I feel like a Junky stalking off in the middle of the night.

Blue 9 is closed.

No, I don't want New Amici's.  No thank you.

There are no burger places right around here.  I could go to St.Mark's?

Is Papaya Dog worth it?  Really?  Am I really going to Papaya Dog at midnight?  They didn't even cook it as rare as I wanted it to be last time.  They practically burnt it.  Where else can I get a $2.75 burger?

I walk there as if I've got voices in my head.  I'm skittish, nervous.  If there was a way a junky was supposed to feel in my head that'd be it.  Maybe I'm just projecting that onto myself because Junky was the first word that came to my head when I stepped out the door.  Probably.   I'm usually far less crazy than I like to think I am.

It's cold.  Good thing I've got my jacket.

Papaya Dog.  No, I don't want the young guy to make my burger.  It's not the young guy from last time, is it? He cooks an awful burger.  No, the old guy.  He'll probably make it better.

No, I don't want it medium rare.  I asked for it rare.  That's what I say in my head but I'm far more polite in actuality.  I understand if you have some sort of health code that won't let you make that burger for me.  I'm not going to sue you.

It's been hours since I've eaten, right?  There's nothing wrong with wanting a burger at this time of day.

Shouldn't I be sleeping?  I could've.  30 minutes ago if I did I probably wouldn't have thought of a burger.

You're cooking it too long.  I can tell.  I can see the steam rising out from under that little bowl.  That's everything tasty escaping.  It's going to be a shriveled piece of black meat by the time you hand it to me.

You're clearly distracted by the other patrons of this fine establishment.

It's more cooked than I'd have liked.  But it's rarer than I expected.  So I'm alright.

Mmm.

I'm uncomfortable.  Everything past me stepping out of the door to me sitting here writing leaves me uneasy.  Did I just need to get out?  Did I just stress eat?  Do I have a fixation on burgers?  Why am I writing about this?  I'm going to post this on some sort of social networking site.  Does being candid about vanity excuse it? Is any of this really about the burger?

I have witnessed the depths of actor/director/writer hell.

As some of you may or may not know, for one of my auditioning classes, we have to seek out 4 real auditions, go to them, and report back on the experience.

Easy enough, I thought!  I'll just look around online, I'll be sure to find some fun ones.

And find one, I did.  I went to the production company's website, and this was the first warning sign that I was dealing with something far more awful than I could ever imagine.

Not to give the site away, but only to describe it as best as I can, imagine the most awful 90's-internet-geocities-angelfire-xanga-looking shitty website you can imagine, and that was it.  Pretty much just a side-to-side wall of text in font that was a little uncomfortably big, where every few paragraphs was seperated by a montage of small thumbnails of the same image over and over again.  That, and there's this piano "music" playing in the background.

Oh, and the title image bounces back and forth.

So, I say to myself, "Well, this is just for a class.  Probably won't have to dive too deep into this production."

The following is the e-mail correspondence between me and what I at the time could only assume was the director, James.

Hello, my name is Andy Zou, and I'm interested in auditioning for this understudy.

I got this back:

JAMES:  WOULD U B WILLING to memorize a scene for a Workshop-Audition? TX jdk gow

After getting over the concerning use of caps lock, I deciphered the ending as some sort of signature.  And what does a "Workshop-Audition" mean?  Kind of weird. I ask:

ME:  Of course, when?

He responds with two e-mails:

JAMES:  I M SENDING ALONG 2 scenes. Select one to master. Let me know when you are ready to perform it. TX jdk gow

MONDAY NITE MIGHT BE ON. PLS let me know if good 4 u. TX jdk gow

First, he did send me two files, but they are the exact same file.  The fact that I have to "master" the scene also makes my eyebrows furrow.  

ME:  You sent me two of the same scenes, also, I need to know which one you want me to read for?

Also, what time on Monday?

JAMES:  CHOOSE THE SCENE you prefer. Time probably in the evening. TML jdk gow

At this point I'm inclined to just not question the fact that he sent me two identical scenes.  Maybe they're the two scenes he wants me to choose from.  But I ask again. 

ME:  I'm saying that you did not send me 2 different scenes; both files you gave me are exactly the same?

JAMES:  SORRY. DO THAT ONE, then. How about Monday around 6? TX jdk gow

ME:  Where?

JAMES:  After I set up the time, all info will go out. TX jdk gow

By this point I have several theories of what is wrong with this person.  

