I graduated from high school 11 years ago yesterday.
...
I could get all nauseous-like about this. Get nostalgic and think about my 11th birthday. Do the whole "I'm old, what exactly have I done in 11 years?"-thing.
I could. Any of that. Entirely.
...
I was actually home last weekend. I took three days to pop home and see my family, my best friend (for the SECOND WEEKEND IN A ROW) who's getting hitched in four months, and to make a sneak attack on a bridal shower for another dear friend from childhood. Seven shades of bliss crammed into 57 hours.
My hometown is roughly 6.5 hours west of the Apple.
As cliche as it sounds to say that it's a completely different world, it is. Completely. It's quiet and suburban-borderline-country...a million miles of green, a million miles of lake, barns, vineyards, and this tiny little Main Street that has essentially nothing on it that isn't a family-owned operation.
Everyone. Knows. Everyone. There's only 10,000 people there, and most of whom have always been there--and there's a tremendous coziness in that.
It is, hands down, the single sweetest place I know.
I woke up in my bed last Friday morning (the same exact one that I've slept in since I was 7), completely panic stricken. I was overwhelmed by this terrifying little humming droan-ish sound and I had no idea where it was coming from but I thought it was wrong, totally wrong, something was amiss, this was an alarm of some kind and I didn't like it.
And then I sat there.
And my window was wide open, and there was an actual breeze--that didn't smell of concrete or garbage or pizza, but lilacs. My dad's lilacs.
And then my simple little suburban-bred brain kinda creaked itself open and went You're crazy. That's not an alarm. Those are wind chimes. Wind chimes, Angela.
Where. The shit. AM I?!
And I promptly ran downstairs to drink coffee on my front porch, just because I could, with no agenda, no place to be, no cacophony to distract me whatsoever.
It was foreign and wonderful and ideal and kind of out-of-body-like. And Home. Wonderful wonderful Home. Plain and simply.
...But Home is not a place that I could live. Which sounds weird to say. I mean to say that it's not a place that I could stay and plant myself, and I pretty much always knew that I couldn't, and there's a part of me that's always been kinda heartbroken about that.
But I couldn't.
In the lovely little whitebread storybook wonderland where I was raised, there is nary a starving artist to be found.
Nary an "artist" beyond the people who dip into Rochester to do the occasional play, the folk musicians who play in the townie bars, the jewelry makers and the woodworkers. And that's all great, really and truly it is. That's an absolute part of its absolute charm.
But it's just not a thing that I could do. And I know that about myself.
Correspondingly, it's always a funny thing to dip back there, surrounded by all of these people who you love and always unconditionally will, but all of whom are either teachers, lawyers, counselors or craftsmen.
And all of whom have gardens.
And all of whom drive cars.
And all of whom are either married or getting there, and talking kids and buying houses and health insurance and vacations. Known things. Stability. In general.
I am a foreign foreign object in this place any more.
And it's taken me quite awhile to get ok with this, to not feel like I'm screaming WOOOOO! Odd duck. ODD DUCK!! Right here!! whenever I walk into Wegmans.
But now: it's totally fun.
"So wait. How much are you paying for your place?"
Well, the whole thing is $2550, but it just got raised a little...
"...How do you DO that?!"
Meh.
"And you're just...acting?!"
Welllllll, no, not quite. That's where I hope to be...
"Wait. What else do you do?!"
Oh. Ummm...
"Ohmygod, have you been on Broadway yet?!?!"
Nooooooo no no no no no. Trust me, you would know.
"Are you gonna be soon?!"
...That'd be nice. ...
"Don't you miss having a car?"
I mean sometimes, yeah, a lot.
"But how do you get around?"
I just take the train. Or walk. Or both.
"But like far?!"
Sure!
"Like every day?"
Well. Yeah.
"Wow. ...With groceries?"
You gotta.
"Hm. ..."
...
"...So when are you getting married?"
Eleven-and-a-half years.
"That's pretty precise."
Sure. I've mapped it all out.
"Damn."
Right?!
And every time as I'm having this conversation, I'm cognizant of the fact that I would have never predicted such a path for myself....eleven years ago. I don't really know what I thought beyond the idea that I'd maybe be married and maybe be driving myself to go act at some kind of permanent acting job somewhere in my cute little silver Honda Civic. Looking cute. And going home to water the irises and tigerlilies in my front yard.
Somewhere foreign.
Somewhere almost scary.
But somewhere that felt like home.
