Ten minutes standing at my windowsill
Grass at chin-height through the glass and still
I felt no calm inside this grave agape
A rabbit kicking in a snare - escape!
Friday afternoon I left the apartment, and I didn't come back until well after lunch Saturday. I went to my grandma's house, and I did not tell anyone where I was going.
So I admit that was wrong of me - the not telling anyone where I was going part. A young woman can't afford to have unknown whereabouts these days. But aside from that, leaving was the best thing for me to do that afternoon. Sometimes leaving a stressful situation - temporarily - is the best way to begin fixing it.
A lot of my friends are students, and most of them are also feeling stress as the semester winds down. To them I say, take a break! Get away if you can, even if it's only for a day. Or for an hour. It's funny how much even a little vacation can clear your head and give you a fresh perspective.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Auditions!
I've gone and done it. I saw an audition notice for Little Women (the musical) listed on a local theater's website, and I called in to make an audition appointment. Next Wednesday, if I can get my knees to hold me up, I'll be trying to convince real drama people that they should let me be in their play. I don't expect to get a part (although I would be thrilled if I did), but I felt like if I didn't just dive right in and try out for something, while acting class lessons were still fresh in my mind, I'd never do it. So voila. Next week.
The notice said to bring a "32-bar cutting" of a musical theater piece, and I decided to try "Somewhere" from West Side Story. Technically, the entire song is 37 bars, so I hope they don't shoot me for going five bars over. Especially since about four of them are for the last note. (I can imagine myself trying to trim it to 32 bars: "Somedaaaaaaaay, somehooooooooow, some - " - - - silence, only my theatrical, anguished expression lingering.) I know I haven't got the best voice, but it's a better voice for musical theater than classical singing, and I'm very good at pitch and decent at rhythm. I just hope I don't choke.
Aside from singing, I have no idea what to expect out of an audition. I suppose they'll ask me to read some lines or something. Actually, I'm not very nervous about anything beyond the song, so I hope they do that first, so I can do the rest with the giddy exhiliration of relief loosening my tongue.
Anyway, I'll let y'all know how it goes.
Original Comments
Kate the Great on 22 Apr 15:04
As someone who’s gone to lots of auditions, let me give you an idea of what you might come up with, since every director does their auditions differently. Sometimes there’s a movement exercise: walking around the space to music, walking and running at different speeds and with different postures. That kind of thing is done to see how versatile you are at coming up with your own different kinds of movement, and how you personally walk, your posture, etc. Since your entire body is shown on stage, some directors put that posture and walk into consideration when looking for an actor for a particular part.
Sometimes they’ll give you a scene to do with one other auditioner. They’ll give you a script that’s maybe three to four pages long, and they’ll give you a minute or two to look over it. Don’t read through it just to get a feel for tone; read to feel the dynamics of the scene; are you disdainful toward the other character? How do you react toward the other character? What are you doing to the other character to get what you want in the scene? Make a few decisions about the scene to yourself (Okay, I’m going to be coldly angry during these four lines, and then I’m going to walk away a few steps and put my back toward him during these lines; Then, I’ll give him a cold hug at the end) and then read it. The director is looking for an actor who can make definite decisions. Don’t just float there and read. Face your fellow actor; walk around the room purposefully, while talking to the other actor. Some of it will feel silly because it’s not rehearsed, and the director realizes that. They also just want to make sure you can interact with another character onstage, so even if you don’t move around, gesture as much as you can, react to your partner’s lines… I could coach on and on.
Or, like you’re expecting, the director could give you a monologue to read. Do the same thing you would during a scene. Make basic decisions as you read through it; I’m going to walk to this corner as I say this line, then as I have this epiphany, I’m going to whirl around and stroke my chin. Direct yourself.
Email me if you’ve got questions you want to ask. Or comment over at my blog. I feel like I’ve had a lot of experience here.
