An Email from myself

I got an email from Phil Rickaby today.

No, I didn’t send an email to myself.  Nor was it spam (though Gmail initially thought it was).  Turns out that there’s another Phil Rickaby out there.  Fortunately, he’s not an actor. I suspect that this is the Phil Rickaby I often see in my “vanity feed”.  This Phil Rickaby is an athelete, and articles such as this one often come up in my feed.

If this is the Athletic Phil Rickaby who has emailed me, that’s kinda cool, since I’ve often wondered who this fellow is.

I’ve emailed him back to try and find out if he’s who I think he is.  We’ll see.

I need a vacation from my vacation

There hasn’t been an update here in a while.  Romeo and Juliet has taken up much of my time the last week and once each day of performances is over, I’ve been far too tired to do anything but sleep.  For some reason, this show took more out of me than Hamlet did. 

Having finished R&J and closed last night, it would be nice to rest today, but there’s no chance for that.  Today I go straight into rehearsals for MacBeth.  No complaints though - I’ve been looking forward to Mackers for some time.

I am starting to wonder about my ability to participate in Script Frenzy though.  I’m going to give it my best shot, but I am worried about how much time I can spend at it.  I suppose there’s no crime if I can’t complete the play I start, I think I’d just be missing out of the comraderie of the whole “I finished script frenzy” thing.

Well, we’ll see what happens.

Maybe I’ll update later on after rehearsal today.

Five Little Words

I have, for several years, been haunted by five little words.

Before my Grandmother passed away, I was able to see her.  She was lying on her bed, and only vaguely conscious.  It was the last time she was able to communicate well with us, and we (her grandchildren) were able to come and see her and say goodbye.  I was glad that I was able to do this, as when my grandfather had passed, I wasn’t able to do so.

And each of us her grandchildren, in turn, had a moment to lean in close to to her so that she could whisper what was going to be the last thing she would ever say to us.

When my turn came, leaned in close to her.  And that’s when she said it.

“Make something of your life.”

Those words are so…simple.  So simple to say.  And I know what she was saying to me.  At the time, I was in the midst of a very long bout of unemployment, and I think she feared that I would never break out of it. 

But those words have stuck with me.  I come back to them, several times a year in my mind, and I mull them over: Make something of your life.  Several times a year, I examine my life and I figure out if I’ve done it yet.  Have I “made something” of my life yet?

I’m certainly not living the life I was at the time, that’s for certain. 

But have I made something of my life yet?

I guess I don’t even know what that means.

I think that what she meant was for me to make something of my life that is better than it was at the time.

But that’s not what haunts me.

The phrase haunts me, because someone I very much respected said it.  It haunts me because my grandmother was, an amazing woman, and when someone amazing says something like “make something of your life” to you, you want to do amazing things.

And I haven’t done them yet (a caveat: I realize that a part of all of this is coming from the lingering “age trauma” left over from the crisis of turning 37).  I want to do them.  I know that I have them inside of me.  And yet, I keep wondering how I will accomplish them. 

I know that when the words were said, that the intention wasn’t to haunt me with those words.  But they do.  I really want to do those amazing things. 

Part of me feels like to be able to accomplish something really great I need to start taking some really big risks.  But how to risk?  What to risk?  Should I quit my job and just try to make art?  Honestly, I didn’t do a great job of that years ago when I was unemployed and had the opportunity to do nothing but make art.  Should I pick up and move across the country?  To another country? 

Obviously, quitting my job is not really an option.  I wouldn’t have a chance of paying rent, and without a source of income I couldn’t eat, let alone afford to get headshots, pay for transit to go to auditions, or print resumes, let alone eat.  And picking up and moving…that’s something I’ve always had diffiuclty contemplating.  Its a big change.  Probably the biggest I could make.  But being the biggest, its the one that scares me the most.

