How do you measure a year in the life?

One year in NYC (statistically speaking-)

As of October 20th-

The breakdown:

12+ jobs (including catering companies, NBC, census, temp work, restaurants, and teaching)
5 different shows performed
12 shows seen (4 broadway)
~15 auditions
2 apartments
3 times sick
~$10,350 in rent
~ $7,200 in food
200+ facebook friends
2 marches
3 rallies
30+ dates
1 1/2 boyfriends
4 completely random reunions/run-ins with old high school friends
~4 breakdowns
~20 scowls at tourists
4 pigeons (accidentally) kicked

Stay tuned for the analysis

The Life Left Waiting

An audition today. My hands shook.
A Broadway play seen. My heart shook.
An another audition tomorrow. My world shakes.

I miss the rush. I miss the stage. What I thought easy to give up I still crave.

Such an odd feeling. Returning to a well worn path long strayed from. Forgotten and yet familiar. Where dynamic dreams lay dormant - waiting only to be reengaged and realized.

One small step upon the path and the visions instantly return. The excitement, the rush, the insecurity. What was thought given up still draws attention. And now I am disoriented and confused. An old path but a new being. I have changed since last I traveled here. Only a matter of months but the mind knows no time. Change can occur between the seconds. Or over weeks- it makes no difference.

What do I want? Is it the same as what once I wanted? I feel it too late but it never is. Perhaps with new perspective I can move about differently.

Dreams may fade and dreams may change but dreams they never die. So peculiar when the once familiar becomes strange as it changed and the original feelings thought forgotten.

But along the path I am not alone. Insecurities lurk in shadows. Demons of doubt still sit perched along the road. Waiting for my inevitable return. Luring me to the deep pits of self-sabotage, which surprisingly lay in plain site.

Personal

It's nothing personal.

I understand that. And while it's difficult not to be offended I know that it's true. It's nothing personal.

And that, I've discovered is my issue with the city. Nothing is personal. And I'm just as guilty. We all have our focus, our aims, our goals. Hard to do and see everything. Hard to connect beyond the surface- without a "what can this person do for me" or "what's in it for me" thought slipping through the head.

I book two shows. One after the other. Two months straight. Free performances. No excuses. Invite my friends, but I don't push it. Beyond a quick facebook invite and subtle reference to the shows in conversation. Hoping that people might take initiative on their own. Knowing really it's just as much my fault for not selling it. Feeling, already, like people have better things to do than see me in a small part in a small show nowhere near Broadway. As I believe it- so it is and my story proves true.

I know it's nothing personal

But for once- I wish it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Editor's note: I don't write this a guilt trip. Or a pity party. Just as expression of feeling and observation of the city life. I am incredibly grateful for those few who did make it out to see a performance and do not by any means wish to disregard or demean how much it meant to me for them to come. Thank you!

Census Man 2010

Every 10 years it is required by the United States Constitution that census be taken (made? had?).

And every 10 years thousands of hard workers across the country get the door slammed in their face.

I never thought I'd work for the government. That was definitely number three on my list of things I never would do (Number one being murder, and number two shovel horse manure). But then came Census 2010.

Up to 40 hours a week.
$18.75/hour.
Moral and qualms be damned. I need to eat. And buy new clothes.

First up a bureaucratically ridiculous (is that redundant?) government (definitely redundant) one week training. The manual containing an innumerable amount of errors and inconsistencies- convenient- after it is stressed exactly how important it is that we do our job with utmost care and accuracy. Obviously our government runs on a "do as I say, not as I do" philosophy.

Class hasn't changed much since when we were kids. There still is the person who doesn't understand anything, and must ask all the obvious questions (no such thing as stupid questions, only stupid people). The giggly girls. The class clown. The guy who dozes off. Funny how we keep our roles throughout life.

I am an address canvasser. Lister Zachary. Yes. I have a title. I feel so official. And yet slightly creeped out all the same.

The first operation for the census is making sure that all addresses- or rather living quarters- are in the database, so that mailings can be mailed and interview follow ups can be made. Apparently 4 million people were missed for the 2000 census. (Wonder how they figured that number out- raise your hand if you're not here... 1, 2, 3 ...4 million). "We'll do better this time" around is our motto. Every person or place they may live must be accounted for. The man who lives in the cave up in the park. The narcotic and chemically challenged people squatting in the old abandoned building. All.

