Remember that audition for the lead in the Chris Columbus flick I mentioned? Well, scroll down this page and read about the before and after. I'll wait.
My agent called this morning informing me that Tuesday night I have the big callback for this, which I was not expecting at all. It's down to me and two other guys, and on top of that the producer and director (who we all know is one in the same) will be there. So I'll acting in front of the guy who directed Mrs. Doubtfire. Awesome. My agent says to really showcase my personality here. What does he think I am, Cheez Whiz?
I got a coach for this on Monday afternoon after my WorkSafeBC audition. WorkSafeBC on Monday morning, Chris Columbus and 1492 Productions Tuesday night. The life of an actor in Vancouver.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Are You Sure You Know Who's Reading?
For this cushy job in security at a major company (I'm practically CEO), there was a mandatory Occupational First Aid course. This OFA course could not be re-scheduled, and took place during the week of my birthday and also prevented me from doing a VFS writing short for which I was cast. But I'm not bitter.
During the course we were subjected to the inevitable First Aid videos. You know the ones: Guy A is doing something unsafe, which Guy B cautions him on, then Guy A hurts himself, and Guy B is the hero that ... walks with him to first aid. What a guy indeed.
This video had me and a fellow classmate laughing, because Guy B was played by an acting teacher of ours from VFS. Since being at VFS, I've seen my instructors pop-up in the oddest places: TV shows, movies-of-the-week, Marks Work Wearhouse and Shaw and London Drugs commercials. Obviously I'd see one in an OFA video, right? I spent the rest of the video just waiting for another instructor to walk into the first aid room with a log stuck in his head or something, but alas, there was just the one. Still, I laughed. I mean what sort of loser ends-up on these cheesy, awful cautionary videos regarding workplace safety?
Well.
Life has a tendancy to make things come full circle. I'm brought to mind Diamond Dallas Page driving The Honky Tonk Man's pink Cadillac at Wrestlemania VI at the SkyDome in Toronto, only to come back 12 years later and wrestle Christian at Wrestlemania X-8 in the very same building in the very same city.
My agent called today and told me I have an audition on Monday for something called "Manufacturing Safety". Now some titles for certain movies and TV shows these days have nothing to do with their content. Think about recent titles like the film "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". What? That title gives no indication of the content whatsoever. For all I know it could be a romantic comedy about a guy who dies and becomes an angel with a bow and arrow like Cupid, except his name is Stuart, and he's not too bright so they call him "Stupid", and he shoots people with his arrows who would never date each other in a million years, and one couple is a hardcore biker chick who is matched-up with a scrawny D&D geek, and she shows him how to live life on the edge and he teaches her all about THACO, and they fall in love for real and get married, but the biker chick's got a jealous ex-boyfriend who is also a biker and Hells Angels member, and he gets a bunch of his fellow gang members to beat-up the geeky guy, but it turns out he's a ninja, and he gets his fellow ninja clan members to battle the Hells Angels in an all-out no-holds-barred brawl for world supremacy. Or it could be about anything else, that's just an example.
So I take a look at the e-mail the agent sends me. Scroll down, role, shoot dates, audition location, blah-de-blah-blah. I get to production company: WorkSafeBC. This does not bode well. So I read the character breakdowns, and the script, which goes a little something like this:
It starts out very ominously, with a shipment arriving at a warehouse. But this shipment is NOT WHAT THEY ORDERED! So the delivery guy gives it to them anyway, claiming that he "just drives the truck", and speeds on his way home where he will likely smoke the marijuana like a cigarette.
Cut-to our hero family, with an excited, fresh-faced young man (the role I'm going out for) with my parental figures, working on a car. I've added some new "headers" (whatever that means) that I picked-up at the Toschi Station, along with some power converters. My dad says I'm just wasting time with my friends there, but he just doesn't get me man. Mom and dad head-off to work, and I head-off to the Toschi Station again, this time to pick up a suspension kit and to make trouble with the establishment, because I'm so painfully young and cool.
Dad arrives at work to find the botched shipment: A table shear, of the non-hydraulic variety THAT DOES NOT HAVE A GUARD! But they can't wait for a guard to be shipped because they have a DEADLINE, so they go to work anyway.
Meanwhile, at the Toschi Station, I decide to take a break from listening to the newest Linkin Park rock album on my Apple iPod, and give my old man a ring on my cellular telephone while I'm in the "Suspension Kits, Suspension bridges, suspenders" aisle. The "mousy" secretary takes my call, and calls-out to my dad on the work floor. This is where things go horribly wrong!
My poor father absent-mindedly waves to the secretary, and when he turns back to his work, he slips and his hand SLIDES UNDER THE BLADE, TAKING HIS FINGERS CLEAN OFF! The table shear then takes his fingers as they crumble to dust, leaving behind only a gold ring. The drill press urges the table shear to cast the ring into the incinerator of doom! To destroy it! The table shear simply says "no" and takes the ring for its own. That was the day the strength of table shears failed. The secretary comes out and finds my pop-pop in his predicament, calling for help (if only she took the OFA course ... )
As mom and I wait anxiously at the hospital, I am lost in thought. Thinking of the way life with my father will be now. No more throwing the football around, because he's left-handed, and can't one-hand catch worth squat. No more thumb wrestling. No more nose picking. Sure, he'll be able to pick his friends, but he won't be able to pick his nose, and picking his friend's nose is completely out of the question. No more paper-rock-scissors. He may be able to throw-down a small paper, or a super-stubby rock, but not scissors. Never scissors. Never again.
So that's how it's come full circle for me. I'm not complaining, I'll take whatever I can get at this point. Not because I'm desperate, but because I'm just starting-out. PSAs, commercials, nude modelling for "life art" classes, whatever. I'll just have fun with it, and treat it like any other audition. I just hope no one from WorkSafeBC reads how I trashed their ad.
Possible tagline for a new ad campaign on online safety:
Internet Blogs: Are you sure you know who's reading?
During the course we were subjected to the inevitable First Aid videos. You know the ones: Guy A is doing something unsafe, which Guy B cautions him on, then Guy A hurts himself, and Guy B is the hero that ... walks with him to first aid. What a guy indeed.
This video had me and a fellow classmate laughing, because Guy B was played by an acting teacher of ours from VFS. Since being at VFS, I've seen my instructors pop-up in the oddest places: TV shows, movies-of-the-week, Marks Work Wearhouse and Shaw and London Drugs commercials. Obviously I'd see one in an OFA video, right? I spent the rest of the video just waiting for another instructor to walk into the first aid room with a log stuck in his head or something, but alas, there was just the one. Still, I laughed. I mean what sort of loser ends-up on these cheesy, awful cautionary videos regarding workplace safety?
Well.
Life has a tendancy to make things come full circle. I'm brought to mind Diamond Dallas Page driving The Honky Tonk Man's pink Cadillac at Wrestlemania VI at the SkyDome in Toronto, only to come back 12 years later and wrestle Christian at Wrestlemania X-8 in the very same building in the very same city.
My agent called today and told me I have an audition on Monday for something called "Manufacturing Safety". Now some titles for certain movies and TV shows these days have nothing to do with their content. Think about recent titles like the film "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". What? That title gives no indication of the content whatsoever. For all I know it could be a romantic comedy about a guy who dies and becomes an angel with a bow and arrow like Cupid, except his name is Stuart, and he's not too bright so they call him "Stupid", and he shoots people with his arrows who would never date each other in a million years, and one couple is a hardcore biker chick who is matched-up with a scrawny D&D geek, and she shows him how to live life on the edge and he teaches her all about THACO, and they fall in love for real and get married, but the biker chick's got a jealous ex-boyfriend who is also a biker and Hells Angels member, and he gets a bunch of his fellow gang members to beat-up the geeky guy, but it turns out he's a ninja, and he gets his fellow ninja clan members to battle the Hells Angels in an all-out no-holds-barred brawl for world supremacy. Or it could be about anything else, that's just an example.
So I take a look at the e-mail the agent sends me. Scroll down, role, shoot dates, audition location, blah-de-blah-blah. I get to production company: WorkSafeBC. This does not bode well. So I read the character breakdowns, and the script, which goes a little something like this:
It starts out very ominously, with a shipment arriving at a warehouse. But this shipment is NOT WHAT THEY ORDERED! So the delivery guy gives it to them anyway, claiming that he "just drives the truck", and speeds on his way home where he will likely smoke the marijuana like a cigarette.
Cut-to our hero family, with an excited, fresh-faced young man (the role I'm going out for) with my parental figures, working on a car. I've added some new "headers" (whatever that means) that I picked-up at the Toschi Station, along with some power converters. My dad says I'm just wasting time with my friends there, but he just doesn't get me man. Mom and dad head-off to work, and I head-off to the Toschi Station again, this time to pick up a suspension kit and to make trouble with the establishment, because I'm so painfully young and cool.
Dad arrives at work to find the botched shipment: A table shear, of the non-hydraulic variety THAT DOES NOT HAVE A GUARD! But they can't wait for a guard to be shipped because they have a DEADLINE, so they go to work anyway.
Meanwhile, at the Toschi Station, I decide to take a break from listening to the newest Linkin Park rock album on my Apple iPod, and give my old man a ring on my cellular telephone while I'm in the "Suspension Kits, Suspension bridges, suspenders" aisle. The "mousy" secretary takes my call, and calls-out to my dad on the work floor. This is where things go horribly wrong!
My poor father absent-mindedly waves to the secretary, and when he turns back to his work, he slips and his hand SLIDES UNDER THE BLADE, TAKING HIS FINGERS CLEAN OFF! The table shear then takes his fingers as they crumble to dust, leaving behind only a gold ring. The drill press urges the table shear to cast the ring into the incinerator of doom! To destroy it! The table shear simply says "no" and takes the ring for its own. That was the day the strength of table shears failed. The secretary comes out and finds my pop-pop in his predicament, calling for help (if only she took the OFA course ... )
As mom and I wait anxiously at the hospital, I am lost in thought. Thinking of the way life with my father will be now. No more throwing the football around, because he's left-handed, and can't one-hand catch worth squat. No more thumb wrestling. No more nose picking. Sure, he'll be able to pick his friends, but he won't be able to pick his nose, and picking his friend's nose is completely out of the question. No more paper-rock-scissors. He may be able to throw-down a small paper, or a super-stubby rock, but not scissors. Never scissors. Never again.
So that's how it's come full circle for me. I'm not complaining, I'll take whatever I can get at this point. Not because I'm desperate, but because I'm just starting-out. PSAs, commercials, nude modelling for "life art" classes, whatever. I'll just have fun with it, and treat it like any other audition. I just hope no one from WorkSafeBC reads how I trashed their ad.
Possible tagline for a new ad campaign on online safety:
Internet Blogs: Are you sure you know who's reading?
Thursday, February 07, 2008
"You Don't Get Nervous, Do You?"
Well if auditioning well is borin', then I don't wanna be interestin'. I went in, did my thing, and the Casting Director seemed pleased. She asked if I was friends with a classmate of mine who auditioned earlier, which I was, and then asked if I got what I wanted out of the second scene in the audition, to which I said "yes" (what else would I say?)
That's about all I have to go by when I meet the CD; I do my thing and they say "good" when I'm done. Which certainly beats a "Well, that happened" or a "next!", so I really can't complain (but hey, I've only had three, so those may yet be to come.) Also, my agent said this CD is pretty authentic, so she doesn't just toss praise around like a water-balloon that hasn't been filled to the point of bursting upon the slightest jostling.
The agent also complimented me on my positive feedback, saying I'm just getting my feet wet now, but things will pick-up. I know they will. He also asked "you don't get nervous do you?" It's funny, I heard someone once say "if you don't get nervous, something's wrong with you." I can't say I'm 100% nerve-free when I come into the room. It may be the meeting new people that does it to me, moreso than the acting. For me it only really hits me afterwards, the chills and shaking. Me and my agent both agreed that that was a good time for that to hit, when it's all said and done and you can drop it.
As nice as this CD was (and she is one of the biggest in town) it took me about an hour to get there, and hour to get back. This auddie was at the North Shore Studios in North Vancouver, so it was quite a trek, but it's a pretty cool place. It's very studio-esque with the rows of old-looking buildings, a big blue-screen wall outside, and security guard at the gate who asks who you are and everything! Made me feel pretty special.
A classmate of mine had an audition right after me for the same part, and it is so refreshing to see familiar face in a strange waiting room. It's a cool feeling when you can go into the audition room and have the CD ask you about a classmate of yours (who's part of the same agency you are) and then mention that the guy coming in after you is ALSO a classmate. Class 28 is taking over! It's great how much the audition classes we took have helped. I really don't treat these any differently. The fact that there's a paying role up for grabs doesn't change anything, I just prepare the work as best as I can, and keep loose in the room.
That's about all to report for now, other than I bought one of those sleep-mask things to help me sleep in the day. It works like a dream (lol), but it makes me feel like a total diva, but I don't care what y'all say, I do what I want, you don't know me.
That's about all I have to go by when I meet the CD; I do my thing and they say "good" when I'm done. Which certainly beats a "Well, that happened" or a "next!", so I really can't complain (but hey, I've only had three, so those may yet be to come.) Also, my agent said this CD is pretty authentic, so she doesn't just toss praise around like a water-balloon that hasn't been filled to the point of bursting upon the slightest jostling.
The agent also complimented me on my positive feedback, saying I'm just getting my feet wet now, but things will pick-up. I know they will. He also asked "you don't get nervous do you?" It's funny, I heard someone once say "if you don't get nervous, something's wrong with you." I can't say I'm 100% nerve-free when I come into the room. It may be the meeting new people that does it to me, moreso than the acting. For me it only really hits me afterwards, the chills and shaking. Me and my agent both agreed that that was a good time for that to hit, when it's all said and done and you can drop it.
As nice as this CD was (and she is one of the biggest in town) it took me about an hour to get there, and hour to get back. This auddie was at the North Shore Studios in North Vancouver, so it was quite a trek, but it's a pretty cool place. It's very studio-esque with the rows of old-looking buildings, a big blue-screen wall outside, and security guard at the gate who asks who you are and everything! Made me feel pretty special.
