Tears of a Clown

I had a casting the other day for a print job. In a print audition you basically just stand there while they take a picture, usually a close up, of your face. This causes me much stress. I generally do not like having my picture taken. There are some people who as soon as they see a camera leap into frame, I am not one of them. I don’t have any desire to stare at a still of my face, because simply put, it will do me no good. I often curse the invention of the digital camera. They were certainly merrier days when I had only my imagination to tell me what I looked like in some one else’s picture. I mean we are talking cover of Vogue that was until technology struck. (Insert sad sigh) But I am digressing and aging myself, which brings me back to the point of this story. My audition.

I entered the room with 3 other girls and we stood shoulder to shoulder facing a table that sat 4 people looking at pictures, computer screens and us. There was a girl off to the side, the casting assistant I assumed and the photographer. The photographer stepped up to the girl to my right took her picture, got her profiles and a full body shot. My turn. I breathe and try to remain calm, hoping I come out as pretty as the girl to my left who has a full model book with her. He stares at me getting ready to take my picture and then this happens –

Photographer: “do you have a sister who lives in the valley”?
Me: "I do not."
Photographer: “well you have a twin out there.”
Me: "oh I hope that is a good thing".
Photographer: “oh yeah she is great, every one calls her the cougar.”
Me: "Huh. Oh. Um."
Photographer: “I mean she is not old”
Me: "I guess I will just take that with a grain of salt"
Photographer: “you know she is just - grrrr. Ok smile.”
Camera: click!

Remember, this is in a room full of people and he just told me I have a doppelganger that is called the cougar. Things couldn’t have gone more poorly for me and now I am convinced that the wrinkle that Kris tells me he doesn’t notice is clearly etched into my face like a Grand Canyon. How in the world could anyone expect me to take a good picture after this? Why in the world would anyone want to cast a girl when the photographer just told her she looked like a cougar and not the cuddly kitty kind.

This is my life. It really is. When I got home and told Kris what happened to me he laughed and said, “I love your stories.” Well, great, I am glad I can provide some joyfulness into your life b/c now I will be staring in the mirror emphatically looking for signs that I am shriveling up!
I am not sure how these things happen to me but they do. Constantly. I have to believe that these things happen to me for a reason. I tell myself over and over - well what great stories I will have to tell when I am on The Letterman Show or giving an interview to Vanity Fair. These stories will show my fans how likeable and approachable I am. I can easily be in the “just like us” section of Us Weekly! Or maybe it is just training because I am destined to be the sidekick, the comic relief on an Emmy winning half hour comedy that airs on HBO. Yes! That must be it, I am sure of it. Well, now that I have worked through this go ahead people have a laugh at my expense bc in the end it will be me laughing all the way up to the stage to accept my Golden Globe. (yes, just keep telling yourself this Kate)

Don't Cry for me Argentina (and everywhere else)

I was having a shit day today and I am not sure how it happened. I went to bed last night in a relatively gleeful mood and I woke up feeling like life was trying to kill me. I tried every preventative method to overcome these gloomy feelings but none of my go to tricks helped. I pedaled as fast as my legs could go on the bike at the gym, but instead of pushing the emotions out, they came flooding up and I had to quickly hightail it out of there before I started crying on the shoulder of the man biking next to me. (lucky bastard has no idea how close he came). I came home and worked on some acting projects hoping that being productive would make me feel empowered as opposed to helpless. Did not work. I even went through magazines trying to piece together looks that I want for my fall wardrobe knowing that clothes always make me feel better. However, my will to be a fashion icon was trumped, heavily, by my will of despair. Finally I just gave in and started to cry.

Now I am hesitant to admit this b/c my last post seemed to have left the impression that I am a bit of a loon. I mean, fine I will admit that maybe saying I had become, albeit briefly, a paranoid schizophrenic might have had something to do with those sentiments being hurled in my direction. But this cry was different. This cry led me to a revelation. Two things happened that led me to this revelation. The first was this; as I was walking/crying to the bathroom Jeff Buckley began to play and I was immediately overcome with a recognizable feeling. The second was; the reason I was heading to the bathroom was to get my braces to put in my mouth. Jeff Buckley, braces, Jeff Buckley, braces, recognizable feeling…Oh shit. I am still my teenage-self, crying and wearing braces. I am stuck in a perpetual puberty!

I am in my thirties and once a month I go to the dentist to get a new set of braces. While, yes, this time my teeth aren’t covered in metal I still can’t bite into an apple for about 3 days each month. And I have a lisp. Also, I am still using music to enable my emotional addictions.

The worse thing is that this revelation didn’t stop me. As soon as Jeff Buckley ended I manually chose the next song to play – “The Flame” by Cheap Trick. And I cried some more and it felt good! And then I kept going – “You are so Beautiful” by Joe Cocker, “Romeo and Juliet” by Dire Straits, “Thinking about You” by Radiohead, the list went on and on and so did my crying. It was like a drug and I did not want to stop.
I remember when I was younger, my friends and I would make tapes of sad songs, we called them chill tapes. Then we would lie down and cry as we listened to our chill tape, each sad song playing over our tape recorder. It was the best feeling. And to be honest, it still is.

I have to say, as I admit to the occurrences of this afternoon, I am not totally horrified. The braces part isn’t great but I enjoyed feeling like that girl again. I am glad I haven’t lost that part of myself. I hope there is a little bit of that teen-age girl in each of us because there is something about that time in my life that was magical, painful and really beautiful. And I don’t want to forget that. God, as I write this, remembering, my eyes are starting to well up again. Cue the music.