The Wyrd Sisters

Today’s edition of Amazing Stories follows the unlikely tale of Jack and Julie Doyle…

It was about 11pm last night and Thom and I were getting ready to make our way to bed when the phone rang.  Thom picked up and immediately fell into an expression that said someone was seriously injured or dead.  I found out it was his parents on the line, so I picked up the second phone to hear what devastating news they had.

Thankfully, no one was hurt, but their home had been broken into.  The jerks broke in that morning and completely ransacked the place.  They took everything of value–electronics, computer, jewelry, movies, old LPs, and a ton of stuff that was just irreplaceable.  The Doyles were devastated.

They called us from a restaurant where they had escaped for a bit of peace.  The police had been with them all afternoon (the police were actually the ones who called the Doyles after their bug-sprayer found the house in its horrible condition).  There were no prints and no leads.  The Doyles filed the reports they needed to and started making a list of all the possessions that were missing on the small chance that they would turn up in a pawn shop and be linked back to the thieves.

We felt just terrible for them.  I couldn’t imagine how violated that would make me feel, how angry and utterly impotent to do anything about it.  Some of the biggest losses weren’t about monetary value either–every picture they had taken for the past six years was on their computer and completely irreplaceable.  Her grandmother’s wedding ring was gone as well as her own engagement ring.

Surprisingly, they seemed to be handling it well–they had perspective on the fact that it was all just stuff, and they were thankful it wasn’t someone they loved that was lost.  So we got off the phone, feeling sad and angry for them, at a loss at what to do to help.  Our eyes were opened to the fact that this kind of thing can happen to people you love, can happen to you.

We called my parents who live in the same city and told them the situation, just so they could call and offer any support they could.  Then we went upstairs to bed.

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And here’s where it gets amazing…

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Just as we were getting settled in, the phone rang again.  Oh, no, I’m thinking, what’s wrong now?

Again, Thom gets to it first, and again the sound of his voice alerts me to get on right away.  Only this time, he doesn’t sound upset or concerned, but jubilant.

I pick up quickly, just in time to hear, "They caught them!  All of our stuff was still in the car!  They caught them!!"

I couldn’t believe it.  Can you imagine the chances of that happening?  The idiots were already across the state line, and through some wonderful karma they got pulled over for driving erratically.  The cops in California saw the load of stuff in their car and started investigating.

I’m awed.  It just shows me that good things happen to good people, and the Doyles have certainly earned their share of blessings.

I’m thankful that most criminals are so stupid, and that some horrible stories do have happy endings.

I feel compelled to share the disturbing photo attached to the top story on my Yahoo page this morning:

The caption attached read, "A U.S. Marine writes an identification number on the forehead of an Iraqi man detained during a search in Haditha, 220 kilometers (140 miles) northwest of Baghdad, Wednesday, May 25, 2005…"

Does anyone else see something wrong with this picture?  Perhaps there’s a perfectly logical reason we’ve reduced detainees to numbered cattle, but I’m having a difficult time understanding how such a system can have any effect but to dehumanize the Iraqi people in the eyes of the US military.  It’s practices like this that make the incomprehensible abuse at Abu Ghraib possible. 

I don’t really need to talk about all the things this war has done to sully America’s reputation (both in the eyes of its own citizens and to the people around the world), but do we really need to fuel the fire with images like this?

I am not belittling in any way the incredible work our soldiers are doing right now.  They are brave men and women, and I wish they didn’t have to risk their lives for this war.  I wish our president had respected them enough to use them as an absolute last resort instead of tossing them into harm’s way for his own personal agenda.  And I wish that he had been smart enough to make this the quick confrontation he assured us it would be.

During a time of war it is even more important to remember the one thing that defines this country, that makes it a country worth emulating: integrity.  Our nation’s fundamental belief that all people have the right to a free existence, that all life is valuable.  And if our government and our soldiers lose the ability to see Iraqis as people, stops valuing their lives, then we will lose that integrity.  We will be no better than the regime that we have replaced.

I have officially moved into the realm of The Victim.  I got hired for the movie I auditioned for last weekend in my "yoga state of mind."  It’s an urban mystery feature, and it’s being produced in connection with the The Color Film Collaborative. 

I’ll be playing a character who is murdered halfway through the film.  I have some fun scenes with a boyfriend to establish me as a sympathetic character, then it’s Off with her Head! or Death by Chainsaw! or Oh, I Shouldn’t have Eaten That…  I guess I’ll find out how it happens when do the read through this weekend.

Then, just a couple days ago I heard from a director of a short suspense/horror film who would like me to play another character that dies.  I have the scary opening scene where I’m stalked in my own home and then WHAM!….here’s the corpse in a sheet.

Do I seem like I’d be a good victim?  Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.  Am I missing a calling in teen scream flicks?  Am I the next Jamie Lee Curtis?  I guess not, since Jamie Lee always survived those movies.  I’m the Drew Barrymore or Rose McGowan (see Scream), not the Neve Campbell.  That’s what I’d really like to work up to–ass-kicking chick who learns from the mistakes of the poor slobs who came before. 

Maybe in the next horror film that comes my way. You know, these things always happen in threes…

Finally a forward I wouldn’t mind sending.

My best friend just got on the blogging train and I have no doubt it’ll be an entertaining read.  Go check it out!!

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Playing Chicken with Marsala

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See, isn’t that already a great title?

As for things new in the land of Summer, I just got word that I’ll be filming a public service announcement for a Rhode Island fair housing group.  And as my father pointed out, I soon won’t be able to walk the streets of the smallest state in the union without throngs of fans at my heals.

