How very fitting that your birthday marks the end of summer, she said with a rueful grin.

Breaking my rules, for art

I never give out money to strangers. It's just a decision I made early on living in New York, where you see countless beggars and musicians every day. Each beggar has a story. Some are blind, some are missing two legs, and yet still pass through the subway cars. It's never pretty. And it was really hard for me to handle at first. The MTA asks you to give your money to a charity instead of beggars. Now, whether that's better or not, it's also just a safety issue.

Anyway, today I was inspired by a musician. This guy was playing his guitar and singing as I was running over to an audition on my lunch hour. It was so great, I had to force myself not to break out dancing right then and there. And the next song he played was one of my favorites. So, as my train was pulling into the station, I found a dollar and hurriedly tossed it in his stash. It made me feel good.

The Artist and Her Invisible Friend

Ah, the Monologue. We work so hard as actors. And, day in and day out, at most of the auditions, there's one thing we have to accomplish: Make that invisible friend come to life! The friend will change, depending on your piece. It's usually either someone who supports you, or someone who doesn't support you. And it's not a performance. You're up there, facing the auditors eating their lunches behind the table, seeing and talking to your friend. So, you see, we really just can't grow up!

She was the type of girl who would worry about dying after one puff on a cigarette.

A Fragile Confidence

"I'm not sure if I'll have anything else for you," he said
after my monologue, knowing full well I'd traveled
four hours to the audition,
"But could you hang out?"
"Of course," I smiled brightly, while my confidence shrunk.
Minutes later, the monitor handed me sides to read.
I had been called back, after all, on the spot.
But it was too late. It was gone.
I read the sides, hands trembling,
knowing I had been a question mark in his mind.
This man behind the desk with the glasses
Had not seen me at first glance.
And his doubt led to my doubt.
Why did I give him that power; who was he, anyway?
And so it goes.

Aunt Verna

She spoke her mind
And why shouldn't she?
She was 85 and had earned her right to speak.
She wore gingham-patterned pants
And ate only bean soup when taken to the Olive Garden;
Then made us pie for dessert.
She looked just right holding her daughter's dog, Trixie, on her lap.
Her apartment was cluttered with knickknacks and letters
she'd collected over the years.
I wrote her letters and she always wrote right back.
She'd save my letters, which made me feel good.
I admired her -
She was kooky, but real.
And I'm glad we were friends.
My father once said I had her sardonic sense of humor;
I like that -
Perhaps someday I will amuse others the way she always amused me.

Goodbye and Farewell

I guess I watched him die for a year,
Or maybe it was more.
Maybe it started the day he stopped eating apples
Or maybe it was when we took him out of his home
And he lost his freedom,
Which was all he really had left.
"I just want to go home," he said.
And he did.

Carry On

“Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”

- Jack Kerouac

They called it Soap Box Derby...

Only in New York? ...We could hardly believe it! There was soap box derby recently, right in Brooklyn Heights. Down the hill on Columbia Heights street that leads to the waterfront where the ice cream factory sits. All these punk 20-somethings with these really funny contraptions for their rides down the hill. Punks in Brooklyn Heights? What's going on?! Well, it was close to DUMBO!

Horror of an Audition for a Horror Play

I recently got a call to come in and read for a company I'm very interested in working with. Of course, the audition was the morning of the weekend the detective and I had planned on going away! Luckily, the director said he'd try to start early so I could be on my way. Second quandry: He wants to hear one of the following: me tell about my favorite horror movie, me tell a story relating to something paranormal, or memorize one of the monologues from the show. I was feeling ambitious, and realized I did have a little tale to tell. So I wrote it out perfectly. And I practiced telling the story aloud, spooky tone included. It was good. Everybody liked it. But I wrote this Thursday, and the audition was Saturday morning. I thought I could improvise if I forgot the exact lines as I'd written them. But I'd practiced it sitting down, as we'd be doing it in the actual show. Well, I got there and there was no chair. And I was distracted by what to do with my hands. And...I got lost in my own transitions! The director let me blank the first time; the story came back and I kept going. But when I blanked the 2nd time, he stopped me. I'd never blanked so badly before during a monologue! It happens to the best of us. It happened to Cherry Jones during her long run of Doubt. I guess that makes me feel a little better...but this definitely tops the most embarrassing list. Speaking of which...!

A "Head" Count

So, every once in awhile, an actor must get new pictures taken. The style in New York used to be for actors to use black and white photographs to attach to their one-page resume. Well, now the trend is color! So after 6 years with my old shots, I went about interviewing photographers. I think I met with around four, and ended up picking the most expensive, of course! They turned out pretty well. And now I have around 300 8x10 pictures of myself sitting around the apartment, of which 100 are OLD! Does anyone want to wallpaper?!