“Conversation is like a tennis match,” my mother said. “You hit the ball to your partner and they hit it back. If someone hogs the ball it’s rude and the game is boring.”
The mothers of my adolescent group of friends used this analogy frequently when advising us on how to be engaging young ladies. We laugh about it today, but it still stands true.
Two summers ago, I was in a “me” place. I was worried about my future in New York City and my long distance engagement. I didn’t seem to have any room for anyone else, but of course I didn’t think about it that way at the time. I just focused on my own problems, obsessions, and neurosis.When I went back to New York City, I needed a place to stay for a few days before my apartment became available. My friend Pam had offered to let me to stay with her when I first got there because she had moved there a few months prior and we hadn’t seen each other in a while. I had gone to school there and was used to it but she was still adjusting. However, when I got there I found that there was an odd silence between us as we rode in the cab to her place.
It was so palpable that I finally asked what was wrong.
“You realize you haven’t asked once about me, right? How I’m doing? What I’m doing?”
My heart dropped into my stomach. I opened my mouth to protest but I couldn’t. When I really thought about it, I hadn’t inquired after her in atleast a month. “I’m sorry,” I stammered shamefully.
“It’s ok. I’m just… You know that’s not cool right?”
My mothers words from so long ago echoed in my head. “No. I mean yes. That’s not cool. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I’ve just been so crazed… and yeah, a little selfish. Just nerves and stuff.”
Pam looked out the window of the cab. She seemed so distant. She’s been the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister and I couldn’t believe that I had hurt her so thoroughly, not to mention the fact that I had been so self involved I hadn’t seen this coming. She had called and asked after me, listening carefully to every development, every description of a fight with my boyfriend. Why hadn’t I asked about life in New York and her new job? “But you know you did that, right? You’re not just oblivious? I didn’t think you were like that.”
“I’m not like that.” I ventured. “I mean, I don’t doubt that I was.” I felt myself tearing up as we arrived at her apartment in Brooklyn. I was so utterly embarrassed. We trundled up the stairs and entered her studio. “I just had a lot on my mind. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” She offered me some water and we sat down at the dining room table. “I would ask about how you were and you would go on and on. You didn’t even ask about me. I just couldn’t believe it. I needed you.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, rather at a loss when considering what to say. I knew immediately that I had done a bad thing as soon as she brought it to my attention.
I mention this story, because Pam is still my best friend and my “sister.” We managed to get past all of this and now things are back to normal. She’s the person I turn to when I’m upset and I try to be there for her in that same way. Because of what happened between us, I am especially aware of conversation and my active investment in my friends, but I am also aware of when my investment in my friends is being abused as I had abused her.
I’m lucky to have a friend with so much history because if we hadn’t, she might not have seen any reason to invest any more time in the relationship.
Living in New York, you come into contact with a lot of people; you network, you meet people at your job, you bump into acquaintances on the subway. There are so many people that walk in and out of your awareness each day that it can be hard to keep track of them. You have to make a concerted effort to make time for the people who really matter and it is important that you choose those people wisely.
I been thinking recently about how difficult it is to make time for all of my friends and because of that, I’m developing very intense feelings about the people in my life who truly know what the two-way-street of friendship means, and those who take me for granted. I don’t have time for those people, especially in situations where I have so little time to waste. Perhaps it’s harsh, but it’s true.
My advice: When it becomes clear that someone calls only to talk about themselves and their problems, move on. When they treat you like you’re around to listen their problems but never want to hear out your possible solutions, tell them to take a hike. Tell them to find a therapist or a mirror and do their thing.
Focus on friends who seek your counsel and work towards results. Seek out the friends that notice when you’re not yourself. Save your time for the people who enter your life and both of you are changed forever by your companionship. Those are the people who are worth your time.
I’m watching Bridezillas on the WE network and wondering how the hell these women get a man to marry them. I mean really. They are screaming at the top of their lungs and making their husbands suffer incessantly. For that matter, how can their friends stand to be around them? I can’t imagine having the gal to throw the tirades I’ve seen these women throw over wedding cakes, fat bridesmaids, and any number of trivial facts.
Where’s the love? One woman told her husband that he would have to fall back in love with her after the wedding was over. Good luck getting him to the altar.
I don’t mean to imply that I want to be married today or even next year. That’s a bit like putting the cart before the horse considering I haven’t found a groom yet. However, this program does make me think, Where in God’s green earth are these people finding each other?
I understand how bitchy women end up with men for a night or a few weeks, but how can people propose to them? Even if she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, it’s the rest of your life. Find someone just a bit more mellow. The sex could be magnificent but if you can’t hold a conversation, then you’re not going to make it very long. Call a spade a spade and hold out for what you want instead of caving to what that harpy is nagging you for. Grow a pair guys! Come on!
Coming off of the train wreck I call the end of my last relationship, I’m having a hard time getting out there again. I don’t like going out to bars and clubs. I stand by my belief that you’re not going to be in the right condition to meet anyone of substance in that situation. Plus I get nervous and sweaty and start using comedy as a defense mechanism. People have been known to call me a “female Jack Black.”
So where do you go when you’re a young actress living in NYC? Some people meet at work, but most of the guys I work with are gay, so where does that leave me? If they are straight they’re taken. Plus, I wouldn’t want to have anything happen to the chemistry of a professional ensemble due to sexual exploits and their occasional post coital awkwardness.
Once upon a time, I had a close friend tell me that men probably didn’t find me attractive because I’m assertive and funny.
