RENT

RENT.
The first time I saw the show was on Broadway. I remember when the show was over, I felt completely overwhelmed. I couldn't even get out of my seat. It was as if everyone in the theatre had experienced something so emotionally powerful, that we all just needed a minute to breathe.
After RENT closed on Broadway, my friends and I ended up at our local movie theatre to watch the taping of the final performance.
And when RENT made its way over to the Pantages, I was there closing night.
It is quite obvious that RENT is one of my favorite shows, so when I found out that it was making its way over to the Lewis Family Playhouse, right in my own backyard, I was stoked.

RENT will open at the Lewis Family Playhouse in March, and it will be directed by Ron Kellum & Courtney Corey. And if ya wanna see a bad ass portrayal of Maureen, please youtube Courtney Corey.
I was beyond grateful when I was asked to assist with the audition process, as the directors scoped out talent in both L.A. and Rancho. It wasn't just the voices that I heard that was magic, it was the essence of the people who showed up to the auditions. The show hasn't been cast yet, but it was amazing to see all of these people embrace the meaning of the show.

I know what it's like to be in the shoes of a person auditioning. It can be stressful and emotionally exhausting. You keep telling yourself to just have fun and go for it, and the other half of you is scared shitless and suddenly feeling self-conscious. You overanalyze everything that is said to you, and you feel like you're on a reality dating show. Been there done that. And even if that is what these actors were feeling on the inside, they exuded something completely different to me. I couldn't get over how completely supportive everyone was of each other. There was no nasty gossiping or trying to psyche each other out right before they had to go in and sing. Everyone seemed to have a buddy system. If one actor was M.I.A., another actor not only knew where he/she was, but would take the time to tell me so he wouldn't miss his turn to sing. At the beginning of the call-back process, the original plan was to have the Marks and Rogers sing last, so all of those guys knew that they had a long night ahead of them. When plans switched around, and the Rogers were called earlier, everyone in the holding room literally cheered for them. Everyone was a team, and everyone was in it together. A couple people even gave me a hug before they left and thanked me for sticking it out with them through the process. I can't wait to see how everything comes together.

2010.
I'm only 5 days in, and so far so good.
People at work keep asking me what my New Year's Resolutions are, and I told them that I didn't make any this year. Whenever I say this, I receive a look of pity. People who don't know me well assume that I'm an underachiever completely content to stay exactly the same year after year.
Here's my theory behind New Year's Resolutions: We are excited to make them, but unwilling to keep them. I figure if I don't make them, I am more likely to accomplish more this year.

Christmas with the family was fantastic. We parked our butts on the couch all day and watched old movies, and I couldn't ask for anything more. Our family gift exchange was extremely simple this year. We each got each other one or two gifts. When I opened the present from my parents, I couldn't help but cry. It was a delicate silver bracelet, and on it read, "Live the Life You Love." My mom started crying and even my dad was tearing up. My mom explained that my dad had seen it in a catalogue months ago, and knew that it was the perfect gift. It wasn't the bracelet that was so touching. It was the fact that my parents are behind me 100%. I spent 5 years in college studying something that I have no intention of pursuing, only to take my B.A. and work in a restaurant...just so that I could have a flexible schedule to do what I really love...theatre. There have been numerous moments where my parents could've easily said, "Life would be easier if you used your degree and got a full-time job." Instead, they get nervous every time I attempt to apply for something that will tie me down, at the risk of not having time for theatre. If "Live the life you love" was a movement, my parents are the strongest supporters I know.

In other news, I went for a run exactly 2 days ago. To anyone who knows me, this is an exceptional accomplishment for me. I don't do runs. I've tried to enjoy them, but to no avail. I wasn't running because I needed to get anger out of my system. I wasn't running because of the holiday weight I had deliciously gained. I just remember putting in my ear plugs, and tugging my dobermin Luke out the front door. A Beatles tune blasted on my earphones, and something about the lyrics, the air, the scenery...I was running...no...sprinting down the street. I ran like a serial killer was on my tail. I was actually outrunning the dog. I felt so happy was actually skipping/dancing at one point. I woke up the next day to a surging pain of defeat in both of my legs, but it was still worth it.

