It's not everyday I decide to take a piece from Tony Kushner and try to do it justice. The man has won all kinds of writing awards and what...I'm supposed to just...paraphrase? Or get the lines as close to perfect as I can? Not happening.
My fiancé's been drilling me...so it's becoming crystal clear why "Tell me. Don't make me ask. Please," is NOT the same as "Tell me without making me ask. Please." It's like script analysis 101 all over again and I'm loving it. I know that most people who audition regularly are used to having to paraphrase from time to time when they "go up" on a line and I'm definitely no exception, but I haven't been auditioning much at all - not since 2011- so I feel this is the perfect time to start again with a clean slate and remind myself that in the beginning, no one tells you that "good enough" is enough. I live for deep, gritty, grimy, sad, scary, full, intimidating scene work and the fact that the writing is so good here is such an added bonus. The subject matter is dark but relatable and the relationship between these two people is so quickly established right from the very top of the scene.
The only regret I have right now is that I didn't try to play Harper back at NYU when I was offered a part in a students' scene night. I think that's why I'm rediscovering her now. I have a little residual guilt about not getting to sink my teeth into this part back then. This play was SO popular in the early 2000's. Everyone was buzzing with excitement and acceptance. The idea of playing a gay woman or a Mormon homophobe, a gay man with AIDS or a closeted gay boyfriend...? all these characters spilled out of this play with perfect detail and complexity. No more Neil Simon plays over and over again and even Neil Labute was maybe starting to lose his appeal. Our scene nights became much more alive and colorful. Tony Kushner found a new way to capture life in New York and it was/is beautiful. I will say though, I was still so naive and inexperienced then. The idea of playing Harper in 2001 is so appealing now but I would never have given her real life back then.
I try not to be too method but it is so true that you need to live a little to show life in your work.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
The Years It Takes to Understand A Comedian
"There are people that really live by doing the right thing, but I don't know what that is. I'm really curious about that. I'm really curious about what people think they're doing when they're doing something evil, casually. I think it's really interesting that we benefit from suffering so much AND we excuse ourselves from it." - Louis C.K.
I really like what he's getting at here.
Ok. I'll start with a confession. I read Louie's quote and then decided to Google this phrase "Quotes about self-loathing comedians" and here were the top three results:
1) A link to Californication's Wikipedia page
2) A link to someone's tumblr called "Self Loathing on Tumblr"
and
3) "10 Russell Brand Quotes That Are Oddly Profound"
That was just some food for thought.
Now for the Google results of my own brain search...
I've spent a good amount of time researching the philosophies of men who make people laugh for a living. Sorry ladies. I know we're obviously capable of such careers too (hey, I'm trying my hand at it) but right now, I'm more curious about the MEN who actually choose this as a way to make a LIVING. These are men who usually hate themselves. Keep reading. Promise. It's true. Rarely will you meet a comedian or an exclusively comedic actor who hasn't also had a nervous breakdown before the age of 40. Nothing against nervous breakdowns either. I think we should all experience at least one so we appreciate what we've chosen for ourselves in the here and now but it's still safe to say: male comedians usually hate a lot of things. They hate waiting. They hate rejection. They usually hate people who get excited. They hate "staying positive" just for the sake of staying positive. They hate phoniness. They most likely hate their parents. They hate other people's parents. They always hate their "situation". They hate how they live. They hate that they don't want more. They hate that they're only good at being funny (even though we all love them for it) and, probably most importantly, they often hate the only people in their lives brave enough to admit that they like them and NOT their act.
What gives me the right to make all these (in my mind) factual statements about male comedians? Well I dated one. Sorta dated one. I'm sure you're not shocked by this, considering I just mixed up a lovely cocktail of strong, ex-gf-style bitters in that last paragraph. But this one comedian wouldn't even consider himself a comedian. This man was more of an actor by day, comedian by night situation. So yes, you guessed it. We're back to "the one." And I was slowly trying to torture myself with this winner, you guys.
This man possessed the two qualities most women would prefer not to find in their chosen man: 1) a never sated need for attention and 2) an immature sense of humor. The second quality, as it turns out, could easily pass as charming from time to time because he was just...so...damn...good-looking. Like, honestly, SO good. Dark eyes, weird but regal nose, smoldering, pirate stare (which sounds lame but is sexy even without the Jack Sparrow guyliner. Although sometimes there was guyliner involved and it was stupid and emo and still sexy) and of course that dumb height thing we all love. He was 6'3"ish. But hold a magnifying glass up to all of that and I seemed to be getting (until the very last minute, of course) only sarcasm and self-deprecation which even the best smoldering pirate stares can't fix. It's amazing how quickly you can watch someone's wit turn into "schtick". I didn't start to see all of that 5 years ago though. That would come later.
In fact, one night in November of 2009, I was just seconds from seeing his "schtick" up close and very personal. (Yes, now I mean THAT kind of schtick…rhymes with…You get it). Luckily, I was a total prude when it came to blurring any lines with guy friends. Especially guy friends with new fiancées. Yes. Correct. He was newly engaged and asking for permission to kiss me.
