Good theater destroys my posture. It's just a fact. The more into it I get, the more my arms fold in on themselves, my spine rounds, and my shoulders creep up until my whole being is reaching towards the stage in front of me. I am not a passive audience. My face in engaged, my mind is engaged, my heart is engaged. That actor must have worked so hard to make that movement so smooth. What must that character be thinking?
Good theater never lasts long enough. It is my greatest critique about the art form. Sure, I'm familiar with the theory that all good things must come to an end, I remember my father saying something about union laws, and my mother pointed out that at some point the performers have to go home, but still. It's like having the most beautiful snapshot flashed in front of your face and then being asked to simply hold on to the memory forever.
I once heard that every time we remember something we are in fact only remembering the last time we thought about it, which means that every time we recall our favorite show we are changing it just a little bit more from the way we experienced it the first time. I hate this idea. I want to be able to preserve the memory in my brain forever; pristine and unchanged. I think this is where my habit of needing radio silence after a show comes from.
After a good musical, I don't want to listen to anything. Not the show's album, not un-intrusive elevator music, not humming. Nothing. Just the memory of the performance that I just saw. I just want to sit cross legged by myself on my bed and recount the night. Which is what I am now doing. Except this time I'm letting you in on the process.
For those of you who don't know, the Hamilton lottery, or the Ham4Ham, as many affectionately call it, is kind of the highlight of the theater world right now. The show's creator, the brilliant Lin Manuel-Miranda, noticed that the show's lottery (a free name-drawing experience where 21 front row seats are given away for ten dollars cash each) was attracting hundreds of people every night that were going home empty handed. He decided that he wanted to do something for these fans that believed so strongly in him and his show. Before each lottery drawing he and a few members of the cast would come out in front of the theater and do a small five minute performance. Gradually, more and more people from many of the Broadway stages came to perform.
I have gone to the lottery about five to seven times. It is unbelievable how many people show up for the chance to see this show, and rightfully so. I read somewhere that the statistically if you enter the lottery around 15 times, chances are the odds will turn in your favor.
My chance came unexpectedly, when my cousin came to town, and decided that it would have been silly to get tickets to go see anything else. We sat in the very back row of the mezzanine. From an arial view, the show is magical. From any view, I'm sure.
The thing about Hamilton is that I haven't really been able to express the over all good that the show does. It's not just that it is good. There's more to it. And since I can't find the words to appropriately convey that yet, talking about it at all feels almost sacrilegious. Even this feels wrong.
Anyway. It was a good night. We got to meet the cast afterwards and Jasmine Cephas Jones told me she liked my hair. I feel like I've mentioned that one before.
I ran home and bought the album. I called my family and told them to listen to it. I went back to the lottery.
Eventually, a friend came to visit. We tried the lottery a few times, but think about the luck we would have needed to succeed. Eventually we grabbed a couple of the extra Playbills off of my shelf and headed to the Richard Rodgers theater anyway right around the time we knew the show would be letting out. Armed with unmatched enthusiasm and the knowledge that my friend would only be in town for a few more days and that she loved the show more than most of the people who had been in the audience anyway, we stood by the stage door and waited.
Jasmine Cephas Jones told me she liked my hair. Again. Jonathan Groff said that he liked my hat. Daveed Diggs agreed with him. My friend informed Daveed, the actor who plays Thomas Jefferson, of my childhood crush on his character in the show (weird, I know, but very true. We won't go into it. Except to say that he was a 6"2 redhead who invented the swivel chair and once thought he embarrassed himself in front of a girl and gave himself a migraine for two days. Anyway). He was... let's say... intrigued? Nah. Weirded out. He was weirded out.
My friend went back home. I went back to the lottery.
This weekend my parents are visiting. My mom and I decided to go to the lottery together. My dad tagged along, but he was already planning to see a friend of his perform in a venue up a few blocks. My mom had set up tickets for us to see a different show, just because of the unlikely nature of the lottery. Or any lottery, for that matter. When we arrived at the scene, the line was down the block. And then it curved around into the street. Twice.
"I still think we're gonna win," my mom smiled. I laughed. Whatever the outcome, the Ham4Ham show was always worth it.
Eventually, after we had dropped our name in the infamous Hamilton bucket, we ventured into 46th street to try and find a place to stand. NYPD roamed the streets, trying to corral the people into an area behind a few gates so that the traffic didn't have to stop. It wasn't working. There were so many people in the street that trucks stopped to yell at them (us? We tried to stay out of the way) with a few colorful choice words that don't need to be repeated here.
The first ridiculous thing that happened was that we ran into a college friend of my mother's who now works at NYU Tisch, in my studio. That in itself was a wild coincidence. The next sentence I hear is
"I just gotta say, I love Triptych."
I whipped my head around. The man talking to me was probably in his mid to late twenties. He was looking straight at me, and I was pretty sure I hadn't misheard him. All I could do was stare with my jaw on the ground. Triptych is the band I have back home with my boyfriend and my little brother, and it's been a while since we've played out. The fact that someone in another state knew us by name was... a little on the unlikely side.
"I saw you guys play at 3rd and Lindsley," he said, referencing a bar in downtown Nashville. "I think I also saw you in a show down in Dickson... A Christmas Carol?? I'm not stalking you, I swear," he laughed.
Turns out he recognized my parents on the street and then recognized me, and he had had a friend in A Christmas Carol, too. What kind of a minuscule world is that?
Our conversation was cut short when Lin Manuel-Miranda came out of the doors of the theater, followed by the entire cast of Broadway's On Your Feet. After a wonderful (if not a little challenging to hear--a product of the hundreds of people and angry drivers) performance of a song from In The Heights, the man behind the table in front of the theater started pulling names.
And--we all know where this is going-- I won.
I didn't even register the first time they called my name. Just as I had all the other times, I was merely there for the fun of it. For the electric thrill of hearing other people scream when they hear their name against all odds. The idea that the name would be mine hadn't really occurred to me. I was listening as if I were at someone else's school graduation. But there it was: my name, hanging in the air in front of the Richard Rodgers Theater.
Well, sort of.
"Kayla Wooten?" the man behind the table called.
"Huh," I thought. "That one sounds familiar." Then my mom screamed.
"Kaila that's you!" She yelled, and I felt two hands guiding me through the crowd towards the table.
Then it hit.
I remember all of my breath falling out of my lungs like one gigantic waterfall.
"Whaaaat?!!?!" Who knows whether it was a yell or a scream. I half walked half fell towards the theater. My hands were shaking.
I stood in a line of eleven people on the steps of the theater while they checked our IDs and took the ticket money. We exchanged excited stories about how sure we had been that we weren't going to win anything today. My parents cheered me on. I was downright jittery.
A man walked down the line, handing out wristbands with the date on them and a tiny Hamilton star.
"You can take these off after intermission," he said, dryly.
"But... can I just wear mine forever?" I asked. Immediately I kicked myself. Play it cool, you dork. The man laughed.
"Yeah, it's totally up to you." (It's still on my wrist)
The front row of the Richard Rodgers theater puts you at eye level with the floor of the stage. I could touch it from my seat. Sitting down. (I did)
Here is a misconception that I had about large theaters: I formerly believed that in a gigantic theater, the lights are simply too bright for any human onstage to see the people sitting in the audience. This seems to be incorrect.
The first thing that Anthony Ramos did when he walked out onstage in the first number was look me straight in the eyes. I was not ready.
I thought I was imagining it at first, but by the third time I was convinced. Next was Lin. His nervous nineteen-year-old Hamilton kept making eye contact with the girl in the front row. Then Andrew Rannells sang at me. Then a boy in the ensemble. I turned to my mother during intermission.
"They keep looking at us. Are they looking at us, or is it just me?" I asked her.
"They're looking at you," she told me, which was just a little more than I could handle.
I want to take a moment to point out that I am not italicizing the term Hamilton for the sole reason that it feels like it is something bigger than just a musical and I'm not sure what is grammatically correct in a situation like that.
After the show we waited at the stage door.
Daveed didn't even remember the Thomas Jefferson debacle (Did you know that he loved vanilla ice cream and had mockingbirds? Actual mockingbirds.), so I guess I didn't scar him too badly. Jasmine didn't mention my hair again, but I suppose we can't have everything.
And then Anthony Ramos walked my way.
"You were the girl in the front row, right?" he asked. I know that breathing is supposedly a normal thing that we all just know how to do, but I swear in that moment I forgot how.
"Stage right?" he asked. I nodded. "I loved your energy--you were giving me life. That's dope!" (He says 'dope' a lot. It's adorable.)
I know that I said enough words to get him to take a picture with me, but I can't for the life of me remember what they were. I hope they sounded normal.
Then Lin came out.
"Hey!!!! Front row!" he grinned at me. "You were the best audience--you had the best facial reactions!"
