Cents and the City

Let's play a little "Jeopardy!" \nWe'll call this the Starving Actor Edition. \nAnswer: Exactly $7.92. \nQuestion: How much money do I have to my name at this very moment? \nAnswer: Five days. \nQuestion: How long am I supposed to live off of this? \nAnswer: $18/hour \nQuestion: How much do I make at my current temp assignment for a major investment bank, where I am basically paid for my ability to take up space? \nAnswer: Absolutely nothing. \nQuestion: How much have I been paid for my first two shows in New York City? \nYou get the point. \nAlthough it's only been six months since I've been playing the real-life starving actor game, I somehow already feel like an authority on the subject. \nIt was May 20 when I made my move of all moves. Goodbye, Bloomington. Hello, New York. Because I was making the move with less than $500 (I don't recommend that), I decided to save some cash by taking an 18-hour Greyhound (I definitely don't recommend that). \nMy friends and I joked about the made-for-TV-movie aspects of my move. Middle class Midwestern boy boards a dingy bus with three suitcases, two issues of "Back Stage" and one big dream. (Feel free to throw in images of "NYC or Bust" while "Fame" plays in the background.) \nBut of course the romance ends there. \nThe fact is, I wasn't so confident about the move to begin with. I didn't have money, I didn't have professional contacts and, here's a secret, I didn't have my IU degree. I had been in and out of school since '95, and although it's important for me to earn my degree, I felt that I could be moving more efficiently toward my career goals by being in the City. \nI don't have many credits left; I can take the rest via correspondence. But certain family members and friends were not subtle about their disapproval with my decision. \n"It is entirely impetuous and stupid to move to New York City with virtually no money and no degree," my mother. (I think those were the exact words.) \n"Do what you feel is right, but I don't think you have any idea what you're getting into," a theater friend/IU colleague warned me. \nBut I had to do it. It was that simple. As reasonable and wise as my family's and friends' well-intentioned words were, this was something I had to do. Stupid or not. Reckless or not. I was going. \nAnd the plan was actually very concrete. I would crash for a few months with one friend, save some money, then find a permanent place with another friend who was planning to make the move in a few months. \nWell, concrete or not, it was a bust. Very little of my initial plan actually panned out. And before I knew it, I was fired from my day job, penniless again, and living on spaghetti and watered-down tomato sauce in a Spanish Harlem sublease. \nNo doubt about it, I was down. But I was not out. At the same time of all these woes, I was cast from my first audition (and my second, for that matter), meeting a string of interesting people and having weekly, if not daily, adventures I'll remember all my life. \nIt's been a crazy six months. \nOf course I arrived in Manhattan wide-eyed and optimistic. Who would have it any other way? But the way I see it, either you rise above the less-than-perfect circumstances you're bound to encounter on such a journey, or you allow yourself to wallow in the mud and the mire of negativity and failure. You have to learn the lessons. And they're out there, believe me. \nExample #1: \nAfter a successful audition, I celebrated with a Friday night of clubbing with a couple new friends. (Contrary to my previously held conceptions of NYC life, this is a rare treat for penny-pinching urbanites such as myself who feel the sting of $10-25 covers and $6 drinks pretty quickly.) \nBut after my first drink, I felt hazy, tired and extremely drunk from one measly vodka-tonic. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself in a cab with my friends on either side of me desperately trying to keep me awake. Apparently, someone had slipped a little something in my drink. \nLesson: Watch your back. And your drink. \nExample #2: \nMost auditions, even off-off-off Broadway, require a standard headshot (8-by-10-inch black and white photo) and resume. It's the business card of the actor. \nWhen I moved to the city, not only were my current headshots not so great, they were two years old. So I needed new pictures before I could audition. \nThis is a major expense. These days, most good photographers charge around $700 (or more) for the studio time, a couple rolls of film and a contact sheet. Add another $300 to get the photos reproduced, and you're up to a grand. This is normal. \nI knew I didn't have anywhere near that kind of money, and I knew I wouldn't for a while. But I still wanted to get on with auditioning. An ad in "The Village Voice" seemed to be the answer to my prayers. \nThe ad sought out "fresh young talent, ready to jump-start an acting or modeling career." It promised professional contacts and inexpensive shots if they thought you could represent their agency. This should have been a red flag. Nobody in New York City has to advertise to find fresh, young talent. \nThe talent finds them. \nAnyway, I went to the studio, met with some "talent agents," and was told that for $300 I could get 100 head shots and 50 postcards to start out with. They also gave me some vague examples of auditions they may send me on. \nLong story short: $300 turned into $450 which turned into $650. This was every penny I had. And somewhere along the way, I knew I'd been scammed, but I was at least hopeful that I'd score some good pictures out of the whole mess. \nOh no. The shots were awful. Gritty film, bad lighting, cheap paper and just a bad picture made for the most expensive piece of garbage I've ever seen. I knew I'd been had. But I wasn't going to lie down and take it. I wanted to be a man. So I stood in the claustrophobic confines of the sleazy midtown office and staged a scene of Shakespearian proportions. \nI raised my voice, shook my fists and exposed their hypocrisy and slammed the door on the way out. Once I was out of sight, I promptly cried like a 2 year old. \nToday, the pictures are hidden in an envelope far under my bed. \nLesson: Too good to be true? It is. \nI could go on and on (believe me, I could), but one point must be made. By no means am I done. I'm sure I'll find hundreds more opportunities to make a fool of myself during the next six months. \nBut I really wouldn't have it any other way. This is life, and I'm living it. I have no idea where I'll be or what I'll be doing three months from now, let alone one year. And I love that. \nSure, stability is a good thing. And I hope to find a little more along the way. But for right now, the first time in my life actually, I feel like I'm where I should be. Doing what I should be doing. It's less about "making it" and more about self-discovery. \nAnd if I do "make it" (whatever that means), you won't hear me complaining. But much like "Jeopardy," the fun is in discovering the questions, not just the answers.\nMaintaining my daily journal has been the most profound and useful tool I've had while in New York. In reviewing entries during the last six months, I decided to include a few choice selections to better illustrate my experience.\nMay 20 - June 20\nIt's times like this that I wonder, what the hell am I doing here? Should I be in this crazy city? Do I have talent? \nDoes it even matter? Everyone here is so beautiful. I'd better catch up. \nJune 20 - July 20\nFor every beautiful person in this city, there is a total psychotic lunatic. Tonight confirmed it's often the same person. Thank God I got cast. I really needed it. My ego really needed it. \nJuly 20 - Aug. 20\nOK. So desperation has struck, and I'm ready to confront it. I'm actually considering replying to that escort ad in "The Village Voice." Problem is, I'm too embarrassed to ask whether "escort" is code for "prostitution." \nSo what? I got fired from a stupid office job. Why am I so uptight? I never used to be like this. \nAug. 20 - Sept. 20\nI hope my call back for "Hurlyburly" goes well. I think I'm actually totally wrong for the part, but maybe I can fool them. Must. Get. Night. Job. Making friends has made all the difference. Seven million people in this city, and every one of us is lonely. \nSept. 20 - Present\nI'm going on 24 years old, and I still don't have my own bed. Or chair. Or pillow, for God's sake. But today it's funny. Today I laugh. To do the Jersey "Hamlet" audition or not to do it.