Now I'm no saint, trust me, but at the time, I sure tried to play a saintly card. I decided to do what I would have wanted him to do had the tables been turned. Believe me when I say I flirted with the idea of all kinds of delicious possibilities and then suddenly I just talked myself out of it and walked upstairs. I left him literally sitting on my couch in his underwear. I regret it all the time though - not that I regret my decision. I regret its consequences. But I suppose you can't regret the consequences of one big decision and not regret the decision itself. Regardless, his schtick stayed put that night. I had drawn a big solid "DO NOT CROSS" line where I thought I needed to.
Then I did what any wicked smart but secretly insecure young woman in her mid-twenties would do when he suddenly went radiosilent weeks later. I rifled through my little metaphorical bag of tricks labeled "In Case of Emergency", grabbed a big metaphorical piece of sidewalk chalk, went back and turned that long, solid line I had just drawn so definitively into a huge, metaphorical hopscotch grid.
:/
And I ask you: What living, breathing person is really capable of drawing the grid but not playing the 'scotch??
http://twitter.com/kelsmoorerob
#FelicitysBreakthrough
I really like what he's getting at here.
Ok. I'll start with a confession. I read Louie's quote and then decided to Google this phrase "Quotes about self-loathing comedians" and here were the top three results:
1) A link to Californication's Wikipedia page
2) A link to someone's tumblr called "Self Loathing on Tumblr"
and
3) "10 Russell Brand Quotes That Are Oddly Profound"
That was just some food for thought.
Now for the Google results of my own brain search...
I've spent a good amount of time researching the philosophies of men who make people laugh for a living. Sorry ladies. I know we're obviously capable of such careers too (hey, I'm trying my hand at it) but right now, I'm more curious about the MEN who actually choose this as a way to make a LIVING. These are men who usually hate themselves. Keep reading. Promise. It's true. Rarely will you meet a comedian or an exclusively comedic actor who hasn't also had a nervous breakdown before the age of 40. Nothing against nervous breakdowns either. I think we should all experience at least one so we appreciate what we've chosen for ourselves in the here and now but it's still safe to say: male comedians usually hate a lot of things. They hate waiting. They hate rejection. They usually hate people who get excited. They hate "staying positive" just for the sake of staying positive. They hate phoniness. They most likely hate their parents. They hate other people's parents. They always hate their "situation". They hate how they live. They hate that they don't want more. They hate that they're only good at being funny (even though we all love them for it) and, probably most importantly, they often hate the only people in their lives brave enough to admit that they like them and NOT their act.
What gives me the right to make all these (in my mind) factual statements about male comedians? Well I dated one. Sorta dated one. I'm sure you're not shocked by this, considering I just mixed up a lovely cocktail of strong, ex-gf-style bitters in that last paragraph. But this one comedian wouldn't even consider himself a comedian. This man was more of an actor by day, comedian by night situation. So yes, you guessed it. We're back to "the one." And I was slowly trying to torture myself with this winner, you guys.
This man possessed the two qualities most women would prefer not to find in their chosen man: 1) a never sated need for attention and 2) an immature sense of humor. The second quality, as it turns out, could easily pass as charming from time to time because he was just...so...damn...good-looking. Like, honestly, SO good. Dark eyes, weird but regal nose, smoldering, pirate stare (which sounds lame but is sexy even without the Jack Sparrow guyliner. Although sometimes there was guyliner involved and it was stupid and emo and still sexy) and of course that dumb height thing we all love. He was 6'3"ish. But hold a magnifying glass up to all of that and I seemed to be getting (until the very last minute, of course) only sarcasm and self-deprecation which even the best smoldering pirate stares can't fix. It's amazing how quickly you can watch someone's wit turn into "schtick". I didn't start to see all of that 5 years ago though. That would come later.
In fact, one night in November of 2009, I was just seconds from seeing his "schtick" up close and very personal. (Yes, now I mean THAT kind of schtick…rhymes with…You get it). Luckily, I was a total prude when it came to blurring any lines with guy friends. Especially guy friends with new fiancées. Yes. Correct. He was newly engaged and asking for permission to kiss me.
Now I'm no saint, trust me, but at the time, I sure tried to play a saintly card. I decided to do what I would have wanted him to do had the tables been turned. Believe me when I say I flirted with the idea of all kinds of delicious possibilities and then suddenly I just talked myself out of it and walked upstairs. I left him literally sitting on my couch in his underwear. I regret it all the time though - not that I regret my decision. I regret its consequences. But I suppose you can't regret the consequences of one big decision and not regret the decision itself. Regardless, his schtick stayed put that night. I had drawn a big solid "DO NOT CROSS" line where I thought I needed to.
Then I did what any wicked smart but secretly insecure young woman in her mid-twenties would do when he suddenly went radiosilent weeks later. I rifled through my little metaphorical bag of tricks labeled "In Case of Emergency", grabbed a big metaphorical piece of sidewalk chalk, went back and turned that long, solid line I had just drawn so definitively into a huge, metaphorical hopscotch grid.
