10:10 am - Thurs 10/30/03
Weds 10/29/03 (9:10 p.m.)
Got an e-mail from my "Godzilla's Revenge" director yesterday...
He went one better than to just give me the number of the casting director, Barbara Divisek; he called her himself.
I applaud his initiative.
Unfortunately, Ms Divisek was out, apparently due to the wildfires currently burning up half of California (I guess she's busy hosing down her house, or perhaps moving to a less fiery locale). But Mitch (the director) said he'd let me know when she got back to him.
Will anything actually come of this? Hard to say...hopefully, but whether it does or not, I feel pretty encouraged; for the second time, a director I've worked with ended up with a good feeling about me, and backed up that "good feeling" with some action on my behalf. Once again, it's starting to seem like just a matter of time before something really good breaks my way.
Bus strike. Grocery workers strike. Wildfires raging out of control. Schwarzenegger.
As I said to Jane earlier today, at this point I'm just waiting for the rain of frogs, because it's apparently "plague season" here in California.
The strikes have been mildly inconvenient, but no more (Of the two, the grocery workers strike's had more of an impact on me, but again, not that big a deal).
And so far, the fires are obviously "on my radar", but as something happening to someone else; by that, I mean I sympathize–hundreds of homes have been lost, and over 20 people have died–but...well, like I said, it's not happening to me (That sounded a bit callous, didn't it?). Though truth to tell, I don't know the area outside of L.A. at all, don't know how close the fires are, and don't know how nervous I ought to be at this point ( I guess when I see the "Hollywood" sign on fire, I'll know it's time to hop in my car and head somewhere the fire isn't).
I'm actually trying not to think about the fires too much, because it's hard to dwell on all this destruction–the homes destroyed, the lives lost–and not be profoundly depressed about The Human Animal; apparently, all the fires currently blazing away are of human origin (The current theory is that the first fire was a lost hunter's "signal fire" run amok; the rest have apparently been arson).
Speaking of reasons to be depressed about humanity...
I heard recently–On Howard Stern's program, of all places–about the four brothers who were found starving to death in foster care (While social workers filed false reports saying everything was fine).
The story provided a little perspective regarding my own foster-care past; my childhood wasn't all sunshine and lollipops, but at least I always got fed (The oldest brother, 19, was so malnourished, with his growth so stunted as a result, that the police thought he was a ten-year-old when they first found him).
I can guarantee that no one's going to be punished for this the way they should be; In Jim's Court, those foster "parents" would be starved to death, as slowly as possible, with the lying sacks of shit social workers who filed their false reports and felt just great about themselves afterwards doing serious hard time, hopefully in a prison full of former abused foster children (And a high percentage of any prison population were abused as children, or spent time in the foster care system, or both).
The worst thing about this "news"? It's not the first time this has happened, and sadly, it won't be the last.
After three and a half weeks of nothing, I finally got a page from JS today.
Sometimes I just have to laugh at myself-- I've been pissed and moaning (Or more accurately, trying to keep from pissing and moaning) about this epic drought in commercial auditions. I've told myself it's a chance to relax, focus on other things, read, whatever. That this shit goes in cycles, and there's no point in getting upset about it. Blah blah blah, etc and so forth.
So I finally get a call today...and my first reaction was to be annoyed.
At first, I was annoyed because I thought "Tomorrow's the first time Pat and I have arranged to see a movie since American Splendor, so I just know I'm going to get a page from JS!". And sure enough, I did.
But when I was told the call was for 5:45–well out of the way of Pat and my "movie date" (We're planning on seeing Elephant at the Laemmle at 12:45), then I was annoyed because it meant driving to and from Studio City in rush hour traffic, only to have no place to park when I get home.
Poor, poor me–Unhappy if I don't get what I want, and not much happier when I get it (Though to be fair to myself, it's not like I actually want auditions; I'd prefer to skip that part and just be doing stuff).
But I think I've worked things out; it's a bit of a jaunt, but I should have enough time to bike there and forego any driving/parking frustrations. And since I'm supposed to be a gas jockey at some desert outpost, my being hot and sweaty and what-have-you will actually work.
Saw Mystic River yesterday (Happily, it finally opened at one of my cheap matinee places in Los Feliz).
I read the book a few months ago, and enjoyed it, even though I had to swallow a pretty hard-to-believe coincidence in the plot in order to do so.
I liked the movie a great deal as well, though once again, had to get over the very unlikely plot point the story hinges upon (I'd particularly recommend the movie if you're a fan of great acting, Sean Penn being "first amongst equals" in a great cast).
The movie got me thinking...
This is just the kind of thing I wish I were doing right now as an actor, and I found myself wondering if I'd be up to the challenge.
And one of the characters, and a thing that happens to one of the characters, got me thinking about my own past, and the person I am as a result of that past.
"Dave Boyle"--played by Tim Robbins--was abducted as a child, and sexually abused for four days before managing to escape and find his way home.
It's apparent as the story proceeds that "Dave" has never recovered from that traumatic experience; the person he was up to that point, and the man he might otherwise have been, never escaped the basement where he was held captive (A reviewer referred to something Tim Robbins does in the movie that I agree was really quite amazing; The actor is 6'5", but manages to seem like the smallest man in the entire movie, simply by virtue of his acting ).
It might sound obvious, after my recent "Bad Things" entry, that I'm comparing this character's experience to my own abuse experience, but I'm actually not. As I said before, I don't see the sexual abuse I experienced as being a "defining experience".
So what was the "defining experience" of my life? There's no contest--At seven or eight years of age, I was taken from my foster mother, Lydia DeHaven, where I had lived since I was a year old.
And even though I know it's a question with no answer, the movie got me thinking again about the person I might have been had that not happened.
(Mrs DeHaven died at some point when I was in my early 20s, after long-term health problems, so if I had stayed with her, the "defining experience" of my early life might have been dealing with an invalid mother while in my teens.)
Well, this opens up a Pandora's Box of metaphysical/psychological issues that I don't really have time to get into right now, but it's okay; they'll still be here when I get back.
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