By Susan Saraf

By Susan Saraf

Thursday, June 30, 2011

oops i dropped something

I can't stand namedroppers, I would never talk about the time I was in a play with Ethan Hawke, Hope Davis, Blair Brown, Kathryn Hahn, Jimmi Simpson, Charlie Day, to not name a few (there are not even more big names but I can't recall as its been awhile) and then me and a bunch of other chorus types. I'm not talking about the best play I ever ensembled, I'm not talking about the best theatrical summer I ever had, I'm not talking about Williamstown Theatre Festival, the summer of '99, baby. oh, yeah.

I have a swarm of memories from that summer in the Berkshires-walking from one building to another and waving to Paul Newman and his sweetheart, Joanne Woodward (she was unbelievably even more attractive than he was) as they picnicked.  Or on final curtain call for Camino Real when Jimmi Simpson bowed revealing a happy face painted on his naked tush to those of us on stage behind him. Or remarking to Bebe Neuwirth as she lazed on a couch in the greenroom, "It's like being in Toone Town, everywhere I look someone from the screen!" and her saying, "we're not cartoons, we're people." I thought "yikes! thats' exactly what a Toone would say!" But what strikes me most is that I was in the main beating artery of the acting world and had no idea until weeks after I got there.

It was the summer before my last year at The Actor's Studio, MFA program, (class of Bradley Cooper -oops, hand on mouth, I dropped one again? obscene!) and my teacher Sam Schacht recommended I go to Williamstown. He told me where the office was on Union Square, to go there and get an application.  He said it was a swell place, he thought I would like it, do well there. I took him up on it because I had no other sense of what to do and when the time came to go I did. Never knowing I was to apprentice under some of the best talent in our country.

Throw your soul through every open door. - Adele


My parents dropped me off. There were a group of about thirty college looking kids hanging outside the building excitedly talking and (re)acquainting themselves. I felt a strong pulse around me, everyone seemed to know each other so I kept to myself. I spent the night in my assigned dorm room with an older woman who was tall in stature and short on words. I tried getting intel on what was going on, what to expect etc. She seemed to know as little as I did, I never saw her after that night. The next day there was an audition, everyone in the company, probably 500 or so people met on that bright summer morning, then sat in a dark theatre and watched as each of us appentices got up and auditioned on a lit stage with the monologue of our choice. It would be the second audition in my life, the first was in order to gain admittance to the MFA program.  I knew from the forms they sent out that we were to come prepared with a monologue, that scared me. I had spent the last two years in classes without venturing from the cocoon of teacher and comraderie.  I didn't feel connected to the few female parts in the contemporary plays I had read and so I wrote my own piece. I wrote it from the sadness kept at the deepest part of my being. I remember tears streaking the ink as my pen fumbled down the page. I must have ran the lines through my head a thousand times before falling asleep. Determined to express my heartache and confusion, I got up and bared my soul. By the time I got to the second line I heard the laughter and then giant booms of laughter after that. I thought with each line, now they'll get that this isn't funny and pushed harder to make my point and then they'd laugh even harder and on and on. At one point I was shouting over their guffaws in order to be heard and then I took it to a real quiet place and they came with me and when I concluded, applause. Feet stomping, whistles and applause. I thought "Well, that went differently than expected." Proof not to act with a result in mind.

When I got back to my seat the girl next to me whispered, "you nailed it."

We were auditioning for parts in the various plays produced at the festival. I got cast into the Main Stage production of Camino Real by Tennesee Williams starring Ethan Hawke and Hope Davis, I didn't know who she was but since I feel like I've seen her in everything. Since, I feel like I see everyone in everything. Everyone but me, just kidding.

A guy named Brad, different from "the Brad", befriended me, he gave me the lowdown pretty much on everything and little by slowly I realized where I was and how it could probably change my life. And knowing that made me act weird. And weirdos don't get asked back. How weird you ask? Well, the day before rehearsals for Camino started some girl told me that Charlie Day, (of then nothing but now, It's Always Sunny...and soon to be released Horrible Bosses), was this hugely talented important up and comer. So when he walked up and said "hi" at first rehearsal like a normal person, I looked up from under my eyebrows and then averted my eyes and cringed kind of like how my five year old does when I ask him to say "thank you" to a clerk or hug his Nana. That weird. I had never been like that before so I didn't know how to work my way out of it so I just stuck with it. Or like when Gwyneth Paltrow was outside taking a smoke break from rehearsing As You Like It, instead of saying, "I really like your work", as I passed her a light, or just passing it, I tried lighting it for her, burned my finger on the matches and tossed the pack at her. That weird. Awkward. And weird. Or like when I shook hands with Paul Newman and he said, "you did great in the play." My eyes welled up with tears and I said, "I love you, you're everything." Joanne Woodward rubbed my back. Other than those and a few more star struck social disasters like them it really was the best summer of my life.  Before I had my little boys, and now playing with them on the beach is. At least there's nothing awkward about that and usually I know why they're laughing at me. Usually.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Souther

