I've always heard about two dueling generalizations about the personalities of those who work in showbiz/fashion. 1) They're supremely self-confident, thick-skinned people; they have to be in order to put themselves out there day after day. 2) They're some of the most insecure wrecks out there; who else needs or wants the kind of validation that only a camera can offer?
I shouldn't pretend to know any better; this morning was my first real, non-theater class/indie film school audition, but I didn't spend any of the waiting time networking with my fellow aspirants. Instead, I sat focused on concealing my awe of the roomful of 1) guys without a skin condition in sight, and 2) girls that were above my pay grade 5x over. And all for a Nintendo Wii commercial (there were maybe five people in the whole room of about 40 that look like the type who'd play video games).
I'd read up on some articles the night before, before realizing that--as much as I wanted to avoid it--I won't be able to look like I know what I'm doing. Instead, from the commute to the moment I stepped out of the studio, I kept a smile on based upon the fact that what I was doing was, by any stretch of the imagination, ludicrous. I had only two headshots, neither of which had my resume printed, and both putting my litany of acne-related scars on prominent display.
Despite leaving with a plentiful time cushion (for navigating the unfamiliar part of SOMA/bus route) and arriving 15 minutes before the scheduled time, there were already a good 20 models ahead of me. I'd read about the importance of networking at these things the night before; sure enough, friendly chitchat could be heard all over the room, and even though there were a handful of patiently-silent waiting types like myself around, everyone seem to know each other, from a million other studios and waiting rooms in some other nondescript warehouse. Even when I stepped up to the CD's table when I was called, a girl half-greeted me before politely realizing she didn't know me.
The go-see itself was only about 45 seconds; the girl nearest after me on the call sheet (thankfully, more pint-sized than me) and I stood up on Wii Fit pads and shadowboxed at the camera while laughing like it was the time of our lives. When we left, we were going the same way for a good block before she turned the corner. No small talk. No acknowledgement. No indication that we've just shared a common experience except for our identical, mandated tank top/shorts/flip-flops uniform. All the friendly chatter doesn't change this fundamental fact:
At the end of the day, everyone else wants what you want, but not all of you can have it.
"(500) Days of Summer"
I had only planned to walk through the Metreon & Yerba Buena Garden to get to the MoMA. But I was ahead of schedule on the day's itinerary, and I'd heard plenty about this movie being the romcom "for guys", "for real people", "for people who hate romcoms", all the usual indie press. Plus, it was still before noon; when else was I going to be at a theater this early & able to get in for only six bones? The previews, incidentally, showed quite a few projects with cute casts coming up, Drew Barrymore's "Whip It!" being tops among them.
I can see how this movie spoke to people, specifically the Gen-Yers whose insecurity-checkered and ambiguous relationships that pass for modern romance the movie encapsulates. Do real-life relationships start that awkwardly? Yes. Do they deteriorate, decline, and eventually crumble because of the same undiscernible, indescribable, and ultimately ridiculous-on-paper reasons? Yes. And though it highlights all of these things that should reinforce my half-serious resolution of not attempting to involve myself with anyone until I find a real job, it still managed to make me feel like I was missing out on something. (And it wasn't the dialogue, since the sole example of witty romcom banter I picked out was using "I'm unemployed" to describe the state of not getting any).
Still, aside from that setback, I enjoyed the fact that all the laughs in the theatre came at times that could only suggest they were laughs of the knowing, of those who realize they've been down that road of awkward before. Oh, and Joe Gordon-Levitt looks great in skinny suits and cardigans. All in all, not a bad two-hour investment.
MoMA/Avedon
By the time I finally walked across the YB Garden, my body was beginning to remember that it had only slept about 4 hours the night before last. A huge line wrapped around the block to the left even though it was Free Tuesday; I found it strange that there were that many people who would know whow Avedon was, before realizing that another special exhibition of Georgia O'Keefe and Ansel Adams was also running, and that - hey! - people who would come to museums in the first place probably know a famous artist or two.
My ticket wouldn't let me in until after 3, so I had a solid hour to wander about the other floors. The following realizations/thoughts came to in pretty quick succession:
1) I don't really "get" modern art.
2) There are a LOT of attractive, nervous-*gulp*-warranting girls here.
3) How am I supposed to contemplate and fish for inspiration with all the hot women around?
Fortunately, I was still thinking clearly enough to pick a few things out. (I claim no ownership of the following photos, don't sue me pretty please.)
Things I learned at the museum today:
- In the spirit of the afternoon's film: the heart is a chaotic yet splendidly colorful place.
- Damien Hirst's butterflies can be just as showy as his crystal-skull stuff, just on a smaller scale, and without dominating an entire room.
- Even if he's a drifter, a man can put on a well-cut shirt & jacket, and achieve instant respectability. Those pockmarks hidden away in the freckles could've easily come from syphilis or something similarly distasteful. but combine it with the outfit, and the distinctive eyes, and you can easily get away with some melodramatic characterization like "a lifetime written all over his face."
