Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
My primary fantasy as an actor is that I would one day be able to exist - financially and artistically - on acting jobs.
My secondary fantasy as an actor is that I could get a role in some movie or TV show that would subsequently result in my likeness being reproduced in the form of an action figure. I would take him everywhere with me. When I went to a restaurant, I would let him sit on the table. When I went to my accountant to take care of my complex financial matters, I would bring him out of my pocket and let him be part of the action. When I rode the bus, which I would never do because famous and successful actors (the kind that have action figures fashioned after them) never use public transportation, I would let my little plastic doppelganger take up the whole seat next to me. Unless there was a really pregnant woman on board and the bus was really full; then they could share a seat. And when I die, I would ask that the action figure in my likeness would be taken to the top of Mount Everest, and glued to the highest peak.
My secondary fantasy as an actor is that I could get a role in some movie or TV show that would subsequently result in my likeness being reproduced in the form of an action figure. I would take him everywhere with me. When I went to a restaurant, I would let him sit on the table. When I went to my accountant to take care of my complex financial matters, I would bring him out of my pocket and let him be part of the action. When I rode the bus, which I would never do because famous and successful actors (the kind that have action figures fashioned after them) never use public transportation, I would let my little plastic doppelganger take up the whole seat next to me. Unless there was a really pregnant woman on board and the bus was really full; then they could share a seat. And when I die, I would ask that the action figure in my likeness would be taken to the top of Mount Everest, and glued to the highest peak.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
This Christmas, while I was back home, my dad and I took our traditional trip downtown and walked around for a few hours. One of my favorite stopoffs in our yearly tour has always been the William Penn Hotel. It's one of those really old ones with ornate mouldings, grand staircases, giant chandeliers, etc. It's even more beautiful during the holidays. I sang in the lobby of that hotel during a chorus trip in high school. That was such a fun trip. It's not that I loved singing so much; it had much more to do with the reality of a huge group of out-of-control high school kids getting out of class for a day to go into the big city and go a little crazy. Anyway, the combination of good memories and a big fancy old hotel results in something I really look forward to every year.
Most other years, ducking into the hotel is a necessity at that point just to keep from freezing. It was unseasonably warm this year. (Then again, "unseasonable" is the new norm, it seems.) We entered anyway, and like every year, I felt such a huge wave of joy seeing finely dressed rich people sitting in the restaurant and lobby sipping tea and reading their newspapers. The same giant Christmas tree as always stood in the middle of the room, decorated with such class. As always, I wondered what the rooms above us looked like, and how much a night in one would set you back.
I never noticed the Starbucks before. It was off to the side of the lobby. Purists and snobs would be appalled, I'm sure, to find a chain coffeehouse in such a beautiful old hotel, but I didn't care. I decided it was the perfect time of the day for my cup of personality. The appropriate moment to get my caffeine fix while on vacation is a delicate matter of timing. I bought my dad one and he asked me if I wanted to sit down for a bit. I was secretly against it, as I think walking with a coffee in the winter is a fabulous thing, but I was in a real go-with-the-flow mood, so I said okay. And I would have preferred to sit in the lobby with all those well-dressed rich people, but instead we sat at a table within the Starbucks, and that was still okay. In fact, the longer I sat there, I felt such a growing comfort and satisfaction within me. I cased out the place, noticed how the decades-old ceiling belied the age of the building in which we sat despite the brand new-ness of the coffeehouse itself. The employees were mostly young and jolly, whether because of plain old holiday spirit, or simply because nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. A young pretty girl sat by herself in a comfortable looking green plush chair, reading a book, a hardcover one of course. Her reading would be interrupted now and then by a text message or a call on her cell phone, which she replied to or answered eagerly. And I thought, how wonderful must her life be. Out the window was a view of tall buildings, some newer, some ancient, because that's the way my hometown is: Simultaneously decaying and renewing in plain view. A courtyard across the street was strangely undecorated and deserted, but it looked wonderful anyway. I imagined snow falling on it, and then remembered how on weekdays in the summer, people in suits would gather there and eat their lunch.
Dad finished his coffee and asked if I was ready. I'd save a little of mine so I could walk with my coffee for at least a little bit. I wanted to hold the cup with my black woolen gloves as we walked down the boulevard. For some reason my thoughts keep returning to that place. I left a little bit of me behind, and hopefully the piece of me I replaced will stay with me all year until I go back.
Most other years, ducking into the hotel is a necessity at that point just to keep from freezing. It was unseasonably warm this year. (Then again, "unseasonable" is the new norm, it seems.) We entered anyway, and like every year, I felt such a huge wave of joy seeing finely dressed rich people sitting in the restaurant and lobby sipping tea and reading their newspapers. The same giant Christmas tree as always stood in the middle of the room, decorated with such class. As always, I wondered what the rooms above us looked like, and how much a night in one would set you back.
I never noticed the Starbucks before. It was off to the side of the lobby. Purists and snobs would be appalled, I'm sure, to find a chain coffeehouse in such a beautiful old hotel, but I didn't care. I decided it was the perfect time of the day for my cup of personality. The appropriate moment to get my caffeine fix while on vacation is a delicate matter of timing. I bought my dad one and he asked me if I wanted to sit down for a bit. I was secretly against it, as I think walking with a coffee in the winter is a fabulous thing, but I was in a real go-with-the-flow mood, so I said okay. And I would have preferred to sit in the lobby with all those well-dressed rich people, but instead we sat at a table within the Starbucks, and that was still okay. In fact, the longer I sat there, I felt such a growing comfort and satisfaction within me. I cased out the place, noticed how the decades-old ceiling belied the age of the building in which we sat despite the brand new-ness of the coffeehouse itself. The employees were mostly young and jolly, whether because of plain old holiday spirit, or simply because nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. A young pretty girl sat by herself in a comfortable looking green plush chair, reading a book, a hardcover one of course. Her reading would be interrupted now and then by a text message or a call on her cell phone, which she replied to or answered eagerly. And I thought, how wonderful must her life be. Out the window was a view of tall buildings, some newer, some ancient, because that's the way my hometown is: Simultaneously decaying and renewing in plain view. A courtyard across the street was strangely undecorated and deserted, but it looked wonderful anyway. I imagined snow falling on it, and then remembered how on weekdays in the summer, people in suits would gather there and eat their lunch.
Dad finished his coffee and asked if I was ready. I'd save a little of mine so I could walk with my coffee for at least a little bit. I wanted to hold the cup with my black woolen gloves as we walked down the boulevard. For some reason my thoughts keep returning to that place. I left a little bit of me behind, and hopefully the piece of me I replaced will stay with me all year until I go back.
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