The Public Gym Chronicles

I grew up on a farm in Texas. I was never in athletics in school, and I only really started 'working out' a little over a year ago, right after we came home from our Central American Expedition. I spent mornings jogging along country roads, just me and the animals and the occasional passing vehicle. I lifted free weights in my house, never for an audience of more than my family. Now I live in NYC, and I've met a fascinating beast: The Public Gym.

Granted, my gym is complimentary and in a hotel. But never underestimate the amount of characters you can encounter in here. Let's break them down, shall we?

First you got your studs. These are the guys and girls you really only see once or twice, but that have somehow managed to tone their bodies into perfectly sculpted statues. They know all the moves. They've mastered the weight machines, they know what on-the-floor exercises to do, they never really get sweaty, and, if they run or bike or eliptical, they look great doing it. Meanwhile the rest are left to gawk enviously at them as we pretend that we are just as adept at the gym.

Next, don't give me hate for this, is none other than your giant black guy. Do not call me stereotypical, I have seen to many of them in the short time I've lived here. Huge, intimidating giant-men, they don't use the cardio equipment, but dominate the weights. They are all over those things, pumping, pumping, pumping, and they make sure and leave their mark too- these guys NEVER wipe down the equipment after they use it. You can clearly tell when one of these breed have been around because each and every weight machine is drenched in sticky sweat. Ew. I suppose I could broaden this category to include all the middle-aged men, but let's be real. I'm talking about the black guys. The white guys just sweat all over the treadmills as they try to run their middle age away.

After that we have what I like to call the Wannabe Frat Pack- large groups of college-age guys who all come to the gym together with the best of intentions but quickly reveal that they have no idea what they're doing and are far too interested in each other to really get anything done. Unfortunately this makes for a crowded gym, with skinny white boys scrambling around from machine to machine. This group has a girls variation as well, but with a slight difference: The large groups of girls that come together don't even really put up a pretense of working out. They just spread all the mats out in the corner and camp out there. Somehow I find this much more tolerable. Hello ladies....

Last, but most certainly not least, you have the new guy (or girl). They've just moved to NYC (I'm taking some dramatic license, they might have been here for years), and they're turning their life around, baby. This guy is actually at the gym for the right reason: he's running, biking, and elipticalling away, lifting weights as best he can (which is not so great) and sweating up a storm; he's working out. I like this guy. And he always wipes down the equipment after he uses it.

And then there's me. Quietly jogging on the treadmill as I watch The View, and trying to figure out the best way to utilize the weight equipment. All these fancy machines are nice, but I miss my homestyle workout. Push-ups on the floor are still better than the dumb "sitting bench press" that they have. Still, I see a lot more interesting people this way; I've just outlined the major groups. There are always those that fit no category. Such as the man running on the treadmill in Middle Eastern robes, a turban, and a full beard. I tell you no lie.

Happiness is Finding a Pencil

I'm not your average 18 year old. I find joy in some of the most random things in life. I also work very hard to find joy in as much as I can every single day in life. I wasn't always like this; I can't quite put my finger on when happy-go-lucky became my mantra, but it's something I believe in with all my heart. The funny thing about it is that this way of viewing things is such a total part of my life that I sometimes forget that other people don't look at things quite the same way that I do. It's a little uncomfortable when I get reminded of that, like last night...

It was a night spent with my beloved Section 7, we left school and got something to eat (Chipotle is just as good in NYC!), and then grabbed my copy of The Shining and headed to 1760 EHS Residence to watch that sucker. It was a delightful night. I had a wonderful time, because I love just spending time with people, talking and watching movies and doing random things that we can laugh at later and no one else will understand. But somehow the conversation turned to more serious things, and mostly the issues people had with those things; people talking about school, about our Section and the people in it, about their home lives. And to discuss is one thing. But that really wasn't quite what this was. This was people talking about their dissatisfactions with their current situations, complaining. Negativity.

And it made me uncomfortable. It's not like the things they were saying weren't legitimate- I'm not someone who won't admit that life is less than perfect most of the time. But Because I am in such a happy place, it took me totally by surprise to realize that most people aren't. Most people are unhappy about many things, and (I'll admit) most of them have a right to be. There are lots of not-so-perfect, not-so-happy things in this world, even in my life. But I just don't care to care about those things. I'd much rather be amazed at how many wonderful things there are in my life. That's worth focusing on.

