Hodge Podge

So got some things circulating around in my brain and I don't know what I should do. Naturally that meant I should hop online and share with all four of you who seem to care about my manic ramblings. And even if you don't, I like to pretend that you do. Makes me feel important and wanted. I used to be an actor after all and we're all terribly insecure, attention seeking whores.

When I came up with the brilliant idea of moving from a state with a 9.6% unemployment rate (New Jersey) to one with a staggering 10.1 % unemployment rate (Georgia--the nation itself stands at 9.6 % same as Jersey by the way), I thought I was gonna be on easy street. I had a bit of money in my pocket courtesy of the state of New Jersey, and what I inherited from Mommy, and an idea for a fresh start. I was gonna invest some of Mommy's money in a mutual fund to garner excess money to support the paycheck I had (and would eventually replace with a real working wage) in order to get rid of living paycheck to paycheck. That keeps you poor. And that would give me some cushion to switch gears; make a lateral change anyway from acting, to working behind the scenes. Losing Mommy took a lot of the wind outta my sails and I just didn't have it in me to be creative talent anymore. It's coming back slowly now though, the desire to be awash in stage lights, my name big and bold above the title of a movie I wrote and star in, the blinding deluge of paparazzi flash bulbs going off simultaneously as I enter a room or walk the red carpet. Damn. Sounds good doesn't it? But as per the Three Piece Suit Mafia suggests, I also like the warm and fuzzy feeling of financial stability. But I still need to be creative in some way. I can't just quit cold turkey and suddenly become something safe and boring. Like an accountant. My math is too fucked up for that career path anyway. Hell, my bank account was just overdrawn by six bucks this morning. Six bucks. That's a crying shame.

But as I laid in the warm upstairs bedroom in my grandparents' house this afternoon, staring at the ceiling, listening to them putter around downstairs and argue with each other, I was lulled into a dream like state (their arguing is like mother's milk to me) and began to fantasize about all manner of things. In one, I was changing my diet and exercise regime and dropped 80 lbs (that's a personal fave of mine), and naturally that led me to another one where I was back to writing and acting; working on plays and working my way back up that creatively challenging ladder to the point where I had a pitch meeting with HBO. Naturally that goes well and they pick up my story idea and I even convince them to take me as the lead in the show. Injected with new found confidence and sex appeal, I'm both the slave mule of the network and the overseer as head writer pushing my team to excellence! Then I go to work on the set as the star of the show where I show off my new body by Zumba, ripped abs and svelte muscle tone. My character is tough and sexy, a role usually designed for men. Her ability to retain her femininity doesn't detract from the content of the show or deter her from whooping ass. The bitch is hardcore, yet vulnerable too. And always believable. Me and my show are the talk of the town. Buzz worthy. Everyone wants to know me and everyone wants to congratulate me. I'm everywhere. I win all kinds of awards. Good looking men throw themselves at me and I strike up a relationship with my sexy as hell Latin co-star. I'm hot. I'm talented. I'm successful. I'm...still in bed at 12:45pm. And Grandma's really giving it to Pop-Pop in the kitchen now, and I can tell he's pissed off because his voice thunders over top of her hard, pressed rasp of a yell.

Their voices fall away beneath me and I drift off again, but this time instead of returning to the land of Diva Divinity where I am Queen Shit, I'm thinking about how to be a casting director. I looked into it before. That was a condition of my move. That I take the money I have, put some aside for rent and the rest not used for my investment, to live off of while I pursue the career path I really want. No more blindly grasping at temp jobs or any job any where. Do what you want. Do what you have training and experience in. Really get a career and not just a job. Now you know the difference. Ok, get a career. Well I wanna do what I know and I know drama; like TNT. Hey, why not try and get a job, dare I say career, there? Brilliant bitch, except remember you sent them your resume. Right. Haven't heard back yet, huh? When did you send it? Early October. Oh. Well...try again? Sure. But in this depressed economic situation, how the hell do you make yourself stand out? I have an MFA. Great. What else? Uh, I wrote, starred, and produced two shows off-Broadway. Ok, more. Ummmm...I can type 70 words per minute. So can I, what else? Umm, I'm black so you'll get minority points for hiring me. Can you speak Spanish? No. Really? With a last name like Lopez and you're not bilingual? I roll over and get tangled in the sheets. Damn that fantasy.

But as the old folks drone on and finally disappear out the door into the garage (hope they don't kill each other. Oh well), I continue to fixate on this casting thing. Cause again, this was the idea I had when I left for warmer southern climate. There is no set career path for this however. Mostly, you're "in" is to intern with people. I spoke at length to Kendall about this before I moved.

ME: I'm too old to be somebody's intern.
KENDALL: People do it all the time. Age doesn't matter.
ME: But intern means free.
KENDALL: Well there is that. But that's really the only way to get involved. You intern with someone and you learn the business and get the contacts. That's how it goes.

There was more but this is the only part that's important. She basically talked me into it before and kinda convinced me that as long as my unemployment holds out, that it'd be better to do it now than later when it's all gone. It's about getting enough skills to make yourself indispensable to people, which she's good at. I, however, am not. What I am good at is acting like I know some shit when I really don't. I do it all day every day. So once I know what I need to do, like the point A to point B to point C of it all, then I can usually just float on from there. Perhaps that's what the song meant. To "float/float on/float on/float on". Just do you. Gird up all your confidence, all your know how, and let yourself go. It's just, I get nervous when I don't know the script. If I have to come up with everything all at once, I get flummoxed. It took me a while to be good at improv. Real life improv is scary, but put me on a stage and I can hold my own with the best of 'em. Sometimes.

So, here at Borders, amid the chess group to my left, and the crazy magazine stalker to my right (he's always skulking around the stacks every time I'm here, drenched in too much cologne with his hair slicked back--Guido Salducci is what I call him), I avail myself of their free wi-fi and find a few casting directors in Atlanta. Got their emails and phone numbers, even the mailing addresses. I'm thinking of sending a quick message as a point of contact and seeing about taking fifteen minutes or so of their day to bend their ear about how they got to where they are and if they could offer any advice to an upstart such as myself (after the Christmas holiday after all. It's good enough for Congress anyway). I read in a book somewhere that theatre/entertainment folk get to drooling over that kinda stuff. They like to be of help especially if they think you're not trying to hit them up for employment. To feel like a mentor or something makes them feel as though they've passed it forward or some such nonsense. I don't care about their motives as long as it turns out to be true.

My conundrum I suppose is, do I trade one fantasy of hard work with a power money payoff for another story just the same? Or can I, perhaps, have both. Can I do both? Which is more important to me and being a woman vastly approaching her mid thirties, who desperately wants all the things one should have at that stage in one's life, which one will be the best vehicle to get me those things? Sacrifice is hard. And it's the cost of living and having a dream. But what dream--family, home, love; fame, celebrity, success--and what cost: no family but fame; no fame but love. Which one is worth it? Does it have to be straight absolutes like that? And what do I do if for me, the answer is yes? I don't know the answer and the problem is no can figure it out but me. It's thoughts like this that keep me in bed till mid afternoon and then have me dosing on mindless hours of television and procrastination creating my own abyss of creative malfeasance.

Till next time, lovers!