Wednesday, November 25, 2009

C'mon Vogue

If I had a choice between chucking my cel or my subscription to Vogue, I would be learning how to send smoke signals. I'll never give up my Vogue. It arrives, wrapped in plastic, advertising a far inferior magazine, I unwrap it, breathe in the scent of Van Cleef and Arpels, Dolce and Gabbana and Anna Wintour. If I am disciplined, the magazine stays closed until I am able to draw myself a hot, hot bath, sprinkle it with Japanese grapefruit salt, and sink in for at least an hour.
The September issue always dips into the tub, so that the bottom pages tend to stick together, and I have a hard time balancing it. But OH, the joy of turning the pages and absolutely diving into a rarefied world, where the letters to the editor are uniformly considered and well written, with exquisite grammar, and the clothes are confections of tulle and marzipan and stage dust.
I think I've been reading Vogue for at LEAST 20 years. I can't remember NOT having a subscription. I was there for Linda, Cindy and Naomi. Grunge, minimalism, bold eyebrows, blonde eyebrows, straight hair, big hair, HUGE hair. The first time I ever heard of Botox and Brazilians was in the pages of Vogue. And the magazine has a way of making you feel like, "of course I know who the J sisters, or Thrum and Taxis are. And Turks and Caicos? Been there, done that", at least in print. One is never preached at, one is spoken to as if one is a select and included guest at an exclusive party thrown by Jackie Kennedy and Exene Cervenka.
At my saddest, I read the magazine for solace. The year after my son was born, when I was at the lowest ebb I had ever known, I let the subscription lapse. Re-subscribing was probably my first step towards feeling normal.
My best to you, Vogue and Conde Nast. I am alarmed that there might be a restructuring at the magazine. I am a loyal and devoted follower, please continue to be my most treasured alone time companion. Hefting an Elle into the tub would be like going from being BFF's with Coco Chanel, to paling around with Paris Hilton. Spare me the horror!

Monday, November 09, 2009

Mind yer P's and Q's at Auditions

Today I went to a couple of Actors Equity Open Calls. I mostly go to keep my brain and voice sharp and in the game. Like a pro athlete you have to put in the time in the field, although I would never go to one if there wasn't at least one character in the show that I would be right for. They HAVE to see me, since I am union, but I'm sure you can cheese people off by deliberately wasting their time. I have very little hope of getting called in from one. I am offer-only at a few places I've worked before, but have a hard time getting that foot in the door of places I have not worked(just like everyone else I'm sure).
Anyway I am at La Mirada, where the CD is the wonderful Julia Flores. I always appreciate the time she takes to make a human connection, especially in an open call, when folks are being pushed through the door, with 2 minutes and 30 seconds to do their stuff. I'm in line to go and the lady 2 places behind me is loudly and obnoxiously asking about a theatre in Rancho Cucamonga where they do TYA. That means theatre for young audiences, of which I have done a LOT, which has gotten me my health insurance, which paid for a 30,000 childbirth bill, which saved me from bankruptcy. I am also vested in my pension thanks to the TYA's
Yes, good lord, they are HARD! They are usually incredibly high energy, they are often early in the morning, they do not pay very well, etc. I'm sure anyone who has worked one of these contracts would agree. But this ancient red-jello hair dyed chick said, "Children's theatre??!!!" then stuck her finger down her throat and made a gagging reflex. Then she went on and on about how she would NEVER EVER do such a thing. Good, lady, don't do them. Don't have more fun than is criminally possible, don't be the FIRST experience these kids have in the live theatre, don't cry when a teenager tells you that your performance led her to want to do what YOU do. Also don't cackle when you are in line at an EPA. Instead of psyching me out, you made me so mad that I forgot to be nervous and sang great. I tell you, actors can be their own worse enemies. The picture is Maude Adams in one of the first TYA's, Peter Pan.

Saturday, November 07, 2009

Things is lookin', well if not up, sideways...

After a long period of "REST" (Actor euphemism for being out of work) I have had more gigs in the past 14 days than practically the last 14 months, with no sign of slowing, thank Minerva! I love it when I can feed the beast and the baby at the same time. T is about to go into Christmas Carol, I have a workshop at the Rep next week and then a busy schedule of murder mysteries. Here's hope that Christmas will be the year end catch up we need to keep us out of the poorhouse.
T was reading in the paper today about a family of three here in LA who live in 350 sq ft. Our 500 is beginning not to look so bad.
I had an audition for a musical in a big theatre, and Lionel took one look at the venue and said, "No Momma, no competition." and he said it in such a blase way. I can't tell whether he hates the competition or whether there is no competition. Either way he made me laugh.
My brain aches from all the memorization. I fear sometimes that I am on the train to dementia-ville. The remote ends up in the fridge, I pour myself coffee, then can't find it 2 seconds later, I tell T amusing stories and then he refers back to them a day later and I have NO idea what he is talking about. At least the memorization is keeping the juice sluice flowing! I hope. Occasionally I throw my fellow actors under the bus, by dropping the ball, then hiding it under a table.