Runnin' Down a Dream

I'm still running down a dream. Coincidentally, that's another of the songs on my running mix that really gets me going. So far this week I've clocked about ten miles.

A long 4.5 on monday, impressive considering the shoddy start to my week. I logged these miles on the treadmill at the gym, because it was rainy out. It was boring and all of the numbers on the machine really weren't good for my neurotic tendencies. Running on the treadmill has several drawbacks. First, I really get a sense of how slow I actually am. Second, it's surrounded by mirrors, which I can't ignore (and it's not like I look good). Third, I immediately feel as though I must compete with the pace/time/calorie count/ of the runners on either side of me. Fourth, I'm not getting anywhere. Fifth, my excessive sweating is on brightly-lit display.

Of course there are benefits as well. I run faster on the treadmill. If I feel like running a ten-minute-mile, all I have to do is bump the thing up to six mph and hang in there. I can see how many calories i'm burning, which isn't actually that important to me, but at least when i'm running nowhere I can derive some sort of satisfaction from knowing that I just eliminated a hefty chunk of the day's caloric intake. Other than that...I guess it's easier on my joints than the esplanade is. Mmmm, esplanade.

I took tuesday off, and made wednesday a really easy short run (because I was pressed for time), compensating by climing up and down the six flights at home at least ten times for the sake of the laundry.

Wednesday night I went to the screening of The Savages, and afterward listened to three incredible actors and a magnificent director talk about their craft in a way that made me so joyful I cried. The words and phrases the used, and the passion with which they expressed themselves was so akin to the way that I feel and articulate that it took my breath away. And then I said to myself "I can't keep working this bread job". I can't keep doing something that keeps me from doing the something I came here to do. Do you follow? Then I went to P.J. Clarkes and ate a delicious sit-like-a-stone-in-my-belly bacon cheeseburger. Effectively negating at least a week of training.

Tonight was another good jag at the esplanade. Did I just say jag? Who does that? Jesus. My blood sugar must be low. Anyway, 4 miles or so today, and not quite as cold as my last long run outside. OH! And my new baby ipod is here! It was MUCH better to run with. I'm still enjoying my new mix, interspersed with lots of Christmas music (Run DMC's "Christmas in Hollis" really gets me going).

This leads me to my desperate plea. Dear friends, please oh please, send me music to run to. I don't care how you do it - a cd, a playlist, a comment with "hey, put [insert track here] on your running mix", anything. I find that once my body realizes that it can keep moving, it's really the songs that keep me from stopping. So, help a sister out. Send me some love, via Sly and the Family Stone, or whatever it is that works for you.

Please? Thank you.

Hair Extension

HAIR is back! We will be performing at Theatre Row, the Acorn Theatre! More info on ticket sales to come.

Hope you can make it. Check out www.realtheatrecompany.com for details...

oh, and by the way, i have no idea why the color on this thing gets all persnickety when i post a flyer like that. it's supposed to be yellow and red. same thing happened with the original hair postcard, back in june. i don't get it...

Should be memorizing...

...but I can't focus. I'll be meeting my scene partner 6 hours from now, and I'm sure he's going to be really let down by my shoddy level of preparedness, but it's sorta too damn bad right now.

I've been spending about 16 hours a day at the theatre getting costumes done and subsequently rehearsing for Hair. It is coming along, but my attitude is totally burnt out right now. I feel like a zombie. I can't answer anyone's questions with anything remotely resembling a complete sentence, and once I get a moment to breathe, I'm thinking about precisely the wrong things. I can't think about much right now other than The Boy, and CNBFQ.

I really like CNBFQ in almost every aspect of our interaction. But I miss The Boy, because I love The Boy. I miss him a lot. And I feel guilty for missing him when CNBFQ is so sweet, and so attentive, and so lovely to spend time with. And I feel guilty for spending time with CNBFQ because the boy is telling me that he is sad and lonely without me. Connundrum. Methinks so.