Aye Spy on 01 May 17:13
For any interested parties, here’s a follow-up on this audition:
It was mostly a singing audition. As I mentioned, I decided to do “Somewhere,” and I practiced about a dozen times a day in the week leading up to this audition. Since I didn’t have a piano or an accompanist handy, I sang it a cappella or, after scoping Youtube, to a video of some kid playing the piano part.
I was pretty nervous as I got to the audition, but it really helped that it took place at the theater where I took my acting class. I already felt comfortable with the environment. And actually, something about seeing all those other girls waiting in line for their turn, all of them quite nervous even though most of them had much more theater experience than me, calmed me right down. “You’ll do fine,” I told myself. “You’ve practiced this a billion times. You’re not going to forget any of the words. You’re going to remember all those things you’ve been telling yourself during practice: shoulders up, breathe, dynamics, facial expression. You’ll be fine.”
To my surprise, I believed me. I was a little nervous when it was my turn to go before the panel, but not a lot. I introduced myself and the piece professionally, and then I sang the song, on key even though the provided accompanist had a rough time with the music (Bernstein and four sharps) and ended up accompanying me with a quiet, surreal interpretation. I kept the correct beat and the tone, didn’t freeze up, crescendoed when I was supposed to, and during one part I waved away a brief, panicky thought that I had no idea what the next words were. I kept singing and the words came. The judges, neither smiling nor frowning, were strangely a comfort, because I felt that they were respectful and would give me and my voice a fair chance, even though I had heard the girls before me and knew they sounded better.
I had been forewarned that the judges were behind and didn’t have time to offer feedback after the song, so when I was done I thanked them, grabbed my music, and headed out. As I went through the door I overheard a judge say something like “that was beautiful.” That stayed with me as I smiled and nodded at the folks still in line and headed back out to my car. I had done it: nervousness and inexperience aside, I knew I had sung my best. And if my best could be beautiful for only a moment, that was enough.
Ultimately, no, I didn’t get a callback, but I feel like the audition was a success. I don’t know if I’ll be auditioning for something else this summer, since I don’t know exactly where I’ll be come fall, but maybe.
Thanks for your comment, Kate; I was hoping you’d read and send me some advice. Thanks also, Sabrina and Mom, for your support!
The notice said to bring a "32-bar cutting" of a musical theater piece, and I decided to try "Somewhere" from West Side Story. Technically, the entire song is 37 bars, so I hope they don't shoot me for going five bars over. Especially since about four of them are for the last note. (I can imagine myself trying to trim it to 32 bars: "Somedaaaaaaaay, somehooooooooow, some - " - - - silence, only my theatrical, anguished expression lingering.) I know I haven't got the best voice, but it's a better voice for musical theater than classical singing, and I'm very good at pitch and decent at rhythm. I just hope I don't choke.
Aside from singing, I have no idea what to expect out of an audition. I suppose they'll ask me to read some lines or something. Actually, I'm not very nervous about anything beyond the song, so I hope they do that first, so I can do the rest with the giddy exhiliration of relief loosening my tongue.
Anyway, I'll let y'all know how it goes.
Original Comments
Kate the Great on 22 Apr 15:04
As someone who’s gone to lots of auditions, let me give you an idea of what you might come up with, since every director does their auditions differently. Sometimes there’s a movement exercise: walking around the space to music, walking and running at different speeds and with different postures. That kind of thing is done to see how versatile you are at coming up with your own different kinds of movement, and how you personally walk, your posture, etc. Since your entire body is shown on stage, some directors put that posture and walk into consideration when looking for an actor for a particular part.
Sometimes they’ll give you a scene to do with one other auditioner. They’ll give you a script that’s maybe three to four pages long, and they’ll give you a minute or two to look over it. Don’t read through it just to get a feel for tone; read to feel the dynamics of the scene; are you disdainful toward the other character? How do you react toward the other character? What are you doing to the other character to get what you want in the scene? Make a few decisions about the scene to yourself (Okay, I’m going to be coldly angry during these four lines, and then I’m going to walk away a few steps and put my back toward him during these lines; Then, I’ll give him a cold hug at the end) and then read it. The director is looking for an actor who can make definite decisions. Don’t just float there and read. Face your fellow actor; walk around the room purposefully, while talking to the other actor. Some of it will feel silly because it’s not rehearsed, and the director realizes that. They also just want to make sure you can interact with another character onstage, so even if you don’t move around, gesture as much as you can, react to your partner’s lines… I could coach on and on.