If I play my cards right, my next break will be an anti-smoking ad in Delaware!

P.S. In honor of Jenn’s new blog, the title of this post is a line from one of her favorite movies of all time: Waiting for Guffman.  Katherine O’Hare also brought us: "He’s teaching me to change my instincts…or at least ignore them."

Thom and I took a yoga class this Sunday at the Art and Soul studio and I think we’re going to make it a regular thing.  I still had my "yoga buzz" going two hourse after we left–you gotta love that!  It’s like you’re floating through space and everything’s brighter, clearer.

I went to an audition in that state and I was the most relaxed I’ve ever been in that situation.  I walked into a room full of people evaluating me and there was no tension or anxiety–I just felt at home.  I read the script over once then did a take with the director, and it was natural and easy.

Of course, there is the off chance that I just seemed stoned.

tee hee

No no.  I was in some kind of altered state, but it was alert and aware.  Very cool place to spend a Sunday afternoon.

I went to see my friend Brendon Massei (aka The Viking Moses) play an acoustic set at Lorem Ipsum Books the other night.  He got into town that afternoon, shot off an email to me, and luckily I was free to come see him.

See, I’ve known Brendon since about 3rd grade and ever since then, he’s managed to breeze into my life frequently enough to remind me what an extraordinary individual he is and how nice it would be to have him around more often.

After I graduated college and was living in New York, he got my email address from a mutual friend and contacted me when he came into town.  It had been quite a few years since we had seen each other and I had no idea what to expect.

Into my favorite bar (The Fat Black Pussy Cat) wanders this scruffy-looking, furry-faced wandering minstrel.  We had as long as it would take to finish a couple beers to catch up, and in that time I found out that he had spent that past year (maybe longer) traveling around the world with his guitar.  He played shows, met new friends, slept on new friends’ couches, and moved onto the next town to do it all again.  Broken only by brief stretches of rest at his mom’s or a new girlfriend’s, Brendan lived as a nomad.

That was perhaps three years ago and he’s been doing the same thing for all this time.  Sometimes he tours with other bands, sometimes he’s on his own.  He’s always writing new material and he records it when he can find studio space.  He gets by with humility and gratitude, and he loves what he does.

It just blows my mind that someone can give up the things he does (home, food, comfort, security, money) to do what he loves.  That is a level of passion almost unimaginable to me (and I’m an artist who makes my fair share of sacrifices).  I am awed and humbled by his life–and inspired to make the most of my time on this earth.

I think I’m pretty good about following my dreams, making use of my skills, working hard and challenging myself.  But I love running into Brendon because he always makes me realize there’s another level to strive for.

So, um, yeah. I could play it cool right now, but really I’m beyond excited about this opportunity.  I’ve been doing the "happy dance" since yesterday afternoon.

Now I know the chance of any pilot actually making it to the small screen is only slightly better than the chance of Johnny Depp knocking on my front door and saying he and Tim Burton need me for their next film.

Still… stranger things have happened.

As I see it, we’ve got two very talent writers, a great director, a fantastic script, and an awesome ensemble.  I had 6 hours to bond with the people they ended up casting and I think we’ll all have a great time together.

For now I’m just going to try to enjoy the experience, learn as much as I can, and let everything else take its course.

(And if every now and then I do a little "happy dance," who can blame me?)

I GOT THE PILOT!! 

My house is a mess, I have 15 different projects on my plate, and I’m starting to feel that anxious there’s something I should be doing, but I’m not sure what that is… feeling ALL THE TIME now.  I have got to get organized.

But that’s not what I’m here to write about.

The thing that’s really on my mind–so much that I dreamt about it all night, then woke up at 5am thinking about it, fell back asleep and dreamt about it again–is that I am up for a television pilot and I’m 90% certain I got it.  That freaking 10% is the shit that’s driving me crazy.

Of course, talking about it now is probably the best way to make certain I don’t get the part.

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Fuck it.

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So last night I went to the callback for this pilot (which I won’t name here, otherwise ensuring my jinx), but I didn’t really have much faith that I would get it.  I showed up at 4pm, and based on the first audition, I knew I would be in for a long haul.  The two writers and director really took their time with everyone–they tried me out in different roles, took me in for a reading, sent me out, brought new people in, sent them out, took me back in with new people, sent me out again… and on and on for hours.

It’s an ensemble show, so they really wanted to make sure the people they cast have good chemistry.  I didn’t think much about the fact that I was still there until we got to about 8:40pm and the director politely sent about 8 people home, leaving me and four other people.  Bear in mind, the show calls for a five person cast.

The five of us were there for another hour, reading three scenes and finishing it all up with a pretty rad improv.  Maybe it means nothing that I was there in the last group.  But as we were sitting there after the improv, the whole situation suddenly felt very significant to me.  I thought for sure, as they asked us to wait in the hall one last time, that they would emerge a few minutes later, all smiles, saying, "We just had to confirm what we already knew–you guys are it–you’re our fantastic cast.  Congratulations!"

Of course what they said instead was, "Thank you so much.  You guys are all great.  We’ll let you know Friday."

There were still smiles and much back patting, but it comes down to them not saying anything for sure.

I guess I’m so fixated on this because I felt like it was so close.  I could practically taste it, sitting up there on the stage, imagining what it would be like to be on a TV show.  I let myself think I had it, and it was such a let down to not know anything for certain. 

If I had been asked to leave just an hour earlier, I would have felt good about my performance, rated myself at a 30% chance of getting it, and called it a day.  I’m used to rejection at this point, and I save myself a lot of grief by not pinning too many hopes on any one audition.

But in moments like these, I realize what a romantic sucker I still am.