:/
And I ask you: What living, breathing person is really capable of drawing the grid but not playing the 'scotch??
http://twitter.com/kelsmoorerob
#FelicitysBreakthrough
Thursday, October 3, 2013
IHOP, Plastic Flowers and The Way It Starts So Simply
So what comes next when you feel you know your audience (oh hi!) and you definitely know your story?
Well, I could be oversimplifying things here but I believe...simply put, you simply
...tell your story.
Remember me mentioning my tendency to fall for one man and then gravitate towards his best friend or roommate? I realize now I may not have mentioned the roommate part. My bad. I was still finding my blog footing. Well, in the summer of 2009, it seemed I was finally done with all that nonsense. I had been dating a lot of different people in Los Angeles for about a year and a half at that point and had decided to embrace the whole "this girl knows what she wants" attitude even if what I wanted still wasn't 100% crystal clear to me then. 2008 had flown by thanks to a number of terrible Match.com dates, although one DID involve a memorable outdoor screening of The Great Muppet Caper (kudos to you, super short guy from Brentwood), a hot friend-with-benefits who suddenly got back together with his equally hot and drug-addicted ex-girlfriend (gross) right as I came to terms with the fact that I wanted more than just benefits (damn) and one random but lucky find at one of my favorite bars in Los Feliz. That last "find", however, was an actor so I knew we wouldn't last too long.
...Side note: the actor + actor equation will always without fail = either 1) too much drama to become anything long-term or 2) will consist of all physical attraction and nothing but pure competition as a sad excuse for substance. Ask any actor who's ever dated another actor. Unless one of them has already given up completely and welcomed a life of waiting tables and "hosting" $80 casting workshops for the rest of their life, the pair will never see their happily ever after. Even wealthy and fame-driven celebrities know this too, but you see, they have no one else to trust so they MUST marry within their own industry. They feel like they have to. These people also have fellow celebrity friends who just went through a first (...second...third...) divorce T minus ten seconds ago and therefore know how to give advice to the next fresh crop of actors seeking divorce from other actors.
Back to the story! By late August of 2009, I had only dated one other man besides all the aforementioned randoms in paragraph one. This man's name was Jason* and we met when I was drunk and on my way to an IHOP. In Hollywood. On my birthday. No really.
He was super tall, awkward, old school handsome and in a way, sort of creepy. If you thumb through my journals circa 1998-2002, this description of a young man would have also been known as: MY TYPE. I probably would have noticed him sooner had I not been about six birthday drinks in by then. The only thing that threw me was how direct he was right away. It wasn't what I was used to. Even the way we ended up sharing our first meal together was lovely but forced on his part. He eavesdropped on a conversation I was having with my two girlfriends as we crossed Hollywood Blvd., interrupted with a random question, then followed us into IHOP and decided to sit right down in our booth. That simply (and stalker-y). The hostess seated my friends immediately but I had beelined straight to the bathroom so had no idea that he had even walked into the restaurant once we'd left him in the crosswalk. But there he was - sitting in our IHOP booth, just staring at my friends Corinne and Monica. As soon as I approached the booth, he looked at me, grabbed the plastic red rose from the empty, white vase on the table, slid over and offered it to me with a smile. I was again, totally both creeped out and impressed, simultaneously.
This, as it turns out, was a wonderful guy. A guy who loved to say impossibly cheesy things like "I would like nothing more than to just stare at the stars with you tomorrow night if you can find the time to see me again, Kelsey." Ridiculous things like that. He'd write these sorts of notes in texts and I would spend my afternoons at work wondering what was wrong with him. Why he was full of so much romance so quickly and how strange it was to receive such sweet messages in text form. His words seemed like they'd jumped from a Dickinson page and yet there they were in a little white text bubble landing in my iPhone. It was all too much to wrap my head around.
Jason, as I discovered, was an actor but was new to the business when we met and had only just booked his first job at Universal Studios playing Norman Bates in their famous Psycho reenactment in the Studio Tour. This explained the creepy vibe. I suppose channeling Norman Bates everyday will do that to a person. He came from midwest wealth but rejected any and all handouts from his family. He aimed to prove to them, especially his father, that he was capable of more than just following the rules and getting by. He had been quite the rebel in high school - we're talking a reefer tee shirts and "the ponytail years" kind of rebel. When he moved to LA and got his own apartment, he adopted a little female dog - I can't remember the breed now. On our third date, he told me a story about her running away and how he spent every night just sitting out in front of his apartment complex in the Valley, shouting her name repeatedly. She eventually came back three days later. She apparently just strolled back up his driveway one night. I swore the story was fabricated but he promised it was true. On our fourth date, I asked Jason if we could slow things down and he promised that we would. We had been on four dates in one week - a new record for me.
I broke a lot of records that summer. Most dates in a week and quickest breakup with a guy I knew I genuinely liked. I ended it. We broke up after six weeks.
