May 19, 2006
Cheezy Hollywood Here I Come (Day 232)
With a tug on my jeans and a last fluff of the hair I pulled open the door and walked in. The air was thick with tension and the stench of cut throat competition. I stood at the door a moment and took a quick glance around the room. White Male Mid-twenties Athletic, White Male Mid-twenties Athletic, Exotic African Female Thin, White Female Beautiful Great Body, White Female Early Twenties/Late Teens/Youthful, Stage Mom, White Female Vibrant Early Twenties, African-American Female Mid-Twenties. I smiled. No one smiled back. Eyes averted, heads turned down, one White Male Mid-twenties coughed. I looked straight ahead up a flight of stairs and listened. Nothing. I stepped to the right of the door and leaned against the wall a slight smile on my face.
Man this room is tense.
That's when I noticed the small table with 2 stacks of papers and a scattering of pens. I walked over and filled out the first:
Name. Jasmine Summerset. Age. 25. Agency. Spotz Management.
I grabbed the other paper and returned to my wall.
Spotz Management was Sammy's agent. I'd met Jillian before, but she hadn't confirmed herself as my agent in any sense so I was surprised when her secretary had called me yesterday to tell me about the audition. The casting call was for Old Navy Jeans and they were requesting "African American Women - 16yo - 24yo - Beautiful, Vibrant, Full of Energy, Confident, Good Body". I figured why not? It doesn't hurt to try and it's not like I would have a whole lot of competition. I mean they were looking in Brisbane, not to mention completely the wrong continent.
So that morning I'd risen fairly early, spent an hour or so on the internet, put together a simple "bright top & jeans" outfit, froed out my hair and set off for Brisbane's west end.
Leaning against my wall I glanced over at the Exotic African Female Thin and smiled. She glared at me like a Nubian princess being asked to do her own laundry. I chuckled to myself and slid down the wall into sitting position so I could fill out the rest of the paperwork.
I scanned the page.
Name.
Address.
Phone Number.
Agent.
Shoe size.
Height.
Chest.
Waist.
Hips.
I rolled my eyes. Good God. Let's see... Shoe size. 8. Chest. 33". Height. 5'5 1/2", always make yourself taller. Waist. 28". Hips...hips...31". Always make yourself thinner. I set the pages aside, pulled out my book and started to read.
Over the next few minutes a couple more people trickled in with the same looks of anticipation, met with the same looks of disreguard, and my single smile. Cut thoat, shmut throat, I thought. This isn't my line of work, and the best men/women will win no matter how much you glare in the waiting room.
A couple of minutes later a thin blond smoker type woman trotted down the stairs, flashed a fake smile and asked the first three who arrived to head upstairs. People glanced at each other, nodded heads and spoke a few words before the agreed first three headed up the stairs. I heard the typical audition questions and movement and then, out of nowhere a clatter which made me picture a herd of kangaroos landing on the roof. They were jumping, and everytime they jumped someone let out a distinct "woohoo!". I smiled. Of course. Old Navy commercials were always cheesy with kids running from bears or singing Christmas carols. Of course jumping in an excited cheerleader like fashion would be a logical inclusion. This continued to happen every few minutes and now and then someone would come down the stairs and leave, followed by the casting agent asking the next person to "come up".
When it was finally my turn I grabbed my bag and quickly walked up the stairs expecting to see other auditioners who had gone up before. Yet to my surprise the jumping hadn't taken place as a group but individually, people were just really loud jumpers. No herd, only me. So, just as those before me, I introduced myself, got my picture taken front and side, and did my jump.
"Wow, that jump was...perfect" she said with a smile. "We'll let you know in the next couple weeks".
I smiled to myself as I trotted down the stairs. I may not have the perfect 5'8" 115lb body for an Old Navy Jeans commercial; and as a result I may not have an ice cube's chance in hell of getting the job. But, I had given her the perfect jump.
Man this room is tense.
That's when I noticed the small table with 2 stacks of papers and a scattering of pens. I walked over and filled out the first:
Name. Jasmine Summerset. Age. 25. Agency. Spotz Management.
I grabbed the other paper and returned to my wall.
