Most of the people who read this are my friends, and most of my friends are actors, so I'm sure that for the most part what I'm about about to say is common knowledge. This is for everyone else. There is what's known as the "actor's nightmare," a shared nightmare most actors have, usually when they are in a show. The nightmare is usually that they are on stage performing, and they don't know any of their lines. There are variations, like their fellow actors keep messing up, or they come on without pants, etc. It instills feelings of embarrassment, frustration, and futility.
I have had the actor's nightmare more times than I can count on my fingers and toes, and I had this dream a couple nights ago: we were performing the Toby Awards, and none of us knew our lines so we were improvising the whole time. The show was so bad that people got up and began leaving in the middle of it.
The only relief from the actor's nightmare is the same relief for pretty much any other nightmare: to wake up. Realize that there's still time. There's still hope.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, all hope abandoned me the night of the Toby's. We had spent a large chunk of rehearsal time that week gathering footage for the show (it's traditionally a synergy of live and filmed performance), but none of it had been burned to a compatible format with our giant LCD projector until about four hours before the show began. Burning ("rendering") just ONE video takes about 3 hours. Every Mac-savvy person in the room was in a flurry trying to get all the videos rendered. In the end, only about half of them made it. We started the show 15 minutes late in all the commotion, and instead of relying on the techs to start our videos, we had a friend sit on stage throughout the show and cue the videos. Of the half that made it on the screen, a third of them didn't have sound (for whatever technological reason my simple mind wouldn't understand). And then, the videos that successfully reached the viewers with sound had the player buttons and drop down menus and things framing them.
In addition to this, half of my cast mates forgot their lines. This resulted in several awkward gaps of silence, which I could only mend about a quarter of the time. At one point I was just saying both our lines in one long strand. There was another instant where I had to exit the stage, leave the audience sitting in suspense, and check where we were in the script to tell whoever's line it was to get out there and say it. Cues were slow and I could tell the audience was about to fall asleep. So many bits and pieces of the show were being skipped over that I didn't know what would and would not make sense to say on stage anymore. Things were even rearranged. Everything was a massive black hole of line flubs and awkward silences.
The show was cut short by our director deciding the audience had suffered long enough and coming out to deliver the final awards. So the end, right? No. We finished with 2-minutes more of painstaking dialogue and the line, "I guess there's a valuable lesson to be learned from all of this... technology hates us," followed by an awkward silence throughout the entire theatre. So the end, right? No. Two cast mates decided to present two additional awards they made up themselves. So... NOW the end, right? No. One a-hole who had won an award earlier in the evening but had not been present to accept it suddenly jumped on stage and gave a nice long, flowery speech. So the end, right? No. We all pitched in to get our director a BIG ol' bouquet, and we were supposed to give it to her at the end of the evening, except... as you remember, we were cut short. So I raced on and delivered that. So the end, right? FINALLY. And for every time I said "So the end, right?" the audience got up, ready to leave. And for every time I said "No," the audience grumbled and cried out in anger because they had to sit back down again.
I did not go out to greet anyone. I did not want to talk to anyone after that horrific spectacle. I went home, had a nice little sob fest, ate some Ben and Jerry's Half-Baked, and went to bed. I wanted to create something dark and unpleasant and disturbing. More importantly, I wanted to talk to somebody. But no one was around. One friend was out with a group of people I didn't like. Another was with her boyfriend, and I didn't want to intrude. Another had recently decided that I wasn't cool enough to hang out with her because I don't smoke cigarettes. Another was in New Jersey. Another picked up the phone and then immediately hung it up. And all my fears were verified that evening: I was truly alone.
Ladies and gentlemen, last night I lived the actor's nightmare.
Redeeming moments: Some of our videos. Our Jai Ho dance routine. Winning awards. Oh yeah! That part was all right. I'd never won a Toby Award until last night. I got two trophies: one for Best Supporting Actress and one for Best Comedic Actress. Cooler yet, I got a shiny plaque for the Director's Choice Award. That one meant the most to me; it was a symbol of recognition for all the clumps of hair I had pulled out this year.
Now that the cursed Toby Awards are over, I'm not stressed anymore. This is both a good thing and a bad thing. It's a good thing because I really need a mofuggin' break. It's a bad thing because now I'm bored. And when I'm bored, I start to feel sorry for myself... 'cause, y'know, I don't usually do that or anything.
Unrelated: I was watching "The 20 Most Notorious Women" on E! today. Interesting stuff. I discovered that it's a lot easier to sympathize with a female murderer or sex offender etc. than with a male. You pay more attention to their motives, and you do begin to see how "he had it comin'." I was actually compelled to watch the biographical film of one of the killers; a Miss Aileen Wuornos. The movie is called Monster, and I recommend it. Not for the faint of heart or the opposed of prostitution-ed.
Last night, our house smelled terrible. At first I thought it was some sort of drug, but after a while I decided it was more likely something Sarah had cooked. Wouldn't be the first time. It was an unusual smell... kind of like burnt poppy seeds, or plastic. The next morning my dad told me "our" (Sarah's) dog had gotten hold of a skunk. I present to you: Reason #4527 Why I Should Kill That Dog. Outside smelled, too! I remember that. I was in my room and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, it stunk to high heavens. No wonder I thought it was weed at first. I really can't tell the difference between weed and skunk, or skunk-ass weed.
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