A classmate of mine had an audition right after me for the same part, and it is so refreshing to see familiar face in a strange waiting room. It's a cool feeling when you can go into the audition room and have the CD ask you about a classmate of yours (who's part of the same agency you are) and then mention that the guy coming in after you is ALSO a classmate. Class 28 is taking over! It's great how much the audition classes we took have helped. I really don't treat these any differently. The fact that there's a paying role up for grabs doesn't change anything, I just prepare the work as best as I can, and keep loose in the room.
That's about all to report for now, other than I bought one of those sleep-mask things to help me sleep in the day. It works like a dream (lol), but it makes me feel like a total diva, but I don't care what y'all say, I do what I want, you don't know me.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
"You Got Another One ... "
I can't tell you how much it makes me smile when my agent never says "Hi William", or "Is this William?" when he calls. He just starts talking. Lucky for him he has has a distinguishable voice, and I have caller ID. Keeps me on my toes though, when I pick up the phone and immediately hear "You got another one".
The Stargate audition went well. I think (with my whopping two times in front of a Casting Director) that it's harder to be in the waiting room than in the audition room. You walk in to this stark-silent room, with a bunch of hungry dogs all going for the same peace of meat. But these dogs aren't that outwardly aggressive towards each other, and just sniff each other out cautiously yet politely as they all wait to get out of their cage and attack that juicy pork hock in front of the master they so desperately wish to appease.
As I said before, the audition was only two lines, which some consider harder than six pages because of the impact you need to make with so little to work with. I met the CD, went into the room, jogged on spot for a few seconds, and then leapt on the mark and spewed my words (fortunately, not literally.) I jawed with the CD for a few moments afterward, and told her it was my first real audition. She said I did well, and the feedback she sent my agent read exactly like this:
Hi Agent,
William Vaughan was good.
thanks,
Casting Director
Which is as good as I can ask for. As long as they'll have me back, I'm happy.
So this "other one" is tomorrow at 1pm. Kinda bummed I couldn't get a coach in the limited amount of time I had, but thems the breaks. I'll talk to the school about who else is available for coaching former students, I'll clearly need more than three options.
This one's six pages for a lead in a Chris Columbus flick, produced by him and two other guys that did, among other things, Harry Potter 1&2. Also it stars Hayden Panettiere, lead actress on "Heroes" and nemisis of the Japanese fishing industry. Oops, here, let me just pick-up those names I dropped all over you. Sorry.
The character is a young American soldier that enjoys what he does a little too much, and uses his skills to make life a living hell for the kid who confessed his love for my girlfriend in his High School Valedictorian speech. He also puts on a phoney southern accent, so I'll be hardcore channeling Sawyer from "Lost". They can't all be good guys folks, and I enjoy playing the people you love to hate. I did it in RCW (just wait for that blog) and have been hoping for something like this to come along. No more Mr. Nice Guy, although I'm really not that nice to begin with. So screw you, man.
Like I said it's at 1pm and in North Vancouver which means about two hours of transit time, which guarantees another sleep-deprived day tomorrow, but if Santa could do it, then so could The Grinch. After I call my agent, I'll try to give an update here. Hopefully something interesting will happen. Even if it means me screwing-up royally to make for some good Blogging material, then so be it!
The Stargate audition went well. I think (with my whopping two times in front of a Casting Director) that it's harder to be in the waiting room than in the audition room. You walk in to this stark-silent room, with a bunch of hungry dogs all going for the same peace of meat. But these dogs aren't that outwardly aggressive towards each other, and just sniff each other out cautiously yet politely as they all wait to get out of their cage and attack that juicy pork hock in front of the master they so desperately wish to appease.
As I said before, the audition was only two lines, which some consider harder than six pages because of the impact you need to make with so little to work with. I met the CD, went into the room, jogged on spot for a few seconds, and then leapt on the mark and spewed my words (fortunately, not literally.) I jawed with the CD for a few moments afterward, and told her it was my first real audition. She said I did well, and the feedback she sent my agent read exactly like this:
Hi Agent,
William Vaughan was good.
thanks,
Casting Director
Which is as good as I can ask for. As long as they'll have me back, I'm happy.
So this "other one" is tomorrow at 1pm. Kinda bummed I couldn't get a coach in the limited amount of time I had, but thems the breaks. I'll talk to the school about who else is available for coaching former students, I'll clearly need more than three options.
This one's six pages for a lead in a Chris Columbus flick, produced by him and two other guys that did, among other things, Harry Potter 1&2. Also it stars Hayden Panettiere, lead actress on "Heroes" and nemisis of the Japanese fishing industry. Oops, here, let me just pick-up those names I dropped all over you. Sorry.
The character is a young American soldier that enjoys what he does a little too much, and uses his skills to make life a living hell for the kid who confessed his love for my girlfriend in his High School Valedictorian speech. He also puts on a phoney southern accent, so I'll be hardcore channeling Sawyer from "Lost". They can't all be good guys folks, and I enjoy playing the people you love to hate. I did it in RCW (just wait for that blog) and have been hoping for something like this to come along. No more Mr. Nice Guy, although I'm really not that nice to begin with. So screw you, man.
Like I said it's at 1pm and in North Vancouver which means about two hours of transit time, which guarantees another sleep-deprived day tomorrow, but if Santa could do it, then so could The Grinch. After I call my agent, I'll try to give an update here. Hopefully something interesting will happen. Even if it means me screwing-up royally to make for some good Blogging material, then so be it!
Friday, February 01, 2008
"Nick Vaughan?"
I finally got my new head shot order on Wednesday after waiting a week for the photographer to touch-up the shot and send it to Rocket Repro, and having my agent hound me.
This is how it's been for me: After getting my free photo sesh from the school, I printed two orders of 10; one bearded, one naked-faced. I got the bearded one first, but then I had the bright idea that someone might want me to shave it someday, so I had the second nudie-chin set printed. I should let you know now that each of these cost around $48 per set of 10. That's roughly $4.80 for a picture of my head. (I'd find out, as I was paying for my second order, that 25 shots was only about $60, but I didn't need that many. That's my justification, and I'm sticking to it.) So I put both of these into one package, and send them off to the agent I have today, who doesn't want to use either shot. In fact, he wants to get a new series done altogether, but doesn't want me to incur the expense at the moment, and I agree. So I used my certificate from VFS (another graduation freebie) get a whopping 50 printed (certificate expires in September, so I wanted to use it while I could.)
This will hopefully end this "starting-out" period. I expected that there would be a lot to take care of, but six trips to Rocket (seven, if you count the time I went there only to find the place closed at 5:45pm when the sign and person I spoke to said 6pm) even in the last four months is more than I wanted.
First, after the photographer sent the shot, I expected to "start my order" over the phone, but not having a credit card I would have to pay my deposit in person. Then, when I thought my glorious VFS certificate would be key to not-having-to-go-there-to-start-the-order bliss, I found out they need the certificate itself. Working at night, I find it hard to take care of any daytime business, so needless to say having to go there, place the order, and then have them call me to come in and pick it up gets tiresome, especially since I usually wake-up after they are closed.
But, head shots are important to actors, and I certainly can't blame my agent for being picky; the reason I only printed 10 shots of the two sets in the first place was me wanting to wait for my agent, whomever that would be, to help me chose one with which to start out. I'll just have to find something to do with the ones I have left.
I'll do that other photo session later, but hopefully much later, because not only do I not want to shell the $400+ for the photographer, I just plain don't like getting my picture taken. I'd say in my entire photo-taken-of-me career, 17% of the smiles are genuine. The rest just look fake and awful.
My agent was hounding me to get the new shots so I could drop them off at an office to be put in a database so he can start to submit me for roles. This is an office for a company called castingworkbook.com, so while I have a digital copy of the shot I can upload to their website from home; I needed to physically drop-off this physical head shot while my head got physical with a wall, wondering why I had to do this in person. Well, if this is what I have to complain about, I guess life's not so bad.
In more acting happs, I had my first "pre-screen" yesterday. It was a four-page read for one of the biggest Casting Directors in town. According to my agent, this guy rarely does pre-screens, but with nothing much going on industry-wise, I guess he figured on looking at some new talent (I'm not joking, me and five other classmates were all sent out for this same project).
A pre-screen is what Casting Directors use to determine whom they want to see for auditions, which I originally thought was dumb, that we're essentially auditioning for them anyway, but when I considered that a lead role audition is anywhere from 10-20 pages, while this was only 4, it made a bit more sense.
I arrived 45 minutes early, because I didn't know how long the bus would take or where exactly the office was, so I wanted to give myself some time. I just had a coaching that morning with a teacher who always fills me with confidence when I'm done with him. He coached me for my 16-page read with my agent, and was a big reason for me being signed. He's not doing it as a favour, believe me, he gets paid, but I'm glad that I have someone I can trust and work with, not matter what the audition may be, or how much time there is to prepare.
When I walked in, the waiting area was eerily silent, with a couple of actors quietly preparing to enter the dreaded room. From that dreaded room came the only sounds, an actor auditioning for a role different (and more shout-ier) than mine. I signed-in and noticed how early I was compared to the others on the list. I sat down with my headphones on, wondering how I was going to kill 45 minutes. I had already signed-in, so I didn't know if I could step out for a moment, or tell them "brb" or what, so I just stayed there, listening to my headphones (more specifically the music coming from them) and paused every time the reader would step out of the room, in case he said something pertaining to me, like "you got a life kid, or what?"
They called me in early, but they got names mixed up and asked for "Nick Vaughan". After me and Nick Whoever looked at the reader, he just said "Vaughan?" "Uh, that's me," I said, so I got up and entered this illustrious and important Casting Directors office for the first in, what I hope would be, many visits...
... only to be immediately shooed-out when they were really wanting this Nick guy with the last name no one bothered to know. So, I left, and went in after Nearly-Nameless Nick, and thought I did pretty well. I stuck to the choices me and my teacher made in the coaching session that morning, and was rewarded with a hearty "good, thanks." Ah, the feeling of a job well done.
The film is called "ALTITUDE" (fun story, I got a weird feeling on the bus on the way home from work that morning when I saw "ALTITUDE" highlighted on someone's page they were studying, obviously nothing to do with the project, but still) about some teens on a plane, some sort of teen thriller where things kind of go horribly wrong. I say teen twice (and now thrice) because the part I auddied for was an 18-22 year-old. My agent told me this going into it, and I wasn't really going for results anyway, I just wanted to show this guy what kind of work I can do. As an actor, you're not auditioning to get the role; you're auditioning to get another audition. If a Casting Director likes what they see, they'll want to bring you in the room again and again. Maybe you were edged-out for the role in other auditions, maybe you just weren't right for the role, but something will come along for you eventually. But you got to work for it.
Monday I have an audition that every Vancouver actor worth his/her salt has auditioned for: Stargate. This is Stargate Atlantis, a whopping two-liner, but I'll have fun with it. Much like the pre-screen, I'm treating this as my chance to show the Casting Directors what I've got. The first role is the hardest to book, and I'm not counting on anything for a while, especially the way the industry is today. All I can do is the best work I can with what I'm given.
This is how it's been for me: After getting my free photo sesh from the school, I printed two orders of 10; one bearded, one naked-faced. I got the bearded one first, but then I had the bright idea that someone might want me to shave it someday, so I had the second nudie-chin set printed. I should let you know now that each of these cost around $48 per set of 10. That's roughly $4.80 for a picture of my head. (I'd find out, as I was paying for my second order, that 25 shots was only about $60, but I didn't need that many. That's my justification, and I'm sticking to it.) So I put both of these into one package, and send them off to the agent I have today, who doesn't want to use either shot. In fact, he wants to get a new series done altogether, but doesn't want me to incur the expense at the moment, and I agree. So I used my certificate from VFS (another graduation freebie) get a whopping 50 printed (certificate expires in September, so I wanted to use it while I could.)
This will hopefully end this "starting-out" period. I expected that there would be a lot to take care of, but six trips to Rocket (seven, if you count the time I went there only to find the place closed at 5:45pm when the sign and person I spoke to said 6pm) even in the last four months is more than I wanted.
First, after the photographer sent the shot, I expected to "start my order" over the phone, but not having a credit card I would have to pay my deposit in person. Then, when I thought my glorious VFS certificate would be key to not-having-to-go-there-to-start-the-order bliss, I found out they need the certificate itself. Working at night, I find it hard to take care of any daytime business, so needless to say having to go there, place the order, and then have them call me to come in and pick it up gets tiresome, especially since I usually wake-up after they are closed.
But, head shots are important to actors, and I certainly can't blame my agent for being picky; the reason I only printed 10 shots of the two sets in the first place was me wanting to wait for my agent, whomever that would be, to help me chose one with which to start out. I'll just have to find something to do with the ones I have left.
I'll do that other photo session later, but hopefully much later, because not only do I not want to shell the $400+ for the photographer, I just plain don't like getting my picture taken. I'd say in my entire photo-taken-of-me career, 17% of the smiles are genuine. The rest just look fake and awful.
My agent was hounding me to get the new shots so I could drop them off at an office to be put in a database so he can start to submit me for roles. This is an office for a company called castingworkbook.com, so while I have a digital copy of the shot I can upload to their website from home; I needed to physically drop-off this physical head shot while my head got physical with a wall, wondering why I had to do this in person. Well, if this is what I have to complain about, I guess life's not so bad.
In more acting happs, I had my first "pre-screen" yesterday. It was a four-page read for one of the biggest Casting Directors in town. According to my agent, this guy rarely does pre-screens, but with nothing much going on industry-wise, I guess he figured on looking at some new talent (I'm not joking, me and five other classmates were all sent out for this same project).
A pre-screen is what Casting Directors use to determine whom they want to see for auditions, which I originally thought was dumb, that we're essentially auditioning for them anyway, but when I considered that a lead role audition is anywhere from 10-20 pages, while this was only 4, it made a bit more sense.
