Something ended this evening.
And that’s ok, it was supposed to.
It was a play -- my first acting performance in many years.
The audition opportunity floated into my conciousness by way of conversation.
“Are you auditioning for ‘33 Variations?’” My friend inquired.
“I don’t know… is there a role for me?” I replied.
It just so happened that the local theater was looking for someone to play a flaky chick between the ages of 20 and 30. Not a difficult character for me to inhabit, if you catch my drift.
I dusted off an old audition monologue, that interestingly, was still pretty well-memorized after a long stretch of disuse. Harper’s plane speech from Angels in America.
And that’s ok, it was supposed to.
It was a play -- my first acting performance in many years.
The audition opportunity floated into my conciousness by way of conversation.
“Are you auditioning for ‘33 Variations?’” My friend inquired.
“I don’t know… is there a role for me?” I replied.
It just so happened that the local theater was looking for someone to play a flaky chick between the ages of 20 and 30. Not a difficult character for me to inhabit, if you catch my drift.
I dusted off an old audition monologue, that interestingly, was still pretty well-memorized after a long stretch of disuse. Harper’s plane speech from Angels in America.
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