the process before the process

No matter how long I've been doing this, no matter how many times I do it now, I can never, never get over the absolute horror of auditioning.

It happens the same way every time-
I wake up feeling sick. I think "I'm not going. I'm not doing this. I'm not putting myself through this again."
I run through the possible scenario's, play pro's and con's- what is the worst that can happen? why should I do this? And this is all before I get out of bed.
Eventually I talk myself down. Sort of.
That is to say, I keep talking myself down as I shower, as I moisturize, as I dress. The whole time I'm applying make-up, I'm telling myself not to bother, because I'm not going. My body fights with itself- I become sleepy, my belly feels sick. And my mind keeps trying to be the boss of me, telling me to crawl back under the covers.
But my hands and feet ignore it all. My fingers dress me- pull on pants, do up buttons, lace up shoes. My legs carry me and my feet are on a mission.

Every step becomes a march. Every left. Right. Left. Right. GO. HOME. GO. HOME.
But my body keeps walking as my stomach keeps churning and my lower intestine is threatening to turn to liquid any minute.

It happens with any audition, whether voice-over, film, or stage. For me, the worst of those is stage. There is that awkwardness of "acting" in front of one or two people.

Auditions always run long, so you rarely get in at the time you were originally given. In some ways, that's good; you have time to get centered and prepared. But in other ways it's bad because you have time to think. And that's never good. I think I am blank. I think I don't remember the lines. I think my mouth is too dry.

Then I get in there and I am soaked. I imagine I must look a mess and try to put it out of my mind. Whenever I get to choose the piece, I find it best to aim for someone strung out, rather than put together, so that I look the part and make my shvitzing work in my favor.

I have learned that most auditions take time, with dialogue between the auditioner and the auditionee. When I finish my monologue, and I hear "that was great, thank you- we don't need you to read any more", I know it doesn't mean "that was great and we don't need to see any more because we know that there's nothing for you in this show". I don't take it personally.
A friend of mine once said "I go to more auditions than actual jobs". Strangely, that comforted me, because this person is well respected and always working. I guess my point is, we all have similar insecure reactions to this process in some way.

Usually someone who knows I was going to audition will ask at some point "how did it go?" and I have no idea.
The only thing I can go on is this: if I didn't shit myself, vomit or pass out, the audition was a success.

So, I guess, so far, so good.

a new adventure

Until now, my culinary endeavors have been limited to family and friends. Or sometimes friends of friends. But for the very first time, I catered an event.
Technically it was a favor for a friend, but I've never really prepared food for strangers before.

It was a joy to be able to come up with ideas and create food and it was a thrill that it was so well received.
There were many lovely compliments, and lots of suggestions that I should do it as a business. But my answer remains the same. For me, cooking is never a chore, but a chance to express myself creatively. I worry that making it a job would take the fun and joy out of it.

This adventure was a great learning experience for me. Two discoveries stand out the most:
I love food shopping at Costco and people love the hell out of smoked salmon.

This also allowed me to combine two of my loves- photography and cooking. Here are some shots from the event.

1. Fresh mango salsa on endive

2. Smoked salmon crostini with maple ricotta cream spread

3. Chocolate mini brownies with peppermint icing, spiced gingerbread men (er.. persons) and Festive punch

4. Phyllo cups with feta and sweet mince

It can't be the wrong road if it's part of the journey

Well, I am many things, and therefore this space shall be as well.
Many times I come to write, only to peck and strike like a chicken in the dirt, but then leave without even a trace of hen scratch.
I have to have focus. I want to become more disciplined in my writing (and, truth be told, my life) so I shall stop fretting about theme, and be more concerned about content.
From now on, whatever happens, happens.
As long as I find interesting ways to write it down, it shall find a home here.

There. I've made peace with it.

my blog is having an identity crisis

I come here often.
I log in, stare at the page, knowing I should write something. I started a blog to write things. But then I get overwhelmed.
Not for lack of material- hell, I've got more than enough floating around in this echo-y head of mine, bouncing around like rubber balls in a stainless steel room.
The problem is, which of those thoughts to put here.