Or, like you’re expecting, the director could give you a monologue to read. Do the same thing you would during a scene. Make basic decisions as you read through it; I’m going to walk to this corner as I say this line, then as I have this epiphany, I’m going to whirl around and stroke my chin. Direct yourself.
Email me if you’ve got questions you want to ask. Or comment over at my blog. I feel like I’ve had a lot of experience here.
Aye Spy on 01 May 17:13
For any interested parties, here’s a follow-up on this audition:
It was mostly a singing audition. As I mentioned, I decided to do “Somewhere,” and I practiced about a dozen times a day in the week leading up to this audition. Since I didn’t have a piano or an accompanist handy, I sang it a cappella or, after scoping Youtube, to a video of some kid playing the piano part.
I was pretty nervous as I got to the audition, but it really helped that it took place at the theater where I took my acting class. I already felt comfortable with the environment. And actually, something about seeing all those other girls waiting in line for their turn, all of them quite nervous even though most of them had much more theater experience than me, calmed me right down. “You’ll do fine,” I told myself. “You’ve practiced this a billion times. You’re not going to forget any of the words. You’re going to remember all those things you’ve been telling yourself during practice: shoulders up, breathe, dynamics, facial expression. You’ll be fine.”
To my surprise, I believed me. I was a little nervous when it was my turn to go before the panel, but not a lot. I introduced myself and the piece professionally, and then I sang the song, on key even though the provided accompanist had a rough time with the music (Bernstein and four sharps) and ended up accompanying me with a quiet, surreal interpretation. I kept the correct beat and the tone, didn’t freeze up, crescendoed when I was supposed to, and during one part I waved away a brief, panicky thought that I had no idea what the next words were. I kept singing and the words came. The judges, neither smiling nor frowning, were strangely a comfort, because I felt that they were respectful and would give me and my voice a fair chance, even though I had heard the girls before me and knew they sounded better.
I had been forewarned that the judges were behind and didn’t have time to offer feedback after the song, so when I was done I thanked them, grabbed my music, and headed out. As I went through the door I overheard a judge say something like “that was beautiful.” That stayed with me as I smiled and nodded at the folks still in line and headed back out to my car. I had done it: nervousness and inexperience aside, I knew I had sung my best. And if my best could be beautiful for only a moment, that was enough.
Ultimately, no, I didn’t get a callback, but I feel like the audition was a success. I don’t know if I’ll be auditioning for something else this summer, since I don’t know exactly where I’ll be come fall, but maybe.
Thanks for your comment, Kate; I was hoping you’d read and send me some advice. Thanks also, Sabrina and Mom, for your support!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Hardware
Gonna get me a flashlight and a broom
Want a pair of pliers for every single room of my house
See those hacksaws? Very, very soon
One of them will be all mine!
Weird Al, "Hardware Store"
I think it may be only my roommates and my family that know this about me, but I have hardware. I'm not currently speaking of the computer kind, though I have some of that too; I mean the Tim Taylor kind. Sitting next to the closet in my bedroom, although most days it functions as a low shelf, is a toolbox, and inside are handfuls of screwdrivers, a hacksaw, a hammer, a measuring tape, razor blades (don't try this at home, kids), and various pliers and wrenches. I got the toolbox and its contents from my dad when I bought my car. "Now that you have a car, you need to have the tools to work with it," he said.
"Right, Dad," I said, already concocting ways to use a hacksaw on a Honda.
"Well, you'll need at least the star screwdrivers," said Dad. "Car companies always use those dang stars."