...And it's not quite the scenario that my 18 year-old fantasy dictated, but I got about 1/3rd of it right.
...
I sat at this bridal shower last Saturday, in the living room of this huge beautiful house, in the middle of the sunniest day I'd seen in a long time, watching my friend the honoree open hand blenders, and lingerie gift certificates, and bath towels, and recipe books...and she was beaming. And I looked around the room, at all of the other beaming faces--the moms, and the grandmas, and the aunts, and the sisters, and the cousins...beautiful married home-owning friend number one, beautiful married home-owning friend number two, one beautiful nearly-married and blissful friend.
And then my best friend--my engaged tenure-tracked beautiful remarkable best friend--who was looking at me, giddy, and beaming, and who grabbed my hand for no reason to give it a squeeze, but just held it for awhile instead.
And I guess...
...I guess it's just nice to know that there are places in this world that you're not necessarily meant to stay in, but where a part of you will always undoubtedly belong.
That even as I'm running all over this city, doing this acting-thing that I love and that I know I'm meant for, but dodging "Cut your hair"s and "Get a new headshot"s and "Find a better monologue"s and "Why are you so perky?"s, attempting to find some kind balance and ground between these tremendous ups and tremendous downs--sometimes, I can just say Screw it.
Sometimes, I can just go west. To somewhere foreign.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
A Starving Artist's Extra Credit
Due to my big fat experience on the Bored to Death-set and just because I'd simply never done it before, I figured What the hell and submitted myself for a gig as an extra.
And I got it.
...
Now that I have spent two 17 hour-days back-to-back on a set in such a position, I should like to give you a run-down of exactly what this all looks like:
1) Call the casting services at 9:30pm to get your call-time for the next day...and thereby find out that it is at 5:40am at a random corner in the upper-chunk of Manhattan. Meaning that you need to wake-up by (realistically) 3:30am. You should sleep...
2) ...But you can't because you're (A) wound-up and (B) have to pack a million pounds of winter coats and possibilities for "Minnesotan-winter funeral attire". Decide what that term means, dig out your thickest coats, find whatever pairs of matching gloves that you can...and then sleep.
3) ...Almost. Check the weather report for further preparedness: it is going to be at least 90-degrees tomorrow. Well, shit.
4) Pass out on the couch at midnight.
5) Wake-up like a shot at 3:30am, run around to make coffee and look as "camera ready" as this hour allows.
6) Call a cab at 4:30am...because you realize that attempting such a hike on a train this early could take potentially two hours.
7) Thirty-five dollars and 65 minutes later, you are on a bus bound for Connecticut (Connecticut?) --and pass out in the world's most awkward fetal position.
8) An hour later, the bus stops, your limbs are all asleep, you have the fabric pattern of the bus seat imprinted on your poorly make-upped face, but you need to roll onto the set. Now.
9) You're in the holding tent...behind a large funeral home. There is coffee, and fruit, and comfy-looking chairs (ish)--and yelling. Everyone is yelling. Dear god, how is this possible--how is this much yelling even possible this early? You run to get your wardrobe approved--because you're afraid that you'll get your throat slit otherwise.
10) While doing so, you're asked if you have anything "cuter-looking, like any cocktail dresses".
Well, they said Minnesotan-winter funeral attire so, I have layers of stuff and all those coats and everything so...
"So no?"
...No. Oh man, no. I don't.
"OK. No. That's ok, we'll...think of something."
...Shit.
11) While sitting in the holding tent making sweet sweet love to your coffee (while sitting there in your fitted cute black borrowed-cocktail dress...and black hulking winter boots...unfortunate...) the PA who scares you and sounds much like Rosanne Barr begins to squawk:
"EXTRAAAAAAAAAAS!!! LISTENNNNNNNNN: you canNOT! SIT! On the LEFT SIIIIIIIIIIIDE of the TENT! That is for CREW and PRINCIPALS ONLYYYYYY!!!! YOU GUYYYYYYYYYS NEEEEEEEEED to BEEEEEEEEEEEE on the RIGHT SIIIIIDE!!!!!"
Instantaneously, people try to protest: there's not enough room, we need to spread-out, what if there are people in our bunch who are claustrophobic and feeling overly congested by the number of winter coats lying around...
"You GUYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYS!!!!! NO! No. RIGHT side ONLYYYYYYYYYYY!!!! ONLY the RIIIGHT SIIIIDE! Pick up your STUFF, and MOVE IT RIGHT NOWWWWWWWW and MAKE SOME ROOM! It is NOT HARRRRRRRD!!!!!"
