Break a Leg

I would have to say that I think the audition process is the most horrendous part of the acting profession.  You are walking into a room with one or maybe several people that you HAVE to impress or you don't get the job.  You are walking in there hoping you look like whatever it is they're looking for and you often have no idea what that is.  You have this little piece of paper that shows your previous work, but there is nothing on that piece of paper that says how good the production was or how good you were in it.  You have a picture of yourself which, if you're like me and hate most pictures taken of yourself when you're trying to look normal, only serves to remind somebody who the hell you are. E.I., "Who the hell is Chad Yarish?  Oh right...that guy."  You go in, hoping you're not sweating or shaking too much; hoping that you don't have some previously unnoticed stain on your shirt; something in your teeth; your fly open; a renegade booger, or any number of other social faux pas.  You go in hoping you don't butcher your monologue, hoping your voice doesn't come out sounding like Gilbert Godfrey, hoping you don't trip over anything...just generally hoping.

So, this summer Sonoma County Rep is doing a new version of The Three Musketeers.  I went to the audition last night for said show.  Good times.  This was also the audition for all the other shows the Rep is doing this summer.  Each of these shows has a different director, so in theory you could have been auditioning for several different people all at the same time, all with completely different ideas about who you should be.

Now, I've worked with the Rep before, and I knew everybody in the room and had worked with most of them, so that should have taken some of the pressure off.  And for the most part, it did.  Except for one.

You may remeber a while back I wrote a blog that was pretty scathingly insulting about an experience I had with one individual's theater company, and this individual found and read the blog, and was duely insulted and let me know, and I apologized.  I have had no contact with that person since that incident.

So when I walk into the theater to do my bit and I see this person in the seats amongst the auditioners, I immediately thought "Well, shit."  Fortunately, I was not auditioning for him.  But just having him there watching me as everybody else was watching me was kinda distracting, as you might imagine.  

But I'm a professional, or at least I try to act like one...mostly.  So I got up, I did my monologue, and I did as I think any professional would in my shoes: I avoided all direct contact with this individual.  My monologue was ok.  I've done better.  In truth, I think I really just wanted to get the hell out of the room.

I have a feeling that the afore mentioned individual may have mentioned something of our confrontation to the others, because the guy I was actually auditioning for let me finish, told me I was already called back for several parts and he would see me Monday, and sent me on my way.  I only take not of this because a friend of mine had auditioned just before me and she had done 2 monologues and they had chatted her up for a while afterwards.

I think in the end all will work out fine, but I think this is a pretty good example of that whole burning bridges thing.  And I think the ultimate lesson here is: don't name drop when you're flaming on a public forum.

Happy Jenday!

This post was going to be about the $300 plumbing bill and the 3-day shoot I just did for the Discovery Channel and the porn stache that necessitates, but I pretty much just covered those, so I'd like to talk about something much more important to me.

This is my 42nd blog here at Break a Leg, and any geek/nerd worth his/her 12 sided dice knows the significance of the number: 42.

Let Uncle Jennifer tell you a story...

And I bet you never, EVER expected to see those words in print outside a gay porn fantasy mag...not that I have ever read any of those...

Anyway...my siblings and I were attending a private school back in the day.  One of our fellow student's older sister was a model for some add agency and the agency needed some little school girls for an ice cream commercial, so they called up our school and all the girls approximately the same age got to be in this commercial.  All the boys were extremely jealous...especially when the checks started rolling in.

So, this was about the time the first NES's were coming out.  If you don't know what NES means: shsh, honey, the grown-ups are talking. At the local mall they had this booth where you could come play test versions of games and buy said games and the system itself and all the accoutremont...I'm not sure that's how you spell that word, but I'm too tired to check dictionary.com and it looks pretty French enough as it is to me.  Anyway, my sister, out of the kindness out of her hear was buying a NES and a couple of games.  This would be the first electronic gaming system in our house.  I suppose that kind of statement would be more impressive and/or sad these days, but back then it was still reason for much excitement.

So, while my sister was listening to my brother as to what games "we should get" with her money, I wandered over to the Walden's Books that was mere feet from the Nintendo booth.

This is the part where fate happened, or destiny, or herpes, or whatever you call it.

Back in those days, audiobooks took up a mere revolving rack as opposed to the massive city-block shelving units now dedicated to their...oh right, itunes and online shopping...that USED to be dedicated to their combined weight that would warp gravity around them for parsecs.  And on this particular, pathetic, revolving cage was one audio book whose cover art spoke to me from the very depths of my geekdom.  It was a little green planet sticking its thumb out at me.  And in that moment I knew that I had to have that cassette tape (shsh, honey, the grown-ups are talking).  Thankfully, my mom was a big fan of audio books, because hey they were books that everybody could Be Quiet and listen to.  So along with our brand new NES, a copy of Ghosts and Goblins, and Metroid, we picked up, yes, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams.