“Men want someone they can take care of,” he said.
I’ve spent so much of my life haunted by that sentence. At first I was saddened and hurt by it. I obsessed over how unfeminine he must have thought I was. Now that I’ve matured I’m angered by this sentence. What’s wrong with a self assured woman? Just because you’re confident doesn’t mean you’re not a woman. This is 2009.
There has to be somewhere for the modern woman looking for a meaningful relationship to go. I’m not starting a manhunt or anything, but clearly I’m not doing any of the right things. I’ve heard that you don’t look for love and that it finds you, but sitting in my apartment certainly doesn’t do any good.
A friend of mine wants to go speed dating, but I’m not quite sure it’s for me. I don’t like the idea of paying a company to set me up on dates. I just wish love was natural instead of the “industry” it has become.
Tonight I had a very odd experience. I went to a short form improv comedy show with a friend and wished I were up on stage doing improv. This is strange to me because for most of my life, I’ve enjoyed improv, but been terrified of doing it.
At one time, I took a six week improv intensive at iO. Chicago between my freshman and sophomore years of college. I learned a lot while I was there but I spent most of the summer quaking in my boots. The form was complicated and confusing and I was in awe of the in-the-moment creativity of my peers. They were so smart and so current. I just felt like I was a broken grandfather clock with grinding cogs lumbering around with compact electric alarm clocks all primed to go off at the same time.
Over six weeks, we had six different teachers who were improvisers at iO. Each had their own team and some even directed or created other shows there. The best thing about the program was that all of the students were comped for every show at the theater. Every day I would wake up, work out, walk to class, do improv for about six hours and then I’d stick around all night with my team to watch shows at iO. It was best way to learn the form and all of its variations. It was also the best education in team work that I’ve ever had.
I saw some of the worst improv and some of the best while I was there. I think it’s absolutely true that longform improv can be a horribly derailed train or it can be the most brilliant thing you’ve ever witnessed. Yet, I found even the worst performances were interesting to watch. I was right there with the actors, urging them through some unspoken power- through a primal audience energy, to pick up the pieces and rebuild their scenes. The artform takes such simultaneous awareness of your partner and of yourself. Most importantly you have to concentrate less on what makes you funny, and more on what will make your partner’s job easier.
Agree to go in whatever direction your partner suggests. Don’t waist time arguing. Improvisers call this the rule of “Yes, And.” Always try to give your partner gifts. Don’t ask questions. Just tell them what they’re doing. Tell them who they are. You have to build the scene brick by brick. Establish an environment as quickly as possible. Create a relationship. Stay away from sex or fart jokes in order to keep things interesting. Don’t use women as sex objects so that you’re not tempted to fall into an “easy laugh” situation. It’s all about solving the puzzle of walking on the stage with no lines and using your minds, voices, and bodies in order to build entertainment. When a team assembles the puzzle quickly and accurately, it’s truly one of the most astounding things I’ve ever experienced.
The other great thing about the shows at iO is that many teams have created their own forms and broken away from the traditional “Harold.” One of my favorites was “Armando Diaz.” In this form, a person steps forward to announce themselves as Armando Diaz. He or she takes a suggestion from the audience and uses it to start telling a true story. The story doesn’t have to be funny, it just has to be honest. Then they step back and the other people on the team do scenes using the story as a suggestion. The scenes don’t have to be exactly from they story. They can be based on a word, a different take on a situation in it, anything. Suggestions in improv are just fodder. You don’t have to connect to them exactly. They’re just to help the actors go off of something to get their minds running. Then after about 3-5 scenes, Armando Diaz steps forward and tells another story using the original suggestion as inspiration. Then the other players do more scenes, etc. The best Armando Diaz show I was was when Charna Halpern, one of the founders of iO and a close friend to Del Close who was the creator of long form improvisation, did a guest appearance as Armando Diaz. For every monologue, she gave a small vignette of a moment with Del. It was an incredible performance not just because the improv was good, but because the monologues were a celebration of the man who planted the seeds that blossomed into this entire “movement.” I’ll never forget that night. Everyone who was there knew they had just witnessed something special. By definition, it was a “One Night Only” show, a moment we all shared and had not been shared at any time before and would never be shared again.
Another form I enjoyed was a group that took a suggestion and did a two act play based on it. It was such a selfless experience, each scene having to be built on its own and then the next scene having to be built upon the last in order to form a full story. The best part about it was that it didn’t necessarily have to be funny. It was all about building the story piece by piece. The best example I can think of was a night where they did a murder mystery. The idea in itself is funny because the ending was just as much a mystery to the audience as it was to the actors. However, there were also points that were sad or made you sit on the edge of your seat waiting to find out who the killer was.
My all-time favorite show to see at iO is TJ and Dave. It is also the hardest show to get a ticket to. Every Wednesday night, TJ Jagodowski and David Pasquesi stand on the stage and say “Trust us. All of this is made up.” Then the lights go dim. When they come up, what ensues is a 45 minute show starring just the two of them. It’s the kind of comedy that percolates slowly and takes as much time as it needs to come into full bloom. It requires such focus and teamwork and this particular pair is a killer combination. They’ve been working together for so long that they can work fluidly and creatively with ease. Again, it’s not always funny. Sometimes it’s sad or poignet, but it is a guaranteed incredible story telling experience.
