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Posts Tagged ‘summer’

When we last left our hero (me), she was attempting a move uptown but evil villain movers were thwarting her plan.  After a battle with an armoire, a screaming match with the a-hole moving company owner, a perilous ride in the front seat of a truck smooshed between 3 grown men, and the aid of my darling friend Walter, I emerged victorious. More or less. Everything got moved and that’s all that matters. A week later, it feels like home. From where I stand, there was only one moving casualty. It always has to be something.

I woke up Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, refreshed and ready to get back to work. I was going to be a good little blogger, write about my weekend in the timeliest of fashions, including dozens of pictures, it was going to be great. And then I couldn’t find my camera USB connector. Buzz buzz! I ripped my newly organized room apart in search of the thing. To no avail. I racked my brain, called friends whose apartments I had recently visited. To no avail. I ransacked my room again, double checking every nook and cranny. Nowhere. That’s how I spent my week in the greatest city on earth. Is there a worse feeling? When you have a plan and then forces beyond your control thwart it? Just like my movers. It’s always something. Yesterday I gave up and went to Best Buy and purchased a universal USB connector. Today I write this belated post. Without further ado:

Governor’s Island, swimming distance (if swimming were allowed/advisable) from the southern tip of Manhattan, is a fantastical place. A former military base, only accessible by a five-minute ferry ride from Manhattan, populated only with abandoned buildings and summer attractions. It is open only on weekends from May 26-September 30. “Governors Island offers a diverse array of arts, cultural and recreational activities for visitors of all ages to enjoy.” say’s their website. I have been meaning to go for years, but again, it was always something: I was away for the summer, it’s a whole ferry ride away, I work weekends, I’m a lazy excuse-spewing American cliché. Nothing motivates an American cliché like money, which is exactly what finally brought me to Governor’s Island. I booked a job for Labor Day weekend working an event called “Pig Island”. (more…)

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I’m running around the forest searching, hoping to see a flash of red, a glint of gold brocade, the blue-green iridescence of a peacock feather. It is the proper time of day (I just sneakily peaked at the 20th century watch hidden in my pouch), he should be free, should be in the area, and should be hoping for someone to play with. Through the sea of T-shirts, sundresses, and flip-flops, he does stand out. Most hands clutch turkey legs or plastic beer cups, his is more likely clutching the well crafted sword attached to his belt. His jerky and abrupt movements are made to look like (unto) an action hero and as such he’s pretty impossible to overlook This very point is proven as he comes charging up the hill, the angles of legs and arms so specific it’s comical.

Now that I know he’s here, I immediately change direction and act like I don’t. Coy Consequence Wailes (my character) is not, but completely oblivious? Oh yar. In faith, the pirate in me is madly in love with this man. So much so that sometimes she can’t even say his name. After all, he is Sir Francis Drake, and if there was any celebrity “bad boy” in 1585, this “hero of England” was It with a capital I.

My entire day is unscripted. My entire day is me roaming around “the shire”, thirty acres if Bumble Fuck. There are 30 other actors roaming these parts. That’s one actor for every acre (coincidence? I think so.) We are all running around hoping to bump into one another because that makes for a scene. We know our relationships with each other, how our characters feel about each other, maybe even how they interact together. We aren’t floundering. There’s an outline. Anything can’t happen. But also anything can. In all our minds percolate ideas for adventures and comedic scenes that we can play out for the patrons of the faire. Not only that, this is interactive theatre, ultimate success is when the audience gets in and actually plays with us.

When Consequence meets Sir Francis, it’s often my favorite part of the day. She’s a 12-year-old girl and he is Justin Bieber (or Justin Timberlake or John Lennon if you need generational translation). She’s a pirate and he’s a knight. It’s 1585. No cameras, no security, no twitter, no Seventeen.  It’s theater, plays are written about the most extraordinary days of people’s lives.  So I aim to make every performance day the most exciting day a pirate could ever have, which means she meets Sir Francis Drake and some days he even invites her to join his crew.

Now that I, the actor, have spotted my scene partner and know her search will be successful, my pirate can start looking for Sir Francis. Hopefully I can get a patron to help me.  John Cadwell! The renowned look-out, Is it even so? Oh Master Cadwell, I have heard of tell that you are the greatest look out that ever sailed the seas. That you can spot land from a greater distance than birds can fly. Word has it your eyesight is unparalleled! As a fellow sea dog, Master Cadwell, I Consequence Wailes, were hoping to beg a boon of thee.

I’ve just turned an audience member into  John Cadwell, master look-out, the very person I need to help Conny spot Sir Francis Drake. After an entirely unhelpful description He be the most beautious knight in all the world! His golden locks to shine like Apollo himself! His face does wear the many adventures of his life and he do look so fearsome and braverious! Teehee!- I’ll mention he’s wearing red and has black gloves and my John Cadwell will hopefully take the cue to say, “You talking about the guy right there? Which cues my freak out because O-M-G (“God’s my life” in 1585) I am totes not ready to actually meet him! Do I look ok? I haven’t washed my vestments in over a month and I think there’s blood on them from the guy I killed last week! But maybe that’s good? I look brave? Worthy of his crew? Squee!! How do I approach him!?