Spotz Management was Sammy's agent. I'd met Jillian before, but she hadn't confirmed herself as my agent in any sense so I was surprised when her secretary had called me yesterday to tell me about the audition. The casting call was for Old Navy Jeans and they were requesting "African American Women - 16yo - 24yo - Beautiful, Vibrant, Full of Energy, Confident, Good Body". I figured why not? It doesn't hurt to try and it's not like I would have a whole lot of competition. I mean they were looking in Brisbane, not to mention completely the wrong continent.
So that morning I'd risen fairly early, spent an hour or so on the internet, put together a simple "bright top & jeans" outfit, froed out my hair and set off for Brisbane's west end.
Leaning against my wall I glanced over at the Exotic African Female Thin and smiled. She glared at me like a Nubian princess being asked to do her own laundry. I chuckled to myself and slid down the wall into sitting position so I could fill out the rest of the paperwork.
I scanned the page.
Name.
Address.
Phone Number.
Agent.
Shoe size.
Height.
Chest.
Waist.
Hips.
I rolled my eyes. Good God. Let's see... Shoe size. 8. Chest. 33". Height. 5'5 1/2", always make yourself taller. Waist. 28". Hips...hips...31". Always make yourself thinner. I set the pages aside, pulled out my book and started to read.
Over the next few minutes a couple more people trickled in with the same looks of anticipation, met with the same looks of disreguard, and my single smile. Cut thoat, shmut throat, I thought. This isn't my line of work, and the best men/women will win no matter how much you glare in the waiting room.
A couple of minutes later a thin blond smoker type woman trotted down the stairs, flashed a fake smile and asked the first three who arrived to head upstairs. People glanced at each other, nodded heads and spoke a few words before the agreed first three headed up the stairs. I heard the typical audition questions and movement and then, out of nowhere a clatter which made me picture a herd of kangaroos landing on the roof. They were jumping, and everytime they jumped someone let out a distinct "woohoo!". I smiled. Of course. Old Navy commercials were always cheesy with kids running from bears or singing Christmas carols. Of course jumping in an excited cheerleader like fashion would be a logical inclusion. This continued to happen every few minutes and now and then someone would come down the stairs and leave, followed by the casting agent asking the next person to "come up".
When it was finally my turn I grabbed my bag and quickly walked up the stairs expecting to see other auditioners who had gone up before. Yet to my surprise the jumping hadn't taken place as a group but individually, people were just really loud jumpers. No herd, only me. So, just as those before me, I introduced myself, got my picture taken front and side, and did my jump.
"Wow, that jump was...perfect" she said with a smile. "We'll let you know in the next couple weeks".
I smiled to myself as I trotted down the stairs. I may not have the perfect 5'8" 115lb body for an Old Navy Jeans commercial; and as a result I may not have an ice cube's chance in hell of getting the job. But, I had given her the perfect jump.
May 12, 2006
My Island Getaway (Day 225)
In order to kill a bit of time last Sunday I took a stroll to Brizzy's "west end" to browse the numerous shops and specialty markets. I was mainly in search of a small used bookstore called Bent Books which a co-worker said had a wide selection of travel guides. Having become somewhat bored with roaming around Brisbane's Southbank, I had made the decision to pick up an Australian Lonely Planet in order to plan some "weekend getaways". And I figured if the cost was my boredom and $39.99 AUD, it was well worth it.
Bent Books did indeed have a wide selection of travel books, unfortunately none of them were used. The quirky somewhat pushy shop attendant explained how most of the time you can't find used travel books, and if you do they're most likely too old and in a highlighted dogearred condition. Given this unfortunate information, I bought two new Lonely Planets and decided that from now on I would keep my guide books in good condition and sell them to used bookstores...as long as I could find them after the trip.
That night I flipped through the East Coast Australia Lonely Planet looking for things to do. My boss at the cafe had given me Tuesday and Wednesday off so I figured it was a good time to get back on the trail. On page 321 I found details on a small island about an hour outside of Brisbane by the name of Stradbroke. It sounded quaint with nice beaches, hiking, snorkling, sandboarding and 4x4 tours; plus it had a youth hostel so I figured I'd be able to meet some fellow backpackers. I decided to leave the next day (Monday) after work in order to get the most out of my weekend.
