Connecticu*t

I always joke that I tell my agent never to schedule any appointments for me before noon.

But almost a month ago when I received yet another appointment for my dream role in Next to Normal, I was willing to accept 11:20AM as a valiant effort on his part. There was no material to prepare for the audition (though by this point I was ready to sing every vocal line in the show regardless of how many rounds of callbacks there could be). All I had to do was sit and wait.

So when this busy first week of the fall season finally arrived, I took it easy. I made sure to rest, hydrate, exercise, and starve (after my run-ins with those Russians). Everything was leading up to booking my dream role.

I woke up at 8AM to ensure I had enough time to vocalize and pick the perfect outfit. Nothing was going to stand in my way today. I even left myself an entire hour to take the 20 minute trip to Midtown Manhattan.

And I was so glad I did when I stepped on the train to hear there was a signal problem and Manhattan bound traffic was delayed.

Not exactly standing in my way, but just to the left of it.

Half an hour later when I was still in Queens, it was standing in my way.

WHAT IF I DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO FIX MY HAIR?!

I preemptively texted my agent that I now had only 30 minutes to make the trip and as long as I didn't get lost (I mean if I can't find 30 Rock...), I'd be there in plenty of time.

To me, there is nothing more embarrassing than showing up late.

So when I made it with two minutes left to sprint down 52nd and arrive at the monitor's desk at 11:22, I was already embarrassed enough

and at first the monitor assured me it was completely fine since they were running behind

but then as he fell silent and asked for my name again

my heart sank.

Monitor: Oh, I'm so sorry...I don't see you on the list...what was your name?
Me: BARANSKI (I simply emphasized this in case his mind would hop-to and realize how recognizable that name should be in the theatre world). My appointment should be happening RIGHT NOW.
Monitor: Yeah, gosh, so sorry, you're not on here...

He gave me a blank stare as if I had simply made the entire thing up.

Me: My agent literally confirmed this appointment a month ago...do I...need to make some calls?

I had no idea getting seen for a job that paid $300/week would be so difficult.

Monitor: Yeah, why don't you do that?

So I called my agent who was equally confused how some small theater in Connecticut could at first seem so overly prepared one-month-in-advance to being a shit show the day-of.

and I don't want to call people out so we'll call it the MUSIC THEATRE OF SHMUNNECTICUT for those of you keeping score at home.

When I asked the monitor who we should contact about the mistake, he still pretended as if I was making everything up and when I held the phone up to him and said

"Do YOU want to talk to him?"

He simply told me that he would talk to the artistic team in the room and see what he could do.

I swear, it was as if Steven Spielberg were on the other side of that door and could NOT be bothered amidst the plethora of pudgy brunette boys he was currently seeing.

Surely the casting director would remember my blonde locks if he would just take a moment to sort out the mistake. I mean, I WAS wearing my lucky hoodie on the train, so this should all breeze over.

But no...as I waited outside for three more pudgy brunette boys to go, the monitor finally returned to me and said

"I'm so sorry, you're not on the list and due to time constraints we won't be able to see you today."

I DID NOT TURN DOWN FREE DRINKS AT A PREMIERE PARTY LAST NIGHT TO HAVE YOU TELL ME ABOUT YOUR TIME CONSTRAINTS. I HAVE HAD THIS APPOINTMENT FOR A MONTH.

But since my tongue was numbed by the aloofness with which I had been brushed off by some undergrad with a pen, I simply called my agent again.

Then, I waited for one hour in a Starbucks for the situation to be sorted out. I was feeling quite calm once I had downed my Venti iced coffee (unsweetened, splash of soy), but when I learned that my agent hadn't been able to get in touch with a single person that worked for MUSIC THEATRE OF SHMUNNECTICUT via e-mail or phone

he got Equity involved.

Listen, I didn't ask for it, I didn't want it, but I happen to have some pretty cut-throat people working for me.

And let me just say, when the union has to be contacted about how you're running your business...you're not running your business.

But not even Equity could get somebody on the phone.

So what happened?

My agent went home to put on his power suit and walked HIMSELF over to the auditions to speak to the artistic team himself

JUST to get me an apology.

You know, I look over this past year and realize I'm a pretty lucky guy.

The worst part of the situation? None of it matters. Nobody at that theater, and nobody who sees that show, and nobody in Connecticut or New York will ever care that I spent weeks concerned over 2 minutes of my life that would never happen. Nobody will care that I spent 6 hours of today trying to sing 16 bars.