I arrived 45 minutes early, because I didn't know how long the bus would take or where exactly the office was, so I wanted to give myself some time. I just had a coaching that morning with a teacher who always fills me with confidence when I'm done with him. He coached me for my 16-page read with my agent, and was a big reason for me being signed. He's not doing it as a favour, believe me, he gets paid, but I'm glad that I have someone I can trust and work with, not matter what the audition may be, or how much time there is to prepare.
When I walked in, the waiting area was eerily silent, with a couple of actors quietly preparing to enter the dreaded room. From that dreaded room came the only sounds, an actor auditioning for a role different (and more shout-ier) than mine. I signed-in and noticed how early I was compared to the others on the list. I sat down with my headphones on, wondering how I was going to kill 45 minutes. I had already signed-in, so I didn't know if I could step out for a moment, or tell them "brb" or what, so I just stayed there, listening to my headphones (more specifically the music coming from them) and paused every time the reader would step out of the room, in case he said something pertaining to me, like "you got a life kid, or what?"
They called me in early, but they got names mixed up and asked for "Nick Vaughan". After me and Nick Whoever looked at the reader, he just said "Vaughan?" "Uh, that's me," I said, so I got up and entered this illustrious and important Casting Directors office for the first in, what I hope would be, many visits...
... only to be immediately shooed-out when they were really wanting this Nick guy with the last name no one bothered to know. So, I left, and went in after Nearly-Nameless Nick, and thought I did pretty well. I stuck to the choices me and my teacher made in the coaching session that morning, and was rewarded with a hearty "good, thanks." Ah, the feeling of a job well done.
The film is called "ALTITUDE" (fun story, I got a weird feeling on the bus on the way home from work that morning when I saw "ALTITUDE" highlighted on someone's page they were studying, obviously nothing to do with the project, but still) about some teens on a plane, some sort of teen thriller where things kind of go horribly wrong. I say teen twice (and now thrice) because the part I auddied for was an 18-22 year-old. My agent told me this going into it, and I wasn't really going for results anyway, I just wanted to show this guy what kind of work I can do. As an actor, you're not auditioning to get the role; you're auditioning to get another audition. If a Casting Director likes what they see, they'll want to bring you in the room again and again. Maybe you were edged-out for the role in other auditions, maybe you just weren't right for the role, but something will come along for you eventually. But you got to work for it.
Monday I have an audition that every Vancouver actor worth his/her salt has auditioned for: Stargate. This is Stargate Atlantis, a whopping two-liner, but I'll have fun with it. Much like the pre-screen, I'm treating this as my chance to show the Casting Directors what I've got. The first role is the hardest to book, and I'm not counting on anything for a while, especially the way the industry is today. All I can do is the best work I can with what I'm given.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
How To Move A Friar In Nine Days
My parents gave him a cheque for $150.00, partially for gas, but also as a bit of compensation for dragging my lucky tuccus along for the ride. It was also for some "Iced Capps" on the road, but he had countless Tim Hortons certificates already that he'd amassed over the years of Christmas presents from parishioners who knew the dude liked his coffee.
Iced Capps were a way of life back then. Helping him move, we'd be working for about ten minutes before he sat down, his collared shirt already soaking wet, and ask me in his New England accent, "Wanna get an Iced Capp, Willie?"
The original plan was flawless in my eyes. I had just been accepted into Vancouver Film School's Acting For Film & TV program when just days later Father David told me he had an offer to move to a Parish in Richmond, BC, which was just south of Vancouver. I don't recall why exactly, but he had the idea to drive out there. I think the reason was, why not? When would he get another chance at this? And when would I? I'd load my stuff in his new, grey Saturn VUE, save on the cost of a plane ticket, and get the trip of a lifetime. I was eternally grateful he let me come with him, but he keeps insisting that he's the grateful one; and he's got a point, it would be a lousy trip to make by himself.
However, I wouldn't be loading all my stuff in the VUE; just enough stuff for nine days of travel, and a week and a half in Richmond. Y'see, my parents didn't want me going to VFS that year, but that's another Blog for another time. I will spoil the ending for you and say that making me wait was one of the best things they've done for me.
Father David (FD, as I shall henceforth call him) let me come along anyway, for the aforementioned company and camaraderie. He even used some airline points he had to book me a flight from Vancouver back to Halifax after my stay. I never understood why he like me so much, despite what I've put him through:
In 2003, after my failure at Dalhousie University (again, another Blog for another time) he hired me as a summer work student at the church. I knew some friends that did it before, and a nice, easy-going day job would fit well with my night job at the video store. I'd be rolling in the Sir Robert Bordens by summer's end. I started in May, and it went downhill from there. I was there to do odd jobs, and what I ended up doing for the rest of the summer was sit at the computer in the counting room and enter hundreds of Baptismal records from some old church books, going back as far as the 70's. It was heinously boring and sooner than later I found other uses for the computer I was using. So many uses that eventually there were days that I had entered ten or less records. Couple that with my being late every single day and the fact that I was spending all my money as soon as I made it, and I was not shaping-up to be a model employee. And that wasn't the worst part.
The position I was hired for was paid for by a government grant, one of the requirements being you need to be a student IN BETWEEN school years. I had the before part taken care of, despite my grades, I just needed the after. However, because of my grades, I was put on academic dismissal. Read that last word again. Not probation. Dismissal. This meant that I could not go to Dalhousie for a full year and if I applied to any other school, or even to re-enrol at Dal after the year, they'd have to review my file. So in this situation I did the smart thing and ... waited until the last minute to apply for some programs I sort of wanted to do. At the Community College. And if you've heard Chris Rock's opinons on Community College, you've heard my views as well. Needless to say I did not get accepted into anything I applied for, and I ended-up costing our church, with a $99,000 roofing bill debt, another couple of thousand dollars because I didn't meet the grant's requirement. And the Priest I did this to was letting me ride shotgun and stay free in hotels all the way from Dartmouth, NS to Richmond, BC. Ladies an gentlemen, I give you forgiveness. He'll be here all week, try the veal.
He got the Saturn VUE specifically for the trip. He got a new car every two years or so, and he loved his Saturns. I still think it funny today that he drives an SUV. He made the back windows super-tinted so thieves couldn't look in and steal all our stuff. It was also a standard. He's always driven a standard, and he got to telling me about his first car. It was previously well-used, with a rusted-out floor, so if it was raining that day, chances are your pant legs know it by the time you got to your destination. Also, the sun roof's seal was broken, so if there was water on the roof when you braked suddenly, the back of your neck would get a nice cool surprise. On top of this, you couldn't operate the left turn signal and windshield wipers at the same time without blowing a fuse. He bought it for something like $100 and sold it for the same amount. He would have broken even on it, if you didn't consider all the fuses he had to buy.
We planned for me to do some of the driving, having gotten my license a few weeks before we left. My first driver's license, at the tender young age of 20. FD was giving me a crash-course in stick-shift in the church parking lot a few weeks before the trip. I didn't feel at all ready, but I didn't want him to be stuck driving for who-knows-how-long, so if relief was needed, relief I would be. From the thousands of kilometres we logged on that trip, I ended-up driving a grand total of five metres.
We left from my house, and stopped at his before we split town. There were still boxes everywhere and a maid was cleaning. We crammed some more boxes in the VUE, and Father David finally left his home for six years with a casual "Bye, house." Man, that guy gets way too attached. One last goodbye with his now former church staff, and we were on our way.
We didn't have a concrete plan, but we did have a route in mind. He had wanted to get there in ten days, and had no reason to rush. We wanted plenty of time to make the most of it.
On the first day we drove to northern New Brunswick, a town called Edmonston. New Brunswick was probably the least interesting portion of the entire trip, probably because I've seen a lot of it before. We stayed in Edmonston with some friends of FD's, and proceeded to Quebec the next day.
Quebec was a belle province, but FD with all his learned languages (Spanish, Japanese, and pig latin) and a french last name, knew as much french as I did. And I didn't know beaucoup. I never took immersion, but I knew enough from school to get by OK. Fortunately it never became an issue, as most of the locals knew enough english that they put us to shame. Quebec City reminded me of a french Halifax, with the citadel and Oldey-Timey feeling of the portion of the city we stayed in. After sleeping on the floor of the small room at the Chateau Fleur-De-Lis, we made our way through some hectic Montreal traffic (my role as a navigator was going as well as my summer student job) on our way to Ottawa, but not without embarrassing myself trying to order some Timbits in french at a Tim's near the Ontario border. "Une de chaque" means "one of each" in case you were wondering.
I met with a long time friend of mine who was working for the Minister of Veteran's Affairs as a summer job. Some guys get all the summer job breaks. He was able to use his Ministerial hook-ups to get us a free tour of the Parliament building. It was something else. The view from the tower was amazing, and just being inside that building is something I will never forget. We bid adieu to my friend, and went to stay with another friend of mine from back home. While FD went to bed early, my friend and some of his went to their favourite watering hole where beer pitchers were on special. That night I shared an intimate heart-to-heart with his toilet. I woke up the next day hungover, which FD just found amusing. After all, this is the guy who mixed me zombies and gave me cigars, all in the company of my folks.
Ottawa was one of the high points, and from the time we entered until the time we left, we were in Ontario for four days. The width of the province coupled with having to drive around the Great Lakes contributed to the never-ending province. We stayed in Sault Ste. Marie, then drove through Thunder Bay to a town in northern Ontario called Kenora.
After Kenora we made one of the longest hauls of the entire trip, blowing across Manitoba, and through Winnipeg in one day, and ending up in Regina that night. My aforementioned five metres of driving entailed me daringly pulling away from a gas station pump back in Edmonston at a blazing 20 km/h. FD, with me supplying his fuel (coffee) was a driving machine. I was really surprised at how long he could go. We were pulling 8-12 hour days on the road, always with him at the helm.
I remember when I was a kid, driving to PEI with my family crammed in the back seat of a Toyota station wagon for three hours with no AC, thinking it was agony. Back then, my butt hurt and I was bored and sick of being jammed with my bros in the back. But this trip was different. I was riding shotgun (which, when I was little, was my mom's spot, and she enforced a strict "no callsies" policy), and we had AC, although we used it sparingly to save gas, which actually wasn't bad. We both had our iPods with FM tuners so we could pipe our tunes through the car radio. He had his classical music and Broadway show recordings, I had my Queen and Led Zeppelin. I believe we listened to Zepp's entire catalogue twice during the trip. And then there was FD himself, who knew everything about anything you could think to ask him. He is one of the smartest and well-educated men I've ever met, and will likely ever meet.
In Regina, we had to try a few hotels before we found a vacancy. It was Saturday after all, and when we finally found a vacancy,it came with a compromise: There was only one Jacuzzi in our room. On a trip like this, you have to take the good with the bad. We never ended up using the Jacuzzi, but the room was suite. That morning we made our way out of Saskatchewan and into Alberta. This was Sunday, and travelling with a Priest meant going to mass was a priority. After poking around for a church in league with Rome, we came across a Ukrainian church, but by the time we got there, the only available mass was in Ukrainian. Not wanting to have to bust our our Ukrainian/English dictionaries so soon, Father David went to plan "B".
For dinner I wanted an authentic Calgary steak dinner experience, so we ate at The Keg. Can't get food like that no where else in the country, I'll tell you what. FD asked to get our remaining bread boxed-up for us, and we headed to the liquor store for a bottle o' red. We drove out of Calgary and headed for the mountains, easily the most breath-taking part of the whole trip for me. I'll never forget seeing the haze of a huge mountain range as far as the eye could see on our approach into Calgary. FD asked if I saw them and when I asked if they were mountains, he said yes. I said "They're not so big". He kept telling that to the people in Richmond after we arrived. He knew I was joking. He told people in praise of my wit, not to showcase my ineptitude. I had no idea The Rockies started in Alberta, but hey, I took history, not geography.
The Rockies were especially beautiful because it was sunset when we were leaving Calgary. We were looking for a place to saty before it got too dark, but Canmore had some sort of folk festival happening, so we continued on to Banffffff (I never know when to cut-off the "f's"). FD had to shell a lot for our room, which wasn't anything spectacular, but y'know, location, location, location. In the room that night I celebrated my first hotel room mass. He was technically still Pastor at Pope John XXIII at the time, and I was honoured to celebrate his final mass as my home pastor with him. For the Gospel Reading he rattled-off a passage from Matthew from memory, and then we offered-up our mass intentions for the world, for us, and for our journey. Then he consecrated the Keg bread and liquor store wine, and we celebrated the Eucharist.
I tried to drink some of the left over wine that night, but it wasn't my thing. I stepped outside, thinking that the stars in the clear night sky would look incredible from where I thought was the middle of nowhere. Banffffffff smelled like a Christmas tree, but had no lights in the sky. I suppose I underestimated the light pollution where we were. It also bothered me to see people walking around with bulging shopping bags, like this beautiful mountain town was some sort of shopping mall. Was this the best thing people could think to do there?
We were getting on the last legs of our trip, and the next day I would bring my "visited-provinces" list to a whooping nine. Whoo, doggy.
The next day we drove through Banfffftheletterf National Park because that's where the Trans-Canada Highway took us. This drove FD crazy because the road was two lanes the whole way through, and everyone drove like the were a float in the Orange Bowl parade, taking in the sights. Throughout the trip, whenever FD would get behind a slow person on a two-lane, he'd start to steam. At one point in our travels, we passed an RV from Quebec, only to come across it again way down the road the next day. I played the role of sight-seer, using FD's digital camera to take pictures of the mountains, which were very beautiful. It was a clear blue day, and with a slight blue haze, the mountains in the distance looked like a painting in real life. Some people had stopped to look at some elk, and I took a picture, but mistimed it. "There, now you have a picture of an elk's ass," he said. I sure did. We stopped at Lake Louise, again, beautiful. I took some more snaps of the fake-looking blue water and a squirrel and we hit the road again, making for the BC border.
BC began as beautiful as it would remain, and I knew their license plates weren't lyin'. (Fun fact: when I was a kid, I though "Canada's Ocean Playground" was a theme park somewhere that I didn't know about. To this day, I still wish it were true). FD wanted to stop at a place called Radium to soak in the hot springs.