Have you ever broken up with someone you knew you could probably like forever? I didn't want to really fall for him so I broke things off. I liked just liking him and I didn't want anything to complicate that. What's strange is that I really do think I'll like him forever. Not love him - no. But when I'm 80, I'm sure I'll think: "Oh yeah! Jason. I really liked that guy." WHO THINKS THIS WAY BESIDES HEADY, POSSIBLY SELF-INVOLVED BLOGGERS AND JADED 30-SOMETHING WOMEN? Apparently, straight men think this way all the time. In fact, let's be real...the whole "cut it off while it's still great" strategy has worked for many a man and woman (hey there, Seinfeld. hey there, Fey.)
But, though I hadn't come to terms with it at first, I quickly had to face the fact that I actually didn't just break up with Jason just because I really liked him and because there may have been the potential for something meaningful there. I broke up with him because I knew I could like someone else WAY more. Though I only liked the idea of that person then...he was already a major distraction. That someone else...that one impossible dream (yup, I went there)...that one you never think will return? Well, he (Ben) messaged me on Facebook three weeks before I decided to end things with Jason.
Simple. Again, so simple. Ben wrote me the simplest of messages but a part of me knew this was a big reach for him. I received his message right as I was about to board a flight from LA to NYC. I stared at the message for what seemed like forever. Here was a man who never used Facebook - ever. His profile photo was still a picture of a show logo he designed while back at Juilliard. A little, tiny (and embarrassingly excited) part of me knew that he was reaching out to me for a very specific reason but I ignored my gut. You know that little voice that constantly reminds us all how scary success sounds and how ultimately failure is what we should actually anticipate? I stupidly listened to that voice...again. I rejected the romantic potential in this message from Ben and instead, I read it, tried to forget it and then took about a week to respond to him. So you know - the mature approach.
He had written:
"Hey Kels,
I'll be in LA for a few weeks this month - maybe longer.
Wondering if you might want to meet up for a drink.
Hope you're well.
-B"
And just like that, my next four years would become far less fulfilling and WAY more controversial than I ever could have imagined.
The part of me that still thinks of this man every other day wishes he had never written me at all. The part of me that felt the need to write my first blog entry and share with all of you that a man will ALWAYS hurt a woman and that there is nothing that will prevent this from happening unless you fear any sort of real life experience completely...well that part of me doesn't regret what he started that day. Still, I would never wish what he put me through next upon any woman.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent but only the innocent. ;)
Well, I could be oversimplifying things here but I believe...simply put, you simply
...tell your story.
Remember me mentioning my tendency to fall for one man and then gravitate towards his best friend or roommate? I realize now I may not have mentioned the roommate part. My bad. I was still finding my blog footing. Well, in the summer of 2009, it seemed I was finally done with all that nonsense. I had been dating a lot of different people in Los Angeles for about a year and a half at that point and had decided to embrace the whole "this girl knows what she wants" attitude even if what I wanted still wasn't 100% crystal clear to me then. 2008 had flown by thanks to a number of terrible Match.com dates, although one DID involve a memorable outdoor screening of The Great Muppet Caper (kudos to you, super short guy from Brentwood), a hot friend-with-benefits who suddenly got back together with his equally hot and drug-addicted ex-girlfriend (gross) right as I came to terms with the fact that I wanted more than just benefits (damn) and one random but lucky find at one of my favorite bars in Los Feliz. That last "find", however, was an actor so I knew we wouldn't last too long.
...Side note: the actor + actor equation will always without fail = either 1) too much drama to become anything long-term or 2) will consist of all physical attraction and nothing but pure competition as a sad excuse for substance. Ask any actor who's ever dated another actor. Unless one of them has already given up completely and welcomed a life of waiting tables and "hosting" $80 casting workshops for the rest of their life, the pair will never see their happily ever after. Even wealthy and fame-driven celebrities know this too, but you see, they have no one else to trust so they MUST marry within their own industry. They feel like they have to. These people also have fellow celebrity friends who just went through a first (...second...third...) divorce T minus ten seconds ago and therefore know how to give advice to the next fresh crop of actors seeking divorce from other actors.
Back to the story! By late August of 2009, I had only dated one other man besides all the aforementioned randoms in paragraph one. This man's name was Jason* and we met when I was drunk and on my way to an IHOP. In Hollywood. On my birthday. No really.
He was super tall, awkward, old school handsome and in a way, sort of creepy. If you thumb through my journals circa 1998-2002, this description of a young man would have also been known as: MY TYPE. I probably would have noticed him sooner had I not been about six birthday drinks in by then. The only thing that threw me was how direct he was right away. It wasn't what I was used to. Even the way we ended up sharing our first meal together was lovely but forced on his part. He eavesdropped on a conversation I was having with my two girlfriends as we crossed Hollywood Blvd., interrupted with a random question, then followed us into IHOP and decided to sit right down in our booth. That simply (and stalker-y). The hostess seated my friends immediately but I had beelined straight to the bathroom so had no idea that he had even walked into the restaurant once we'd left him in the crosswalk. But there he was - sitting in our IHOP booth, just staring at my friends Corinne and Monica. As soon as I approached the booth, he looked at me, grabbed the plastic red rose from the empty, white vase on the table, slid over and offered it to me with a smile. I was again, totally both creeped out and impressed, simultaneously.