Monday morning I got up three hours before work so I would have time to run and pack. Although I thought I had given myself ample time, I found myself running to the cafe as a result of Grandma asking me to make a trip to the corner store and buy a 1/2 gallon of "full cream milk" so she could "make a custard for a woman from church...". Luckily I wasn't late and worked my shift with an antsy pacing approach anticipating my return to the backpacker trail.
After work my pack and I squeezed onto the train with the evening commutors headed to Cleveland station. I felt awkward not knowing where I was going in a city where everyone is going somewhere. From the station I hopped on a bus to the dock where I took a half hour ferry ride to the island.
It was dark by the time I arrived so I wasn't able to see much scenery on the bus ride across the island. The bus driver had smiled cheerily as I climbed up the steps inspite of the fact that it was dinner time and there were only 4 of us on the bus. A plump woman in a blue flower print blouse chattered away in his ear as he drove. Her bags of groceries spilling out onto the black rubber lined isle. I enjoyed the ride along the dark windy road wondering what the morning sun would reveal. To my surprise I noticed a Chinese character light up when the blinker engaged and realized that the bus was an old Chinese vehicle brought over for exclusive use on the island. I was definitely back on the backpacker trail.
The bus dropped me off directly in front of the hostel and then roared off with a groan from the gears and a wave from the driver. A friendly guy (whose name I can't remember) checked me in and introduced me to the staff and the one other backpacker staying at the time. After setting my pack in my room and throwing together something to eat, I plopped down on the couch with the rest of them and just about choked on my cracker when I realized they were watching Temptation one of Grandma's favorite game shows. Luckily it ended fairly quickly.
The next morning I woke up at 7:00am and this time after hopping down from the bunk and hurrying to the toilet, I didn't climb back into bed. Instead I got dressed, packed myself a breakfast of a plum, rye crackers, cheese and marmalade, and set off for the beach.
It was a beautiful crisp clear morning and while I sat alone on the long stretch of sand munching my picnic breakfast, I grew more and more pleased with the fact that it was the low season and not mid summer when the island's population of 2000 increases to 30,000. For the next few hours I roamed around the town and beaches discovering their charm and appeal.
After about three hours I ran into the other guest from the hostel and we sat down to have a coffee...well he had a coffee, I splurged and had an iced chocolate which is composed of ice cream, chocolate syrup, milk and whipped cream with a dusting of powdered chocolate. After the first hour of conversation I got the hang of my beverage companion's accent (Swedish with a word specific lisp) and found that we had a great deal to talk about. We were soon joined by the cafe owner and one of the staff. 5 hours later, two glasses of pinot noir and a heafty serving of social and political conversation later, my hostelmate and I said goodbye and briskly walked back to the hostel.
The next day I spent most of my time chatting with locals and sunbathing until I caught the bus (and the same driver) back to the ferry. On the return ride I got to see the island's bush setting, but unfortunately this time I shared the bus with three other backpackers. From what I could tell one was Aussie, one was Northern European and one was American. As we rode along I couldn't help but listen to them talk, not because their conversation was compelling, but because the American was so damn loud. He continuously talked about himself and spent most of the time explaining how great his beard is and how much the girls love it. Every word that came out of his mouth made me cringe. He sounded so self-focused and ignorant, and I wondered if I would have thought the same thing 8 months ago. The fact is, I probably would have, but it got me thinking.
Since my return to the "western"1 world, I've noticed that kids (kids being people between the ages of 17 - 26) seem more self-centered, oblivious and well...immature. I can't help but sense within the first 10 minutes of a conversation whether someone has any form of global consciousness and more often than not they don't. And I hope I don't sound self-centered when I say, most kids are painfully oblivious to the world around them.
The boy in the bus also made me wonder if we (Americans) are really as bad as people think we are (ie. loud, obnoxious, rude etc.). While chatting with the cafe owner, he explained his belief that the best way to change someone's opinion and make change in the world is to serve as an example. Don't preach, just live. Show those around you how great you are and they will want to change. Which causes me to reflect on my own life and wonder if I am truly being who I want to be. As great as it is to backpack around the world and gain a global perspective, how am I making a difference? We will all ask ourselves this question at one or multiple points in our lives and I can guarentee most of us are not satisfied with the answer, yet we make little change.