This was a destination he had planned from the onset of the trip, and something he was very much looking forward to. When he told me about it I had expected a craggy, rocky place with steaming geysers and pools hot scalding water, somewhere in the mountains. Maybe there would be some large eastern European men laughing at me complaining about the hot water while they doused theselves with the boiling liquid that would have some strange natural healing qualities or something. What I got was a big hot tub that wasn't anything special other than the fact that it was near a hot spring, but I never saw one. The place was pretty busy, a big touristy attraction, the type FD hated. But he wanted to soak, and after all the driving he'd been doing, maybe a massage wouldn't be too bad either.
So with his glasses off, and being blind as a bat with no eyes (dude wore trifocals), I led him to the hot tub, where we soaked for a good fifteen minutes. We then went to check on massage prices, which were far too rich for our thinned blood.
After that we were off again, stopping at a small town called Salmon Arm. We were going to press-on and head to Richmond that day, but we both thought it better to rest first and do the last six hours the next day. The place we stayed was cottage-style, with little bunnies in cages out outside our room. How cute. Before going to bed that night, I saw a small creature on the floor scurry out of sight. How not cute.
The next day we checked out of our last hotel of the journey and made for FD's new home, and hopefully near where my future home would be.
We pulled into Richmond in the afternoon with the front of the VUE sporting a hot, dried-bug collection of specimens from across the country. It looked like the VUE had a mustache. FD got acquainted with his new staff, and introduced me as his old Parishioner to everyone he met. I was honoured to share the trip with him, and the destination made all the road hours worth it.
During my days there, I'd make day trips to Vancouver just to walk around and get familiar with the city. It helped me get through the next year working at the Call Centre knowing where I would be going after. My academic advisor at VFS met me for a tour of the acting campus where I met Bill, the head of the acting department. I liked Bill the first time I met him, and my respect for him would only grow as I worked with him throughout my school year.
The day I was leaving, FD and I went to gorgeous Stanley Park in downtown Vanouver. On of my favourite things about the city is it's conservation of the nature that surrounds it. I had the idea to dip my right hand in the bright blue Pacific Ocean, and within 24 hours I was back home dipping my left hand in the Atlantic.
From ocean to shining ocean.
So that's where it ends. Living in downtown Vancouver now, I sing in the choir every week at FD's church in Richmond. I've gotten to know some great people there, people who make living here a joy, but I don't hang-out with FD nearly enough. It's a very big parish, and he's very busy, but very happy there, and I'm busy with my own life. It was much easier when the church was about a ten-minute walk (and yet I couldn't make it for a 9am mass ... ), and not the hour-and-a-half bus ride it is today. Plus, even with being in the choir, I'm not nearly as involved with the church as I was in Dartmouth. I missed him when he left, and now that I'm near him again, I feel like I take him for granted.
As for the trip, it's something I'll remember for the rest of my life, and even though I just sat there enjoying the sights and sounds, it's one of my biggest accomplishments, with tales I love to tell people.
In summary, Canada is big, but not impossible. It gave me a better appreciation for my country, and an appreciation for just how far from home I would be in Vancouver. Nine days by car, and eight hours by plane.
And although those eight-hour flights are no picnic, they're completely worth making just to see home again.
Iced Capps were a way of life back then. Helping him move, we'd be working for about ten minutes before he sat down, his collared shirt already soaking wet, and ask me in his New England accent, "Wanna get an Iced Capp, Willie?"
The original plan was flawless in my eyes. I had just been accepted into Vancouver Film School's Acting For Film & TV program when just days later Father David told me he had an offer to move to a Parish in Richmond, BC, which was just south of Vancouver. I don't recall why exactly, but he had the idea to drive out there. I think the reason was, why not? When would he get another chance at this? And when would I? I'd load my stuff in his new, grey Saturn VUE, save on the cost of a plane ticket, and get the trip of a lifetime. I was eternally grateful he let me come with him, but he keeps insisting that he's the grateful one; and he's got a point, it would be a lousy trip to make by himself.
However, I wouldn't be loading all my stuff in the VUE; just enough stuff for nine days of travel, and a week and a half in Richmond. Y'see, my parents didn't want me going to VFS that year, but that's another Blog for another time. I will spoil the ending for you and say that making me wait was one of the best things they've done for me.
Father David (FD, as I shall henceforth call him) let me come along anyway, for the aforementioned company and camaraderie. He even used some airline points he had to book me a flight from Vancouver back to Halifax after my stay. I never understood why he like me so much, despite what I've put him through:
In 2003, after my failure at Dalhousie University (again, another Blog for another time) he hired me as a summer work student at the church. I knew some friends that did it before, and a nice, easy-going day job would fit well with my night job at the video store. I'd be rolling in the Sir Robert Bordens by summer's end. I started in May, and it went downhill from there. I was there to do odd jobs, and what I ended up doing for the rest of the summer was sit at the computer in the counting room and enter hundreds of Baptismal records from some old church books, going back as far as the 70's. It was heinously boring and sooner than later I found other uses for the computer I was using. So many uses that eventually there were days that I had entered ten or less records. Couple that with my being late every single day and the fact that I was spending all my money as soon as I made it, and I was not shaping-up to be a model employee. And that wasn't the worst part.
The position I was hired for was paid for by a government grant, one of the requirements being you need to be a student IN BETWEEN school years. I had the before part taken care of, despite my grades, I just needed the after. However, because of my grades, I was put on academic dismissal. Read that last word again. Not probation. Dismissal. This meant that I could not go to Dalhousie for a full year and if I applied to any other school, or even to re-enrol at Dal after the year, they'd have to review my file. So in this situation I did the smart thing and ... waited until the last minute to apply for some programs I sort of wanted to do. At the Community College. And if you've heard Chris Rock's opinons on Community College, you've heard my views as well. Needless to say I did not get accepted into anything I applied for, and I ended-up costing our church, with a $99,000 roofing bill debt, another couple of thousand dollars because I didn't meet the grant's requirement. And the Priest I did this to was letting me ride shotgun and stay free in hotels all the way from Dartmouth, NS to Richmond, BC. Ladies an gentlemen, I give you forgiveness. He'll be here all week, try the veal.
He got the Saturn VUE specifically for the trip. He got a new car every two years or so, and he loved his Saturns. I still think it funny today that he drives an SUV. He made the back windows super-tinted so thieves couldn't look in and steal all our stuff. It was also a standard. He's always driven a standard, and he got to telling me about his first car. It was previously well-used, with a rusted-out floor, so if it was raining that day, chances are your pant legs know it by the time you got to your destination. Also, the sun roof's seal was broken, so if there was water on the roof when you braked suddenly, the back of your neck would get a nice cool surprise. On top of this, you couldn't operate the left turn signal and windshield wipers at the same time without blowing a fuse. He bought it for something like $100 and sold it for the same amount. He would have broken even on it, if you didn't consider all the fuses he had to buy.
We planned for me to do some of the driving, having gotten my license a few weeks before we left. My first driver's license, at the tender young age of 20. FD was giving me a crash-course in stick-shift in the church parking lot a few weeks before the trip. I didn't feel at all ready, but I didn't want him to be stuck driving for who-knows-how-long, so if relief was needed, relief I would be. From the thousands of kilometres we logged on that trip, I ended-up driving a grand total of five metres.
We left from my house, and stopped at his before we split town. There were still boxes everywhere and a maid was cleaning. We crammed some more boxes in the VUE, and Father David finally left his home for six years with a casual "Bye, house." Man, that guy gets way too attached. One last goodbye with his now former church staff, and we were on our way.
We didn't have a concrete plan, but we did have a route in mind. He had wanted to get there in ten days, and had no reason to rush. We wanted plenty of time to make the most of it.
On the first day we drove to northern New Brunswick, a town called Edmonston. New Brunswick was probably the least interesting portion of the entire trip, probably because I've seen a lot of it before. We stayed in Edmonston with some friends of FD's, and proceeded to Quebec the next day.
Quebec was a belle province, but FD with all his learned languages (Spanish, Japanese, and pig latin) and a french last name, knew as much french as I did. And I didn't know beaucoup. I never took immersion, but I knew enough from school to get by OK. Fortunately it never became an issue, as most of the locals knew enough english that they put us to shame. Quebec City reminded me of a french Halifax, with the citadel and Oldey-Timey feeling of the portion of the city we stayed in. After sleeping on the floor of the small room at the Chateau Fleur-De-Lis, we made our way through some hectic Montreal traffic (my role as a navigator was going as well as my summer student job) on our way to Ottawa, but not without embarrassing myself trying to order some Timbits in french at a Tim's near the Ontario border. "Une de chaque" means "one of each" in case you were wondering.
I met with a long time friend of mine who was working for the Minister of Veteran's Affairs as a summer job. Some guys get all the summer job breaks. He was able to use his Ministerial hook-ups to get us a free tour of the Parliament building. It was something else. The view from the tower was amazing, and just being inside that building is something I will never forget. We bid adieu to my friend, and went to stay with another friend of mine from back home. While FD went to bed early, my friend and some of his went to their favourite watering hole where beer pitchers were on special. That night I shared an intimate heart-to-heart with his toilet. I woke up the next day hungover, which FD just found amusing. After all, this is the guy who mixed me zombies and gave me cigars, all in the company of my folks.
Ottawa was one of the high points, and from the time we entered until the time we left, we were in Ontario for four days. The width of the province coupled with having to drive around the Great Lakes contributed to the never-ending province. We stayed in Sault Ste. Marie, then drove through Thunder Bay to a town in northern Ontario called Kenora.
After Kenora we made one of the longest hauls of the entire trip, blowing across Manitoba, and through Winnipeg in one day, and ending up in Regina that night. My aforementioned five metres of driving entailed me daringly pulling away from a gas station pump back in Edmonston at a blazing 20 km/h. FD, with me supplying his fuel (coffee) was a driving machine. I was really surprised at how long he could go. We were pulling 8-12 hour days on the road, always with him at the helm.
I remember when I was a kid, driving to PEI with my family crammed in the back seat of a Toyota station wagon for three hours with no AC, thinking it was agony. Back then, my butt hurt and I was bored and sick of being jammed with my bros in the back. But this trip was different. I was riding shotgun (which, when I was little, was my mom's spot, and she enforced a strict "no callsies" policy), and we had AC, although we used it sparingly to save gas, which actually wasn't bad. We both had our iPods with FM tuners so we could pipe our tunes through the car radio. He had his classical music and Broadway show recordings, I had my Queen and Led Zeppelin. I believe we listened to Zepp's entire catalogue twice during the trip. And then there was FD himself, who knew everything about anything you could think to ask him. He is one of the smartest and well-educated men I've ever met, and will likely ever meet.
In Regina, we had to try a few hotels before we found a vacancy. It was Saturday after all, and when we finally found a vacancy,it came with a compromise: There was only one Jacuzzi in our room. On a trip like this, you have to take the good with the bad. We never ended up using the Jacuzzi, but the room was suite. That morning we made our way out of Saskatchewan and into Alberta. This was Sunday, and travelling with a Priest meant going to mass was a priority. After poking around for a church in league with Rome, we came across a Ukrainian church, but by the time we got there, the only available mass was in Ukrainian. Not wanting to have to bust our our Ukrainian/English dictionaries so soon, Father David went to plan "B".
For dinner I wanted an authentic Calgary steak dinner experience, so we ate at The Keg. Can't get food like that no where else in the country, I'll tell you what. FD asked to get our remaining bread boxed-up for us, and we headed to the liquor store for a bottle o' red. We drove out of Calgary and headed for the mountains, easily the most breath-taking part of the whole trip for me. I'll never forget seeing the haze of a huge mountain range as far as the eye could see on our approach into Calgary. FD asked if I saw them and when I asked if they were mountains, he said yes. I said "They're not so big". He kept telling that to the people in Richmond after we arrived. He knew I was joking. He told people in praise of my wit, not to showcase my ineptitude. I had no idea The Rockies started in Alberta, but hey, I took history, not geography.
The Rockies were especially beautiful because it was sunset when we were leaving Calgary. We were looking for a place to saty before it got too dark, but Canmore had some sort of folk festival happening, so we continued on to Banffffff (I never know when to cut-off the "f's"). FD had to shell a lot for our room, which wasn't anything spectacular, but y'know, location, location, location. In the room that night I celebrated my first hotel room mass. He was technically still Pastor at Pope John XXIII at the time, and I was honoured to celebrate his final mass as my home pastor with him. For the Gospel Reading he rattled-off a passage from Matthew from memory, and then we offered-up our mass intentions for the world, for us, and for our journey. Then he consecrated the Keg bread and liquor store wine, and we celebrated the Eucharist.
I tried to drink some of the left over wine that night, but it wasn't my thing. I stepped outside, thinking that the stars in the clear night sky would look incredible from where I thought was the middle of nowhere. Banffffffff smelled like a Christmas tree, but had no lights in the sky. I suppose I underestimated the light pollution where we were. It also bothered me to see people walking around with bulging shopping bags, like this beautiful mountain town was some sort of shopping mall. Was this the best thing people could think to do there?
We were getting on the last legs of our trip, and the next day I would bring my "visited-provinces" list to a whooping nine. Whoo, doggy.
The next day we drove through Banfffftheletterf National Park because that's where the Trans-Canada Highway took us. This drove FD crazy because the road was two lanes the whole way through, and everyone drove like the were a float in the Orange Bowl parade, taking in the sights. Throughout the trip, whenever FD would get behind a slow person on a two-lane, he'd start to steam. At one point in our travels, we passed an RV from Quebec, only to come across it again way down the road the next day. I played the role of sight-seer, using FD's digital camera to take pictures of the mountains, which were very beautiful. It was a clear blue day, and with a slight blue haze, the mountains in the distance looked like a painting in real life. Some people had stopped to look at some elk, and I took a picture, but mistimed it. "There, now you have a picture of an elk's ass," he said. I sure did. We stopped at Lake Louise, again, beautiful. I took some more snaps of the fake-looking blue water and a squirrel and we hit the road again, making for the BC border.