This, as it turns out, was a wonderful guy. A guy who loved to say impossibly cheesy things like "I would like nothing more than to just stare at the stars with you tomorrow night if you can find the time to see me again, Kelsey." Ridiculous things like that. He'd write these sorts of notes in texts and I would spend my afternoons at work wondering what was wrong with him. Why he was full of so much romance so quickly and how strange it was to receive such sweet messages in text form. His words seemed like they'd jumped from a Dickinson page and yet there they were in a little white text bubble landing in my iPhone. It was all too much to wrap my head around.
Jason, as I discovered, was an actor but was new to the business when we met and had only just booked his first job at Universal Studios playing Norman Bates in their famous Psycho reenactment in the Studio Tour. This explained the creepy vibe. I suppose channeling Norman Bates everyday will do that to a person. He came from midwest wealth but rejected any and all handouts from his family. He aimed to prove to them, especially his father, that he was capable of more than just following the rules and getting by. He had been quite the rebel in high school - we're talking a reefer tee shirts and "the ponytail years" kind of rebel. When he moved to LA and got his own apartment, he adopted a little female dog - I can't remember the breed now. On our third date, he told me a story about her running away and how he spent every night just sitting out in front of his apartment complex in the Valley, shouting her name repeatedly. She eventually came back three days later. She apparently just strolled back up his driveway one night. I swore the story was fabricated but he promised it was true. On our fourth date, I asked Jason if we could slow things down and he promised that we would. We had been on four dates in one week - a new record for me.
I broke a lot of records that summer. Most dates in a week and quickest breakup with a guy I knew I genuinely liked. I ended it. We broke up after six weeks.
Have you ever broken up with someone you knew you could probably like forever? I didn't want to really fall for him so I broke things off. I liked just liking him and I didn't want anything to complicate that. What's strange is that I really do think I'll like him forever. Not love him - no. But when I'm 80, I'm sure I'll think: "Oh yeah! Jason. I really liked that guy." WHO THINKS THIS WAY BESIDES HEADY, POSSIBLY SELF-INVOLVED BLOGGERS AND JADED 30-SOMETHING WOMEN? Apparently, straight men think this way all the time. In fact, let's be real...the whole "cut it off while it's still great" strategy has worked for many a man and woman (hey there, Seinfeld. hey there, Fey.)
But, though I hadn't come to terms with it at first, I quickly had to face the fact that I actually didn't just break up with Jason just because I really liked him and because there may have been the potential for something meaningful there. I broke up with him because I knew I could like someone else WAY more. Though I only liked the idea of that person then...he was already a major distraction. That someone else...that one impossible dream (yup, I went there)...that one you never think will return? Well, he (Ben) messaged me on Facebook three weeks before I decided to end things with Jason.
Simple. Again, so simple. Ben wrote me the simplest of messages but a part of me knew this was a big reach for him. I received his message right as I was about to board a flight from LA to NYC. I stared at the message for what seemed like forever. Here was a man who never used Facebook - ever. His profile photo was still a picture of a show logo he designed while back at Juilliard. A little, tiny (and embarrassingly excited) part of me knew that he was reaching out to me for a very specific reason but I ignored my gut. You know that little voice that constantly reminds us all how scary success sounds and how ultimately failure is what we should actually anticipate? I stupidly listened to that voice...again. I rejected the romantic potential in this message from Ben and instead, I read it, tried to forget it and then took about a week to respond to him. So you know - the mature approach.
He had written:
"Hey Kels,
I'll be in LA for a few weeks this month - maybe longer.
Wondering if you might want to meet up for a drink.
Hope you're well.
-B"
And just like that, my next four years would become far less fulfilling and WAY more controversial than I ever could have imagined.
The part of me that still thinks of this man every other day wishes he had never written me at all. The part of me that felt the need to write my first blog entry and share with all of you that a man will ALWAYS hurt a woman and that there is nothing that will prevent this from happening unless you fear any sort of real life experience completely...well that part of me doesn't regret what he started that day. Still, I would never wish what he put me through next upon any woman.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent but only the innocent. ;)
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Learning the Ways of an "Ohhh THAT Guy" Guy
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast." - Jane Austen
Yes, I'm starting this next post out with a quote from Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice. Oh hush hush. You know you've read it. In fact, you know you probably LOVED it so seriously, stop any little voice in your head going "really? Austen? ALREADY?" Just silence that squeaky, little objection for the sake of a few more minutes of (what I hope you consider) pleasure reading. It's far more rewarding to just appreciate the truth in the statement above.
I'm sure we've all liked/loved someone who's suffered from the self-inflicted curse of false humility. And don't get me wrong, women are just as guilty of possessing this horrible curse as men are. I have to say, though, that I know part of the reason I only endured a mere three years of dating (well, trying to date) in the heavily actor-populated Los Angeles was my strong aversion to this "type" of dude. In college, I had dated someone who shared only the dream of achieving fame in common with the rest of these Hollywood men. His eyes were on the prize. Bullied and tortured as a kid (and, for that matter, as a young, college-aged adult as well) for being someone he never felt he was, he believed that achieving what seemed like the impossible would silence all opposition. He saw the achievement of celebrity fame as the only way others would ever take him seriously in a world that was obviously not quite ready for who he actually was. There's a lot more to his story - that's for sure - but his is not a story I feel I can tell. Not yet. He will tell that story some day, perhaps to the world in detailed day-by-day notes or perhaps only to his future kids - but his is a story of such determination and belief in one's true self against all odds. I hope he finds happiness. I think of him often and again, well...it's just not my place to speak his truths now.