At the end of my summer at iO, we all got to perform on the Del Close mainstage. I was completely terrified of that “moment of truth.” It was completely “sink or swim” at the end of a really intense training period with no second chances. My team spent so much time together in class and out of it. We had taken adventures on the weekends, going to museums and Cubs games. I even had everyone over for a “sleepover” party so that no one would have to make their way home late at night. We really bonded over the course of the summer. I think I was so self conscious at the time that I never let any of them know how incredibly talented and smart I thought they all were. Stepping out on the stage with them at the end of the summer was just such an honor. I simply wanted to support what they were doing and try not to worry about whether or not I got any laughs.
Our final show was a success. We fired on all pistons and I felt confident that I had given it my all and made my contribution to the end result. When the program was at an end, I knew I had learned a lot but I also was ecstatic to be back in the world of scripted theater. I felt like a sailer who had been lost at sea and was finally returning to dry land. I didn’t think I’d ever in my wildest dreams elect to do improv again.
I guess I didn’t know myself very well, because last night I put my name down on a class sign up list at the National Comedy Theater. The writer inside of me has really inspired me to return to that form as a way of accessing that part of my brain and exercising it. It’s such a great way of making yourself more aware of your surroundings and aware of what it is to listen and respond constructively in a collaborative creative atmosphere.
Until recently, I’d been so dead, so ambivalent about my surroundings and my world. Now, my brain has awakened from its hibernation period and is hungry for more. I intend to feed it.
My guilty pleasure is So You Think You Can Dance. I’m not a dancer, so I’m not exactly sure why I’m so drawn to it, but I’m a freak for it. I can’t get enough. I think it’s amusing that I sometimes find myself commenting on dance performances and complaining about “bad lines” and “sickled feet.” It’s like I consider myself an expert just because I watch this TV show, when in fact I’ve taken limited dance classes and my technique is slim to none. However, the show is so inviting that for however many hours a week you watch, you feel like you are a part of the dance community and it’s dialogue.
Even though it’s inviting and accessible, this show does not compromise. For the first time this season, they had a classical ballet dancer on the show. Usually everyone gets a chance to dance in their style at one point or another, but I thought Melissa never would because they don’t do classical ballet as a style on the show. As judge and choreographer Mia Michaels put it during judging, you can’t fake classical ballet. It would have been easy for the producers to simply avoid doing a piece in that style, but instead they chose to confront it and to include a classical ballet routine from Romeo & Juliet. Not only was it breathtaking, but the audience and voter responses proved that viewers across America enjoyed it. It’s pretty crazy to think about a ballet piece being performed on the same stage as a samba and hip hop in one night.
I can absolutely say that because of this show I’ve developed such a respect for what dancers can do and what they can achieve and communicate. My room mate, who is a dancer, pointed out to me last night just how daunting the expectations are for these dancers every week. When I thought about it, I realized for the first time that not only are they expected to learn new styles outside of their own genre and pick up a maximum of three new routines every week, but they are also held accountable for their own solos which must be choreographed by them to be performed in case they end up in the bottom three couples at the end of the voting period. Seriously, those kids must be exhausted. I want to make them milk and cookies.
The show’s executive producer, Nigel Lithgow, is often tooting his own horn and bragging about how marvelous the program is, but honestly, I’d have to agree with him, especially when it comes to this season. In other seasons, I’ve watched and been impressed by everyone, but there’s always someone that falters from week to week and I lose faith in them. I can usually predict who will be going home each time or at least come close to it.
This season is different.
Every Wednesday I tune in and I don’t even see a competition. I just see beautiful routines and innovative choreography danced by incredible young performers. My favorite routines have typically been choreographed by Mia Michaels and Sonya Tayeh, however this season I’ve been becoming a fan of Tyce Diorio who choreographs modern and Broadway routines for the show. Last night, he debuted a piece on breast cancer survival danced by Melissa and Ade. It was so breathtaking that it stopped the show in it’s tracks.
It’s almost overwhelming to watch all of these styles happening in one show, but each dance is better than the next. This season’s contestants have a lot to be proud of. I cannot wait to get tickets to the Top 10 Tour. I know they’ll probably be expensive, but it would be totally worth it to me to see them dance live. That, in itself, is saying something about how much these dancers have touched and inspired me because I never spend money on dance performances. I always spend it on plays, musicals, or movies.
Tonight was the show’s 100th episode and I’d like to celebrate it by sharing a few dances that I really enjoyed, not only this season but over the last five years.
(Some of the videos were removed from YouTube, so unfortunately these are the only two left.)
P.S. To support the Dizzy Feet Foundation, which funds dance educations for talented underprivileged kids, click here.
[I was just looking through my computer and I discovered my chapel speech from my senior year of high school. As I read through it, I was reminded of a part of myself I'd almost forgotten. It's been forever since I felt maternal or even felt like a part of a sisterhood. It's not that I can't live without those things, but it's always interesting to reflect on how I've changed over the years and what parts of me have grown vs. what parts of me have become cloistered away. So, dear readers, I invite you to join me at the gorgeous non-denominational chapel at Tabor Academy in Marion, Massachusetts as I give my speech. It is Fall and the wooden pews creak every so often as a student shifts uncomfortably. Light streams through the bright stained glass windows depicting Columbus, Magellan, Shakespeare, and other great learners and explorers.
Up at the front of the chapel, I am standing at the pulpit. I am 18 and I am terrified. I inhale a deep breath, taking in the sea of my teachers and my peers, and then begin.]
“You’re gonna be a camp counselor?” Matt said in disbelief.
“Yup. That’s the way it looks right now.” I shrugged.
“Where?” He asked
“Camp Seafarer. It’s in North Carolina.”
