Breakdowns

As I submit myself for acting jobs online, I come across some gems. Most of these character descriptions have no context, and they’re written as if you’re familiar with the project. The descriptions for the roles requiring nudity always say a lot about the producer, writer or director. Others are just ridiculous.

“Must be able to puppeteer a bird puppet.” Lizard puppeteers need not apply.

“Nervous. Over thinking and frantic, you are the X-Cite who was taken for re-configuration, but rejected it. You are the one who changes 331 into a thinker.” That’s helpful.

“Smart, sexy, “POWER OF NOW” living stripper. Obsessed with bicycles and the downside of globalization. NO Nudity. Strong comedy a must!” Seems like a cool role actually.

“Below average looking.” Few other professions force you to identify as “below average looking.”

“We are looking for someone male or female who is educated on the actions of leeches and human feeding. If you are unafraid of leeches and/or may have them as your pet, we would love to hear from you.” The actions of leeches.

“20-35, any ethnicity, strong improv, need not know how to cook or bake. Your breasts will be featured in every shot. This is a comedy so you must be okay with that. No Nudity or semi-nudity what so ever!” Baking with breasts.

“Good with emotions: He will visit fear, confusion, anger and revenge in this piece. Must also be athletic, lot of physical scenes. He is an everyday working guy pursuing his dreams of the arts. He has now been thrown into the unbelievable.” I hate when I visit fear.

“She is the oldest of the strippers (late 20s -early 30s). Still hot as hell, knows all the tricks and could teach the other girls a thing or twenty. She’s a bit garishly dressed, even for a stripper. Her hair teased a bit too high and maybe went too far on the dye. Has a playful, sassy sense of humor, yet the regulars love her…..LEAD (Any ethnicity) THIS ROLE REQUIRES NUDITY- This includes topless nudity in a strip scene (from Zombies vs. Strippers).” Still hot at 30.

“VANILLA: 18-25 is black, packed and stacked (from Zombies vs. Strippers).” Enough said.

I’ll keep posting new breakdowns as I find them. To be continued…

Tags: Acting, Actors, breakdowns, Hollywood

Heathcliff

I’ve been trying to date online, so I’ve been whining a lot. My friends and family have had to endure long-winded speeches about the internet and the lack of actual human connection in modern life. The popularity of dating online also indicates the death of romance and adventure. Before trying online dating, I expected love to fall into my lap. That was my definition of romance. I’ve seen too many movies and read too many books: someone’s supposed to ask me to dance or almost run me over with their car. Every romance has a cute beginning, a good story, and the internet is not a good story. What do you tell your children? “Mommy and Daddy were lonely and socially awkward and they were tired of the bar scene, so they turned to their friend OkCupid.”

Opposites

Besides the mundane, officiousness of online dating, I also argue that the very concept, of finding someone via their virtual profile, is ridiculous. Actually meeting your potential mate in person is the most important part of the equation. I’ve been attached to and smitten with online profiles, but during the first minute of the date, I realized it was all an illusion. The spark (is there a less cliche word for it?) can’t be gauged online. Future generations will find a way to upload pheromones. I’m also positive I’m missing great guys because of the way I judge profiles. I look for people with similar interests, but perhaps someone different would be good for me? I’m also unforgiving about petty things that I might overlook if I’d met the guy. So if you list Labyrinth, Lord of the Rings or Happy Gilmore as your favorite movies, I’m not going to respond to your message unless you’re incredibly attractive and possibly listing those movies with a tinge of irony.

Tags: dating, love, ok cupid, online dating, romance, wuthering heights

Child’s Play

Some of you may not know that I was Chucky this Halloween. Now you do, and you need to know because I’ve decided it means something…I’m not sure what, but maybe we’ll get to that. I wasn’t Chucky because I’m a fan of Child’s Play or Bride of Chucky or the Chucky franchise. It’s just that when you have orange hair, your last minute costume choices are limited. The standards are boring: Madeline, Pippi Longstocking, Peter Pan, Little Red Riding Hood, Lucille Ball, Raggedy Ann. None of those options are very scary or very sexy, which are the two goals for Halloween, right?

