this is the blog where we talk about the stuff.

When I was in 6th grade, I had a crush on an 8th grader named Sam.  I believe I’ve posted what I looked like in the 6th grade, and that was picture day, so just imagine a regular day, and I had the most uncomfortable personality known to man.  I basically wore long, light washed denim shorts, Wal-Mart knockoff Birkenstock sandals with my dad’s old athletic socks, and a Texas Tech sweatshirt that was three sizes too big and had a rust stain on it from where I left it outside in the rain on top of a board with a nail sticking out of it, every day.  I looked like a feral child.

Anyway, I had a crush on Sam.  He was older, had a girlfriend, and you can be more than sure that he was not at all interested in me.  He suffered my presence.  But I was convinced that he would fall in love with me and we would be married.  CONVINCED.  In a very creepy way.  I journaled about him.  I wrote him letters I never gave him.  I planned my walking schedule to each class based on where I might see him.  I was a creepy, creepy 6th grader.

The fact that Sam did not love me back was heartbreaking to me.  I neglected my personal appearance (as if it could be more neglected).  I refused to brush my hair.  I walked the halls in a coma, drawing on the walls with my finger.  I kept my head down, looking at my Birkenstocks wondering what I could do to make Sam love me.  I mean, life got weird.

During this time of introspection, I attended a Math and Science Meet for 6th graders.  This is laughable to most, because it for sure took me four tries to pass Algebra 099 in college.  How I got signed up for this trip, I have no idea.  Either way, the trip insured that we would get to eat at either McDonald’s or Pizza Hut.  I was (and still am) a fast food guilty pleasurer, so as the prospect of McDonald’s was, quite frankly, too good of a deal to pass up.  My friends, who had every right to be on this trip, chose Pizza Hut.  Just another in the long line of poor decisions I would make during the course of my young life.

I wore a large coat, more than likely my father’s, and started out to Mickey Dee’s.  I’m sure I purchased a Quarter Pounder with Cheese meal (including Dr. Pepper), because that is the only thing I ever get at McDonald’s.  I started back, planning to meet my friends at Pizza Hut and eat with them.  It was cold.  I had on denim shorts and a huge jacket.  I had poor posture, which is to say, Quasimodo taught me how to sit in a chair.  As I schlumped past the Pizza Hut, readying myself to cross the street, I was oblivious to the compassionate stares of my friends as they surveyed me walking towards Pizza Hut.  I was later told that the conversation went something like this:

Meaghan: Oh my gosh.  Is that a homeless person?

Jennifer: Oh my gosh.

Terra: Yeah.

Jennifer: Should we give him some food.

Terra: I think he’s got a McDonald’s bag.

Meaghan: Oh yeah.  I see it now.

Jennifer: Wait, he’s coming in here.

Erin: Hey guys.

Terra: Holy crap.  We thought you were a homeless guy.

Meaghan: We almost gave you pizza.

*****

This has been installment 1 of “Awkward Stories from My Childhood.”

Part of my job consists of traveling around the South and holding auditions for our company’s summer staff.  I love auditions.  Let me re-phrase that: I love being in charge of auditions.  I hate actually auditioning.  It’s so uncomfortable.  So awkward.  So intimidating.  People whom you are trying to impress sit behind an imposing table, glaring at you while you perform, writing notes, giving a little “thank you” murmur when you finish.  They don’t even have the decency to tell you you didn’t the job.  They post them somewhere for you to read.  It’s so degrading.

However, this is path we have chosen.  If you want an acting job, you are going to have to audition at some point.  I’ve seen a lot of these in my day, and I feel like I can give some pretty good advice to the casual to professional actor.  Here are my tips:

1. Arm yourself with information.
Perhaps this is your first audition.  That’s ok.  There is this incredible thing called the internet.  And it can literally teach you anything.  You want to fix the plumbing in your kitchen?  Google that mess.  You want to find the lowest price for plane tickets?  It’s a veritable smorgasbord.  You need to learn how to fold a fitted sheet?  Type that up in some search box and saddle up your ponies.  Honestly, there’s no excuse for being unprepared for an audition.  Mostly because, as the audition assessor, I send you multiple copies of an audition packet that has more information than you could possibly imagine in it.  It basically auditions for you.  So read it.  (And, as a side note, if someone you are trying to get a job with sends you an email that contains an attachment, and you find yourself unable to open it, the thing to do is to email them back with a quick “hey, I couldn’t open that attachment, is there another way I can get this information?”  Not showing up for your interview/audition and giving the excuse of “I couldn’t open that attachment!”  Just a thought.)