We are expendable. We are replaceable. We are actors.

It's times like these that I start to search Amazon.com for LSAT books.

But as long as people keep putting on suits to get me apologies...I think I'll stick around.

Somebody's drinking tonight,

TJB: Making It

Of Models and Manhattan

After 12 hours of travel, I finally made it back to NYC.

But as the plane descended, so did my heart. Why is it that every arrival in New York City feels like the first?

I had said August was my month, and if you care to read August's posts, you'll find it was a lot of talkin n' tears...so I was ready for the new start of September regardless of whose month it was. 

Like the first day of school it was for most of America, I too was concerned with what to wear, what to bring, and who to talk to first. Four days away from this city and it has already forgotten about you. I really could have to start all over again.

In fact, just one hour into my first work shift and someone said, "You're not from here are you?"

Bitch please, go back to Long Island. I may not be from here, but your highlights are HEINOUS.

At least my agent hadn't forgotten about me, and I woke up early to prep for my first audition of the new New York school year.

And as anyone who has auditioned knows: four days away and that's like starting over too. I tried my best to stay out of my head, but when I arrived with enough time to check myself out in the bathroom mirror I noticed something strange...

More attractive boys than usual...

I had memorized the character breakdowns and knew there was only one role that could possibly be filled by these tall, fit, and exceedingly attractive young men

and I'm pretty sure I wanted that role to be filled by me

so how in trouble WAS I?

Then I saw it. The last door on the right before the bathrooms.

"FASHION WEEK MODEL FITTINGS"

Oh. Hell. No.

Not only did I have to sit amongst the buff MT boys who made me feel too thin, I had to watch all the Eastern European runway boys pass by who made me feel too fat.

My first day of school was proving to be quite the ego boost...

As my audition slot approached and my confidence sank, my Midwestern morals made themselves heard and I thought

"Oh snap. One of these Russians is totally going to jack my shit as soon as I step into that room."

And without being able to calm my prejudice so freshly renewed by my weekend in the country, I picked up my entire proud-to-be-American Army-official ACU backpack and carried it into my audition...

I awkwardly dropped the mammoth knapsack at the door as if I was moving in while my face made an awkward surprised-face due to the fact there were 25 people in the room and I expected 4.

The first thing out of my mouth?

"WHOW lots of people. Did you guys know there are MODEL fittings down the hall?"

cue awkward silence and a few unsure chuckles that should have convinced me to close my mouth

"I mean SERIOUSLY, these MT guys are bad enough and now I have to watch these Russian* dudes strut around? Today is not my day."

Needless to say, I think my agents can forgo this commission...

Sorry 'bout it.

But it was the first time I went 24 hours without a drink in a week, so at least we know I'm not an alcoholic.

The little things,

TJB: Making it

*Note: most of the models were probably American, but admitting such would really bruise my ego.


....

Of Frankenmuth

I came home with the normal expectation of offing myself with boredom before day 3.

Well, it's day 5 and here I am forcing myself to blog because I've been anything but bored.

Sure, there have been some really negative aspects of this trip...

Like the fact that everyone I went to high school with who still lives here seems to be 1. Exceedingly Attractive and 2. Acceptably Happy.

 It's been 5 years since I graduated, and I hoped for a little more Paunch and Happenstance if you know what I mean...(see what I did there?)

When I returned, I thought I wouldn't be able to relate to anyone. How could I possibly have anything to talk about with people who were STILL LIVING in Frankenmuth. 

And then I realized that we all had so much to talk about because we are all STILL LIVING.

I realized that no matter where we spent our four years of college and no matter where we climb into bed at night, we are all bound by this terrifying feeling that our lives could very well amount to nothing.

I call this: BEING 23.

or 24, or 25, or 26.

I had lunch with a fellow fashionista from high school (we used to be a part of what we called "The Council of Pretty People"...yeah...) who has spent the last few years traveling the world (and stalking me). She's lived in Spain, London, New Zealand, Australia and I'm sure more countries but I had to stop listening because all I could think was

"Wow...I'm incredibly jealous." and "I wonder if I could pull off that necklace."

And as we sat there staring at our plates of carbs trying to judge how much the other one would eat before we took another bite, we found ourselves in a predictable case of

the grass is always greener...

Here I was the "Next Big Thing" and there she was the "World Traveled Gal", both with degrees, both with hope, both unemployed. 

