Foursquared

I've received some requests for more blogging. Which I find A) flattering, and B) curious. Because almost everyone I know is my Facebook friend. And I'm sure you've noticed what a fan of Foursquare I am. So you're pretty much aware at almost all times where I am and the gist of what I'm doing. Some people might find this enthusiastic use of Foursquare creepy. I'm basically inviting you to be my stalker. Some people probably see it as overshare.

What do I love about Foursquare? I really RELISH my outside-of-work-time. Because I work A LOT. Foursquaring about all my non-work activities is my technological celebration that I am doing something simply because I choose to. I also think it's that, rather arrogantly, I think I have excellent taste, and I don't mind sharing it with you.

One of my top Foursquare check-ins: the gym. Yeah, I'm sure you've noticed how frequently I'm there, and half the time it's with my fabulous accountabilibuddy, Rachel. Sometimes you can find me there on a Friday evening. I am not ashamed of this. My interest in physical activity, all-around wellness, and nutrition has really sky-rocketed in the last year. Ok, I admit it, I'm probably bragging just a little bit when I check in here. But I am also just genuinely proud of myself that for the first time in my life I regularly exercise, and in fact quite enjoy it. This required some major reshuffling of priorities. I did not grow up in a very physically active family, previous to this year I'd been overweight my entire life. I was always unhappy about it-- intensely so. I never felt like my outside truly reflected who I was inside, i felt such a disconnect. I couldn't wear the clothes the Real Laura would wear, I couldn't physically accomplish the activities the Real Laura would enjoy. I didn't feel like myself. That's a horrible way to feel (and not feel) for 20 years. I feel so much more connected with my body now- I feel strong, capable. It's truly delicious to leave the discomfort and shame behind me.

All 3 books that I'm reading right now are non-fiction and are related to the above:

Coincidence? I think not.

Another frequent Foursquare check-in? Third Rail Coffee. It is literally a block away from my front door, I have never been so spoiled. I have a lovely Italian Bialetti at home with which to make my own coffee. But 2 things have led me to Third Rail just about every day: A) the best soy cappuccino I've enjoyed in my entire life thanks to the Stumptown coffee beans and Intelligentsia coffee beans they brew there (has rudely/brilliantly awakened me from Starbucks mediocrity), and B) the decrease of my coffee consumption. About a month ago I felt miserable and out of balance. To try to level out my emotions and general feeling of (un)wellness, I started eating differently. The eating choices discussed in Kris Carr's book, Crazy Sexy Diet (not a huge fan of the name) are basically how I would eat in my ideal world. Vegan, low-glycemic, alkaline, sugar-free, plant-based, organic, unrefined, whole-grain, gluten-free. Ok, I don't know if I'm COMPLETELY sold on the gluten-free part. But it has helped me avoid many a baked good calling my name. Coffee is very acidic, the whole idea behind the caffeine jolt is completely out of line with keeping your body and blood sugar level and balanced. But I LOVE coffee, coffee culture, and cafes, and I think it is absolutely valid and good that I keep this pleasure in tact. So I decided to cut my coffee intake from about 4 cups of coffee a day (usually ingested in the form of 2 very large cups) to 1 REALLY GOOD cappuccino (albeit with 2 shots of espresso) every day. That was my compromise. And it's worked out really well for me. I feel fantastico.

And if you've had breakfast with me lately, you may have noticed my new-found penchant for green veggie juice. Love it!

the Mormon question

I received a lovely email from my sister, Amy, this evening. She lives in Utah, and had been listening to a discussion on a radio show today about Huntsman vs. Romney, both being LDS potential candidates for the next Presidential run. Romney is pretty straightforward about his membership in the Mormon Church, and recently, Huntsman is apparently less so. When asked straight-out if he was Mormon, his reply was, "It's complicated." She understood there was some political strategizing going on, trying to appeal to multiple populations, but he also did not feel it actually as that complicated. You either are, or you aren't, Mormon.

She then started to explore the different possibilities. Is he less active? But his name is still on the Church roll. How about a caller in to the show who shared how, though he doesn't practice the religion actively anymore, he still calls himself Mormon because his family has such extensive cultural history in it? And then there's that shared acquaintance who doesn't attend Church anymore, but would still say yes if someone asked her if she were Mormon.

Which brought her around to me. How do I answer that question? (If you couldn't already tell by the title of this blog...)

I was so pleased to get her email-- such a graceful, curious, welcoming opening dialogue raising a topic that I have had some anxiety about with my family. I tend not to bring my departure from the Church up in conversation, because I am afraid of making someone feel uncomfortable, awkward, or sad when there is no need to be.

Here is my response:

"It seems like Mr. Huntsman's team would have come up with a more graceful answer to the question I'm sure they were all expecting. I agree, if he is less active now, it certainly is much trickier, more awkward, and difficult to successfully circumnavigate than if he is a fully-active member. And just because his name is on the roll of the church certainly doesn't mean he's active or believes in it. You actually have to go through quite the rigmarole to get your name removed from the church roll. It's quite a lengthy, inconvenient, particular process, which is the only reason I haven't done it. (I am a terrible errand-runner, and finding a notary to sign my exceptionally specifically-worded letter is just not something that's at the top of my to-do list. Let alone talk to some bishop I've never met about how I do actually want to leave the Church, you would think a notarized letter would be proof enough...) But either way, he should have been able to say something that was a bit more of a statement, rather than an obvious attempt to dodge-- especially as this show was airing in Utah.