Usually I’m told to “Just go talk to him! Say ‘Hi.’” If my John Cadwell has had a couple of beers and is “in his cups” (drunk) I might get “Shove your tits in his face!” Some patrons get really into it, “Well, you both work at sea- you have that in common- talk about shared interests.” One even went so far as to make up background for his character, “Oh, yeah, we were on the same ship once, I know him. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

This all leads to the inevitable dramatic climax. Consequence meets her hero. Often meeting him causes her to lose control of her sentences and spew ecstatic, incoherent, babbling that some one must translate. She’s even fainted a couple times (I’ve gotten great at staged falls)- the ferocious piratess who has slain hundreds of men without batting an eye, defenseless in the presence of the one she loves.

On the very first day of the faire, I had no idea what to expect. We’d rehearsed for a full month, I knew my character, knew those of my fellow actors, but no amount of rehearsal could prepare me for exactly what it would be like interacting with actual patrons. Hoping “John Cadwell” says “Haha, okay sure, that’s me!” and not, “No, my name is Mark. I’m an accountant.” and if you do get shut down like that you can play it off well.

I started the day nervous as hell, clammy hands and heart pounding in my chest- the works. I ended the day wearing a melon rind on my head. Like unto a hat. This got me cred with the veterans of the cast. “The best thing I saw on opening was Consequence Wailes with a melon strapped on her head. You are fearless and you crack my shit up.” A complement like that’ll help ease my nerves any day.

So how did I end up wearing a melon as a hat? We’ll get to that tomorrow.

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I’ve forsaken blogging for beaching.

Apologies, but can you blame me?

This is the first time I say “I am so glad I’ve left NYC?” If you live there, you know why.

It’s been ferociously hot in our fair city for the past week. Red Cross high alert kind of hot. 100 in the shade kind of hot. Fry an egg on the sidewalk kind of hot. My poor roommates left sweltering in the city finally buckled down and bought AC units kind of hot. Hundreds of miles north it’s a little different. Instead of heat trapping skyscrapers and wall to wall asphalt there is the shade offered by woods and often a lake breeze. It is consistently 10 degrees difference with Bumblefuck the lower end of the thermometer.

I love heat. Heat means sundresses, popsicles, flip-flops, beach hats. BEACH WEATHER! This is what I was wishing for while shivering through the beginning of June. I have celebrated its arrival. I went to the beach every day this week- Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday (and would have gone today had it not rained.)

The beach is typically a blessed escape from heat, work, the pressures of life, clothing, etc. For me it’s all this and more. It is a return to independence. As I discovered this week, the beach is a bike-able distance from the faire site. The only worthy bike-able destination (so far discovered anyway!) in all of Bumblefuck. Best discovery ever, it is. I can go to the beach whenever I want, stay as long as I want, and not be dependent on anyone but myself and ly legs. I’m not even dependent on the bike, actually, for the beach is not only a bikable distance, but a walkable one. It’s about 2 miles.  Yesterday I went on the perfect run though the temperature was near 90, for my destination was the beach and the idea of cool water immersion kept me pounding the pavement.

Maybe in the future I’ll combine blogging and the beach- that’s what netbooks are for- because I can. The same reason goes for spending as much time á la beach as possible. Because I can.

May you find yourself on the beach this weekend! Because I can’t! For I am a pirate from dawn to dusk Saturday and Sunday and my pirating does not envolve beaching. But more on that anon!

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I’ve abandoned my normal make-up routine.

Started wearing running shoes when I’m not exercising.

Sweatpants are my new go-to outfit.

My hair is a frizzy-humidity-mess-fest and I’m doing nothing to tame it.

Yesterday I played hacky-sack.

Today the most exciting event in the neighborhood is a possible trip to the grocery store.

What the fuck’s happened to me?

I’ve left New York City.

What? How could I do such a thing after the declaration of love from last entry? It isn’t over, NYC and I are just doing the long distance thing for a couple months. You knew this was coming.

It was not easy to sit on Megabus and watch the Empire State Building fade into the distance (and listening to R.E.M’s “Leaving New York “-surprise- didn’t help). Highway was the only thing on the horizon for the next 7 hours as I traveled far north to upstate New York. Commonly referred to in the city as bumblefuck. An area I’ve been referring to as “the woods”. You may have thought I was kidding when I said “the woods”. I certainly thought I was kidding- in a cute and vaguely ironic anywhere-that-isn’t-NYC-is-”the woods” kind of way.

My 7 hour (including a transfer) bus ride dropped me off in front of a tired looking state university in an even more tired-looking (when I say “tired” I mean about the same thing as when a guy tells me “Wow, you look really tired”) college town. A terrifyingly long, 20 minute car ride later (the closest semblance of a town is 20 minute ride in a CAR not on a bike- how am I to live??) I arrive at the place that will be home from June to mid August.