1.  He no speekee good engrish

2.  He suffered some sort of blunt force trauma to the head in his life, resulting in memory and attention disorders.  

Or, the one I was most hoping for:

3.  He's some sort of savant that I could never understand.

So, the day of the auditions.

I'm apprehensive, curious.  I arrive at the studios where the audition is going to take place, and just as I'm about to open the door, an old goateed man rides up on a bicycle with mirror sunglasses and a helmet on.  

Opening the door, we venture into the studios, and he follows me in to the studio.  He is James.  The director.  The writer.  The producer.

There are half a dozen other men in the room, now.  All ranging from middle aged to maybe my age.  Some in suits, some casual.  I could tell already that this was going to be a really odd crowd.  

Paraphrased, this is how it began.  

"So, the reason I'm not holding regular auditions is because I don't believe in the cut-throat process of auditioning, where you're trying to mess everybody else up just to make yourself look better, and in the end this isn't about you, it's about the piece.  So I hold these workshop-auditions so that I can see you guys work on the piece, so I'm trying to see who's going to put in the, because in this industry you've got to work, and you know, in the end, this is your craft."

I am transfixed.  

To give you basically the rest of the background, he originally wrote this piece as a screenplay with 17 different actors.  But of course, trying to get 17 different actors in the same room at once was impossible.  This was all 18 months ago, when he originally started work on the project.  Since then, the production has been whittled down to a cast of 5.  There are some asian women who play certain parts, but for the most part, he plays almost all of the male parts, doubling as both characters in many 2-person scenes, where he denotes the character with a position or a prop.  So the play basically went from having 17 actors to him playing almost everybody.

So what happened next was he acted with us while we read one half of the sides, then flipped the characters so that we read what he was just reading.  He did this so that he could show us what the characters were like.  He'd give us feedback as to what he wanted from us, what each character was really like.   

Already, everything in my head concerning auditions is imploding.  

So we'd be reading with him, and he'd forget lines every once and a while.  People would try to seem like they memorized the sides, forget key lines, and he'd stop the action to correct them.  I just wondered why he didn't have somebody else in the room read for the character.

To give some quick plot details, the screenplay is about a Vietnam soldier returning from the war with multiple personality syndrome.

The plot device for how you know which personality is being expressed in the main character, is he puts on a bike helmet and mirror sunglasses.  

Now, you might say, "Oh, just a happy coincidence.  He's using the stuff he walked in the door with just to show which character he is now."  But you'd be wrong.  This alternate personality wears a bike helmet and mirror sunglasses.  I can scarcely imagine how he decided to make this the "costume" for his character.  Could he have been riding his bike one day and just thought, "Hey!  This should be the costume for that character!"  Or maybe he came up with the character first and thought, "Hey, I'll just be in character all the time when I'm riding my bike."

@_@

And now for the rest of the people in the room.  

We have Very Good Looking Guy that Doesn't Inflect.

National Guard Guy With a Speech Impediment and Poor Understanding of English Grammar

Guy Who came in a Full Suit and Briefcase because there was a role of "Agent"

And my favorite one of all, 

Tall Goofy-Looking Guy who read his lines like a cross between a Power Rangers villain and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.  Presumably because he thinks that's what soldiers sound like. 

Those were just the interesting people.  Some other people in the room seemed like they had a sense of what was happening in this room, too.

Anyways, one of my favorite exchanges was between National Guard Guy and another man.  The Man cut National Guard Guy off right before The Man had a lengthy bit of monologue.  National Guard Guy stammered and "um"ed throughout the monologue, until The Man was done and pointed out that he had cut him off.

So they went back to that part, let him say his line, and then they did the monologue over again.  

James really liked it when people memorized the sides.  He'd compliment you if you did.

Not to mention that this was some of the most trite, bad writing I've had the pleasure of seeing.  The beginning of the play is James's character narrating a screenplay, which is gradually supposed to turn into stage action.

Then comes the "expressionistic piano ballad."

After reading the first lines of the "screenplay," he sits down at the piano and plays a small melody, then looks around.  He explained to us,"And now, I'm looking around, waiting for her to come."  Who?  The ghosts of Vietnam, apparently.

This was where he read with this young asian woman who was playing an NVA soldier, Li Ming.  He, a grizzled old white man, was now playing her brother, Ming Tet.

Ming Tet:  Sister, I feel that we have grown apart!

Li Ming:  Oh, but what do you mean?  You are still my brother!

Ming Tet:  Oh, I never said that I wasn't your brother anymore.  But we have grown apart!  We no longer understand each other.

Li Ming:  It is because you do not understand love.