I went from wondering why this girl (and half of America) would be stalking my blog to understanding exactly why.

the same reason I turn on "No One is Alone" from Into the Woods  and sob in the shower. 

It helps to know that in a world where 16 year olds are superstars and we're somehow still expected to fall into fame and glory in an economy that wants us to work for free during a 3-month "internship" we moved across the country for with the dangling-carrot that they'll hire 20% of their interns if you're blood-thirsty enough to compete with them for a dream

that you're not alone.

that everyone is struggling.

that you're going to be OK.

If you remember that everyone who interviews you for a job was interviewed for their job and was also rejected from 20 other jobs whether they're a C.E.O. or a C.S.A., nobody seems that intimidating. And if they try to make you feel smaller than you are because you don't get the job or the role, you would have been miserable working for them anyway.

Doesn't unemployment feel better now?

So one day when I'm incredibly famous and you don't hate your job, or just have a job to hate, we'll get lunch together and laugh at the college kids in the booth next to us who have no idea what they're in for.

But we still won't eat carbs. 

Until then, struggle on America.

Beer is so cheap here so why is my glass empty,

TJB: Making It

blaming you is easier.

I don't think you understand how serious I am when I say:

I am the matchmaker of my generation.

But seriously...

I currently have one successful long-term relationship in existence along with two shorter-but-defenitely-potentially-long-term relationships in the making. ALL HETEROSEXUAL.

Unfortunately, one boy is leaving for Austria and the other boy is too SELF-IMPORTANT TO REALIZE HE NEEDS AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN!

I don't mean to put any pressure on the people I've introduced, but seriously, you're all perfect for each other...and I want to speak at your wedding...because I love a microphone...

I just KNOW people. Maybe saying that makes ME self-important. But I think I'm right.

then again, I've been spending most of my nights with a 6-pack of beer re-watching the Harry Potter  saga....

So something must be off.

What is it that makes us so capable of seeing the positive in other people's relationships, but in our own, we just see...

desperateness?

So in an attempt to educate myself, I went out today to buy Sex and the City. The book. It was pink. It was expensive. But DAMMIT I am going to crack this city and all its relationships have to offer.

I'm also going to copy Candace Bushnell's format to write my own book. Don't worry Candace, I'll cite you.

So tonight, I was so thrilled when a guy I've been interested in for years finally met up for drinks. He left a group of people he was having dinner with to meet me and then invited me to a party he was attending so I figured he was pretty into me too.

This was it! This was the perfect start to Sex and the City.

Then, he referenced the first person that "wanted to have sex with him".

Then, he referenced the second person that "wanted to have sex with him".

Then, we were waiting to see if the guy that "wanted to have sex with him" was going to meet up with us.

When he didn't, we were avoiding the photographer that "wanted to have sex with him".

And suddenly, I was wondering how you can live in NYC for 6 weeks and have so many people that "want to have sex with you". Maybe I should start reading that book...

And suddenly, I was wondering why I was sitting on a rooftop in Midtown Manhattan on a leather sofa all alone chewing on ice-cubes waiting to talk to the boy that so many people "wanted to have sex with".

Then, while I mustered the self-respect to walk out and wait for a train, I wondered if all those times I said "It's me, not you" if maybe it really was ME and not THEM...

So I'm going home this Thursday to Michigan to be with my family. But honestly, sometimes being around my parents is infuriating...to see two people be so happy together while I'm trying to get a drink with the boy everyone "wants to have sex with".

But while I'm home, I hope to be rejuvenated. I hope to remember why I moved away from the small town with all the white crosses in front yards and appreciate the BIG APPLE filled with boys that everyone seemingly "wants to have sex with" while I chew on ice cubes in the corner.

Maybe I'll return to NYC at square one. Maybe I'll return with some new understanding of personal relationships.

Maybe I'll return with an angry Facebook message from the boy everyone "wants to have sex with".

Regardless...

If you're EVER the reason I'm sitting on a leather sofa alone in Midtown Manhattan

you're an idiot.

Sorry you had to read this Mom,

TJB: Making It

 

if you've got it, so does somebody else

I spent the entirety of yesterday filming a new web series created by some Northwestern friends.

I know...web series.

When I hear "web series", I can't help but hear "Living on a Prayer" thumping in the background of my subconscious.

But some people argue that the future of television is the web series. In fact, Tom Hanks has a new web series.

Then again, Tom Hanks hasn't been nominated for an Oscar since he starred alongside a volleyball back in 2000.

