Pros and Cons.

I have three clocks that are supposed to update the time automatically when DST rolls around. When I woke up this morning, one of them said 8:13, one said 10:13, and one said 11:13. I have no freaking clue what time it is.

The grocery store that’s closest to my home has apparently stopped printing weekly fliers with the sale items. This really, really pisses me off. I’m broke, people, how am I supposed to know what to buy if I don’t know what’s on sale? Maybe they think that this will save them money, but to me it means that they’re actually losing business, because I’m just going to find someplace else to shop. I don’t care if it’s farther away, I have a granny cart. I’m sure I’m not the only person who relies on those fliers.

It is a sauna in my apartment. This entire building is heated by one main unit, so none of the tenants have a thermostat control. They turned the heat on last week, and it’s set to the same temperature as we’ll need in January, and it’s just way too warm for that now. It’s 45 degrees outside, but I have to sleep with the air conditioner on. There is something wrong with this picture.
Recently (at least, recently in the context of this diary, which . . . no, never mind. The word “recently” has no meaning in this diary) I mentioned that I was going on an audition and looking for music. I eventually settled on “Not for the Life of Me” from Thoroughly Modern Millie as my up-tempo song. It’s a song I’d had my eye on for a while, but as with all award-winning new shows, the songs from it were being overdone. Now that this song has been supplanted by songs fromWicked and Avenue Q, I decided to take it out for a test. It worked out pretty well, I think, because I got what I was auditioning for – a spot in a local cabaret show. I’ll be singing with them in January and February.

When I was rehearsing the song, I recorded a couple of versions of it on the computer for review – that’s the equivalent of a football player watching video tapes of practices – and I uploaded one of them for anyone who wants to hear. It’s not perfect – keep in mind that it was recorded into a computer microphone with a midi player as accompaniment, so it’s hardly CD quality. Still, it’s acceptable, although not great. (I’m my own worst critic. For example, I have no idea why that one low note sounds so rough, as it’s just an Ab, which is well within my range. Plus some of my vowels are a bit off — the word “Not” that’s repeated a bunch of times sounds a little bit Jersey-ish and I kind of fell out of the vowel towards the end of that last held note.) So if any of you want to listen to it, it’ll be up for the next seven days at yousendit. If it’s really bad? Please don’t tell me about it.

So, this cabaret thing is really just one in a list of things I’ve done in the two years since I’ve lived here. Cabaret, dinner theatre, choirs, improv groups, and more lessons that you can shake a stick at. And still, since I’ve been here I’ve only really been in one show. And it wasn’t even a musical. And it wasn’t even a big part. I keep trying to update my resume to send to summer stocks and other Equity theatres that hire non-union actors, and there’s nothing on it. The last time I was in an actual theatrical production of a musical, I was a teenager. And that show wasn’t even legal. I’m not succeeding at what I came here to do, because I spend too much time working at an actual, real, pays-the-bills job. That job has become my life, and theatre has become a hobby. And that’s not why I came here.

My mom’s been trying to convince me for well over a year now that I should move back home. When I left school at 19, I had to get a full time job and pay “rent,” and I think that when I moved down here at 21 she secretly hoped that I’d get used to having a “grown-up job” and living like a normal person, and that I’d meet someone, get married, have babies, and live a nice, normal life. But now I think she’s finally accepted the fact that I’m not giving up on the idea of doing theatre as a career, and now that she knows that I mean it she wants to help me. She’s a good mother.

She says that if I move back home, I won’t have to pay for anything. Of course I’d have to find something part-time to pay for pocket money and my cell phone and car insurance, but everything else would be free. No rent, no electricity, no grocery bills. I can focus all my time on auditioning. I can look for jobs doing summer stocks and professional dinner theatre all around the country and know that I have someplace free to live in between. Those kinds of places tend to have houses where the actors can live while the show goes on, so I can go anywhere. A month in Phoenix? Six weeks in Milwaukee? No problem.

The catch is that I hate living at home. I mean, I hate it. My mom’s my best friend now that I’m living 120 miles away, but we just don’t get along when we’re around each other all of the time. We fight like I didn’t know it was possible for two people to fight. Even when I go back for a weekend visit, we end up at each others’ throats. Not to mention, I’ve kind of gotten used to living by myself. I walk around the house naked. I cook dinner at 2AM. I smoke inside my apartment. Sometimes I just sit on the couch and drink all night. I have friends hang out here. I have boys hang out here. I mean, what am I supposed to say to her? “Oh, mom, this is X, he just drove all night to be here, and now he’s going to stay over for three days. By the way, we’re going to be having a lot of sex, so please knock first, and here, put in these earplugs.” I know that if I go back there, I’m going to feel like a teenager again. And I hated being a teenager.

Still, we all have to make sacrifices for the things we want . . . right? When I put it all down on paper and ignore my personal feelings, this really is the best thing for me to do. My family only lives 15 miles from New York City, so my auditioning options are essentially limitless. I can finally focus on it for real, not have to worry about money . . .it’ll be a good thing, I know it.

Summer stock starts auditioning in March, mostly, so I’ll probably move back sometime in the late winter. Which means that I only have a few months left of sweet, blissful independence. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take off my clothes and open a bottle of wine.