5 May 1999 Copyright, 1999, Max K. Goff, all rights reserved
In my last entry I talked about the joys of film making -- from an acting perspective, at least. The joys of acting in a film. But something that occurs after first the eager anticipation and then the joyous execution of such work in the inevitable postpartum depression. Oh, you mean I don't get to do that every day? What then? What do I do?
There is only one thing an actor can do: wait.I'm so fortunate in that I have another path that is almost as compelling to me in a spiritual sense as acting; that being evangelism. It's almost a love/hate thing, though. I love speaking to live audiences about technology and its impact on us. But I hate having to travel around so much. I'd much rather be in Manhattan, where the acting work lives, waiting for that next audition. But alas, I do need to cover the rent each month and there is nothing I'd rather do if I'm not acting than promote well engineered software, and technology evangelism pays. So in lieu of an audition, I do have my speaking gigs to anticipate. And inevitably, even though I always have that nagging voice in the back of my head whenever I finish work as an actor that says, "You'll never work again," inevitably something comes up. And it has. Within two days of my last entry, I had two more auditions for independent films come up.
The first of the two was today. It went well -- at least I felt good about my reading. I was told it would be a monologue, which I'd have much preferred, as I have my audition monologue down pat. I have one that works for both serious and comedy auditions, as it's a serious topic done seriously, but it's very funny. It's from the play "LUV" by Murray Schisgal, about a guy who feels terribly sorry for himself, who is in a park speaking to an old friend whom he hasn't seen in years, telling the old friend why his life has gotten so bad such that he's been forced to come to the park to commit suicide. Anyway, I was well prepared with my monologue, having rehearsed it several times in the shower prior to arriving at the audition. But they didn't want to hear a monologue after all. We read "sides," a small scene from the independent film in question. I read with another actor, a woman. We read through once, the director gave us some feedback and we read through again. And that was the end of it. But for me, it felt good. I felt connected to the material enough to walk away content with the audition. That's all I can do. That and wait.
But then there was something else I did today that was equally important, if not more important. I took the GRE.
I'd been studying for it a bit. I bought the Kaplan book and got about half way through the CD, thinking I needed to really bone up on my test taking capabilities (based on the practice test from the CD). But then I found myself too busy and failed to complete the entire Kaplan training. So I was a bit concerned over taking the test today, but I'd planned it, summer's coming, I'm going to be out of town quite a bit and if I'm going to have a chance of being accepted for the Ph.D. program at CUNY, I am required to take the GRE.
On the way to the testing center, after the audition (which was after running at the gym this morning, by the way -- I took a week off from exercise, which may have contributed to the post film depression, but I have been hitting it hard this week and it makes quite a difference), I stopped by the CUNY Graduate Center Admission Office to drop off the last two pieces of documentation I owed them for my application, and then took the elevator up to the 12th floor to let the guys in the Computer Science Department office know that I'd done as I said with respect to the application, and was about to go take the GRE. "You've been accepted then," was the response I got. "Wait," I replied, "What about the GRE? Don't I have to pass it? What if I fail the GRE?"
"You can't fail the GRE," was the response. "You've been accepted, based on your transcripts and recommendations. You just have to take the GRE."
"So I might as well go in and just mark 'C' on every question and get it over with," said I. "Well, in case you ever want to apply to another Ph.D. program after you complete this one," he replied, "You may want to do a little better than that."
So I took the GRE. With no pressure at all. I was elated to learn that I'd been accepted, and felt no need to get a good score on the GRE. I took it for the fun of taking it. Since it was the computer version of the test, I got my scores immediately after I'd finished the test. And what do you know -- not only did I "pass," but I did pretty well -- well beyond what I thought was the minimum for admission into the Graduate Program at CUNY. My quantitative and logic scores were best (go figure) but my verbal score wasn't bad either. I'm not one to brag, but to me it was like hitting a triple double in the NBA today.
I went out on a limb when I started writing about applying for the Ph.D. program here on my web site before knowing I'd have a chance to get in. I mean, what if they'd turned me down? Here I've publicly stated my intention to apply; think of the embarrassment I'd have to face if I'd failed to be admitted. But I found that limb, crawled out, and gave it a good shake, which clearly added to the pressure I felt prior to learning I'd been accepted. Come to think of it, I've only had a verbal confirmation. It's not a done deal until it's in writing, right? So I'm out on a limb once again. But this time, I've got my GRE scores in hand. The limb feels pretty solid.
I'm elated that once again I'll be engaging a formal education program. And Computer Science is something I haven't formally studied since the early 80s at Fordham. It should be a lot of fun.
And I've learned something all ready -- something vital. Take a chance. Take risks. Go out on a limb. No risk, no reward. Isn't that the conventional wisdom? So in the spirit of that, I'm going to do for the actor in me what I did for the evangelist. I'm going to go out on a limb and say publicly that I will work on another independent film this calendar year. I have no guarantees. No control. I had one audition today and another when I get back from this next trip. And that's all I have. But I will work again, this year. That's my limb now. That's my vow and my publically stated promise to myself. Maybe it's the risk itself that is the seed of the reward.
Tomorrow I leave for a 9 day domestic junket -- Orlando, Silicon Valley and Salt Lake City, speaking in each place. It should be a good trip. I have something to anticipate. And of course, I'll write about it when I return.