2. Use your brain when choosing monologues.
If you are a professionally trained Shakespearean actor that has an incredible mastery over the langauge & iambic pentameter, then by all means, Ophelia your little heart out.  Otherwise, stay away from the big dogs (Chekov, Shakespeare, Aeschylus).  There’s a reason these playwrights are famous: they write incredible plays that professionals do.  Keep it in the stratosphere.

3. Be prepared.
Here’s a tip for those that aren’t theater majors or don’t audition: it’s typically a good idea to have some monologues all up in your repertoire, just in case.  You never know when you need to bust out the skills.  Commit a couple of monologues to memory, then, when an audition is sprung upon you, you have material right there in your mind grapes, no need to stress.  If you are a theater major, then you know better and either shame on you or shame on your professors.

4.  If you aren’t prepared, you better be freaking good.
If you are going to choose to NOT be prepared, you better give it your all when you are reading those monologues off the page.  You better be freaking Sir Ian McKellan.  Although Sir Ian McKellan would never come to an audition unprepared, so, you know, maybe take notes.  You better be acting the crap out of that monologue.  Holding a piece of paper in front of your face while you read in a monotone voice is not acting.  Although I’m sure it passes in some establishments.

5. Topics to stay away from in your monologues:
a. Abortion
b. The first time you had sex and how bad you feel about it.
c. Anything that involves a great deal of yelling.
d. Anything that involves a great deal of whispering.
e. Anything from a movie.  You are auditioning for live theater.  Not film.
f. Anything you wrote yourself, unless you are Wm. Shakespeare or have graduated from an accredited playwriting program.

6. Plant your feet.
That is all.

7.  Volunteer.
Don’t wait for 40 minutes of terrible, awkward silence as NO ONE volunteers to go first.  You’re prepared!  You’ve got style and pizazz.  Get up there.  Strut your stuff.  Peacock, baby!

8. Act.
Seems simple, right?  It’s what you’re here for.  You would be amazed at the surprising number of auditionees that do the opposite, in that they recite words as themselves with a crazy emphasis or two.  Think about your monologue.  What are you trying to convey?  Should you be smiling nervously in a death scene?  No.  Unless it is incredibly ironic.

9.  Be easy.
Not that way.  What I’m saying is: assessors are tired.  They spend all day traveling to the audition site, eating crap food, watching terrible auditions from people who, for all intents and purposes, obviously do not give a crap.  Know what you’re doing.  Bring the needed material to the audition.  Be able to stay as long as needed.  Be flexible.  It’s not rocket science, to be sure.

10.Be polite.
Also sort of a given, right?  Not usually.  Look people in the eyes.  Make conversation with other auditionees.  Introduce yourself with a handshake and smile.  Be professional.  Be courteous.  This isn’t the Stone Age, and it’s also not a manners party.  But that doesn’t mean you can’t lay down your awkwardness for 20 minutes and act like a professional.  You’re an actor.

11.  And last but not least, be good.
No amount of being nice or being prepared will save a flat dab bad audition.  This is just the truth: some people are cut out to be high level college math professors, some people are cut out to be actors.  Some people can be both and I resent them for it.

So these are my tips.  I’ll go ahead and put it out there that when I auditioned, I typically broke the majority of these, causing wonder and disbelief that I ever got an acting job.  So, there’s that.  But, as an assessor I’m much more inclined to hire someone who is pretty good (and was prepared, polite, etc.) than someone who obviously has a lot of raw talent and acted like they could have cared less.

Hello, 2010!  I’m a little late to the party, I know.  If it counts for anything, I started this blog around the beginning of the year…so…there’s that.  I keep seeing statuses (stasus-i?) from peeps on Facebook saying, “Good riddance, 2009!  You were an old SOB!” or whatever, but I loved 2009 for the most part.  Sure, it had some sucky parts, but friends, what is life without some sucky parts?  Or as my acquaintance David Rhodes says, “The only thing worse than struggles is not having anything in your life worth struggling for.”