These Hollywood men on the other hand? *flails arms helplessly* *looks around for a gosh darn save* WELL DANG. They all seemed to be on the hunt for recognition and you, you courteous, unassuming, noticeably attractive and yet un-intimidating and almost too easily approachable young female, well you, depending on where you were in life, were either a stepping stone for them, perhaps a confidence booster or a suddenly necessary distraction that they felt they neeeeeeeeded. If you've ever felt you filled the role, through no choice of your own, of "confidence booster" then my heart goes out to you but just make sure that next time, you find a way to be their distraction. Every once in awhile, it feels good to be the girl who knows she's being used so you can accept the challenge at hand and find a way to USE HIM RIGHT BACK.
I spent a great deal of time writing while I lived in LA and almost all of my journal entries from 2008 to early 2011 paint a detailed picture of these tan Patrick Bateman types, which I think we can all agree is perhaps the scariest of all types. You know the type and if you don't, may I suggest a 2 to 3 week trip to LA for research purposes. This is "that guy" (or for the purposes of this blog post - the "ohhh THAT guy" that guy)...
He is the absurdly handsome type who strangely enough compares his looks to those of a troll. He's dashingly charming and old school clever but insists, while in the presence of women, not men, that he can barely send a reply email let alone conjure up a witty remark. He will ask you how you're doing, only to quickly follow up with a reminder that he can't talk for long. He always has an important rehearsal soon (feel free to replace 'rehearsal' with 'meeting' or 'appointment' if such substitutions make for a more accurate representation in your eyes. Last thing I'd like to do is leave you feeling limited here). He's that guy who says he likes a strong woman who knows what she wants but always insists on ordering one extra of whatever he's drinking so you can try "a real drink".
Ah-hem, not that these traits are now being recollected from the memories of one specific male specimen...or anything.
(By the way, I pretended to love straight Jack Daniels (no ice, no soda, no nothing) when around this man. For a girl like me who has always preferred dark rum cocktails with a jolt of something killer sweet? That's sacrifice.)
(That's also what you should consider stupid.) And that was obviously not the worst of it. I pretended to be ok with SO MUCH. And what's funny to me now is how I bet he would say he also tried to be ok with so much...for me. But in the beginning, he sought me out. He needed to talk. He, hilariously enough, needed to see me. He needed to kiss me. He needed to see me again. Need need need. He made it feel like such a neeeeeeed. I couldn't tell which would have seemed more alarming at the time - his feelings as necessities or his feelings as pure desires. And then there's the bigger question: He needed to do all of this...to find out...what???
I wasn't sure then. I know now.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Finding My Voice
Hello and welcome to what I hope will be a long journey together.
Nothing about my blog could possibly seem at all genuine if I don't start by revealing a bit about myself. First of all, my name is actually Kelsey, not Felicity. I am an actress and a writer. This blog is me - writing. This blog is NOT me - acting. I am not playing a character or dreaming up some issues for you all to relate to. Anything I write about here actually happened to me. If I'm sharing something with you that a friend of mine went through instead of me? Well then I will let you know that upfront. Obviously, no real names will be used. But I will tell you this much right away - my boyfriend's name is Sam and he is wonderful. That's no secret though. If you ever find me on Facebook, you'll see my relationship status right there. Plain and simple. His unparalleled patience and rare ability to love unconditionally is part of the reason I am in the right mind to sit here and start writing all of this for you now.
Let's continue with this full disclosure but this time with a few promises, for better or for worse. You will not learn how to find an agent in this blog. I will not be discussing talent workshops or auditions. (Let's get some free advice out of the way though: Background work is usually horrible and you should never do it unless you're a) really - reallllllly - poor and hungry b) trying to earn your insurance through the union or c) just need to stay busy. Try to take featured parts though. There's at least some acting involved in that. Agents should never ask for money upfront. Not even to pay some new photographer they're "dying for you to work with." They only take their percentage when you work. Anyone else is a scam artist. And don't ever, ever give another actor acting advice while in rehearsal or ON A SET. They will probably strangle you. I might strangle you. I might find you and strangle you. #kidding #notreally)
Despite anything else you may have read, I will not be discussing "girl parts" here and you will not learn how to insert a tampon. We all know that very first one is tough though, little lady gals. Deep breaths. I will not be critiquing any make-up products, salon visits, wedding stationery, gel manicures or manicured gels here so if that's your bag, no judgment is being passed. Those just aren't topics that would ever compel me to write. I will NEVER be able to add my two cents to that crafty thing you just favorited on Pinterest. Nothing against the site. I honestly have nothing to add. I'm crafty in other ways. Hopefully that still makes me talented. Oh please god, say I'm still talented. (Actress joke. See: Validation (defined).)