Shuffling, sneers and mumbles abounding. You then realize that you are but one in a herd of entitled-feeling cattle in a very small pen...and that this is going to be a long long day.
12) At 8am, the first group of extras is called to set. You are not among them, so you take this opportunity to work on your crossword puzzle.
13) At 9am, the second group is called to set...wash, rinse, repeat.
14) At 9:45am...the same. You find a new crossword puzzle and a much larger cup of coffee.
15) At 10:10am: "You GUYYYYYYYYYYS!!!! ANYone who has NOT been CALLED, GRAB YOUR COATS and your APPROOOOOOOOOOOVED GLOVES AND SCARVES ETCETERAAAAA and LINE UP! OUTSIDE! THE FUNERAL HOME!!! RIGHT OUT BACK THERRRRRRE!!!! OUT! SIIIIIIIIIDE!!!! QUICKLYYYYYY!!!!"
Eager and highly-caffeinated, you fly like the wind.
16) At 10:35am, you are still standing outside of the funeral home in your longest woolen winter coat and further winter attire...your phone says that it is already 84-degrees outside. A number of the women standing around you begin to complain.
"Ugh. They would have never had us stand around like this on 30 Rock."
"I know, right?! They're so nice there. Not here."
"When were you there last? Last season?"
"Ummmm, no. Last week. I did The Good Wife for a day, and then 30 Rock."
"Oh. Nice. I mean, I shot there for two days a couple weeks ago, too. It was great."
"Oh."
"Yeah..."
"Boardwalk was brutal last week. Like, bru-tal."
"I'm suuuuuure. Not like this, though, right?"
"Ugh. No. No way. NOTHING like this. Not at all."
"Nothing is."
"I know."
"Ugh, GOD! I know."
...
...Ohhhh boy.
17) At 10:50am, you are ushered on to set, and spend the next half an hour getting filmed walking back and forth across a hallway. The woman walking across the hall with you grips onto your elbow (like she's punishing you, or attempting to guide you somewhere...or both) and continually yells at you to walk slower.
18) You are given new positions and told to take your coats back to the tent, "This scene is funeral-cocktail attire only!"
Your former scene partner throws her coat at you.
"Take this to the tent for me," fluffs her hair, stomps away. Like the wild lady-beast that she is.
...
19) You begin another half an hour of walking back and forth across a hallway...from a different angle.
The lady-beast leers at you whenever possible, and you attempt to avoid having an awkward stare-down with her.
Another woman with an atrocious perm (that you later find out is a weave...from Avon..."This was $14, if you can believe it, doesn't it look healthy? And full?"...) yells at you to walk faster.
...
20) "You GUYYYYYYYYYYYS!!!!!!! EXTRAAAAAAAS!!! BACK TO HOLDIIIIIIING!!!!!" ...Where you sit for three hours. With two more crossword puzzles.
"Oooh, hey, can I help you with that?"
Oh! Sure.
"Where you at?"
Um, 89-Down: Narrow groove, as in a muscle...
"OOH! Oooh yeah, that's uh....um...Shoot, I know it..."
...
"Ooh! No! You know what, there, 5-Across, what's that?!"
Oh. OK: Chihuahua's breed group. Three letters.
"Yeah! Isn't that just 'dog'?!" ...
...Ummmm....
Oh. God. Dammit.
21) Lunch break. All crew and AFTRA-members stay and do craft services in the tent, where there is swordfish and cucumber water and like this salad bar and all these amazing decadent things. Which you don't need anyway, because you're assuming that you still have "too much thigh". It's fine. You're over it, swear to god...
You report outside, where non-unioners have noodles and cookies.
...You run for more caffeine. And some Starbursts. And mixed greens with no dressing--because non-unioners apparently don't get dressing. Today at least.
22) Over the next five hours, you're sent to stand in line behind the funeral home to be ready to go on set 4 different times. Each time, you are there for 45 minutes, with no word as to if you'll be used, if you can go elsewhere to like meander or pee, nothing.
You chug three more cups of coffee, and a Diet Coke, listen to this guy who weighs like a buck-thirty get into a heated debate about circuit training with a personal trainer (and want to crawl into a hole and die), and become involuntarily pulled into a fake boxing-match with a guy who says that you're evil (...).
23) You pet Parker Posey's dog. And then an older couple walks by, carrying an urn.
...