Mostly Halloween is about sex. It makes sense that one of the last pagan bacchanlias in Western culture would be sex based. Of course, I was feeling too smart for the whole raunchy tradition. I’d read too many feminist complaints about the holiday. I didn’t want to be sexy cop, sexy nurse, sexy Darth Vader, sexy Watermelon. In the past I’ve slightly eschewed the sexy girl requirement by dressing as my favorite characters, but let’s be honest, dressing as Pris from Blade Runner wasn’t all about my love of the movie. Once I was drunk, I apparently described myself as, “just your basic pleasure model.” This year I would turn things on their head–I would be sexy, cool by being repulsive. Classic reverse psychology. Spin the famous red head dial and that leaves you with Carrot Top, Conan O’Brian or Chucky.

Tags: chucky, costumes, halloween, Los Angeles, parties, social anxiety

Unprofessional Interview: College

This is what I imagined the interview would look like. Which one's me?

I’ve always struggled with the interview process because I forget that we’re not just getting to know each other. Sometimes this hasn’t been completely my fault. When I interviewed for Sarah Lawrence (I wanted to go to all those girly east coast schools), they had an alumna meet me in San Francisco. I showed up at the bustling coffee shop she picked, and I found Helen, my interviewer, and her three-year-old son. He was usually crying or grabbing something off the table, so we spent most of the time talking to and looking at him. When I wasn’t trying to prove I was good with children, I answered her haphazard questions about school. Then I’d shout my answer again because it was so loud inside the cafe.

Some how my family came up. I explained my three family situation. I was raised by a stepfather who is my father in every way except for biologically. She seemed amazed, puzzled. Most people don’t bat an eye. Divorce has bred a multitude of unusual family situations. But Helen was really good at honing in on the important part. “So your father, he’s gone.”

“That’s true.” I said. I was working hard to project well-adjusted calm, hoping maybe this “disadvantaged childhood” would help me get in.

Helen nodded as if she saw through my little act, and as she blew her son’s snotty nose, she said, “That’s like that song.”

“That song?”

“God, Mark would know the name.” By Mark I think she meant her husband. “My daddy gave me a name. Then he walked away.” She started singing “Father of Mine” by Everclear. Even though I was incredibly nervous and inclined to let her do whatever the hell she wanted, I knew she wasn’t handling this very professionally. Was she mocking my pain?

After she grilled me on my family history, we took a walk to the park up the street so her brat could run around. She told me how incredibly creative her son was. He was in the sandbox, eating sand. I said he seemed like a very bright little boy. She nodded, “What’s your essay about?”

“My grandparents.” I paused. My essay was about their death and my grief. Was I really going to have to tell her about another loss? I gave up and told her. She gave me a long hug, there on the park bench, and I felt like I’d somehow prostituted myself. Since this was the second hour of the interview, I figured I could finally mention how I needed to meet my mother. She seemed sad to see me go, and Helen promised to send positive remarks to Sarah Lawrence. I was waitlisted.

Tags: colleg, college essay, college interviews, interviews, sarah lawrence

Running for Burgers

In-N-Out Rewards Young Readers

I would marry In-N-Out if I could. Since I can’t, I will consider following it on twitter. I already have their number in my phone. You can call them and they’ll give you directions to the closest In-N-Out. I once ran a race for a number 2 animal style. In college I was on the very intramural cross country team, and I didn’t want to compete because I was terrible, but there was an In-N-Out near the race. So I ran for burgers, but oddly, this didn’t make me faster. At the end of the race they had to announce, “We still have one runner on the field.” That runner was me.

Having been raised by people who grow vegetables, consuming fast food fills me with pleasure and then extreme guilt. I’m sure this isn’t an uncommon feeling, but I understand that children of hippies often experience extreme food rebellion/regression. Denied as a child, I still hunger for Lunchables and Gushers. We also didn’t have In-N-Out in Santa Cruz (there were months of protests when McDonalds moved in), so it’s always seemed like a treat, a celebration. Of course, I’m beginning to realize it’s also an addiction.

Tags: addictions, cheeseburgers, fast food, fries, in-n-out, Los Angeles, milkshakes, Santa Cruz

Bra Shopping with My Mother

"Roger that. She wants that one."

I became a woman, so to speak, at age ten, and I felt like an alien species. No one else was going through that particular misery yet. Naturally, I tried to hide the fact that I was an alien. Back then, buying a bra was like a covert operation. I would breeze through the lingerie department, pretending to look for my mother, then quickly nod towards the bra I wanted. My mother, who was actually behind me, would then pick up the bra and head nonchalantly to the register.