We both knew the real reason he got me the tools: I was the kid who wanted em. Before and after me, Dad had two sons, and both of them had a toolbox Christmas years ago when I was eight or nine. My brothers put on the safety goggles and played with the tools all that day, but a few months later it was me who crawled into their closets and pried open the dusty red boxes to steal out hammers and screwdrivers and hand drills. And on bright summer Saturdays, when Dad would open the garage door and blare '70s tunes over the sound of his planer and table saw, I sat in there too, at first just pretending to fix imaginary customers' broken appliances (with whatever hand tools Dad could spare) but eventually planning out and cutting out my own little projects from scrap wood.
I had a lot of fun with Dad in that garage workshop over the years. Dad always had two or three things he was working on, and when I couldn't help, I didn't mind just watching. (Especially since he had a small TV in the workshop. Jean-Luc Picard and Norm Abrams often joined us on these Saturdays.) He put off some of his own work to help me make a few things, like a treasure box and a shelf unit. And then he walked me through every step of taking my bike apart, cleaning it, and putting it back together. Under his tutelage I have done about everything that can be done with a piece of wood: cut, planed, sanded, primed, stained, waterproofed, painted, varnished, stripped, glued, puttied, and nailed. I helped him build a set of bunks into the walls of a tiny room in our old family cabin, and the next year we replaced a section of carpet.
My project preferences and fix-it-up philosophy have grown to be a bit different from Dad's, but the spirit of independence and self-reliance I learned in the garage will always be part of me. I can't wait to see the look on my future husband's face when he comes home to see me ripping up carpet or installing crown molding. (Peering at him through my safety goggles, cordless drill in hand, "Hi, honey!") The banshee scream of a tablesaw doesn't scare me, and neither do computers, TV/VCR/DVD/game console hookups, flat tires, gas stove pilot lights, or tax returns. (Spiders still do though.)
So my question is, do I get extra points for being a girl and knowing this stuff? Guys, would it intimidate you to have a fiancee who put a miter saw on the gift registry? Think about it. Meanwhile, if anyone's got a loose knob or a picture to be mounted, you know who to call. I've got the hardware.
Want a pair of pliers for every single room of my house
See those hacksaws? Very, very soon
One of them will be all mine!
Weird Al, "Hardware Store"
I think it may be only my roommates and my family that know this about me, but I have hardware. I'm not currently speaking of the computer kind, though I have some of that too; I mean the Tim Taylor kind. Sitting next to the closet in my bedroom, although most days it functions as a low shelf, is a toolbox, and inside are handfuls of screwdrivers, a hacksaw, a hammer, a measuring tape, razor blades (don't try this at home, kids), and various pliers and wrenches. I got the toolbox and its contents from my dad when I bought my car. "Now that you have a car, you need to have the tools to work with it," he said.
"Right, Dad," I said, already concocting ways to use a hacksaw on a Honda.
"Well, you'll need at least the star screwdrivers," said Dad. "Car companies always use those dang stars."
We both knew the real reason he got me the tools: I was the kid who wanted em. Before and after me, Dad had two sons, and both of them had a toolbox Christmas years ago when I was eight or nine. My brothers put on the safety goggles and played with the tools all that day, but a few months later it was me who crawled into their closets and pried open the dusty red boxes to steal out hammers and screwdrivers and hand drills. And on bright summer Saturdays, when Dad would open the garage door and blare '70s tunes over the sound of his planer and table saw, I sat in there too, at first just pretending to fix imaginary customers' broken appliances (with whatever hand tools Dad could spare) but eventually planning out and cutting out my own little projects from scrap wood.
I had a lot of fun with Dad in that garage workshop over the years. Dad always had two or three things he was working on, and when I couldn't help, I didn't mind just watching. (Especially since he had a small TV in the workshop. Jean-Luc Picard and Norm Abrams often joined us on these Saturdays.) He put off some of his own work to help me make a few things, like a treasure box and a shelf unit. And then he walked me through every step of taking my bike apart, cleaning it, and putting it back together. Under his tutelage I have done about everything that can be done with a piece of wood: cut, planed, sanded, primed, stained, waterproofed, painted, varnished, stripped, glued, puttied, and nailed. I helped him build a set of bunks into the walls of a tiny room in our old family cabin, and the next year we replaced a section of carpet.