You're dismissed back to holding.
24) After conducting a lesson in both Shakespeare and the wonder that is 'the moose-knuckle' (which sent the buck-thirty guy running around the holding tent asking everyone "So, uh, would you say I have a moose-knuckle? Really, do I?" the extras are all called together...
...And DISMISSED! FOR THE DAY!!!!
...It's 7:30pm.
"You GUYYYYYYYYYS!!!!!! CALL the CASTING HOTLIIIIIIIINE at 9! 30!!!!!"
23) You return to Brooklyn at 9:45pm. You discover you are due back to the bus at 6:45am. (I get to sleep an extra hour!!!!!!!)
24) Repeat steps 3-9, 11-15.
25) You are called on set at 11am, take another half an hour getting filmed walking back and forth across a hallway--a skill at which you've become particularly masterful at.
26) They are preparing to shoot a pivotal scene: Laura Linney is giving the eulogy at Cynthia Nixon's unborn child's funeral.
YOU are going to be directly in the shot, right over over Cynthia Nixon's shoulder--so you get to ACT! THIS IS GREAT!
They want to pair you with a boy in the shot.
They choose the buck-thirty guy.
"So...what's a moose-knuckle again?"
...Ohhhhh myyyyyy GOD!
27) Buck-thirty guy apparently is too elastic-faced for the scene (but YOU'RE not! Way to take a note...) and is thankfully replaced.
28) You've acted, you feel super good, you're TOLD you did super good (Hoorayyyy!)...you're dismissed to holding.
29) Repeat steps 20-22...replace noodles with rice and veggies, Starbursts with Jelly Bellies, and awkward circuit training-conversation with "I have money, lots, and this is why it's so important...". ...
30) At 6:30pm, you are called back onto set to be background in front of a sushi bar...with Parker Posey and her son on the show. You try to not look at her too hard or acknowledge the fact that you want almost her exact career (FACT: I. Love. Parker Posey.) or just generally be weird. (Don't be weird.)
...You're not. SUCCESS!
31) You're dismissed back to holding just as the Waffles and Dinges-truck pulls up for the crew...and the septic tanks of the Port-a-Potties are being purged immediately next to the tent. ...Yes.
32) Following an hour of putzing (looking up a sundry of different origins of terms on Wikipedia, thinking up new ways to avoid buck-thirty guy, discussing which borough is better and why...and drinking more caffeine--mistake......)
"You GUYYYYYYYYYS!!!!!! EXTRAAAAAAAAS!!!!! You're WRAPPED!"
HOORAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYDear. Sweet. Jesus.
It's not that the work is bad. It's not. At all.
But godDAMN it's exhausting. And in multiple regards.
Fantastic for people-watching, fantastic for just the experience...but I feel like it's not a thing I want to frequent doing.
BUT! At least I can say I've done it. And at least you'll SEE ME, which is neat...but hopefully only from the face up.
Because this bitch apparently needs to fine-tune her sense of Minnesotan-winter funeral attire.
And I got it.
...
Now that I have spent two 17 hour-days back-to-back on a set in such a position, I should like to give you a run-down of exactly what this all looks like:
1) Call the casting services at 9:30pm to get your call-time for the next day...and thereby find out that it is at 5:40am at a random corner in the upper-chunk of Manhattan. Meaning that you need to wake-up by (realistically) 3:30am. You should sleep...
2) ...But you can't because you're (A) wound-up and (B) have to pack a million pounds of winter coats and possibilities for "Minnesotan-winter funeral attire". Decide what that term means, dig out your thickest coats, find whatever pairs of matching gloves that you can...and then sleep.
3) ...Almost. Check the weather report for further preparedness: it is going to be at least 90-degrees tomorrow. Well, shit.
4) Pass out on the couch at midnight.
5) Wake-up like a shot at 3:30am, run around to make coffee and look as "camera ready" as this hour allows.
6) Call a cab at 4:30am...because you realize that attempting such a hike on a train this early could take potentially two hours.
7) Thirty-five dollars and 65 minutes later, you are on a bus bound for Connecticut (Connecticut?) --and pass out in the world's most awkward fetal position.
8) An hour later, the bus stops, your limbs are all asleep, you have the fabric pattern of the bus seat imprinted on your poorly make-upped face, but you need to roll onto the set. Now.
9) You're in the holding tent...behind a large funeral home. There is coffee, and fruit, and comfy-looking chairs (ish)--and yelling. Everyone is yelling. Dear god, how is this possible--how is this much yelling even possible this early? You run to get your wardrobe approved--because you're afraid that you'll get your throat slit otherwise.