Tennesee Williams beckons, "Learn your Laura, Laura."

I'm coming, Tom. Sorry about the delay.

A week out...

It was a very good week. I feel as though this past week was my first official week out in the real world of being a working actor. Until this week, I was spending the majority of my time entertaining a string of out of town guests or lying about in a den of sin for my last few days in the city with the boy. These things were rather enjoyable (sometimes EXTREMELY enjoyable), but did not lend themselves well to my productivity as my own small business. This week, however, I began with a clear head (having said my final goodbyes and washed my hands of the boy), and a positive outlook on this whole wild ride.

I began last Sunday with Maggie, doing promo work for Legally Blonde: The Musical. We had a good time, and got some free shit and a little cash out of the deal. Between us, we managed to flyer about 900 people in Times Square, and still left with our respective dignites intact. We blew through the Entertainment Industry Expo at the nearby Westin, pretending to be important, and settled our exhausted asses into a diner booth before heading home where I passed out from sheer exhaustion. I had one of those naps where you fall asleep at 6 and wake up at 8, but for some reason think that it's 8am the next day. I was hella confused. I ended up staying in bed until the next morning anyway.

Monday I got up, and despite the rain, prettied myself up for my "free consultation" at The Network. It went pretty well, and I think I might find them to be a rather useful resource in the future. It was nice to sort of feel like I was getting actor's work done. Putting feelers out there and gathering information feels like a step in the right direction.

Tuesday we rehearsed for Hair, which always feels like I'm doing something right, or like I'm the luckiest person in the world, to actually be doing what I want to do with my life. I ended the night with a nice long conversation with Jim, the news of a new scene partner, and a phonecall to the parents.

Wednesday was a jam-packed actor day. The morning started with a scene-study class, which I'm so excited about. If nothing else comes of it, at least I get to spend 8 weeks working on the Glass Menagerie. Joy. We then trekked over to Grant Wilfley casting for their open call. On the way, I got a call for an audition for the first national tour of Anne of Green Gables. Guess which part. That audition is on thursday. Woo. After the open call I headed to midtown for another call from Talent Models, which was sketchy as shit, but hey, at least I know now. On my way back home I ran into what will be Crissy's costume for Hair, which made me very happy. I got a call from Maggie to come and meet her in Queens at a practice for a new band-type endeavor, which includes a boy who has been inquiring after me. I went. I met. He's cute. Maggie and I leave Astoria and head back to SpaHa for pasta and leaf spinnach, girl talk with linz, and more planning of the groovy revolution.

Thursday is another Hair rehearsal, this time with new musical director, Peter, and a great deal of naked parachute playing. Thursday also features a business lunch with John Gallagher, which puts me a bit more at ease about the future of my career. I also chat briefly with Jim Rado before we begin rehearsal, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. yay. Before we head out for the night, Kai, Katie and I plan to trek to Coney Island the next morning. Mags and I, Helen and Adam, and Linz and Logan all head down to the pub for pints and late-night dinner. I realize that Maggie and I are kind of a couple. I'm cool with that. We head back uptown far too late for my planned early-morning brooklyn beach extravaganza, but I figure, what the hell.

Friday kicked ass. I did make it to Coney Island with Kai, and we had a kick ass time eating Nathan's hot dogs, lying on the beach, and taking in the mystique that is the Coney. We head home before rehearsal, I make a detour to Reproductions to pick up a photo cd, have some mango gelatto in bryant park, and go home to clean up before rehearsal. By this point I've developed a pretty bitchin' sunburn. Don't worry. It was gone by saturday. We rehearse, which includes staging the be-in, which I ADORE. We go out for drinks at FUBAR of all places, and I make it home happy as a clam, and to find that I've been asked out by cute boy from queens on wednesday. Life is good.