If I am to “make something of my life”, then I need to stop plodding through life, and get on with it.  I have to stop playing it safe, somehow - which is difficult because being safe is so…y’know: safe.  I have to go to auditions and not worry about things like whether it will conflict with work.  I need to find the time to write and not let the eight hour work day drain me of the energy it takes to get creating.

I have to do that, if I’m ever really going to make something of my life.

And then my head asplode. Or my tooth.

Last night, as I was eating dinner, my tooth exploded.
At least, that’s what it felt like.

I was just finishing off the open faced turkey sandwich from the local diner, when BAM! It felt exactly as though my tooth had exploded in my mouth. Or at least, that’s how I imagine this would have felt like. All I knew is that, I couldn’t sit still, and had to get out of the restaurant. I quickly paid, and rushed home, where I immediately quaffed a couple of extra strength tylenol, and then paced. The pain was so bad that I wanted to scream. I didn’t…although I admit to some whimpering.

My friendly landlords were kind enough to provide me with some Orajel, which helped to numb the pain long enough for me to relax some. Then the tylenol finally (mercifully) kicked in.

I was suddenly very tired. I stayed up for a while finishing off a few things (and so that i didn’t end up waking up at 3am or something silly like that). Then I collapsed into sleep.

Now, the plan is to find a dentist to help extract this tooth as quickly as possible. Of course, let us keep in mind (as I have mentioned before) the fear that I have of dentists in general. This is not helped by the fact that I expect that the solution to this problem is going to be painful. I just can’t put it off any more. A certain dentist has been recommended to me, but I they may not be open on Monday. So, I might have to settle for a more expensive, less highly recommended solution as quickly as possible just to get the problem solved.

I’ll keep you updated.

Accomplishments.

It is interesting to note how changing one thing can open up so many doors.  I gave notice at work this week.  Suddenly I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.  I’m not stressing about work anymore.  And more, it seems that the stress is what was keeping my creativity under lock and key, because suddenly tonight as I was on my way home, in my mind I roughly mapped out the play that I’ve been mulling over.  There is an outline, now, however brief it might be.  But there is an outline, and that makes the play more solid.  I have a solid view of the story and where its going. 

That’s very liberating.  I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

And all it took was quitting my job.

Or rather, quitting my job helped me release the idea that was already there.

But whatever it was, I’m feeling very good right now.  Accomplished.  I’ve made progress.

Good feeling

Today is a crazy day.  The TTC maintenance workers are on strike and the rest of the union is refusing to cross the picket lines, so there are no subways or busses.  No idea if service will be restored in time for me to go to work today.

A while back, I reported on a job interview that I had.  Today, I received an offer from the company, and gave my two weeks notice at my current job.

Two Short Greeks

A theatre story. Years ago (I forget how many, and I’d rather not think about how many years ago it was, so I’m just going to stick with “years ago), I was in a production of Hamlet. I was playing the triple role of the Ghost, the Player, and the Gravedigger. I was actually a late addition to the cast (and by late, I joined the cast about two weeks into rehearsal), and spent the first little while trying not to be intimidated by being in a Shakespeare play (and Hamlet nonetheless).

These days, Shakespeare doesn’t phase me at all, but back then, I was a recent graduate of Theatre School and since school is an enclosed and specialized environment, my confidence at the beginning was a little shaky. I got over that though.

Rehearsals were a learning experience. Having just come from theatre school, I had some specific ideas about how reheasals were “supposed” to be. I learned that in practice, not every actor prizes things like being on time and showing up for rehearsals on a reliable basis. Turns out that some actors don’t consider these things important. I also learned about how actors tend to relate to each other in the “real world”, and watched as a long term relationship between two actors who had worked together for many many years was on the verge of self-destructing (in the end, it didn’t – mostly due to the inhuman patience of one of them).

However, I survived the rehearsal process and we Opened without incident. The first week was good, and we found audiences responding relatively well to the performance. Feeling pretty good about ourselves, we finished the first week and there was some revelry, and Jenngo, who was stagemanaging the show, showed me how the gang in the booth were passing the time: they were drawing and captioning cartoons.