I went to bed last night with the odd feeling that a cold was overcoming me. I wrote it off as allergies, since I haven't had a cold in years. As strange as it sounds, I was relieved to find that I did wake up with a small cold. Nothing horrendous. No coughing fits or sinus infections. But still a cold nonetheless. I guess I'm not wonder woman after all, which I must admit is kind of a relief. I'm now taking the time to tackle the stack of library books I picked up, and also spending some quality time with crunch-bite.

how to party like an old fart 101

This past weekend, I indulged myself in going to 2 parties in the OC. The first was a jungle party, for which I dressed up as a bush...aka...going naked with some strategically placed leaves. The 2nd was a bbq/pool party. To which, ironically, I showed up fully clothed and bikini-less. Moving on. At party number 1, I ran into my entire past. I quickly went from present day, to the summer of 2005. The best summer of my life. Whenever you run into your past, you're instantly pushed into the glorious "remember when" conversations. It was these conversations that reminded me of just how daring I once was.

"Remember when we spent the entire summer with red plastic cups glued to our hands?"
"Remember going into work hungover...everyday?"
"Remember the time I passed out in your old apartment in the kitchen with that bottle of tequila?"
"Remember when we made jello shots...and you finished the entire bowl of jello?"
Maaaaaaan those were the times. Those were the days when a migraine wasn't a pain in the ass...it was a sure sign that you were a hero. A hero of liquor. You were made of steel.

It was a time when there were no worries. No bills to fuss over. Only school to focus on. As I stood in the middle of that party wearing nothing but leaves, I began to realize something dreadful. I had somehow grown up a little bit. And I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. I managed to stay sober during the party, realizing that the crazy girl I used to be was slowly escaping me...and I had to get her back.

The next day, I made an appearance at party number 2, and ran into a chunk of the same crowd from the night before. It was like marathon party weekend. It was incredible. I quickly downed a shot in an attempt to bring back my 'crazy girl' spark. It didn't work. Not even a buzz. At one point during the night, I was sitting on a couch with some of my closest friends staring off into the backyard. There were 2 teenagers making out. Both drunk off their asses. One of them without a shirt. The other must have had some beer goggles on, because there was no way a guy of his calibre would've landed her under normal circumstances. I remember watching those two, and thinking, 'what idiots.' They're going to wake up with a hangover filled with regret. It was at that moment that my friend laughed and said, "Erika, that was totally you a year or so ago." And she was right. That WAS me. Carefree in the middle of a party living in the moment, because that was all that mattered then. What had changed so much?

I talked with my mom about this fear of mine. She always seems to have an answer for these sorts of things. She explained to me that she was head over heels in love with my dad and planning their wedding at my age. Before that, she was the party queen. There wasn't anything that she wouldn't do. She told me that I still have a lot to get out of my system before I'll truly be ready to settle down. This gave me hope. It gave me hope that there are more shots to be had. More couches to pass out on. More beers to down. My time is not up.

play by play

I ran into a punk teenager in the middle of a dark alley. He spat gum in my face. When I tried to push my way into him to walk away, I realized that he was made of stone. And he was mocking me. And I was stuck there...in that cold alley....staring into his heartless eyes.

That didn't really happen to me. Nonetheless, that's how it feels. I run into that punk teenager everyday when I sit down and try to write something thought-provoking. Hell, I run into him when I try to write anything I remotely care about. The fire that used to occupy my brain has fizzled out. I don't even get the same rush from caffeine anymore, and alcohol is starting to lose its flare. This is my attempt to write about absolutely nothing in the hopes that it'll turn into something meaningful..maybe even cool.

Here it goes.

I woke up momentarily at 5:30 this morning. Not because I wanted to. Because my alarm clock made me do it. I decided that I am mightier than the clock, so I promptly ignored it and "rested my eyes." "Resting my eyes" always turns into "Oh my god I slept through my alarm I'm such an idiot and I'm so going to be late." I don't know why I don't accept this fact. Maybe because if I did, I would have darker circles under my eyes. Maybe it's meant to be this way.