I kid you not, Lin Manuel-Miranda then proceeded to imitate my facial reactions to his performance. He put his hands on both cheeks and tried to make his face look like mine. He said more words too, (He spoke actual words in reflection on his memories of me, because he has those now. Memories of me.) but to be honest, I'm having a hard time remembering what they were, because of the fact that my heart was racing and I was having an extremely hard time keeping a handle on my emotions.
Basically, this is another episode describing the ridiculously amazing ways in which the universe is taking care of me, as I hope it has been taking care of us all. I hope it knows that I am extremely and eternally grateful.
Your obedient servant,
K. Woot
(^ Get it? A Hamilton reference? Yeah. I'll see myself out.)
Saturday, 21 November 2015
Wednesday, 18 November 2015
wildly human and utterly in control
There are three things that I am focusing on learning today.
1. Learning to play guitar
2. Streamlining the way I learn music
3. Walking in heels
SO
To tie all of these things together.
I have been trying to learn guitar for about three days now. I can play a few songs (you know, the ones that only have, like, A, D, G, Em, C, in them). The F chord stands for 'freaking difficult'. You guys guitar is so hard. My fingers have these little numb spots on them that I can only feel when they hurt. It's a struggle, but it's also super super fun.
As for the walking in heels thing. It's generally accepted as a social norm that girls know how to do this, and I own exactly one pair, so I figured it was time. All of the girls had to wear them for a character assignment in class yesterday (we had to dress like a successful CEO in the 80s to explore what 'power' means--our teacher told us to be wildly human and utterly in control), so I stood in them for about an hour. I even walked up and down some seating platforms. I didn't fall once. If you can't tell, I'm quite proud.
I'm also trying to streamline my method of learning music so that I can do so faster. The general idea is that if I really force myself to get good at sight singing and memorization, I can pretty much survive in any situation I throw myself into. My seemingly less-disastrous-than-I-let-myself-believe time with that AMAZING jazz band I was telling you all about actually proved me wrong. Looks like they liked me more than I liked myself, which is probably a good lesson for all of us, so it's time to really crack down and learn learn learn. As if that's ever not true :)
The amalgamation of these three goals has led me to waddle down the hall to the elevators and then down thirteen levels to the music room to see if there are any open slots for today. (But only before 10 PM American Horror Story, because it's extremely important that I catch the new episode.)
All right. The shoes are buckled. My keys are in hand. Have a lovely day and wish me luck.
1. Learning to play guitar
2. Streamlining the way I learn music
3. Walking in heels
SO
To tie all of these things together.
I have been trying to learn guitar for about three days now. I can play a few songs (you know, the ones that only have, like, A, D, G, Em, C, in them). The F chord stands for 'freaking difficult'. You guys guitar is so hard. My fingers have these little numb spots on them that I can only feel when they hurt. It's a struggle, but it's also super super fun.
As for the walking in heels thing. It's generally accepted as a social norm that girls know how to do this, and I own exactly one pair, so I figured it was time. All of the girls had to wear them for a character assignment in class yesterday (we had to dress like a successful CEO in the 80s to explore what 'power' means--our teacher told us to be wildly human and utterly in control), so I stood in them for about an hour. I even walked up and down some seating platforms. I didn't fall once. If you can't tell, I'm quite proud.
I'm also trying to streamline my method of learning music so that I can do so faster. The general idea is that if I really force myself to get good at sight singing and memorization, I can pretty much survive in any situation I throw myself into. My seemingly less-disastrous-than-I-let-myself-believe time with that AMAZING jazz band I was telling you all about actually proved me wrong. Looks like they liked me more than I liked myself, which is probably a good lesson for all of us, so it's time to really crack down and learn learn learn. As if that's ever not true :)
All right. The shoes are buckled. My keys are in hand. Have a lovely day and wish me luck.
Monday, 16 November 2015
Don't sit like an apology
I like to believe that there is something to be said for throwing yourself into an experience, head first.
Today I sang with a big band for a read-through of about ten songs (only five of which I actually sang for, thank goodness.), and it was so much fun. Also it was a disaster. Not that I was the only one in the room that made mistakes, and not that I was the only one there that we had to stop for, but man oh man it sure does feel like it when a drummer, bassist, guitarist, pianist, and 10-15 horn players all put their instruments down cause you came in at the wrong time.
I have to say, first and foremost, I am not a good reader. If I have a choice I will choose to learn by ear. Every time. So to teach myself four songs without a piano (it's been pretty much impossible to get into the music practice room these days) was a challenge that I accepted willingly, if not expertly.
Here are some reasons that I am proud: I did work hard. I listened to the songs, I looked up different versions, I tried to plunk out the notes on my phone's little mini piano. I came prepared. I printed out the sheet music days ago (I learned that it was unnecessary for me to bring them, but whatever), I was early, I had a water bottle and a pencil, and I helped set up. The other musicians were kind and friendly and I didn't let the fact that I was scared out of my head deter me from having a good time.
I sang the first song like I regretted every move I made, which... I kinda did. I realized as it was ending that that, among all of the wrong notes and timings, was my biggest mistake. The more confident I was, the more fun I had, and the better it went. I even made it through a song I had never heard before without sending myself into a full on panic.
"Kaila, don't sit like an apology." I don't know how many times a girl can repeat that phrase in her head in two hours (give or take a few minutes), but how ever many times that is, that's how many times it was. If anything else, I am proud that I warded off all traces of self-destruction. You may or may not believe this, but I don't like messing up or being wrong or stuff like that, so to sit through two hours of feeling inadequate without yelling at myself was a fun challenge for me. There is honestly something so wonderful about being the least experienced person in the room. It opens you up to all sorts of learning experiences that you would not have had otherwise.
Above all it was a phenomenal experience. It is so incredible to watch twenty musicians sit down, look at a piece of paper with a few splotches and lines on it that explains to them their part and their part only, and create something beautiful together.
Today I sang with a big band for a read-through of about ten songs (only five of which I actually sang for, thank goodness.), and it was so much fun. Also it was a disaster. Not that I was the only one in the room that made mistakes, and not that I was the only one there that we had to stop for, but man oh man it sure does feel like it when a drummer, bassist, guitarist, pianist, and 10-15 horn players all put their instruments down cause you came in at the wrong time.
I have to say, first and foremost, I am not a good reader. If I have a choice I will choose to learn by ear. Every time. So to teach myself four songs without a piano (it's been pretty much impossible to get into the music practice room these days) was a challenge that I accepted willingly, if not expertly.
Here are some reasons that I am proud: I did work hard. I listened to the songs, I looked up different versions, I tried to plunk out the notes on my phone's little mini piano. I came prepared. I printed out the sheet music days ago (I learned that it was unnecessary for me to bring them, but whatever), I was early, I had a water bottle and a pencil, and I helped set up. The other musicians were kind and friendly and I didn't let the fact that I was scared out of my head deter me from having a good time.
I sang the first song like I regretted every move I made, which... I kinda did. I realized as it was ending that that, among all of the wrong notes and timings, was my biggest mistake. The more confident I was, the more fun I had, and the better it went. I even made it through a song I had never heard before without sending myself into a full on panic.
"Kaila, don't sit like an apology." I don't know how many times a girl can repeat that phrase in her head in two hours (give or take a few minutes), but how ever many times that is, that's how many times it was. If anything else, I am proud that I warded off all traces of self-destruction. You may or may not believe this, but I don't like messing up or being wrong or stuff like that, so to sit through two hours of feeling inadequate without yelling at myself was a fun challenge for me. There is honestly something so wonderful about being the least experienced person in the room. It opens you up to all sorts of learning experiences that you would not have had otherwise.
Above all it was a phenomenal experience. It is so incredible to watch twenty musicians sit down, look at a piece of paper with a few splotches and lines on it that explains to them their part and their part only, and create something beautiful together.
Tuesday, 10 November 2015
they brought the theater with them
Never have I ever led an existence that includes ballet at 9AM.
I really start to love it though, about halfway through. As soon as I get used to being awake, it's wonderful. Don't get me wrong, it's not the actual act of being awake at nine that gets hard, it's the knowledge that I need to be up and ready to go before 8:30 so that I can dance badly for an hour and a half and then plunge into a day at the studio that will last until 6PM.
"But Kaila," you might be thinking, "Didn't you take ballet for, like, ten years?" Yes. Yes I did. That does not combat the fact that my feet are as flat as the floor on which you are standing (sitting?) and my hips are tighter than Beyonce's backup dancers' choreography.
The wonderful thing about the world, though, is the way in which it has never given me anything unbearable. My dance teacher is wonderful. When you think ballerina, what do you picture? A long beautiful girl, with huge blue eyes and brown hair with elegant bangs? That's her. That's Stacey. Every move she makes could be documented and put on file as "the correct way" to do things. She picks up a water bottle? That's the way it should look when we all do it. She's gorgeous.
