Sunday, February 06, 2005
a not-so-eloquent fuck you to Mr. Monologue and all his little friends
Argh.
I am 100% frustrated with my attempts to memorize this bloody two-page monologue and another bloody page-long poem for my audition tomorrow. I realise I could just not do it. I also realise that it is my choice to do it, and thus I shouldn't feel burdened by it. I also realise that they told me I don't actually have to memorize it and that this is my own overachieving little requirement. Apparently I am my own worst enemy.
I also realise that memorizing scripts is intrinsically tied in my brain to a number of embarrassing and traumatic experiences of my acting days, in addition to some truly wonderful ones. Memorizing the script for The Tempest in high school was particularly stressful because of P.R., former director and formerly my great and loyal friend (I guess it doesn't count as loyalty to abandon someone when the going gets tough, but whatever). I basically didn't want to disappoint him like everyone else who had failed to memorize their lines, so I went home one weekend and memorized the whole fucking thing. Even the lines of people who spoke around mine. Just so that HE wouldn't be disappointed with me. I guess it worked. Admittedly a little too well. Not only was he mildly impressed in his usual restrained way, but I gained his grudging approval and we eventually became friends. Then he fell in love with me and the whole thing imploded, as it usually tends to do when I am involved. [Guys + Nome + Love + Lack of Reciprocation = Unmitigated Disaster. Divide both sides of the equation by hurt feelings and blame games and you have my life without the Boy in a nutshell]. P.R.'s friends are convinced it's all my fault and they don't speak to me when they run into me, and my friends are convinced that he's a big jerk, despite the fact that I actually defend (some of) his actions. And I keep having horribly sad dreams where he apologizes to me and we're friends again. Actually, they're not incredibly sad dreams. That is, until I wake up and remember the reality: yet another person is lost to me in an already endless sea of ghosts.
I won't say anymore in case people who know him are reading and feel like going and telling him just how pathetic I really am.
Anyway, memorizing scripts is no fun. Especially when the script is a poorly-worded description of a 9-year-old kid having to leave her home and watching her father get killed and her sister get raped in a refugee camp. It is not fun at all. But it's important, and it's a challenge, so I will attempt to suck it up.
Gah! I'm a lousy actor anyways.
If I had a company it would be called:
Nome Incorporated: High-Quality Self-Deprecation since 1983. Call for a free put-down.
Bloody hell.
-N
p.s. I crack myself so consistently up. No worries. NONE!