In junior high, when other girls were finally going through puberty, I let my mother take me bra shopping out in the open. We had just been hiking, so I was sweaty and adorned in my usual sports bra (I wore them constantly because they tended to tamp things down). She took me to Gap Body, which I think she picked because it seemed like a more neutral/less sexualized store than say Victoria’s Secret. It was also where she shopped. We didn’t know what size I was, so a saleswoman with a measuring tape sequestered me in the dressing room. I remember my mother watching too, as the woman measured my breasts. I was humiliated to say the least, especially since I was sweating and wearing a gray, ratty sports bra.

Twelve years later, I was visiting my parents, and mom and I decided to do the traditional shop. I needed bras. I was worried that I might still be wearing some of the same bras we bought that day, when I was thirteen. We went to Gap Body. I wondered if my breasts still were the same size. Sometimes they can change on you. I have friends who have thought they were A-cups and suddenly learned they are Ds, which is like thinking you’re 5’4″ and finding out you’re really 6′.

I tried a couple bras on by myself as my mom shopped. The As were a little tight and the Bs were too big. I approached a saleswoman named Brandy.

Tags: body issues, bra sizes, bras, mothers and daughters, puberty, shopping

Upside Down Backwards

I’ve become a tourist in my hometown, which is too bad because a favorite Santa Cruz pastime is making fun of tourists. I remember one summer a lot of tourists wore upside down, backwards visors, and we locals were particularly disgusted. Well, I’m not wearing an upside down, backwards visor, but there are things about me that mark me as different. LA has changed me.

I never drank Diet Coke before I moved to LA. I pull up to my parents’ house and guiltily eye the Diet Coke cans, like I was arriving with a car filled with cigarette butts. I drive differently now too. I drive with purpose and anger. The locals here take their time, probably because there are beautiful things to see from the window of your car in Santa Cruz. In LA, everything’s an identical strip mall. Although at a stoplight in Venice, I did see a homeless woman take a dump on the sidewalk. However, I could probably see that in Santa Cruz too.

It’s not like I ever felt particularly Santa Cruzan growing up. In sixth grade all the cool kids were professional surfers. I remember overhearing conversations about sponsorship. “I’m sponsored by O’Neill.” I would have been sponsored by SPF 100 or American Girl Dolls. I thought I could maybe dress the part: if I adorned myself in Roxy or Hang Ten, no one would notice that I had no interest in the ocean or the great outdoors.

In Junior High, I forced my dad to take me to some surf shop and buy me board shorts. My dad likes to get to the point when he shops, so he went right up to the guy behind the counter and asked where the board shorts were. I was twelve, so during this whole interaction I wanted to die. The guy who worked there took one look at me and said, “You’re sure your daughter’s into this kind of stuff?”

Tags: growing up, hometown, junior high, Los Angeles, Santa Cruz, surf culture, tourists

Tips for a Relatively Painless Facebook Breakup

Suddenly changing your relationship status from taken to single is a slap in the face. It can also seem like you’re announcing “Hey, I’m back on the market!” This is why you should never list your relationship status, but if in a haze of love, you two decided to go Facebook with your relationship, getting out of it should be part of your break-up negotiations. You have to discuss who gets the toaster and when to simultaneously announce the end of your relationship, to all your friends and family, via the book of shame.

DO NOT DE-FRIEND or BLOCK your ex. This is petty, and they will find out because any good ex will stalk you anonymously online. Also, a year from now, when they feel really bad about breaking up with you, Facebook will be how they put their tail between their legs and try to re-start a friendship. Also if you’re feeling vengeful, the more painful punishment is to let them watch how happy you are and how attractive your new lover is.

Don’t un-tag or delete your couple’s photos unless you’ve negotiated this during the break-up. Otherwise it effectively looks like you want everyone to know you’re single and you’re trying to erase your ex completely. Plus, eventually you may want to wax nostalgic.

MOST IMPORTANTLY, don’t look at your ex’s Facebook page until there’s years between you and the relationship! I have watched people cry as they look through old Facebook albums. I have also silently perused my ex’s page, jealously looking for signs that he’s banging someone new. Guess what, it seems like everyone’s sleeping with everyone based on Facebook messages. That’s the nature of the beast, everything seems flirty and coy, and there’s no way to actually read body language for chemistry. Facebook is horrible for neurotics because everything is subjective, and you can just project your emotional shit everywhere!

In conclusion, Facebook presents a new frontier for human relationships, and there’s very little etiquette. It’s time we started acting like adults…even though we use Facebook.

Tags: break-ups, facebook, facebook etiquette, relationships, romance