Wake up at 6:00. It's difficult to find the motivation on this particular day. It's hard to talk myself into taking a shower. In a moment of delirium, I convince myself I can go without, even though I hadn't graced the presence of the shower in at least a whole day...and in this world of Purell and paranoia, I could potentially be seen as a modern day cave woman if I ditch the shower.

As I get ready, my bangs piss me off. They haven't been trimmed in over a month. I blow dry them, and they don't lay right. I could have pimples all over my face, but if my bangs aren't right, it throws everything off. I consider pinning them back for the day. I realize that I have a high forehead, and I remember that that is the reason that I have bangs to begin with...to cover it up. If I had lived during the Elizabethan era I would've been considered royalty or at least gorgeous with my high forehead. Present day, I just better know 20 different ways to style my bangs because that forehead cannot be seen in public.

Can't wear jeans today. It's too hot. Sitting all day I'm bound to chafe since I'm too lazy to do crunches at night. I decide on a pair of capri pants. I should've tossed them months ago because the fly no longer stays up, so I scrounge around for a long shirt to cover up the mishap.

It's the day of Michael Jackson's memorial. KIIS FM plays MJ music on the radio. I'm stuck in traffic on the way to work in the MJ traffic jam. What the hell. I pull the window down and blast the MJ hits. The neighboring cars must think that I'm on the way to the memorial service...the concert of the century. When in reality, I'm just playing the game..the traffic game, and if you can't beat em', you join em.

the humbling automobile

I bet you can't find one person who wouldn't agree with the idea that the sight of a ferrari or mercedes screams "confidence." Yes, confidence. Well, my friends, I happen to be that one person. To me, confidence is driving my car out in public.

You see, I drive a Ford Escort from the year 2000. Not bad, right? Let's throw in a cracked windshield. When I say cracked, I mean a thick gash across the entire window. Everyone's got spare change in their car, correct? Well so do I. Except I have a habit of only drinking out of leaky glasses in my car, so my cupholders are filled to the brim with gooey leakage. And in this gooey leakage, one can always find a handful of coins. Now let's just say that you're going to the beach. You park at the meter. You need a dollar in change just so you can park your car for 15 minutes. I have actually considered reaching into my goo-filled cupholders for change...but alas...the change is 50 cent coins, and arrowheads. Nothing useful whatsoever to the society in which we live.

Oh, confidence. It takes a lot of confidence (and sometimes arrogance) to drive my car around in public.

Getting pulled over in my car is always extremely entertaining in itself. If I'm not speeding, I don't know why I am getting pulled over. Depending on the level of prick-ness that consumes the cop that pulls me over, there are a list of things he could give me a ticket for.

1) Cracked windshield (previously discussed)
2) Broken turn signal (oh it signals all right...the whole thing is about to die out so it clicks about 100mph)
3) Burned out headlight
4) Burned out tail light

I love driving with contraptions in my car, so there's a good possibility that he's pulling me over for using a cellphone, which may in fact just be my GPS system or itouch...but it usually is the cell. When it comes time to pull out my registration, I always wind up handing the cop a 6-inch stack of paper. I never throw paperwork away, and cops make me nervous so my hands shake too much when I leaf through the papers individually so I wind up just giving the whole pile to him. It's at this point that we both realize that I have lost my registration somewhere in the heap, and I must call my dad to have him track down the information that is needed. Back to hand shaking. My hands always shake around cops. You'd think I was growing a marijuana metropolis in the trunk that I was attempting to hide. Cops always pick up on this. He wants to know what I was doing that night. What he really wants to ask, is had I been drinking, because he can't seem to figure out why I'm so nervous...and neither can I.

Back to my car. Taking it in for an oil change is always fun. I start off by apologizing to the technician. Not because I'm always almost 3,000 OVER the recommended limit, but because the person has to sit in my car to move it into the garage. Oil changers always think that I don't know jack about car maintenance...which holds true, but they don't have to know that. They create an entire list of things my car needs and they always look extremely concerned, hoping i'll buy something else from them. They must go to acting class as part of their training, because those looks they give me are always frickin believable. I used to fight with them and tell them I have a mechanic who will take care of everything, just so that they would stop hassling me. I got sick of fighting with them, so now I just say this: "You can do anything you want to my car. But I have $30 in my account..." (which is almost always true).