This blog is my way of paying things forward. This is for everyone who's ever been told "You'll see for yourself one day" or "You never know until you know" or "Maybe when you're older, you'll understand." Well let's fast-forward (or skip scenes, as you young people say).
I want you to know one thing:
There will come a day when a man will hurt you.
GASP. SHOCK. AWE. WHAT?! Yes. A man will always hurt you. His action could be as delicate as his "jujjing" of a dress shirt sleeve to reveal his full forearm and a clearer view of his new wrist watch. I don't know. For some reason on some particular day, this could set you off and you'll feel...well, hurt. Or his action could be as strategized (and as awful) as seeking out another woman to take to bed and even expressing the intention to give her children all while you are, as far as you're concerned, actively and happily married. If you're really lucky, and I don't mean that sarcastically, you could wind up with a really creative type who may actually try to simply love you and then leave you. The hit-it-and-quit-it con man. But trust me, these men will only make you the STRONGEST version of yourself. It may sound ridiculous and cliche but believe me, it's true. How do I know?
I went from a girl who never dated to a girl who dated everyone.
Highschool: never dated.
College: sorta dated (one person).
Post-college (and, ah-hem, post college boyfriend): dated everyone.
Once that got old, I went from a girl who dated everyone to a girl who dated her date's best friends. That seemed to be my pattern. Had you caught me on a double date anytime between 2004 and 2011, I'd be that girl trying desperately to keep her eyes on her date seated next to her when all I wanted to do was stare at the boy across from me. You know, the one with his arm around another pretty young thing. Because THAT seems logical. But what's funny is that actually: it does, from a dreamer's point-of-view. Think about it. You're seated next to a guy who rrrrrreally likes you and you already know he does. He's sitting next to you. He may even try to put his arm around you - any second. But that guy across from you who's equally cute, if not cuter, he's staring at you just as intently but he's ACROSS from you (read: Just out of reach. READ: Challenge.) This was how I thought. And in an ironic turn of events, the girl who never dated anyone was suddenly dating up a storm and according to her friends, thinking like a man. It was that "pretty lights syndrome" that got me. Someone great was inviting me out on a Friday and by Saturday I was hoping that the cute guy I had just passed in the produce aisle would be asking for my number in 3...2...1... Hey, it wasn't always fool-proof but I had some good years. I wouldn't say I'm proud of my wishy-washy dating patterns but I certainly wouldn't say I have any regrets either.
But then, suddenly there was: the one. The one man who resurfaced.
We had met several times through an ex-boyfriend. We sang on a friend's musical soundtrack together. We drank together. This ex of mine took me to see plays that "the one" was starring in. But the two of us had never dated. One day, he messaged me out of the blue when we had not spoken for three years and over those next few weeks, he managed to confirm all of my fears about the person I was trying to be. He allowed me to fantasize about something SO seemingly unreachable. He let me envision a meaningful connection with him - a fulfilling relationship with a man I had first known as a friend of a friend - someone who, popular vote had decided, was always living purely for himself. With just his simple, continual requests to see me, he may not have known it at first, but he was permitting me to dream up the stage direction for what would eventually become the most frustrating and dissatisfying chase scene of my entire life. This "one" - he got me. He not only beat me at my own game but he began a whole new game...a game I never even realized we were playing until it was all over. Thank goodness I did the necessary work after he checked out & went completely MIA. That's where anyone who tells you differently is just wrong. If you let a man like this into your life, readers, there will always be work to do afterwards. Repairs necessary. No exceptions (unless of course, you find, one day, that this blog just scared you away from tricky men completely, and if that proves to be the case, then I'm so sorry I made you play it safe. Safe is usually quite boring.).
He was "the one" - not "my one", that's for sure, but "THE one." He didn't get away. He didn't leave me at the altar. He didn't date my sister. He didn't even bang my best friend. He just had everything I thought I wanted and then right when I knew I wanted it (soooo badly) he took it all away.
More about him next time...
Thank you for reading this far. I promise to reveal more as we move along.
Nothing about my blog could possibly seem at all genuine if I don't start by revealing a bit about myself. First of all, my name is actually Kelsey, not Felicity. I am an actress and a writer. This blog is me - writing. This blog is NOT me - acting. I am not playing a character or dreaming up some issues for you all to relate to. Anything I write about here actually happened to me. If I'm sharing something with you that a friend of mine went through instead of me? Well then I will let you know that upfront. Obviously, no real names will be used. But I will tell you this much right away - my boyfriend's name is Sam and he is wonderful. That's no secret though. If you ever find me on Facebook, you'll see my relationship status right there. Plain and simple. His unparalleled patience and rare ability to love unconditionally is part of the reason I am in the right mind to sit here and start writing all of this for you now.