Ming Tet:  Oh, I have learned a thing or two about love, sister.

He's currently working on 10 different screenplays.  His life story apparently involved a point in his life where he was trying to act.  Then he basically told us that he wasn't getting work so he decided to start writing parts for himself.  

"I'm a storyteller."

At the "World Premiere" which was a while beforehand, he lost tons of money investing in getting lights hung, paying stagehands, getting a piano in, and getting insurance for the piano.  He poured his own money into this production.  

And what terrifies me most is the absolutely unabashed sincere devotion he has to this project.  I suppose that is to be admired in any artist, but it's the fact that he has absolutely NO idea how awful everything about it is, and how it's never going to get anywhere.  I might be in no position to really make these judgments, but this is my reflexive first thought about this production.  He mentioned how he tried selling his screenplay, but couldn't because he didn't "know anybody.  And you've got to know somebody in this business."  Did it really never occur to him that maybe his writing was awful?


It's like Waiting For Guffman, but sadder and real.  

I could have left after the 3rd time he had me read my side with a different person.  But I was absolutely mystified by this room of people.

I don't know why I'm writing about this really.  Halfway through writing this, I thought, "This is a ton of writing just so I can vent some frustration I had with this one audition.  And all I'm doing is putting this guy down."  

I suppose it comes from some source of feeling superior to the very existence of that room of people, but I think it's almost an attempt by me to ward off the possibility of such a future for myself.  It's as if by deriding it as much as I can I somehow might decrease the chances that I'll end up like James.  

"This is your Craft."

Andy roll in grass no more

Let me tell you about Mosquitoes.

They exist.

Venice

So we went to Venice this weekend; it was quite a blast. But expensive.

42 euros there

42 euros back

31.50 to split a hotel room 4 ways.

15 euro for a tourist dinner

18 euro for a day-buspass.

14 euro for a gondala ride split 6-ways

and various other charges for brownies, knick-knacks, and stuff

Venice seems entirely dependant on the tourist trade. I did not see a single automobile while I was there; buses and taxis are all boats. We got an 18-euro 24-hour buspass which lets us use the buses as much as we want for 24-hours. they go back and forth along the Grand Canal, which was quite beautiful. But it seems like almost every shop and store there is some sort of tourist-oriented gift shop, with tons of them selling Murano glass, a Venetian-style glass that's apparently very famous.

There's apparently some sort of weird business going on between some of the store owners. Several stores have a "50% off" sale that apparently is supposed to go on all year. The things inside are still obnoxiously overpriced, though, while selling the exact same things. Other stores have these "anti-50%" posters all over that call those stores out on using unfair tactics to gain business, and say that these stores use knock-offs and stuff.

We took a Gondala ride at night. Originally, we asked some gondoliers earlier what the rate was, and they said 100 euro for 4 people. Later, one guy said he would give us "student discount" and let all 6 of us ride for 100. We decided that maybe we should've just waited until the morning, when we could see everything, so we started walking away, and then another guy came up to us with the offer of 80 euro for all 6 of us. We figured that was a good enough deal, and so we took the gondola ride. It is dark and quiet during the Venetian night. He says there's very little crime, and not much happens at night. The Grand Canal was beautiful at night. And the next morning there was definitely too much traffic for it to be as enjoyable. We were usually completely by ourselves, but the next morning there were usually 2 or 3 gondolas going at a time one after the other.

The flash hit the mist from the water.

The Piazza San Marco was great at night. We tried sitting down in the middle of the plaza but got told by the police "It's not possible." So we sat on the side and drank Bellini, this very fruity Venetian-based bubbly drink.

I also felt lame for doing the tourist menu at this restaurant, but it was the cheapest option that let us try the most foods. Eh.

Street Art

Gelato Festival

Went to the first Gelato Festival in Florence.

Had something that tasted kind of popcorny, I can't remember it's name. Buonalatte? Buollanotte?

Had pineapple.

Had Nocciola, a hazelnutty flavor.

Had Sangria flavor. Also good.

Awesome Gelato

Duomo in Florence

Our class building. HAH


View from my window.


Look at this awesome closet. It sits above my desk, and at first I thought, "How the hell am I going to get up there? Do I have to stand on the desk? But then I pulled on the handle and it comes down.

My roommate Augustus (Gus)took us to this amazing Gelato place across the Arno river, where there are less tourists and cheaper food.

On approaching, I knew it was going to be awesome, because all the locals were there.
And it was.

I'll have to go back and take some pictures.