An Acting Life by Michelle Shyman

Archive for the ‘Kinda Nutz’ Category

One Woman Performance Art

Sunday, August 15th, 2010

Anything with Barbies TM is High Art.  These dolls are so iconic. Humans are highly overrated as story-telling mediums.  I want to use Barbies in a stage piece I’m writing called “Julie Lewis in the Circle”. I meant, “I want to abuse Barbies in the stage piece I’m writing.” Ruin them. Utterly.  The things one can do with a Barbie that one couldn’t do with a human on stage.  Rip their heads off, beat them with a hammer, rape them with a pencil.  Grind their faces off with a Dremel.  Melt them with an oxy-acetylene torch.  Using Barbies allows me to go way over the top in my story of child abuse and its repercussions into adulthood; and yet allows me to keep the audience in their seats, watching, instead of running out into the lobby to dial 911.

Auditions

Sunday, July 18th, 2010


oh fuck them all just fuck them all it is too insane and too bizarre the power they have over people’s dreams so just fuck them all and double fuck them in the ear by an elephant


People I Hate

Monday, May 31st, 2010
  • People who crackle their candy wrappers in the movies
  • People in walkers with oxygen tanks, puffing a cigarette
  • People who talk at the movies
  • Fat people riding carts in grocery store, with a pack of smokes in their pocket
  • People who laugh at sit-coms
  • People shopping at Nordstrom, stepping over homeless people as if they were not there
  • Most of the brainless teens who write reviews on IMDB
  • People at the fairgrounds in phony cowboy outfits
  • Anyone on on a TV show who can’t act
  • People with crop tops and blubber bellies
  • A certain TV star who said acting is a “good day job” but who really wants to “be a mom”
  • People standing in a check-out line talking on a cell phone loudly
  • Independent filmmakers who think films can only be about young, skinny people
  • People smoking in a car with kids in the back and windows rolled up
  • Hollywood development executives who think films can only be about young, skinny people
  • People smoking in the car with dogs in the back and windows rolled up
  • Directors who say, “Just do it different.”
  • People who don’t cross-tie dogs down in their pickups; but let them rattle around
  • Makeup who tries to force actresses to use colors that make us feel like we look like crap
  • People who carry dead elk in their truck
  • People who complain too much
  • Parents jogging, pushing baby carriers, with a cig in their mouth
  • People who criticize other people for their addictions, but who have not been able to resolve their own issues
  • Dick Cheney
  • Joe Lieberman
  • Liz Cheney
  • Dubbya
  • Senior

Shooting People

Friday, March 12th, 2010


I get a newsletter called  “Shooting People” from a cinematographer’s group in the UK.  Hubby saw the newsletter’s title.

“What kind of maniacs do you hang out with? !  Is this some kind of murder-for-hire? You’re scaring me.”


Her Commune Fired Her

Tuesday, February 16th, 2010


Went to a party last week. A Sweet-Young-Chickie sat next to me and told me that she broke up with her Not-Working-Boyfriend and moved out of her group housing situation. Not-Working-Boyfriend is still living in the group housing with all the roommates and Sweet-Young-Chickie is still financially supporting him, though they have split up. She’s been supporting him for 8 years.


Not-Working-Boyfriend is “dating” (Sweet-Young-Chickie’s word for “screwing”) Chubby-Masseuse, one of the other roomies. Chubby-Masseuse lives in the group house with her own boyfriend, Depressed-Go-Master, who synchronously is desperately seeking other women.


Though this commune claims to be all about polyamory, Sweet-Young-Chickie was never supposed to mention within the confines of the group house that her Not-Working-Boyfriend was “dating” Chubby-Masseuse, because (follow me here) the Depressed-Go-Master (group-house-mate and boyfriend of Chubby-Masseuse) would be upset.


Anyway, the polyamory seems to be not amory at all, but strictly polysexuality, because the “love” part stops the minute you break one of the rules. Like, for example, move out.


Sweet-Young-Chickie: “I’m moving out of the commune.”

Depressed-Go-Master: “No, I’m kicking you out. And don’t dare talk to any of us again. You can slip your final rent check under the door.”


Dreams

Thursday, February 4th, 2010


George Lucas, following him around.


My friend Venky had convinced him to spend a day with me.


But he wasn’t taking me seriously as an actor.


He kept bringing in actors who were “working the ropes” by going through agents.


I wondered what I was doing wrong because I had made a direct connection, right to the top.


Procrastination

Saturday, October 31st, 2009

So, I decided that before I could write my blog, before I could work on my four unfinished—languishing—screenplays, before I could call my costume designer for my one-woman live performance piece, before I could start working on my German accent for Nancy’s film…I must.

MUST

Organize my entire life.

You may say this is a never-ending project.

Nay, I cry.

NAY

It is finite.

Since last month, I have managed to:


• Categorize all 3846 of my Outlook contacts with their primary occupation
• Cross-categorize them with their relationship to me
• Cross-categorize each of them with one of 3 mailing lists
• Fix each of them so they are filed as “Last, First (Company)”
• Give each and every of the 3846 a follow-up date
• Color-code the categories (there are 510 categories fitting into 10 color schemes; with shades and tones of each color representing a contact’s seniority within his/her field)
• Re-organize my Firefox bookmarks to match the categories
• Replicate all contacts who have a web page into bookmarks
• Replicate all bookmarks for whom I have a contact name into Outlook
• Re-organize My Documents in Windows to match the categorization scheme, but with less detail (fewer subfolders)
• Re-organize my archived Inbox to match the categorization scheme

Wait, there’s more.