They had some real beauties: A drawing of kermit and grover hanging out and smoking: the captions was: “muppets dallying” (inspired by the line: I could tell the difference between you and your love if I could see the puppets dallying).

A Picture of the Palace janitor, who’s name was Pat. (inspired by Hamlet’s line, Now might I do it pat. However, if you insert a comma, it becomes a question: Now might I do it, Pat?).

They were all quite silly, and all patently unfunny to anyone who does not have a familiarity with the show that performing it can give.

There was one more. One fateful cartoon: a drawing of the Player, striking at two short greeks. This was inspired by the Player’s line:

“Anon he finds him
Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,”

I thought this was the most hilarious thing. I remember giggling histerically when I first read it. I repeated it, and laughed some more.

We had a few days off, before the run continued, and during these days off, I played with the phrase quite often, going so far as to repeat the speech with the “new” wording:

“Anon he finds him
Striking at two short Greeks; his antique sword,
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,”

Jenngo and I both enjoyed this, and found it funny. Jokingly, we said things like “wouldn’t it be funny if I said that in performance?” and knowing that I would never say that in performance, made us laugh more.

Before the next performance, the actor playing Hamlete approached Jenn about this, having heard me going on about the “two short greeks” backstage.

“He’s not going to say that in performance, is he?” he said.

“Of course not,” Jenngo answered, “Phil’s a professional.”

And that night, as the curtain went figuratively up, we were faced with our largest crowd yet. The Reviewer for the Toronto Star was present. And the show got off to a great start. It was shaping up to be one of those performances that just rocks.

And then came the Player scene. In this scene, the players have arrived at Elsinore, and Hamlet and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern greet them. Hamlet cooerces the lead Player to perform a favourite speech. And the Player obliges.

And when it came time, as I normally did, I jumped up on the table that was present and launched into the speech:

‘Anon he finds him
Striking at two short Greeks;’

And suddenly, in the middle of the speech, I realize what I have said. Still speaking, I can feel the laugh pulling at the corner of my mouth. I know I’m not the only one who heard it either. Desperately trying to fight off the laugh that I know is fighting to come out, I look at the actors playing my fellow players. However, all of them have suddenly found an intense interest in the workmanship of the floor. I would get no support from them.

My good friend Richard was playing Guildenstern, and I knew I could count on him. So, I looked to him. As soon as my eyes met his, he burst out laughing.

No support there.

Quickly looking down, I saw that the actor playing Hamlet was to be no help: he was currently engaged in banging his head on the floor.

My fellow actors were going to be no help, so I decided that I need to do something to stop the laugh (which was now starting to come out, no matter how I fought). There was a spotlight directly in front of me, so I stared into it, hoping that the bright light would make my eyes water enough to make the laughter stop.

That didn’t work.

I was running out of things I could do. I was loosing the battle against the laugh, all the while trying to fight my way through the speech.. There was one last person I could look to. Jenngo was my good reliable friend. I could count on her, and I knew that she would not let me down. So, I looked up at the booth.

And all I saw was a pair of keds in the air, as Jenn had fallen off her seat because she was laughing so hard.

I was doomed. I rushed through the rest of the speech, finished the scene and got off stage as fast as I could. Somehow, I managed to finish the show.

The rest of the week was shaky though. Each show, during the first scene between Hamlet and the Ghost, I would tentatively meet Hamlet’s eye, and if I felt a laugh coming, I would look away. I spent the rest of the week on stage looking only at the big medallion that Hamlet was wearing. I just couldn’t meet his gaze.

Eventually, the next week, I had finally got myself under control, and was able to meet the actor’s gaze. With relief, I launched into the show with relish. Finally, I could put this whole thing behind me.

