Saturday, April 30, 2011

A Starving Artist's Charming Third Time

Over a week ago, I got an email forwarded to me from my manager:
"Hi,

We are having an invited table read for episode 304 on Thursday, April 28, at 10:30 AM.  Would Angela like to attend?  Please let us know, we'd love to have her there."

...

What?

...

And so Thursday, it's right around 10:15 in the morning, I'm pacing in front of Bryant Park and naturally, I'm freaking out. 

This has nothing to do with whether or not I think I'm going to blow it acting-wise--I have one line (punctuated by two exclamation points and a question mark...fun), so there's no pressure there.

This has everything to do with Me, normal everyday "Me".

What.  In.  The HELL am I doing going to sit around a table with all of these people?!  These people who have done stuff...lots and lots of stuff, who own entire brownstones in Brooklyn and estates in LA and have millions of IMDB-credits and DVD-sales and fans and followers.  Names.  Reputations.  Influence.  These are big people, they don't associate with little people.

...I am little.  Very.

...What is happening?

And so I'm pacing and buzzing and buzzing and pacing, and I call my boyfriend a time zone away to wake him up.

"Hello?"
Hi, Honey.
"...Mhmm."
I just wanted to call you before I head in.
"...Mm. Hm."
...
Honey, I'm calling because I actually need you to say something to me before I go in there.
"...Whaaaaat?"
Anything.
"Oh."
...
"You'll be fine, Love."
OK.
"Angie.  You have the role already."
Oh.  Yeah.
"You'll be great.  You're supposed to be there."
OK.
"I'm so proud of you."
Really?
"Yesss, Love."
Thank you. OK. OK! OhhhhhhmygodIloveyouI'llcallyouassoonasI'moutIloveyouuuuu!!!
"...Mkay."
Love you!
"Lllvv...".

(Side-bar:  Yes, I do shamelessly need some kind of pep talk every so often...and I do think the sleepy ones are a favorite of mine.  I couldn't tell you why.)

 Aaaaaaaand, I was off!

Into the building for time #3--my IDs are getting scanned, I'm getting my little pass:
"You've been here before, yeah?"
...Actually, I have.
"Great.  So then do you know where you're going?"
Third floor conference room?
"Ohhhhh, the reading!  Of course.  (Of course?)  Right over that way, my dear."

In front of the elevator, a sweet little lady:
"You're here for the reading, right?"
I am. (Big big dazed-ish grin.)
"IIIII thought so.  (You did?)  Go on up, make a quick left, then a right.  Have fun."
I will, thank you so so much.

The doors close, and I'm in this elevator by myself:
...Seriously, what is happening?

Aaaaaaaand, I was out.  Following these little arrows pointing me towards the conference room--and then I was there.  In front of this smallish room papered with brightly colored scripts and lined with a billion chairs...and punctuated by craft services.  (Coffee could be an amazing idea.)

"Hi!  Which are you?!"
Hi, I'm Angela, Female Patr--
"Ohhhh, Angela, hi!  I think you arrrrrrre...right over this way."

There's this big long table in the middle of the room, and I see little tented signs for them, all of them, designating their seats.  I'm pointed towards a chair on the perimeter of the room.

"Hi, Angela, I'm the head script supervisor."
Oh, Hi!  Nice to meet you.

"Angela!"
And I turn around, and it's the woman who sat behind the camera at each of my auditions--this is Ann, one of the two casting directors for the show...and one of the generally biggest casting directors for TV.  (...Oh my god, she genuinely remembers me.)

Hiiii!  How are you?!
"Good, I'm so glad to have you here."
Ohmygosh, are you kidding?  Thank you so so much, by the way.
"Oh.  Of course.  By the way, this is my business partner, Gayle."
And the second casting director of the show turns around.  Smiling.

"Angela, it is so nice to finally meet you!  I'm so sorry  I didn't get the chance to go to either one of your auditions."
Oh no no.  It's really lovely to meet you.
"I heard you were great.  Obviously."  (WHAT?!)
Oh, well thank you.  And honestly, thank you so much for this opportunity, I have been so excited.
"Oh.  Of course."
And in we launched into a short little discussion about AFTRA (the American Film Television and Radio Association-union) and the show...and I'm cheesing it like a son of a gun and instantaneously decide that I am going to have to find these women the best two Thank You-cards in the entire world.