Saturday finds me in the park, drinking a little beer, smoking a little pot, trying to embody the hippie ideals. However, it's a little cold, and Katie and I decide to give up the ghost in favor of sweatshirts and GROM, the UWS gelatto hotspot. It's worth the wait in line. As she and I are standing there, trying to savor the flavor but still eat the stuff before it melts, I get a call from The Boy, whom I haven't heard from in close to two weeks. I tell him I can't talk now, I've got my hands full of gelatto. Katie and I part ways, and I return his call. We decide that we've reached a similar conclusion - we shall not talk any more this summer. That's good with me. I wish him well and hang up. Sit on a bench on the eastern edge of the park for a few minutes before I head home. I get another call - this one from the cute new boy, wanting to meet me that night. As I'm trying to call him back, I get another call from The Boy. What? Isn't this contrary to the nature of the newly formed agreement? He is apologizing. I tell him I'm not mad. And that he should leave me alone now. And goodbye, again. I make plans to meet cute new boy from queens (heretofore: CNBfQ) before heading to the HAIR sleepover planned for that evening.

Date with CNBfQ is fantastic. We share common theatrical interestes, which is really nice, being that mine are a bit strange. We have a good time, good conversation, and before I know it one drink has turned into 4 and I'm REALLY late for this party. And my phone is ringing. I'm expecting Maggie, wondering where the hell I am, but NOOOOOOO, it's a drunk-dial from The Boy. He seems shocked when I tell him I can't talk (again, nature of the agreement) because I'm on a date. "A what?". A date. You know, when you take someone out to get to know them better? Date. You should try it, Boy. CNBfQ and I end up making a very late appearance at the party, and making out on various SpaHa streetcorners. I agree to see him again monday.

Today I woke up hungover as all shit and wallered until about 1:30. I also have a mysterious sore spot on my forehead, as though I fell or smacked into something, but I definitely don't remember that happening. It feels like it's gonna be a bruise, but for the life of me I don't know what from. I saw a matinee of a few friend's new company's show. I watched the Tony's. I felt inspired. I found out that Avenue Q has auditions...tomorrow. I figure I'm not ready. Maybe I'll try my hand tuesday.

I feel good. Good things are happening. The universe is bringing me some pretty bad-ass energy right now. And I dig it.

The Home Stretch

"I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York, and maybe as strange."

"Bride" opened Sunday to overwhelmingly positive feedback. Final scenes will wrap up tomorrow morning. The fam flies in for the closing night/mother's day/graduation extravaganza tomorrow afternoon. I'm in my bed crying over the conclusion of second year. We have entered the home stretch.

The year seems to be ending with just as much emotion and fervor as it began.

The play. The play. Oh, God, the play. It's good. Really. I'm surprised and flattered and floored by the responses I've been getting from the last few performances. It hasn't even felt quite real to me yet. It will tomorrow. It will feel real when my parents and my brother are sitting in that audience seeing what it is that I've been doing all these years. Not since Summer and Smoke have I been so thrilled to have them see something I've done. It's really me up there. It's me, pouring all that I am and all that I have into a role that I still can't completely believe they handed to me. The playwright came to the show last night. He was very impressed with our work, and talked to us for a long stretch of time about how well we had done. He said, "and Grace. Grace. Well, your work was fantastic. You really got this character. The play is on Grace's shoulders. If you don't have a Grace that gets it, you don't have a play. You've done so well with her." Wow. Thank you. I am loving this play. I am loving playing this part. I am going to be sad to put it to bed come friday. Very sad indeed.

The first year has come of age with the completion of their final scenes. C-group will wrap up tomorrow. And that's that. I'm more nervous for them to get asked back than I was for myself. I suppose because I sort of KNEW in my heart that I would be back. I have grown close to so many of them, and I want the best for them all. But, I have no idea how they're going to do when those infamous letters hit the mailbox. I haven't seen their work. There are some that I can tell instinctively will be fine, like the boy, but others are not so cut and dry. I just hope for the best, and hope that they've had as enlightening and life-changing a year as I did when I was a first year.