Also the music she plays. You guys, she has piano arrangements of pretty much every song, from the Into The Woods Prologue to Bruno Mars' "Just The Way You Are". Also we did chaine turns to Sara Bareilles. She's wonderful.
Right after dance class we have a three hour scene study class. It's one of the most educational things I've ever done, and I love it, but three hours is a long time to sit still and focus on one thing. At least for me.
After that comes voice and speech, in which we crouch on all fours and recite Romeo and Juliet and our teacher walks around and gives us mini massages. There is more, obviously, but those are the highlights.
Then we have a two hour character class, for which I always get indescribably nervous. I have no idea why.
My teachers are brilliant.
My voice and speech teacher is... made of magic, probably. She has long black hair, huge brown eyes, and olive skin. Every sound that comes out of her mouth is smooth like silk. If Mary Poppins and Morticia Addams had a child, it would be Christa Jones.
My character teacher, though, is in a league of her own. In her nineties, Betsy Parish has more life in her than all of us put together. Every time she opens her mouth something wise and life changing comes out. The first day of class, she walked in to the room and told us, "When I say 'go', I want you to stand up as quickly as you can." We all looked at each other, wondering if we had heard her right.
"On your marks...." We all leaned forward...
"Get set...." Some of us started to rise accidentally--
"GO!" A room full of bodies leapt towards the sky.
"Not fast enough!" She exclaimed, a gleam in her eye. "Again!" We complied. After the third time we were finally fast enough.
"On your marks," she smiled, "Get set..." We sat on the edges of our seats, hanging on to her every movement, just starving for her to give the signal. "Do you feel that?" She whispered, taking in the energy of the room. We nodded. "That's how you should always work."
Boom. Minds blown.
Today in class I realized how necessary it is to record everything the woman says. The stories she tells are beyond belief. Today, she talked about how magnificent it was to be around Elaine Stritch as a person and performer. She talked about her teacher, Stella Adler, and Stella's friend, Harold Clerman. "They were just wonderful. Their energy.... everywhere they went, they brought the theater with them."
None of us were quite sure how to tell Betsy that she too brought the theater with her, so we all just stayed quiet.
I really start to love it though, about halfway through. As soon as I get used to being awake, it's wonderful. Don't get me wrong, it's not the actual act of being awake at nine that gets hard, it's the knowledge that I need to be up and ready to go before 8:30 so that I can dance badly for an hour and a half and then plunge into a day at the studio that will last until 6PM.
"But Kaila," you might be thinking, "Didn't you take ballet for, like, ten years?" Yes. Yes I did. That does not combat the fact that my feet are as flat as the floor on which you are standing (sitting?) and my hips are tighter than Beyonce's backup dancers' choreography.
The wonderful thing about the world, though, is the way in which it has never given me anything unbearable. My dance teacher is wonderful. When you think ballerina, what do you picture? A long beautiful girl, with huge blue eyes and brown hair with elegant bangs? That's her. That's Stacey. Every move she makes could be documented and put on file as "the correct way" to do things. She picks up a water bottle? That's the way it should look when we all do it. She's gorgeous.
Also the music she plays. You guys, she has piano arrangements of pretty much every song, from the Into The Woods Prologue to Bruno Mars' "Just The Way You Are". Also we did chaine turns to Sara Bareilles. She's wonderful.
Right after dance class we have a three hour scene study class. It's one of the most educational things I've ever done, and I love it, but three hours is a long time to sit still and focus on one thing. At least for me.
After that comes voice and speech, in which we crouch on all fours and recite Romeo and Juliet and our teacher walks around and gives us mini massages. There is more, obviously, but those are the highlights.
Then we have a two hour character class, for which I always get indescribably nervous. I have no idea why.
My teachers are brilliant.
My voice and speech teacher is... made of magic, probably. She has long black hair, huge brown eyes, and olive skin. Every sound that comes out of her mouth is smooth like silk. If Mary Poppins and Morticia Addams had a child, it would be Christa Jones.
My character teacher, though, is in a league of her own. In her nineties, Betsy Parish has more life in her than all of us put together. Every time she opens her mouth something wise and life changing comes out. The first day of class, she walked in to the room and told us, "When I say 'go', I want you to stand up as quickly as you can." We all looked at each other, wondering if we had heard her right.
"On your marks...." We all leaned forward...
"Get set...." Some of us started to rise accidentally--
"GO!" A room full of bodies leapt towards the sky.
"Not fast enough!" She exclaimed, a gleam in her eye. "Again!" We complied. After the third time we were finally fast enough.
"On your marks," she smiled, "Get set..." We sat on the edges of our seats, hanging on to her every movement, just starving for her to give the signal. "Do you feel that?" She whispered, taking in the energy of the room. We nodded. "That's how you should always work."
Boom. Minds blown.
Today in class I realized how necessary it is to record everything the woman says. The stories she tells are beyond belief. Today, she talked about how magnificent it was to be around Elaine Stritch as a person and performer. She talked about her teacher, Stella Adler, and Stella's friend, Harold Clerman. "They were just wonderful. Their energy.... everywhere they went, they brought the theater with them."
None of us were quite sure how to tell Betsy that she too brought the theater with her, so we all just stayed quiet.
Saturday, 7 November 2015
it's just a dress rehearsal, so you won't have to wear a gown or anything
In light of the facts that one of the most common questions I've been asked is "what are some of the highlights of your past two months" and that today was (besides a rehearsal with my scene partner, a trek into Times Square with a super fun buddy to attempt the Spring Awakening lottery, and a fleeting encounter with Ben Platt) blessedly quiet, I'll do my best to reflect on some of the coolest and strangest moments since I got here.
Please know undoubtedly that each of these stories comes completely from a place of "I cannot believe that this is happening to me." (In the best of ways.)
It would also be helpful for you all to note that I am a huge dork and get excited about the strangest things, sometimes.
NYU had a huge dance party the first week we were here. Three stories of music. The ceiling was literally creaking, which apparently was relatively tame, as last year paintings actually fell off the walls. I stayed and partied for a while (Boom. Real Teen Status, check) until coming to the realization that my suitemate had never seen Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, upon which about five us hightailed it back to the dorm and made popcorn. I am pleased to report she has now seen every episode.
The first weekend that I was here, I got a text from a wonderful friend at home, telling me to go to Birdland, a club in Times Square, the following Monday at 9:30. I showed up with some sheet music and absolutely nothing else. Austin McKenzie, you know, the lead of the Spring Awakening revival that's on Broadway right now, sang. Then me. Then his costar Sean Grandillo. Then the next Roxie Hart in Chicago. Christina Bianco performed a song and pretended to be four different women. If you've never seen this happen, Youtube it. It's pretty phenomenal. So the night was pretty much super fantastic. It only got better when I met Sean Grandillo after Spring Awakening when I was lucky enough to see it and he remembered me. I don't even remember actually taking the subway back to my dorm that night. I think I just floated.
I ran into Jessica Lange on 5th Avenue walking home one day. She is a goddess.
So on his first day in the city, a friend of mine was offered two free tickets to the final dress of the Opera at the MET as a sort of "welcome to the city" present by a woman he met on the bus. The star of the opera just happened to be a woman that he had performed with while living in Germany and performing in a boys' choir (because these are the astonishing stories with which I am serenaded every day). If we're being honest, I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I accepted his invitation to go with him. Sure, I'd heard of the Opera at the MET, but how much does any seventeen-year-old girl really know about it? I sat down next to him in class one day and he turned to me, shooting off some details about the night. "I mean," he shrugged, "It's just a dress rehearsal, so you won't have to wear a gown or anything." I hope that I didn't show him how floored I was. I don't know that I've ever owned a gown.
Claybourne Elder was getting on the same subway as me. We talked. It was a good day.
Apparently I have a cousin with an apartment uptown. They have an elevator that opens directly into their hallway and their refrigerator is literally just electrically chilled drawers that look like a part of the wall. There was a menu involved for an in-house dinner and I was completely out of my element. Also there were paintings that rolled up to reveal television sets. It was a good night.
I got to go to the cupcake ATM. True happiness.
I went to the Top of the Rock, which is the top of the Rockefeller Building, where you can see almost the entire city from a bird's eye view. There are no words, and pictures don't do it justice, so I'm just going to go ahead and say that it was beautiful and I had a wonderful time. I also went ice skating down below at Rockefeller Plaza, which was picturesque to say the least.
I am so lucky in the way of visitors. People are here almost every week. I've seen childhood friends, family, family friends that I've never met... all sorts. It's magnificent.
There is literally a store called 'Puppies'. Honest and to the point. I spent some time there. Fell in love once or twice.
