The Ikea Nesting Instinct

Name that movie. Yesterday, for the first time in a couple years, I went down to the local Ikea, which I know can mean up to a 3 hour drive but luckily is only about 10 minutes for me, to buy a bookshelf. Also along for the ride was roommate Laura, who, as I found out on our way there, had never been to an Ikea. How exciting! It's like going to Disney World, only you get to bring a piece of Toon Town home! (And build it yourself! And if it breaks who cares because it was so cheap!)

Anyways, I admire Laura because she showed incredibly admirable restraint for a first-timer. Granted, a thingmabob was bought here and there, but she actually spent less than I did. Why? Two reasons. Reason the 1st) I bought new linens. I've become more "cosmetically aware" in my three years in the apartment, so I decided to get some sassy orange towels to go better with my blue shower curtain, and retire the old browns to the linen closet for emergency use (I am 5% more gay after writing that sentence . . . maybe 7%, since I used the word "sassy"). In my "cosmetically aware" defense, my bathroom is also the guest bathroom, so I'd like it to be pretty.

So then, reason number two? I GOT MY OWN COOKWARE! Woo! Yeah! After lusting over some pots and pans all throughout the "Kitchen and Dining" zone (. . . 10%), we finally arrive at "Cooking and Eating" and I find and fall in love with my new stuffs for cooking. We get home, and some easy assembly later, BOOM! Done. Had already committed to baked sausage last night, but know how I celebrated my new utensils? THAT'S RIGHT, OMELETTE-TIME, BABY (-10% and then plus a MILLION % for awesome)! For 10 bucks I got two non-stick frying pans, one big and one tiny and omlette-sized, and I can't believe how non-stick-errific they are. This will be the pan that accomplishes the pan-flip. And it is mine, free and clear. How right. It almost goes without saying that this morning's was my official new best omelette ever.

Anyway, back to Ikea. We ended up buying "Billy", an unassuming and inexpensive bookcase in "brown-black", this kinda neat black color with bits of lighter wood. Haven't built it yet (please. We had to eat and then I had to watch Mad Men twice in a row). The actual building process will probably get its own blog, I mean, c'mon. Incidentally, I love how I refer to my bookshelf as a "he" because "his" name is Billy. I remember build end-table "Dave" for a friend a couple years ago. It was funny, because we actually knew a guy named Dave in college and imbued the table with all his personality traits.

So, please, comments: what's your favorite piece of named Ikea furniture? Do you feel closer because you're on a first-name basis?

Coping with Rejection: a Meditation

Acting as a business is fraught with rejection, disapproval, doubt, irony; you name the negative self-defeating thing, it's there. And the truly sucky part is that, for the good actor, every audition is its own separate entity to be prepared for and invested in, which means that each shortcoming is unique and affecting in its own way. Every actor deals with it differently, though there are patterns. One of my personal favorites, response to the question "were you called back?":

"Well, no. I felt really good about the audition and I sounded good, even the director said 'that was great!' Ultimately, I just don't think I'm right for the show, I have more of a [insert voice type, acting style, or look] and they're going for a [insert subtley derrogatory assessment of the genre of show just auditioned for], so I know it wasn't personal."

This response goes hand in hand with this one, to the question "what are you doing next?":

"I think I'm going to take a little break, try to make a little money before really getting out there again, plus I'm tired from the show I just did and haven't had a life in a while, you know?" This is code for "I've haven't got shit."

I don't see what the fear is in showing that yes, you did care about what you just did. Can't show a kink in the ol' confidence, can you? The truth is, at least for me, the harder I work on something, the more emotionally involved I become (obviously, since acting involves emotion), so if something doesn't work out after a lot of hard work, I get pissed. It wears off, I get over it, but dammit if it doesn't make me reflect on every single callback I ever got for any audition that even slightly pailed to the one I just did. Every x factor enters my mind -

Did I staple through my phone number? No, if they wanted to reach you, they could. That is a ridiculous reason to not get a callback?

What about that guy who was "talkin' me up" to the director? Directors HATE that! If they wanted you it wouldn't have affected their opinion.

How could [insert name of similar-type actor] get a callback and not me? Maybe he had a really good audition. Jeez, you're starting to really stretch here.

Did I act too much? Did they just want to me wail? Ok, now you're just saying stupid shit, irrationally panning the artistic direction of the panel but skewing what you did into a glorified "good" definition of theatre and reducing all else to a "bad" category. Or just whining.

So, in answer to your questions: "where you called back?" No, I was not. Sometimes that just happens. "What are you doing next?" Nothing. Not by choice, but that doesn't mean I won't enjoy the free time.

(Sigh) Theatre, man. Gotta love it.

Aging Actor

On the cusp of 26, you wouldn't think I'd feel "old" as an actor. Turns out life can still surprise you, especially at an open non-Equity call for Rent.

I wouldn't even say it was because of the other people there - it was pretty much the usual suspects in the DC non-Eq young folk crowd, the same guys I've run into lightsaber-fightin' and pirate-talkin' at plenty of other auditions this summer (and yes, I've done those things at auditions. I do love this business). But sitting on the steps of the Church St. Theatre with a couple other late-twentysomethings, I reflected on the culmination of things that gave me this "old" feeling.

It started a couple weeks ago, with nostalgia. I've been listening to Rent a lot more lately, for the first time in a while. It takes me back to 1997, twelve years ago. My brother brought the CD home with him from a trip to see the show in New York. I was in middle school, didn't really do theatre yet, and we listened to that CD like every day in the car (probably explains why I still know the first 15 minutes of the show verbatim, but couldn't tell you the second line of "Without You"). At 13, still being ravaged by puberty, I remember really relating to Mark, even if it was only because he was "a little nerdy". I had lavish fantasies of staging "Christmas Bells" for the senior talent show, blissfully unaware of the needs for "sheet music" or "rehearsals" or "a director who has the first clue what he's doing". This show's been part of almost half my life.

That's the other thing we remembered, me, Emily, Shannon, Rachael, sitting on those steps: this is the generation that grew up with Rent. Finally, after all those years on Broadway, all those tours, the rights are finally available, and our generation is old enough to play those parts. Some of us are on our way out of that age. I can't really see this show getting produced a lot, despite its popularity. So this might be the only time I ever audition for this.

Then the weird part: I pick a Mark piece for the audition, and as I'm prepping and working it, I realize I've already been through this. Yes, clearly I haven't lived penniless in the East Village, but Mark's detached observer deal? That was me in college. The loneliness, the not-interacting-but-taking-lots-of-pictures thing.

So that's how Rent suddenly makes me feel . . . not "old", but grown up.