I can't think about this anymore, this ending thing. I can't write about it anymore. I hate to be any more dramatic than I already am, but to be perfectly honest, I feel like my heart is breaking. Is that completly ridiculous or completely understandable? It hurts. God in heaven, does it hurt. I just wish I knew how to make it stop.

I'm really doing that...

Come see me do the doing. You know you wanna.

And for the record, Canadians can't spell "Reagan."

Spring, sprang, sprung.

"Here I am, baby
come and take me!"
I didn't realize it until about ten minutes ago, but for the last few weeks I actually FORGOT that I had this blog. Really. With good reason, I assure you. The final push of the nei-play experience is upon me, and it is taking everything it possibly can out of me. This will probably be a long and meandering romp through the wild world of just what I've been up to lately. Bear with me. Also, feel free to bare with me. I bet some nude therapy would do me good about now.

"I was meant to tread these boards,
of this much I am certain."
So now, here we are, midnight on saturday, and socializing is the furthest thing from my mind. I'm in bed with my most reliable companion, the laptop, listening to "Hernando's Hideaway", and trying to decompress from the epic rehearsal that just ended. Why, I ask you, do I even have that song on my Itunes? Ok. It's over. Back to the point. Epic rehearsals. Epic. EPIC. The previously mentioned lead role in The Bride of Olneyville Square, while extremely flattering, has also been extremely difficult, extremely exhausting, and at times, extremely frustrating. God, I love what I do. How many people get to go to work and rip themselves to shreds for 8 to 12 hours a day? I'm glad I'm one of them. Granted, it would be much easier to do if it were rationed into a bit less epic bites, but such is the nature of the beast. This is one mammoth motherfucker of a play, and the demands upon the actors in this play are correspondingly mammoth. It's going to be so fucking good. I just have to do some major self-assuring to allow myself to actually get where our fearless director wants me to be. I'm almost there. Almost. Tomorrow's much needed day off will hopefully afford me the luxury of digesting a bit more of the script, the character, the world of the play, and letting it really really sink into me. So yeah, it's hard right now. I cry when I shouldn't and don't cry when I should, and he yells at me like I'm some kind of goddamned moron several times in each rehearsal, but he also tells me - "That's it, baby. That's it." And somewhere in there, I'm not so worried anymore.

"I'd give anything not to feel so jagged."
So this play has taken over my life. That is completely wonderful for my artistic growth, and completely shitty for my practical survival. There is no way in hell that I could be playing this role, with this schedule, and working at the same time. Conseqently, I currently have fourteen dollars in my bank account. Ouch. Also, it seems that everyone else at the nei-play has all of this free time to be running around auditioning, shooting films, meeting agents and whatnot. I don't. And what's more, even if I wanted to, nobody's calling me. I'm not complaining at all about the lack time. But the lack of calls? I'm fucking good at this, and I'm fucking cute as hell. Call me, goddamn it. I can solve your problem. Is there something wrong with my damn pictures? I'm supposed to be auditioning for Spring Awakening in a week. I haven't got music, I haven't worked with a vocal coach, I haven't got a piano track. What I do have, is rehearsal that day. Fantastic.

"I Listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul
where I'll end up, well I think only God really knows."
So no, I'm not out there pounding the hell out of the pavement like some of my classmates seem to be. So I'm feeling a bit like I'm getting buried already. However, I also feel that at this point my energy is better directed into the Real Theatre Company, into Hair, into the future of what I would like to be a life-long endeavor. I feel it. I'm excited and passionate about the company, and about collaborating with Maggie, with whom I see eye to eye. I'm thrilled about PG, and all that could be. I'm feeling a bit like whatever I can dream up can actually be accomplished. This seems to be aligned with all of those things that I've always wanted out of a life in the theatre. Thank you, universe.

"Shed a little light, oh Lord."
I miss Pinter. I had a nice conversation with him on Thursday, and felt renewed after it. There are moments in every rehearsal when I wish I had a little Pinter on my shoulder to tell me how to "go in the back door" of a moment to really make it work for me. I guess I'm supposed to be at that point on my own now. Right. Get there, Sessoms.

