Adversity 1, Markre 0

I believe it was Marilyn Manson in his riveting ghost-written autobiography who said, "the road to hell is paved with good rejection letters." Ah, Marilyn, how true. So, in brief (and less indulgently), I recieved my rejection letter from Second City's conservatory training program today. The letter was very respectful and encourages future auditions, but it is hard to shake the inevitable disappointment. I felt frustrated, but also motivated to find something into which I can channel my energies. I should find a way to pat some flesh on the old bones of Alfred Jarry and his incandescent friend Candlov.

P. Cutts, the poet-laureate of the U.K., spoke with me last winter about his interest in watching the development of performers. Some people, he said, succeed in creating something and doing it, while others seem to fizzle out. Their dreams of a life in the theatre become muddied by concessions to the demands of a normal life. I really don't want to become one of those lawyers or managers or professors who really wanted to be an artist and gave up because of adversity. That being said, I'm a pretty spoiled person - I've never had to scrape for anything. I sincerely hope that my will and character are up to the challenge of the lurking failures and diappointments of a career in performance. Sometimes the universe reminds you that while "all the world's a stage" sometimes your job is to carry a spear and introduce the approach of the king.

Okay, so I'm a gloomy gus today. But fuck it, I still have my appendages and setbacks in time will become experience. BEE!

Snuggles,

Markre

Holy shitbox!

I just found out that I'm on IMDB now! Who'd have thunk it? If you're interested, go see my entry - http://13thfloor.imdb.com/name/nm2277314/ . There's no picture because you apparently have to pay a fee for that.

Rum-runners? No! Where was I...?

Cont'd...

So the audition was held in SC's Black Orchid Theater in Piper's Alley. The auditors were 30's-50's men and one younger woman. They had the 20-or-so auditionee's introduce ourselves one by one and then they divided us into teams of 3. Our first task was to do a 3 person scene based on an auditor's suggestion and play a character that was not dissimilar from ourselves. I suppose that this stipulation is to avoid having an improviser play a monkey or a snake and never get to say a word in the scene. I wound up playing some sort of wormy lab partner who was secretly sleeping with the high school quarterback's girlfriend. It was a strange scene and I would have liked to do one of my broader characters.

After all the 3 person scenes were through, we played Freeze tag. It was sort of a cluster fuck because everybody wanted to get some stage time to show the auditors their stuff. I got in 3 times once playing an average joe, once playing a british fop, and once (for one line) playing "The Pig" who has captured my imagination of late.

I was so nervous and excited for the audition, but afterwards I felt pretty depressed. They told us that they'd mail us letters in two weeks revealling our acceptance/decline (with notes on what we should work on if we failed to get in). I felt as though I didn't show them enough. I wish - ack! brb!

If I had to vomit right now, could I make it offstage?

Dear foreigners,

Welp, it's my second day in Chicagy and it seems that I have completed my primary objectives. I've put down my first month's rent on an apartment and auditioned for Second City's conservatory program. Oi vey! I'm not quite sure what to do with the rest of my time in town. I intend to link up w/ alumns from various institutions and shake their hands with pleasant candor. Hopefully I can rekindle some old friendships in this new city.

I was super nervous to audition for SC. I got the nausea and fluttery heart rate a few minutes before go time, but everybody soldiered through and no one in the group heaved. Hooray! Argh... Phone w/ mom. Brb!

Children are a blessing. To parasitic microbes.

Reader,

I spent last night watching my eldest brother's daughter (not to be confused with the army of illegitimate children that my middle brother has sired) with the aid of my father and middle brother. Conclusion: children are for the damned.

I found myself becoming a tyrant w/ the soft-skulled ape-ling. She refused to eat the vegetables that I had prepared for her and we had a lengthy battle of wills contesting the issue. Ultimately, I am sad to say, that the child won this battle of wits/wills and I shall hold it against her until my dying day.

Maybe I'll feel different when the terrible larvae are comprised of my own chromosomes, but until that day I hold a firmly Ganderian view of tiny tots. Here, why don't you hold the baby for a little while while I go lie down?

Curmudgeonistically,

Old Cantankerous

I left Ohio like a ruptured amniotic sack!

Whaddup burnt scabs?

Well I'm back in my ancestral stomping grounds of Pennsylvania with Mummy and Daddy, living upper-middle class on the hog. Life has become one of those strange and amorphous transition times in which I have blissfully few immediate responsibilities but an over-abundance of job insecurity. It's time to hit the bull with the branch of thorny enterprise once again as we lift our spurs to slice clean the Adam's Apple of student considerations and belt forward into the stone-cold sober world of uniformity and soul-currency exchange. (run on sentence. -1pt.)

Driving through the smouldering memory pot of my home drags, I was confronted by a duo of plucky youths who inquired if I was indeed cruising the neighborhood with a DDR dance pad riding shotgun. The pad was not riding on a side-arm, it was in my copilot's chair. Chagrined, I replied that yes, it was indeed a DDR pad, to which they excitedly asked me what level I was. What a country! In Russia, Revolution Dances YOU!

My brother's child was being a nuisance tonight at dinner. It emphasized the importance of curbing the production of children in the modern world. They are deceptively cute, and their presence is encouraged by civilized society. But these are merely the saccrine trappings of a darker, more coverticular scheme that perhaps dates back to the dawn of man. Yes, actually that's exactly how far it dates back.

I am fatter and older than I was last year. If this cycle continues I predict that at age 70 I shall achieve perfect spheracity. I will roll amok.

Mingus

Thesis is Done! Improv is Done! The roast still needs a few minutes...

Dear glow-vurms,

It has been a while since I've updated the ol' cyber-dairy. In brief: I have finished, defended, and submitted the thesis (look for it in 8-9 months on the shelves of ONE convenient location (OSU's library)). Johnny Longform (in its current incarnation) has performed its final show at "Kafe" Kerouac. And today I teach my last Theatre 100 recitation - w00t!

I am very excited to be moving on to Chicago to finally pursue improv for big-kids. Old man Lucas (not you Ryan) told me last night that only 1% of performers in the US make a living wage. While probably true, I don't need that kind of advice before heading down an uncertain road. I remain hopeful and boyant. Cause I'm fat.

Oh yeah, I gave up coffee last week. My teeth and heart are already thanking me for it. My coolness has decreased a percentage though. Now I'm at 1%. Take that Lucas!

Moonana Moonana Moona Moonana Moonana Moona (triplets).