It reminds me of a song: Happiness is... finding a pencil. Pizza with sausage. Five different crayons. Telling the time. Having a sister. Climbing a tree. Two kinds of ice cream. Happiness is anyone and anything at all that's loved by you. There were many reasons that I loved being a part of You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. That song was one of biggest. We could all take a lesson from it. I find happiness in everything I can- in being flustered at the NYC post office, the fact that I have play-doh sitting on top of my desk, the fact that we have tried three times to sit through The Shining since I've been here and haven't succeeded once, walking through the rain to school with my ipod playing my jams; these are the joys of my life. And when life's imperfections show themselves, don't get unhappy about it. Thank those imperfections for making life interesting! A perfect world would probably be a drag anyway.

Wake up in the morning (feelin' like P. Diddy) and choose to be happy, choose to find happiness, even if it's in the smallest thing like... finding a pencil. It's not always easy, but it's always worth it. Choose to find happiness, and you will. I guarantee it. :)

Git 'er Done, acting school style

A tumultuous couple of days (really more like couple of weeks) has resulted in a revelation. For over a week now, we've been working with our partners on Meisner repetition, but with a twist; one person is in the room (it is 'their space') working on a difficult activity, and the other person is waiting outside the door. The outside person knocks to come in and has a reason for coming in (an objective). But the dialogue between the two must be based solely on what is observed of the partner. That probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but think of it this way: If I entered the room of my partner and she said "You're wearing a black shirt.", I would repeat, "I'm wearing a black shirt." and we would continue that way until something else happened that forced us to acknowledge it. Like she began trying to do pirouettes. Or jumped in the air and screamed. Or started crying.

The problem with me was that I didn't understand the point of the objectives because our teacher almost never let us say them. If we did happen to say them ("I need to borrow a cucumber."), he would ask, "What in her manner said to you that she wanted to know what you wanted?" Well, she opened the door. She stared at me expectantly. Sometimes she asked what I was doing there. Are those not indications of her desire to know what I want? It frustrated me endlessly, to the point where I began to spend Acting class disconnected and annoyed every day.

Well, two days ago, it was my turn to go with an activity. I chose shuffling cards, trying to do the bridge. It was something I'd never been able to do and always wanted to, and I created a backstory of having to master it to get a well-paying one night casino fundraiser job so that I could afford to fly home for Thanksgiving. We went. My partner came in. Pretty quickly she achieved her objective and borrowed my phone. The session was over. Chris, my instructor, was not pleased.

In a long speech he successfully pointed out how I was not involved in what I was doing, I didn't believe my backstory, and Faye and I weren't really responding to each other honestly. He asked how much we had practiced over the weekend. I wasn't going to lie. We hadn't practiced at all. Without really saying so he clearly suggested that lack of involvement was the kind of thing that resulted in not being reaccepted second year. I believe him when he said that he wasn't trying to be a threatening old acting teacher, but the point was true: If I wasn't willing to put in the practice each day, what was I paying thirty thousand dollars for?

So we did it again. We raised the stakes. The job was the next day, and I had to spread and flip the cards across the table. If I didn't get this job, I wasn't going home for Thanksgiving and the family wasn't going to bother having it. Dad had called the day before and said how much it would mean for me to find a way home. We restarted. Faye came in and we did the repetition, and it got intense. It was real, but it also had to do with the situation I was actually in in the class. I finished and sat down.

My head was buzzing all night and all day the next day. The time came for Vocal Production, in which we were having our midterm, part of which included performing a monologue, and then singing it. This was the first time I'd really acted for my Section, and the first time I'd sung for over half of them. I got up. I did Biff from Death of a Salesman, and I don't mind saying it was good. Several of them were in tears. And then I sang. And they applauded. Afterward one of them came up and took my face in their hands and told me that I was the most talented person they'd ever met.

