A Funny Story And Some Naked Honesty

Last Tuesday I went to an audition with Falstaff. I did it to humor him and to offer some moral support. This Guy was at class and there was nothing good on TV, and it meant I got to make fun of Falstaff for a couple of hours, but it's not a spectator sport. If you show up, you grab a script and put something out there. So I was the fill in person: you know, when the scene's for three, but only two people go up, or when someone wants to read a certain part and needs a partner. It was a lark. A chance to be stupid for a little while.

Falstaff called on Friday.

I got a part.

I got the female lead.

. . . yeah.


It would take a certain gift for understatement to say that I was unprepared for that. I'm still in a semi-shocked haze. I'm really trying hard not to think about it because I start to feel ill every time I do.

I mean, I took the part.

It's just . . . I have this image of myself. It isn't the image of what I'd like to be, but the image of who and what I think I am. And I don't think of myself as the star of the show. Before he told me what the part was, I was planning on telling Falstaff that I wouldn't take it. We're moving, and there's the trip to Maine, and I didn't want to put all that effort out for something small. I couldn't even consider that it would be big.

I want to do this. I want to do this so very badly, and I want to be good. It scares the hell out of me because I'm going to be up in front of people who are going to be looking at me and I don't do too terribly well with that--but on the other hand, I kind of want them to. I want to impress people and I really really want to be good. Maybe it's selfish or arrogant or something else bad, but I want to shine. It's not that I never wanted that, it's just that I never thought I could do it.

Guess we'll find out, huh?