(no subject)

This is the sort of day that would probably be better served by a lack of an entry. Suffice it to say it ended with me leaving a party and having a bucket of water thrown on my head from the rooftop of a neighboring building.

Back when I was all into thinking the world was out to get me based on the sort of ridiculous crap that should end in high school and doesn't, I would try to explain to people that I must smell different, must have some sort of phermones that create this charge.

And then I got over it and got on with my life -- it wasn't that I didn't believe it, and it's not that I do believe it, it's just that it became a lot less interesting than living my life.

So right now I'm feeling very strange and not a little sore -- a bucket of water from six stories up hurts.

In a hopefully unrelated note, a monument is being errected to Topsy the Elephant -- http://www.nytimes.com/2003/07/13/nyregion/13tops.html

note to self

*sigh* I was going to quote something from Velvet Goldmine because it seemed better than talking about the shit I am giving myself right now and then I looked up the quote and it wasn't even what I thought it was and it didn't even fit.

Actually, fuck that. Note to self, take two:

• Sometimes you're going to have parts that bring you notice, and sometimes you aren't.
  
• Sometimes you're going to give good performances and sometimes you'll be tired, distractable or otherwise off your game. Sometimes you're just going to suck.
  
• Sometimes you're going to be lucky, and sometimes you aren't.
  
• Sometimes they're looking for a type. Sometime, it'll probably even be you.
  
• There is always more than one chance, as long as you want there to be more than one chance.
  
• The singlemindedness of your focus in its many permutations can be weird and boring to other people, so shut up already.
  
• You have seen the astoundingly and absurdly bad early performances of a huge range of people you admire -- performances that may or may not have driven them crazy and made them hate themselves, but absolutely certainly didn't bring them any notice. It's supposed to be like this. It's okay. Really.
  
• You have three auditions tomorrow that you are scared shitless of, but they're all for paid work and in two cases they saw your picture and they really really want you there. This weird terror you've been living under that you're not attractive enough for any sort of employ in or out of the profession is exactly that -- weird and useless terror, even if that piece in today's NYTimes did upset you further. The fact is you are desireable, and while you may not be the woman most people conjure in their head for a wide range of useless adjectives (pretty, beautiful, attrative, hot), normal, reasonable people don't loathe themselves for thinking you're yummy. And there are more normal and reasonable people in the world than you think, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
  
• You are not broken.
  
• The long list of things you've been told you need to do to be hot were the opinion of one very wacked out man. The problem with shame isn't that it isn't useful, it's that it gets all over everyone else.
  
• Which brings us back to your role in this play -- among other things, you are the unlikeable, ugly kid and a straight man to much of the show's action. Also, you've really no idea what you're doing at this stage of the game, but you're certainly learning. And it's a play about bad acting. Calm down. Look to the horrizon. Repeat your wacky little mantras. Get on with things. And laugh your fucking ass off that you just scored free Latin dance lessons as you completed this tirade.

Wow, that actually worked.