My Best Worst Audition Ever

Improv is an art form. It relies on the world view of the performer. It is said many times that you must react honestly and respond in the moment to what is happening in your scene. This is why “good improv” is subject to the viewer’s opinion. People sometimes joke that improv is a form of therapy. I always think improvisers need therapy (including myself). I recently had an improv audition that was a true life lesson.

I arrived 30 minutes before my audition, as directed, so that I could meet and warm up with the other actors in my group. Since improv can be (and should, in my opinion) a personal stage experience between two actors, I like to have some degree of familiarity with someone before I perform. There were only 4 of us out of the expected 8 that were on time. The other actors showed up right at the time of the audition and we all filed into the room without even having introduced ourselves. Oh well, let’s roll with it and improvise!

My first scene was goodish. The actress initiated, I supported it, we found a decent game to play and we had fun and vivid characters. Score! The next scene I did was going to be amazing, since I was instructed to initiate the first line of the scene. I always feel a little more comfortable and in control if I am giving the first line.

“Well hello, Martha! You know what the best thing about giving back to the homeless is? You get to feel better about yourself!” I could see myself as a society matron, full of misdirected love. My object work rocked. I spooned out large globs of soup to invisible homeless people going down the cafeteria line. Then, my scene partner stepped out to deliver his support line.

“Oh Barbara, I’m so glad you brought me here.” He had a creepy look in his eye. He slithered over and wrapped his arms around my body and hugged me. He wouldn’t let go. It was a very intense and physical embrace, especially for a stranger who came late and didn’t bother introducing themselves. I slipped into panic mode and I got thrown off in the scene. It became awkwardly fighty. My sincere reaction was for his character to get the fuck off me and stop touching me. I told him to “go fold napkins”. Horrible. Definitely not the textbook improv they were looking for.

We both acted the roles very well and were able to justify any curveballs we threw at each other. After the audition, the guy stalked up to me and asked, “Did you like our scene?”

“Are you still in character?”

“Mayyyyybe.”

“You’re creeping me out!”

“Sorry.” He dropped the act. “Seriously, though. Did you like it?”

Now, I am an honest individual. It is nearly impossible for me to lie or pretend to like something that I don’t. What you see is exactly what you get – for better or worse.

“Well, I didn’t think it was great. I got thrown off because of the physical nature of the scene, but I should’ve accepted that and gotten more physical with you. I am just not comfortable doing that right away with someone who didn’t show up to the warm up to introduce themselves. “

His face fell and, instantly, I felt bad. He nodded and said that was a valid point. He slinked away.

By the time I got downstairs, I had analyzed everything in my life. I was tripped out. Improv acid. Why don’t I let people hug me? Why is the thought of a stranger touching me so repellent? How did I instinctively go against the training that I know and fight against him in the scene? AND, if that was my honest reaction to what was happening in the scene, why do I feel so bad about how I played it? I waited on the street for this guy to come downstairs. I had to talk to him… like a crazyperson.

“Hey! Wait up!”

He turned around and his eyes brightened, “I was just thinking about you!”

We talked for about fifteen minutes. He told me how he felt bad that he wasn’t more of a team player by showing up on time. I admitted I should have dropped what was in my head and heightened his physicality. We agreed that we did the best we could and talked about our personal beliefs about the art of improv. We shook hands and went our separate ways. Strangers touched by each other. He was a very cool guy. Also, he was very cute.

Neither one of us got a callback from the audition.

What I learned from the audition is this: I must be willing to go with the flow. In everything. A hug can feel good. An unexpected hug should feel better. If someone is wrong, I have to let it go. It takes too much energy to fight, even if the fight is natural. I didn’t need the validation of getting a callback to feel good about my talent. I was myself. What’s funny about me is me, not what people may expect of me. I need to graduate myself to the next level of entertainment – write, direct, be, here, NOW. You must have the bad things in life to be able to appreciate the good things. Balance. Believe in myself. Believe in others. Most of all, love everything.

