I'm special, damnit!

Another disappointing NFL weekend for me. No need to go there.

I was feeling pretty down last week. On Thursday, I went to a chorus call for the Vegas production of "Jersey Boys," a show that totally rocked my world when I saw it here last May. I was lucky enough to get free tickets to the opening night production at The Venetian, thanks to the perks of my quasi-husband's crazy job. We were out here for a few days to pick up our car so we could drive out to LA for an agent's showcase I was doing with my MFA class, and the tickets were for that very weekend we were in town, zowee! The show, as I said, totally rocked, and at the curtain call, who should take the stage but Frankie Valli, Bob Gaudio and Tommy DeVito! Holy wow! And then, we headed to the VIP party with all the other VIPs (I like to pretend that I belong in their numbers), and sang Happy Birthday to Frankie Valli, then we danced like mad until my feet were throbbing, me and Alex and my girlfriend Caroline, who'd come from Seattle to visit, along with our college roommate and best bud, Zoe (who unfortunately had to leave town before the party)...It was a great night. And the dessert bar was to die for! Anyway, 6 months later, there's an Equity chorus call, and this Jersey girl was determined to get in line and get seen. And I did get seen. After 3 hours of sitting on my ass, talking with lots of other girls who want a job that requires clothes to be worn (so anti-Vegas), I got seen for all of 20 seconds, followed by a half-hearted, "Thank you. NEXT." Sigh.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that this is the way most of these calls work out. I didn't really think I'd get cast, or even get a callback (though I sure as shit am good enough for it). What really got me down is that, in my 3 months in Vegas, this was only my 3rd audition. And I have no clue when the next one is gonna happen. This may be an entertainment town, but most of the entertaining is of the go-go variety, and I didn't get an MFA to shake my jugs for strangers. I'm learning that Vegas is a city of extremes: for theatre, you've got the big payday Strip shows, like Jersey Boys, and then you've got the non-paying community theatre, which there isn't much of. In between, there's nothing. There's no ladder for me to work my way up, there's either the dream job or the non-job. And those Strip shows are mostly cast in LA and NYC. I was talking to a woman at the audition the other day, who'd spent 11 years as a Radio City Rockette. She finally left that job, as the Christmas season of 5 shows a day was grueling and she'd had her fill. But here in Vegas, she can't get anyone to take her seriously, even with her rather impressive resume (and killer legs). She gets convention work here and there, but that's it. I'm not a dancer, at least not of the "give me a time-step" variety, so those convention jobs don't exist for me. So, what got me down the other day was, What the hell am I doing here? I mean, I actually like Vegas, I am blown away by how friendly the people are, and I feel like there could be a place for me...but I have no clue how to find it. And 1 audition a month is not going to get me anywhere.

I was feeling down on Thursday. And then I went to my voice lesson on Friday. Jessica was SO psyched for me to go to this audition, she's seen Jersey Boys 3 times, once in New York and twice in Vegas, absolutely loves the show and thinks I'd be perfect for it. "How'd it go??" she asked. And I told her: no callback. Her partner, Andy (AKA The CEO of Soul) asked me how I thought I did. I said I did fine, but it was one of those things, as soon as I walked in the room, I could see them look away. This often happens to me on chorus calls. I sit in a holding room full of smooth-haired women who look like they just came off the dairy farm, I look like no one else, and I sound like no one else. Which you'd think might give me a leg up, but not in a chorus call. Always, I walk into the audition room and get looks of dissappointment. Andy said, "They hear what they see." And it's true. So, I thought I did fine, I presented myself well, I looked great (if I do say so myself), I played nice with the accompanist, I had my shit together, very professional, and I sang my 16 bars well. What more could I do? Anyway, Jess and I started my lesson, and I felt a bit better, just being able to sing. I love to sing, it's something I'm clearly meant to do. And by the end of the lesson, my spirits were raised. Then, Jess gave me a whole box of sheet music. She'd been going through her things, looking over the music and press clippings and pictures from the decades of her career (she's been performing professionally since she was 12), and realizing that she's had an amazing career. And she really wants to help her students get their own careers. Well, not all of her students, but the 3 or 4 that she thinks have really "got it." And I'm one of them. So, she's giving me all these charts and sheet music and songbooks that she won't be needing anymore (because she says, "Who wants to see a 50-ish girl rock singer?" to which I say, "I DO!"). And I'm thinking, man, how lucky am I to have met this woman? Not only because she's giving me all this music, but because she actually gives a crap about what happens to me, she really wants me to succeed, and she really wants to help me do it. I left her thinking, "I don't know what I'm doing here in Vegas, but something about it feels right."

And then I went to visit Van, my mailman. As soon as I walked in, he smiled and handed me two boxes. He'd been going through some things and thought of me. He gave me two lamps (I had complained to him about the pineapple-shaped lamps in my rental, which go along with the pineapple-themed everything in this place). He also gave me 4 prints, all with an Asian theme, to bring a little life into my home. And once again, I felt so lucky to be in this place. I mean, I met this wonderful, transgendered, 6'3" without-the-heels, African-American beauty who calls himself my fan, just by renting a mailbox in his store. And each week, I look forward to our visits, because I always feel special when I walk out, like I've shared a bit of time with a truly unique, uniquely talented individual, who sees something unique in me. And I need that. I need to feel special, not just for my ego's sake, but to remind me of why I want to be a performer, of why I can sing a song to people and know that they're hearing not only the song but the soul behind the singer. Because I am special, in my own way. Every one of us is special, every one of us is talented and every one of us has something that is uniquely ours. And when I don't get an opportunity to perform, the things that are special about me start to grow distant and fuzzy, I forget who I am and turn into a housewife, which I'm good at but clearly not meant to be (just ask Alex, he can tell you). I know myself well enough to know that I am meant for the stage. And my months in Vegas have been discouraging, because I know what I'm supposed to do but don't know how to make it happen.

But after being gifted by my friendships with Jess & Van, I felt a bit of creative fire. And I did some writing. And I put together a kind of crappy cabaret. Crappy, but at least it's a beginning. I finally managed to string my thoughts together well enough to come up with a beginning-middle-and-end. I don't really know what I'll do with it, if it's worth doing anything with. I have this fantasy of spending a few months in Seattle, workshopping it with my friends up there, seeing if it has a life beyond the page. Who knows. But at least I'm getting a better sense of what the hell I'm doing in Vegas. Perhaps this place will not get me any work, perhaps this place is just a stop along the way, or perhaps it will be a homebase, a place for me to write for myself before hitting the road to look for a stage to call my own. Because I feel like that's what my artistic soul is looking for: a solo stage for a one-woman show (with musicians, of course). I don't think I'll find that stage in Vegas, but the material is all here with me. And as much as the opportunities are lacking, I'm certainly not short on support. I've only met a couple of people here, but they think I'm pretty special. And that's like working capital.