And it was exciting! It was scary to perform for them, but then it was so thrilling to see myself appreciated. Is that vain? I don't think so. You see, with the stress of school and adjusting to a new life and trying to make friends, I think I'd forgotten how much I really love what I'm doing. I love acting, performing. It's what I was made to do. I fully believe that. But that doesn't mean that I don't ever get frustrated or distracted and forget what I'd doing here. But having my lack of motivation laid out for me and then getting the opportunity to once again see that my talent, this dream of mine is legitimate was a reawakening for me. What am I doing at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts if I'm not going challenge myself, take risks, learn as much as I can, work as hard as I can? I can do this. I think that's what Chris was trying to get me to realize. If I devote myself completely to the craft, I can do fantastic things. So that's what I've got to do. It's what I was made to do.

Happy Days are Here Again...

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am completely, totally, and irreversibly in love with Glee. There is something magical about this show, and the whole world has noticed it. It deals with so many issues, from the trials that go along with adopted children and their biological parents to the disintegration of a marriage, and it somehow manages to be the most relatable show on television while being, essentially, a high school musical. The first couple of episodes of Season Two (which just began) had left me with a rather dissatisfied taste in my mouth. Glee had been phenomenal, entertainment industry-changing in its first season, but the transition into the sophomore season had been a little rough to start. But then came last week's episode. It was back. It was strong. It was dynamic, engaging, moving. It was Glee, reinstating itself as the show that's here to stay. The profound effect this had on me led me to consider just what makes a great Glee episode.

In the first several episodes of this season, Glee had struggled with various things left behind by the previous season. They were awkward, and no one seemed to know just how to handle them. The show had struggled to start anew, a necessary task for any renewed show, and it had a little trouble finding its feet in its new circumstances. New characters had shown up, and they took adapting to. New situations, stories had begun and the uncertainty of what was to come was almost tangible.

Then they accepted it! They adjusted to the changes. They adapted. They worked it. They looked all the new, uncertain things about their new season in the face and said, "We're going to face you, head on." And, baby, did it work. Of course, it wasn't all perfect- would an all-perfect show even be an interesting show? There were strange, uncomfortable moments (Santana and Brittany??!!), big risks (the removal of a super-popular character- I'll say no more); but they faced them and addressed them. Most importantly, they kept going forward. They didn't let any of the uncertainties, insecurities, or more difficult situations bring them down- they let them take them higher. And they delivered an episode that could honestly be called fantastic.

It is always amazing to me how much art can reflect life. What's more, we can even learn from art. Here I am thousands of miles from anything I've ever known, in New York City, living on my own. Everything about my life has changed. There have been awkward things left over from my past experiences that I've had to deal with. There have been new characters. There have been uncomfortable days when nothing felt right. My goodness, there have been changes! There were times when I figured I was resigned to a dissatisfying experience, the changes were just too much to adapt to.

But that's not me. Not anymore. I am here, on this earth, to enjoy and fulfill every possible minute of my life. This is a mantra that I've realized over the course of the past couple years, and it's not just from me- God didn't make us to be dissatisfied. So I adapt to those changes! I face those situations! I respect them because they make my life as interesting as it could ever be! And I pray each night that I will use the next day to be productive, uplifting, HAPPY. It's not always easy as pumpkin pie. There are still uncomfortable moments, even just last night, and there are still risks that have to be taken. But there's nothing that says we have to be brought down by those things. Instead we can love them because they are the experiences that make our lives, and we find joy in working through them on our way. I've talked before about Glee's famous platform of Don't Stop Believing. It is the heart and soul of that show. They lost track of it a little bit when they started their new season. You can't blame them. It's easy to lose sight of things for a bit when you're adapting to new situations. Trust me. I know. But those words are just as true today as they were when they first sang them. Don't Stop Believing.

And, of course, that is the final element of what makes a great Glee episode, and a truth that I fully believe in and endorse: Always have a fantastic song in your heart, and sing it so the world will hear. A song that helps you remember to love each moment, embrace your life for all it's worth. That's what they did, using as their inspiration two women who famously always supported the happiness cause. Ten points to anyone can say who those women are.

Happy Times. Happy Night. Happy Days are Here Again.

Let's talk about Boston...

Last weekend, me and some of my friends from school decided a random trip to Boston sounded like mighty fine idea, so we got us some $30 roundtrip bus tickets, hastily booked a hotel (quite an ordeal in itself, let me tell you), and prepared to head out Sunday morning to be back Monday night.

Of course, the trip began with all of us sprinting through Chinatown to catch the bus before it left us. It was bound to happen- I mean I am an Addison. But catch it we did, and to Boston we went.

