Significance

I bought a new iPhone case. It's really thin, so it makes my phone really hard to hold on to. I have big hands. I regret prioritizing "less pocket bulge" over "functionality and protection" because now it keeps slipping out of my grip. I'm begging for a shattered screen.

That's about the most significant thing that's happened in my life recently.

That and I paid $200 to take a master class with a casting director. For those of you who aren't actors, it will sound weird when I tell you I spent $200 for somebody to tell me, "Just be confident," but it was incredibly worth it. Like your therapy. I think we can get a lot of affirmation from friends and family, but eventually we just need to pay somebody so we can at least feel like we're cutting through the bullshit.

Other than that, well, I'm sitting kind of dormant. My best friend and roommate has been gone for three weeks and has texted me twice. Cheers to his ability to move on. I'm still waiting on notes from my spec script which is due in over a week, so last-minute is still a thing. I'm reading a really big book that makes me feel smart when I pull it out on the train, except that it's titled NEW YORK, so I also feel like a Romanian tourist compensating for a small penis.

Oh, and I found a new Chinese restaurant I really like. Their egg rolls aren't too crispy and they always give you extra soy sauce. But the delivery guy is starting to acknowledge how often he comes to my house. I'll have to change restaurants soon or find a way to get him fired. Either way, it will be easy.

And I really hope Lindsay Lohan's docu-series gets a second season.

I should leave the house,

TJB: Making It

And maybe tomorrow

When my dad would drop my sister and me off at school, he'd say, "I want you both to smile at least 10 times today." Even through college, he would text to ask how many times I had smiled. If you don't know my dad, it sounds a little creepy. If you do know my dad, you're like OMGzies he is the cutest. 

Now, here at the beginning of adulthood, I find myself still counting smiles.

I realized recently that I was falling far behind the quota. There's something jarring about 5 p.m. and recognizing the first faint smile crawl across your face after scrolling deadpan through a newsfeed for the umpteenth time since breakfast. I'd even get pissed when it was because of a stupid 27-things-you're-not-going-to-believe-are-the-cutest-puppies-since-which-cereal-box-are-you article. Like, if I was going to smile, it had better be for a f*cking make-Dad-proud reason.

So, I set out into the city to find reasons to smile. I walked on the sunny side of the street and crossed every time I hit a shadow. I looked up like a tourist and counted the floors of buildings. I read street signs for bus stops and the map to see where it could take me. I window shopped at stores I couldn't afford and decided what I would buy first when I could. I walked up the steps of an office building just so I could walk down them again, then circled the block to see how many people I would pass a second time.

Finally, I took a book to a park and sat, watching the throngs of people walking through a city that most only dream of visiting. And there I was, daring to live in it.

I smiled at least twenty times during my jaunt, making sure to direct each one at a passerby just in case karma was real. But that last smile that came when I realized that my dreams of making it in the Big Apple were still hiding somewhere behind my smirk - that was worth at least ten on its own.

As I flipped the book open to Chapter 8, a park pianist down the way started playing Rhapsody in Blue. I turned towards the music and smiled to the girl on my right. She looked at me with no response and turned her head away as I thought,

"Bitch."

And I smiled again,

TJB: Making It

Careers are for Queers (and I need one)

I met with a manager yesterday. The meeting had been rescheduled several times over the past week - just enough anticipation for me to draft an acceptable award speech I could use for either a Tony or Emmy (I had already committed to ad-libbing the Oscars.)

The manager had been introduced to me through my agent-who-didn't-want-to-be-my-agent-again while I was dressed in a youth sized football uniform at a Halloween party. You can imagine how I thought this was the perfect business relationship to foster six months later. But since I had just finished a successful spec script of The Mindy Project that received rave reviews (from my roommate), I decided it was time to jump back into performing. Keep myself rounded. And since my last 20 submissions of headshots and resumes went unanswered, why not start with that guy who saw me drunkenly eat finger foods?

Before you completely write off my ability to live as an independent adult, know that I used my tax return to go to the dentist this weekend. I had a cavity. Probably too many fistfulls of Lucky Charms before bed.

I woke up for the meeting with just enough time to decide which shoes to wear. Outfits can be decided the night before, but shoes are so dependent on the weather and how conveniently close my Converse are to the door. Like a good gay, I wore my expensive shoes and forgot to eat before I left.

When I arrived, I was handed a clipboard of papers to fill out. It was helpful that most of the first page wanted the information for my agents I didn't have, so I could skip straight to pages 2 and 3.

Pages 2 and 3 consisted of columns and columns of skills. In each category, I was asked to rank my ability from 0-9. Fuck being a 10. I imagined some crafty potential-talent had ranked themselves a 1-0 in singing ability, and when they bombed their first audition and the management questioned their perfect 10 self-evaluation, the talent said, "Oh no no no. I said I was between ONE and ZERO."

0-9 it was.

Once I had ranked myself in "Aerobics" (I gave myself a 7 because I was familiar with, had never done, but was fairly confident in my ability to pick it up quickly) and had come across "Billiards" a second time (I guessed too many people had confused "Pool" with "Swimming," or this list had not been updated since 1965), I started to wonder if it was all a test. Perhaps if I actually finished the list, they considered me a desperate loser who would rub my belly and pat my head for any chance at fame. But if I called them out on their endless list of surely useless skills, I risked looking like an asshole. Perhaps this list was a proven path for countless stars. What did I know?

I did know that I had no knowledge of any of the 6 listed types of horseback riding. I finished the list and patted my head.

Then, I approached the manager. He asked for my headshot and resume, pointed out my blank first page, and quickly scanned through my skillset. Suddenly, "Do you know the difference between an agent and a manager?"

I wanted to say I barely knew how good I was at Aerobics and this question was probably not the best start for somebody who had just turned 25 and paid $200K at a top-tier university. I wanted to say that I knew I appeared embarrassingly unprepared and novice compared to my peers who can kick their face and cry on cue. Instead, I rattled off what I remembered from the last time a manager raised an eyebrow at me. I was sinking fast.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

It was the question that let you know the meeting was over. And though I had so many questions, my survival instincts kicked in.

"No. But where are you from originally?"

OH my GOD, why didn't I just say "world peace"?

"Why?" he asked in just the right way to allow me one more chance at redemption.
"Because you don't seem like somebody who's from New York" I said in just the right way to make it clear that I absolutely already knew he was from New York and recognized there were so many bullets in my foot that one more shot wouldn't matter.

He politely handed me his business card and told me to sleep on it. Consider if a manager is the move I want to make at this point in my career.

As the elevator doors opened, I thought, "First Impressions: [1-0]."

I spent $300 on a tooth,

TJB: Making It