10) While doing so, you're asked if you have anything "cuter-looking, like any cocktail dresses".
Well, they said Minnesotan-winter funeral attire so, I have layers of stuff and all those coats and everything so...
"So no?"
...No. Oh man, no. I don't.
"OK. No. That's ok, we'll...think of something."
...Shit.
11) While sitting in the holding tent making sweet sweet love to your coffee (while sitting there in your fitted cute black borrowed-cocktail dress...and black hulking winter boots...unfortunate...) the PA who scares you and sounds much like Rosanne Barr begins to squawk:
"EXTRAAAAAAAAAAS!!! LISTENNNNNNNNN: you canNOT! SIT! On the LEFT SIIIIIIIIIIIDE of the TENT! That is for CREW and PRINCIPALS ONLYYYYYY!!!! YOU GUYYYYYYYYYS NEEEEEEEEED to BEEEEEEEEEEEE on the RIGHT SIIIIIDE!!!!!"
Instantaneously, people try to protest: there's not enough room, we need to spread-out, what if there are people in our bunch who are claustrophobic and feeling overly congested by the number of winter coats lying around...
"You GUYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYS!!!!! NO! No. RIGHT side ONLYYYYYYYYYYY!!!! ONLY the RIIIGHT SIIIIDE! Pick up your STUFF, and MOVE IT RIGHT NOWWWWWWWW and MAKE SOME ROOM! It is NOT HARRRRRRRD!!!!!"
Shuffling, sneers and mumbles abounding. You then realize that you are but one in a herd of entitled-feeling cattle in a very small pen...and that this is going to be a long long day.
12) At 8am, the first group of extras is called to set. You are not among them, so you take this opportunity to work on your crossword puzzle.
13) At 9am, the second group is called to set...wash, rinse, repeat.
14) At 9:45am...the same. You find a new crossword puzzle and a much larger cup of coffee.
15) At 10:10am: "You GUYYYYYYYYYYS!!!! ANYone who has NOT been CALLED, GRAB YOUR COATS and your APPROOOOOOOOOOOVED GLOVES AND SCARVES ETCETERAAAAA and LINE UP! OUTSIDE! THE FUNERAL HOME!!! RIGHT OUT BACK THERRRRRRE!!!! OUT! SIIIIIIIIIDE!!!! QUICKLYYYYYY!!!!"
Eager and highly-caffeinated, you fly like the wind.
16) At 10:35am, you are still standing outside of the funeral home in your longest woolen winter coat and further winter attire...your phone says that it is already 84-degrees outside. A number of the women standing around you begin to complain.
"Ugh. They would have never had us stand around like this on 30 Rock."
"I know, right?! They're so nice there. Not here."
"When were you there last? Last season?"
"Ummmm, no. Last week. I did The Good Wife for a day, and then 30 Rock."
"Oh. Nice. I mean, I shot there for two days a couple weeks ago, too. It was great."
"Oh."
"Yeah..."
"Boardwalk was brutal last week. Like, bru-tal."
"I'm suuuuuure. Not like this, though, right?"
"Ugh. No. No way. NOTHING like this. Not at all."
"Nothing is."
"I know."
"Ugh, GOD! I know."
...
...Ohhhh boy.
17) At 10:50am, you are ushered on to set, and spend the next half an hour getting filmed walking back and forth across a hallway. The woman walking across the hall with you grips onto your elbow (like she's punishing you, or attempting to guide you somewhere...or both) and continually yells at you to walk slower.
18) You are given new positions and told to take your coats back to the tent, "This scene is funeral-cocktail attire only!"
Your former scene partner throws her coat at you.
"Take this to the tent for me," fluffs her hair, stomps away. Like the wild lady-beast that she is.
...
19) You begin another half an hour of walking back and forth across a hallway...from a different angle.
The lady-beast leers at you whenever possible, and you attempt to avoid having an awkward stare-down with her.
Another woman with an atrocious perm (that you later find out is a weave...from Avon..."This was $14, if you can believe it, doesn't it look healthy? And full?"...) yells at you to walk faster.
...
20) "You GUYYYYYYYYYYYS!!!!!!! EXTRAAAAAAAS!!! BACK TO HOLDIIIIIIING!!!!!" ...Where you sit for three hours. With two more crossword puzzles.
"Oooh, hey, can I help you with that?"
