Before I become too excited in life, work, and everything, I guess it is time to stop and update the world, or those in the world who are interested and read this blog, that I was offered the part of Barnette Lloyd in Crimes of the Heart through the StageRight Theatre Company. Rehearsals start next Wednesday and I get the schedule for rehearsals as well as when we will perform at that time. Looks like performances will run from mid- to late- August pretty much until the end of September. For those wanting to come and see it, it looks like you have plenty-o-time.

I got up. Took a shower. Went to work. Spoke with Gary. Eventually got done with work. Went home. Ate something (because I was hungry). And then put gas in the car and drove to Salt Lake for the call backs. When I got there the director said, “We have people who need to be somewhere else in, like, twenty minutes… so I will be reading them first.” Those people came and went for the rest of the time I was there. Gotta love preferential treatment when, as far as I could see, none was deserved. That is my opinion.

Anyway. Got there. Sat around for almost an hour and a half and then the director pointed at me and said, “You are going to read with,” bang, bang, and bang. Three different girls. Three different times. All back to back. Bing, bang, you’re done. After the first reading, with the, in my opinion, most attractive girl of the bunch who also had a voice like nails on a chalkboard, the director said, “John,” first time she’d used by name, she said, “John, I need you to act like you are interested in these girls, not that you are only interested in the information for the court case.” So, I became more interested in the girls.

However, I’d just spent the past hour and a half watching these girls act and act opposite each other in various combinations and I couldn’t work past a couple of thoughts. First, if I got the part I would have to spend a lot of time with these people. And second, none of these actors could really act. Sure, it was clear that they’d all done this for a while and with the time involved in acting had gotten somewhat proficient at knowing what a director wanted to see; but I sat and watched interpretation after interpretation of character by a lot of different women and the outcome, for me, was that I was no longer certain I wanted to be a part of that. Yes. Community theatre. Home of the underdog and those who don’t have the guts to try for real jobs. But still. Think about it. Night after night after night with these egos who want you to take them very seriously and who don’t give off the impression that they should be taken seriously.

Okay, maybe I’m wrong in that. But the third thought, and this is where I really come into form, was that the belle of the ball last night, the girl you know is going to be cast in a significant part, was not attractive. Was not what the world would call attractive. And was given preference because of… I have no idea why. Honestly. No idea why. Maybe it’s just the idea of reading scripts. I have to admit that I am not certain if I even did all that well last night when it came to that. But to watch those women go I walked away, when I was told I was done, with a sick feeling, wondering what I’d started getting myself into. When I got up this morning, that feeling and sensation was still there. And yes, I understand it might just be gas, but really, what have I gotten myself into?

I knew a girl once who said, to me, “You know you love me.” She would say later on, “That’s just something I say,” and having dated her for some time and never having heard it before, as well as having been in the situation when she said it, I am pretty certain that she was making an empirical statement and not just something she liked to say.

This evening I walked down to the 7/11 on Freedom or one of those streets to get a candy bar. Sometimes you just need a candy bar. The guy behind the counter, as he was taking the money for the purchase, said, “Are you having a good evening?” My pat answer, regardless of who asks that question is, “Sure,” or, “Yes,” or, “Absolutely.” Unless, of course, you are my mother and then I have other answers that all have various stages of meaning which, if you are listening in and unaware of what the nuance, all you hear is that I am doing okay.

I don’t know if there was something in my face or manner, but he followed up with, “Are you sure?” I said, “Yup,” and then waved, did one of those patently fake smiles that everyone does when they want people to know that they are probably not okay, but at the same time it is none of their business, and I walked out of the store. There were several police cars in the parking lot, four or five cars, one at the pump, and a lady emptying her pockets for a police officer for who knows what crime. Does it really matter?

As I walked down the street, that girls words came back to me. “You know you love me.” No. I didn’t. I can tell you her name. I can describe her. I can talk about the dates we went on. I can talk about our kissing and the long talks. I can even tell you about breaking it off with her, never seeing her again, and the fact that she, like most every other girl I’ve ever dated, is now married. I don’t have her phone number anymore and if I do, I don’t know where. Well, maybe on another computer. That’s pretty simple. But still, she said, “You know you love me,” I had to stop and think about it and when I cam back with a negative answer, I did what I always do, I turned on my heals and ran in the opposite direction.

Partially as a result of that Kim talked to my dad about me. He sat me down and gave me a laundry list of things he felt I wasn’t doing with my life. And I ended up in New Hampshire, poor, broke, working at a bookstore at 30, and trying to come to terms with my life and what had drawn me to that point.

What has drawn me to this point?

Without giving away what is going on, because I am still working through some rather positive developments in my life, I think it is time for me to sit down and make some choices. Tomorrow I go to a callback for a play I auditioned for. I get to wear business attire. I get to speak with a Southern accent. The play, itself, will probably cost me a bit of money in the to and fro aspect if I get the part I auditioned for.

Today I had to come up with a way of getting almost $400.00. As the day wore on, I had several solutions to the problem of not having the money and being a poor college student. The solutions included selling my gun, selling my Ipod, and selling my soul. I am not sure, with all said and done, that I have not sold my soul today. Not literally, just figuratively. When I got up this morning I asked for one thing. That I would be comfortable in the meeting I was going to and if this whole thing was a direction I could go in that money would not be an immediate issue. It’s not. And at the same time, as I was walking down the road from the 7/11 I began to wonder if there wasn’t more to the clerks question, “Are you having a good evening?”

You know, my life is changing. I moved to New Hampshire to move back to Utah. I am living in Utah, attending school, finding out new things about my life, and wondering why all of this is happening now. Why now? Why in my thirty’s do I get to find talents that I’ve never bothered to see, deal with, or experience before now? What is different? Why is this so important to me?

You know you love me. It’s a statement of fact. Are you having a good evening? A question of concern, maybe. Those questions feel like they should be tied together somehow. I feel like the one goal I’ve had my entire adult life is about to be put on hold again – and tonight I am not talking about writing. Sure, writing may go back on hold, but that is almost a secondary priority. I think today scares me more than excites me. At the same time I am extremely grateful for those who have made offers to me today to help me pursue this next adventure. I really do love you all.