I love this town. I went once before with my parents and got the tour from my cousin Haze, and this time I was able to pretty easily find my own way around, so I was pretty quickly thrust into leader position. After touring through downtown, the Boston Common, and Charles Street, we hopped a train to Cambridge and strolled through Harvard amidst OctoberFest in full swing. As delightful as OctoberFest looked, some people in the group were quite ready to find our hotel (which was in Somerville, suburb of Boston/Cambridge); Jake and I had managed to literally get no more than an hour of sleep the night before the trip. Finding the hotel, however, turned out to be easier said than done. I suppose you could blame me- I made the reservation, didn't have a working phone number, and had forgotten to print out a google map- but I was walking at a steady pace in what I was fairly certain was the right direction the entire time. After a few hours (during which time we got authentic Mexican food from people who barely spoke English and played on a delightful little children's playground), the rest of the group was beginning to doubt my leadership. Fearing mutiny, I agreed to walk back to Harvard and find a taxi to take us to the hotel. There was a small moment of snappiness due to the large amount of walking and stress over the unknown location of the hotel, but I would not have any of that! We were on an adventure, and adventures are meant to be enjoyed every minute. So we got desert, got a tour of a Harvard dorm from one of the girl's high school friend, and found ourselves a taxi. Away we went, and, sure as spring, I was heading in the right direction the entire time! I knew where I was going! They all agreed to give me a pat on the back for that one. At the hotel, the check-in lady decided to check ID and try to enforce the rule that no one under 21 can check into a hotel, even with a reservation. That was not happening. We were staying in that hotel. I had a talk with her, and she let me check in. There's not much that Southern charm and good old fashioned begging won't get you.

The next day we moseyed around Cambridge/Harvard for the morning, and I wondered why on Earth Harvard couldn't themselves a decent drama program so I could live in that fantastical place. Afterwards, we headed back into the city and finished off the grand tour with Quincy Market, Boston Harbor, and Little Italy. After that, it was time to head back toward the bus station, but not before introducing my friends to the wonderful game of Ninja. I enjoyed every minute of our trip to Boston, even when things were unsure and semi-out of control- I get that from my parents. That's one thing a six-month expedition will do for you. You learn to enjoy the life lived moment-to-moment, without plans... Happy-Go-Lucky, as I like to say.

Really, truly, honestly. Boston is my favorite city in the U.S. It's phenomenal. If you ever get a chance to visit (or better yet, live) there, do it. You will never find a more charming, clean, fun city anywhere. I love it so very much. Of course, I had some pretty great friends to make the experience all the more fun.  

Easy A

Let's talk about Easy A. Most of you have probably heard of this movie- well, let me rephrase that statement: Most of you under the age of 25. It's a little high school flick starring the delightful Emma Stone about a girl who unintentionally starts spreading rumors about her own sexual activity with unfortunate results. This starts when, in a spur-of-the-moment decision, she decides to lie about losing her virginity to a college student, sparking further and further lies to help her own and others reputations, eventually coming to being paid to say that she 'did things' with less-popular students. Naturally, the whole situation becomes out of her control and leads to situations she could never have expected. I honestly really liked the movie, and thought it had a lot of good things to say.

But what's really worth thinking about is the portrayal of Christians. Amanda Bynes plays the Christian girl in school, head of the 'Christian club' that really just goes around condemning people and acting pretentious. These kids sit around and sing African American hymns to guitar and protest all the things they can possibly find to be anti-Christian, while really only accomplishing annoying the crap out of and alienating everyone. These situations are funny, but, for a Christian, also uncomfortable because it's not that far from the truth.

It gets a little more upsetting than that, though. When things really get out of hand and our little heroine decides to seek help from God, she heads into the nearest Catholic church and sits herself down in a confessional. She pours her little heart out in a genuinely touching scene, only to open the screen separating her from the priest to find that there is no one there. After that unsuccessful attempt at Christian condolence, she heads to a Methodist church to speak with a pastor. This does not go well. She never really gets around to what she wants guidance about because the pastor can only really focus on telling her over and over and over that there is a Hell. Furthermore, she discovers that this pastor is the father of her Christian schoolmate that has been giving her the Hell she went to the church to try and find some help for.