More people start to trickle in, and we're chatting, and drinking coffee...and it is the most kind nice lovely genuine setting ever.  There is zilch pressure in the room.  It's shocking, and entirely comforting.  My nerves are gone, I'm just jazzed.

...

And then, they all started to come in.  Most dressed kinda shlubby, toting little dilapidated briefcases...and the vibe didn't change.  It was still just supremely lax somehow.  It was just more people chatting with one another, all genuinely excited to be there.  All giving hugs and "Hey man, how are ya?"s...and Jason Schwartzman literally jumping around the room showing off his new iPhone.  Fine.

It seemed so normal.

Other than the fact that it would have seemed entirely awkward to introduce ourselves to them at that particular point in time (they were all chatting with one another...I couldn't be that girl to duck my head into a conversation going Hey, I'm Angela, I'm shooting with you next Wednesday HAHAHA!).  So, I didn't, and marveled at its normalcy-ish.

I started talking to the Plushie next to me about it.
This is like a million times more lax than I anticipated.
"Sure.  Know what I think it is?"
What's that?
"It's like they can be nice--there's no pressure.  They're already at the top of the eschelon, so there's nothing to prove.  Why not be nice?"
Huh.  Yeah that makes sense.

There's a call to order by the writer/director.
"So, before we read this thing, I'm gonna do something.  These guys are all probably sick of it by now, but for those of you who don't know, this is how I begin every meeting for this show.  This is the call my friends and I used to make on the playground whenever bullies were threatening us." 

He strikes a pose like he just made a touchdown, and bellows this long Wookie-like call.

Everyone claps.

...My nerves had 100% evaporated.

They go around the table introducing themselves--Zach Galifiankas says "Hello, I'm Reese Witherspoon." 

...Why the hell had I been nervous?

And then we read the thing.  And it was hilarious.  Everyone was genuinely having a good time and laughing out loud--no one was putting on any airs, it was just a bunch of folks sitting around a room, reading a funny script, making sure that all of the given elements would work.

It suddenly struck me that yeah, we were actually all there for the same thing.  We were all all over the place as far as "success" was concerned, but for the time, none of that mattered.

And then, it was over. 

Rather, the read for my episode was over--there was a five minute break before they moved onto the next one, and the other two day-players and I decided to vamoose before we could feel as if we overstayed our welcome.  I said a huge Thank You once more to everyone I'd spoken with earlier...aaaaaaaand, I was gone.

Aaaaaaaaand, I was thrilled.

...

I'm well aware that one can rarely ever make bold leaps to get ahead--primarily, it's all baby steps.  And that's great.

And I'm well aware that opportunities both come and go.

But this.  I'm well aware that whatever this is, this is good.  And I'm excited.  And I can't wait to see what happens, whether or not it's anticlimactic. 

It's still good.
 
...And it is happening.

 

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

A Starving Little Engine That...Did.

Life is weird.

And surprising.

I'm a relentlessly optimistic person, but I clearly have my moments and occasionally forget about these happy little curveballs that get thrown out of nowhere--happy little surprises that you didn't ask for, but that you get just the same.  Like finding out that you're going to be an aunt.  That your best friend is moving your way.  You're getting promoted.

You're getting a second chance.

...

So, again, it's been assumed that that recurring role on Bored to Death went to someone who has a name.  Of course, totally fine, that kind of thing seriously happens all the time--no big deal.  I still had that opportunity, and I really do believe that I made the most of it.  But, now it's done.  ...

So, imagine my surprise when I got called back in to HBO two weeks ago.  For another role.  On the same show.

(And told next to NO ONE because I didn't want to jinx a thing.)

Holy shit, that means that I actually made an impression.  Right?  
Holy shit, my manager probably pulled really hard for me.
Holy shit, what if that means that they like me?! They really LIKE me?!

