NO WILL OF MY OWN
If Nicole could see me now.
She would probably laugh. She would probably consider me most foolish. She would probably bear me for about a minute. Then, would I beg of her for remedy. Wishing she would dote on me once more.
Forgive me for my sudden archaic use of the English language, but I have just entered into Will's world and I feel I may be out of my league. Yes, I am a writer. And writing is what I do. People pay me to write. (At least, that is my intention) But now - today - as of May 16th - people also pay me to act.
It's not like I've never done this before. I have. I've even done Mr. Shakespeare's work. Many times. It's what I used to want to do with my life. An eternity ago. But now I think I'd rather spend my time in the corner with my computer, punching out the next great work to be produced by Steppenwolf. And not talking to anyone while I am doing it. Not learning lines and presenting myself for the world to critique. (Well, I guess that's what I do anyway, but I don't want to be on stage too) So, why am I back with old friends in some town in Tennessee, doing A Midsummer Night's Dream? Some town without a Walmart (I am thankful for that) or a Starbucks (I am VERY thankful for that) trying to pass myself off as an actor. A professional actor. I can't act for shit anymore. That is what I found out on this, my very first day of rehearsal.
On top of that, I have to live this actor's life for a month. Out of my element. Drinking coffee and taking breaks and reading scripts and eating snacks and getting very little exercise and getting fat, while I struggle to examine all the wrappings the craft services people are pulling food out of to derive whether I am being tricked into consuming trans-fats. (Well, I guess when I put it that way, I have been living the actor's life for the last 7 months in Chicago - only there was no craft services)
I don't know what to say really, other than the fact that after the first day of this new life, I am very disillusioned. And I don't think I can act for shit anymore. Did I already say that? I bet you Nicole never felt this way. The sad thing is that I am stuck. I can't go anywhere. I am under contract for the next month. I mean, part of that is great, because I get to hang out with some old friends that I haven't seen in years, and stay in a nice big house on a hillside, by a lake, with cows - (the cows aren't in the lake, obviously) - but I have to pull 4 very distinct and entertaining characters out of my ass, and it doesn't look like that is going to come easy. This is a lot of pressure. HELP!
Nicole, if you are out there and you are reading, give me a call. I humble myself before you gentle queen, and beg your patience. I am but a sucky actor.
Maybe things will get better on day two, but I am not holding my breath. I might let you know what is going on with all this over the course of the next month, but it is not likely. I know it is all very boring, and I don't want to spend any more time dwelling on it than I have to. Hopefully, lots of exciting dialogue between me and the cast (not the Shakespearean kind) will kindle my pop culture flames and this experience will give me lots of other things to bitch and rant about. Like, for instance, the three girls I met in Azar's falafel palace, just last week, who shared with me, hummus dripping from their hands, the prophetic notion that all televangelists were going to hell. Not THAT is a jumping off point.
She would probably laugh. She would probably consider me most foolish. She would probably bear me for about a minute. Then, would I beg of her for remedy. Wishing she would dote on me once more.
Forgive me for my sudden archaic use of the English language, but I have just entered into Will's world and I feel I may be out of my league. Yes, I am a writer. And writing is what I do. People pay me to write. (At least, that is my intention) But now - today - as of May 16th - people also pay me to act.
It's not like I've never done this before. I have. I've even done Mr. Shakespeare's work. Many times. It's what I used to want to do with my life. An eternity ago. But now I think I'd rather spend my time in the corner with my computer, punching out the next great work to be produced by Steppenwolf. And not talking to anyone while I am doing it. Not learning lines and presenting myself for the world to critique. (Well, I guess that's what I do anyway, but I don't want to be on stage too) So, why am I back with old friends in some town in Tennessee, doing A Midsummer Night's Dream? Some town without a Walmart (I am thankful for that) or a Starbucks (I am VERY thankful for that) trying to pass myself off as an actor. A professional actor. I can't act for shit anymore. That is what I found out on this, my very first day of rehearsal.
On top of that, I have to live this actor's life for a month. Out of my element. Drinking coffee and taking breaks and reading scripts and eating snacks and getting very little exercise and getting fat, while I struggle to examine all the wrappings the craft services people are pulling food out of to derive whether I am being tricked into consuming trans-fats. (Well, I guess when I put it that way, I have been living the actor's life for the last 7 months in Chicago - only there was no craft services)
I don't know what to say really, other than the fact that after the first day of this new life, I am very disillusioned. And I don't think I can act for shit anymore. Did I already say that? I bet you Nicole never felt this way. The sad thing is that I am stuck. I can't go anywhere. I am under contract for the next month. I mean, part of that is great, because I get to hang out with some old friends that I haven't seen in years, and stay in a nice big house on a hillside, by a lake, with cows - (the cows aren't in the lake, obviously) - but I have to pull 4 very distinct and entertaining characters out of my ass, and it doesn't look like that is going to come easy. This is a lot of pressure. HELP!
Nicole, if you are out there and you are reading, give me a call. I humble myself before you gentle queen, and beg your patience. I am but a sucky actor.
Maybe things will get better on day two, but I am not holding my breath. I might let you know what is going on with all this over the course of the next month, but it is not likely. I know it is all very boring, and I don't want to spend any more time dwelling on it than I have to. Hopefully, lots of exciting dialogue between me and the cast (not the Shakespearean kind) will kindle my pop culture flames and this experience will give me lots of other things to bitch and rant about. Like, for instance, the three girls I met in Azar's falafel palace, just last week, who shared with me, hummus dripping from their hands, the prophetic notion that all televangelists were going to hell. Not THAT is a jumping off point.
posted by The Passenger at 7:03 PM
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