Oh! Sure.
"Where you at?"
Um, 89-Down: Narrow groove, as in a muscle...
"OOH! Oooh yeah, that's uh....um...Shoot, I know it..."
...
"Ooh! No! You know what, there, 5-Across, what's that?!"
Oh. OK: Chihuahua's breed group. Three letters.
"Yeah! Isn't that just 'dog'?!" ...
...Ummmm....
Oh. God. Dammit.
21) Lunch break. All crew and AFTRA-members stay and do craft services in the tent, where there is swordfish and cucumber water and like this salad bar and all these amazing decadent things. Which you don't need anyway, because you're assuming that you still have "too much thigh". It's fine. You're over it, swear to god...
You report outside, where non-unioners have noodles and cookies.
...You run for more caffeine. And some Starbursts. And mixed greens with no dressing--because non-unioners apparently don't get dressing. Today at least.
22) Over the next five hours, you're sent to stand in line behind the funeral home to be ready to go on set 4 different times. Each time, you are there for 45 minutes, with no word as to if you'll be used, if you can go elsewhere to like meander or pee, nothing.
You chug three more cups of coffee, and a Diet Coke, listen to this guy who weighs like a buck-thirty get into a heated debate about circuit training with a personal trainer (and want to crawl into a hole and die), and become involuntarily pulled into a fake boxing-match with a guy who says that you're evil (...).
23) You pet Parker Posey's dog. And then an older couple walks by, carrying an urn.
...
You're dismissed back to holding.
24) After conducting a lesson in both Shakespeare and the wonder that is 'the moose-knuckle' (which sent the buck-thirty guy running around the holding tent asking everyone "So, uh, would you say I have a moose-knuckle? Really, do I?" the extras are all called together...
...And DISMISSED! FOR THE DAY!!!!
...It's 7:30pm.
"You GUYYYYYYYYYS!!!!!! CALL the CASTING HOTLIIIIIIIINE at 9! 30!!!!!"
23) You return to Brooklyn at 9:45pm. You discover you are due back to the bus at 6:45am. (I get to sleep an extra hour!!!!!!!)
24) Repeat steps 3-9, 11-15.
25) You are called on set at 11am, take another half an hour getting filmed walking back and forth across a hallway--a skill at which you've become particularly masterful at.
26) They are preparing to shoot a pivotal scene: Laura Linney is giving the eulogy at Cynthia Nixon's unborn child's funeral.
YOU are going to be directly in the shot, right over over Cynthia Nixon's shoulder--so you get to ACT! THIS IS GREAT!
They want to pair you with a boy in the shot.
They choose the buck-thirty guy.
"So...what's a moose-knuckle again?"
...Ohhhhh myyyyyy GOD!
27) Buck-thirty guy apparently is too elastic-faced for the scene (but YOU'RE not! Way to take a note...) and is thankfully replaced.
28) You've acted, you feel super good, you're TOLD you did super good (Hoorayyyy!)...you're dismissed to holding.
29) Repeat steps 20-22...replace noodles with rice and veggies, Starbursts with Jelly Bellies, and awkward circuit training-conversation with "I have money, lots, and this is why it's so important...". ...
30) At 6:30pm, you are called back onto set to be background in front of a sushi bar...with Parker Posey and her son on the show. You try to not look at her too hard or acknowledge the fact that you want almost her exact career (FACT: I. Love. Parker Posey.) or just generally be weird. (Don't be weird.)
...You're not. SUCCESS!
31) You're dismissed back to holding just as the Waffles and Dinges-truck pulls up for the crew...and the septic tanks of the Port-a-Potties are being purged immediately next to the tent. ...Yes.
32) Following an hour of putzing (looking up a sundry of different origins of terms on Wikipedia, thinking up new ways to avoid buck-thirty guy, discussing which borough is better and why...and drinking more caffeine--mistake......)
"You GUYYYYYYYYYS!!!!!! EXTRAAAAAAAAS!!!!! You're WRAPPED!"
HOORAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYDear. Sweet. Jesus.
It's not that the work is bad. It's not. At all.
But godDAMN it's exhausting. And in multiple regards.
Fantastic for people-watching, fantastic for just the experience...but I feel like it's not a thing I want to frequent doing.
BUT! At least I can say I've done it. And at least you'll SEE ME, which is neat...but hopefully only from the face up.
Because this bitch apparently needs to fine-tune her sense of Minnesotan-winter funeral attire.
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