Let's continue with this full disclosure but this time with a few promises, for better or for worse. You will not learn how to find an agent in this blog. I will not be discussing talent workshops or auditions. (Let's get some free advice out of the way though: Background work is usually horrible and you should never do it unless you're a) really - reallllllly - poor and hungry b) trying to earn your insurance through the union or c) just need to stay busy. Try to take featured parts though. There's at least some acting involved in that. Agents should never ask for money upfront. Not even to pay some new photographer they're "dying for you to work with." They only take their percentage when you work. Anyone else is a scam artist. And don't ever, ever give another actor acting advice while in rehearsal or ON A SET. They will probably strangle you. I might strangle you. I might find you and strangle you. #kidding #notreally)
Despite anything else you may have read, I will not be discussing "girl parts" here and you will not learn how to insert a tampon. We all know that very first one is tough though, little lady gals. Deep breaths. I will not be critiquing any make-up products, salon visits, wedding stationery, gel manicures or manicured gels here so if that's your bag, no judgment is being passed. Those just aren't topics that would ever compel me to write. I will NEVER be able to add my two cents to that crafty thing you just favorited on Pinterest. Nothing against the site. I honestly have nothing to add. I'm crafty in other ways. Hopefully that still makes me talented. Oh please god, say I'm still talented. (Actress joke. See: Validation (defined).)
This blog is my way of paying things forward. This is for everyone who's ever been told "You'll see for yourself one day" or "You never know until you know" or "Maybe when you're older, you'll understand." Well let's fast-forward (or skip scenes, as you young people say).
I want you to know one thing:
There will come a day when a man will hurt you.
GASP. SHOCK. AWE. WHAT?! Yes. A man will always hurt you. His action could be as delicate as his "jujjing" of a dress shirt sleeve to reveal his full forearm and a clearer view of his new wrist watch. I don't know. For some reason on some particular day, this could set you off and you'll feel...well, hurt. Or his action could be as strategized (and as awful) as seeking out another woman to take to bed and even expressing the intention to give her children all while you are, as far as you're concerned, actively and happily married. If you're really lucky, and I don't mean that sarcastically, you could wind up with a really creative type who may actually try to simply love you and then leave you. The hit-it-and-quit-it con man. But trust me, these men will only make you the STRONGEST version of yourself. It may sound ridiculous and cliche but believe me, it's true. How do I know?
I went from a girl who never dated to a girl who dated everyone.
Highschool: never dated.
College: sorta dated (one person).
Post-college (and, ah-hem, post college boyfriend): dated everyone.
Once that got old, I went from a girl who dated everyone to a girl who dated her date's best friends. That seemed to be my pattern. Had you caught me on a double date anytime between 2004 and 2011, I'd be that girl trying desperately to keep her eyes on her date seated next to her when all I wanted to do was stare at the boy across from me. You know, the one with his arm around another pretty young thing. Because THAT seems logical. But what's funny is that actually: it does, from a dreamer's point-of-view. Think about it. You're seated next to a guy who rrrrrreally likes you and you already know he does. He's sitting next to you. He may even try to put his arm around you - any second. But that guy across from you who's equally cute, if not cuter, he's staring at you just as intently but he's ACROSS from you (read: Just out of reach. READ: Challenge.) This was how I thought. And in an ironic turn of events, the girl who never dated anyone was suddenly dating up a storm and according to her friends, thinking like a man. It was that "pretty lights syndrome" that got me. Someone great was inviting me out on a Friday and by Saturday I was hoping that the cute guy I had just passed in the produce aisle would be asking for my number in 3...2...1... Hey, it wasn't always fool-proof but I had some good years. I wouldn't say I'm proud of my wishy-washy dating patterns but I certainly wouldn't say I have any regrets either.
But then, suddenly there was: the one. The one man who resurfaced.
We had met several times through an ex-boyfriend. We sang on a friend's musical soundtrack together. We drank together. This ex of mine took me to see plays that "the one" was starring in. But the two of us had never dated. One day, he messaged me out of the blue when we had not spoken for three years and over those next few weeks, he managed to confirm all of my fears about the person I was trying to be. He allowed me to fantasize about something SO seemingly unreachable. He let me envision a meaningful connection with him - a fulfilling relationship with a man I had first known as a friend of a friend - someone who, popular vote had decided, was always living purely for himself. With just his simple, continual requests to see me, he may not have known it at first, but he was permitting me to dream up the stage direction for what would eventually become the most frustrating and dissatisfying chase scene of my entire life. This "one" - he got me. He not only beat me at my own game but he began a whole new game...a game I never even realized we were playing until it was all over. Thank goodness I did the necessary work after he checked out & went completely MIA. That's where anyone who tells you differently is just wrong. If you let a man like this into your life, readers, there will always be work to do afterwards. Repairs necessary. No exceptions (unless of course, you find, one day, that this blog just scared you away from tricky men completely, and if that proves to be the case, then I'm so sorry I made you play it safe. Safe is usually quite boring.).
He was "the one" - not "my one", that's for sure, but "THE one." He didn't get away. He didn't leave me at the altar. He didn't date my sister. He didn't even bang my best friend. He just had everything I thought I wanted and then right when I knew I wanted it (soooo badly) he took it all away.
More about him next time...
Thank you for reading this far. I promise to reveal more as we move along.
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