“Camp Sea-WHAT?” Matt asked skeptically.
“Seafarer.” I said.
“Ha. Anne’s gonna work at Camp SEAFAIRY this summer.” He pointed and laughed.
That was the initial reaction I received from my friends last year when I announced that I had just been asked to be the director of the musical at Camp Seafarer, for girls, in Arapahoe, N.C. They were a little doubtful to say the least. They all saw me as a hopeless cynical drama/music geek who limited herself to only black attire. As far as kids went, some of my friends had seen a faculty child use a lacrosse stick to launch a graphing calculator at me. However, from my point of view, it seemed a simple task. I had directed a one act at Tabor and I didn’t think directing a show with kids could be that much harder. I might be an only child, but I had been a babysitter since age 10 and now I lived in a dorm. I figured that taking care of a cabin full of girls and living with them every day couldn’t possibly be that tough. I had no reservations when I signed my contract. What I didn’t know, is that I had just signed away my soul to Satan for two months of the summer.
I spent most of the first two weeks wondering what crime I had committed on God’s green earth that fate chose me to be a camp counselor. Everything seemed to go wrong. Not only was I accidentally welcoming people to “Camp Seafairy” on opening day. Oh no. That was the VERY LEAST of my problems. Southern drawls whirled around me and wafted on every breeze, while my Chicago accent sliced through the air. I was an only child stuck in a world of six hundred little sisters. Out of these six hundred girls, I looked after and lived with twelve thirteen year olds, obsessed with soccer, boys, and the fifth Harry Potter book, the thought of which made me ill. I felt like it would be impossible to make a connection with any of them. No matter how hard I tried to relate to their problems and advise them, it just seemed unnatural.
I was also in charge of directing “The Secret Garden,” a musical which the Camp Director selected because it seemed like a “cute” musical for kids. She had assumed it to be a nice little story about a little girl who plants a few seeds in some forgotten garden and learns how to fit in with her new family. However, the show really turned out to be about a rich hunchback haunted by the ghost of his dead wife and a little girl hardened by the death of her parents in the cholera epidemic who has to leave India and live in his lonely colossal mansion in the middle of nowhere. The show was entirely inappropriate for kids ages seven to sixteen, calling for English and Yorkshire accents and a lyric soprano, not to mention two strong male leads which would now have to be sung by girls. I heard 109 children audition for the show. Out of 109 girls, seventy five percent sang “Tomorrow” from Annie. Suicide was starting to sound like a good option. Things were only complicated further when I was told that I would not be allowed to make cuts. So now, not only had I ended up with 109 girls that I had to fit into a musical with only 12 roles, oh no, one of them was a 16 year old girl with turrets syndrome and was constantly screaming obscenities during rehearsal. In short, it was musical mayhem, an utter nightmare. My jaw dropped as I realized that I would be spending three hours daily in room with 109 girls trying to sing high “C’s” only to return at the end of the day to a cabin full of thirteen year old girls arguing over something so entirely trivial as speculations on who would die in the next Harry Potter book. I wanted to scream. My co-counselors and I started to replace the word “camper” with “hell-beast.” In otherwords “You look horrible, what happened last night?” “Oh, I had a run in with a hell beast.” Or “I just got a call; The hell-beasts are on the loose in the drama building, I’d better go over there and take care of the situation.”
One day, I was contemplating how bad a life sentence in prison could possibly be, when I unexpectedly had to take one of my girls to the health center. I was walking across a bridge with her and I was trying to make her laugh in an effort to distract her from her discomfort. Judging by the smile creeping across her face, it seemed like I had been relatively successful in humoring her. As we walked, she reached over and put her arm around my waste, and I put my arm around her shoulders. She looked up at me in this picture perfect moment and said, “You are so cool. You’re like a big sister, but a cool one who’s funny and doesn’t mess with my stuff.” She grinned and I laughed as I realized that in her own little thirteen-year-old way she was telling me that I had reached her, that for her, I had made a difference in just two weeks.
It became so vivid to me, then, what I had been doing wrong all this time. I had been so focused on what wasn’t going right for me that I had somehow let myself forget about these kids. Yeah, from time to time, things got hard, smiles weren’t genuine, and the hell beasts annoyed me beyond description. Those things were all distractions. I had forgotten that in signing that contract, I was agreeing to live not for myself, but for six hundred wonderfully individual girls who needed me to help them grow and learn. From that day forward, I dedicated myself to these campers who taught me so much about the importance of selflessness. Before I knew it, I felt like I wasn’t working at all.
It was around that time when I called Matt Linton to fill him in on how things had been going. I told him how the summer had begun horribly but that lately things had been going well. I told him about how my girls thought I was cool. His take on the situation was succinct and simply put. “You’re soooo going soft,” he said. I was totally opposed to that. I most certainly was not going SOFT. I was just getting… sentimental. I…cared.
Ok, Matt. I was going soft.
I hate to admit it, but I cried on the last night of camp during the candle light service. I cried and cried until there were no tears left and then I cried again after the campers left while I was packing my own things to go home as I realized that my most meaningful memories weren’t frustrating rehearsals or trying to avoid teenybopper conversations, but the look on the faces of girls who were bursting with pride as they took their final bow at the end of the play, girls who reached out to each other and supported each other at every turn, and in knowing that I was behind their successes, lessons, and confidence.
Since the end of camp, as my room-mate can attest, I receive atleast two long distance phone calls a week and innumerable instant messages from my campers.