I can’t believe I just blogged about improv. NERD!

…and I can’t believe you just read it. 

Obama Nailed it!!!

Barack Obama made me cry. My face is still wet and there is snot on my sleeve. I am a strong person, sometimes to the extent of bitchyness, rudeness, and excessive punishment of those who I feel have wronged me. I have big issues surrounding the idea of ‘what is fair?‘ If a stranger cuts in front of me in line at the grocery store, my first reaction is to stab him in the face. For the last 8 years, “president” W. has been cutting the line in front of America. There is a tidal wave of emotions that come from within me when challenged in regards to fairness. I’ve got daddy issues. Sue me.

Tonight, the future President Obama put some things in perspective for me. He is a genuinely amazing individual and someone who wants to do some real good in this nation. He says things that I say, but in a mild, warm, and calm tone. He wants change and he knows how to go about actually changing something. You know how on MySpace there is a section to write down who your hero is? Well, I never really had one. I always put down some sort of joke (Laugh and laugh and fall apart). There is a spirit and an energy from Obama that makes me think he might be able to become the answer for the question “Who is your hero?”

I feel proud to have donated 60 bucks to his campaign. I’d like to say “it’s all I could afford”, but the truth is, I couldn’t even afford that! The 30 minute ad that aired tonight on several TV stations was well worth all the money that was raised for his campaign. You have to use the system to beat the system. Tonight, Barack Obama sealed the deal. He didn’t waste time slandering McCain. He spoke to me. He spoke to us. He just turned all my negativity about this election into a beacon of positivity. I am going to try very hard to keep this feeling of brightness and live it every day. I’m guessing I won’t be able to do that on a consistant basis. Barack Obama makes me want to be a better person.

This is the part were I usually would say something hilarious and undercutting, something that would end a brilliantly funny blog entry – but I don’t have anything funny to say. I just want next Tuesday to come and go and for America to start on a healthy track to healing and togetherness. I feel a lot of love in my heart at this exact moment.

GObama!

Human or Dancer? An Essay.

Close your eyes
Clear your heart
Cut the cord
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

Existentialism bores me; its mild snobbery hurts my brain. So, my initial instinct when I first heard The Killers new song, “Human”, was to jump immediately to being “OVER IT!”, especially after they let me down with their second album, Sam’s Town. With this new single, I thought perhaps the Vegas-based frontman, Brandon Flowers, had crashed his crazy train into a Nevada desert and exploded into a rainbow of drugged out imagery.

Then, I found out his lyrics are a tip of the hat to a Hunter S. Thompson quote saying how America is raising a generation of dancers. Drugged out imagery, indeed.

How do we answer this question? Do we even need to answer? At first, I thought the lyrics to be secondary to the amazing sound of the song. My ears like the music, I just didn’t love the lyric. But now, it has me thinking when I listen to it on the bus ride to work every morning. I look in the faces of everyone on the bus, trudging along to our jobs. Sometimes it feels like we are neither human or dancer. A robotic rhythm overtakes us and we forget what the fuck we were doing in the first place.

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well
You’ve got to let me go

In order to answer this question, one would have to define ‘human’ and ‘dancer’. I believe the meaning of ‘human’ in this lyric is the same as anywhere else. It’s referring to emotions, feelings, and the journey to find ecstacy, which includes strife, flaws, and lessons on the road along the way. ‘Dancer’, I believe, is open to interpretation. People can become metaphorical dancers through life – passionately bouncing and skipping in and out and up and down. We can be carefree dancers, expressing ourselves in a joyful freestyle, or we can be trained dancers who are exacting and purposeful. Neither form of dance is better than the other, it just depends on your personality. Sometimes I dance the waltz. Other times, I’m forced to tango. You have to let go and trust your instincts. Feel the many different types of music. Dancing makes being human more exciting.

Now, I’ve come to the following question – “Aren’t dancers also human?”