WAY MORE

Was I then able to start writing or rehearsing?

WAIT

Organize all my CDs
• Un-group the various sub-genres of rock; e.g. head, metal, house, punk, alternative, pop-influenced, blues-influenced and put them all into “Rock”
• Break the rock category up again into its sub-genres, but not physically re-organize the CDs;

o Instead

• Create an inventory database where each album is listed by genre

o And sub-genre
o Album title
o Album artist
o 2nd artist
o 3rd artist
o Producer
o Original release date
o Original or re-mix

Wait.

Not enough.

• Add a data table for each song by composer, title, and cross-referenced to the albums on which it appears. For, as you know, there are over 40 versions of “Fever” and I like most all of them
• Do the same routine for vinyl records
• And MP3s

This not being procrastination Maximus Nauseous; I then


• Reorganized my HoldList at the public library
• Cross-referenced it to my Amazon WishList and de-duped it

Whew.

NOW

I can write, rehearse, clean my videocam…

No

NO


NOOO


It occurs to me that I would save a lot of space if I would digitize all my vinyl, CDs, DVDs, VHS tapes, audiotapes, cassettes, 8 mm films, the ancient audio recordings my father secretly made of my mother 40 years ago, all family photos, and all books.

Wow, we could get rid of all physical media, plus the various machines on which to view the various media. We could save approximately 1000 cubic feet; move to a smaller house and save lots of money on a mortgage.

So, that’s approximately where I’m at in my life; I am looking for a cheap phono pre-amp; and that’s why I can’t write screenplays.

Comedy Is Sad, Part Two

Thursday, September 17th, 2009


When I go to a gathering, and there is an offensive party, I like to jump right in and try to be more annoying than the offensive person or more offensive than the obnoxious person. At the very minimum, I like to push at least one person into the punch or the dog’s water dish at each party which I attend.

I wonder if that’s why I keep getting fired.

Seriously?

  • Do you serve celery stuffed with peanut butter at your parties?

  • Are we allowed to do karaoke at your parties?

  • How about wearing bald wigs?


Sorry for the one-track mind…but is there a way we can make this into a film?


  • Man is captured by comics and given an hour to make them laugh or they will egg his house.

  • Man sees a crime and the police give him an hour to tell the story of the crime in an entertaining way or they will give the mafia his home address.

  • Man is dying of lung cancer and is trying to pass on his comic heritage to his students.

  • Dog is telling horse-walked-into-a-bar jokes and his master is sick of it: you have an hour to get a better routine or I’ll trade you in for a cat.

How can we treat comedy with any respect when it’s so funny?


Comedy Is Sad

Sunday, September 13th, 2009


I’m a famous movie star.  I’m only here because I just dropped in.  I’m a rich executive.  I’ve got boats, diamonds.  I’m a neurosurgeon.  I’m a poet laureate.

James Thurber, “Is Sex Necessary?” 1929, answers all meaningful questions about the topic.

I used to worry what the seedy clerk at the seedy store where I used to go late at night to buy only a single cucumber, a single carrot and a single zucchini would think so I used to buy a few fake things like lettuce and cardamom.

Yes, I tried to make Jim take me dancing once I said to him let’s go dancing and he said I quote we ALWAYS go dancing we just went to Keith’s wedding and danced then I said to Jim Keith got married 10 years ago.

Bring back the dead cat!! I’m mad for dead cats. I have three dead cats in Tupperware in self-storage. I have a dead dog in a nice wooden box inside a footstool. I have Chirpy’s bones wrapped in velvet…somewhere.

I can never show my face again in this crowd. Please, everyone, don’t hate me. Oh, wait, DO hate me; then I can write a film about how all the plastic people hate me. Or at least a stand-up routine.

Letters from My Readers

Wednesday, August 12th, 2009

Dear Michelle,

You are kidding, right?

Your reader

Dear Reader,

No.

Michelle

Dear Michelle,

You really think your writing partner

should quit going to auditions

so she can work on your screenplay?

Your Reader

Dear Reader,

Yes.

Michelle

Dear Michelle,

You really think your writing partner

should give up time with her family

to work on the script?

Your Reader

Dear Reader,


If you mean those bratty,

spoiled

pre-teenage

pains-in-the-butt

who could definitely stay on their own after school,

yes I do.


Sincerely,

Michelle

Dear Michelle,

Do you really think improv is stupid?

Your offended Reader

Dear Offal, Rear-End, There Are So Many Jokes I Could Make About Your Signature, Reader,


Most improv is verbal masturbation,

not acting.

If my writing partner were actually interested in art;

that is, ART,

I mean A*R*T*,

and not in having her face in a hot light,

she should be writing.

Michelle

Dear Michelle,

You DO realize why you have no friends, right?

Your Reader

Dear Fan,

Yes.  Sadly.

Michelle

Michelle Shyman