Picture Pages, Picture Pages

My trip home to Tennessee was eventful and I hit the ground running in San Diego, so today I will just hit some of the highlights with "purty" pictures.

During my visit, we moved my Polish grandmother (Busha) into her first Assisted Living apartment, which she alternately loves and resents. In keeping with all things "Busha," she is likely to undergo psychiatric evaluation for her antics.

During the move, my Irish mother (Katie O'Gracie) tripped, fell, and broke her elbow during the auto-da-fé act of moving her own too-heavy bed. Auto-da-fe? Whats the auto-da-fe? It's what you oughtn't to do - but you do anyway. (Thank you, Mel Brooks). She remains bound in a splint and sling.


My traveling father returned home after most of this to find his new Birthday/Father's Day present waiting for him. A present my brother took great pride in "tricking out" with (among other things) a state-of-the-art GPS Navigational Satellite Radio system that gave us the directions to dinner at Applebee's in an Austrailian accent. Too bad we don't have an Outback in Tullahoma.

And though I'd have plenty of air time flying from San Diego to Dallas, Dallas to Nashville, Nashville to Chicago, and Chicago to San Diego in the four days I'd be out of town, I couldn't resist the Father's Day offer to go flying for the first time with my best friend and licensed pilot, Kenny. He'd planned to take his father to the Will Rogers Cherokee Indian Heritage Days Festival in Guntersville, Alabama, but his father's recent heart troubles prevented his flying and I was allowed to take advantage of the rented plane. A nice day out with a friend I see far too little these days.

Of course, there was also the business of cleaning out a long-held trunk of treasures which had become water-logged in my storage unit. When one of those Wal-Mart Special particle board steamer trunks gets wet, it really soaks it up. And when everything inside is paper, you're pretty much in for a total loss. Because I could not scrape all the pieces out to puzzle this once life-sized poster of the Beatles back together, I'm calling this last shot of it "I Keep John Lennon's Head in a Box."

Also lost were all of my own drawings and others I'd kept to remember my Aunt Mary, a very talented artist who died too young. Photos I'd taken on trips to New York, Arizona, and Florida were blurred to resemble bad Jackson Pollock knock-offs. Keepsakes from my school years -- from class photos to First Place ribbons -- were a crumbled mess. Team pictures from my years of basketball, softball, and *ahem* cheerleading (I was young!) -- gone.

I marvelled, at the time, at how similar the water damage was to fire damage, having sifted through the debris of the Manchester Arts Center on my last trip home. Then I had quite the red-faced V8 moment, remembering how most fires are extinguished. Duh!

And finally, I picked up new headshots while in Tennessee. Of course, because I've been using this picture online on both my personal website and this blog the response to the new pic has been rather ho-hum. "New headshots?" They ask, indreculously. "But I've seen this one!" "No you haven't," I insist. "Not PRINTED!" "But it's not NEW...." "Never mind."

Just for the record, this is the old one. The last one I'd had professionally printed and ready to whip out at an audition.

So I hit the ground running back in San Diego, with rehearsals for the two shows I'm performing in the Actors Festival next month.

Up to Now by Julianne Eggold.

And Hear Me Roar by Kristina Meek.

And then there's the show that I'm Stage Managing right before the Festival opens.

I remember now why I didn't like Stage Managing.

Oh, and that last show, Nest? It's being produced in the Sunset Temple on University Avenue. "And just what's so special about the Sunset Temple?" you ask. Well, it ain't where the Jewish spend their Sabbath, my friend. This is the local OddFellows Lodge. The padded doors that open into a barren room appointed only with rows of pew-like seats and several thrones are equipped with a special "what's the secret password" slot which gives the casual observer an oh-so-comfortable feeling of reassurance! And that's all I'm going to say about it outside of those walls.

Friendship, Love, Truth. Out.

Mad AMAX

Reese Witherspoon and I will soon have one more thing in common. Our tortured marriages to Ryan Phillipe. Our Oscar-winning turns in Hollywood musicals. Our finished contracts with AMAX Talent.

Okay, make that just one thing in common.

By the end of the month, I will no longer be represented by AMAX. The company (American Models, Actors, Artists, and Extras) is finally undergoing a little talent tidy-up by scheduling mandatory re-evaluations. Just how overdue is this decision? Well, I signed with the agency before current owner Ashley Russell took over in 2001 and have never had occasion to meet the new boss. (Same as the old boss?) Even if I were to be in Tennessee when my renewal number hits the lottery, I would not re-up. After seven years of marriage (sound familiar, Reese?), it's time to let go.

But not without the Hollywood montage!

Maestro? A little sentimental music, please. Ah, yes. Dim the lights? Thank you.

Here we see Kelly's interview. The agent checks her headshot, resume, and demo reel for voiceover work. The agent signs her on the spot. Kelly exits elated -- a certified talent with representation!