I have so much to say about going to see Hamilton, but it was also too good to really use words to describe, so I won't deal with the show itself. My cousin and I got hungry before the show, so we went across the street to have pizza. The shoebox of a joint was predictably packed (the smaller the place the better the food, it seems), but as I peeked in, one person stood out to me.
"I... I know that man bun. That's... That's Lin Manuel-Miranda," I breathed.
"Who?" My cousin asked.
"Lin Manuel-Miranda. He wrote this show--he wrote Hamilton."
"Are you sure?"
I almost laughed. "Oh yeah."
We stopped him for a second (not too long, obviously, the brilliant beautiful genius had a show going up in an hour) and got to tell him we were going to see the show and get a quick photo. He was unbelievably lovely and brilliant and beautiful and genius. After the show we waited at the stage door and met the entire cast. Jasmine Cephas Jones told me she liked my hair (and repeated herself when I stagedoored the show for a second time), which is flattering and also a little silly, considering that we pretty much have the same hair. Both Daveed Diggs and Jonathan Groff said they liked my hat, which is a win. James Corden was at the show and we met him? Random. I very literally thanked Lin 'for his brain', to which he gave a strangled "You're welcome?" so maybe I could have had a little more grace there.
A British man flirted with me one time, so I feel like that has to count for something.
I got to to go to the World Citizen Festival, which was a free never-ending concert with performances by (but goodness knows not limited to) Ariana Grande, Coldplay, Tori Kelly, Ed Sheeran, Sting, Pearl Jam, and Beyonce. There were also a million fancy famous people, like Leo DiCaprio, Laverne Cox, Hugh Jackman Usher, and more importantly people like Malala and the 1st Lady. It was sort of unbelievable.
Oh. Oh you guys. I went to Sara Bareilles' book launch. She wrote a book. And a musical. She wrote both a book and a musical at the same time. Because she's just that phenomenal. She and Ben Folds had a conversation for about an hour which was darling and fun. Then she stood up, took a sip of whiskey, sat down at the piano, and tore the thing to shreds. I'm pretty sure there's nothing the woman can't do. She is a role model and an idol and a goddess. I shook her hand. She asked if I was a singer. I said yes because I couldn't think of other words or my name or where I was. I am in one of her photos on Instagram because we waited on line for three hours to meet her.
My teacher said that the first essay I turned in was "one of the first reckoning essays she's seen so far". I am patiently waiting for some eloquent and poetic version of a "Gotcha!" email.
There's this guy I kind of like, but he lives all the way back down south. I got lucky and he came to visit for a week. That was sort of fun I guess. Eh.
I got to visit my mom's old apartment. In my house back home, we have a black and white sketch of a building, surrounded by a couple of tiny trees. It's not a very assuming picture, so I never really thought much of it, until I stood in front of its real life inspiration. Unexpectedly serene, the light colored building sits lightly on seventy-seventh, somewhere around fifth avenue. With black iron curling around the front door and the bottoms of the windows, it looked like the quintessential NYC dream home. I'm furious that my mother ever left.
So now you're technically up to date. It's unfortunate though, because, without accidentally writing a full length book, I can only put down the bigger events. The smaller magic gets left out, and that's what makes this place so special. The flashy lights are nice, sure, but it's the way the world looks as the sun goes down, or the inelegant ballet of too many people all trying to get somewhere at once that turns a messy city into a disorganized piece of elastic art. It's a good thing, really, that it's so hard to capture that with words, because if we could all do it there wouldn't really be a reason to be here in person anymore, would there?
Please know undoubtedly that each of these stories comes completely from a place of "I cannot believe that this is happening to me." (In the best of ways.)
It would also be helpful for you all to note that I am a huge dork and get excited about the strangest things, sometimes.
NYU had a huge dance party the first week we were here. Three stories of music. The ceiling was literally creaking, which apparently was relatively tame, as last year paintings actually fell off the walls. I stayed and partied for a while (Boom. Real Teen Status, check) until coming to the realization that my suitemate had never seen Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, upon which about five us hightailed it back to the dorm and made popcorn. I am pleased to report she has now seen every episode.
The first weekend that I was here, I got a text from a wonderful friend at home, telling me to go to Birdland, a club in Times Square, the following Monday at 9:30. I showed up with some sheet music and absolutely nothing else. Austin McKenzie, you know, the lead of the Spring Awakening revival that's on Broadway right now, sang. Then me. Then his costar Sean Grandillo. Then the next Roxie Hart in Chicago. Christina Bianco performed a song and pretended to be four different women. If you've never seen this happen, Youtube it. It's pretty phenomenal. So the night was pretty much super fantastic. It only got better when I met Sean Grandillo after Spring Awakening when I was lucky enough to see it and he remembered me. I don't even remember actually taking the subway back to my dorm that night. I think I just floated.
I ran into Jessica Lange on 5th Avenue walking home one day. She is a goddess.
So on his first day in the city, a friend of mine was offered two free tickets to the final dress of the Opera at the MET as a sort of "welcome to the city" present by a woman he met on the bus. The star of the opera just happened to be a woman that he had performed with while living in Germany and performing in a boys' choir (because these are the astonishing stories with which I am serenaded every day). If we're being honest, I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I accepted his invitation to go with him. Sure, I'd heard of the Opera at the MET, but how much does any seventeen-year-old girl really know about it? I sat down next to him in class one day and he turned to me, shooting off some details about the night. "I mean," he shrugged, "It's just a dress rehearsal, so you won't have to wear a gown or anything." I hope that I didn't show him how floored I was. I don't know that I've ever owned a gown.
Claybourne Elder was getting on the same subway as me. We talked. It was a good day.
Apparently I have a cousin with an apartment uptown. They have an elevator that opens directly into their hallway and their refrigerator is literally just electrically chilled drawers that look like a part of the wall. There was a menu involved for an in-house dinner and I was completely out of my element. Also there were paintings that rolled up to reveal television sets. It was a good night.
I got to go to the cupcake ATM. True happiness.
I went to the Top of the Rock, which is the top of the Rockefeller Building, where you can see almost the entire city from a bird's eye view. There are no words, and pictures don't do it justice, so I'm just going to go ahead and say that it was beautiful and I had a wonderful time. I also went ice skating down below at Rockefeller Plaza, which was picturesque to say the least.
I am so lucky in the way of visitors. People are here almost every week. I've seen childhood friends, family, family friends that I've never met... all sorts. It's magnificent.
There is literally a store called 'Puppies'. Honest and to the point. I spent some time there. Fell in love once or twice.
I have so much to say about going to see Hamilton, but it was also too good to really use words to describe, so I won't deal with the show itself. My cousin and I got hungry before the show, so we went across the street to have pizza. The shoebox of a joint was predictably packed (the smaller the place the better the food, it seems), but as I peeked in, one person stood out to me.
"I... I know that man bun. That's... That's Lin Manuel-Miranda," I breathed.
"Who?" My cousin asked.
"Lin Manuel-Miranda. He wrote this show--he wrote Hamilton."
"Are you sure?"
I almost laughed. "Oh yeah."
We stopped him for a second (not too long, obviously, the brilliant beautiful genius had a show going up in an hour) and got to tell him we were going to see the show and get a quick photo. He was unbelievably lovely and brilliant and beautiful and genius. After the show we waited at the stage door and met the entire cast. Jasmine Cephas Jones told me she liked my hair (and repeated herself when I stagedoored the show for a second time), which is flattering and also a little silly, considering that we pretty much have the same hair. Both Daveed Diggs and Jonathan Groff said they liked my hat, which is a win. James Corden was at the show and we met him? Random. I very literally thanked Lin 'for his brain', to which he gave a strangled "You're welcome?" so maybe I could have had a little more grace there.
A British man flirted with me one time, so I feel like that has to count for something.
I got to to go to the World Citizen Festival, which was a free never-ending concert with performances by (but goodness knows not limited to) Ariana Grande, Coldplay, Tori Kelly, Ed Sheeran, Sting, Pearl Jam, and Beyonce. There were also a million fancy famous people, like Leo DiCaprio, Laverne Cox, Hugh Jackman Usher, and more importantly people like Malala and the 1st Lady. It was sort of unbelievable.
Oh. Oh you guys. I went to Sara Bareilles' book launch. She wrote a book. And a musical. She wrote both a book and a musical at the same time. Because she's just that phenomenal. She and Ben Folds had a conversation for about an hour which was darling and fun. Then she stood up, took a sip of whiskey, sat down at the piano, and tore the thing to shreds. I'm pretty sure there's nothing the woman can't do. She is a role model and an idol and a goddess. I shook her hand. She asked if I was a singer. I said yes because I couldn't think of other words or my name or where I was. I am in one of her photos on Instagram because we waited on line for three hours to meet her.