To an average viewer, these seemingly harmless scenes are nothing more than laugh-getters. Sadly there's a little more to it than that. A young, confused teenage girl going through a small crisis finds, instead of a helping hand, a practical enemy in the Christians at her school. It's not just her, though. Everyone hates the 'Christian clique' at the school, and for good reason: They're a bunch of judgemental, pretentious, exclusive little kids. Despite this clear discouragement, our leading lady still heads to the church for guidance when she feels truly overwhelmed. But what does she find when she opens up and is honest about what she's feeling and the things she's unsure about? An empty chair. No one listening. People who don't wanna listen, but just overpower, never even allowing her to speak her mind. It's truly disconcerting to realize that the church, Christians are seen this way. It's more disconcerting to realize that it is probably based in some truth.

If living in New York City for close to a month now has taught me anything, it's that people everywhere are lost, looking for something, anything to give them a little reason. This movie is a perfect example of that. Yes, it's a silly, fun teenage flick. But that doesn't mean it doesn't have something to say. Has the church become so distanced from the world that it can't be a place of help when an 'outsider' seeks it? Are we so engrossed in being different from the world that those wishing to can't find solace? When the world comes to us after all their efforts have failed, and pours out it's insecurities and unsureness for us, will we listen and be there and show them the love they seek? Or will we be an empty chair? Hard questions to ponder.

Going to acting school in NYC, I am surrounded by people without faith, people who measure their lives by fleeting, material things. Don't get me wrong- They are delightful, fantastic folks and I'm so glad I know them, but I am different from almost all of them because of my faith. It doesn't get to me. I have absolute confidence in my belief, and you know what's remarkable about that? I don't have to be forceful, pushy, pretentious, judgemental or any of those other unfortunate Christian cliches. My unwavering faith speaks strong enough on its own. And when people come to me with their issues and questions (and they do), I listen. I don't judge or condemn. I tell them what I know to be true. And I show them love. Love is all over the Bible. '...For God so loved the world...', '...love thy neighbor as thyself...', '...Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love...' God was pretty big on love. I'm pretty sure he intended the church to be so as well.

There was one more scene in that movie worth looking at: Near the end when the main girl is broadcasting a live video blog which she has coerced everyone into watching with a (false) promise of taking her clothes off, we see the aforementioned insensitive pastor watching on his laptop and becoming angry when the girl does not go through with her promised strip-fest. This unfortunately not far-fetched scene also has something to say, albeit in an unintentional way: No matter how different we aspire to be from the world (as we should; God demands holiness), we still are part of it. We are not Christ. We are not above our fellow man. We are just like them- we just happen to have reason to try and be better. We should listen to what they have to say, show a little understanding, a little love. I'm pretty sure that's what big J.C. would have done. I hope the church, Christians can get back to that.

The Emotional Cartwheel

So, once again, Movement proves to be the more interesting and challenging class. We had an assignment to watch our partner walk around the room, then begin to follow them, then continue walking like them while they watched. It was rather difficult, and very interesting. I suppose it really sums up what Movement class is, at its core, all about: We can communicate so much with the way we move and hold our body, so much so that it is an actual part of our identity. Naturally this would also be true when we're on stage playing a character. It's definitely worth pondering as an actor.

The same day we received the written form of our 'Movement Evaluations'- the second day of class, someone came in and filmed us moving around the room (sitting in chair, looking out the window, etc.), and that film is available to be watched in the library. We were given the written evaluations done by our teacher while he watched us. While I suppose it isn't really the biggest thing in the world, mine was a bit of a wake up call. Body Type: Brawny. Problems: Head Thrust, Disconnected Arms and Legs. And Below Average ratings in the actual Movement/Dance categories. I want to change this. I am NOT below average. I wanted some incentive to really work, and here it is.

Other than that, I finally stood up to do my activity in Acting. We had been assigned to pick an 'activity' that was physically challenging for us. We find a simple reason for doing- based in some sort of emotional truth- and then we try and complete it in front of the class. Meanwhile, our partner is standing beside us, commenting on everything we do and we have to repeat it back to them. I decided to (attempt) to do a cartwheel. There are many reasons I want to do a cartwheel. My family can all do it, Amy has tried to teach me for years, I feel like a cartwheel is something everyone but me can do, etc. But when it came to finding an emotional truth to work from, there was really only one: I thought of you. You're probably not reading this, and now is the time when everyone gets all hot and bothered because I'm being mysterious. However I feel it worth mentioning for the sake of the truthfulness of the blog and the openness about the way acting school works. I focused on the thing that brings up the most feelings within me, still, and I worked from it. I worked on that task for you. And boy did it bring that cartwheel right to home.