BC began as beautiful as it would remain, and I knew their license plates weren't lyin'. (Fun fact: when I was a kid, I though "Canada's Ocean Playground" was a theme park somewhere that I didn't know about. To this day, I still wish it were true). FD wanted to stop at a place called Radium to soak in the hot springs.
This was a destination he had planned from the onset of the trip, and something he was very much looking forward to. When he told me about it I had expected a craggy, rocky place with steaming geysers and pools hot scalding water, somewhere in the mountains. Maybe there would be some large eastern European men laughing at me complaining about the hot water while they doused theselves with the boiling liquid that would have some strange natural healing qualities or something. What I got was a big hot tub that wasn't anything special other than the fact that it was near a hot spring, but I never saw one. The place was pretty busy, a big touristy attraction, the type FD hated. But he wanted to soak, and after all the driving he'd been doing, maybe a massage wouldn't be too bad either.
So with his glasses off, and being blind as a bat with no eyes (dude wore trifocals), I led him to the hot tub, where we soaked for a good fifteen minutes. We then went to check on massage prices, which were far too rich for our thinned blood.
After that we were off again, stopping at a small town called Salmon Arm. We were going to press-on and head to Richmond that day, but we both thought it better to rest first and do the last six hours the next day. The place we stayed was cottage-style, with little bunnies in cages out outside our room. How cute. Before going to bed that night, I saw a small creature on the floor scurry out of sight. How not cute.
The next day we checked out of our last hotel of the journey and made for FD's new home, and hopefully near where my future home would be.
We pulled into Richmond in the afternoon with the front of the VUE sporting a hot, dried-bug collection of specimens from across the country. It looked like the VUE had a mustache. FD got acquainted with his new staff, and introduced me as his old Parishioner to everyone he met. I was honoured to share the trip with him, and the destination made all the road hours worth it.
During my days there, I'd make day trips to Vancouver just to walk around and get familiar with the city. It helped me get through the next year working at the Call Centre knowing where I would be going after. My academic advisor at VFS met me for a tour of the acting campus where I met Bill, the head of the acting department. I liked Bill the first time I met him, and my respect for him would only grow as I worked with him throughout my school year.
The day I was leaving, FD and I went to gorgeous Stanley Park in downtown Vanouver. On of my favourite things about the city is it's conservation of the nature that surrounds it. I had the idea to dip my right hand in the bright blue Pacific Ocean, and within 24 hours I was back home dipping my left hand in the Atlantic.
From ocean to shining ocean.
So that's where it ends. Living in downtown Vancouver now, I sing in the choir every week at FD's church in Richmond. I've gotten to know some great people there, people who make living here a joy, but I don't hang-out with FD nearly enough. It's a very big parish, and he's very busy, but very happy there, and I'm busy with my own life. It was much easier when the church was about a ten-minute walk (and yet I couldn't make it for a 9am mass ... ), and not the hour-and-a-half bus ride it is today. Plus, even with being in the choir, I'm not nearly as involved with the church as I was in Dartmouth. I missed him when he left, and now that I'm near him again, I feel like I take him for granted.
As for the trip, it's something I'll remember for the rest of my life, and even though I just sat there enjoying the sights and sounds, it's one of my biggest accomplishments, with tales I love to tell people.
In summary, Canada is big, but not impossible. It gave me a better appreciation for my country, and an appreciation for just how far from home I would be in Vancouver. Nine days by car, and eight hours by plane.
And although those eight-hour flights are no picnic, they're completely worth making just to see home again.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Is Naruto Really THAT Good?
If you don't understand that question, go to YouTube and view the "Videos being watched right now" section for 30 seconds. I know, right?
Signed with the agent. Still need to get some stuff together before I can be submitted (fisrt, he's gotta knock me on my back and cross my legs over his and turn me over). Stuff like my new headshot, which you can see to the right of this very post here. --> (Yes, I realize that arrow will only point to it until my next post bumps this one, so enjoy it while you can.)
He wants a head shot that reads "younger", which makes sense to me. I already have prints of my favourite shot where I was wearing a suit, but makes me read upper 20's, early 30's (which I can pass for) when I'm 23 and still have some "youthfulness" in me. Funny that he says that, because in reality, I feel about twice my age. One of my roommates made a comment the other day that I'm like a 40-year-old man, all grumpy and keep-to-myself-ish and such. I suppose because of my night-time job and lack of sleep, I'm a little surlier than usual, but this opinion isn't new to me. I myself have felt at times like a 40-year-old virgin (hah) stuck in a 23-year-old virgin's body. I've been working-off a beer gut, I have two bad knees, I'm always concerned about money (but on the brink of a quarter-life crisis), I don't like going out clubbing, and I feel like all I do is work. Pair all this with my conservative viewpoints, and little involvement in current cultural and fashion trends, and it all paints a dismal picture of a man whose rose blossomed and whithered all too soon. I feel like my best years are behind me.
Luckily I AM 23, and do have years and years and (dare I say one more?) years ahead of me, BUT I realize I won't be 23 forever. Heck, I've already said my best years are behind me, squandered by aimlessly wasting time and money in my post-High School life. Some friends and I back home while trying to start a film production company kept commenting on our youth. "We're so young," "we have so much time," "look at how old all the famous guys are". We were much younger in 2003 when we started our feature. Now, 2008, said feature has been COMPLETED and has yet to see the light of day. Photography wrapped in 2005, we recorded an audio commentary for it in 2006 and recorded final voice-overs in September 2007. (Note: I'm going to try to make this the only time I bring up the movie until I devote a post to the whole thing someday. Trust me, there's a lot more to it than this.)
I dunno, maybe I'd feel younger if I watched this "Naruto" all the kids are postin' vidjehs of on that there inner-tube site.
Signed with the agent. Still need to get some stuff together before I can be submitted (fisrt, he's gotta knock me on my back and cross my legs over his and turn me over). Stuff like my new headshot, which you can see to the right of this very post here. --> (Yes, I realize that arrow will only point to it until my next post bumps this one, so enjoy it while you can.)
He wants a head shot that reads "younger", which makes sense to me. I already have prints of my favourite shot where I was wearing a suit, but makes me read upper 20's, early 30's (which I can pass for) when I'm 23 and still have some "youthfulness" in me. Funny that he says that, because in reality, I feel about twice my age. One of my roommates made a comment the other day that I'm like a 40-year-old man, all grumpy and keep-to-myself-ish and such. I suppose because of my night-time job and lack of sleep, I'm a little surlier than usual, but this opinion isn't new to me. I myself have felt at times like a 40-year-old virgin (hah) stuck in a 23-year-old virgin's body. I've been working-off a beer gut, I have two bad knees, I'm always concerned about money (but on the brink of a quarter-life crisis), I don't like going out clubbing, and I feel like all I do is work. Pair all this with my conservative viewpoints, and little involvement in current cultural and fashion trends, and it all paints a dismal picture of a man whose rose blossomed and whithered all too soon. I feel like my best years are behind me.
Luckily I AM 23, and do have years and years and (dare I say one more?) years ahead of me, BUT I realize I won't be 23 forever. Heck, I've already said my best years are behind me, squandered by aimlessly wasting time and money in my post-High School life. Some friends and I back home while trying to start a film production company kept commenting on our youth. "We're so young," "we have so much time," "look at how old all the famous guys are". We were much younger in 2003 when we started our feature. Now, 2008, said feature has been COMPLETED and has yet to see the light of day. Photography wrapped in 2005, we recorded an audio commentary for it in 2006 and recorded final voice-overs in September 2007. (Note: I'm going to try to make this the only time I bring up the movie until I devote a post to the whole thing someday. Trust me, there's a lot more to it than this.)
I dunno, maybe I'd feel younger if I watched this "Naruto" all the kids are postin' vidjehs of on that there inner-tube site.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
It's Been A While
Yeah, I know. Q n' D update, still living in Vancouver, with two roommates, one male and one female, both Caucasian, both Canadian. Nineteenth-floor two-bedroom apartment in the hoighty-toighty (is that how they're spelled?) part of downtown Van. Also working Security at a fairly big "entertainment" company. Well, one of the biggest in BC, I would say. Working graveyard shift, and I think I've developed some strange Vampirical tendencies. I'm not saying I drink human blood, and I won't say I HAVE drank it in the past, but don't knock it before you try it. Also, pale is the new tan, really. I'll be signing with an agent Thursday morning. With the strike still ongoing I'm blessed anyone is taking anyone on. Just like Spider-man says, everyone gets one.
I'm going to refrain from names in these Blogs, which should allow me some guilt-free ranting and raving. Or some thankless praising and preening. Either way, the anonymity will save my tuccus, I'm sure.
Got to talking with an old friend again. Well, we were more than friends at one point. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. And if you don't, pretend that you do so you don't slow-down the rest of us who are here to learn, alright? I thought that she had come to dislike me, as per our last contact with each other sometime in the summer. But we both never stopped thinking of each other. I had to wait for her to re-initiate contact, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm lousy at keeping in touch with people.
I can remember coming home from a trip which was, I believe at that time, the longest and farthest I've been from said home. Walking into the train station in a human maelstrom of hugs and reunions, I see my smiling dad, and smiling bros, and a crying mom. Whoops. Funny thing, if you don't TALK to a person while you're away for two weeks in a far-off city, they have no idea what you're up to. Having fun? Meeting people? Still alive? It was all a fun mystery to her until she saw my face again.
Y'see, I have a terrible habit of thinking people know exactly what I'm up to without telling them. Shouldn't they read my mind and know automatically? Mentally download a quick update at their convenience of everything I'm up to and all my hopes and dreams? Not in this world. In this world ya gotta use a little 'ting called "comm-mune-EE-kay-SHUN". That's what this Blog was meant to be. And I'm sure you can tell by this being my first update since March 20, 2007, communication is not my strong point. I hate answering the same questions over and over again, and yet I'm too lazy to write in the one thing that was meant to aid me in answering everyone at once. Sums me up nicely.
It's hard when you're away from home. You establish a new life in a new city. New address, new people, new commitments and concerns.
It's even harder to be left behind, because hey, life goes on for you where you are. So this person who left you meets all these new people, and all of a sudden they seem like a different person. Oh hey, look at that picture of them with their new friends in this new place I've never been. I kind of sucks. I'll trot off to my same ol' same ol' while my friend forgets all about me in their whirlwind of newness. It really sucks. Are you now less important to them than their new friends?
Really, only when you yourself leave can you understand what it's like to be on the other side. Trying to keep your promise of staying in touch with people you care about, not wanting things to change. And on top of that dealing with said newness. New town. Unfamiliarity. Strangers. (I know it's weird writing about this after I've been in Vancouver for 17 months, but bear with me). And then there's coming back home. How do you want people to see you? Did absence make their hearts grow fonder? Will people even remember you? Will people even know what you're doing? (For the record, I graduated school August 17th. The program was only a year. And I don't know when I'll be home next, summer maybe, but we'll see.) You want to show people you've changed, but in a good way. You want people to comment on your improvements, and be wowed by your foreign experiences. And you want to be a part of what's going on at home; but now you've become the outsider there. You've established a new home in exchange for your old one. Which one is worth more to you? Home doesn't quite feel like home, and neither does your new home. There's an odd half-ness that takes place, meaning you're only half-home wherever you may be. Stretched-out across thousands of miles (miles has more literary impact than kilometres, let's face it).
But this is what life is all about when you're from Nova Scotia. I love the place to death, I do, and I miss it dearly. It's embedded in me, (though I am happy to have ditched the accent. Yes we have one, and yes people will think you talk like a pirate). You can take the boy out of Nova Scotia, but you can't take the Nova Scotia out of the boy who can't take his nose out of a book of cliches.
Nova Scotia, (let's be fair and generalize the Atlantic Provinces) is a place people leave. I can say probably 2/3rds or so people that I've known and met there have left it at one point. Now, maybe that's not fair to say at my age when people typically make major life changes, go to University, backpack in Europe or altogether move to the dreaded "out west", (so funny when Nova Scotians say "out west" we mean everything west of Ontario, but when westerners say "out east" they mean Ontario.) We're a tiny forgotten land, only mentioned Nationally when tragedies occur. A rich history, but what kind of future? Now look at me talking about the place being ignored when they latest news there I can think of is the tragedy in Bathurst.
So that's where I'll end this. Scattered thoughts, and I'm sure going to feel dumb reading this tomorrow. No promises on updates, but I may have some hours to pass with nigh but an inter-webbed computer at my disposal in the coming weeks. Actually, I HAVE had that for a few months now, and it's just now I write a new entry.
So to help me squeak-out a few posts every month, please send me any questions you have. Really, send anything, and with my "no name" (great brand) policy, questioners will, of course, be anonymous. Questions, comments, rants, raves, reviews. Go nuts. Help me help you help me.
Or something.
I'm going to refrain from names in these Blogs, which should allow me some guilt-free ranting and raving. Or some thankless praising and preening. Either way, the anonymity will save my tuccus, I'm sure.
Got to talking with an old friend again. Well, we were more than friends at one point. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. And if you don't, pretend that you do so you don't slow-down the rest of us who are here to learn, alright? I thought that she had come to dislike me, as per our last contact with each other sometime in the summer. But we both never stopped thinking of each other. I had to wait for her to re-initiate contact, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm lousy at keeping in touch with people.
I can remember coming home from a trip which was, I believe at that time, the longest and farthest I've been from said home. Walking into the train station in a human maelstrom of hugs and reunions, I see my smiling dad, and smiling bros, and a crying mom. Whoops. Funny thing, if you don't TALK to a person while you're away for two weeks in a far-off city, they have no idea what you're up to. Having fun? Meeting people? Still alive? It was all a fun mystery to her until she saw my face again.
Y'see, I have a terrible habit of thinking people know exactly what I'm up to without telling them. Shouldn't they read my mind and know automatically? Mentally download a quick update at their convenience of everything I'm up to and all my hopes and dreams? Not in this world. In this world ya gotta use a little 'ting called "comm-mune-EE-kay-SHUN". That's what this Blog was meant to be. And I'm sure you can tell by this being my first update since March 20, 2007, communication is not my strong point. I hate answering the same questions over and over again, and yet I'm too lazy to write in the one thing that was meant to aid me in answering everyone at once. Sums me up nicely.