My teacher said that the first essay I turned in was "one of the first reckoning essays she's seen so far". I am patiently waiting for some eloquent and poetic version of a "Gotcha!" email.
There's this guy I kind of like, but he lives all the way back down south. I got lucky and he came to visit for a week. That was sort of fun I guess. Eh.
I got to visit my mom's old apartment. In my house back home, we have a black and white sketch of a building, surrounded by a couple of tiny trees. It's not a very assuming picture, so I never really thought much of it, until I stood in front of its real life inspiration. Unexpectedly serene, the light colored building sits lightly on seventy-seventh, somewhere around fifth avenue. With black iron curling around the front door and the bottoms of the windows, it looked like the quintessential NYC dream home. I'm furious that my mother ever left.
So now you're technically up to date. It's unfortunate though, because, without accidentally writing a full length book, I can only put down the bigger events. The smaller magic gets left out, and that's what makes this place so special. The flashy lights are nice, sure, but it's the way the world looks as the sun goes down, or the inelegant ballet of too many people all trying to get somewhere at once that turns a messy city into a disorganized piece of elastic art. It's a good thing, really, that it's so hard to capture that with words, because if we could all do it there wouldn't really be a reason to be here in person anymore, would there?
we shot the Exorcist two blocks from here
A baron and a model walk into a bar.
This, my dear friends, is not a joke, but rather my dinner.
I believe we touched on the fact that I am living out my own modern day Great Gatsby, yes? Tonight was no exception. A lovely, lovely friend was in town, and she invited me to a dinner at one of her favorite bars in Columbus Circle, where a friend of hers works. I walked in to find a bar full of characters; eclectic, loud, and confident.
The Actor/Bartender: Charismatic and kind, the social connection of Gabriel's Bar and Restaurant is a successful actor and now a successful bartender. I didn't get to know him as well as I would have liked because he was busy most of the night, but he knew nearly every person who walked through the doors by name. He had gone to high school with my friend who was visiting, and with each refill he was ready with a witty remark or a joke. "I don't know if you noticed this," he said quietly, refilling my water, "but Elvis Costello just walked in." The adults gasped.
"Who?" I asked. (Don't worry, I've since Googled.)
The Singer: Her hair was red velvet and framed her face as if something was helping it to stand upright. "I was trained classically," she said matter-of-factly, "but..." she pursed her lips, smiling and shaking her head.
"She sang for the 9/11 War Memorial event. Of all the singers in the world..." my friend told me.
Her laugh was as lively as her red feathered phone case and bejeweled handbag.
The Model: Well, to be clear, she's not exactly a model anymore. Now she's an immensely successful financial something in the modeling industry (?) I'm still a little unclear. It's something super cool. Also, a few hours into the night, she became a fortune teller. I'm going to get married and have children once I'm in my thirties, if you were wondering. Twins, but a little girl first. I was also warned "not to get freaky." Do with that one what you will.
The Playwright/Psychologist: He wrote a successful play, the name of which I forget. Now he's a successful psychologist, and from what I gather, quite the ladies man. He told me he was eighty-three. An eighty-three year old studmuffin. I just... that makes me smile.
"See that man? That's the state of New York's attorney general."
"You mean, he just walked in?" I asked. He nodded.
As we watched the man take his table, Dr. Playwright went on to explain to me the large controversy surrounded by the attorney's current job, straightening out the large company Exxon's claims about global warming that they have been showing to their stock holders.
The Baron: He said he'd just flown in from Argentina. I asked him how long he'd been there and he said twenty years. I asked him how long he'd be staying and he said about a month. "Our elections are coming up in two weeks, and the first few elections didn't go at all as we expected. It's not about to be pretty, so I figured I'd leave town for a little while. No matter what happens, they can't blame me!" There was more about the specifics of the Argentinian government that went way over my head until the term 'baron' got thrown around, but you get the gist. He repeated the last phrase of most anything that I said (Kaila: Oh, well, you do what you can... Baron:...You do what you can...) and he pushed up his glasses with his middle finger, which confused me quite a lot at first.
The NYU Graduate: What are the odds? Pretty good, actually. He graduated from Cap 21, which was the old musical theater school in 2009. We had a lovely conversation about good teachers, bad ones, what we loved about Writing the Essay (one of the academic classes that we have to take freshman year), and the ways NYU has changed. He gave me some pretty good advice, actually. He told me to move into the Gramercy dorms next year and to audition for anything I can be seen for, which was absolutely valuable.
The Movie Maker: An unassuming man in his seventies, it took him a while before we really started to make conversation. Quietly brilliant, he asked me about school and my life, and the more excited I got, the more excited he got. He was supportive and kind, and he knew more about the business than he deemed wise to fit into his short and efficient sentences. The thing that stood out the most to me was his lack of excess. Each sentence that he spoke seemed imperative to the conversation. The words coming out of his mouth were in no way self-serving and always added something wonderful to the conversation.
An incomplete list of things he said:
-"We shot the Exorcist two blocks from here."
-"I'm buying the book." (And I don't think he means he's picking up a copy at the nearest Books a Million. I think he actually means owning the rights to every version of the publication ever.)
-"I own two percent of Silence of the Lambs."
-"My good friend Shel Silverstein..."
With this, I'll leave you all to imagine what on earth my night could have possibly been like. I'm still a little bit perplexed myself. If it is of any interest to you, I surprised myself with my ability to chameleon myself into the situation. I'm not sure if I succeeded in quieting down my crazy, or if I was just sitting at a bar with other cartoon people like me. I'd like to think the latter.
This, my dear friends, is not a joke, but rather my dinner.
I believe we touched on the fact that I am living out my own modern day Great Gatsby, yes? Tonight was no exception. A lovely, lovely friend was in town, and she invited me to a dinner at one of her favorite bars in Columbus Circle, where a friend of hers works. I walked in to find a bar full of characters; eclectic, loud, and confident.
The Actor/Bartender: Charismatic and kind, the social connection of Gabriel's Bar and Restaurant is a successful actor and now a successful bartender. I didn't get to know him as well as I would have liked because he was busy most of the night, but he knew nearly every person who walked through the doors by name. He had gone to high school with my friend who was visiting, and with each refill he was ready with a witty remark or a joke. "I don't know if you noticed this," he said quietly, refilling my water, "but Elvis Costello just walked in." The adults gasped.
"Who?" I asked. (Don't worry, I've since Googled.)
The Singer: Her hair was red velvet and framed her face as if something was helping it to stand upright. "I was trained classically," she said matter-of-factly, "but..." she pursed her lips, smiling and shaking her head.
"She sang for the 9/11 War Memorial event. Of all the singers in the world..." my friend told me.
Her laugh was as lively as her red feathered phone case and bejeweled handbag.
The Model: Well, to be clear, she's not exactly a model anymore. Now she's an immensely successful financial something in the modeling industry (?) I'm still a little unclear. It's something super cool. Also, a few hours into the night, she became a fortune teller. I'm going to get married and have children once I'm in my thirties, if you were wondering. Twins, but a little girl first. I was also warned "not to get freaky." Do with that one what you will.
The Playwright/Psychologist: He wrote a successful play, the name of which I forget. Now he's a successful psychologist, and from what I gather, quite the ladies man. He told me he was eighty-three. An eighty-three year old studmuffin. I just... that makes me smile.
"See that man? That's the state of New York's attorney general."
"You mean, he just walked in?" I asked. He nodded.
As we watched the man take his table, Dr. Playwright went on to explain to me the large controversy surrounded by the attorney's current job, straightening out the large company Exxon's claims about global warming that they have been showing to their stock holders.
The Baron: He said he'd just flown in from Argentina. I asked him how long he'd been there and he said twenty years. I asked him how long he'd be staying and he said about a month. "Our elections are coming up in two weeks, and the first few elections didn't go at all as we expected. It's not about to be pretty, so I figured I'd leave town for a little while. No matter what happens, they can't blame me!" There was more about the specifics of the Argentinian government that went way over my head until the term 'baron' got thrown around, but you get the gist. He repeated the last phrase of most anything that I said (Kaila: Oh, well, you do what you can... Baron:...You do what you can...) and he pushed up his glasses with his middle finger, which confused me quite a lot at first.
The NYU Graduate: What are the odds? Pretty good, actually. He graduated from Cap 21, which was the old musical theater school in 2009. We had a lovely conversation about good teachers, bad ones, what we loved about Writing the Essay (one of the academic classes that we have to take freshman year), and the ways NYU has changed. He gave me some pretty good advice, actually. He told me to move into the Gramercy dorms next year and to audition for anything I can be seen for, which was absolutely valuable.
