There comes a point in post-grad life when everyone around you starts doing amazing things with their lives/degrees.  Friends move to LA and start getting Under-Five roles on One Tree Hill, others book roles in repertory companies, and still more are having their television pilot seriously considered by that one guy that everyone wants to seriously consider their television pilot.
Am I ignited with jealousy every time I hear about these wonderful, blessed events befalling everyone in the world except for me?  Of course I am, especially since I was recently told by a bartender that I am “too tall and down-homey” to be an actor.  I didn’t put any stake in it, until last week when I was walking down 6th Avenue and looked up to see a tiny, handsome, vaguely familiar man walking toward me.  “Woah!” I thought, “He could be Billy Crudup if he was taller than me–wait.”  And then I realized that it was, in fact, Billy Crudup.
As a result, I went into my last audition fulling expecting this to happen:

Me: Hi, my name is Keely Fl–
Auditioners: (in unison) NO THANKS, TREEBEARD!

I’d like to do a piece from Ah, Wilderness! by Eugene O’Neill.

I’ve taken to listening to “A Real Hero” by College, from the Drive soundtrack, before auditions, and then chanting to myself over and over, “And I have proved to be a REAL HUMAN BEING.  AND A REAL HERO.”

Even despite my burning jealousy, I am deep down, I’m at least a little, tiny bit happy for my friends’ successes.  But there is one thing, one thing, that really gets my goat.   And it’s this:

This is my friend Breck, who I met in Improv 101 at the Upright Citizens Brigade–on the cover of a goddamn Grouse magazine.  Alright, it’s sort of a niche thing about which I know less than nothing.   I haven’t ever been Grouse hunting, and I definitely wouldn’t be able to spot a Grouse unaided if I ever found myself perusing a woodland.  But I do remember from a very distant art history class that a “ruffed collar” means something silly and big.

#8 Google Image result, lovingly taken from the article, “16th Century Fashion: The Ruff, a Collar with Meaning.”

But even despite that sissy association, what the muffins?!  I would love an Indiana Jones hat, and to have a shotgun in one hand and a dead, upside-down bird in the other.  If this isn’t the coolest thing you’ve ever seen, then you obviously saw Drive.  And as if the magazine cover isn’t enough, he’s the first image on their website.


For Halloween, my mother suggested I go as as Alec Baldwin’s character from Beetlejuice because I “already dress like him.”

Not inaccurate.


My only hope left in life is that I’ll meet a wealthy man on one of my catering jobs, he’ll see me serving dried fig crostini, and think to himself, “How adorable, she has poor motor skills!”  Then he’ll whisk me off to that beautiful, elusive land of mystery: the Upper West Side.


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