I argue that as long as I have something to show my parents when they write me checks, I could give a shit about the future of anything except the roof over my head.

So when I started filming for this web series about a group of young actors just out of college living in New York City trying to make it...

 ...everything started to sound a little familiar...

Well, I guess they say write what you know, and I wouldn't be writing if I were the only young actor who knew.

Still, the entire experience taught me something about this business:

Never think that you're unique or original. There are hundreds of people with the same great ideas you have, and the first to make it happen is the one who gets the credit.

Unless it's about vampires, and then the first 10-20 will get the credit.

So, I had a panic attack.

Or as I call my iced-coffee induced freak outs: a gay breakdown.

What if I become known for never being known? What if I make it by never making it?

OH NO! By writing this blog, have I Kathy Griffined myself?  Did i just curse myself to a life of writing about almost-there instead of going out and getting-there and still pretending I haven't gotten-there when I do finally get-there?

So, I've begun a collaboration on writing the pilot episode for Making It  along with reviewing the entire blog to begin compiling the book. I might as well be prepared to have my artistic property stolen by some future Carnegie Mellon grad who knew the right people at 22.

And if my ego can ever get over the fact that I might never make it because I was a talented actor...

Whow...wait a second...hold up you guys...I just saw some clips from filming and WOW.

I look really good on camera.

Enjoy your day NBC Newsroom,

TJB: Making It

i have confidence

I spent last weekend puppy sitting for my agent...

No, probably not a normal agent-client relationship, but read back through the blog and tell me what sounds normal to you.

Nevertheless, once he was back from vacation, I was thrilled to interact with him instead of throwing piles of paper towel on his puppy's pee.

There's always something great about being in public with your agent (not that you would know), especially in Hells Kitchen where you're bound to run into somebody important. And when we do run into somebody important, he's so good about saying, "Do you know Tyler?"

as if surely they've read my Playbill.com article from my Dayton days of stardom.

And I toss my head back with a hearty chuckle and flip my blonde locks to extend my hand and say, "SUCH a pleasure to meet you." *award winning smile*

But as audition season is picking up and I'm back to my days of praying for a callback, our coffee date made me realize I'm now competing with a whole near year of cute, young clients...

the little shits of 2012.

And as the boys begin to book the shows that I can't even get seen for, I keep telling myself

"Yeah, but they don't have a hilarious blog read by...tens of people..."

and then I think about what their headshots would look like if they had a black eye.

So I cross the shows off of my list and count the days until September 15 as I finish my second venti iced coffee of the day and walk away. 

Then, just as I'd given up hope for my triumphant month of I-Can-Do-Anything August my agents calls after me:

"Oh, I almost forgot. I have an appointment for you this Thursday. I'll send you the materials tomorrow."

Instantly in my head I remember the highly anticipated upcoming production of The Sound of Music  I'd just seen appointments for.

"Ooooh yeah?" I say with a knowing grin..."What could it POSSIBLY be for?"

"BEDBUGS!   The sci-fi thriller musical."

Yup...sounds about right.

From Band Geeks to Bedbugs,

TJB: Making It

Sunrise, Sunset

To say the last 24 hours have been hell would simply make it seem as if my life in NYC were one predictable wash of emotion. But these past 24 hours have been anything but predictable.

I've made a lot of off-color jokes in my time. I would say a large percentage of them have circled around the subject matter of one particular musical: Fiddler on the Roof.

My first encounter with this gem was back in 5th grade when it was rumored there would be a local children's production at my summer camp. Being the attention monger that I am, I quickly let the director's daughter know (because children hold the real power) that I had every intention of playing THE FIDDLER. Hot off of my fame from the previous year's Tom Sawyer, I knew I was a shoe-in.

Unfortunately, she set me straight (well, not STRAIGHT, but straight) and explained "the fiddler" was not actually a character, but perhaps I would make a great Tevye or Motel...

because where I'm from people like me can play Tevye and Motel. Shoot, I didn't meet a real Jewish person until college so typecasting was not a thing yet. I even played a grandmother in 2nd grade.

Once I had seen the movie, it became one of my favorites. I watched it every time I was home sick from school...because that was really the only time I ever had 5 hours to kill.

I continued to make jokes about the musical for a decade, exclaiming as recently as this year "Damn, if only that Fiddler  tour weren't Non-Eq..."

So when I was offered an appointment from my agent, I laughed it off as a joke...until he responded with a second e-mail saying "No, seriously, next Thursday, be there."

Fyedka. HOW could I forget about blonde, Non-Jewish hottie Fyedka.

Oh, because he says three lines and doesn't sing a note. Not exactly on my dream role list.

But I was determined to book it...or anything...at this point in my life, so I drank nothing but water for days and didn't go out and arranged my work schedule so I'd have a good night's sleep!!

And then my co-worker showed up in tears over boy drama (I feel you girl but *dealbreaker*) and just as I was about to ask the boss to go home, she was on her way out the door and I...I picked up my tray of glasses to polish and quietly wept

and kept weeping until the clock hit 1AM and until I walked into my door at 2 AM and until my alarm went off at 8 AM

and when I walked out of my 30 second audition and I considered how I had been prepping for days for 30 seconds and how dismissive those hicks from the suburbs were to ME! someone who had the most BEAUTIFUL Fyedka appropriate blonde hair and European bone structure, and as I began to angry-text my agent

I received a message that my uncle had passed away. My father's best friend actually but...the family you choose is the hardest to lose.

And as I stood on the northern edge of Times Square, suddenly it felt as if all of New York had fallen silent. I looked down to notice a wet spot on my suede Sperry Top Siders and realized I was crying.

I kept my head down for a minute and stood still, knowing that as soon as I looked up all the sounds of New York would come back and so I found my way to the N train staring at the sidewalk, but at least in the subway my tears would blend with my sweat.

My Catholic guilt began immediately as I received a response from my agent and all the things I had bitched about for the last 24 hours seemed so stupid and how if I could just go back to work I would stay until 4 AM if this would all just go away.

And you know when you're on the train in a car with 40 people you don't know, and you know THEY don't know, but somehow you feel like they know something's wrong with you but you don't know where to look or who to call or why your phone is still out with a half formulated text to your dad because you've never had to deal with something like this so far away from home?

and you realize you're growing up so fast?

And then you remember all those times he was there with you at Disney World, and how your dad would call him every five minutes he wasn't there with you at Disney World and how every time you drank a Blue Moon you'd have to pose for a cheesy picture with your parents to send him and how he was there with you the first time you saw Northwestern and how they gave you a better graduation present than your grandparents and how much you were looking forward to the wedding in October and Christmas in Disney World with his family.

And then you go back to the stage of ANGER because you're still trying to TEXT your father and you think what a little shit you are because you can't even keep it together to make a phone call.

and how the people on the N train just don't understand when you shout "FUCK!" because you realize you've missed your stop but maybe that lady who gave you the mean look would give you a hug if you could just explain.

But you make it off the train and grab a meatball sub on your way home because it's how you'd planned to reward yourself after your audition and food is the only thing that sounds comforting right now, so you go home with your meatball sub and your Diet Coke and you turn on the TV even though you're not really watching,

but the noise helps the city not feel so empty.

And as you look at your phone again to see the half formulated text to your dad, you just hit SEND because you're exhausted and you know he understands that you are not very good at these things and you were looking at all the Facebook condolences so overwhelmed and confused because

I think, America, that we forget how to grieve. 

Or maybe we just have too many ways to grieve now.

Some of us call or text or send a card. Some of us post a Facebook status and wait for responses. Some of want to be alone. Some of us use second person narrative to avoid emotional contact. Some of us use humor.

Some of us watch Fiddler on the Roof with a new understanding.

But I have always believed and unfortunately learned in my short life, the important thing is not HOW we grieve, but THAT we grieve.

Today, the world lost a great man. I would say the world lost one of the top 2 greatest men I have ever known.

But the world will continue to lose great men and women, and we will continue to grieve them any way we know how. What is most important is that we know, even while we're shut away in our rooms watching Fiddler on the Roof,

we are not alone.

Even those empty stares on the subway from people we don't know who bump us on the crowded streets of NYC and tell us to "Fuck off" have lost great men too. Maybe they're on their way to get a meatball sub amidst a whirlwind day of musical theatre and grief just like you...I mean me.

And as my phone buzzes with a text from my father, and as I hang up with my mother who is somehow consoling ME, I am SO #blessed and #grateful to know I am not alone.

So do me a favor and call your parents, your sister, your brother, your friend. Tell them you love them. And tonight, before you go to bed, say a little prayer for my uncle and his family...my family. If you don't believe in God, tear a page out of your science book in his honor.


Life is a difficult thing to live and lose. Why not do it together?

Swiftly fly the years,

TJB: Making It