So. I love the east coast but up here in the north it's June and I'm still recovering from the worst winter ever. Some days it feels like it may still be winter. Danny barely plugged in the airconditioners before we were hit with a coldsnap. Plus we're busting out of our cozy little abode. With eyes a squinto, I recently made it to the bathroom at 3am only to find my five year old on the VIP seat, "I need privacy mama." He said. For the love of saltines. Did I mention I was 39 weeks pregnant at the time? I need my own bathroom. Time to roll.

We've been contemplating moving souther. You may have noticed I slipped a "y'all" into my first post. There was nothing haphazard about my choice of words, I chose carefully. I was gettin' into the southern groove y'all! Listening to Garth Brooks, Randy Travis and John Turner on my Pandora, thinking about trying grits,  putting a shot gun on the pickup, if we had a pick up, waving a confederate flag, hell, I burned a cross on my front lawn just to get into the spirit of thangs. My neighbors were so confused. What? Did I go too far? I'm ready to save twenty thousand dollars in taxes while existing in nothin' but flipflops and a sundress.

We went down to Charleston, SC last weekend to get a lay of the land. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it totally surpassed that. I have never met such friendly people! And good looking! Now, that is not a combo easy to come by. (that's why people are always shocked when they meet me...elbow, elbow). We were 'Yes, Sirred', and 'Yes, M'ammed' and it was all sweet, none sinister. You know if some one dares to M'am me up here I'm staring the devil out of them. But its not like that. People are not looking to call you a hag.

Downtown is as charming as a cat in a hat with a baseball bat. It also felt international. While waiting outside for our table at brunch, we had a brilliant chat with a couple on holiday from London. Another couple visiting their doctor daughter from Michigan (ok not exactly Spain) gently got our attention during brunch and referred me to the hospital down the street so I could be treated for what turned out to be acute bronchitus, *i'm always sick with something. The staff at the hospital were in no rush, but still I was in and out in under an hour and had a full perspective on schools and neighborhoods, (and a z-pack). The doctor that treated me lived in the village we flew down to scope, I'on Village. UM...can you sing Heaven Is a Place On Earth? Please don't. But seriously, it's gorgie porgie. It's not cheap though. I thought we could move down south and live like kings, but after talking to anybody who would, (and they all will because they're so nice), we discovered that most people commute by plane to work in order to make the kind of money you need to live there. And my bubble burst all over my crabcake and grits.

It's an easy enough commute, an hour and twenty minute flight.  But we can't live without our Danny boy four days out of the week. So, looks like I can take the cardboard out from between the dishes, they won't be broken in a move and keep my boots within reach. More snow and taxes for me...and late night competition for the VIP seat. Oh and the two other incidentals, friends and family are here too:)


***This is kind of unfolding, signish- when we got back to LGA, deflated, I was thinking about Robert Richard Wright that maybe he's right, I'm meant to stay in new york to pursue my "gift", when my eye landed on the license plate on the car parked across from us. freeeeky.

**i'm watching Love Story on OWN right now, the best.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Unfolding

 SO.  In my last post I said the next steps will unfold. What skat! Nothing has unfolded. I have no idea what to even write about. Well, Weiner stepped down, no more weiner roasts.  Yikes. Well, something in the arena of unfolding may be occuring, not sure if I’m getting signs. Does life really wink at you? I may need the kind of wink that’s more like a kick in the cro...calf.

I mentioned that I recently had a baby. Eight days after that my dad died. He had been sick in the hospital for nine weeks, but it was shocking. I feel pretty okay though, I think. I’m not sure if I’m accepting and adjusting or hallucinating.

The night my dad died I couldn’t sleep. I put on the TV and Jimmy Fallon’s show was on, crazy because I had never seen it and I remembered that years ago my dad had coached Jimmy on how to be a detective in the movie Taxi.

I was studying under the one and only Susan Batson at Black Nexxus, her acting studio, when she asked if any of us knew a former detective that could help her friend with a role. I volunteered my dad, John G. McMahon retired NYPD sergeant detective. They got in touch, discussed payment and later I found out the friend was Jimmy Fallon and the movie was Taxi costarring Queen Latifah. Pretty cool. My dad worked with Jimmy for a couple of days, he came into the city to meet with him, (I so wanted to watch and introduce myself but chickened out, what was I thinking?)  When the movie came out there was a promo on television my dad and I were in the kitchen, he told me that not only did he never get paid for the job but he got two fat parking tickets.  I felt bad. He said Jimmy was a really “nice kid”, he did it thinking it could help me get somewhere and the experience, he wouldn’t have mentioned it except that it occurred to him while watching the commercial. I felt worse. He was doing me a “flavor” as he called it and I didn’t even follow up.

