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Jul. 15th, 2004 12:02 amToday has been a little strange. For the first time in my life, I look my age, thanks to a marvellous haircut (20 minutes, $20, god bless Dramatics NYC), that wasn't any of the five or six things I thought I wanted, but it turned out just right. I look like a woman in her thirties. Considering my headshot is sort of powerful, and I get called in a lot for roles I'm too young looking for, this is a good thing, but it's the sort of moment most people have about their birthdays, that momentary sense of a list of all the things you don't get to be anymore.
It's okay. Mostly.
I'm crazy about my hair, which most people who are paying any attention know. I've never liked it. Not once. I was only allowed to wear it short as a child, so it sort of galls me as an adult, that it's that same childhood haircut that's really the only thing that has ever looked good on me. It's frustrating, and mentally associated with some of the more bizarre aspects of growing up with my family. I'd have to have been better at sports to be a tomboy, but I sort of was. I'd whine for wanting long hair, so I could be pretty like the other girls, or prettier than the other girls, and my parents would remind me I wouldn't much look like a squire or a baseball player if I grew my hair out, now would I? Le sigh. I'll grant you, it's sort of funny.
I got cast in a show today (without a particularly formal audition process which is why I'm being a little circumspect about it until it's solid solid solid), we did the first read through, and it felt good and once I get the actual schedule of stuff from the director, then I'll feel 100% about it and fill in the details; small cast, chemistry feels really nice. I'll be very glad to be in something, and it's a meaty fun part in a good solid satire of a show.
Got practically accosted by a woman in a deli today who adored my outfit. I'm wearing two thigns that are heavily patterend and I thought I probably shouldn't be wearing together, but it got me by all day, and she just loved it and loved it and went on about how her partner is a painter and it would be all over for her if he could see these textures! It was nice, and sort of made my night in a weird way.
To get back to the hair thing, sometimes my roommate and I watch the bad hair salon reality TV show on Bravo eventhough we both hate it, and nearly everyone on it. We talk about how it freaks us out about LA and California, which we both have barely any experience of, but me more than her. The truth is, I think about LA a lot, because it might as well be Mars, which only in my universe would be an endorsement for a place I really did not enjoy. I liked it though, as a writer, as it was the most alienating place I've ever been, and I find that useful in the making imaginary friends department -- although, I can't help but think even real people friends are imaginary friends in LA. Certainly, several of my own experiences with the locale bear that out.
Tangentally tied into my current mental state -- most of my role models have been men. There have been a few women, but that's always been an intellectual thing, or even more specifically a writing thing, but when you talk total package role-model, the intangibles, the charisma, the presence, the spirit of a person -- always men. Quite frankly, me and my short hair aside, it's wildly inconvenient. I walk down the street and move my shoulders as much as anything else and people do not know what to do with me. Which is why I do the meek and ugly walk so much, just to like turn the magnet off, and then I forget.
I'm very aware of myself as a presumably compelling creature right now. Not sure anyone else is. Wondering what it'll feel like when they are. The weather's gotten cold, and it's been raining -- I suppose I've been fooled into thinking it's Fall and the expectation of change.
It's okay. Mostly.
I'm crazy about my hair, which most people who are paying any attention know. I've never liked it. Not once. I was only allowed to wear it short as a child, so it sort of galls me as an adult, that it's that same childhood haircut that's really the only thing that has ever looked good on me. It's frustrating, and mentally associated with some of the more bizarre aspects of growing up with my family. I'd have to have been better at sports to be a tomboy, but I sort of was. I'd whine for wanting long hair, so I could be pretty like the other girls, or prettier than the other girls, and my parents would remind me I wouldn't much look like a squire or a baseball player if I grew my hair out, now would I? Le sigh. I'll grant you, it's sort of funny.
I got cast in a show today (without a particularly formal audition process which is why I'm being a little circumspect about it until it's solid solid solid), we did the first read through, and it felt good and once I get the actual schedule of stuff from the director, then I'll feel 100% about it and fill in the details; small cast, chemistry feels really nice. I'll be very glad to be in something, and it's a meaty fun part in a good solid satire of a show.
Got practically accosted by a woman in a deli today who adored my outfit. I'm wearing two thigns that are heavily patterend and I thought I probably shouldn't be wearing together, but it got me by all day, and she just loved it and loved it and went on about how her partner is a painter and it would be all over for her if he could see these textures! It was nice, and sort of made my night in a weird way.
To get back to the hair thing, sometimes my roommate and I watch the bad hair salon reality TV show on Bravo eventhough we both hate it, and nearly everyone on it. We talk about how it freaks us out about LA and California, which we both have barely any experience of, but me more than her. The truth is, I think about LA a lot, because it might as well be Mars, which only in my universe would be an endorsement for a place I really did not enjoy. I liked it though, as a writer, as it was the most alienating place I've ever been, and I find that useful in the making imaginary friends department -- although, I can't help but think even real people friends are imaginary friends in LA. Certainly, several of my own experiences with the locale bear that out.
Tangentally tied into my current mental state -- most of my role models have been men. There have been a few women, but that's always been an intellectual thing, or even more specifically a writing thing, but when you talk total package role-model, the intangibles, the charisma, the presence, the spirit of a person -- always men. Quite frankly, me and my short hair aside, it's wildly inconvenient. I walk down the street and move my shoulders as much as anything else and people do not know what to do with me. Which is why I do the meek and ugly walk so much, just to like turn the magnet off, and then I forget.
I'm very aware of myself as a presumably compelling creature right now. Not sure anyone else is. Wondering what it'll feel like when they are. The weather's gotten cold, and it's been raining -- I suppose I've been fooled into thinking it's Fall and the expectation of change.