The other day, I received an email from Betsy, one of my campers who was in the musical. She announced that she had just gotten cast in the musical at her middle school and that she couldn’t have done it without me. She called me a hero. And for the first time, I felt like one. I was a big sister… but a cool one.
These are in a loose order. Near the middle and the end, things get a little blurry for me. In this list, I try to include a cross section of dramatic actors, comedic actors, and some up and coming actors from my generation.
1. Johnny Depp
Impulsive, mischievous, dark, and always with a trick up his sleeve, this actor has a talent for drama and comedy alike. He lights up the screen most in roles that combine these two aspects. It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes.
The opening monologue from Depp’s film, The Libertine.
2. Kate Winslet
The well of her soul is open for her audience in every performance she gives. I am constantly surprised and never disappointed by her.
This clip is from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. This movie also makes my top ten movies list.
3. Meryl Streep
A legend in her own time, there is no challenge too great for this woman. Her idiosyncrasies never fail to bubble to the surface in every role.
This clip is from The Hours.
4. Dustin Hoffman
What a joy he is. I find his playfulness incredibly engaging. He also has the uncanny ability to disappear into a role when he wants and to stand out when he chooses.
The following clip is from Hoffman’s first film, The Graduate. It also happens to be, in my opinion, one of the greatest scenes ever filmed.
5. Dame Judi Dench
Her presence is enough to make my hair stand up on end. She is a commanding force to be reckoned with and even her strong characters are smartly crafted with just the right vulnerable cracks in their surfaces to keep things interesting.
The following is a compilation of clips of her Oscar winning performance in Shakespeare in Love.
6. Ian McKellen
One of our best Shakespeare performers alive today and the perfect Gandalf in Lord of the Rings.
This clip isn’t exactly from one of his best movies, but it is one of the funniest things I have ever seen and it happens to be Ian McKellen’s episode of Extras on HBO. Also appearing is Ricky Gervais, creator and original star of The Office in Britain.
7. Steve Carell
Steve is a master. He’s the kind of actor I aspire to be, a comedian of the soul. He is simultaneously honest, horrifying, and heartbreaking. He is a living miracle.
The following is a clip from The Office. I found better ones, but they could not be embedded.
8. Robert DeNiro
He always seems to have a secret. A talent for comedy and for drama just by being himself, he seems to know more than his audience.
DeNiro in Meet the Parents.
9. Sean Penn
I am always impressed by the characters this actor chooses to play. He always seems to be looking for a new challenge.
A clip of Sean Penn as Harvey Milk in Milk. Every moment the character was giving this speech, he could have been shot. Watching his delivery with that in mind gives it a whole new perspective.
9. Anne Hathaway
A lot of people may disagree with me on this, but hear me out. I think she has great potential and for her age, she is positioning herself perfectly. Her performance in Rachel Getting Married was nothing less than brilliantly mesmerizing.
The following clip is a scene from Rachel Getting Married.
10. Will Farrell
Again, people may disagree with me here, but I think it’s important to include comedic actors. Most of what Will does is improvisation, but some of what he’s done is unmistakable creative brilliance. His one man show, You’re Welcome, America, was nothing short of astounding. He was painstakingly specific in every moment and managed to make me feel pity for a man i despised.
A clip from You’re Welcome, America. If you watch it to till the end, I promise it will be worth your time and you may come closer to agreeing with me about him deserving a spot in the top ten.
(11.) Gene Kelly
He’s dead… but he’s so amazing that he gets to be my ghost 11th favorite Actor of All Time. His dancing, his voice, and his presence are the complete package.
To close, here’s Gene Kelly with Singin’ in the Rain
I find myself increasingly unwilling to go to work, to suffer the doldrums and intense ordinariness of my “day job.” My mind is pulled, tugged every which way, every way that is not the task at hand. I need air to breathe, to write, to envision. Yet, I sit at this desk as this conflict rages inside of me. I sit at this desk and make rent, running out the clock. When did this happen? When did I become so boring for eight hours a day?
I want to scream sometimes, but propriety shuts my mouth. Responsibility makes me see my commitment through.
When the clock strikes 6 PM, I practically leap from my chair, tripping over my legs as I dive for the door. I dash home and open my lap top, finding all of my projects waiting for me as my brain sparks to life. The electricity courses through my fingertips and ideas buzz and beep all over my body. I am alive. I am whole. I am doing what I want to do, rather than what I have to do.
Suddenly it’s 2 AM and I must find a way to get to bed so that I can wake up in time to get back to work, back to being boring. The job isn’t hard. It isn’t even awful, but it still looms like this horrible black hole, sucking me in and depleting me of energy. Every day is like a Monday morning after a weekend you didn’t want to end.
There are never enough hours in the day. By the time I get moving with all of my artistic endeavors, it’s too late to get much done. I want to go to more auditions, but I have to be able to pay my rent every month. It’s a delicate barefoot dance on a floor of broken glass.
When does your day job just become your job? It’s a question all artists must ask themselves and they must be wary of the answer.
There are facts. You must pay rent. You must feed yourself. You must pay for electricity. You probably need money for entertainment and fun with friends once a week. You could live without that, but you’d most likely go insane.
When you are trying to work creatively, it often doesn’t pay from the outset, or if it does, it’s not very much. Right now, I’m having to make my money at work while simultaneously preparing my book, creating a webseries with a friend, and going out on auditions. Do I know if any of those things will make any sort of profit?
No.