I vote yes. Everyone is everything. Humans are dancers and dancers are human. It’s when we forget to dance that we neglect our humanity. Therefore, my official answer to the question, “Are we human or are we dancer?” is – Both. One cannot be without the other. Our soul yearns to “dance”. It is what drives us. The need to create, to have fun, to be happy, to love, to laugh, to everything, to anything is what keeps humans dancing.

Now let’s all fucking dance, because we’re human after all.

PS… I am a boring snob for writing this.

Fallingdown

Maybe this “Age 31″ thing isn’t working out so well. Maybe I should try on a different size, a new, spring color. Some sort of make over is overdue. I’m over it. I have done nothing this week except watch reality TV and pretend to be happy. Ugh. I want to go back to when I wasn’t so krazy.

My landlord cursed at me in Hebrew. I laughed at him. Old Lady Sausage Fingers came back to work after a week long vacation and promptly ate a bowl of oatmeal, mozzerella, an apple and crackers. I knew her menu without even looking at it. The city inspector fucked up some paperwork and now I have to make a new appointment so they can come and inspect the apartment again. Meanwhile, the contractors had to apply for some permit they didn’t have in the first place. So no work is being done on our apartment. I have come to a writers block on the play I’m working on and I feel sad because my creative output is zero – no shows, no rehearsals, nofinishedwritingnoboyfriendsnogentlemancallersnofriendsnohome…

I hope all this New York City-cock-and-balls-bullshit is worth it some day.

“You wanna hang out this weekend?”
“Sure, what are you doing?”
“Not sure yet, I’m waiting to hear back from someone cooler than you.”
“Cooler than me?”
“Well, someone who may further my wants and needs more than you.”
“Um…”
“No offense.”
“OK.”
“You should hang out with those other friends of yours.”
“Yeah. Hey Other Friends, what are you doing this weekend?”
“Hanging out with our hot boyfriends.”
“Oh cool.”
“We’d invite you out, but we don’t want to.”
“I understand. Have fun.”
“I mean, you’re cool.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s just a couples thing.”
“Isn’t James hanging out with you guys tonight?”
“James is hot.”
“Right, of course. I forgot.”
“Maybe you should make plans with your real friends?”
“They’re either busy or crazy or live in California.”
“Or you’ve emotionally alienated yourself.”
“OK, Mr. Therapy.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.”

Ta Ta For Now, Therapy

My therapist is breaking up with me. He looks like an adorable weeble-wobble. I am assuming he is moving to California or somewhere else that steals your soul but doesn’t snow. The day he told me he was leaving, I was going to tell him I wanted to stop sessions soon. Funny timing. A mutual break, very natural. I’m at a great point to be done anyway, and its been exactly two years since the car crash that started it all. I have been eating a ton of fruit this summer. Mostly cantaloupe and pears. It makes your poop different. Recently, I developed an interesting OCD tick where after I crap, I stand up, look at the crap, and, simultaneously flush and say the word ‘excrement’ in my mind – not out loud. I’m moving to Brooklyn soon. Thank god. They have lots of vegetarian grocery stores on Bedford Avenue. Not that I am vegetarian, but lots of hipsters eat that way. Hipsters should piss me off, but they don’t. Instead, I want to make out with them. I shaved my head last weekend because it was Saturday and I didn’t have anything else to do. This is horseshit. I wish I was Anderson Cooper. Fuck. I am excited to put my money I’ll be saving from therapy and join a gym. Also, I will buy some hookers that look like Jake Gyllenhaal. I will also buy a pony.

Shrimp Cakes

I was so hungry on the way to therapy today. I stopped into the closest grocery store and bought the first thing I saw… A hot shrimp cake and a roll.

Today was not my usual day at the doctor’s office so there were many people in the waiting room that I was not used to seeing. Wow. The waiting room on Wednesdays are WAY more interesting than the waiting room on Fridays!!!