It's hard when you're away from home. You establish a new life in a new city. New address, new people, new commitments and concerns.
It's even harder to be left behind, because hey, life goes on for you where you are. So this person who left you meets all these new people, and all of a sudden they seem like a different person. Oh hey, look at that picture of them with their new friends in this new place I've never been. I kind of sucks. I'll trot off to my same ol' same ol' while my friend forgets all about me in their whirlwind of newness. It really sucks. Are you now less important to them than their new friends?
Really, only when you yourself leave can you understand what it's like to be on the other side. Trying to keep your promise of staying in touch with people you care about, not wanting things to change. And on top of that dealing with said newness. New town. Unfamiliarity. Strangers. (I know it's weird writing about this after I've been in Vancouver for 17 months, but bear with me). And then there's coming back home. How do you want people to see you? Did absence make their hearts grow fonder? Will people even remember you? Will people even know what you're doing? (For the record, I graduated school August 17th. The program was only a year. And I don't know when I'll be home next, summer maybe, but we'll see.) You want to show people you've changed, but in a good way. You want people to comment on your improvements, and be wowed by your foreign experiences. And you want to be a part of what's going on at home; but now you've become the outsider there. You've established a new home in exchange for your old one. Which one is worth more to you? Home doesn't quite feel like home, and neither does your new home. There's an odd half-ness that takes place, meaning you're only half-home wherever you may be. Stretched-out across thousands of miles (miles has more literary impact than kilometres, let's face it).
But this is what life is all about when you're from Nova Scotia. I love the place to death, I do, and I miss it dearly. It's embedded in me, (though I am happy to have ditched the accent. Yes we have one, and yes people will think you talk like a pirate). You can take the boy out of Nova Scotia, but you can't take the Nova Scotia out of the boy who can't take his nose out of a book of cliches.
Nova Scotia, (let's be fair and generalize the Atlantic Provinces) is a place people leave. I can say probably 2/3rds or so people that I've known and met there have left it at one point. Now, maybe that's not fair to say at my age when people typically make major life changes, go to University, backpack in Europe or altogether move to the dreaded "out west", (so funny when Nova Scotians say "out west" we mean everything west of Ontario, but when westerners say "out east" they mean Ontario.) We're a tiny forgotten land, only mentioned Nationally when tragedies occur. A rich history, but what kind of future? Now look at me talking about the place being ignored when they latest news there I can think of is the tragedy in Bathurst.
So that's where I'll end this. Scattered thoughts, and I'm sure going to feel dumb reading this tomorrow. No promises on updates, but I may have some hours to pass with nigh but an inter-webbed computer at my disposal in the coming weeks. Actually, I HAVE had that for a few months now, and it's just now I write a new entry.
So to help me squeak-out a few posts every month, please send me any questions you have. Really, send anything, and with my "no name" (great brand) policy, questioners will, of course, be anonymous. Questions, comments, rants, raves, reviews. Go nuts. Help me help you help me.
Or something.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Live In A Hole
Got my place more so together now. Posters up, Jedis fighting on the fireplace mantle. Yep, feels like home. Got a dresser and futon from Ikea, man is that place overwhelming. Surrounded by fancy Swedish words for furniture, $0.50 hot dogs, and every little knick-knack that you wouldn't think you need; but it’s so CHEAP.
Feels nice to have a livable place again, I was able to write my entire location shoot script in about two hours, when it took me previously four weeks to finish it. Much better place to work. School now is pretty much going to involve Scene Study, Acting and Singing for the next few weeks, as those are the remaining classes with end-of-term presentations. We did the Movement piece on Wednesday, and thank goodness that class is over. One more term with that teacher, and I'd move a mint down his throat until it gets stuck. Or maybe not, I'm not really all that violent or confrontational.
This term has really flown by, and next term should be a lot of fun; location shoots, and headshots and demo reels, oh my. The course really should be longer than one year, but that's a big part of it's appeal. Oh well, I can always do some course somewhere else, hopefully after I've had some on-set work. And that's hoping I can stay in Vancouver. Not something that's entirely impossible, but I couldn't help but feel a great sting of failure if I had to move back to Nova Scotia at the end of the year. Not to say I don't want to come home, but if I'm going to be in a film acting school, I really should be in the largest film production city in the country. I mean, if I want to act, which I still do, which is not something everyone in my class can say.
Feels nice to have a livable place again, I was able to write my entire location shoot script in about two hours, when it took me previously four weeks to finish it. Much better place to work. School now is pretty much going to involve Scene Study, Acting and Singing for the next few weeks, as those are the remaining classes with end-of-term presentations. We did the Movement piece on Wednesday, and thank goodness that class is over. One more term with that teacher, and I'd move a mint down his throat until it gets stuck. Or maybe not, I'm not really all that violent or confrontational.
This term has really flown by, and next term should be a lot of fun; location shoots, and headshots and demo reels, oh my. The course really should be longer than one year, but that's a big part of it's appeal. Oh well, I can always do some course somewhere else, hopefully after I've had some on-set work. And that's hoping I can stay in Vancouver. Not something that's entirely impossible, but I couldn't help but feel a great sting of failure if I had to move back to Nova Scotia at the end of the year. Not to say I don't want to come home, but if I'm going to be in a film acting school, I really should be in the largest film production city in the country. I mean, if I want to act, which I still do, which is not something everyone in my class can say.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
I'm Still Alive
Everything's fine here. My living accomodations have certainly improved. Feels good to live with someone I can talk to and not feel the need to avoid. The fact that we know the same people from school, and the fact that some of them are over most of the time is nice too. These are the people I love, and it's great to not feel separated from them. Not to mention the neighbourhood is nicer (in one of the most expensive parts of the city), and once I get a real bed and somewhere to store my clothes, I'll be in business. I don't think air mattresses are designed to be slept on for weeks at a time.
This is coming in the middle of a hectic school storm. I have a presentation in just about every class, need to write a short film script, and most of all a monologue. A monologue that shows the true heart of me. You see, I'm a private person. I don't like to think about myself that way, but I am. That's why it's hard for me to write these. I just don't think I can truly, in every sense of the word express my feelings here. Fear of judgment, I suppose, but just think to yourself, when was the last time your told someone how your truly feel about something (hint: it's probably the thing you least want to tell them.) I just can't bear myself like that. But, that's what acting is. Exposing your true heart for the world to see. Isn't that what you want to see in someone if you go to a performance?
I wrote a monologue already, but it wasn't good enough. I don't know, maybe if I just say what I want to right off the bat, I wouldn't have to reveal bits at a time, and really making things harder than they need to be. It's like sculpting a statue, you keep chipping away the little bits, when it's much less work, but much more risky, to chip off a huge chunk all at once. And now I'm afraid I'm wasting my creative energy here instead of where it needs to be focused. But I can't ignore my adoring public, now can I?
Recently I feel the "pulling-in-all-directions" feeling that I've felt in recent years. I think moreso now that I know literally twice the people I knew seven months ago. The people and what I do here are priority number one. So, sorry back-homers, if you have to wait a bit for me. Or if I ignore you for a bit, not because I hate you, but because I'm taking care of business elsewhere. So cut me a bit of fucking slack here, because I'm doing all I can. And those fuckers either above below or to either side of me are listening to that fucking pulsing music again that keeps me up all night. I know it's a Friday, but holy hell, I want to sleep.
This is coming in the middle of a hectic school storm. I have a presentation in just about every class, need to write a short film script, and most of all a monologue. A monologue that shows the true heart of me. You see, I'm a private person. I don't like to think about myself that way, but I am. That's why it's hard for me to write these. I just don't think I can truly, in every sense of the word express my feelings here. Fear of judgment, I suppose, but just think to yourself, when was the last time your told someone how your truly feel about something (hint: it's probably the thing you least want to tell them.) I just can't bear myself like that. But, that's what acting is. Exposing your true heart for the world to see. Isn't that what you want to see in someone if you go to a performance?
I wrote a monologue already, but it wasn't good enough. I don't know, maybe if I just say what I want to right off the bat, I wouldn't have to reveal bits at a time, and really making things harder than they need to be. It's like sculpting a statue, you keep chipping away the little bits, when it's much less work, but much more risky, to chip off a huge chunk all at once. And now I'm afraid I'm wasting my creative energy here instead of where it needs to be focused. But I can't ignore my adoring public, now can I?
Recently I feel the "pulling-in-all-directions" feeling that I've felt in recent years. I think moreso now that I know literally twice the people I knew seven months ago. The people and what I do here are priority number one. So, sorry back-homers, if you have to wait a bit for me. Or if I ignore you for a bit, not because I hate you, but because I'm taking care of business elsewhere. So cut me a bit of fucking slack here, because I'm doing all I can. And those fuckers either above below or to either side of me are listening to that fucking pulsing music again that keeps me up all night. I know it's a Friday, but holy hell, I want to sleep.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Long Live The D
Wow. Pretty sure I just saw the greatest show of my life tonight. Tenacious D's last concert on their Pick Of Destiny tour in Vancouver. I have their Complete Masterworks DVD with a concert from England, done in 2002. I expected the concert to be something similar to that, mostly just the guys with their guitars, with a few stage bits thrown in. Man has the show changed since then, namely due to the movie that they made.
The show starts with the two guys waking up on the couch in KG's apartment. They pick up their guitars and do a few songs. And if this was all the show was, I'd still be thrilled. So Lee comes in around the end of Wonderboy, and spills beer on the electrical wires. Jack gives him hell for that, but they play on. Then Jack gets the idea to ditch KG's acoustic and go electric. He hauls out something a hobo sold him, made from a toilet seat, tinfoil and strings made from tiger innards. Jack plugs it in, and the beer spill mentioned earlier causes them to die an go to hell. This is where the show really amps up.
Via a large screen on stage, we see the boys meet a fella looking a lot like "Jesus f***ing Christ" shredding on a Gibson EDS-1275. It turns out he's actually the antichrist, but he gets the Jesus thing a lot. So they ask him to join their party. Then they come across Colonel Sanders (in hell because of murdering millions of chickens) who drums, and Charlie Chaplin (in hell for being gay, y'know) who plays bass. Now they are the Fellowship Of The D.
So the guys come back on stage, and an elaborate hell set is revealed, with a triple-bass (666) drum kit, two smoking towers, and lots of cool lights. Here they play pretty much all the songs from the movie, which is pretty surprising how they adapted the story to their hell situation. This part of the show rocks pretty damn hard. The encore features "Tribute", and that's how the greatest show in the world ends. Seriously, this is something I never in a million years thought I would see in person. With Jacks movie career I thought the D would be a passing phase in his life, but they've actually been around for over ten years now. On the surface they may just seem like some novelty comedy act, but they're a lot more than just that. Their songs are really rocking, with some great vocals from Jack and guitar compositions from KG.
Anyway, I know I'm gushing here, but I'm just really pumped from this. It's a night I'll remember for a long time to come, and also a great thing to rub into a lot of faces.
The show starts with the two guys waking up on the couch in KG's apartment. They pick up their guitars and do a few songs. And if this was all the show was, I'd still be thrilled. So Lee comes in around the end of Wonderboy, and spills beer on the electrical wires. Jack gives him hell for that, but they play on. Then Jack gets the idea to ditch KG's acoustic and go electric. He hauls out something a hobo sold him, made from a toilet seat, tinfoil and strings made from tiger innards. Jack plugs it in, and the beer spill mentioned earlier causes them to die an go to hell. This is where the show really amps up.
Via a large screen on stage, we see the boys meet a fella looking a lot like "Jesus f***ing Christ" shredding on a Gibson EDS-1275. It turns out he's actually the antichrist, but he gets the Jesus thing a lot. So they ask him to join their party. Then they come across Colonel Sanders (in hell because of murdering millions of chickens) who drums, and Charlie Chaplin (in hell for being gay, y'know) who plays bass. Now they are the Fellowship Of The D.
So the guys come back on stage, and an elaborate hell set is revealed, with a triple-bass (666) drum kit, two smoking towers, and lots of cool lights. Here they play pretty much all the songs from the movie, which is pretty surprising how they adapted the story to their hell situation. This part of the show rocks pretty damn hard. The encore features "Tribute", and that's how the greatest show in the world ends. Seriously, this is something I never in a million years thought I would see in person. With Jacks movie career I thought the D would be a passing phase in his life, but they've actually been around for over ten years now. On the surface they may just seem like some novelty comedy act, but they're a lot more than just that. Their songs are really rocking, with some great vocals from Jack and guitar compositions from KG.
Anyway, I know I'm gushing here, but I'm just really pumped from this. It's a night I'll remember for a long time to come, and also a great thing to rub into a lot of faces.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Hard Times Out Of The Maritimes
So I'm up in the gym, just workin' on fitness last Thursday. My phone has a text from my roommate saying bad news. Now, maybe he's joking? He was supposed to talk to his dad in China about getting money to pay the Shaw bill. So maybe he's setting me up for a real laugh, although it would be pretty out of character for him to do so. So I get outside and call him, maybe hoping for a taste of the news to come. He says he'll talk to me when I come home. Huh. Weird, maybe he's waiting for me to walk in the door, and he'll turn on the TV, and we'll see a rerun of America's Funniest Home Videos on our restored cable. When I finally did get home, a home video of a cat falling off a TV was the last thing on my mind.
I come in and ask him what's up. He says we need to be out. By tomorrow afternoon. You see, he hasn't been paying his half of the rent since December. Since I moved in with him, we pretty much had a "Notice to End Tenancy" on the door a few days into the month. But he's always worked something out. But this is new management, and they're not taking any of his shit anymore. The day before this, I saw him "organizing" some stuff, so he told me. He thought they weren't serious when they said he had to be out by Friday at 4pm, when they change the locks. So he didn't tell me then, maybe he didn't want to worry me. Regardless, this leaves me having to pack EVERYTHING I own in one night, with about five minutes warning. So I start ripping down posters, and taking some paint off the walls with 'em. Like I care. My name wasn't on the rent, thankfully, so I won't get screwed down the road because of this. Good thing I kept my mailing address in Nova Scotia.