My project preferences and fix-it-up philosophy have grown to be a bit different from Dad's, but the spirit of independence and self-reliance I learned in the garage will always be part of me. I can't wait to see the look on my future husband's face when he comes home to see me ripping up carpet or installing crown molding. (Peering at him through my safety goggles, cordless drill in hand, "Hi, honey!") The banshee scream of a tablesaw doesn't scare me, and neither do computers, TV/VCR/DVD/game console hookups, flat tires, gas stove pilot lights, or tax returns. (Spiders still do though.)
So my question is, do I get extra points for being a girl and knowing this stuff? Guys, would it intimidate you to have a fiancee who put a miter saw on the gift registry? Think about it. Meanwhile, if anyone's got a loose knob or a picture to be mounted, you know who to call. I've got the hardware.
So . . . how 'bout a rhyme?
Shall we begin with a sonnet? ("Oh yes, please," you all say, like good English schoolchildren.)
Over It
If I had said the right words on the phone,
part scholar and part wry comedienne,
or if instead of leaving you alone
when you were sick, I'd brought you broth, and then
if I had listened to the lesson less,
to poke and tease and lean my shoulder near,
or listened more, attentive to impress,
and whispered cogent comments in your ear,
if I were shorter - would I fit the bill?
If I, one of your fanbase hundreds strong,
fought harder for you, would you love me still?
I asked, but knew the answer all along:
I'd never feel a lasting, loving glee
in winning you by slowly losing me.
Over It
If I had said the right words on the phone,
part scholar and part wry comedienne,
or if instead of leaving you alone
when you were sick, I'd brought you broth, and then
if I had listened to the lesson less,
to poke and tease and lean my shoulder near,
or listened more, attentive to impress,
and whispered cogent comments in your ear,
if I were shorter - would I fit the bill?
If I, one of your fanbase hundreds strong,
fought harder for you, would you love me still?
I asked, but knew the answer all along:
I'd never feel a lasting, loving glee
in winning you by slowly losing me.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Howdy
Welcome to my blog, where you can expect, as the title suggests, rhyme here and reason there; a smack of sense and not a little sensibility; sometimes pride and, unavoidably, a little prejudice (in favor of Jane always, for example). This will be a little exercise in learning how my brain works.
So. Welcome.
So. Welcome.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Coat Backwards
J. H. is a coworker of mine who occasionally shuffles by my cubicle on the way to the printer. It's springtime - springtime, for heaven's sake - and I'm sitting at my desk with one coat draped across my lap and another backwards up on my arms. Instead of commenting on the day, life in general, or my apparent need for two coats, J.H., ever the deliberate, insightful lawyer, observes the backwardness of my coat and chooses to take a stab at humor.
"So is this the latest fashion for young folks?" he says, a patronizing smile spreading across his face, just like the first time he used this joke several months ago.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have in the past, and still do, wear coats and jackets backwards. Many of you have personally witnessed this, and most of you have either quietly accepted this eccentricity, if you saw it as such, or understood the obvious logic behind it and occasionally adopted the technique yourself. I have met with a few distinct individuals, however, who can't grasp the method behind the madness and take pleasure in repeated ribbings. Tease me once, yeah, you're hilarious; tease me twice, okay, I got it; tease me every time you see me with a jacket/coat on backwards, what's the matter with you??
So, for their sakes, the sake of anyone else who has just wondered, and for my sanity's sake, this is why I do it:
1) Coats are bulky and annoying to deal with in general. If I just slip my coat backwards over my arms, I can shuck it off at the first opportunity. This reason applies particularly at work. I only want to use my coat at the desk; I don’t want to carry it around all day.
2) A coat takes a long time to put on. If I only need it for a little while, moving from one warm place to another, why would I want to go through all the fuss of putting the coat on completely (in one arm, in other arm, adjust collar, adjust shirt underneath, pull tight around, button/zip up) just to take it off in a couple minutes?
