In honor of Mother's Day, and nothing to do with Freddie Mercury, I've had Bohemian Rhapsody stuck in my head all day. Try mouthing "scaramush, scaramush" at your desk and see the kind of reaction you get.
After my student film audition this morning (held in the home of neither director, writer, or any sort of film student, but in the walk-up apartment of two young chaps who clearly (I say "clearly" because they told me) had just woken up to answer the door in their "pajamas" (read: jeans that they passed out in) and ushered me into the living room adorned with Jack Daniels bottles and not a single upholstered surface that I would even consider sitting on before the director/writer/producer arrived, flustered, and told me that the auditions were held here because he hadn't gotten organized in time to reserve a room at school, and had promised these guys beer in exchange. Fast forward to the end of my audition,when I am reciting my glorious comedic monologue for the aspiring little Altman, and the door to the bedroom opens (right in my eyeline) and one of the inhabitants comes out, groggy, and laughs and says "totally forgot this was happening today...". Ahh, the life of an actor. I could have shared that I was up until 2 am looking at tagged facebook photos of...me, drinking the world's largest glass of wine (preceded by the world's strongest dark and stormy), and laughing at myself for not knowing how to use my new camera (why won't the film advance?), but I went the professional route and turned on my heels (cute black ones, to be exact), thanked them for the use of their apartment, laughed to myself about how I used to sleep on the floors of apartments like that all too recently, and went on my way.)
Wow...I can't even finish the sentence I started before I typed that paragraph. I now feel bad putting any heartfelt article about my mom that I decided to write after that audition in the same blog post as this garbage. So it's looking like a double-post Friday.
Seriously, though, how am I supposed to take myself at all seriously (maybe I'm not?) in this career if I'm going to auditions in Yorkville walk-ups and performing for hungover, half-dressed frat boys? Come to think of it, that's really my demographic. I've been performing for hungover, half-dressed frat boys since 2004. Ba, da, bum, CHING!
I need a weekend. And I'm glad I've decided to separate my loving Mom post from my fellating frat boy post. Didn't mean to go there, sorry.