You see, that's what acting is all about. Finding that emotional truth, whether it be yours or your character's, allowing yourself to go the places where normally you wouldn't go, exploring them, leaving them all out on the stage (or screen!)- and then letting them go. For awhile I didn't really see the point of this exercise in Acting; why would you put someone in an uncomfortable situation, add in another person to put them on edge, and essentially try and create emotional moments out of nothing. Well, perhaps it is this: If we have never been willing to let ourselves go to emotional, personal places in our everyday lives, then we have to find a way to ease ourselves into allowing those moments to happen. Does that make sense? We've got to find a way to start losing our fear of letting our truths be displayed while doing 'the work'. So by doing these seemingly simple exercises, and allowing them to become bigger, more dynamic, volatile things, we take one step closer to becoming that elusive, respectable thing: The Honest Actor.

Name This Post! (I can't think of a title!)

Here's the latest goings on:

Friday we had our first person start crying in class, unfortunately it was due to how much of a you-know-what the teacher was being rather than some kind of important emotional breakthrough. Sucky. This teacher is really a butthead. Not naming names. That evening I had a lovely WR with Elizabeth Victoria Joblin during which I was introduced to A Very Potter Musical, aka the funniest thing I've seen EVER. You can watch it on youtube and you SHOULD watch it on youtube. It's amazing!!

Saturday I forced myself to get up and go to the gym, then headed to the park (the Central one) with my breathing partner (what a hilarious title) and buddy Jake to do our Vocal Production practicing. The practicing didn't happen. The park was too dang awesome, and then we happened upon this huge mystery museum and were unavoidably drawn in. It turned out to be the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art and begged to be explored, so we gave in and bought a ticket- Did you know that prices at almost all museums in NYC are 'recommended'? You can pay whatever you darn well want to! Score one for the cheap people!

After that it was time for a real adventure: All throughout the day I'd been playing phone tag with this guy named Paul Miller who had a personal assistant position available at his apartment in Greenwich Village. After I finally got out of the museum at 7, he decided to go ahead and just get the interview over with and I could come out there right then. I'd never been to Greenwich Village. I rarely take the subway (read rarely as 'never'). But okay! So I called in a new-guy-in-the-big-city favor and frantically called my friend Alex to find out which trains to take. She wonderfully informed me of a one-train direct route and I was on my way. Well, naturally, that train wasn't running it's normal route on the weekend. Thankfully, I'm not ashamed to ask the random man standing next to me what the hell I'm supposed to do, and it was a simple one train transfer and one more stop. I found the apartment, interviewed/chatted with the guy and landed the most relaxed, come when I want to assistant job for $12/hr. Oh yeah!

So I headed back to the room, but couldn't just sit still! The night was young! So I sent out a text inquiring who wanted to do something chill and The Social Network was seen at 11:55. Fascinating, sad, excellently-made, almost uncomfortable movie. I highly recommend it. It's quite an experience.

Sunday I headed back to charismatic, crazy Times Square Church with my friend Christiaan from school, and he said it was probably the best church experience of his life. After that I had a date with my show buddy (and subway helper) Alex Campbell to see La Cage Aux Folles with Kelsey Grammer singing his big heart out- that didn't mean much. But he's a charmer. Afterwards, she took me to a surprisingly cheap Mario Battali restaurant called Otto that had amazing pasta! Then I headed back to my room on the subway (I'm becoming a regular at this!) and video skyped my family for the first time since I've been here. It was my Mom's 50th birthday, and everyone was there. I would have loved to have been there for it.

But I'm here. And this is where I'm meant to be. This is really happening. And God's got it all under control. What's that verse? 'For I know the plans I have for you... plans to prosper you, not to harm you... plans to give you a hope and a future...' Something like that. I need to learn that one. That one's talking about me.

In finality I would like to say that I find it hilariously awesome that one of my roommate's favorite shows is COPS. He's studying to be a police officer. It's the little things.