I start calling people, asking them if I can, well, live with them until I find a new place. Luckily, I get something arranged for the next week or so, plus I get some help moving all my stuff. It isn't until you move that you realize how much useless crap you have. Way too many clothes. Plus, I bought $50 worth of groceries over the past two days, and there was no way I was leaving that behind. So I had to move bags of that stuff too. What a pain.
So now it's back to the fun game of looking for an affordable apartment close to my school in downtown Vancouver BC; a daunting task, to be certain. I'm a little better off now than when I first moved here, as far as knowing the areas of the city goes, and it's not the time of year when a bunch of students move into new places. Plus, I have someone to look for a place with me. Which also creates a problem.
She told me that her dad put in an application to a place, and, in the heat of the excitement of maybe just having a place, I said I'd move in with her. But we haven't heard back from the place yet. So looks like we're going hunting during my week off, which should actually be easier when you're looking with someone; 2 bedrooms between two people is usually cheaper than a studio for one person. The problem arrives in the form of another place possibly being available to me, but me being bound to this other person by my word, something I would never want to go back on. The other possibly available place I speak of is a room in a house, for a pretty good price, and only a few SkyTrain stops from the school.
I like the house I'm staying in now. For some reason, I feel more at home here over the two days, than I ever did in the months I spent at my apartment. Maybe it's the fact that I actually like the people here, maybe it's the pets, maybe it's just the fact that it's a house and not an apartment; but it's nice. I'll keep everyone posted as developments transpire.
I have my first paying acting gig tomorrow. Something called "Walla". No, that's not the name of the show, it's when actors stand around and talk to each other and get paid for it. Yep. The audio is recorded in a studio and is used for ambient noise in public areas, such as a school, restaurant, or tattoo parlor. Should be fun. Or dreadfully boring, either way, it's monies for me.
And I get to see the greatest band in the world on Wednesday. So it looks like all is not bad in the world of Will. All living arrangement issues aside, everything is pretty peachy. Oh, and I shaved, so please enjoy these amusing photographs of the shaving process, complete with final product:
I come in and ask him what's up. He says we need to be out. By tomorrow afternoon. You see, he hasn't been paying his half of the rent since December. Since I moved in with him, we pretty much had a "Notice to End Tenancy" on the door a few days into the month. But he's always worked something out. But this is new management, and they're not taking any of his shit anymore. The day before this, I saw him "organizing" some stuff, so he told me. He thought they weren't serious when they said he had to be out by Friday at 4pm, when they change the locks. So he didn't tell me then, maybe he didn't want to worry me. Regardless, this leaves me having to pack EVERYTHING I own in one night, with about five minutes warning. So I start ripping down posters, and taking some paint off the walls with 'em. Like I care. My name wasn't on the rent, thankfully, so I won't get screwed down the road because of this. Good thing I kept my mailing address in Nova Scotia.
I start calling people, asking them if I can, well, live with them until I find a new place. Luckily, I get something arranged for the next week or so, plus I get some help moving all my stuff. It isn't until you move that you realize how much useless crap you have. Way too many clothes. Plus, I bought $50 worth of groceries over the past two days, and there was no way I was leaving that behind. So I had to move bags of that stuff too. What a pain.
So now it's back to the fun game of looking for an affordable apartment close to my school in downtown Vancouver BC; a daunting task, to be certain. I'm a little better off now than when I first moved here, as far as knowing the areas of the city goes, and it's not the time of year when a bunch of students move into new places. Plus, I have someone to look for a place with me. Which also creates a problem.
She told me that her dad put in an application to a place, and, in the heat of the excitement of maybe just having a place, I said I'd move in with her. But we haven't heard back from the place yet. So looks like we're going hunting during my week off, which should actually be easier when you're looking with someone; 2 bedrooms between two people is usually cheaper than a studio for one person. The problem arrives in the form of another place possibly being available to me, but me being bound to this other person by my word, something I would never want to go back on. The other possibly available place I speak of is a room in a house, for a pretty good price, and only a few SkyTrain stops from the school.
I like the house I'm staying in now. For some reason, I feel more at home here over the two days, than I ever did in the months I spent at my apartment. Maybe it's the fact that I actually like the people here, maybe it's the pets, maybe it's just the fact that it's a house and not an apartment; but it's nice. I'll keep everyone posted as developments transpire.
I have my first paying acting gig tomorrow. Something called "Walla". No, that's not the name of the show, it's when actors stand around and talk to each other and get paid for it. Yep. The audio is recorded in a studio and is used for ambient noise in public areas, such as a school, restaurant, or tattoo parlor. Should be fun. Or dreadfully boring, either way, it's monies for me.
And I get to see the greatest band in the world on Wednesday. So it looks like all is not bad in the world of Will. All living arrangement issues aside, everything is pretty peachy. Oh, and I shaved, so please enjoy these amusing photographs of the shaving process, complete with final product:
Monday, February 05, 2007
Is This Thing On?
Hey all. Sorry for the long delay. The no-showing has been caused by a family crisis that involves myself, China, and Shaw Cable. Y'see, my roommate handles all the bills, I just pay him a flat fee every month. As of November, the roomies mother in China stops paying the cable bill that came off her credit card automatically. So not only did we lose the internet in December, we now don't have cable. And he's trying to get this taken care of with his dad, also in China, but it doesn't seem to be going well. So none of this is my fault, and I can't really tell the guy to take care of it anymore than I have to. So I'm writing this from a classmate's place, who generously gives of her wi-fi, and sweet 32-inch HDTV. She also gives her groceries to me. And her mom might give me a printer.
So onto to school business. We're working with this guy named Larry Kent, a moderately famous Canadian director. This guy has a very unique style that's been described as "raw" and "truthie". Gives Colbert a run for his money, I guess. To get acquainted with this guy, we all sit in front of the camera and tell a story with which we have a strong emotional connection. So people get up, and tell their stories. And we get ripped-up by the guy. No one showed any real emotion, everyone was BS, etc. So we go up again, and more people get it; except for me and a few other people. Now I'm starting to get what he wants. I mean, my other stories were pretty weak, I was talking about things that I put behind me. So this THIRD story is better. I at least showed something, but I couldn't keep my focus. I wasn't mad at the guy for pointing this out; I was mad at myself. I knew all this about myself, and I don't want to show my weaknesses, especially pointed out in front of the class.
Larry also asks us about our favourite movies and actors, and guess what? He doesn't like our taste. We all like these awful "commercial" movies, that don't have any "real" acting. We need to watch some real actors in real movies (read: dead people in old flicks.) I'm not saying this to bash the guy, I just like sharing his method with people; treat the students like adults. Which I guess means not agreeing with anything they say or do, but that's the adult world for yah. I start working with this guy in three days, playing a terrorist interrogator. Sounds a lot like a "24"-type scenario, which is good, because that's one of the least commercial shows I've seen.
So onto to school business. We're working with this guy named Larry Kent, a moderately famous Canadian director. This guy has a very unique style that's been described as "raw" and "truthie". Gives Colbert a run for his money, I guess. To get acquainted with this guy, we all sit in front of the camera and tell a story with which we have a strong emotional connection. So people get up, and tell their stories. And we get ripped-up by the guy. No one showed any real emotion, everyone was BS, etc. So we go up again, and more people get it; except for me and a few other people. Now I'm starting to get what he wants. I mean, my other stories were pretty weak, I was talking about things that I put behind me. So this THIRD story is better. I at least showed something, but I couldn't keep my focus. I wasn't mad at the guy for pointing this out; I was mad at myself. I knew all this about myself, and I don't want to show my weaknesses, especially pointed out in front of the class.
Larry also asks us about our favourite movies and actors, and guess what? He doesn't like our taste. We all like these awful "commercial" movies, that don't have any "real" acting. We need to watch some real actors in real movies (read: dead people in old flicks.) I'm not saying this to bash the guy, I just like sharing his method with people; treat the students like adults. Which I guess means not agreeing with anything they say or do, but that's the adult world for yah. I start working with this guy in three days, playing a terrorist interrogator. Sounds a lot like a "24"-type scenario, which is good, because that's one of the least commercial shows I've seen.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
I Don't Like Me
That's not true. I love me. Really, I do, I'm my favourite person in the world. I just don't like TALKING about myself. That is true. Maybe that's why I'm bad at this whole Blogging thing. Bloggers, and writers in general are taught to write about what they know. Well, who do people generally (think they) know better than themselves?
I think this is one thing I've noticed since school started. We're asked to talk about our sensations and feelings. Which is important in being an actor, I mean no one can really tell us what we're feeling besides ourselves. Only we really know what's going on in our little hearts and heads, and once we can get in touch with that, then we can hone out craft.
I just feel really self-indulgent talking about myself. Really egotistical for some reason. I also have a tough time being really honest with how I feel online. I mean, how am I supposed to really express myself when I fear judgment. This post is not an excuse, just an explanation. I can get over this stuff, but until then, it's mostly going to be BS.
I think this is one thing I've noticed since school started. We're asked to talk about our sensations and feelings. Which is important in being an actor, I mean no one can really tell us what we're feeling besides ourselves. Only we really know what's going on in our little hearts and heads, and once we can get in touch with that, then we can hone out craft.
I just feel really self-indulgent talking about myself. Really egotistical for some reason. I also have a tough time being really honest with how I feel online. I mean, how am I supposed to really express myself when I fear judgment. This post is not an excuse, just an explanation. I can get over this stuff, but until then, it's mostly going to be BS.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Happy Days is My Favourite Theme Song
So I got some good news today. Looks like I'll back in Nova Scotia from Dec. 14-Jan. 2. Super excited. Not to say that I don't like Vancouver. Don't get me wrong, it's great. Not perfect, but great. But I pine for home again, and I know I'd likely be super-bummed if I had to stay in BC and miss Christmas at home for the first time in my LIFE. I do feel bad about breaking my agreement with FD (he got me my flight from and to YVR, and said that I could stay in Richmond as a payment to him). But I talked to him, and he was fine with it. He was just there last week, no reason why he should hog all the fun.
This whole thing came together really quick. When I woke-up this morning, I had to no idea this would happen. I just got to talking with my parents, and boom, they booked the flight almost as soon as we got the idea. This is why I keep them around.
I'm trying not to be the typical Haligonian and complain about missing donairs, but holy canoli. After trying a 'nair out here, I would punch a small animal just to get my hands on a true drippy, saucy, spicy gourmet of the Gods. And I mean a REAL donair. It's hard to explain to people in Vancouver just what they're missing when they have the FALSE food items here. The meat's no good, and the sauce tastes like it's recipe was written in a different language. Heck, even the pizza-by-the-slice places suck. They're cheap for a reason. Pizza Corner, I'm coming for you ... Even the lack of Keiths here is bothering me. Any bar back home that doesn't have Keiths either on tap or in a bottle would have their liquor license revoked. Here, it's just plain ignorance. It's available in SOME places, but not enough places. I've tried some other beers, and while they're not BAD, per se, when I went back to Keiths, there was no comparison. It was like drinking sand, and then going back to drinking water again. So much more refreshing.
Well, judging by that last paragraph, I just fell victim to my own maritime-ness.
I'll Van City it's props. I've become somewhat addicted to sushi, of which there is no shortage of out here. There's a lot of Asian culture, and very large Asian population, which is cool. Heck, my roommate's Chinese. With a Japanese name. The languages looks impossibly difficult to learn, so I'll marvel at their vast intelligence and fashion sense. The mountains here are also incredible; when you can see them. It's actually pretty cool to see the fog and clouds sitting on them when it's overcast. The rain wouldn't be so bad if I had the proper footwear. And hour of walking the rain daily can really be a pain when your feet get super-cold and wet. The city's pretty easy to get around, and while you may get approached by some unseemly folk, it's pretty safe here. They have an NHL team, and everyone's pretty passionate about them. Heck I even like them. Though I'm not the biggest CFL fan, the Lions are going the Grey Cup, after 47,000 people watched them whop Saskatchewan. There's just so much here, it's almost overwhelming. As long as you got the pockets for it, it's a great place to live.
So, until then, I'll see all of you in a month!
P.S: Tonight is the last night for the HP Home & Home Office Store campaign at Minacs. I think I'll call them up and give them the goodbye, it is toll-free after all (1-888-999-4747, if memory serves. I only had to tell it a billion people). It certainly wasn't the best job in the world, but it paid the bills, and it was something I could forget about on the weekends. This acting stuff I have to think about 24/7. It's rough.
This whole thing came together really quick. When I woke-up this morning, I had to no idea this would happen. I just got to talking with my parents, and boom, they booked the flight almost as soon as we got the idea. This is why I keep them around.
I'm trying not to be the typical Haligonian and complain about missing donairs, but holy canoli. After trying a 'nair out here, I would punch a small animal just to get my hands on a true drippy, saucy, spicy gourmet of the Gods. And I mean a REAL donair. It's hard to explain to people in Vancouver just what they're missing when they have the FALSE food items here. The meat's no good, and the sauce tastes like it's recipe was written in a different language. Heck, even the pizza-by-the-slice places suck. They're cheap for a reason. Pizza Corner, I'm coming for you ... Even the lack of Keiths here is bothering me. Any bar back home that doesn't have Keiths either on tap or in a bottle would have their liquor license revoked. Here, it's just plain ignorance. It's available in SOME places, but not enough places. I've tried some other beers, and while they're not BAD, per se, when I went back to Keiths, there was no comparison. It was like drinking sand, and then going back to drinking water again. So much more refreshing.
Well, judging by that last paragraph, I just fell victim to my own maritime-ness.