If the book gets published, that would be amazing, but that doesn’t mean that it will absolutely make a profit. As far as the webseries goes, we’ll be lucky if we break even on it unless something miraculous occurs. As for auditioning, you have to get cast in order to make money, and even then, a lot of the plays you do at the beginning of your career are with people who can’t afford to pay you, or if they can it’s a negligible stipend.
That said, I have to make all of my money in my “day job” at the moment, which means that I have to be there so often that I hardly get time to work on my real job, my true purpose. I get home and my brain is humming, but my body is exhausted. It takes effort to think straight and coral my ideas into a cohesive thought process. I want to read a book and expand my mind. I want to write for this web column. I have to edit the current draft of my book. I have a script due on Wednesday to show to my collaborator. I need with every fiber of my being to do all of that in order to move forward artistically, but I’m drained. By the time I actually get sucked, body and soul, into any facets of my creative life, it’s too late to indulge my inspiration for more than a few hours.
Some people would say that when your day job starts to get in the way of your “real job,” that you should start looking for a way out. A lot of naysayers would reply with, “Why would you leave the job that makes money for one that makes a bit less money, or take two jobs that make less money but are more sporadic? I’ve go news for you. You already doing your real job.”
My response to them is that art is about risk, both on and off the stage. You have to believe that your art is your real job, whether or not it’s making money at that particular time. If you don’t, you run the risk of it becoming a hobby. George Seurat never sold a painting in his life, and yet he is known today as one of the main innovators of the pointillist artistic movement. He never gave up despite bad reviews and non-believers in his own time. He was somehow able to see his visions through and make enough money to get by. It was worth it to him.
If artists never approach the edge of that cliff and take a leap of faith, nothing will ever happen for them. It’s as simple as that old adage, “nothing risked, nothing gained.” Of course, it is hard to feel like going for that blind plummet, especially in this economic climate, but art still has to happen. My real “career” still has to be forged, even if it means reducing my hours at my “day job” and going out less on the weekends with friends. Like Daedalous and Icarus, I must fashion my wax wings and take to the sky, unafraid to fly towards the sun and hoping that by the time I reach it, my wings will transform into those of an albatross soaring across unimaginable distances.
Otherwise I’ll just become that boring person that I hate for 24 hours a day instead of just 8, and that would surely kill me.
The following is the transcript of an interview I conducted with Amy McKenna, a young woman with B.A.’s in Ecology and Marine Biology and a Master’s Degree in Astrobiology. Mrs. McKenna currently resides in Florida and although she has stellar qualifications in her chosen field, she has felt the unfortunate grind of the current job market. In this interview we discuss her own experiences, challenges, and hopes as well as her advice to those trying to jump similar hurdles.
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So, Amy. What did you major in during your collegiate years and what did you expect to do when you got out of college?
When I started college I was a marine biology major and I had no clue what I wanted to do. As I took classes, I added in an ecology major. I figured I could work for the Environmental Protection Agency or find work on a boat, which would be really awesome.
When I went to Australia as a part of my ecology major, we briefly touched on stromatolites, which are a model for how life began on earth. Australia is one of the three places in the world that they exist and I ended up doing a report on stromatolites in Shark Bay.
I had also gone to astronomy conferences with my dad that hosted speakers who were talking about searching for life on other planets. One man was trying to find out how to best grow plants on the International Space Station. I began to learn more about Astrobiology in my Marine Biology course because a lot of the marine systems are used as a model for how life began which is one of the questions that Astrobiology tries to answer. I spoke with my professors about guest speakers that we had in that field and began writing to them to learn about their research. I contacted people working up at Kennedy Space Center figuring that I could go to school for Astrobiology and work for them. It was completely unexpected because I had originally wanted to get my Master’s Degree at the Scripps Institute of Oceanography.
So, I ended up beginning my PhD at the University of Florida, but then I downgraded to a Master’s.
Right now I have no clue what I want to do. It all depends on where I can find work, honestly. I’d take anything.
When did you complete your graduate program?
In August of ‘08
How long were you jobless after graduation?
I still consider myself jobless, so I’ve been jobless for just over a year.
But you are employed, yes? You’re just filling in the gaps, monetarily speaking?
I don’t consider what I’m doing right now a real career because it’s not in my area of interest.
What are you doing right now?
Thankfully, I found part time work at a horse farm here in Florida, ten minutes from home. So what I’m doing right now is shoveling horse shit.
Ha! How did you find that job? Craigslist?
I read a blog called “Fugly Horse of the Day” and the person who writes the blog is aware of the “economic times” and made a post looking for people who needed someone to work on their farm or people looking for farm work. She wanted to help forge connections through her site. Someone responded to her post with a website to find horse jobs called yardandgroom.com. I thought, well shit. It can’t hurt to look.
Little did you know “shit” would be playing a large part in your future.
Haha! Right! So I popped on the site and created and account and a profile and started searching for jobs. Lo and behold, there were a couple in the area. The one I really liked I couldn’t take because it was a live-in job. It wasn’t paid, but you were given room and board, plus board and feed for your horse, and you were able to take lessons from a former Olympic rider. In return you had to clean stalls and groom horses. But of course, my husband wasn’t to keen on me living away from home for a non-paying job. The job I ended up taking was with a family who owns two farms in Coco and Ocala (which is like the Horse Capital of Florida). I pretty much just take care of their horses for them.
I was jobless, myself, for about four months and it took quite an emotional toll. I found myself questioning all sorts of things. What did you feel was letting you down? Your education is certainly extensive but things weren’t clicking. In your most hopeless moments, what were your worries and frustrations?