Should this space be used for work related issues? Moments of self discovery? Recipes? Trips to the beach? Poetry? Lyrics?( mine or someone else?) Photographs? Memories and observations? Things that piss me off?
These are all things prominent in my life, and each could have their own blog. I have a hard enough time keeping one, I couldn't do more than that. I wouldn't. I shouldn't.

But why can't it be about everything? Does there have to be a theme? Why can't everything be... enough?

I've always had a thing about perfection. If I can't be perfect at something immediately, then I am frustrated and don't want to do it. Or beat myself up over it.
Someone once told me I needed to give myself permission to be human.
I didn't much care for that comment.

Another reason I started a blog was to discipline myself, make myself WRITE. So perhaps if I just put something in, even if it is just one line, then I am at least fulfilling that purpose.

So perhaps that's what I'll do. So it will be as congested and noisy as my brain. At least I will be putting something out there. At least I will be getting something done.

We'll see...

all the world's a stage, so pay your money and mind your own fucking business

"What do you do?"

It's a question that is usually always asked when you first meet.
It is the default question, the one I'm never sure how to answer.
It is still considered rude in some places, but here it is as common as offering your name and your hand.

What do I say? I'm an actor? Singer? Voice-over actor? Performer? What I do encompasses so much, that it is hard to label it so simply. And I must admit, the connotation of quotations-actor-end-quotations was so distasteful to me for a long time because had become synonymous with flaky, flighty, drama queen. It still is, I suppose, but I try to embrace the other more creative and positive (and non-pretentious) aspects of this career.

And career is the word. I have the greatest respect for those who are always looking for ways to challenge and improve their craft. And who look at it as a business. There is a huge difference between those for whom the arts is a job, and those who use it as a lifestyle. And it is the latter that (in my humble opinion) ruin it for the rest of us.

It's rare that I have the time, or frankly, the ambition or interest, to sit through a play. Usually if I go it's because someone I know is in it and I want to show my support. Recently I did venture out- a friend was in town with a show, and I went for both reasons I've just sited. Incidentally, the show was quite good, but the pre-show was dead annoying. And by pre-show, I mean, ticket line up. Inevitably there are some "theatre-types" at a show, talking loudly in the lobby about whatever projects on which they are working. Or giving their critique of some performance. Or simply just "performing".
There are certain bars or cafe's frequented by this kind of person, and I will avoid them like a cat avoids a bath. Just sitting within sight and earshot of these posers can send me into a blind rage, and they are the reason I am so reluctant to say what I do. Sometimes I must fight the urge to offer them money, and suggest they use it to buy a big bucket of "Shake Your Fucking Head".

There are usually a few options to the reactions that I get when people find out what I do.
Sometimes there is a simple "ah", although such a small word can be so heavy with judgment, as in "ah, you don't have a real job". Sometimes people think it is quite glamorous. They are the ones who will ask a bag full of questions bordering on intrusive. I don't like to discuss the particulars of my work, and try to find ways to avoid the inquiry. There have been times in the past when someone has asked me what I do,and I instantly answered "massage therapist". Or, if I'm feeling sassy, "secret agent".

So if I feel this way, if I can't openly discuss my career, why do I do it?
Sometimes I blame my lack of math skills. My inability to work with numbers has foiled my chances of becoming a doctor. Well, that, and my lack of interest in that field. (Although, in high school, I did think I might want to be an oceanographer, but that may have only been an extension of my love of swimming and being near the water. )
I come from a family of linear thinkers- scientific, logical, able to figure out angles and gazinta's, take things apart and put them back together. Sure, no one else can sing or perform, but let's face it, what I do is not earth shattering. It does not save lives. And yet it is all I know. And ultimately, broken down in its basic form, it is what I love.

I've always said I am the most reluctant performer. I don't want attention. Applause sometimes embarrasses me. I am extremely private, and yet I have chosen the most public of careers.

Bob Dylan once said "At times in my life the only place I have been happy is when I am on stage." This I understand. An empty stage can be exhilarating, filled with so much possibility.