In order to do this job, I go door to door (falling at number 12 on my list of things I would never do, right after spending a day of watching a marathon of reality tv) and confirm the number of units contained within, comparing and editing with a listing on my nifty handheld computer. A computer that probably cost the government millions to produce but still can't perform a simple copy and paste job- and thus I must enter every unit separately. So a building with, oh say over 100 units= carpal tunnel syndrome.

The computer contains a nifty GPS feature, which they call a YAH (You Are Here). The government is quite fond of acronyms- LQs, OLQs and HUs oh my! This tool is for the final step in address canvasing- map spotting the location so that it can be found again. Generally I would assume this function would be more useful in a rural or non-urban setting. In the city one address, or building usually follows another. My YAH apparently gets bored with the monotonous door to door canvassing, one spot right next to another, so often goes wandering off on its own. Not the most convenient thing for a GPS signal. My fellow listers joke it actually stands for "You Aren't Here." Thus I'm left waiting outside the apartments tapping my toes until my YAH decides to come back from its travels.

One would think that for an operation that has been done every 10 years since 1790, we might have an actual idea of how to do it without too many blunders. But one would be wrong. Every day I receive a message telling me do something differently, contradicting what has been said before. Speed up. Slow down. This is the first year for the HHCs. The theory being less paper work. But halfway through the process they decided that wasn't working, so now for every address/unit added or removed we must fill out a ridiculous formal piece of paper. Thus far I've written the next great American novel. Boring as hell. But comparable in size.

All this being said, and despite all the craziness, I've actually enjoyed the job. I can set my own hours. Explore my neighborhood and work outside. Sanity is peserved with a lesson I learned months back in catering- turn off your brain. If you think too much about it you'll stress yourself out. Get all worked up over a very simple job. So I just smile and nod, and accept the changes and continue on with my work.

And this is my job.

Or was my job. As it just ended last week. 4 weeks short of the semi-promised two month work period. Somehow, despite the mess, we completed ahead of schedule. And now I'm back unemployed searching for work.

Maybe it's time I start looking for shovel...

An Actor's Life for Me

A day in the life:
(ed. - from almost 4 months ago....)

WICKED: The Audition
10:00
Open Call

4:45 AM: Wake up to my alarm. It's still dark, and I've gotten less than 5 hours of sleep.

5:38 : I jump on the F Train into the city, the subway is running 7 minutes late (or perhaps 7 minutes early- gotta think positively). The car is full of sleeping people. Literally. Everyone is asleep.

6:00 I meet friend Stevie and we head to the audition together. The sky is getting lighter. I'm not used to this. It's supposed to go light to dark. Very disorientating.

6:30 Arrive at the audition. Sign an unofficial list which very well could be thrown out the minute the audition starts- we're numbers 102 and 103. People at the front of the line have been there since 4AM. The crowd looks incredibly young, many people probably still in high school. Happily no one is dressed in green. It's been known to happen. But there are plenty of short blonds in foofy dresses and curls.

7:00 We sneak out of line for breakfast- medium green tea and big bowl of oatmeal.

7:30 A man comes out and yells at us for sitting on the sidewalk. It's dangerous. We stand up

7:31 We sit back down.

8:00 Girls in WICKED hats walk up and down the line handing out green fliers. The bullet highlights: "If WICKED is something you are interested in, you should always be working on your voice so that if we do call, you will be ready!" Good to know. Thanks for that.

The best part: "Today's audition will be a cappella. Please note that there is NO ACCESS TO BATHROOMS, CHANGING ROOMS, MAKE_UP ROOMS, WARM_UP ROOMS... Thanks for coming! HAVE FUN!"

8:03 The line goes mad, crazy gnashing of teeth, high shrieking shattering windows across the street, full scale riot.

8:05 Everything is back to normal. Perhaps with a slight edge. A cappella? Good news- I can pick any key I want for my song. Bad news- I have to pick the right key for my song and not end up way too high.

9:00 The line starts moving

9:45 I enter the building. 4 lines, 4 studios. Beginning to think that oatmeal earlier was not such a good idea.

9:58 I enter the room to sing. As I open my mouth I realize I can hear the singers around me- oh god. What's my note? I sing. My high notes scratch.

9:59 I'm in the elevator and done. A minute before the audition is even supposed to start.

10:35 Back on Roosevelt Island, at the farmers market picking up produce for the week

11:00 Asleep.

Busy Doing Nothing

What have I done today?

Why I'm glad you asked...