Probably the biggest thing was, “Am I saying something wrong in my job applications?” and “Am I not employing the right strategies in my job search?” I was looking for jobs within the government and going through their employment sites because the best job security and benefits are with the government right now. Once you get a job with them, it’s really hard not to get a job afterward. They have the most openings for my field.
It’s hard to say…. It isn’t a confidence booster when you don’t hear back from jobs or you get that automated email saying you didn’t rate high enough for consideration.
The thing that I find amazing is how many highly qualified people are sitting behind reception desks or taking “jobs a monkey could do.” When I first got back to New York, I took a job doing work as a doorman/concierge at a luxury apartment building. It’s not exactly an ideal job for a graduate of NYU, but I needed to pay my rent and it was the best job I could find at the time. Recently I was brainstorming a character for a project with a friend and he described the character we were working on as someone who went from “God to Doorman, the lowest of the low.” It struck me, suddenly, that I’d had that job, and because of that, I had such a different perception of it than my friend did. I certainly didn’t think of myself of “the lowest of the low.”
You made an important point earlier when you said that you don’t think of what you’re doing as a job because its not in the career field that you want. It’s not a job. It’s just what you’re doing right now. That means your mind is open to continuing to strive when so many people are just settling for what they can get.
As some people have said, “You have an effing Master’s degree and you’re shoveling dung for money!?” I look at it more as keeping myself on a schedule. Without a job, I have an awful tendency to stay up later and later and sleep in later and later. That’s not good at all. It keeps me active because it’s pretty hard physical labor, plus… I’m being paid to get in shape. But really, it’s also important because when I do get that elusive interview, I can say, “Well, I’ve picked up part time work.”
Which is important to show you’re active and you have a hunger to do something with your life.
I’m also starting to volunteer at a local zoo.
Such a good point. People need to find something to pay their bills, but it’s important that you pursue your goals and sometimes that means putting in extra hours as well as seeking out volunteer opportunities and internships that can help build your resumé. At the gym where I’m working my “day job,” we needed more yoga teachers but we knew we couldn’t afford to pay them. We put up an ad on craigslist just to see if we could find anyone at all and we ended up with over 20 people, each ready to commit to a job that wouldn’t pay them any money at all. Yet, they all had interest because it would help them build their resumés.
I believe it. I’ve heard of a lot of people doing similar things. There’s a community on livejournal.com called “Team Unemployed.” It’s just a forum for support and commiseration. People offer tips and they often include: get involved, volunteer, do something! That way you can say what you’ve been doing with your time when you get the chance.
The same thing goes on a creative level. It’s actually part of the reason I began this blog. You have to tend that flame inside of yourself and keep it burning both for the sake of your career and your interviews, but also for yourself. You have to feed that hunger. I know a lot of people, myself included, have felt or are feeling like they have lost their way.
I would say that, for sure. I worry, because it’s been such a long time since I’ve done anything pertaining to my field, that I’ll get into a situation where a prospective employer asks me a technical question, I’ll flub it just because I’m not current with the knowledge. That’s a huge worry for me.
You just have to find ways to keep yourself going, keep yourself involved, and keep yourself on a schedule. I think people who are just getting out of school now have to take heart in the fact that, yes, things are harder than they have been in the past. For many people, there aren’t jobs waiting for them the way they used to.
I would say that really depends on the field and moreover, who you know.
That’s true. I have a friend who went to The United States Naval Academy and from my understanding, she hasn’t felt the pressures of our economy at all simply because her program feeds into a four year commitment/job.
It’s certainly tough.
At the same time, I know you have a passion for horses, and while you may not have a passion for cleaning up after them, working with them has to keep you positive.
It helps knowing that I’m accessing a knowledge base every day that I’m well versed in, yes.
So what’s on the horizon for you, Amy?
I went up to visit my family in Connecticut. My mom is an organizer for The Fresh Air Fund, which is a volunteer organization that takes inner city kids out of their environment in New York City and sends them out to stay with families within a days drive of the city for two weeks to get a taste of a different lifestyle. I went to an event with my mom and everyone was asking me what I was doing, which of course, I hated. Then they asked me what my degrees are and what I wanted to do.
As we talked, I found out that one woman’s husband works as a Senior Geologist for an environmental consulting firm and he is very dissatisfied with his current employees. Apparently he wants someone he can trust to do their job. She told me a horror story about how he had sent someone out to inspect for asbestos. The guy had checked the first floor and because he couldn’t see an easy way to the second floor, he simply reported to her husband that there was no asbestos in the building. Her husband went back to check and found out that there absolutely was asbestos on the second floor of the building. Apparently, he also had two employees who refused to go out an collect dirt samples because it “looked like it might rain,” to which I responded, “I’ve gone out riding horses during a hurricane! I could do that job.” It sounded like a job that was right up my alley and would use my degrees. Maybe grunt work is a little bit beneath a Master’s Degree, but you have to start somewhere. The woman offered to take my resumé to her husband and a few days later my mother got a call from the Geologist saying he was amazed that I didn’t have a job yet and that I met every requirement he was looking for. He said if he had a job opening he would hire me on the spot.
The company is owned by an international umbrella based in the Finland, but they do environmental consulting for the U.S. government and private corporations. They also do buyer communications and my skill set is perfect for that. Currently I have the promise that this Geologist is pushing my resumé through the system and that if they get this contract that they have a bid on, he’ll push to hire me.
That would be amazing!