YES.  THANK YOU, SIR.

Anyway, 2009 = great.  I give it an…A-.  Which, if you’re a solid B/B- student (moi), you’ll find that to be quite satisfactory indeed.

But alas, on to 2010.  Which sounds so futuristic, right? I feel like a Jetson already.  Where’s my jet pack?

Today, I want to share a Christmas story with you.  It’s a bad Christmas story.  No Santa, no quiet meditations on Luke 2 by a crackling fire.  This is the story of how it took us 32 hours to drive from Amarillo to Birmingham.

Now, it normally take about 14 hours (give or take, depending on whether you’re driving with a certified lunatic [my father] who will not allow passengers to use the restroom, or an infant) to make this drive.  We made it in about 15 on the way there.  And friends, 15 hours in the car is no small potatoes.  It’s very large potatoes.  It’s a large helping of potato salad.  But, dear Lord, if we only knew what waited for us on the other end of our trip.

Christmas Eve, 7pm: We finished loading up the Kia Rondo (that’s right, we rented) with the truly absurd amount of things we accumulated on our trip and said a teary farewell to my family.  Well, I did anyway.  We started driving down Hwy 287.  We usually through Oklahoma, but Oklahoma was closed.  The whole state.  Because of the Great Snowpocalypse of 2009.  So, we thought we’d be clever and go around it.

Don’t get clever with Mother Nature.  She’s not interested in your cleverness.

Christmas Eve, 10:30pm: Childress, TX.  We stop to use el bano and I suggest we “just top off the tank.”  This move solidifies my awesomeness for years to come.

Christmas Eve, 11pm: Traffic stops.

Let me pause here and mention that it is icy.  And it snowed the day before.  But there is no reason for alarm.

Christmas Day, 12:01am: We decide to scour Twitter to see if we can find like-minded individuals who might be further along in traffic that can give us a heads-up about what MUST be a wreck or something.  Here is what we find:

“@TxDOT we have been onHWY287 4 over 8hrs.  PLs send help,food,water ASAP.”

“Stuck on HWY 287 outside WFalls. We’re never getting out of here.”

“Can any1 see what’s going on with HWY 287?”

Despair.  Despair.  Despair.

We tweet with some people that are further up in traffic.  They have apparently been sitting in the EXACT same position for going on 8 hours already.  WHAT?  At this point, we raise our fists to the heavens and curse Doppler Dave for COMPLETELY NEGLECTING to inform ANYONE that HWY 287 is apparently closed for business.

Christmas Day, 2am: Not much has changed, except our spirits aren’t great.  We silently consider eating one another.

Christmas Day, 4am: We keep cranking the car, warming it up and then shutting her down again to conserve gas.

Christmas Day, 6am: We have to pee.  We are in the part of Texas where it’s flat.  If you pee, everyone around you is gonna get a show.

Christmas Day, 8am: We move!  Oh Sweet LORD!  We are movi-ok.  That’s it.  That’s all we moved.

Christmas Day, 10am: The infant we are traveling with (did you forget about the 4 month old newborn in the

backseat?) decides she’s angry.  And she’s had enough.  I envy her ability to throw a tantrum.  And to wear a diaper and pee at will.

Christmas Day, 2pm: We are moving.  We move.  Oh, I’m so happy.  We still have to pee.  So much.  Aaaaaand we stop.  About the length of a football field.  I now have the understanding that I will certainly die on this road that God forgot.

Christmas Day, 3pm: Ben gives in and trespasses on someone’s property to pee.  He returns as Moses would.

Christmas Day, 4pm: The family in front of us finds a dead mouse in the snow.  They play with it.  We contemplate eating them.

Christmas Day, 5pm: Great day in the morning.  We finally move.  There are so many cars abandoned on the road.  So many jack-knifed semis.  All Ben can say is: “It’s like the apocalypse.”   We learn around now that we were a part of a 50 mile long string of traffic.  We also learn that many people went crazy and took golf clubs to their side mirrors.  Again, I envy these people who operate with complete emotional abandon.

Christmas Day, 5:30pm: We reach a rest stop.  So has the rest of the world.  It’s a one bathroom.  The girl in front of me fights down her gag reflex.  I sacrifice dignity, hygiene, and self-respect and use what could loosely be referred to as a “restroom.”  There is freedom in an empty bladder.  I vow never to drink water or any liquid ever again.

