Archive for April 23, 2010

Ignoring Neon Signs

April 23, 2010

I was just cleaning out my email inbox, if you can count reducing 2,400 emails down to 1,688, and while dragging things into the trash folder, I happened to open one of the first emails I received from someone I went on one date with last year. This email chain was exchanged before the date, during the “we’ve met once and are going to flirt a little bit via email before our first date” period — and as it happens, there was only one date, because this guy turned out to be filled with douchebaggery from the top of his douchebaggy head down to the bottom of his douchebaggeriffic toes. And do you know what I saw just now in that email? The thing that should have been a red flag from the very beginning? The thing that could have saved me at least two hours of my life that I’ll never get back? He confused “you’re” and “your.” Dear People, what was I thinking?

Making Sense

April 20, 2010

I was just reminded of a conversation I had a few months ago that reminded me of how much I hate being talked down to. There aren’t a lot of things I enjoy less than being patronized. I get it a lot, being a. a girl, b. a girl who has a young, innocent-looking face, and c. a girl who is polite and not too loud. Not many people are scared of me, and a lot of people think this gives them clearance to treat me like they’re my kindergarten teacher. And then, there are the people who talk that way to everyone, and I think the woman I’m about to discuss falls into the latter category.

This woman works at a place that does casting director workshops that last for several weeks at a time. So basically, you pay a few hundred bucks up front, and you go every week or whatever and take these workshops with casting directors. It’s a pretty cool idea I guess, but I’ve never heard of actors getting work from these particular workshops, and furthermore, they’re pretty expensive, especially if you’re trying to pay for other classes and whatnot. Sooooooo, a friend of mine had given this woman my information as someone who may be interested, and you know, I’m always up for hearing the details about an opportunity, so I was happy to listen and consider, but it was pretty annoying from the get-go. She was quizzing me about my talent and experience, emphasizing that they don’t just accept any Tom, Dick or Harry off the street, and you know, you have to take this seriously and you have to really be doing this as a career and have real potential, etc. But the most annoying, nails-on-the-chalkboard, whistle-in-your-ear, telemarketer, Jehovah’s witness-level of annoyance came from this: After everything, everything she said, she then said, “Does that make sense?” Everything. After every single sentence. I know that she must do this with everyone and must not even realize she does it at this point, but it comes across as so condescending, like, “Do you understand the meaning of the really simple thing I just said? I want to make sure, because you seem really dim, and it’s probably pretty hard to wrap your head around ideas. That must be tough.” Or maybe it’s more like, “Do you understand me? Because I know I’m talking way over your head right now, because you’re just a layperson, not a genius like me.” Either way, she must not have had any idea how irritating she was, so I thought I’d help her out by repeating it back to her to call her attention to it. So our conversation sounded a little like:

Her: We want to make sure that our actors are serious about their careers. Does that make sense?
Me: Yeees, yes, that does make sense.
Her: We need to know that you’ve worked, does that make sense, and that you’re taking active steps to get yourself more work, does that make sense?
Me: Yes, both of those things make sense, and I have, and I am.

And then came the part where she asked if I wanted to sign up.

Me: I’ll definitely keep it in mind for the future, but right now, unfortunately, I just don’t have the money.
Her: Well, we suggest that you have a separate bank account where you save money for acting, does that make sense?
Me: Yes, that does make sense, but you know, right now is just not a good time.
Her: Well, because if you’re serious about your career, you really need to be setting aside some money for it, does that make sense?
Me: Yes, it does make sense. Believe you me, if I were making enough money to have even a penny to set aside, I would.
Her: So we really suggest that you save some money, does that make sense?

And then she was silent, and I said, “Make sense of this!” and hung up and smiled peacefully in the beams of benevolent sunlight filtering through the windows.

Just kidding. I didn’t say it. I didn’t say it because I’m polite, remember? Damn it. Damn it all. I’m so polite. But I thought it. You can bet your bottom dollar I thought it. I positively screamed it in my mind. But I didn’t say it, and now, thanks to my politeness, this awful woman is probably going around right now making sense of everyone she comes across.

So I apologize to you if you ever cross her path, and if she ever talks to you like you’re just now learning English and how to tie your shoes. Maybe someday when someone else is being a condescending jackass, I’ll say what I want to say, even if it’s not the politest thing ever. And if it doesn’t make sense… who gives a shit?

Green Shirt, Marjorie, Marie Hugs Jane

April 16, 2010

Hi Blob! Blob! OH MY GOSH, I seem to be incapable of typing “blgo” OH MY GOSHOHMYGOSH, I promise you, I’m really trying to type it correctly! B L O G. There. Phew.

It’s been a long time. I keep meaning to write, but it’s like the friend you haven’t talked to in months, and even though you really want to talk to them, you feel overwhelmed because you feel like you have SO much to catch up on. That’s kind of how I feel about this. But I’m just diving in, and instead of giving you some long-winded life update, I’m just going to tell you what’s going on now.

I’m sitting at my dining room table in my newest apartment (Mary and I moved again in March) and looking out the windows at the streets below (we’re on the 2nd floor). About 15 minutes ago, a guy in a green shirt walked by on the street that runs perpendicular to my street, and he reminded me of Kenneth from 30 Rock, which is why I noticed him. It wasn’t him, but anyway, he was carrying a manilla folder, and I wondered if he was on his way to some type of audition or interview and was glad it wasn’t me. Even though I should wish I were going to an audition, right at this very moment I’m tired and have a sinus headache and am happy to be sitting at my table looking out the window. So anyway, that was like 15 minutes ago, and just now, like one minute ago, he walked by on my street, still carrying the folder, but now carrying a water jug in each hand. What is he up to? What do y’all think he’s doing out there? The worst thing is, I’ll never really know.

Another thing that happened the other day while I was sitting here was that I saw on that same perpendicular street a girl who I at first thought might be this girl I kind of know who we’ll call Marjorie, because she had a similar haircut and distinctive style of dress. But it wasn’t her, BUT about half an hour later, old Marjorie really DID walk down that very same street. WHAAAT??

Here’s another thing: I was just writing an email to my sketch team, and I cut a sentence out, then decided to paste it back in — BUT, I guess I had maybe deleted it instead of cut it, because it wasn’t on the clipboard. What WAS on the clipboard and what I ended up pasting in was… well, I’ll see if you can guess. Here is the real email with the real sentence that I pasted:

Hey TSP Actors!

Last night at the writers’ meeting we discussed a new potential system of paying Kevin in which the writers would pay him for writers’ meetings, writers and actors would both pay him for the initial read-through, and then actors would pay him for the actors’ rehearsals. Would you all be ok with that? It seems like it would come out about even for all of us. Marie hugs Jane and gives her a bouquet of flowers.


Oh man, email hijinks, right?

Well, this has been a thoroughly weird blentry, but you’ve gotta just jump back on that horse. Except not literally. I’m done with horseback riding after a fateful “adventure” on the last horse I ever plan to ride. But that’s a story for another time.