I spent most of my childhood falling asleep to those tapes.  When my brother and I learned that there were MORE books and they were on tape as well, we went out and rented them, Yes: RENTED THEM, from the library.  We of course made copies, which was about as close as you could get audio-piracy in those days - just one step higher than recording songs played on the radio.

Then, years later, one Christmas, my uncle got my the Unabridged Audio Tapes Read By the Author.  I nearly crapped myself.  Until that point I didn't even know what "unabridged" meant.  I spent the next several years of my line trying to track down the other unabridged-read by the author versions.  I finally tracked them down in a Barnes & Noble in Georgia in 1996...I just thought that sentence would sound all gum-shoey, but it was really kinda sad.

My brother and I (and to a lesser but still present extent, my sister) grew up on the works of Douglas Adams.  We can still quote passages.  It's where we learned to talk with an English accent.  And in our circle of friends and acquaintances we were considered wierd for this private dialogue that we would share with each other.  It wasn't until years later that we discovered other people knew what we were talking about.  It was sort of a lonely way to grow up, but it all turned out for the best.  It's like having a secret that isn't really and you want to share, but nobody around you wants to share it, and then you fall into the great wide world, and you find that there are people out there that know the secret, too.  And they all want to share it with each other!

And that's what Douglas Adams did: he created something that could not be kept secret in greed, but shared in joy and wonder and laughter.

So, Mr. Adams, on whatever plane of existence you are now sipping Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters, there's really only one thing I can think to say that does your memory any justice...

Hey, you sass that hoopy, Doug Adams?  There's a frood who really knows where his towel is.

Douglas Adams

1952 - 2001

Happy Jenday

Pre-Script:  This is the third time I've written this post today.  Not because of any technical problems with the site, but because i was trying to do it at work and work kept interrupting.  Stupid work.  Anywho...

I did it.  I finally broke down or bucked up or whatever it is you do when you want something but don't have the courage to go out and get it.  That's right: I bought an iphone.

It just struck me as odd that I would consider this to be an iconic act.  I am not, on the whole, a consumer as far as the acquisition of things goes.  I pretty much just spend my money on rent, gas, bills, food, and drink.  Perhaps the occasional movie, but that's not really acquire anything but experience.  And can you really put a price tag on experience?

Yes.  Yes, you can.  Let me put a price tag on this one.

It was mid-to-late afternoon on January 10th.  For some bizarre reason I had stayed up all night conversing with some of the regulars in my favorite chat room.  I was also conversing with people that I had only ever heard of through the chat or had only ever heard of me through the chat.  It was a very "Lady Hawk" moment.  So, as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes at around 2pm, I decided that it was time to make a purchase.

I have friends with iphones.  I have seen the things they can do.  My current phone was starting to die.  I had the thing for over three years.  I figured it was time for an upgrade.  So, I got up, got clean, got dressed, got lunch, and got down to the local Mac store.  Mac stores have a decent set up.  The wide open space and clean lighting is very inviting, and there's lots of stuff for you to play with while waiting for somebody to help you.  Eventually, a sales person came over to me and we started the process of my acquisition of my next step into a larger world.

It's easy: they have you type in all your information, specialize your plan, and pick your phone.  Then they activate the phone right there, help you pick some accessories, charge it all right there, and send you on your way.  They have these portable credit card readers that they can use anywhere in the store.  Makes shopping easy.

The only hitch in all this was that I had to switch from Sprint to AT&T.  Since I didn't have my account information with me the sales clerk pulled up Spint's website where, in theory, I should have been able to access my account.  However, the site did not recognize my phone number, my address, or my email.  Which was sorta dumb.  So I said "screw it" and activated the AT&T account with a new phone number, which I would then have to relay to every single person I would ever want to contact me again.

Aside from that, very pleasant shopping experience.  The final receipt was in the area of $450.

Now, the iphone, aside from being a phone and an mp3 player, is just a fun toy.  There's all these ridiculously useless but oh-so-entertaining apps to download.  For instance: you can download an app that let's you swing your iphone around and make lightsaber noises.  I can't imagine there is a male between the ages of 25 - 50 that has an iphone and doesn't have this app.  So naturally, I spent a lot of time downloading anything that was A.) free and B.) remotely interesting.  I took my iphone everywhere with me while exploring it's seemingly endless utility.

Including the bathroom.

The lesson here is: do not try to play a game one-handed while drunk.  You will drop your expensive toy, possibly into something you'd really rather not have to retrieve it from.

