Out of the Frying Pan...

Wow. I'm published over at Indie Bloggers today. That's an awfully nice Valentine. I think that's actually better than the red Emu boots that just arrived in my cubicle--and cheaper!

And I was totally surprised when I got the email telling me this morning.

Like, floored.

Because, you see, for all the sass and brass and Damn-Right-I'm-Hot-ness that I espouse, the bottom line is that I've always been insecure about my talents.

Which segues so nicely into today's post...


Now, I know that I'm good at what I do. I just know, the same way that any other artist knows. And yet... and yet.

And yet we all need validation. Without it, we begin to doubt. After all, I've seen many, many individuals who are completely convinced they are outstanding actors when, in fact, they are simply god-awful.

Could I be equally deluded in my convictions? Perhaps. The possibility is always lurking at the back of my mind.

I blame High School.

As anyone who has ever participated in High School Theatre (or, say, seen "High School Musical") is aware, it is treacherous territory indeed. Teachers will have their favourites, no matter how much they feign impartiality, and if you don't happen to be one, well, you are pretty much shit out of luck.

I, as it happens, was not.

I was liked, but not loved. I refused to play The Game and suck up relentlessly to the directors--I wanted to be judged on talent and talent alone. Talent which I was absolutely certain I possessed.

Unfortunately, High School Theatre follows a somewhat different agenda. Which brings me to The Vamp.

The Vamp has been so-named because she could play sexy better than pretty much anyone I knew--ironic, considering her relative inexperience. I, on the other hand, considered feigning "sexy" to be beneath me. It must be noted that I took myself far too seriously as a teenager... but I was also disgusted by watching girls who played every character like a harlot, particularly because it worked. Like. A. Charm.

And so The Vamp, who was younger than I was, consistently beat me out of nearly every role I auditioned for. It was disheartening to say the least.

So I went away to college and continued pursuing the theatre--with, it must be noted, far greater success.

And now, a bit of exposition:

Every year the Kennedy Center for the Arts hosts the American College Theatre Festival, a symposium of the best and brightest American college theatre programs. Any college wishing to be considered can invite a judge to attend one (or more) of their productions. Not only do these judges consider the shows themselves for inclusion in the Festival, they also nominate 2 actors--one male, one female--to compete for the Irene Ryan acting scholarship.

My senior year, I earned a nomination. And so it was off to the regional finals, where several hundred college drama students took over a large hotel in Pittsburgh--and yes, meyhem certainly ensued.

We were each to prepare a monologue and a two person scene, and so we all brought a scene partner (a non-nominee) with us.

The morning of the first round of auditions arrived and I, of course, was lurking in the hallway awaiting my turn, doing my best not to betray the seething knot of nerves that had taken up residence in my abdomen. As I go over my monologue for the umpteenth time, I look up and who should be standing five feet away from me but The Vamp?

I hadn't seen her in four years. I waved and she came over and we chatted.

"So," I asked, "are you here for Irene Ryan?"

"Uh huh."

"So you were nominated too?"

"Oh, no, I'm just here as [some guy]'s scene partner..."

It was with some difficulty that I managed to surpress the enormous grin that threatened to burst across my face.


I didn't make it past that first round, nor did I expect to. While I had stopped taking myself quite so seriously, I still held fast to my No-Game-Playing rule. So instead of Shakespeare I did Sartre.

Each audition room had two judges and two "panelists" who had no say in the outcome, but would provide feedback to the auditioners. My panelists loved me. It seems that my judges did not.

And that is absolutely fine.

Because there, in that hallway, I finally got the validation I'd been seeking all those years.

Funny, I never thought I'd find it in Pittsburgh.



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For other tales of personal achievement, check out this thread on 20Something Bloggers! Happy Valentine's Day!