Oh, Ford Escort. I don't completely loathe you. You have given me thick skin. You get me where I need to go. And I didn't have to pay a cent for you.

Thinking in prose is a pain in the ass

I've always been a tough person to figure out. At least to my parents. When I was a kid, I would break out into screaming tantrums...and always at the most inopportune moment. A quiet evening out to dinner with the family could quickly turn into a scene straight out of the "exorcist." Doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. My tantrums surpassed what was considered "normal" for kids. I'd be completely fine one second, and screaming bloody murder the next. My parents thought I had some sort of disability. They didn't know what the hell was wrong. Down the road, I was diagnosed as having a "wheat allergy." True story. Apparently, too much pasta makes Erika a psycho-path.

When I was in 6th grade my grandfather passed away. Shortly after, I was hit with a wave of depression. Refused to leave my bedroom and managed to cry all the time about everything. My parents figured I was going through depression due to the death of my grandfather, and sent me to a psychologist so that I would have an non-biased peer to help me through my issues. After only two sessions, my psychologist figured out that I was in fact going through depression, but that it had absolutely nothing to do with the death of gramps. It did however, have everything to do with the fact that my parents were arguing a lot. As an adult, you understand arguing in a different way. You see it as a way to sort through problems and come to a suitable solution. Try explaining that to a kid. Arguing is terrifying. I assumed they were going to divorce.

Present day, I have a new "syndrome" I am attempting to tackle. I think in prose. And sometimes wall-posts. Which is a huge pain in the ass. I wish my thought process was more consistent.

Imagine how frustrating it is...
having thoughts that go like this:

"Erika really shouldn't stay up all night watching reruns. Erika could really use a little more sleep. Erika needs to stop setting the alarm at 7:00am and start realizing that her lazy ass isn't going to roll out of bed until 10:30."

Facebook, you are absolutely destroying my thought process.
And I love you, regardless.

Trendy Appendages

As I sat down at my local Starbucks to research this editorial, I grew sick of the bland coffee shop music, so I attached my white appendages, and once again, I was in control of my world. The effects of the iPod are becoming one of the most important issues to my generation. The iPod, a device small enough to fit in ones pocket is slowly taking over in every area, from how my generation consumes the arts, interacts with others, to our changing mindset when it comes to how we cope with our world.
Compared to the war in Iraq and terrorism, a small, white contraption seems like hardly a threat to my generation, but the mindset behind the iPod is what poses the issue. Hunger, war, poverty and violence are not significant to my generation for the mere fact that it has occurred during every generation prior to my existence. To examine the issue behind the iPod, one must look past the exterior of the object, and look into the harmful mindset of the iPod.
In a world where American troops are fighting in other countries and terrorist attacks serve as headlines, it’s nice to know that we have the freedom to shut out the world and insert our earphones. Welcome to the iPod generation that slowly allows history to repeat itself by avoiding the issues, and obtaining piece of mind by knowing that the citizens with little control can take control by escaping the world through their iPod play list. It is the mindset of shutting out reality that enables us to repeat history and endure the same issues.
The issue of the iPod generation would receive a different response from Washington D.C. Washington D.C. examines statistics, and statistics show that the iPod has sold more than 27 million units, making it a huge contributing factor to the American economy. This is upsetting, because on a larger scale, the iPod is more of a detriment to society despite its economical influence. The Department of Health, Education, and Welfare might view it as an issue, but only because the effects are directly related to that specific department.
The iPod is slowly creating a world where social interaction will continue to deteriorate. It has become easier to tune out the world and transport oneself to a world where the music corresponds with our lifestyle, choice is always a right, and the artist is the only person who can vocalize the words within our heart. The iPod generation has taken away the love of identifying with people in real life.
My generation has turned into robots that don’t understand the world around them because they have been given the freedom to literally tune it out. It has forced us to expect perfection, and it has given us a false sense of power and control in a world that continues to fall apart. Once in awhile, take out the earphones. Face reality. Live the awkward moments of social interaction. Tune in to the issues to make the world better than the generation that lived before us.