The Movie Maker: An unassuming man in his seventies, it took him a while before we really started to make conversation. Quietly brilliant, he asked me about school and my life, and the more excited I got, the more excited he got. He was supportive and kind, and he knew more about the business than he deemed wise to fit into his short and efficient sentences. The thing that stood out the most to me was his lack of excess. Each sentence that he spoke seemed imperative to the conversation. The words coming out of his mouth were in no way self-serving and always added something wonderful to the conversation.
An incomplete list of things he said:
-"We shot the Exorcist two blocks from here."
-"I'm buying the book." (And I don't think he means he's picking up a copy at the nearest Books a Million. I think he actually means owning the rights to every version of the publication ever.)
-"I own two percent of Silence of the Lambs."
-"My good friend Shel Silverstein..."
With this, I'll leave you all to imagine what on earth my night could have possibly been like. I'm still a little bit perplexed myself. If it is of any interest to you, I surprised myself with my ability to chameleon myself into the situation. I'm not sure if I succeeded in quieting down my crazy, or if I was just sitting at a bar with other cartoon people like me. I'd like to think the latter.
Friday, 6 November 2015
throwing away Kaila's clocks
Another week has been conquered. Each one is a small success.
I am sitting on my bed genuinely trying to remember what happened today.
Have we talked about the fact that the staff at Dunkin Donuts knows me? Cause they do. There is a Dunkin literally attached to my building. Attached. There are two doorways and one elevator through which I must walk to get to the Dunkin Donuts. Direct sunlight doesn't even have to touch my skin.
I am lucky because I have never been a coffee fanatic **cough cough** like my mother. In fact, the coffee I like tastes more like melted coffee ice cream with some sugar added. This is lucky because I now have instant access to coffee virtually 24/7, and if I were of the obsessive nature I would be addicted by now.
I know that I have mentioned my ability to order breakfast from my bed, so I guess I'll explain that a little better.
See, there's this app called Tapingo. I put in my college ID, it knows who I am, where I am, and what food I can get via my lovely wonderful school. So in the morning, I turn on my phone, click on the little orange button, tell Dunkin Donuts what I want for breakfast, and it pays with my meal plan. I just have to go downstairs and pick it up. They read out the names on the orders and give out the drinks and paper bags just like a super fancy and premeditated Halloween.
About two weeks in they just sort of stopped asking for my name and handing me my food.
This routine has only strengthened my lifestyle of not standing still, which I suppose will catch up to me eventually.
We had three classes today, one in which we said the word "Ma" over and over with open soft palettes and rolled around on the floor a lot, one where we gave each other strangely specific massages, and one where we--do you remember? We talked about this--had five minute one-on-one meetings with our teacher. Terrifying.
Over all, my teacher had one note for me, and it was no surprise.
"I don't get this sense from you, like, in life, or outside of class, but when you perform the exercises it seems like you need to get through them as quickly as possible. Like you're worried you're taking up too much time. You just need to slow down and give yourself enough time to process and receive. I want to take time out of the equation. I want to throw away all of Kaila's Clocks."
I mean, can anyone really say they didn't see this coming?
My question is this: Am I really rushing through things, or do I just move through the world quicker than others do? I know for a fact that my mind jumps from one thing to another and back again before the last letter's even been typed.
You guys. I'm gonna have to slow down. Help.
I am sitting on my bed genuinely trying to remember what happened today.
Have we talked about the fact that the staff at Dunkin Donuts knows me? Cause they do. There is a Dunkin literally attached to my building. Attached. There are two doorways and one elevator through which I must walk to get to the Dunkin Donuts. Direct sunlight doesn't even have to touch my skin.
I am lucky because I have never been a coffee fanatic **cough cough** like my mother. In fact, the coffee I like tastes more like melted coffee ice cream with some sugar added. This is lucky because I now have instant access to coffee virtually 24/7, and if I were of the obsessive nature I would be addicted by now.
I know that I have mentioned my ability to order breakfast from my bed, so I guess I'll explain that a little better.
See, there's this app called Tapingo. I put in my college ID, it knows who I am, where I am, and what food I can get via my lovely wonderful school. So in the morning, I turn on my phone, click on the little orange button, tell Dunkin Donuts what I want for breakfast, and it pays with my meal plan. I just have to go downstairs and pick it up. They read out the names on the orders and give out the drinks and paper bags just like a super fancy and premeditated Halloween.
About two weeks in they just sort of stopped asking for my name and handing me my food.
This routine has only strengthened my lifestyle of not standing still, which I suppose will catch up to me eventually.
We had three classes today, one in which we said the word "Ma" over and over with open soft palettes and rolled around on the floor a lot, one where we gave each other strangely specific massages, and one where we--do you remember? We talked about this--had five minute one-on-one meetings with our teacher. Terrifying.
Over all, my teacher had one note for me, and it was no surprise.
"I don't get this sense from you, like, in life, or outside of class, but when you perform the exercises it seems like you need to get through them as quickly as possible. Like you're worried you're taking up too much time. You just need to slow down and give yourself enough time to process and receive. I want to take time out of the equation. I want to throw away all of Kaila's Clocks."
I mean, can anyone really say they didn't see this coming?
My question is this: Am I really rushing through things, or do I just move through the world quicker than others do? I know for a fact that my mind jumps from one thing to another and back again before the last letter's even been typed.
You guys. I'm gonna have to slow down. Help.
I'm going to send you to Asia.
I'm not sure if you've ever gotten lost in the Metropolitan Museum of Art before, but it's something I highly suggest.
I am currently sitting in an almost-pitch-black hotel room with a sleeping child (don't worry, it'll make sense later) trying not to think about the fact that today, all of my performance teachers huddled together at the Stella Adler studios on 27th street and Broadway and talked about each of their students. One at a time. To decide their midterm grade. Yes, I am dealing with the stressful knowledge that, at one point on this fine cloudy evening, seven brilliant people sat around talking about me. But it's fine I'm not nervous or anything.
In part, I'm sure, to distract us, and in part to keep us from lazing off all day, one of our teachers gave us a task to do. "Go to the wood and bring me back: ONE--"
Nah I'm joking.
The normal version of the assignment is this: We were supposed to go to the MET. I want you to know that our teacher sent us an article from the "New York Times" about a newly instigated policy that meant we could now touch the art. She was so excited! Just imagine the possibilities! One of the students kindly pointed out to me that the article had been published in 2009. In the Onion. Yeah. We were supposed to travel together in our group ("Move like an amoeba. Be in contact with each other." This is my teacher, you guys, a direct quote.) to the MET museum, split up, and spend an hour looking for a piece of art that moved us. Then we would meet up and discuss what we'd discovered.
At first I was honestly just looking for a restroom.
"Well," the lady behind the help desk smiled, "Where are you headed after that?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead. I used the first exhibit that came to mind (and also the one that I was the most excited to see).
"The musical instruments," I decided.
The lady's eyes twinkled. "Ooh, then I'm going to send you to Asia. Go to the end of the balcony, make a left, and then it's just 30 yards down."
I blinked. With that sentence, the lady had erased the rest of the day from my mind. Her directions hung in front of me like a strange trance. Send me to Asia? 30 yards? It took me out of my every day self and thrust me into the museum state of mind.
Just in case I wasn't completely entranced in the beautiful alien stillness that is the Metropolitan, the first room I walked into had a small opera weaving through the art. A woman, in some sort of confusing heap of lovely fabric, was singing to a woman in a burka, sitting in a chair across the floor from her. Surrounded by art and surprised spectators holding their breath, it felt like someone had plucked the performance from a stage and dropped them accidentally before us. So that was my first ten minutes in the building.
I don't need to take you room by room through the Met museum. Google it. I will say, however, that those security guards sure had an interesting little treat wrapped up in a black skirt and a red cardigan. It can't be particularly interesting, to stand there and watch a million people stand still and stare at statues and paintings that are also standing still, so if nothing else I was a breath of fresh air. I'm sure you guys know this about me, but I don't get excited quietly, so I pretty much walked through the museum by myself, trying not to jump up and down or something.
I spent most of my three hours there with my hands balled into fists, a physical reminder that I would be pinned to the ground if I actually tried to touch anything.
Easily my favorite thing about the museum was standing in front of paintings that are ginormous. It is the most disorienting thing to be big and little at the same time. On one hand, you are dwarfed by, lets say, a stately golden frame enveloping George Washington crossing the Delaware. On the other, you're the size of a whole ship. It's hard for my brain to make sense of.
I spent three hours at the MET. The rest of my night had an entirely different feel.
I am the master of turning the backstage area of a venue into a playground. I'd honestly forgotten.
Every time I babysit for a new kid I get nervous, and tonight was no exception. I'd meet the family at the venue in Times Square where they were playing, hang out with their six year old son for a while there, and then bring him back to the hotel for the night. Traversing Times Square at night with a mini human that I'd never met. This was an entirely new ballgame... Except it wasn't.
"The tour manager will meet you outside with your pass."
