends, but people were easier to bond with. No such thing has happened here. I'm tired of trying to find a tribe.

Before Facebook, I went out, saw movies, had dinner, kept myself busy. It was fine. After Facebook, I did the same thing but then got to read about all the activities my "friends" did while I was by myself. I discovered that the kids I used to sit for had a birthday party. I wasn't invited. I'd post, "Hey, who wants to do XYZ this weekend?" and get no response.

I became lonely, and the lonelier I became, the more addicted I was to FB. It was like the nerd who tries harder and harder to get the cool kids' attention by hanging around all the time, trying to be witty and eye-catching.

I'd stopped looking for activities to go to; instead, I spent hours posting and reading, trying to feel a sense of community, and feeling more and more empty.

Facebook is great for so many things, but it's still just a tool, and I'd let it decide its role in my life. So as of this Friday, the only people I will keep as FB friends are people I know who live out of state. There has been a bit of a response of dismay from local people, but what they don't get is that if they need FB to stay in touch with me while we live in the same city, maybe that says something about their investment in a friendship with me. The people I see and do things with are either not on FB or communicate with me outside of it or in addition to it.

I'm feeling a mix of anxiety and relief, but mostly relief. I can let go of a facsimile of friendship and focus on my real-life life again, get some real perspective. I'll still be here; the people who really want me in their life know where to find me.

Does it still count as a boycott?

I always boycott Black Friday. Here you have a holiday that absolutely everyone celebrates, and what? Instead of spending it with family, friends or relaxing, we're supposed to run some manic gerbil-wheel of consumption? Screw that.

The Friday after Thanksgiving I biked to the gym, and on the way back decided to stop at the Salvation Army in Evanston to pick up some winter things. I like shopping there; people are friendly, there's no attitude, and I get some pretty cool stuff very cheap.

When I arrived, Bride of Dracula was outside smoking a cigarette. I smiled at her and she nodded and smiled back. Inside, the place was hopping. It seems even the SA sees a bit of Black Friday. I found lots of good stuff on the racks, and was enjoying the vibe, the hustle and bustle, the great supply of clothes. Finally, I made my way to the line at the register. A woman in front of me was talking to her teenage daughter, who was looking at a fleece jacket.

"Do you like it?" she asked her daughter.

"I'm not sure," the girl said.

"That's a nice jacket," I told her. "Champion is a very good brand, and it wears well for a long time."

They were unfamiliar with Champion, but thanked me and took the jacket.

"Are you a Pisces?" asked the daughter.

"Nope. Leo," I replied. "Talking to strangers, giving them advice, offering an unsolicited opinion. What else could I be?"

"Do you get along with Ares people?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, really," I said. "But my best friend is a Cancer."

They both visibly flinched.

"Really?? asked the mother. They both stared.

"Um. Yeah. Best friend in the whole world."

"How does that work?" the mother asked.

"Well, we are brutally honest with one another and it rolls off our backs, I guess," I said. I sensed they wanted more, and I felt bad that I'd disappointed them with an absence of drama.

Then I idly looked to my right and saw a loveseat. It was small, and somewhat 1970s-ish, but with a very pleasant, benign pattern. I sat on it with my legs extended. Perfect fit.

I've been looking for a loveseat but can't afford a new one, and most of the used ones are lousy. I tend to avoid most upholstered things at second-hand shops, but this item was clean as a whistle and in extraordinarily good shape.

"How much for the loveseat?" I asked Bride of Dracula.

"Sixty-five," she said in her sub-sonic voice.

"That's IT?" I asked. She looked at me with a "you don't buy furniture here much, do you?" look.

I stared at the loveseat, deciding.

"Is a very nice piece," came the rumble behind me.

"OK. I'll take it."

So it was that my Black Friday boycott ended with a "new" loveseat being delivered by Ray the next morning. And today I saw the mother and daughter at Whole Foods. We are full-spectrum people.