It’s a waiting game now, but if I get this job, it will really prove my theory that it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.
Networking is absolutely crucial. Sometimes you have to do that audacious thing and just contact the people you admire in whatever field you’re pursuing and ask for advice or assistance.
Exactly. That’s how I met the professor that gave me a job as a lab assistant during my time at the University of Florida.
All it took was one question.
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Special thanks to my fantastic interviewee, Amy McKenna. During this interview, the following job listing or unemployment support sites were mentioned:
The clouds opened up above my head, throwing water down on the city in sheets. The storm brewed and churned in the dark cover of night as I walked through Washington Square Park. It was a ghostland of it’s usual self. I was the only one passing through and the new slate gray benches were being pelted so hard that it looked like the rain was falling up. The street looked like a glistening pool of water, reflecting multi-colored neon signs over slick pavement and puddles.
I was alone with nowhere in particular to be and it felt unbelievable. As the sky cried down ribbons of rain, I lifted my head upward and let it pour over my face and bare arms as I smiled into the velvet black clouds. My eyes went wide as the heavens answered my interest with lightning followed by the soft purr of thunder a few moments later. It lit the marble cornices of the building and for a moment I imagined there were gargoyles that might leap from their lofty hiding places and swoop down to fly me over the city. I felt at that moment that I was in sore need of an adventure. Alas, the architecture remained in place.
I hummed the opening notes of “Singing in the Rain,” sashaying from side to side for a few steps. The shower was cool on my warm skin. I wanted to sink into the storm and live in it with an open heart. I wanted it to soak through my hair to my scalp and make my clothes hang off of the frame of my body.
My pants were getting heavy and long, wrapping around my sandaled feet as they sloshed through unexpectedly deep puddles at street corners. I didn’t care if the rain ruined me all together. For once, I wasn’t trying to get from one point to another, I was simply a point moving along of it’s free own will.
I made a second loop around the fountain at the center of the park for no reason except that I wanted to. I looked at the new plantings in the park and watched the water drip down from one leaf to the next. It made me think of watching Bambi as a little girl.
The rain thickened, urged on by another flickering lightning bolt. The downpour applauded the pavement repeatedly, making the sound of countless clapping hands. I wrapped my arms over my head. I couldn’t see anything, just snips of light and puddles as I darted across University Place. The water was so powerful that it was forcing it’s way into my eyes, grabbing at my contact lenses. I blinked rapidly as I tried to see straight and was chased by the aggressive weather under the red and black awning of a popular lounge. People were inside enjoying their fancy drinks and looking dapper, peering out the misty windows at my gloriously disheveled form. I struggled with my contacts, trying to get my pointer finger dry enough to keep the lens form clinging to it like an insistent toddler begging to be held. It felt strange to be focused on such a small thing after being so open to the vast sky just moments before.
Once the task was complete, I squinted at the street, blinking slowly to be sure the contacts were in right. As my vision cleared, I saw a boy across the street from me, tucked under the overhang of one of the NYU buildings. He sat on the lip of a stairway in a white tank top and jeans, lit from the side by stark white light from a nearby window. He had short brown hair and his head was sinking between his widely placed knees, feet flat on the lowest step. His hands were linked behind his neck as he stared down at the ground with his elbows perched on his knees. He was exceptionally still. A glint of varnished wood caught my eye. Behind him, tucked in back a nearby column was a sad, little, lonely guitar.
The image was so gripping that I almost crossed the street to get a closer look. He didn’t see me from where I was standing although I must have been staring for at least a full minute. I wondered what his story was. Was there a woman? A man? Just by scooting back a few inches, he could have been shielded by the rain, but like me, he was indulging in the weather. Nothing would have stopped him from playing, but he had decided not to for some reason. There was something about him that reminded me of Pablo Picasso’s The Old Guitarist. I remembered seeing it as a child at The Art Institute of Chicago. I was told by my teacher that it was very famous and important, but I didn’t see anything so special about it. Yet here I was on an ordinary Friday night in New York City, thinking of that painting- Thinking of this boy and why he wouldn’t play in the rain, why he had given up hope.
I frowned as the street was lit momentarily by a flash of lightning. The thunder was farther away now, almost inaudible amongst the ambient urban sounds from Broadway. I started walking towards the “N” train. I was returning to the New York I remembered.
The New York I hated in the rain.
The New York that made me buy the most heinous neon yellow umbrella I could find so that people would stop trampling me in the rain.
Suddenly there were people around me and the storm was all but gone. I descended into the subway. The clouds curled back up into the waiting cupboard of the the sky like guestroom pillows being put away after a visitor vacates, leaving the house just a bit emptier. I felt strangely abandoned and lost, left with the lingering tendrils of a magical experience, a poetic one even. I’m sitting here trying to discern what any of it may have meant, but I’m utterly at a loss for words beyond the surreal beauty of what literally happened. All I know is that I won’t soon forget the extraordinary walk to the subway that should have been mundane.
Two summers ago, I was in a “me” place. I was worried about my future in New York City and my long distance engagement. I didn’t seem to have any room for anyone else, but of course I didn’t think about it that way at the time. I just focused on my own problems, obsessions, and neurosis.When I went back to New York City, I needed a place to stay for a few days before my apartment became available. My friend Pam had offered to let me to stay with her when I first got there because she had moved there a few months prior and we hadn’t seen each other in a while. I had gone to school there and was used to it but she was still adjusting. However, when I got there I found that there was an odd silence between us as we rode in the cab to her place.