That's when I remembered. Kaila, you silly goose, this was your childhood.
"You guys can head back to the hotel at around ten. We tried to keep him with us for the second set a while back, but that ended with a major meltdown," the boy's father said. I nodded sympathetically.
"It's definitely a dilemma I'm familiar with," I smiled.
"Oh! Yeah, I guess so!" the father laughed.
"You can stay in here and hang out, or you can watch the show from stage left," the boy's mother added. They gave me the hotel room key, told me to put on a Miles Davis album to put him to sleep, and left us to our own devices.
Instinct took over. I closed the door to mask the... colorful odors coming from the house. I pretended not to hear the harsh lyrics of the first band's music, and I asked my new friend about his Darth Vader hoodie. Years of glowtape-and-sharpie crafting came flooding back to me. I remembered falling asleep in amp cases and exploring every corner that I could find.
I don't know if you have ever had the eerie pleasure of finding yourself in the same situation that you were often in as a child, and yet in an entirely different capacity as you were back then, but it's a pretty neat thing. I grinned at this energetic mop of brown curls in front of me, thinking of what it would be like to meet him when he was my age.
"I played with you during your Mom's show when you were just a little boy!" Then I cringed. How many times had someone directed this comment at me? So many. And how many times had I been awkwardly unsure of how to answer? Every single one of them. I vowed that I would never be the adult to bring it up.
Instead, I clapped my hands together, looking around at the wealth of material around us.
"Wanna make a fort?"
Towing a six-year-old through Times Square is not as scary as you would think. It's actually kind of fun.
Side note: One universal truth for any child lucky enough to be sleeping in a hotel room: they will do their best to make you believe that they sleep better with the television on. "No really, I'm not just trying to convince you!" (Turn all of the r's into w's)
~I wrote all of this last night (this morning?), trying to keep myself awake, and stopped when it was time for me to hop on the yellow line back to my cozy dorm. So, just to be clear (not something at which I'm always that great), this is all about November 5th. November 6th is a whole new story, which I'm hoping to be able to sift through relatively soon. One day, when I get my life together, I'm going to figure out how not to only write these things in the wee hours of the morning, but I guess I'm just not there yet. ;)
I am currently sitting in an almost-pitch-black hotel room with a sleeping child (don't worry, it'll make sense later) trying not to think about the fact that today, all of my performance teachers huddled together at the Stella Adler studios on 27th street and Broadway and talked about each of their students. One at a time. To decide their midterm grade. Yes, I am dealing with the stressful knowledge that, at one point on this fine cloudy evening, seven brilliant people sat around talking about me. But it's fine I'm not nervous or anything.
In part, I'm sure, to distract us, and in part to keep us from lazing off all day, one of our teachers gave us a task to do. "Go to the wood and bring me back: ONE--"
Nah I'm joking.
The normal version of the assignment is this: We were supposed to go to the MET. I want you to know that our teacher sent us an article from the "New York Times" about a newly instigated policy that meant we could now touch the art. She was so excited! Just imagine the possibilities! One of the students kindly pointed out to me that the article had been published in 2009. In the Onion. Yeah. We were supposed to travel together in our group ("Move like an amoeba. Be in contact with each other." This is my teacher, you guys, a direct quote.) to the MET museum, split up, and spend an hour looking for a piece of art that moved us. Then we would meet up and discuss what we'd discovered.
At first I was honestly just looking for a restroom.
"Well," the lady behind the help desk smiled, "Where are you headed after that?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead. I used the first exhibit that came to mind (and also the one that I was the most excited to see).
"The musical instruments," I decided.
The lady's eyes twinkled. "Ooh, then I'm going to send you to Asia. Go to the end of the balcony, make a left, and then it's just 30 yards down."
I blinked. With that sentence, the lady had erased the rest of the day from my mind. Her directions hung in front of me like a strange trance. Send me to Asia? 30 yards? It took me out of my every day self and thrust me into the museum state of mind.
Just in case I wasn't completely entranced in the beautiful alien stillness that is the Metropolitan, the first room I walked into had a small opera weaving through the art. A woman, in some sort of confusing heap of lovely fabric, was singing to a woman in a burka, sitting in a chair across the floor from her. Surrounded by art and surprised spectators holding their breath, it felt like someone had plucked the performance from a stage and dropped them accidentally before us. So that was my first ten minutes in the building.
I don't need to take you room by room through the Met museum. Google it. I will say, however, that those security guards sure had an interesting little treat wrapped up in a black skirt and a red cardigan. It can't be particularly interesting, to stand there and watch a million people stand still and stare at statues and paintings that are also standing still, so if nothing else I was a breath of fresh air. I'm sure you guys know this about me, but I don't get excited quietly, so I pretty much walked through the museum by myself, trying not to jump up and down or something.
I spent most of my three hours there with my hands balled into fists, a physical reminder that I would be pinned to the ground if I actually tried to touch anything.
Easily my favorite thing about the museum was standing in front of paintings that are ginormous. It is the most disorienting thing to be big and little at the same time. On one hand, you are dwarfed by, lets say, a stately golden frame enveloping George Washington crossing the Delaware. On the other, you're the size of a whole ship. It's hard for my brain to make sense of.
I spent three hours at the MET. The rest of my night had an entirely different feel.
I am the master of turning the backstage area of a venue into a playground. I'd honestly forgotten.
Every time I babysit for a new kid I get nervous, and tonight was no exception. I'd meet the family at the venue in Times Square where they were playing, hang out with their six year old son for a while there, and then bring him back to the hotel for the night. Traversing Times Square at night with a mini human that I'd never met. This was an entirely new ballgame... Except it wasn't.
"The tour manager will meet you outside with your pass."
That's when I remembered. Kaila, you silly goose, this was your childhood.
"You guys can head back to the hotel at around ten. We tried to keep him with us for the second set a while back, but that ended with a major meltdown," the boy's father said. I nodded sympathetically.
"It's definitely a dilemma I'm familiar with," I smiled.
"Oh! Yeah, I guess so!" the father laughed.
"You can stay in here and hang out, or you can watch the show from stage left," the boy's mother added. They gave me the hotel room key, told me to put on a Miles Davis album to put him to sleep, and left us to our own devices.
Instinct took over. I closed the door to mask the... colorful odors coming from the house. I pretended not to hear the harsh lyrics of the first band's music, and I asked my new friend about his Darth Vader hoodie. Years of glowtape-and-sharpie crafting came flooding back to me. I remembered falling asleep in amp cases and exploring every corner that I could find.
I don't know if you have ever had the eerie pleasure of finding yourself in the same situation that you were often in as a child, and yet in an entirely different capacity as you were back then, but it's a pretty neat thing. I grinned at this energetic mop of brown curls in front of me, thinking of what it would be like to meet him when he was my age.
"I played with you during your Mom's show when you were just a little boy!" Then I cringed. How many times had someone directed this comment at me? So many. And how many times had I been awkwardly unsure of how to answer? Every single one of them. I vowed that I would never be the adult to bring it up.
Instead, I clapped my hands together, looking around at the wealth of material around us.
"Wanna make a fort?"
Towing a six-year-old through Times Square is not as scary as you would think. It's actually kind of fun.
Side note: One universal truth for any child lucky enough to be sleeping in a hotel room: they will do their best to make you believe that they sleep better with the television on. "No really, I'm not just trying to convince you!" (Turn all of the r's into w's)
~I wrote all of this last night (this morning?), trying to keep myself awake, and stopped when it was time for me to hop on the yellow line back to my cozy dorm. So, just to be clear (not something at which I'm always that great), this is all about November 5th. November 6th is a whole new story, which I'm hoping to be able to sift through relatively soon. One day, when I get my life together, I'm going to figure out how not to only write these things in the wee hours of the morning, but I guess I'm just not there yet. ;)
Thursday, 5 November 2015
I'm already somewhere
"Are you aware that you are 90% cartoon?" ~My classmate, this morning
And thus I took to this page to chronicle the adventures of a cartoon girl newly released into a 3D world.
I have made new friends. I have come into contact with people I never in a million years would have spoken to if we weren't in a class together. I have been branded (lovingly, I'm sure) the nerd for taking notes in class on a day that wasn't going to be covered on the test. I look forward to class, and on the days that I don't, I am so incredibly happy to be there as soon as I walk through the door. The people around me are thinking. I am proud of the first essay I turned in. Every word out of my acting teachers' mouths simultaneously flies over my head and punches me in the gut. The first day of Introduction to Theater Production we watched clips of Spiderman The Musical, and Pharrell Williams works here now.
I love it here.
When I was around 14, I had a blog on which I wrote 183 posts. Looking back on them now they seem ridiculously silly, and I had to close the page before rereading them talked me out of creating this new one. I am, as I write this, still trying to convince myself that this is not a stupid idea. Friends of the interwebs... convince me.