* browsed playbill.com looking for auditions and work

* sent a resume to a Broadway producer looking for a Personal Assistant.

* called, left a message, and sent a resume to an artistic director looking for a lead actor in her performance piece

* reformatted my resumes (for the 100th time- stupid resumes...)

* sent a resume to 2 recommended catering agencies

* checked my email obsessively, hoping to hear back from any of the previous catering agencies I've tried contacting

* called a temp agency and got an interview for tomorrow

And it is now almost 4pm and I am finally about to leave the apartment for the first time today. Looking for work is a full job on it's own. Yikes.

If only I could be paid for it...

Chaotic Destiny

"So how do you like New York?"

I look forward to the day I'm no longer considered a recent transplant and people stop asking me this question. Though I know well intentioned, and I'm sure in a year I will be asking new blood the same, it's question often asked just to be polite and perhaps bring back remembrance of their first days in the city. A simple inquiry, with the person generally just wanting a simple answer. Of which none exists.

I feel as if I've been riding the bipolar express since arriving almost 2 months ago. Up and down, up and down. Highest highs and lowest lows. Nauseous and slightly motion sick I navigate my way through the city. Luckily the lows don't last long. If I can just make it through the storm, the next day I'll be back on top of the world. Being incredibly grateful for the opportunities that keep presenting themselves.

But who wants to hear all that? New York is full of clichés, as is most the world. And it is often hard not to fall back upon them, as they are easily accessed and often true especially at a surface glance. So that is often upon which I rely.

How do I like New York?

The quick response:

Well, it's very fast paced.
And large.

The real story. For the people of the city, they have definite destinations in mind. For me life has been moving very slowly.

What I have done:

-a few catering jobs here and there- though lost my one consistent catering job by "calling in sick" with plenty of notice, trying to be responsible in my deceit, because I got a better paying job offer (hey I gotta pay rent). For being an actor I'm terrible liar

-a couple auditions- Wicked, Hair, Awesome 80's Prom

-toured a show through some high schools -an awful musical revue about driving while intoxicated, that was written in 1983, won a couple Emmy's, and was revived, though definitely not revised- ie. "Drunk Driving - Total Bummer", briefly so the theater company could keep their educational grants

-Got hired on to teach acting to elementary school kids by a woman who loved me upon meeting me- but then basically fired me for double booking myself and having to cancel at the last minute with apparently a bad attitude (?)- lesson learned: if a person seems quick to love you, they can be just as quick to turn their affection around...

All of which may seem like a lot for less than two months, but to me it seems most my days have consisted solely of sitting at my computer constructing resumes and going to the gym.

The speed at which the city moves, I find- is not set by the pace of traffic and sneakers, but by the endless possibilities which the city provides. In a infinite chaotic universe, anything and everything that can occur- will occur, infinitely many times. Now, while New York is not a universe in itself- though many will argue differently- it is definitely much more infinite and chaotic then any other place I've been to in my travels. With millions of people, of lives, of lines, of neurons- intersecting chaotically and randomly -anything and everything is bound to happen. Including, but not limited to- the coincidence/serendipitous scenes which I have grown to love.

Fate vs. Chaotic Coincidence. Which is it that accounts for the fact that I called too late to get tickets for a show, and thus had a change of plans for the evening. That I left my house late, trekking through the falling snow, ran a block, and decided on a whim to enter onto the front of the subway train. And then two stops later a friend, of whom I haven't seen since high school, steps onto the train, we give each other odd looks and then enter into conversation. Random lives intersecting by chance or pulled together by the mystic forces of the city?

This is New York.

I'm sure it happens everywhere, but having just moved to NY the paths from one event to another are so much clearer. Similar to foot prints in fresh snow. It's easy to see how every action and leads to another. Again, is it chaos theory- butterfly flaping it's wings in Africa and Zachary ends up on Broadway making millions of dollars (Flap with all your might delicate butterfly! Flap Flap!!) or the dominoes of fate- tumbling down upon each other in intricate patterns predestined by fate or perhaps just every day cause and effect.

I make a decision to go out. A friend of a friend is met and made. A conversation had. Job opportunity presented. A new contact. And so on and so forth. The patterns and connections shine with a sliver chord connecting each and everything I do. I have trouble turning anything down, knowing that saying yes to this or that, even if it's just a coffee date, could have the great implications of changing my life. This blows my mind.


So how do I like New York?

"It's great. I love it here. So large and fast paced."