I'll Van City it's props. I've become somewhat addicted to sushi, of which there is no shortage of out here. There's a lot of Asian culture, and very large Asian population, which is cool. Heck, my roommate's Chinese. With a Japanese name. The languages looks impossibly difficult to learn, so I'll marvel at their vast intelligence and fashion sense. The mountains here are also incredible; when you can see them. It's actually pretty cool to see the fog and clouds sitting on them when it's overcast. The rain wouldn't be so bad if I had the proper footwear. And hour of walking the rain daily can really be a pain when your feet get super-cold and wet. The city's pretty easy to get around, and while you may get approached by some unseemly folk, it's pretty safe here. They have an NHL team, and everyone's pretty passionate about them. Heck I even like them. Though I'm not the biggest CFL fan, the Lions are going the Grey Cup, after 47,000 people watched them whop Saskatchewan. There's just so much here, it's almost overwhelming. As long as you got the pockets for it, it's a great place to live.
So, until then, I'll see all of you in a month!
P.S: Tonight is the last night for the HP Home & Home Office Store campaign at Minacs. I think I'll call them up and give them the goodbye, it is toll-free after all (1-888-999-4747, if memory serves. I only had to tell it a billion people). It certainly wasn't the best job in the world, but it paid the bills, and it was something I could forget about on the weekends. This acting stuff I have to think about 24/7. It's rough.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
New Picture
Some people (who will remain nameless) have complained about the photo quality in my last post. What's a guy to do when he has ONE light source in his room (that he has to power with a stationary bicycle). Anyway, here's a pic I snapped of myself at school, while I was having a "private moment".
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
October Update
Things people have said to me since I moved to Vancouver that no one said to me back home:
1. I look like Superman. Or Clark Kent, but hey, remove the glasses and add a jerry-curl and you have the former. This has been said by at least three different people who have no contact with each other. I guess it's the best compliment I've received so far, which rocks. Because Supe is cool. My Halloween costumer idea (pre-beard) was to dress in a suit and reporter hat with glasses and have a Superman t-shirt underneath that I could tear-away my dress shirt to reveal. It's been done before, but it beats the alternative of a full-on skin-tight blue red and yellow body suit. I need to drop a few libby's before I could pull that off.
2. I am big/I intimidate people. Now, the first part is true, I however have not felt "big" in this later part of my life. I know I'm physically large, but I don't "feel" it. Hard to explain. People have said I'm tall, but not "big". They don't mean fat either. I think. Now, the second part truly surprises me. I don't know what I do to intimidate, but I hope I can find out what it is so I can use it to get ahead in line at the IGA.
3. Ok, so audition teacher was the only one to say this, but he says my "look" is best described as "college boy next door". That's good, but average. But average can go either way, and can change easily, which is good. My ultimate goal is to make myself as versatile as possible, and changing-up the look. Might as well experiment while I'm at a school that encourages it. The hair thing could be just the beginning.
People also say I look like Matt Damon, but people said that in Nova Scotia too. Doesn't fit in the list, just thought I'd add it here for kicks.
We just did our Instructor Shoot last week. It was cool because I got the lead, the hardest part of that being not letting it go to my head. Really, no one wants to act or hang out with some cocky asshole who got his attitude from being in the first class production. No matter how big I could get, I can never let it get to my head. No one stays on top forever. But hey, I gotta start climbing first. There will be plenty of humbling moments along the way.
The cool thing about the Instructor Shoot is the film production class learning just as much as us actors are. They learn all the filmy-set stuff like reading the clack-board thing and knowing what to say in what order. There's a lot of words that a lot of different people gotta say. It's a lot more than just "action" or "cut". Or in Chris' case "go" and "shit, go again".
Speaking of Chris, I really miss the guy. Stuart too. I just think it'd be so awesome to have the Fishbowl Triumverate out here. We'd rock a lot of socks off. Seriously, I'm talkin' a sock-rockin' epidemic here. Now that I know more actors, it's giving me more ideas for stuff we can do with them. It's the Fishbowl way to write a story around what you have easily accessible to you.
I actually miss a lot of people out here. But I think I've found my place in Vancouver. I originally wanted to go straight to LA after school, but I'm thinking I'd be better off starting small here and move on up, or just going with wherever the flow takes me. I'd still be in Canada, and I really love the city. Plus LA is full of aspiring actors who all want to be movie stars. I'll get there in my own time.
1. I look like Superman. Or Clark Kent, but hey, remove the glasses and add a jerry-curl and you have the former. This has been said by at least three different people who have no contact with each other. I guess it's the best compliment I've received so far, which rocks. Because Supe is cool. My Halloween costumer idea (pre-beard) was to dress in a suit and reporter hat with glasses and have a Superman t-shirt underneath that I could tear-away my dress shirt to reveal. It's been done before, but it beats the alternative of a full-on skin-tight blue red and yellow body suit. I need to drop a few libby's before I could pull that off.
2. I am big/I intimidate people. Now, the first part is true, I however have not felt "big" in this later part of my life. I know I'm physically large, but I don't "feel" it. Hard to explain. People have said I'm tall, but not "big". They don't mean fat either. I think. Now, the second part truly surprises me. I don't know what I do to intimidate, but I hope I can find out what it is so I can use it to get ahead in line at the IGA.
3. Ok, so audition teacher was the only one to say this, but he says my "look" is best described as "college boy next door". That's good, but average. But average can go either way, and can change easily, which is good. My ultimate goal is to make myself as versatile as possible, and changing-up the look. Might as well experiment while I'm at a school that encourages it. The hair thing could be just the beginning.
People also say I look like Matt Damon, but people said that in Nova Scotia too. Doesn't fit in the list, just thought I'd add it here for kicks.
We just did our Instructor Shoot last week. It was cool because I got the lead, the hardest part of that being not letting it go to my head. Really, no one wants to act or hang out with some cocky asshole who got his attitude from being in the first class production. No matter how big I could get, I can never let it get to my head. No one stays on top forever. But hey, I gotta start climbing first. There will be plenty of humbling moments along the way.
The cool thing about the Instructor Shoot is the film production class learning just as much as us actors are. They learn all the filmy-set stuff like reading the clack-board thing and knowing what to say in what order. There's a lot of words that a lot of different people gotta say. It's a lot more than just "action" or "cut". Or in Chris' case "go" and "shit, go again".
Speaking of Chris, I really miss the guy. Stuart too. I just think it'd be so awesome to have the Fishbowl Triumverate out here. We'd rock a lot of socks off. Seriously, I'm talkin' a sock-rockin' epidemic here. Now that I know more actors, it's giving me more ideas for stuff we can do with them. It's the Fishbowl way to write a story around what you have easily accessible to you.
I actually miss a lot of people out here. But I think I've found my place in Vancouver. I originally wanted to go straight to LA after school, but I'm thinking I'd be better off starting small here and move on up, or just going with wherever the flow takes me. I'd still be in Canada, and I really love the city. Plus LA is full of aspiring actors who all want to be movie stars. I'll get there in my own time.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Happy Birthday, Mr. Prime Minister
Because Canada doesn't have presidents. Just a quick update on my birthday. I went out with my friends from VFS, and I had a great time. It's good to be so far away from home and still feel loved. Thanks to everyone who sent me well-wishes on staying alive for one more year. Anyway, here's an update of me as of right now. I can wash my hair as of tomorrow, which is good. But now I have to roll-up my sleeves and caress my "pipes" on occasion. Seriously. Here's a photo comparison of me from when I was clean-shaven and hair-oriented, to now, when I don't shave or even wash my hair. Oh how the mighty have fallen.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
What's Goin' On
Hey gang. So, as most of you know, I'm at school for acting. But what exactly I'm doing may not be known quite as well. So, here's a brief rundown of what I'm doing in each of my classes.
Voice: Breathing work. A lot of the early stuff we're working on has to do with loosening the rib area and breathing into the back ribs, making the parts around the middle soft and relaxed. We're finding areas of the body and trying to vibrate them with our sound.
Singing: Similar to voice, with more relaxation (think rolling around on the floor, and letting everything go.) Of course no singing yet, as we work on breath work and a bit of moving from the core (right underneath the belly button). Also, the class is called "Integrated Voice for the Actor who Sings", so think of it as ingredients on a can of pineapple hams, where they list the ingredients in order of importance.
Movement: Just what it says, really. Last class we did some sort of interpretive-dance-type thing after we were skipping through a rock garden. Oh yeah.
Improv: This class rocks. Sure we get to play wacky games and laugh a lot, but there's more to it than that. Right now we're focusing on complementarity, which is thinking of what compliments what. There's no jokes or wit necessary, it's funny because of the choices the people make to compliment certain actions or shapes.
Audition Technique: Probably the most important class, as it deals with what will become most important to us actors: Getting a job. The teacher is tougher on use than some others, but it's much better to get it at school, than to audition and blow it, and be black-listed for months in this town. We basically get audition scripts that are about two pages, and record them, pick them apart, and then do it again with improvements. It's like medicine; you don't necessarily want to take it, but you'll feel much better when you do.
Camera: This is the reason I came to VFS. This gives us actors experience behind the camera and boom mike, as we record and edit short scenes. It's not an acting class, so we can cut-loose and ham it up if we want to. The important thing in this class is learning what shots look good, and how it all comes together in the editing room. Rawk.
Scene Study on Camera: Here we take short scenes from real movies and TV shows and pick them apart and perform them ourselves on camera. We think about things like who our characters are, where we are, out relationship with the other person, what has happened so far in the story, etc. Think of this like actors covering a scene, similar to how a band covers songs when they start out.
Acting: Here's the ticket. Lots of self-discovery and revelations happening here. Lots of emotions, and tears, and lots of things I think people didn't know was in them coming out. Also, one of the teachers is giving out weird little assignments to students. Mine is interesting: Don't cut my hair or shave. Good, no problem. It's easy to not do something. Plus it gives me an excuse to see how far my facial hair can go (secret: not very far.) But whatever, it's fun to just let go. Now the teacher added the clause that I can't wash my hair or fix it until she says so.
Anyway, lots more to say, but that's all the time I have now. I have to get up tomorrow morning and do it all again. I leave you with a picture of my haggard face, and I'll make sure to give an image update every now and again.
Voice: Breathing work. A lot of the early stuff we're working on has to do with loosening the rib area and breathing into the back ribs, making the parts around the middle soft and relaxed. We're finding areas of the body and trying to vibrate them with our sound.
Singing: Similar to voice, with more relaxation (think rolling around on the floor, and letting everything go.) Of course no singing yet, as we work on breath work and a bit of moving from the core (right underneath the belly button). Also, the class is called "Integrated Voice for the Actor who Sings", so think of it as ingredients on a can of pineapple hams, where they list the ingredients in order of importance.
Movement: Just what it says, really. Last class we did some sort of interpretive-dance-type thing after we were skipping through a rock garden. Oh yeah.
Improv: This class rocks. Sure we get to play wacky games and laugh a lot, but there's more to it than that. Right now we're focusing on complementarity, which is thinking of what compliments what. There's no jokes or wit necessary, it's funny because of the choices the people make to compliment certain actions or shapes.
Audition Technique: Probably the most important class, as it deals with what will become most important to us actors: Getting a job. The teacher is tougher on use than some others, but it's much better to get it at school, than to audition and blow it, and be black-listed for months in this town. We basically get audition scripts that are about two pages, and record them, pick them apart, and then do it again with improvements. It's like medicine; you don't necessarily want to take it, but you'll feel much better when you do.
Camera: This is the reason I came to VFS. This gives us actors experience behind the camera and boom mike, as we record and edit short scenes. It's not an acting class, so we can cut-loose and ham it up if we want to. The important thing in this class is learning what shots look good, and how it all comes together in the editing room. Rawk.
Scene Study on Camera: Here we take short scenes from real movies and TV shows and pick them apart and perform them ourselves on camera. We think about things like who our characters are, where we are, out relationship with the other person, what has happened so far in the story, etc. Think of this like actors covering a scene, similar to how a band covers songs when they start out.
Acting: Here's the ticket. Lots of self-discovery and revelations happening here. Lots of emotions, and tears, and lots of things I think people didn't know was in them coming out. Also, one of the teachers is giving out weird little assignments to students. Mine is interesting: Don't cut my hair or shave. Good, no problem. It's easy to not do something. Plus it gives me an excuse to see how far my facial hair can go (secret: not very far.) But whatever, it's fun to just let go. Now the teacher added the clause that I can't wash my hair or fix it until she says so.
Anyway, lots more to say, but that's all the time I have now. I have to get up tomorrow morning and do it all again. I leave you with a picture of my haggard face, and I'll make sure to give an image update every now and again.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Look at These Photographs, Every Time I do They Makes me Laughs
Well, I'm all moved into my place. The first order of business here was to get new bed sheets. The ones that came with my KING-SIZED bed were PINK. Yeah, I made to sure to buy some more manly blue bed sheets, so it can impress all the ... nobody who's gonna see it. Oh well, it's more for my self-esteem than anything.
My roommate's pretty cool, a UBC student from Japan. The apartment is a one bedroom, I have the bedroom to myself, and he lives in the main room. It's a win-win accommodation. The city is damn loud and bright at night, but I can get used to it. It's also hot in my room, but my roomie says that'll change come wintertime. Anyway, here's some pics of the view from my bedroom window (that big dark glass building is the one that Angel flew out of in X-Men 3.) The last picture is the view from the main room.
School's a real joy. It's hard to get used to actually WANTING to go to school in the morning, but I'm sure I can adjust. I can't wait to actually start making flicks. It's going to be a lot of work, but the pay-off will be great.
Anyway, still liking it out here, but I do miss home. I hope everyone there is doing great, I'll see all of you again someday soon.
My roommate's pretty cool, a UBC student from Japan. The apartment is a one bedroom, I have the bedroom to myself, and he lives in the main room. It's a win-win accommodation. The city is damn loud and bright at night, but I can get used to it. It's also hot in my room, but my roomie says that'll change come wintertime. Anyway, here's some pics of the view from my bedroom window (that big dark glass building is the one that Angel flew out of in X-Men 3.) The last picture is the view from the main room.
School's a real joy. It's hard to get used to actually WANTING to go to school in the morning, but I'm sure I can adjust. I can't wait to actually start making flicks. It's going to be a lot of work, but the pay-off will be great.
Anyway, still liking it out here, but I do miss home. I hope everyone there is doing great, I'll see all of you again someday soon.
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