But retrieve it I did because, bloody hell, I just spent $450 on that thing.  I tried to shake it out (and then washed my hands VERY thoroughly).  I propped it up so some of the remaining...liquid might eventually drip out.  I let it dry over light.  I tried to plug it back into itunes to do a system restore.  But alas, my new toy was dead.  I had owned it for 4 days.  I looked over the warrantee to see if dropping your phone in the toilet was covered.  It wasn't.  I called tech support and asked them what my options were.  They said my options were to buy a new iphone.  Needing a second opinion, I went back to the Mac store and asked them what my options were.  They said they could take a look at it, but it would probably be a couple weeks before they told me just to buy a new iphone.  I decided to skip the wait. 

Now, when you buy a new iphone with the plan, the actual iphone itself is only $200, but if you want to buy one without the plan it's $400.  However, I told the guys my story.  Also, I work in customer service, so I make a very strenuous effort to A.) not make any demands, B.) be an asshole, C.) make any salesperson's job harder than it has to be.  Since I was cool, they were cool, and only charged me the $200 for a new phone instead of the $400.

So, total price tag on this experience: approximately $650 + tax.

I like to think of it as "stimulating the economy via recycled beer".

Happy Jenday

I think that around this time of year, it is typical for people to look back and reflect on the things they've accomplished or failed to accomplish during the last 365± days, accolades they've acquired, people they've pissed off, pooches they've booted, and so on.  Well, I'm not gonna.  I don't feel like it.  Instead, I will share the experiences of the last 24 hours.  I think that'll be enough.

First off, last night I went to dinner and a movie with my brother and my dad.  My brother lives in Hawaii (the bastard) and doesn't make it to the mainland that often, so we decided to go to the local microbrew and have some good old pub food.  Marin Brew Co. has appetizer wings that come in your choice of bar-b-que or buffalo flavor.  Due to a snafu in the kitchen several years ago, I was served the wings with both sauces mixed together...and I've never gone back.  At first I was trying to get the mixed sauces known as "Yarish Style".  I encourage everybody I ever meet to try the wings this way.  Then, I converted my friend Nate without much effort and he coined the term "bufflaque" which I think is much better.  So we had some bufflaque wings, some pizza, some salad (scoff) and some beer.  It was good.

Then we went to see Valkyrie at the movie theater in the local mall.  You will ask "How was that?"  I will answer "Meh".  Perhaps my unenthusiastic response spawns from the kid sitting next to me.  He and his mom came into the theater just as the movie was starting.  There wasn't enough room in our row for them to sit together, so she parked him next to me and sat in the seat behind him.  Through the next two hours he proceeded to crinkle his candy back, slurp his soda, repeatedly turn around to get more popcorn from dear old mother, and generally be mildly annoying.

When the movie was over and we all funnelled out of the theater, he was rejoined with his mom.  Anybody see a little movie called Gladiator?  Remember the hot sister that had a thing for Maximus?  Yeah.  It was her.  Now, anybody who knows their pop culture won't be as surprised at the next part as I was.  There was apparently a second son, because one minute he was holding her hand, the next minute he was yelling "Daddy! Daddy!" and running through the crowd.  And who is our mystery father figure?  Lars.  As in Lars from Metallica.  Now I have what I consider to be a slightly atypical response to seeing famous people in public.  I do not run up to the and ask for their autograph or ask to shake their hand or point out that they are who they are to themselves and everybody in the immediate area.  No.

I compare their height to mine.

Lars = shoulder height.

Story #2:  I have mentioned once or twice that I play Kingdom of Loathing.  I also listen to Radio KoL, which is a free live stream that runs 24/7.  The DJs are people that usually play the game.  They also have lots of games and contests and stuff.  One of the DJs was having a contest she called Skaraoke.  Basically, if you wanted to take part in the contest, you posted on her forum.  What ever number you were in the order of posters, that was your number, i.e., the first post was number 1, the next was number 2, and so on.  I was number 54, which actually largely irrelevant, but I just want you to have a complete picture.  Then, the day after the deadline for entries during her show, the DJ went down the list of entrants.  She had a numbered list of 127 different songs.  Every time she got to the next post number, she would roll the digital equivalent of a 127-sided die.  Whatever number came up, that would be that person's song to sing, and then she would move on.  I ended up with Every Breath You Take by The Police. Then what happened was the DJ would send you the karaoke track: no lead vocals, just the instruments and maybe some back up vocals.  It was the responsibility of everybody participating to provide the lead vocals to the track and send it back to the DJ.