"Just one look at you, and I know it's gonna be
a lovely day"
Spring has FINALLY sprung around here. It had damn well better be staying around. Today I got out of bed, put on my bikini, and dragged my script and a beach towel up to the roof for a couple of hours. Now I'm blessedly pink, and my depression at the hands of the lingering winter is lifting. After my tar-beach morning, I showered up, and walked the two miles to school for rehearsal. Lovely day. Just lovely.

'"There's a reason to the rhyming of
your heart's desire."
There's still that whole boy thing, but there's a different me in the mix now. This me is in control of the situation, and not participating in any of the bullshit that could possibly accompany the boy. This has recently become simpler, as the other girlfriend/ex-girlfriend/girlfriend/ex-girlfriend situation seems to have finally reached resolution. However, I am reluctant to hop back into anything with this boy. Not while I'm working. Not while I only have 3 weeks left here at the nei-play. Not while I've spent the ENTIRE year going back and forth with him. No matter how much I might miss him - which, for the record, is immensely - I feel like I need to hold off for awhile longer. This one has put me through the ringer, that's for certain. (Is it ringer, or wringer? I was wondering that earlier.) Nevertheless, I am feeling very good about him now. About the possibilites, about how everything seems to be settling down, about the unfaltering trust I have in my gut. Fuck it, it's springtime and I've got that fluttery feeling about him. Why not just enjoy it, right?

"Intuition tells me how to live my day
Intuition tells me when to walk away
could've turned left but I turned right
and I ended up here back in the middle
of a real life."

Beginnings and Endings

It seems like everything I'm doing these days is one or the other.

I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that my magical, mystical, practical, physical two years at the Nei-Play will be OV-AH in the blink of an eye. I did the last scene of second year with Hugh on thursday. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Holy Hell. During the critique, Pinter says to me: "Laura, you can play this role NOW. You have to play this role. Go find the audition. Do it. You can do this," and I swell with a pride, a sense of self-worth that I cannot begin to describe. My classmates filter out of the room, and I am left, cleaning up my props, tearing up at the thought of the whole thing ending, with Maggie. And she and I sit down right there and weep, bawl, gnash teeth. Because it really is that sad. It is. The following day marks our last scheduled class with pinter, for which we have prepared gifts and an elaborate and beautiful nude scrapbook. He talks, and we listen. We cry. He cries. He takes care of some preliminary business, before pausing for a moment to look at us and say: "I'm so sad." That is the end of it for all of us. There is no turning back. He thanks us for being supportive enough for him to feel ok saying "I don't know." He doesn't know the last time he's had a class that he respects that much. It is a tearful ending, giving way to many many new beginnings.

The showcase has likewise come to an end, and was an incredible success. No broken friendships, no major arguments, huge industry turnout, overwhelmingly positive response for my scenes in particular, and even a call! Just one for now, but I'd be willing to bet there are more on the way. So it's over. Yay.

Speech class will be ending Thursday, with a Ramsey-esque flourish of Shakespeare monologues. Mine is one of the more understated, but I think it will be good. I have been directed to strive for "y'know, TOTAL breakdown." Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. Nothing like working for a trumped-up result.

Ballet never ends. Ever.

But other things begin, and begin beautifully.

We began final plays today. I have somehow (which I have yet to wrap my mind around) managed to land the lead role in this AMAZING play directed by Ron Stetson. I couldn't be more flattered. There will be far more details on this experience as the rehearsal process continues. But i'm all aflutter. What a challenge. I can't believe they have this much faith in me....

Hair rehearsals continue today, with almost a full cast. We begin to STAGE SCENES, and BECOME A TRIBE, and Maggie comes more and more into her own each time we meet. I can't believe the energy that surrounds this production. The overwhelming positivity, the way the fates continue to deliver just what it needs, it is all so inspiring and invigorating. I wish I could will my own hair to grow, so as not to spend the experience in a wig, but if that's what I have to do, I fucking will.