First, there was the hottest drug addict I have ever seen sitting in the corner. I sat directly across from him. There was an androgynous young person listening to an ipod wearing a yellow ascot. In the far corner was an extremely happy family. Mom, Dad, and two girls about ten years old who were brushing each others hair. I have no idea what those happy pappy people were doing in the therapist office. A 20-something woman who kept biting her nails. An older man who was sleeping. A mom looking type with salt and pepper hair who was knitting a scarf. A tense gay dude. A crazy old cat lady who kept coughing up phlegm. . A straight guy wearing sunglasses. A 30 year old business woman who was wiping tears away from her eyes. An older obese lady.

And a sweet gay guy eating a shrimp cake.

If you can’t beat ‘em…. become one of ‘em.

Vaginas Are Depressing

It’s three days before I move to Harlem. I had planned two days to pack over this past weekend. It took me 40 minutes. All my belongings, everything that is mine, can be neatly packed into 6 cardboard boxes, two suitcases and a backpack. I also have a desk that was handed down to me from my old neighbor and a small entertainment stand that was found in the trash on 9th Avenue about three years ago. My greatest posessions are my Toshiba 24 inch flat screen TV that I bought with cash from Best Buy when I first moved to NYC and a DELL laptop computer that my mommy bought for me this past summer.

I’m almost 30. I do not own a bed. I don’t have health insurance. I lived in a kitchen for 3 and a half years. My longest job held in NYC was at goddamn Starbucks. I just paid $475.00 for a phone bill that wasn’t mine but was in my name and screwing up my credit. I ate a salad* today because I felt fatter than usual.

* Salad Picture is not meant to look like a Georgia O’Keefe painting. I do not enjoy her paintings and I do not enjoy vaginas. Hers or anyone elses.

All this and I still manage to be a delightful, warm-hearted, comic genius.

Intervention

Drunk at home. I wonder what the fizz-uck I have been doing tonight besides drinking the half empty bottle of SoCo that lies (lays?) inside my neon green man-bag. I may have done some improv earlier tonight. But now I am at home. What have my drunken stumblings stumbled in upon? My DVR player and 18 episodes of Intervention on A&E. Because addiction is art AND entertainment.

I love this show. Love love love. I cannot get enough of the documentary style de-evolution of a human being. I am addicted to this TV show. Like, hardcore. I’ll do anything to get it. I will suck pussy. Does that mean I need an intervention from A&E’s Intervention?

Just say yes to treatment.

Pouyf Nwjh Oa Swjibeiu

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

Yes, Therapy

I am not ashamed to say that I have recently started trying on my therapy shoes. I have never done it before. A surprising amount of people I have talked to have shared with me their therapy experiences and they have been very excited for me. They give me the sense that I am now part of this secret cool club that they have previously not told me about. I figure I don’t know about it because most people don’t talk about it. I am not most people. The world must know everything. I must know the world.

She was a very young, very beautiful, very intense “intake specialist”. I forget how to pronounce her name so I definately can’t spell it for you, but she was in charge of my first experience at the therapist office. She looked like Rosario Dawson and reminded me of those smart people in college courses that I would always go to for notes from the week before. She seemed to stare into my brain and so I was nervous. And when I get nervous I make jokes. She was stoned face. A sample from our conversation:

Her: Name?
Me: Jeff
Her: Full name.
Me: Oh…Jeffrey Roma Marx Junior
Her: Age?
Me: Almost 29. Yikes!
Her: Birthdate?
Me: February 27th 1977
Her: Any history of addiction or alcoholism?
Me: Not per say.
Her: What do you mean?
Me: Well, alcoholism runs in the family but I don’t think I have an issue with it.
Her: Why do you feel that way?
Me: I think my brother got the alcohol gene and I got the gay gene.
Her: You’re a homosexual?
Me: Yup. Gay gay gay.
Her:Do you drink?
Me: Yes, but I don’t need it. I want it.
Her: How many drinks do you drink?
Me: I drink to get drunk. Not like where I’m spinning or barfing or anything.
Her: No. You are not listening. How many drinks?
Me: Oh..like a number?
Her: Yes.
Me: Well, let me think of last night.