So, I play it down, poll my roommates on what they think a snobby foodie from the West Village would dress like and think to myself This is your second chance, Lady.  And you only have to say two lines--there's hardly a "wrong" way to say just two lines.  There's no way this won't be anything but good--but don't turn this into a big deal.  Yet.

And there I am, walking into the HBO building again (Holy shit.), down the same hallway and into the same elevator, past different posters this time (Lady Gaga. Good morning.)  and onto a different floor.

And somehow, I wasn't nervous.
Somehow, I felt almost unphased.
Somehow, it was just "fine".

I went into the room--and there was the same woman behind the camera as before.
Does she remember me?... She must, right?... Maybe not.  Nevermind.  It's fine.  Just do the damn thing.

And I did it.
And it was done in 30 seconds.
And then I was out again, in the world, wondering what the hell had just happened--but then, I brushed it aside.  Tried not to think about it.  Because I couldn't, right?  What was the point?

...

Funny thing about second chances:  they give you this opportunity to not only try again, but to approach the thing as like a fresh start, with a fresh brain, etc. And sometimes, it's just the thing that you need.  Your little gift.  Your happy little curveball.

...

I booked it :)

Monday, April 18, 2011

A Starving Artist Addresses the "Now Network"

Dear Sprint,

Nearly two months ago, I made the incredibly responsible decision of joining your network.  "Responsible" in that when reviewing the phone bills of my boyfriend and I over the past four and half years, we noticed that he had been paying 1/3 of what I was on a competing network.  We threw our hands in the air in an "Eff THAT!"-fashion and, after an ugly incident with a reckless cup of coffee and my former phone (...), I traded it all in for You.  For You.

I joined a Family Plan, Sprint.  A Family Plan!  That's, like, a big deal.

And here I've been on my new network (aka, You) with my Family Plan (aka, Whoa.) and my new glorious day of a phone for the past two months.  So.

...

Where the hell is my $100-rebate, Sprint?
Where?

...

You're a big ol corporation so I know that $100 means a whole lot of nothing to you.  But, let me tell you what it means to Me, Starving Artist-Me:

Lots, Sprint.  Lots.

This, Sprint, could have been the down-payment on my bridesmaid's dress for my best friend's wedding in October.

This could have purchased a plane ticket (A one-way.  Still.)  for that cat who I share said Family Plan with and I to actually see each other.

This could have purchased me another class, another workshop, two audition dresses (thoroughly unnecessary, but it would have been amazing), a cheap gym membership, an entire month's-worth of groceries,  a more generous student loan-payment beyond the minimum for once.  A touch-up of my tattoo--because for the most part, I forget it's even there, it's faded so much.  A hell of a lot of business cards.  One-hundred packs of Orbitz...doesn't matter.  Point is:  this has become obnoxious.

I did precisely what you told me; the day after I joined on up, I sent in my paperwork.
"You'll receive your rebate in 30-45 days."
Pffft, oh Sprint, you and your silly foolish overestimations.  You.

...

It took you 30 days just to tell me you needed the paperwork again.
And so, I sent it in the next day.
And now, it's three weeks later--and I still have 30-45 days.

"Your paperwork was processed on April 8th."
But, I sent it in March 29th.
"Yes.  Your paperwork was processed on April 8th. You should receive your rebate by May 20th."

MAY 20TH?!?!?!
SPRINT!!!
Sprint.
I don't think you understand, Sprint.

You tell someone who doesn't have a ton of money that they should be expecting some kind of money to come in, that person instantaneously starts making plans, big grand ones and/or stupid little ones but either way, happy ones.  And beyond that, the person simply starts to rely on the fact that it's going to be there.  Soon.

Quit TOYING with me, Sprint!  Don't drag this out!!

I want to thank you for what I hope will be a future of smaller phone bills, and what I know will be a future of pretty picture taking, 24/7-access to cnn.com (etc.) and Angry Birds.  I will be good, I will be loyal, I will potentially consider singing your praises but dear sweet jesus, come ON!

One-hundred freaking bucks.

That's at least 30 loaves of zucchini bread that I could bake.  For you.  Is that what you want?
IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!?!

...

Best,
Angela