The Aftermath

So, my MFA auditions were last weekend.

On the plus side, I now know for certain that rejection can't kill me.

First up was NYU, and from the moment I entered the waiting area, I was fairly certain that this was not the place I wanted to be. It was essentially the foyer of a small office, crammed with two dozen folding chairs, each of which contained a bundle of nerves that once upon a time had been a person. I was feeling fairly calm when I arrived, but that level of tension is highly contagious and I was soon feeling the effects. To top it all off, while the person ahead of you is in the audition room, they stick you in a tiny little room by yourself, ostensibly to warm up... but mostly it just gives you a solid four minutes to walk around in a circle and wonder what the hell you've gotten yourself into.

My audition was okay. I fumbled in a few places, but nothing atrocious. I did not receive a preliminary callback at the end of the hour, but based on the vibes I was receiving from everyone else in the holding pen, these were not people with whom I had any desire to spend the next 3 years, so I chalked it up to experience and moved on.

The next day was Yale, which was the day to NYU's night. People were relaxed. The holding areas were warm-up rooms where you could move around and get focused, and--gasp!--people were actually talking to one another! Aside from the fact that the building was absolutely FREEZING, prompting me to wear my wool scarf like a toga in an effort to get my core temperature back into the normal range, the environment was ideal.

My audition went, I thought, as well as it possibly could have. I corrected the mistakes I had made the previous day, and even elicited a chuckle from the auditor at the end of my comedic piece. Alas, once again I did not receive a preliminary callback. Indeed, of the 17 people in my group, only four received callbacks, and they were all men. I guess the quota of women for the day had already been filled.

So... it looks like my hopes of heading to New Haven next Fall have been quite decidedly dashed. Now I look to my PhD programs, and potentially to some MFA programs overseas, which have much later application deadlines. Indeed, I was doing a little research last night and the school in England that I attended for a year of Undergrad, and whose PhD program I adore, also has a 2 year MFA that has decidedly piqued my interest, which means I will have to choose with path I would prefer to pursue there. Decisions, decisions...

There is, however, one decided up-side to my not getting a callback at Yale, which is that the ridiculously attractive guy that I met while waiting to be seen didn't get one either, which allowed us to go out and get a drink, and ride the Metro North back to the city together.

Now, as a rule I generally don't date actors, as often the only thing they are capable of talking about is theatre, and their own triumphs and failures therein. As one of my fellow cast members so aptly put it: "Sex, religion, and theatre. That's about all we're good for."

Likewise, I generally don't date men who are prettier than I am. It gives me a bit of a complex.

That being said... for an actor who's also been through law school, and possesses a sixpack and cheekbones that could cut glass? I just might be prepared to make an exception...

Stay tuned.

The Opposite.

The grad school apps are all in, minus one hard-copy letter of recommendation which may or may not be on its way to me as we speak, and which I'd prefer not to discuss any further lest my head explode;

I've chosen my pieces for my auditions, and have them memorized;

I've submitted my limited-due-to-rehearsal availability to my boss, and she hasn't killed me;

And, oh yeah, I turned 30 last Friday.

So anyway...

I am having a serious actor's dilemma right now, and I'm going to vent to you about it. I know you all aren't actors (or, at least, those of you that I know aren't--lurking thespians, now would be an excellent time to come out of the closet, so to speak), but I'm sure there is some way this situation could compare to one that occurs off-stage, so hear me out.

We've started rehearsing for the show I'm doing in February, and for the most part I am delighted with this particular cast. They're funny, they're friendly, and best of all, they are fucking talented. It's awesome.

With one small problem.

There is a TON--I mean scads, loads, heaps, pailfuls--of sexual subtext in this play.

That's not the problem.

The problem, is that the man toward whom all of my closeted Victorian lust is supposed to be directed... is one to whom I am not in the least bit attracted. At all. Even slightly.

More to the point: he actually creeps me out a little.

He's nearly twice my age--due to my being cast in a role that even my aged 30-year-old-self is a bit too young for--and for whatever inexplicable reason, my body just wants to... recoil... whenever he comes near.

Now yes, I am aware that this is why it's called "Acting," but dear god! How am I supposed to drum up even a semblance of lust when my instincts are screaming at me to run the other way?!

I feel a little guilty even talking about it, even though none of you know who he is--very few of you even know who *I* am--as he is, I'm sure, a very nice man, and I don't mean this to be a diatribe against him as an individual, it's just...

Sometimes there's chemistry... and sometimes... there's the opposite.

This is most definitely the opposite.

I am so fucked.

First Lesson of the New Year:

Champagne and Vodka don't mix.

Actually, I already knew this, but apparently I forgot... leading to some extreme drunkenness on my part, the first UDI of the New Year, and the sneaking suspicion that my co-workers are going to make fun of me at work tomorrow.

On the plus side of life, I've submitted my application to Columbia! The downside of this is that I'm still short one letter of recommendation, even though my professor agreed to write it back in OCTOBER and I've reminded him at least a dozen times since then. Meanwhile the professor that I didn't ask until the middle of December managed to get hers in on time, so unless he's dead or in a coma, there is no reasonable excuse for his not having done it. Also, it makes me look bad.

Now I just need to finish up my CUNY application, select/memorize/rehearse my monologues for my MFA auditions... and rehearse for a play.

No, I'm not busy. Not busy at all...

New Decade, Same Frog

Greetings and Salutations Campers, and welcome to the New Year!

In true Froggy fashion, I kicked off 2010 by getting naked with a guy I'd just met. It seemed the only logical thing to do, really, being that I'm fairly certain we were the only two straight guests at the party. I do, however, wish that I could remember his name... I think I do, but I'm not certain. Not that it matters if I don't, because he lives on the opposite side of the country and my chances of ever seeing him again are slim to none.

The drama-free nature of the year's first indiscretion fully makes up for the debacle of New Year's Eve several years ago, when all of my friends knew that the guy I was flirting with was crazy, and for some reason opted not to warn me, thus leading to THE most painfully uncomfortable morning-after EVER. They did, however, tease me ruthlessly for some time afterward. Nice of them, really.

My only regret is that I smoked a few cigarettes, which I haven't done in months, and I can feel it this morning. Lungs = not happy.

So, while I don't necessarily believe that what happens on New Year's Eve sets the tone for the whole year, at least I've started off on good footing. What can I say? I do learn from my mistakes... I just choose to repeat the fun ones :)

Happy New Year y'all! What sort of trouble did you get into?