New York City: Day 10
Today was the first day of school. Perhaps my last first day of school. Now there’s a strange thought. (Unless I go against all of Katie’s best advice and pursue my PhD in Russian Literature…)
The day began rather miserably. Since last Wednesday, I don’t think I’ve gone to bed once before 4AM. On Thursday night, we didn’t even make our way back to the apartment until after the sun was up. We had breakfast with people on their way to work. And on each of these early mornings, I crammed in a few quick hours of sleep and was up exploring the city again by 9AM. So, this morning is leaving me a bit baffled. After watching “Waiting for Guffman” last night with a few of the other Williams Street actors and our poet friend, I slipped into bed just before midnight. When my alarm went off at 8 this morning, I felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my body. Like someone had super-glued my eyes shut.
The first day of class and I felt like death.
Last night, Jessica and I had planned on making the trek to the theatre a little early so that we could sign up for the audition intensive workshops before space filled. After a few cups of coffee and a nice walk to the theatre, I was ready to tackle the day. We got to Bank Street around 9:15, giving us some time to wander the building, find our lockers, and check our mailboxes before class. Now, because we were told during Orientation that all actors were in the same section of Theatre History, I gladly followed when Jessica and Is told me that we had class at 10AM. False. I was at the theatre at 9:15 for a class that didn’t start until 11:30.
On the bright side of being the only person in my section to show up two hours early, I got to meet a lot of the 3rd Year actors, who were all incredibly friendly.
All in all, day one of graduate school was a success. Light day. One class. Passionate professor. (He kept spontaneously breaking into dance and saying, “This is why I’m shouting. Because it lives!”) And what was in my mailbox? Free theatre tickets. Thank you, New School for Drama.
Tomorrow, however, is going to be a little bit hellish. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the day begins at 8:30AM with Neutral American Speech, followed back-to-back by Alexander Technique, Vocal Production, and Stanislavski Technique. Classes back-to-back from 8:30AM until 6:55PM with a break for lunch. Hell.
Just from a physical standpoint, I’m terrified. Tuesdays and Thursdays are going to be long and difficult days. Oy.
After class, I came back to Williams Street, tore a shipping label off of one of the cardboard boxes that litter my apartment, and headed off to the New York Public Library with Chris. That place is magic. When finding out that I was off to get my library card, James wrote, “I just had an image in my head of you walking out of the library, shouting ‘YES!’ and jumping up into the air.” Yeah. That was about right. Funny, though, was that since the Children’s Room is the only circulating part of that branch, we sat at a tiny child’s table to fill out the paperwork. I was amused.
Once the library had been thoroughly explored and the ceilings had been stared at sufficiently, Chris and I found our way back to Bryant Park. Today was the third time we’ve been there in four days. I think it’s my favorite park in the city so far. There’s something about that place– it’s always got a misty quality to it. I think it’s the trees, which Chris tells me are birches. We read, people-watched, and ate Poptarts for a few hours before heading to the New School bookstore. There are 31 books on my list for Theatre History. I’m going to have to start storing books in our oven, since it has no other function.
After leaving the bookstore, Chris headed off to Poet Orientation (where I’m sure they’re all dressed in robes and partaking in ritual slaughter of some kind) so I made my way back to Williams Street on my own. It was my first time alone on the subway going anywhere besides the theatre. Silly, perhaps, but I was thrilled when I didn’t get lost.
Mack’s rounding up a group of the actors to read a play in the lounge tonight, so away I go.
And, because I’m missing SLU and because every time I think of keeping my heart in my mouth as an actor I think of Tom Martin, I have to share something that Marcy sent me this morning:
Tom to Kevin:
“Let the chickens runs, Kevin; let the chickens live.
Wind them up and let them live on stage.
Give birth to the idea and say,
“hey! look what i just did”.
Oh, and listen to this: