Law and Order: Musical Theatre Unit

This is an oldie but a goodie- from July 2005. I was fresh faced, bushy tailed, and all that good stuff.

You never know who you are going to meet an audition. Monday I met a moderately crazy girl who appeared to be friends with a seemingly normal guy, he, in turn, gave me his card for accompanying and said he would love to play for me sometime. My roommates and I had just been discussing hanging out to play and sing, so we decided to call him and all go together to see how he was.

Turns out, he has this great studio apartment on the Upper West Side and continued to appear to be a nice and normal guy. He had a BFA in Musical Theatre from the University of Michigan, was currently working as an extra in the Robert DeNiro, and even had an agent! We were lowly paupers in comparison to him. We didn't even know the names of any agents, nonetheless have Equity cards, or movie credits. We had graduated from the inferior UM which boasts such illustrious alumni as Dawnn Lewis and Lewis Cleale. Ever heard of them? Yeah...didnt think so. I felt the urge to kiss his feet. But I resisted.

The singing went fine- we decided to do 15 minutes each (see my aforementioned lowly pauper statement) for a total of about an hour.

When we are done singing I asked him what he does to make money- expecting him to say, waiting tables, working with computers, or walking dogs. You know, the normal part time jobs that consume the time and swallow the souls of out of work actors.

Instead he informed me that the movie pays well, he makes money accompanying, and he is a spy.

A SPY! S-P-Y. That is what he said.

As if that is a normal answer to my question.

Dressing up as a hotdog and handing out flyers in Times Square would have been acceptable, even watching TV and writing down when commercial breaks occur is a more believable answer than spying for a living.

The thing about it was that he answered so seriously- as if he was saying, “I am also a doctor.”

Trying not to laugh I kindly ask him to elaborate.

Lindsay: “What do you mean by spy????”

Justin: “Well, a family friend of mine has an estranged daughter living in NYC. They pay me to check in on her because they don’t know what is going on with her.”

Lindsay: “So what do you do? Make sure shes alive?”

Justin: “Well- I know where she lives and works, so sometimes I will get on the bus a few stops before her and then watch her on the bus. Or I will watch her lave her apartment to get groceries, and sometimes we go on walks through the park. “

-At this point I have no idea what to do. First he says he is a spy and then he is telling me he, and this girl who has no idea who he is, go on walks together in the park. He fails to mention that they are secret walks that she knows nothing about. I suppose spy seems tame now that he has basically admitted to being a well-compensated stalker.

Then, I ask the question that seems very obvious to me-

“Will you miss going on walks with her when they patch things up?”

He looks at me as if I just killed his cat, or have seventeen heads, or admitted that I am a professional stalker as well. He backs away. He...backs away...from ME!

“That’s a really weird question. I don't understand what you mean."

He then looks at my roommates to let them know I am completely insane- perhaps he hopes to save them from living with a mad woman. In an effort to add hero to his long list of accomplishments he wants to tip them off that they have a potential looney toon on their hands.

I would like to point out that he is the spy- he is the one who is writing down a girls schedule,knows where she works, knows when she goes to bed. But, as I stopped myself from kissing his feet, I also resist the urge to point out the hypocrisy in his reaction.

I also resist the urge to apologize- to make it better. To somehow appease this pompous low-rent stalker who was doing vocal coachings with a keyboard and not even a real piano.

We gather our belongings quickly, throw him a wad of cash, and are on our way.

None of us ever saw him again...but every now and then I will look back on the subway and get the feeling that he couldn't quite let go of my 16 bars of "Waiting for Life"...

Coming full circle with the town I can't spell...

The first time I visited Milwaukee, Wisconsin was in November of 2006. It was the first stop on what would turn out to be a two year adventure on the road with Mamma Mia. 

I remember it being cold. I remember there being a mall with a food court and some type of Christmas light on a bridge situation that we would walk by every night after rehearsal. The rest is basically a blur. 

Well...Milwaukee...I am back!!

Back on the road that is. Traveling the country looking for boys ages 9-12 to be in the Bway and Chicago companies of the hit musical, BILLY ELLIOT!

So, after many hours of incorrectly spelling Milwaukee on google (why is there an A after a W? Why is there only one L? I DONT UNDERSTAND)...I predict there to be about ten boys here today. Let's hope one of them is good. That's all we need. Just one. 

The trip started out well, my flight was on time, I am still a master of packing and airports...and then we get to the rental car desk. 

After a half hour wait in line I approach the desk and want to confirm that my car has a GPS. 

Rental Car Lady: A what?

Me: A GPS.

Rental Car Lady: (looking confused) umm...yup. Sure. 

Me: Ok, this is really important. You are sure it has a GPS?

Rental Car Lady: What is that?

Me: A navigating tool?

Rental Car Lady: Oh...you mean a Never Lost? We are out of them. 

(Never Lost! Who in the world calls it a Never Lost??? It is now sinking in that I am back in the Midwest)

This is not ok. Obviously, the rental car company is not aware that if there was to be a list of  America's Most Wanted Driver's, I would be the poster child. Admittedly, I am a terrible driver. In college, I used to leave my car keys on the common room table and people were allowed to drive my car as long as they would drive me around when I needed to get somewhere. Miami is a jungle, a jungle I tell you...thats a story for another time. 

But, what are you supposed to tell your boss at the age of 26 when she asks if you can handle a solo trip to the midwest to make a kids dream come true? 

"I would love to, thank you for your belief in me. I am a grown up. By the way, I will need a chauffeur."??? 

Nope. You must suck it up. You must believe in the power of the GPS. 

So you can imagine my reaction when I was told there were no more "Never Losts" to be had at Hertz rental car. 

I plead my case, they clearly see the desperation in my eyes, they hear it in my voice....and then the woman looks at my hand. 

Rental Car Lady: Oh dear. I see you are single. 

Me: Um...yeah. 

Rental Car Lady: So, you are here all alone driving from Milwaukee to Chicago?

Me: Yes. I guess. I am here on business. (who is this woman, my grandma for chrissakes?)

Rental Car Lady: But you are single I am assuming. 

Me: Like, in life? Yes. I suppose I am. And I really need a Never Lost cause I am without a man. 

Rental Car Lady: Well, here let me give you a free upgrade to a car with a Never Lost and a map. Have a safe trip. 

I made it the whole 8 miles from the airport to the hotel just fine, with only one famous Levine-Turn-Around that the Never Lost calmly talked me through. 

Here in Milwaukee, I realized something. Something I didn't know when I was here three years ago- I may be a single 26 year old scouring the country for 12 year old boys, and I may have reached the age where people in the Midwest look at your hand before deciding how much they are willing to help you, but...I am just fine. And I don't need a navigating system to tell me that I am not lost. 

Holla Killa Playa Ho...What Up?

This one's from the archives: Beginning in 2005, I worked as a "concierge" at various mid-town hotels. Namely, the wonderful Hotel Pennsylvania (yup, the bed bug, homeless person infested palace directly across from MSG) which we affectionately called "The Penn." It takes a special person to work at this hotel and handle inquiries ranging from "do you know where I can get a hooker?" to "Have you seen my friend...he usually cleans up in the bathroom downstairs?"

I have seen two presumably dead bodies in my life. Both at 7am, in my suit, as I headed to work at the Penn- half dead myself.

This story is from one of my first days working with Peter (his name has not been changed because I am very confident that, should he happen upon it, he would love this story)- he is still there, keeping it real at the Penn.

I had heard a little bit about him, that he was weird and aggressive- the managers seemed to like him. But I was not expecting what I got.

In walks this large Puerto Rican/Italian dude in a suit. He is very loud and full of Bravada (is that a word?), very “charming.” He asks me about my story, and at one point asks whether I am married, divorced, dating, or single?

I consider the question, decide to respond with the truth: "Single."

And he looks at me like I just passed gas.

Following the proper conversation protocol (I looked it up, that is the correct spelling)- I take a risk and ask him about his own romantic situation.

Peter: "Nah, I got married at 19, but thats in the past."

My Brain: Cryptic...

Peter: "You have any kids?"

Me: "Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha....." mouth open, head back, face red, hysterical laughter.

My Brain: Wait...do I look like I have had kids? oh god.

Even after I laughed in his face and then began spiraling down the dark part of my "I must look fat today" girl brain Peter decided to carry on with the oh-so-light subject of relationships. The following is a monologue inserted with my thoughts.

Peter: “I have a six year old, but no I am no longer married.”

My Brain: huh. Guess I shouldnt have laughed at the kids question. oops.

Peter: "I live with her and my BM."

My Brain: Bowel movement? Bachelor of music?

Peter: (obviously catching on to the blank look on my face) “Baby mamma.”

My Brain: Oh, right....wait, WHAT?

Peter: “It’s hard to explain our relationship. We are together, we have a kid, she dates other women and I date the women she dates.”

My Brain: Well, I think you explained that well. I am so glad we had a chance to...WHAT???

Peter: “Right now we are really into Asian women, so if you have any Asian friends who are up for a good time, tell them to ask for Ammo.”

My Brain: Who is Ammo? Is he like Iced Cube or something? Should I know who that is?

Peter: “That’s my alias."

My Brain: Of course it is.

Peter: "Hey, You're cute, what's your alias?”

My Brain: Scared. Officially.

"A Part of Your World"

 Setting: Candlewood Suites- Indianapolis, Indiana

 I arrive at the Candlewood on Monday night with my rental car around 6:30 pm and head to the front desk to check in. To describe “Rosalind” does not even begin to do her justice, but I will try. She is about 300lbs,weave for days, multi colored fingernails as long as my fingers, and no eyebrows. Ok, that’s not completely true….she does have eyebrows. They were just drawn on with a black eye liner pencil. And they are each larger than a banana, and about as girthy.  As I approach the front desk she seems to be on the phone helping a guest who is lost.

 Unfortunately, she doesn’t know where they are and neither do they, so they aren’t making much headway. This goes on for about 7 minutes and by now a bit of a line is forming behind me. I can see my room key and just need to get it from her so the following scene occurs:

 Me: Excuse me, I just need to check in.

Ros: Well, I am not an octopus.

Me: (shocked and bewildered) I understand that you are not an octopus. I would just like my room key.

Ros: Last name?

Me: Levine. Thank you.

 Wow- she seriously told me that she is not an octopus. As if that is some type of proper response to me being a little impatient. So I text message Mark and let him know the woman at the front desk is not an octopus. Just in case he is wondering. And before I even get a chance to tell the octopus story he texts back…"I know, doesn’t she look like Ursula?"

Amazing. 

So maybe this happens to poor Rosalind a lot. Maybe people mistake her for a multi-limbed aquatic creature and she is a little defensive about it. If that is the case, then I do apologize. I should have never alluded to the fact that perhaps Rosalind, the front desk employee, could possibly ever do more than one thing at a time. 

Let's hope the apple falls far...far...away

My new roomie Julie and I were taking a walk down memory lane...aka flipping through my ghetto magic marker scrap book...and we came upon the following email from my dad. 

This email is regarding a "road trip" in college (I repeat, COLLEGE) driving from Miami, FL to Lakeland, FL (yup, both in Florida. Same state) for a theatre conference. Not a rock concert, or a rave, not a demolition derby...a theatre conference. 

Law and Order opening sound cue: The email you are about to read is based on actual events- no people, places, or words have been fictionalized. Some commentary has been added. 

"Lindsay, you need to get a map with good directions, have your AAA membership card and cell phone with full battery charge. DO NOT make unnecessary calls on the trip, that wastes the battery. Take the charger with you so you can recharge while you are there, and do not leave and forget to take the phone and the charger with you. If your audition time is late and you will not be able to get back before dark, just leave and forget it (that's my favorite part). Tell them you are not allowed to drive back at night and need to be on the road by 2pm to make it back by dark. (First of all, who are "them"? These people that are supposed to care about the driving rules for a twenty year old?  Secondly, should I just stop my audition for professional theatres because I can't drive for four hours as dusk? I can't be certain, but I think that might ruin my chances of being hired by theatres where traveling, not being codependent or being a normal human is involved?)

When is the last time you had your tire pressure checked? Also, keep the tank full. You may end up stuck in traffic, delayed, or not be able to get to a gas station so fill if you get to half a tank. Christian needs permission from his parents to go with you. (I am certain this is not the most scandalous thing Christian did in college without telling his parents. Fairly certain...) Do not get distracted. Let us know when you leave, check in each hour on the way, and way back. If I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Now, have a nice and pleasant trip. "

A Soft Pretzel with a Side of Crazy....

I don't know how I always find myself in Times Square. Literally. Every time I look up- I can see the TKTS booth. I work in Times Square, I see shows in Times Square, and apparently I can only consume food and enjoy companionship within its radius. 

Last October, finding myself in Times Square for leisure yet again, I was standing in front of the Ambassador Theatre with Adam. He was purchasing a ticket for Chicago- and seeing as I have attended that musical more times than I care to admit (anyone else see Vicki Lewis of NEWSRADIO fame play Velma?...didnt think so) I was just waiting to go back home once he was settled. Milling about with tourists and the like, I spotted a slightly off kilter woman heading my way. She didn't look quite homeless, but she certainly didn't look well. Perhaps she lives in one of those crazy old actor buildings on 43rd...Anyway, she had wandered her way to 49th street and proceeded to wade through the crowd to find me. To ask me the time. I suppose no one else looked as comfortable in Times Square as I did, no one else looked like they could possibly answer her inquiry. 

Loony Lady: What time is it?

Lindsay: 7:30

Loony Lady: 5;45!!!!!!! 5:45!!!!!! What are you? Insane?

The end. 

Being called insane by a crazy person is quite the experience. I hope everyone has the pleasure at some point. It makes you think...does she know her own kind? Somewhere, way down deep inside her nutty little mind does she know something I don't know? Perhaps I've been watching too much Lost and Buffy, but that woman really made me stop and assess my mental well being. 

 Maybe that was her point. Maybe Times Square is there to remind us that we are all equal, that at some point in the day we all have to make it through the crowds that surround the Naked Cowboy, we all have to dodge the giant blue CitySights buses, and that we are all a little bit insane.