In my hurry to complete the audition story, I realized I left out one of the funnier side stories.
As you recall (and if you don’t recall, then read the previous post first – then you can safely call yourself a recall-er without receiving much grief from me) – now where was I? Ah, as you recall (you’re on board now, right because I can keep these little side conversations going all day), before the auditions started we were sitting outside and I was more-or-less being as social as a squirrely little introvert can be while trying to hide under any object that would conceal me. I was still feeling punchy, but I was attempting to mask that by chatting. This chatting lead to the conversation about “sketch” and some five minutes later, the confusion about what was meant by “sketch” was cleared up. Although, I’d like to say that I was never confused about the type of “sketch” I was referring to no matter what anyone may say.
Once the mystery (that was again no mystery to me) was cleared, the woman I was speaking with said, “you know, I can see it now. When you were all talking before, I was getting that artistic energy vibe from you, but now I can see you’re all quite morose.” I nearly fell down from laughter, because honestly there’s not a morose person among us. The humor of her comment came from how quickly she’d moved us from bright, happy-go-lucky, flamboyant artist types to these rather miserable and dark little writers; it was hysterical in its suddenness. Plus, I couldn’t figure out what she’d heard that could have caused this rapid shift in her perception. The only conversation I remember went something like:
Andy! Andy! Andy! Andy! (err, that may be me speaking, maybe – you don’t know – but hypothetically speaking, how many times must someone exclaim someone else’s name in order to get noticed?)
Andy! We came up with a name for a sketch troupe, it’s called ‘Where’s Andy?’ Because like we didn’t know where you were. Get it?
You GUYS! I’m only 5 minutes late.
See, I’m not sure how that conversation suddenly turned us from a free-spirited lot of cheerful artists into a gloomy, wretched little group of writers. Maybe, I just can’t see it through this sullen lens that I tend to view the world.
If I were to assign someone to the role or morose, it would more closely fit my personality; however, I truly am too dingy to be morose. I’m just not that deep. I often don’t have the good sense to be glum. Remember, I’m the one whose head is filled with pony patting. Truth be told, Virginia Woolf and I would probably not be at the same slumber parties. (There’s got to be a sketch in that – we’ll call it “Slumber Party at Poe’s” – a slumber party with Edgar Allan Poe, Virginia Woolf, and Niccolò Machiavelli (we’ll call him Little Nicky; he’ll be the annoying younger brother of Hemingway). C’mon, it has potential!)
So, anyway I had to share that because had I been drinking when that actress made that particular observation, I would have sprayed the entire parking lot. That was funny stuff! She should consider sketch writing!