In this clip, several months later, we see Kelly report for duty on her first AMAX assignment. She is on time and well dressed, as requested. Silk shirt. Slacks. Pearls. She is handed a large bag in which she will find her instructions. Opening it eagerly, she finds lapel pins, mints, and wristbands. Her task is to empty the bag by the end of the day, handing out the goodies to promote the NBA finals on ABC. She'll mix, she'll mingle. She'll wear orange rubber on her head. Watch the NBA on ABC!

Months -- perhaps a year -- later we see Kelly again, reporting for duty at the Home Shopping Network. This time, she knows that her assignment is an audition and imagines that her voiceover reel has caught someone's attention. Finding herself surrounded on all sides by very plump, very pretty women, she waits to be called, feeling unusually svelte. When the call comes every woman in the room is ushered to the set where, one by one, they walk toward and spin in front of the camera, hoping to be chosen as the channel's next Plus Size clothing model. After the audition, Kelly considers new headshots.

In our last clip, we watch Kelly reporting to duty for the last time in the dead of winter, 2006. She has been cast as one of a thousand "springtime" NASCAR fans watching Darryl Waltrip overtake a staged race in his Toyota Tundra pace truck. As the sun disappears and the temperatures plummet, most of the the crowd filters out unpaid. Not Kelly. Freezing, she holds on until "wrap" is called at four in the morning, wondering if extras in California know how lucky they are.

The montage fades. The vision dims. All that remains are memories.

I remember a time of chaos. Ruined dreams. This wasted land. But most of all, I remember The Talent Warrior. The agency we called AMAX...

Bonna-ruh-roh

What were the odds? I was trying to schedule a visit to TN, but had too many conflicts. Finally, I found a week on my calendar that looked promising. Between two Tuesday rehearsals, there was roughly a week with no other conflicts. No performances, no rehearsals, and a director with her own conflicts for the week, assuring no surprise meetings. Perfect. Book it! Between one Tuesday rehearsal on the 12th and another Tuesday rehearsal on the 19th, I scheduled my travel for Wednesday the 13th and Monday the 18th.

Now I've mentioned that this trip overlaps Bonnaroo before. But just to beat the point of the dead horse home (how's that for mixing metaphors?), this trip EXACTLY MATCHES the dates of Bonnaroo. The four days of my vist are the dates of the Four Day Music Festival. The dates of my flights (and requisite travels to and from the Nashville airport) exactly match the travel plans of roughly 90,000 other people. Let me say that again. NINETY THOUSAND other people.

This is going to be fun.

A High Silk Hat and a Silver Cane

The trip to Tennessee has been settled, and though I have exactly the number of days I asked for between rehearsals, four days simply does not seem like enough time! That said, with flights on the 13th and 18th, here is my itinerary so far:

14 Thu: Dentist and storage; evening free
15 Fri: Pick up Dad from Nashville airport (unless Jake does this)
16 Sat: Riverbend Festival in Chattanooga with Kenny and Doug
17 Sun: Father’s Day. Plans TBA.

Happily, Tullahoma is situated roughly equal distance between Nashville and Chattanooga; sadly, the distance is not short.

As Gryphon noted after the last post, Chattanooga’s Riverbend Festival is suffering greatly from the competing dates and popularity of Manchester’s Bonnaroo. Still, Riverbend is a tradition among my friends and we have tentative plans to attend the final night. That the only familiar name on the bill that night is Alan Parsons Live Project is pretty sad (sorry, Gryph, no Kimbrough on Saturday), but we’ll all enjoy the post-Fest fireworks and a late night stop at Waffle House.

And HOLY CRUD! Did I really schedule my trip home for the week of BONNAROO?!? There will be no getting anywhere! We must be crazy to drive through that traffic to Chattanooga while The Police, Fountains of Wayne, Junior Brown, Mavis Staples, Ziggy Marley, Pete Yorn, and Widespread Panic (to name just a few) are playing right in our backyards! And other exclamations as well!

On the 19th, I'll hit the San Diego ground running, returning to rehearsals for both AASD shows.

On Sunday, we met for our first reading of the revised second (longer) script -- and my small part grew three sizes that day. While this means the script, in which I’ll play 4 distinct characters, is now a much better showcase for me, it also means more rehearsal time and throws a spanner in the works on another project – the pursuit of a paying stage manager’s gig.

Don’t misunderstand: the acting gig is preferable and I’ve no desire to get caught in the “she’s a techie” cycle again, but the money would have been nice and, as I’d already offered my services, it was awkward to remove them.

Of course – and this gets complicated – I’d offered the services partly to network with the author, who is also an AASD Fest coordinator and the producer of the next show for which I plan to audition. If there’s anything to the theory that name recognition is a subliminal help, George Soete has been inundated with mine. Yet, if I were to be cast in the show he’s producing, the rehearsals for it would be another conflict for stage managing the show he’s written.

And that, in this crazy business, is just how it goes.

Hi diddle dee dee
An actor's life for me