The night before my flight out of Bangkok, I ventured out to my favorite place, Siam Paragon. This time I wasn't there for food, but rather to see a film in one of the complex spectacularly plush theaters. The film was The Constant Gardener, one I had wanted to see since before I left home. By the end of the movie there was a phrase repeating in my head; it wasn't from the film, it had just come to me during the two hours I sat entranced and heart wrenched in front of the screen:
Throughout my travels I've understood more and more the priviledge I've received simply being born across an invisible line. By mearly taking my first breath within the borders of a country the world has come to accept as "America"2 I have more opportunity and will lead a more "successful"3 life than most of the world can imagine. Yes, my family made difficult journies at a young age and on slave ships in order for me to be an "American" but ultimately, for me, it was luck. And how, when you have that much luck, can you let it go to waste?
1) "Western" is a Eurocentric term that established Asia as the "East", South America as "South", Iraq as the "Middle East" etc. As a result, Europe became the "West" and later came to refer to "First World" or Advanced countries. (Wikipedia has a great write up on it http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_world)
2) The entire continent is America, which includes Canada and Mexico, yet we have claimed, and it has been accepted that we call our country "America".
3) Need I explain? Success is culturally defined and thus different for everyone, therefore my "successful" life may be a failure to some.
Bent Books did indeed have a wide selection of travel books, unfortunately none of them were used. The quirky somewhat pushy shop attendant explained how most of the time you can't find used travel books, and if you do they're most likely too old and in a highlighted dogearred condition. Given this unfortunate information, I bought two new Lonely Planets and decided that from now on I would keep my guide books in good condition and sell them to used bookstores...as long as I could find them after the trip.
That night I flipped through the East Coast Australia Lonely Planet looking for things to do. My boss at the cafe had given me Tuesday and Wednesday off so I figured it was a good time to get back on the trail. On page 321 I found details on a small island about an hour outside of Brisbane by the name of Stradbroke. It sounded quaint with nice beaches, hiking, snorkling, sandboarding and 4x4 tours; plus it had a youth hostel so I figured I'd be able to meet some fellow backpackers. I decided to leave the next day (Monday) after work in order to get the most out of my weekend.
Monday morning I got up three hours before work so I would have time to run and pack. Although I thought I had given myself ample time, I found myself running to the cafe as a result of Grandma asking me to make a trip to the corner store and buy a 1/2 gallon of "full cream milk" so she could "make a custard for a woman from church...". Luckily I wasn't late and worked my shift with an antsy pacing approach anticipating my return to the backpacker trail.
After work my pack and I squeezed onto the train with the evening commutors headed to Cleveland station. I felt awkward not knowing where I was going in a city where everyone is going somewhere. From the station I hopped on a bus to the dock where I took a half hour ferry ride to the island.
It was dark by the time I arrived so I wasn't able to see much scenery on the bus ride across the island. The bus driver had smiled cheerily as I climbed up the steps inspite of the fact that it was dinner time and there were only 4 of us on the bus. A plump woman in a blue flower print blouse chattered away in his ear as he drove. Her bags of groceries spilling out onto the black rubber lined isle. I enjoyed the ride along the dark windy road wondering what the morning sun would reveal. To my surprise I noticed a Chinese character light up when the blinker engaged and realized that the bus was an old Chinese vehicle brought over for exclusive use on the island. I was definitely back on the backpacker trail.
The bus dropped me off directly in front of the hostel and then roared off with a groan from the gears and a wave from the driver. A friendly guy (whose name I can't remember) checked me in and introduced me to the staff and the one other backpacker staying at the time. After setting my pack in my room and throwing together something to eat, I plopped down on the couch with the rest of them and just about choked on my cracker when I realized they were watching Temptation one of Grandma's favorite game shows. Luckily it ended fairly quickly.
The next morning I woke up at 7:00am and this time after hopping down from the bunk and hurrying to the toilet, I didn't climb back into bed. Instead I got dressed, packed myself a breakfast of a plum, rye crackers, cheese and marmalade, and set off for the beach.
It was a beautiful crisp clear morning and while I sat alone on the long stretch of sand munching my picnic breakfast, I grew more and more pleased with the fact that it was the low season and not mid summer when the island's population of 2000 increases to 30,000. For the next few hours I roamed around the town and beaches discovering their charm and appeal.