Christmas Day, 6pm: We stop at some chicken place to eat.  We’re so hungry, yet dazed.  Are we still in Texas?  It’s been almost 24 hours and we’re not even out of Texas.  We eat chicken.  Holland gets pouty.

The Day After Christmas, 3am: We arrive home.  We stumble inside.  The baby is completely dazed.  She has no idea what’s become of her life.  We share her sentiment.

It’s a funny story now.  All told, it took us about 32 hours to make it all the way home.  And we really did not get the worst of it, as friends of ours traveled the same road the next day and flipped their car three times.  Awful.

The great part about this is that we can look back at Holland’s First Christmas and know with great certainty that she can’t possibly ever have a worse Christmas than her first.  There’s nowhere to go but up.

Knock on wood.

So…

I’m Christmas shopping for my sister-in-law, who loves Twilight.  I thought I might get her a fun little happy to go along with her present.  And I wanted to share with you some of the most ridiculous etsy finds based on Twilight.  You’re really gonna love it.  I promise.

Sweet mother of pearl, is this not the most absurd phrase to have over one’s bed?

Ah.  Jacob-scented lotion.  In case you aren’t up on your Twilight, Jacob is the 17 year old boy that turns into a werewolf when he gets mad.  Just what I want to smell like.  A pubescent, angry dog.

Friends, let me remind you of something.  Vamps do not want peace and love.  They want your blood and my blood, and they want to drink it up.

The actor that plays Jacob is…wait for it…17.  So, no, 47 year old mom, it’s not creepy at all that you own this ginormo photo collage of him.  TOTALLY NORMAL.

This Etsy artist will “Cullen-ize” you, meaning she will take your photo and make you look like a vampire.  For people who just can’t stand the reality of not being an actual vampire.

Aaaand, for those of you who must force your weird obsessions onto your children (YOUR INFANT CHILDREN), a onesie.

I, for one, can never have enough Dreamcatcher messenger bags.

Let’s see…do I go with the obsessive stalker who desperately wants to drain the blood from my body…OR…the egomaniacal, self-centered Victorian uptight?

If you have to ask…

My internet friend, Caroline, likes to play a game where she google image searches “Twilight Tattoos,” which is equally entertaining.  Some gems…

Internet: I salute you for the amount of crazy you hold.

It’s that time again: time for me to enlighten you about the best of the internets this week.  I’ve got some good treats for you, so get excited.

For some reason, this piece from the A.V. Club popped up in my Reader this week.  From Justin to Kelly is one of my favorite movies and I LOVED reading their disgusted review of it (there is a language disclaimer).  Because it is disgusting.  But also delicious.  My favorite line is,

“See, the young people of today, they’re too busy to spell out long, complicated words like “burger.” Who has the time? They’re too busy Googling up The Twitter on their iPhones to spell out words in their entirety.”

The piece includes some clips, but most certainly left out my favorite, where Justin & Kelly break into song while driving a boat while wearing matching white track suits.  Sadly, I cannot find it anywhere.  You would have really liked it.  I’ll buy you a Starbucks treat if you can find it.  Scouts honor.

I believe I first heard about Stephen Wiltshire on NPR, but listening this story on the radio and seeing it in person are two totally different things.  He’s drawing the Manhattan Skyline from MEMORY.

Ruth & David totally need these shirts for their girls.

From the world of tumblr.com: some very interesting tumblr blogs:
This dad draws on his kid’s lunch bags everyday: Lunch Bag Art
For the Men: Put This On
Weird Black and White Photos: Black & WTF
For the Zombie Lover’s: Zombify

Although I am not a photographer, (I’ll leave that to this guy, this guy, and this guy.  And this girl.) I like Annie Leibovitz’s pictures a lot.  Here is a series she did for Disney Parks.  Really, really cool.

I basically need this everyday of my life.  Now if only they could come up with a website to find my car keys.

And finally, Elizabeth Gilbert (author of Eat, Pray, Love) gives a TED talk and it’s very good.  She’s unassuming and charming and funny, and says a lot of great things about writing and creativity.  It’s interesting what she says about where creativity comes from