I counted on my fingers and thought long and hard. Then I answered…

Me: Well. Last night was 9. But the first 2 were beers so they dont count.

NOTHING! No smile. No crack in the professionalism. She began writing in a flurry of possible judgements and scribbling things like “mask of smiles”. I am in for it. I have a different “intake specialist” this week. I will have my real therapist soon. I hope to share my misadventures….or maybe I have read too many Augusten Burroughs memoirs.

I Love Right Now

J Ro was driving. I was flipping through CDs in the passenger seat. Ian was behind me. Adam was behind J Ro. Craig was squeezed in the bitch position. Then we were all all squeezed into the bitch position. The light had been green for about 8 seconds. As we crossed the intersection, another car came through her red light without any brakes and going top legal speed. What happened next was not how I have envisioned car crashes. My life did not flash before my eyes. Everything did not move in slow motion. About 37,000 things happened all in one second….

The Honda Accord smashed into the passenger side of our Scion XB. Loud. Metal on metal. The door caves into my elbow, smacks Ians hip and then we launch. Into the air. Half second blackout. Wake up. Still in the air. Upside down. I see the street where the sky should be through the window. Someone (J Ro?) is yelling ‘Fuck’. Airbags. Smoke. Are we on fire? The car seems like a giant refridgerator-sized cardboard box that I used to play with when I was little. I would make a fort out of it in the backyard. My brother would come along and make the box cave in. I would pretend that I was dying and falling. Yes. This was just like that. Only the cardboard box was 4,000 pounds, going 40 miles per hour and can kill you. We land right side up. I realize that we’re not on fire. The smoke was actually the powder from the airbags. I can feel it in my lungs. Someone (me?) is yelling ‘We’re OK, We’re OK! Get out of the car!’ All except the drivers side door was stuck. We filed out of the door. We all saw the car. It was beyond crashed. We all hugged each other and started going throught the motions of what you’re supposed to do after a car accident…just like how I’ve been going through the motions of what you’re supposed to do in life….

I’m still not exactly sure what all this is meaning to me just yet. I’ll admit that morning I was coming out of an electronic brain haze and today I still am putting pieces together. I do feel that I am lucky to be alive and that I have to start living my life a little more…something. On my plane back to NYC, somewhere over Nebraska, I started to have a rush of realizations. Things I have to put into effect. I need to let anger go. I need to hug the people I love. I need to tell the people I love that I love them. I need let the past be the past. I need to not take things personally. I need to enjoy the now for what it is.

My life hiatus out in California was amazing. I have learned so much from my family of friends out there. Love. Joy. Maturity. Sense of Home. Closeness. Trust. Be. Here. Now. Everything is perfect….and now its time to get back into life out here in The City. I want to enjoy the Nows. I also want to have better ‘future’ Nows. Who knows what great heights can be acheived. I feel like the five of us in that car are Destinys Child…”I’m a Survivor, I’m not gon give up, I’m not gon stop, I’m gon work harder…” Hip Hop mispelling aside, I really am going to do my best to do those things. I feel that my head and my heart are washing away whatever I haven’t been doing. Yesterday I was on the subway and I started crying. It was a happy cry. The kind you feel at a wedding or at the end of a Reese Witherspoon romantic comedy. I couldn’t help my emotions. I feel that I am cleansing myself in some way. Something is definately different. I can remember my dreams. Rich, colored, shiny dreams. My heart feels happy. I feel like doing everything. I feel like being a better person.

To the Boys of The Scion – Adam – You are wise beyond your years. Ian – You are a great light. J Ro – I have been impressed by you for years and you continue to do so. Craig – Thank you for being you. You teach without knowing. Be happy.

Alright. Real life starts now. (This sounds like a Coca-Cola commercial about real kids doing real things on their summer vacation…make a documentary! Drink Coke!) Back in the best city in the world, where anything can happen. I’m happy to be alive and to be a part of it. I love right now.