There came a point in the show, where the actor playing Hamlet and I passed by each other. I was about to go on, and he was coming off stage. He stopped beside me on the Friday night:

“Phil, you’re not going to believe this.” He said.

“What?”

“Right there in the front row. You won’t believe who it is.” He said.

I was thinking an agent, maybe a casting director. From the way he was talking, I was sure that someone important was there. “Who?”

With an wicked smirk, he said “Two short greeks! Oh shit, you’re on!” and he pushed me towards the stage.

Uncertain-aholics Anonymous

*cough* Um. Hello, my name is Phil, and I’m an Uncertain-aholic.

Hi Phil.

Thanks. 

I guess I’m here because…well, I’m thirty-six years old, and I don’t know what I want to do with my life.  I see a couple of you nodding, so at least I know I’m not alone.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately.  I’ve said it before (and I’m highly likely to say it again), but I’m dissatisfied with my job.  I’ve been working this shift of my (4–midnight) for over 4 years now, and I’ve noticed that its been taking a real toll on my life.  My social life to be specific.  Working this shift, as I do, means that on Friday night, when many other people are looking forward to what they are going to do to kick off the weekend, I’m at work.  And when work is done, the only thing I really want to do is go home and wind down.  And after the average work-night I have…I’m not really in the mood to head out and kick up my heels (metaphorically speaking).  As well, there are many times when friends of mine are heading out after work to get together, and I can’t go along because…I’m just starting work.

There are people who hear me complain about my job, and naturally they ask me: “If you don’t like the job so much, why are you still doing it?” 

The answer to that, folks, is…well, two-fold.  Partially, its laziness. I have a job. It might not pay a lot, but it does pay.  It keeps groceries in my cupboard and a roof over my head.  Its safe to stay.  Sure I might not like it…but its known.  Safe. 

The second reason is simply: I don’t want to leave one crappy job for another crappy job.  That’s a major criteria for any new job.  Of course, that also presents a problem:  I have yet to encounter a job board that has a category of  Jobs that don’t suck. Sadly.  Because that would really help.  Because I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up.

Naturally, the answer of I want a job that doesn’t suck is not really the kind of answer you can give when you’re asked “what kind of job are you looking for”.  Also, it doesn’t look very good on the “Objectives” section of the old resume.

I am (or so I have claimed) an actor.  I’m a reasonably decent actor too, or so I’ve been told.  However, I am the first to admit that I haven’t done as much as I could to pursue that field.  I have frequently second-guessed myself, or allowed my own self-doubt (and sometimes sheer laziness) to prevent me from applying for auditions [Note the kids out there: if you want to pursue acting as a career, don’t be like me!  Be proactive!  Don’t procrastinate!  Don’t be lazy!  Get out there and make looking for acting work your second job!].  Sometimes I wonder where I could be if I hadn’t sabotaged myself.  That said, I don’t really relish having a lot of “but what if” sessions.

I have, since we’re on the subject of my own failings, often failed to take enough risks in my life.  I have, more times than I can count, taken the safe road in life [For those keeping track: for an actor, this can very much be a bad thing].  The safe road, is just that: safe.  One is hardly likely to come to a big payoff, or reach huge (or even moderate success) without taking risks.

All of this, contributes to, or is a symptom of the same thing.  I need a change.  More and more, my time at work is spent not caring.  And when the purpose of your job is to try and empathize and at least simulate caring, this state of mind is definately not condusive to that job.  Many times, I think I have just been handed the last straw, and fantasized about just saying fuck it and walking out the door.  But…then there’s the question of how I would put a roof over my head and food in the cupboard. 

With all of this there is only one person who can change things, and that’s me.  Only I can make the decision to stop taking the safe road.  Only I can make the choice to find a new job.  Only I can stop procrastinating.  Only I can decide to make the changes that will help me move forward towards something…fulfilling.

Its hard to take the difficult road.  It is hard to take risks.  It takes courage.

Lets see if I have it in me.

*hem* Thank you.