3) It’s really annoying to wear a backpack over a coat. So while I was going to school, I avoided that whenever possible. Putting on the backpack over the coat (depending on the size/thickness of the coat) takes twice as long as putting on the coat itself. You’ve got to get the sleeves through the straps, pull the hood over the top, then make sure the backpack is sitting correctly on the coat, not riding anything up anywhere. It’s harder to feel if it’s on wrong, but you look goofy if it is. Waste of time between classes!
4) Taking off or putting on a coat or jacket is socially obnoxious unless you’re by a door, leaving or coming in. What if I'm cold but not about to leave - a distinct possibility in this world of overenthusiastic air conditioners? And then, if I'm sitting in a seat with a bunch of other people and want to take the thing off, I’ve got to squirm and stretch and generally look ridiculous to avoid jabbing my neighbors with my elbows.
5) Sometimes full-coat coverage is too dang hot. Usually I wear my coat or jacket backwards when my back is already covered by a backpack or the back a chair. (I win a prize for using "back" the most times in a sentence!) That coverage makes coat removal and application more bothersome, as previously stated, but it also means that my back isn't cold, just my arms and front. If I put the coat on the "right" way, I'd be too warm. Duh.
So, you see, it's perfectly logical, just like my cereal-eating technique of milk first, cereal sprinkled on top. End of rant.
"So is this the latest fashion for young folks?" he says, a patronizing smile spreading across his face, just like the first time he used this joke several months ago.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have in the past, and still do, wear coats and jackets backwards. Many of you have personally witnessed this, and most of you have either quietly accepted this eccentricity, if you saw it as such, or understood the obvious logic behind it and occasionally adopted the technique yourself. I have met with a few distinct individuals, however, who can't grasp the method behind the madness and take pleasure in repeated ribbings. Tease me once, yeah, you're hilarious; tease me twice, okay, I got it; tease me every time you see me with a jacket/coat on backwards, what's the matter with you??
So, for their sakes, the sake of anyone else who has just wondered, and for my sanity's sake, this is why I do it:
1) Coats are bulky and annoying to deal with in general. If I just slip my coat backwards over my arms, I can shuck it off at the first opportunity. This reason applies particularly at work. I only want to use my coat at the desk; I don’t want to carry it around all day.
2) A coat takes a long time to put on. If I only need it for a little while, moving from one warm place to another, why would I want to go through all the fuss of putting the coat on completely (in one arm, in other arm, adjust collar, adjust shirt underneath, pull tight around, button/zip up) just to take it off in a couple minutes?
3) It’s really annoying to wear a backpack over a coat. So while I was going to school, I avoided that whenever possible. Putting on the backpack over the coat (depending on the size/thickness of the coat) takes twice as long as putting on the coat itself. You’ve got to get the sleeves through the straps, pull the hood over the top, then make sure the backpack is sitting correctly on the coat, not riding anything up anywhere. It’s harder to feel if it’s on wrong, but you look goofy if it is. Waste of time between classes!
4) Taking off or putting on a coat or jacket is socially obnoxious unless you’re by a door, leaving or coming in. What if I'm cold but not about to leave - a distinct possibility in this world of overenthusiastic air conditioners? And then, if I'm sitting in a seat with a bunch of other people and want to take the thing off, I’ve got to squirm and stretch and generally look ridiculous to avoid jabbing my neighbors with my elbows.
5) Sometimes full-coat coverage is too dang hot. Usually I wear my coat or jacket backwards when my back is already covered by a backpack or the back a chair. (I win a prize for using "back" the most times in a sentence!) That coverage makes coat removal and application more bothersome, as previously stated, but it also means that my back isn't cold, just my arms and front. If I put the coat on the "right" way, I'd be too warm. Duh.
So, you see, it's perfectly logical, just like my cereal-eating technique of milk first, cereal sprinkled on top. End of rant.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