Life is beginning. Real life. And it's good. It is so good.

Things with the boy are in a constant state of flip-flop between BEGINNING and ENDING. I have decided I want them to be only BEGINNING, so that is all I will be participating in. I can only think about this positively, because I have too much faith to think otherwise. And what good is negativity doing me anyway? This phase of my life is the beginning of the ending of negativity. Why put more toxicity into the world? I love. I know I love. I know how to love, and I have an unlimited supply of love to give. Don't try to dodge it, boy. Do what you have to do, but know that in about 5 minutes, you're going to miss me. Why? Because I am phenomenal. Don't try to ignore it, you'll drive yourself crazier than you already tend to be. Don't fight the fates. You can't win.

Things are good. Every day is the best day of my life. I mean, why not? Right?

"i got chip on my shoulder and a halo on my head
i'm an angel with an attitude and my favorite color's red
i got god on my side, "who's that?", "hell, i don't know"
gonna practice my religion while i'm stepping on your toes."

"Yes, yes, we're magicians."

Mags and my scene from Waiting for Godot went swimingly. I had the most fun rehearsing it and working on it in class that I've had working on any of my scenes during my playhouse tenure. I wish we had pictures, because we looked fucking fantastic. Well, we did at the beginning. By the end of the thing, I was so sweat-soaked and narsty that I don't think I could have looked at myself in the mirror. Not to mention that the both of us were covered in black glitter. What kind of a costume shop doesn't sell plain old black bowlers? We were left with two options, black or silver plastic glittery bowlers. We chose black. In retrospect, given Pinter's allusion to "One...singular sensation", we should have just gone balls out and gotten the silver ones.

I think there are several reasons that I felt so at ease in this scene. First, I was working with my closest friend at the playhouse, and someone with whom I share a very very similar artistic aesthetic. Second, I was working on material that leaves much much much more up to the actors' imaginations that a normal playhouse scene would. Third, I wasn't doing realism, I was doing something that (based on my "artistic upbringing") is more familar to me. I feel much more at home in the Theatre of the Absurd than I do almost anywhere else.

So, absurdism. It makes me happy. The scene was a blast. We're going to figure out a way to do the whole show. We're going to beg Pinter to direct it, and hope against hope that he'll say yes. We're going to put some interesting work out into the world between the two of us, that's for damn sure. For now, it's time to start on a new scene. I'm bringing it full circle with Hugh, my very first scene partner, and taking it back to the reason I ended up here in the first place, Mr. Tennesee Williams. That's right folks, Laura and Hugh become Maggie and Brick, before your very eyes. Wish us luck.

Things on the boy front have settled a bit. By which I mean, I've calmed the fuck down a bit. My hostility and refusal to speak to/smile at/make eye contact with him tuesday and wednesday was whole-heartedly unappreciated. It amazes me how much things like that affect him. I've noticed it all year. It's as though all I have to do is say to myself "Ignore the boy today", and he immediately senses something is wrong and is all over me to fix it. This time, being a bigger problem, resulted in a bigger conversation, and ultimately in me letting him have it more than I ever have. And he took it. Because I was right. I was awakened last night, about an hour into sleep, by a very sweet, heartfelt and apologetic phonecall from him. A brief but intimate conversation today ended with:

Me - "Are we ok?"
Him - "Yeah. Well...no, not yet. But we will be."
Me - "You promise?"
Him - "We're going to be fine. I promise."

I'm going to figure out this whole "visualization" thing, retain my faith in what I know is right, keep lighting candles and thinking positively, and before we know it, everything should be trucking right along.