I love the language, thought, the process, the creating.
I love the challenge of becoming someone else, and making others believe it. I like finding subtleties that no one would have thought to find, and being better than I was the last time I did it, even if it is just to me.
Singing is completely the opposite, unless of course its a character song in a musical. But otherwise, expressing myself in this manner opens me up, brings out the true me. It is like finding my voice every time. I think that singing is something that everyone secretly wants to do, and yet finds it the most terrifying, because you are truly yourself at that moment.
I know this is why I do it.

And I do it because it is what I know.

I just don't need to discuss it with strangers.

how do I hate thee, let me count the ways...

There are very few things I hate more than hockey.

I'm not much for any kind of sporting event, but hockey really leaves me cold.
Oh sure, that's not very Canadian of me, but I'd rather watch debate on tax reform in the House of Commons than a hockey game.
In fact I couldn't watch a game if Springsteen, Idris Elba, Craig Ferguson and L.L. Cool J strapped on skates and whipped out their sticks.

Even my scientist, egghead sister is a huge fan of the sport. Obsessively so. Mostly in the Junior League (if that's what you call it) and that serves only to make me dig in my heels more, as every conversation drifts to stats and personal information about jocks in whom I have absolutely no interest.

I find it really hard see the excitement in a game that promotes such violence and incites riots, whether we win or lose, and one in which the main goal (pun intended) is to get a rubber disc in a fishing net with a bent stick.
It incites me to no end to know that hockey, and sports in general, are given so much money, while funding is being cut for the arts in schools and government programs.

This week, hockey talk has filled every line up at grocery stores and coffee shops, in anticipation of the big Gold medal Olympic game between long time rivals, Canada and the U.S.

It was not hard to tell when the game was over tonight, and that Canada had won.

Even now, I can hear them, in the streets, whooping like it's New Years Eve or a large small-town wedding. Car horns blaring, groups and gaggles of people screaming nonsensical wooooohooooo's.
All over Facebook, people are posting status updates that say lame things like "we live in the best country in the world"
Why? Because our toothless mullets beat another country's toothless mullets on a frozen surface? Woo fucking hoo.
Is anybody posting "we live in the best country in the world because we have a better health care system than most" or "Canada rocks because we discovered insulin or life saving procedures and vaccines"?

That being said, I do like the way the country comes together, united around tee vee's in living rooms, bars and pizza shops, to cheer on their own. Too bad it wasn't to talk about hospital wait times, arts funding, or helping the homeless.

I admit, hockey and I have been in a fight for a long time.
Many years ago, I was a hockey widow, living with a man who played nets for a local scrub team. Dirty, stinky, sweaty, smelly gear sat by the washing machine for days, festering and fermenting until someone aired it out. For a long time it was me, but then I just gave up.
Every Saturday night, the Hockey Night in Canada theme played in our house, rendering me invisible. A certain New Years Eve was preempted when the game went into over-time and I sat, in my expensive sequined party dress and new hairdo, waiting to go out. In the end, I took a bottle of champagne over to drink with my elderly neighbors.

Oh sure, I tried to make it sexy.
Once I even strapped on his goalie pads and wearing nothing but those and his hockey shirt I walked seductively into the room. He didn't notice until the commercial, and that was only because he asked me to bring him another beer. Initiating sex during a game was out of the question, as it was too distracting. It's really hard to stay in the mood when you're sucking on someone's face and he's trying to keep his eyes on the face off, or when the only moaning and groaning he's making is because someone missed the net.
Yeah that's dead sexy.

The only thing worse than dating a guy who plays hockey, is dating a guy who's kid plays hockey. You expect you'll never come first as far as the kid is concerned, but in this case, you are on the benches, (to use a dreaded hockey reference) taking a back seat to the kid, his schedule and the game. Then it's always Hockey Night In Canada. Early practice makes sleep overs impossible, and evening games rule out any thoughts of dinner plans.
So, yeah, where hockey is concerned, I suppose I'm a bit bitter.
I guess hockey and I will never be friends.

With that in mind, while the rest of the country is screaming in the streets, tossing beer on one another, and taking credit for winning something they had absolutely nothing to do with, I will be thinking about how I'd like to beat them all with a hockey stick, and then put it up their collective arses.

I Would Have Done This One For Free

This is my voice over for the Canadian Breast Cancer Screening Project