Now, I can sing, but I can't sing like Sting.  And I wasn't about to try.  Especially since I had a cold.  So the first time my voice cracked on a high note, I decided that I would need a little help from my friends, so i started doing impressions: Gizmo, Kermit, a Gregorian choir...whatever.  Pretty much butchering the song, but in a hopefully amusing way.  I'm pretty sure I was the first person to get my submission in.  I'm not sure how many original entries there were on the forums, but at the deadline of 12am eastern time last night, there were 42 submissions (a nice little coincidence for all you Hitchhiker fans).  So then the DJ loaded all the songs into her playlist, hit random, and played them all so everybody could hear everybody else's submissions so that they could vote on them later.

The ironic part here is that the DJ's show is always on when I'm at work so I never get to listen.  This morning was no different.  There is a chat channel for people who are listening to Radio KoL, so I could see the reactions to what was being played.  By the time I actually logged into chat this morning, my song had already played, so I had no idea how people reacted to it. 

Once all the songs were done playing, everybody voted on the songs that they thought were the best and the worst.  There were 3 prize categories: Best, Worst, and DJ's pick.  All the prizes would be in-game items of some value. 

Long story short (too late): I got voted Best Song...which I can only assume or at least hope means "most amuzing".  The DJ announced the winners on the radio...so I didn't know I had won until people started congratulating me. 

Then I went home early from work.

So all in all, not a bad way to end the year.  Now I plan to go eat some good food and get pretty hammered.

Happy Jenday and Happy New Year!

So, 2 weeks ago, I was talking about how my roommate had gone on vacation to Taiwan for about a month and left behind a puppy.  In the two weeks since that post the dog has managed to crap all over the floor, eat a good portion of my roommate's shoes, destroy sections of carpet, pile a good deal of my roommate's bedding and personal effects in the middle of the room, and generally annoy the hell out of me.

I fed the dog, I played with the dog, I took the dog for walks, I event let the little bugger sleep with me at night.  I bought a litter box and put it in the spot that the dog habitually pooped in the naive hope that the dog might get the idea.  I showed it where the poop went.  I put it in the box and pet it, trying to instill the sense that the box was a good thing, a great thing, a thing which would help to avoid so many future beatings.

And every day, I would wake up, put the dog in the room, take a shower, come out of the shower, open the door to the dog's room...and smear shit all across the rug because the dog liked to poop right in front of the door. 

And perhaps you're thinking "Well, it's been a long night.  Maybe you should have taken the dog out for a walk before you got int the shower." To which I respond: I could take the dog out for a walk, letting it take its sweet-ass time, sniffing everything that needed to be sniffed, it would even pee several times on the trip.  The minute I put it back in it's room it would shit on the floor.

Aside from the poop-factor, the dog whined, squeaked, and barked whenever it was stuck in the room.  If I let it out of the room it would tear around the house, find something it wasn't supposed to eat, eat it, and then shit on the carpet again, only this time the poop would have the consistency and color of melted chocolate ice cream. 

My family has rented a beach house this year for Christmas.  My sister is down from Portland, my brother and his family are over from Hawaii.  I haven't seen my niece and on of my nephews in 3 years, the other nephew I've never met before.  There are no pets allowed at the house.  I was not going to miss the opportunity to do so because of this damn dog.  I spent Saturday night out there and felt this anxiety the entire time about the dog, which isn't even mine.  I certainly couldn't leave it alone for 3 days while I was out try to have fun with my family, because I wouldn't be having fun.  I would just be sitting there worrying about what the dog would destroy next or which one of my neighbors would complain about it and get me kicked out of my apartment.

The dog had to go.

I thought about a boarding the dog, but balked at the idea of paying $35 a day plus vaccination fees for a dog that wasn't even mine.  I thought of just leaving the front door open and letting the dog play in traffic.  "Whoops" I'd say.  This actually happened accidentally.  I was carrying something inside the house and my hands were full and the dog bolted right by me, down the stairs and out into the street where it was almost run down by a passing car.

Finally, I called the Humane Society and told them the situation.  The girl on the other line at first gave me a guilt trip about having accepted the responsibility and now having to deal with it.  I really couldn't disagree with her, but I really couldn't have the dog in my house any more.  She eventually told me that if they could get permission from my roommate for me to release the dog to them they would take it. 

So, today, I took the dog to the Humane Society.  I think she knew something was wrong because on the ride there, there were little doggy tears running down her nose.  If I wasn't such a cold hearted bastard, I might not have laughed in her face.  I brought her into the front foyer, explained the situation, handed the dog over, signed a piece of paper, and walked away - the anxiety that had been plaguing me since the dog first arrived starting to disapate like fog in the sunlight.

This whole situation seemed to be what it would be like if you suddenly found out you had a kid, without having had the fun of making the little bastard in the first place.

Happy Jenday and Merry Christmas!

P.S.  I'm posting this a day early because tomorrow I will be out at the beach house enjoying a snifter of mead and not worrying about any dogs.