"Every night I read this novel about you
Holding roses in the pouring rain
But the ending's tore up, trying to hail a cab
Think no one can read you, but I can"

Remembering why I do this

pi
I have a pattern of behavior that I call the "Post-Production Slump". I've noticed it ever since i was about 14. Whenever I close a show (unless it was completely horrific experience), I inevitably sink into a brief depression presumably caused by the drastic change from constantly being surrounded by other artists working toward a common goal to being alone all evening. It makes me sad. And even though I'm completely exhausted, and still see my unbelievable classmates all day at school, I can't help being a little blue. I'm sure that come next week when we're in non-stop showcase mode I'll be yearning for a few quiet nights at home, but until then, I guess I'll just be a bit off. The thing about PPS that causes me to take heart is the fact that it just solidifies my resolve to keep working, keep striving, keep improving my craft, so that I can do this for a living. It makes me happy. It makes me happy in a way that nothing else could.

While the old shet-tacular wasn't exactly the pinnacle of my theatrical career, it did mark a turning point for me in the way that I work. It was the first time I can ever remember when I honestly felt completely at ease onstage. I wasn't nervous in the slightest, not even the old butterflies that I thought were a positive sign. I never lost my breath or my awareness of myself and what I was doing. I wasn't thinking about lines or reactions or blocking or anything. I was just doing it. I guess I have learned a lot in the last year and a half. I've always loved to do this, and now, finally, after 22 years of working at it, I feel like I have what it takes to just relax and do what comes naturally to me. Because it does. That is what I've learned. I can just open up and give what is living inside me to my partner, the stage, the audience, take what I am given in return, and it will work.

All this brings me to the amazing experience I had tonight. The new cast of "Hair" (set to be performed in June by our new endeavor The Real Theatre Company, the pride and joy of Miss Maggie Levin and my current reason for living) met together for the first time to do a little bit of a movement workshop. Now, tired as we all were, we were none too enthusiastic to go jumping around for another hour and a half. However, the energy of this ensemble was so uninhibited and experimental that we were able to produce some really beautiful work. I shared a brief moment of passion in a blind contact improv exercise that rivals some of the most beautiful moments in my intimate life. The present members of "the tribe" came together to create a ritual of unidentified origin that we all seemed to understand. We knew eachother's energy. We were not worried about judgement or oddity. We felt what each other ensemble member was putting into the room and somehow combined it into something amazing. And that feeling, that human understanding, that connection to a group of artists is why I do this. I've always been incredibly drawn to working in an ensemble situation, rather than one of individual work. I believe that theatre is a collaborative art of the highest form. I believe that I am meant to be a part of it. I can't describe the rush of energy that the hour and a half afforded me. I am rejuvinated. I have returned home and immersed myself in sheet music as I take on the difficult task of choosing a song for the audition portion of Shetler's class. I am currently in my bed with the scores to "The Civil War", "Working", "The Girl in 14 G", "Parade", "Spamalot", and various "Best of Broadway" type anthologies. I think I'm going to settle on something from Civil War, because it is beautifully haunting. I am about to pick up my lines for "A View from the Bridge", which I haven't been able to work on at all with my poor ill partner, but I guess we're going to wing it for Pinter tomorrow.

Pinter said something to us right before the musical. It made me weep to think about it. He said:

"You have to go back to why you wanted to do this in the first place, so that your desire to act is stronger than your fear of failure."

Sounder advice was never rendered, and it is so unbelievably wonderful to have an experience that takes me back to that "why". Fuck all the bullshit in my personal life. Fuck the petty disagreements. Fuck the indecisive first-year boy that has been occupying far too many of my thoughts. Fuck the worrying about headshots and money and jobs. Fuck it all. I remember what I'm here to do. I remember why I love this life.

"I was meant for the stage.
I was meant for the curtain.
I was meant to tread these boards.
Of this much I am certain."
-The Decemberists

Moving In

After much consideration, I've decided to move on over to Blogger. Myspace blogs, while convenient, are a bit too...public? I don't know. I'm procrastinating and listening to the Statler Brothers while I should be showering and heading down to an all day (and night) musical rehearsal. So, anyway. Here I am. More to come...

"counting flowers on the wall
that don't bother me at all"