It is the woods, there’s no mistaking it. I’m also at a renaissance faire. There’s no mistaking that either. I am no longer in Manhattan and I’m surprised how culture shocked I am.

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There is Good News and there is Bad News, to the extreme on both ends.

Fortunately the Good News happened first. Other wise I might not have made it through the week.

Us new New Yorkers get asked “So why did you move to New York?” all the time. It is often a precursor to the discussed What’s the difference between the East Coast and West Coast? My answer is generally “Theatre.” Yes, I am an aspiring actor, in case you forgot, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you had. I’ve been doing much more aspiring than acting these days. And honestly not too much aspiring even. With ENT bills still haunting me and Mahattan rent, making money has been my #1 priority for many months. I’ve assistant directed a play and been on a handful of auditions but I have to admit it’s been on a hobby level. Which I’m okay with- putting off pursuing my dreams for a bit is fine, plus I’m pursuing my dream of living in NYC which is impossible without money. It’s all relative.

We artists are obsessed with “selling out”, “failure”, “giving up”.  Right, these fears only plague artists.

Any how.

On Monday, 7 minutes before the end of my desk-job work day, I received a call from the only audition I’d been on in April (maybe I’d been on 2, but I don’t think so) offering me a part. A paid part. An offer to pay me money to do what I love.

You want details? It’s an offer to be a part of “the oldest full-time professional acting troupe of any Renaissance Festival, and the inspiration behind many interactive entertainment groups in major theme parks across the country” to quote the website. The part is that of a female pirate, “piratess” (yes, there were pirates during the Renaissance just ask wikipedia, and yes, female pirates did exist, though rarely: it’s legit) in a band of 3 pirates out of 30 actors in the over all ensemble. The contract is from June 1-August 16 with the festival only on weekends, meaning the rest of the week is devoted to rehearsal annnnd basically summer vacation because it’s all in upstate NY, 6 hours away from NYC and they provide company housing (and board on the weekends). Spending a summer pretending I’m a pirate, swimming in Lake Ontario, star gazing, hiking, and other “middle of no where” (as we refer to it in NYC) activities; free rent, and a weekly pay check? Or sitting at a desk from 9-5 on beautiful sunny days, dreaming of evenings spent doing all the million awesome things there are to do in this city in the summer and weekends at the beach? Not too much of a contest. I will sorely miss Shakespeare in the Park, roof top bars, outdoor movies, my friends, etc. etc. But trading in the Administrative Assistant title for that or Professional Actor? That’s my dream right there. And June 1st, it looks like it will be coming true- I signed the contract (!!! contracts scare me) but have yet to receive my counter signed copy, so it’s not 100% official.

My reaction to success surprises me. I would imagine myself ecstatic at such an offer, shouting from the rooftops  with glee. It’s much more mixed than that. There’s fear in such success, disbelief, worry that it’s too good to be true.  In this particular example- worry about subletting my apartment for the summer, being unemployed on August 16, telling my office I’m leaving. I guess that makes me a grown up.

Now the bad news.

I decided not to tell work immediately that I was leaving. Wait for 3-4 weeks notice. My superior recently gave me a wink while talking about previous people in my position, how long they stayed on for, and how nice it would be to have someone stick around for a couple years. I could have told her right then and there I wasn’t planning on doing that, but instead pretended it might be an option, and now that I wasn’t even getting past my 6 month mark I felt a little bad. Not that I had signed a contract here or anything.

On Friday however, I learned that quitting my job was nothing I would have to worry about. Because on Friday I was, abruptly, never-saw-it-coming, no-kind-of-warning FIRED. I’ve never been fired before ever. It was shocking to say the least. Everyone who is in the office on a normal basis was about as shocked as I- or so I’ve been told. My firing was in the hands of the Big Boss Man (with the Prostate Problem) who is, as I’ve mentioned, almost never in the office. He had never reprimanded me previously, never mentioned I was doing an unsatisfactory job and needed to improve or face consequences. Maybe it’s because he found my blog, but I highly doubt it.

I’ve been told I was let go because my sales reports had too many detail errors. I can’t deny this, but will say the majority of these errors were because he demanded the reports prematurely, expected me to understand things with no explanation, or because the creator of the report told me it was “ready to go” when it wasn’t. I trust people and don’t read minds. It’s all an extremely aggravating reason to loose a job.

To add to it? They told me I could stay on until the end of the month (April) and needing the money, I accepted. So, as I type I am still behind my desk. Fuming as it is Administrative Professionals Day and no one gives a shit about me. It is awkward as hell working here knowing I’ve been fired. Talk about no motivation. I mean, what are they going to do? Fire me? And no one is talking about it. It’s this huge elephant in the room. I’ve named him Marvin. Marvin the Elephant is the only one in this office who understands me.

Whatever. I was going to quit any way.

So here I am, 8 more days stuck at a desk, 1 month of unemployment, a summer of professional acting, and then…who knows. I have a 4 month plan- that’s more than I can usually say.

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