So the night my dad died I couldn’t sleep and by accident watched Jimmy Fallon’s late night show for the first time, it was really funny. Alec Baldwin was on, they did a skit about a doctor with mannequin hands. I thought I could do a skit like that. I should contact Jimmy and get on in exchange for my dad’s help. This may have been a sick thought. But I’m in the headspace/fog between life and death and it felt serendipitous. Let's go with that. I tried tweeting Jimmy Fallon but you can only use so many words and my tweets sounded something akin to a ransom note.  With an economy of characters in mind I may have written Pay Up. That was seven weeks ago.

Tuesday for the first time since my father died I couldn’t sleep again. I watched Jimmy.  Betty White, hilarious. They played Password, the word was Frankfurter, Betty asked “Do you know Frankfurter?” “Sure, I know the whole Furter family, Gina, Kenny, they’re great.”  Then he starts interviewing this Nascar champ, they start reminiscing about the time they were in the movie… Taxi together!

I don’t know guys.  I feel as though I need to do something about this? Is this part of the unfolding? What do you think? And what do I do? I do a mean Rosie Pope. I put it up on youtube. She's kind of as ancient as Taxi is, in reality show years, but...whatevs. Her "accent" confused me to distraction. I had to get it down.

Just realizing that this Sunday is Father’s Day, I didn’t write this with that in mind, like I said it was off the cuff. Maybe that’s a sign too. Happy Father’s Day Johnie G. Love you forever.

Peace!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Beginning

BEGINNING


SO. Yesterday, a friend convinced me to start a blog. Well, actually, a month ago a psychic told me I had “star power energy” (I have it on tape so I can prove it to myself as sure as Anthony Weiner sent pictures of his pecker). The Psychic, Robert Richard Wright, was pushing acting and writing. But I did the acting, that ship has sailed, I told him. I have three kids (youngest is 6 weeks old). I can’t be hauling my kitten in and out of the city, trying to get two lines on a commercial. I did that. I feel fulfilled in that way.  As for writing, I wrote a novel last year that went nowhere. He said, shaking his head, pulling another Tarot card, “Yeah, see, this card means Gift. So, you really need to look into this.”   His words haunt me. I dig obscurity. I love my minivan and all inclusive vacations. But ‘tis true I did battle for the limelight for nearly a decade and did pretty well. So, it’s “in me”, so to speak.

Next, I sat down with a $5 palm reader at a crafts fair in Manhasset, NY to see what she had to say and in the first question she asked  if I knew I had a gift  (I did, psychic, Robert Richard Wright told me so last week, thanks) and secondly, what was I DOING with this gift?  Holy shit. Oh no! Not you too! The pressure. The pressure of a gift.

So. Here I am. It’s not a bad way to start. I kind of thought I’d be on the news talking about my gift, maybe hosting my own show on OWN with my new latest credentials. “Hey Ope (in my fantasy convo’s she’s Ope.) Hey Ope, not sure if you heard but two very reliable sources told me I had a gift. And you used to say so on your show all the time when you were talking directly to me, so, how’s about a headlining act? Also Ope, I got your email. Thanks.” Did y’all know that? If you send Oprah an email she writes you back. Does so. Whatever, she wrote me back. A secretary may have mass emailed you, but Oprah Winfrey wrote me and my gift back.

**warning! I’m about to make a hard right turn here. Brace yourself.

I want to wrap up with a little something to think on today, as I’ve been struggling with what exactly my “gift” is and then I’m always thinking of how to get out of some internal mess, as I’m sure we all are from time to time. Sometimes we want to stay in the confusion and the conundrum as long as possible because that is what we are comfortable with. “Better the devil you know, then the one you don’t”, as my mother would say.  I mean, what happens if I do recognize the truth? Where do I go from there?

All we can ever do is make a beginning.  The next steps unfold after that.  Inevitably, where it goes is up to God.  Replace fear with faith. 

I hope you’ll like my blog. I really want a Vlog – video, but…I’m not technologically there just yet. So, to the beginning…and truth…and Ope… and Weiner not sending anymore pictures of his weener. What’s with men sending pictures of their schlong’s out anyway? No one wants to see it, it’s gross. Put it away. Begin there.

Love, S
http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/anthony-weiners-actual-penis-nsfw