I suppose that, in order for all of you to fully understand this story, I have to start with mini-Kaila, say a mere five years ago.
I don't know who first put the words 'New York University' into her head. But there they were, ricocheting around, making noise up there with all of the rest of the outlandish ideas. For some reason, that one stuck.
"Where do you want to go to college?" People asked. I had my answer. Honestly, (Mom, don't freak out) the older I got, the less sure I was of my choice. How could I possibly have a handle on where I wanted to spend four years of my life? I started to give that answer just so the adults had a starting place for conversation. It was my least favorite topic.
We all know how nebulous the idea of college seems before we get there, so I will spend zero time explaining what that was like.
But you guys, and don't think I'm being cheesy here, something clicked. I didn't get to go on any tours of the school. The website looks like its creators went back in time and found someone that had never heard of the internet to design it. Tisch is completely different than it was ten years ago, but I was just kind of in love.
I have no idea how I got here.
I remember filling out my common application, but my essay felt silly and my answers felt like I was auditioning to be a pageant queen. Sure, I took the SATs twice, but my score never went up. In fact, it stayed exactly the same--not one point of a difference. I worked for 12 years, as my mother loves to say, in a vacuum. "I went to school at laptop," as my new suite-mate Jasmine likes to say. (She rocks, but more on that later.) Besides the Tennessee standard testing and the conversations I had with my friends (and let's face it, how many kids have you ever gotten to willingly talk about their schoolwork with their peers?), I had no earthly idea how I fit in to the masses of amazing individuals.
My audition felt surprisingly normal. It was just like every other audition I'd ever done. I sang. I performed two monologues. I danced. I talked to a man about my life. I told him my sister drew on her face with magic marker once (Sorry, Ari). I'm not sure how any of that was impressive.
I don't think I realized until after it was all over that applying to one school regular decision is not a normal thing to do.
I have no idea how I got here, but I am so immensely grateful that I did.
A mini rundown of my program: NYU --> Tisch School of the Arts --> Drama Department --> Stella Adler Studio of Acting
So yeah, college is a new experience for everyone. But, and this may be unfair to say so correct me if I'm wrong, it's another game completely to tiptoe out of my sleepy little backwoods town and leave the homeschooling life behind for the wonderful hailstorm of information that is NYU.
Here is a short and very incomplete list of things I have learned since coming here:
1. Homeschooling is not a normal thing. It is much more normal in Small Town, TN than in the Big Apple.
2. I dress like a child. Apparently the Disney t-shirts and polka dotted skirts do not give off the 'college age' vibe. Shocker.
3. College kids are still teenagers. This summer was not the magic chamber of maturation that I had thought (or let's be honest, hoped) it would be.
4.Trust the world, it is not out to get you.
Please don't get confused. I promise that these accounts are not just going to be a detailed listing of the goings on in school. This is just my life, turned from a 4D experience into 2D words so that maybe I can get across just how thrilled I am that this is the life I'm living.
Lots of people keep asking me if this has been a big transition for me. The short answer, crazy as it may sound, is no. I wear shoes more than I did back home, but to be honest, I sort of feel like the city fits me better. People don't think that I talk too fast here. My walk is a normal speed to everyone else. I can wear black (and trust me, I do). I never have to drive a car again. I can have sushi for three meals a day or eat dinner at ten PM when I'm actually hungry. There are two bookstores within walking distance of where I live. AND a cupcake shop. It's like they planned it just for me. There's a music room with a piano in my dorm and I've written a few songs since I've been here. Every time I walk down the street I see something inspiring. Maybe it's a beautiful building, or maybe it's a street performer, but more often than not it's the conversations.
Here's the thing about New York. You can look at it one of two ways: you're never alone, or you're always alone. You're in a crowd of people, but it's almost like you're a ghost. You move through the masses unnoticed. That could drive some people insane, but it might just be my favorite thing. You know what I heard a man say the other day? Just this phrase: "The boy from Montana and the girl from No Where In Particular". It is entirely possible that no one else finds that as hauntingly intriguing as I do. Actually I kind of hope that's the case so that I can share the words with all of you and still feel like they're only his and mine. But think about all of the things that could mean?! I hear phrases like that every day. Tale ends or tiny snapshots of living ghost stories that I will never get to finish. I get to make up my own endings. And therefore my head is packed with a million adventures that I share with these strangers. It's magnificent.
Every day something strange and wonderful happens to me. I met a homeless man named Mark who told me if I ever had any problem at all, I shouldn't hesitate to ask him for help. I bring him extra apples from the dining hall when I can. The other day I walked through some huge video shoot in Washington Square Park. I held eye contact with Joseph Gordon-Levitt (I'm certain you've already heard that story, but it's important). Today a man took a second away from his phone call to tell me he liked my shirt. I had lunch with a student I'd never spoken to outside of class before. Every day here is an adventure. I step outside my building and I'm already somewhere.
There are little cards on our dorm-room door that have our names on them. They each say "____ is sweet because..." and then we were supposed to fill them out. It was decided within the first two weeks that I, having been homeschooled in a small town in TN ("That again..." You're rolling your eyes. Sorry to say it, but it'll probably come up a lot), the holes in my knowledge made me quite similar to a certain Kimmy Schmidt. The clothes probably didn't help. My card on the door now reads, "Kaila is sweet because... she is unbreakable." I won't lie, I'm proud. I freaking love Kimmy Schmidt, I can't wait for season two, but more than that, it's a good reminder. I am secretly proud every time someone makes a reference to pop culture that I don't understand. Sure it's silly that I've never heard of that rap artist or that I had no idea that you can't wear stripes with polka dots (Mom I'm kidding I know you taught me that's not a thing), but I love knowing that for all my weird quirks and confusions, I still made it here. I'm thoroughly me and I'm still exactly where I promised mini-Kaila she'd go.
Now, that's not to say that everything about this place is perfect.
Being a freshman in college is sort of like releasing a million baby giraffes into the wild and telling them to behave like full grown animals. These kids are falling over themselves trying to seem as sophisticated and adult as possible. It's wonderful in a way, to see so much effort. It's also a little bit exhausting.
The biggest issue, though, believe it or not, is simply coming to terms with how much there is to do. Between NYU and Stella Adler and the great big city there is always something. Yesterday there was a talkback with the creators of A Gentleman's Guide To Love And Murder and I didn't go because I was so exhausted. It's unbelievable. In the past two months, this is a snapshot of all of the art that I have crammed into my world:
4 Broadway shows
3 Off Broadway shows
3 plays
3 cabarets
1 fashion show
1 opera
1 poetry reading
4 concerts
3 interviews
2 book launches
1 art museum (two times)
and I'm going to the MET Museum tomorrow.
It's constant.
I love it.
As far as performing myself goes, there hasn't been too much of it, and there probably won't be for my first year of school. We aren't allowed to audition for anything at Tisch until our second year, which already has me itching. That said, I got to sing on two separate open mics at Birdland, where the owner invited me back, put my name on a fancy list, and gave me a tshirt. I got to work on a friend's roommate's project for his film class. I was a part of the NYU 24 Hour Play Festival, where students wrote, learned, and performed 60 new short plays all in under 24 hours. (Short detour: A month and a half after the performance, I went out with some friends who also brought some other friends along, unknown to me. After about five minutes of them trying to figure out where they had seen be before, they started jumping up and down and actually screaming because I was "the girl from the 24 Hour play", which had been their favorite. I cannot lie to you all. I was pleased.)
I am very much a modern day Nick Carraway in the great big Gatsby party that is New York City. The other day I went to see Spring Awakening and one of the actors remembered me from a cabaret we both sang at two months ago. I haven't gotten lost on the subway. Jasmine Cephas Jones told me she liked my hair (twice). A new friend gave me a ticket to go see Lupita Nyong'o in her new play. I got to see Hamilton with my cousin. My favorite blue eyed human spent a week with me here. My roommates are lovely. I have a kitchen but I still order breakfast from under the covers every morning. My ballet teacher is taking a hiatus to assistant direct The Color Purple on Broadway and our wonderful sub was a Rockette. I have a huge bag of York Patties sitting on my desk. I am surrounded by young men and women who live in my building and go to my classes who I wish I could convince to just think out loud because they are so smart that I want to hear what their imagination sounds like.
This is it, friends. My life in the city. I am still the same small town mess of a girl that was always hanging around, there's just been a small change of scene. My hair is still wild and there are still bows in it. I still can't walk in heels and I still don't like olives. I still trip on things and bump into people a lot, except now I have a metro card and my cartoon existence stands out just a little more against the multi-dimensional background that is the city that I have always loved. This is my life, and I am so giddy and grateful to be living it. I look forward to sharing the adventures with you all.
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