Posted January 27th, 2003 by Michelle

Last night I went to bed at 10PM, so I could be relatively fresh when I got up at 5AM. There was an Equity call for a Broadway revival of Fiddler on the Roof, and the unwritten rules dictate a brutal day. Surprisingly, I fell asleep immediately, only to wake at 11PM when my new upstairs neighbors decided to have BAND PRACTICE. Drums, guitars, bad singing, the works. I prayed for it to end, not wanting to be the scroogy neighbor who disallows fun, but by !2:30 AM I had had enough. I grabbed my broom, climbed up the ladder to my loft, and pounded on the ceiling. The music stopped.

I climbed into bed, and thrashed around for a full three hours more before falling asleep near 4 AM. At 5, the alarm went off, and I was out and in the bitter, bitter cold by 5:30. The Q took me to Union Square, where I hopped onto the R one stop to 23rd. I skidded across Broadway, still in full dark, and wound my way to Chelsea Studios. 6 AM, and there was already a line. I plopped down and started swapping stories about bad community theatre productions of Fiddler. Mine topped them all- having my brother as a romantic lead, in a barn, with planes flying overhead, and a woman having a heart attack in the audience. (She lived.)

At 7 we were all kicked out into the cold, because our numbers created a fire hazard, and we stood shivering as the sun graced the very tops of the buildings. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so cold. Half an hour later we were herded up to the 7th floor, where we re-formed our line, waiting to get slots. At 9 AM, they called us one by one, and I got an early afternoon slot that would leave me time to get to work. I left the studio, went out to breakfast and to my gym to shower and slather on makeup. Back in the early afternoon, I waited in yet another line for my two whole minutes that could make or break my future. When it was finally my turn, I sang one of my mom’s songs, but it had been over a year since I had gone on a theatrical audition. The accompanist was fair, and the auditioner looked down at my resume for all but the final two seconds of my song, which sadly, was when my cool deserted me, and the money notes weren’t all that money.

Alas, I just need to get back in the saddle.

Now, I’m home in Park Slope, Brooklyn, freezing and sleepy, dreaming about a tax return large enough to finace a new road bike and a trip to Italy…