After about three hours I ran into the other guest from the hostel and we sat down to have a coffee...well he had a coffee, I splurged and had an iced chocolate which is composed of ice cream, chocolate syrup, milk and whipped cream with a dusting of powdered chocolate. After the first hour of conversation I got the hang of my beverage companion's accent (Swedish with a word specific lisp) and found that we had a great deal to talk about. We were soon joined by the cafe owner and one of the staff. 5 hours later, two glasses of pinot noir and a heafty serving of social and political conversation later, my hostelmate and I said goodbye and briskly walked back to the hostel.
The next day I spent most of my time chatting with locals and sunbathing until I caught the bus (and the same driver) back to the ferry. On the return ride I got to see the island's bush setting, but unfortunately this time I shared the bus with three other backpackers. From what I could tell one was Aussie, one was Northern European and one was American. As we rode along I couldn't help but listen to them talk, not because their conversation was compelling, but because the American was so damn loud. He continuously talked about himself and spent most of the time explaining how great his beard is and how much the girls love it. Every word that came out of his mouth made me cringe. He sounded so self-focused and ignorant, and I wondered if I would have thought the same thing 8 months ago. The fact is, I probably would have, but it got me thinking.
Since my return to the "western"1 world, I've noticed that kids (kids being people between the ages of 17 - 26) seem more self-centered, oblivious and well...immature. I can't help but sense within the first 10 minutes of a conversation whether someone has any form of global consciousness and more often than not they don't. And I hope I don't sound self-centered when I say, most kids are painfully oblivious to the world around them.
The boy in the bus also made me wonder if we (Americans) are really as bad as people think we are (ie. loud, obnoxious, rude etc.). While chatting with the cafe owner, he explained his belief that the best way to change someone's opinion and make change in the world is to serve as an example. Don't preach, just live. Show those around you how great you are and they will want to change. Which causes me to reflect on my own life and wonder if I am truly being who I want to be. As great as it is to backpack around the world and gain a global perspective, how am I making a difference? We will all ask ourselves this question at one or multiple points in our lives and I can guarentee most of us are not satisfied with the answer, yet we make little change.
The night before my flight out of Bangkok, I ventured out to my favorite place, Siam Paragon. This time I wasn't there for food, but rather to see a film in one of the complex spectacularly plush theaters. The film was The Constant Gardener, one I had wanted to see since before I left home. By the end of the movie there was a phrase repeating in my head; it wasn't from the film, it had just come to me during the two hours I sat entranced and heart wrenched in front of the screen:
I have done nothing
I have changed nothing
I will not die saying the same thing.
Throughout my travels I've understood more and more the priviledge I've received simply being born across an invisible line. By mearly taking my first breath within the borders of a country the world has come to accept as "America"2 I have more opportunity and will lead a more "successful"3 life than most of the world can imagine. Yes, my family made difficult journies at a young age and on slave ships in order for me to be an "American" but ultimately, for me, it was luck. And how, when you have that much luck, can you let it go to waste?
For those of you who know me it is obvious I am passionate about change, and I can only hope that how I live my life has shown this to a certain extent, but that is not enough. So I guess this is my declaration, announcement, promise... I have done nothing. I have changed nothing, and I will not die saying the same thing. Whether it be by volunteering here in Brisbane or in Africa, spending time with a street kid or making films which raise public awareness, I cannot allow myself to continue to be the self-centered world inhabitant I have been. I'm seeing and learning too much to simply continue to observe both in my travels and my life.
Perhaps this is why the boy on the bus annoyed me so much. I don't see how travelers, who in some ways serve as embassadors, can continue to think the world revolves around them.
After I got off the bus and made my way back to Brisbane on the ferry and then the train, I continued to ponder (as I always will) my duty as a "westerner", an American, a human being and a traveler. And the whole time I couldn't fight the feeling that one of my duties might have been to turn around and tell that kid to shut up for once in his life.
1) "Western" is a Eurocentric term that established Asia as the "East", South America as "South", Iraq as the "Middle East" etc. As a result, Europe became the "West" and later came to refer to "First World" or Advanced countries. (Wikipedia has a great write up on it http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_world)
2) The entire continent is America, which includes Canada and Mexico, yet we have claimed, and it has been accepted that we call our country "America".
3) Need I explain? Success is culturally defined and thus different for everyone, therefore my "successful" life may be a failure to some.
