To leave, or not to leave. Every actor's nightmare.

Unbelievable. I wrote an entry earlier today and as I was just finishing it—really liking it—excited to post it—my computer crashed. And yep, I lost the entire thing. Two hours of writing down the cyber drain. Oh wait, hold on, I have to save this (now I’m writing in my word program instead of my blog window so I can save as I go). Hold on…ah yes. Saved. Remind me to do that every once in a while, would you?

Can you believe that I actually wrote my entire book on this very computer that crashes? I’m not only going to continually save this document (save) but I am also going to save up my pennies for a new computer. The trouble is, as far as needing a new computer goes,I have to wait in line. Rob is keeping his computer together with strapping tape (true story).

Now I am going to try to recapture the magic. I specialize in recreating the same material 8 shows a week on stage, so I should be able to do a decent job in the rehash of my story for today. It went something like this. (Save).

Spring break.

It’s spring break and I am not in Jamaica. Or Florida. Or anywhere but here, on my couch, watching the clock, and agonizing over whether or not I can take my deserving school girl on a car trip to see my in-laws in Pennsylvania and then on to Cincinnati to visit my parents. (Save).

I am involved in every actor’s nightmare. To leave, or not to leave, that is the question.

Why? What’s the big deal about leaving Manhattan if I don’t have a job tying me down?
I’ll tell you in one word.

Auditions. And they come when you least expect it.

There seems to be some kind of tracking device on my car that tells casting directors when my car is outside of a 250 mile radius of Manhattan. It’s always the same. My tires hit the Ohio line, Charlotte and I are singing at the top of our lungs to Jesus Christ Superstar (it’s Easter week, after all. ((Save.)), and somewhere under the bag of baked Cheetos we got at the rest stop in Washington, PA, comes a sound that I know oh-so-well.

RING RING!!

It’s my cell phone, and it’s set on the loudest, most alarming, could hear even in the middle of a herd of stampeding elephants ring. The ring I have caller ID’ed to only one number. My agent.

Shit. (Save).

I race to turn down the radio, find the phone under the seat, not wreck, plug in my headset and answer before it goes to voice mail.

“Hello?”

“Sharon, it’s Craig. I have an audition for you for (fill in name of Broadway Show I’ve been dying to do) for the role of (fill in name of perfect dream role. The one I’ve been dying to be seen for, but could not get an audition. The role that everyone asks me if I’ve been seen for. But I haven’t. Until now. And I’m in Ohio)” Craig continues, “This is an emergency replacement, they are only seeing a few people, they called especially for you, and the audition is tomorrow.” (Save)

Cut to me saying “I’ll call you back” and then calling Rob who is, as always, completely helpful and accommodating, giving me advice (which is usually, do what you want but you should go. Advice I’d give me, too.) saying that he'll start checking flights and he'll call me back.

I look in the back seat and there are tears in Charlotte’s eyes. She’s been through this before. The vacation cut short or cancelled because I get an audition or last minute job that I have to do to cover the rent. My poor daughter who just wants to play with her cousins. “Don’t worry!!!” I tell those sad eyes in the rear view mirror. “I’ll figure it out!”

I’ll figure it out is my catch phrase. I should have it tattooed on my forehead. (Save).

I always do figure it out. It always means a last minute plane ticket, usually purchased on one day’s notice, so you can imagine the amazingly bad price we get. Delta LOVES it when we call, the last minute traveling suckers who will pay the jacked up fare. Most of the time, I travel to and from New York on the same day because Charlotte absolutely hates to spend the night anywhere with out me, and I’m not a Mom who will force her.


So, I get to my parent's house, kiss them hello, try to shove whatever song and scene I’m supposed to learn into my head all night, and then get up before dawn. I leave at the earliest crack of dawn, return on the latest flight that same night, and in this (save) exhausted, frazzled state that includes planes, cabs, warming up in the shower at 6 am and putting on make up in the cab from LaGuardia to Ripley Greer Studios, I show up for the audition.

And amazingly, sometimes I get the job. Which is, if you are wondering why, I (and most professional actors) would ever go through this in the first place. I booked AVENUE Q Las Vegas on a whirlwind trip back from New Hampshire, and (save) The Phantom of the Opera on a trip back from Toronto. Us actors, we’re good on the fly. It’s part of our genetic make up, part of the show-business-is-in-the-blood makeup. The show must go on.

It doesn’t always work out, though. Sometimes Mother Nature becomes a player and casts her vote. In February of this year I was in Cincinnati and I got a call to come in for two Broadway shows on back to back days. I cancelled all my engagements (I was teaching classes at my high school. (( Save)), bought a ticket, and then got completely fogged in. Pea soup. Couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Cancelled flights, and me, sitting in the Cincinnati airport in my audition clothes calling my agent to say I can’t make it. “Can I come any other day? Can I come later today? The fog will eventually lift!” The answer? No. And to be honest, I never got another shot at it. Casting done. Young Frankenstein the musical--Mel Brooks--Susan Stroman. Mary Poppins with the entire creative team. Not for me. Not this time.

Crap.

So you see, this is why I sit on my couch and ask the fateful unemployed actor’s question. To leave? Or not to leave?

Catch ya tomorrow.

(Save.)