When the topic comes up, as it surprisingly frequently does (I feel like the majority of first conversations actually raises the issue-- as soon as people find out I lived in Utah for an extended period of time, or went to BYU, they ask. And then they inevitably have 20 more questions. People are FASCINATED by Mormons, and I think especially fascinated by someone who used to be a Mormon and isn't anymore.) Oh, and there's the answer to your question. I say I am no longer Mormon. Follow-up questions almost always include who else in my family is or is not Mormon, at which point I acknowledge the extensive familial and cultural history that will always tie me to this religion and lifestyle, but I no longer identify myself as Mormon.

[Acquaintance] has made the argument that I will always be Mormon like non-religious Jewish people are always culturally Jewish. The Mormon religion isn't nearly as old as the Jewish religion, or as populous, or as geographically-specific, though I see her point. But the reasons that led me to leave the Church also lead me to not want to be linked to the Church in ideology. I do not choose that label, and I feel like I get that option at this point. The Mormon religion is a part of my family history and story, and it has clearly shaped so much of who I am, which in some significant ways I am very grateful for. But at this point in my life, I get to choose how I put myself forth to the world as, and I choose words and connotations such as vegan, New Yorker, artist, woman, agnostic, American, over a religion and lifestyle I do not believe in."

This post brought to you by 'Winter Song'

Sometimes I imagine New York City from a birds-eye perspective, and pinpoint the tiny dot that represents myself, there, almost at the very top of the island. With all of the thousands of dots milling around me that represent everyone else. And then I see all of the dots that represent those people who mean something to me, and where they might fall on the map at that particular moment, amidst all of the vibrating stranger-dots.

Right now, almost all of those friend-dots are gone. Vacated the island for the holidays. All of my go-to phone numbers for when I want to see a friendly face are not currently available. I am still here, just me and my City. And these absences make my interaction with Manhattan feel unaccountably different, even though this day may have progressed exactly the same even if all my friend-dots ran along their usual tracks on the map. But today feels not unlike one of those days in Latin America, alone in a foreign city, divvying up my day according to only my own needs and desires. Except that I'm in the city I know best in the world. But isn't that the thing about New York? You never really know it?

I will actually be going home this year, unlike the last two years spent respectively in a retail-bound New York City, and then the far more relaxed Caribbean waters of Panama.

I am really looking forward to seeing Pittsford again. Upstate New York is so beautiful, and though I would much prefer to be there in warm weather, I can't wait to take a long winter walk in the country. I loathe winter, though every day I do my best to find reasons to like it, and a country winter walk is the best thing about it I can think of. Silence, peace, stillness, and snow crunching underfoot.

I also anticipate some forced-relaxation at home, as even a day off here in NY compels me to run errands, and yes, even frequently do some work. Speaking of which...

The butternut squash tomato bisque, cornbread, and a soy cappuccino, please.

I don't know if this is going to paint me as a loner or lonely, (which right now, at least, I am not), but I am sitting down for my first solo meal, in a restaurant, with a waiter. To be fair, I guess it's a cafe, but I'm sitting at a table that gets waiter service. Even when I was traveling alone in Latin America I never went to a restaurant with table service and sat eating all by myself. I would order things and take them to go. More likely I would have stopped at a grocery store for a simple meal of local bread, cheese, and produce. Often I passed a day or two or three with someone else on the road.

It makes me feel very professional adult woman in Manhattan. Heaven knows that every Manhattanite woman's role model, Carrie Bradshaw, sat down for plenty of meals by herself. And that's exactly how I imagine the waiter thinking of me-- seeing me sitting here on my little netbook typing away with my soy cappuccino in the corner of my eye-- I am obviously a writer. With my my vintage-looking (but not) ring, my hair twisted into a braided french bun, my galoshes crossed under my Anthro dress. I think partly why I feel so at ease with eating my meal sola is because I'm so well put together today. It may be different if I felt like I'd just washed up in my tee-shirt, jeans, converse. Not to mention my usual day-off outfit consisting of sweaty work-out clothes.

Sigh. This is NYC in the winter for you. I can't go sit in the Park and eat my food, I have to tuck myself indoors, at the mercy of these lovely waiters. The first of December. I'm not sure either how that is supposed to make me feel, nor how it actually does make me feel. I reserve my 'holiday spirit' for work, and in the face of my currently breathtakingly overwhelming life, I focus on taking one task, project, emotion, day at a time. So the fact that it's December doesn't quite make an impact on how today is going.

If I did let myself think about it for a moment, I might think about how it's the first day of the last month of this eventful year, and consider how that would make me feel. I might think about how nervous I am heading into the winter season-- I don't do well without sunlight on my skin, and growing things within arm's reach.

What I do think about is ALL THE STUFF I have to do in the next two months and how I better stop writing this blog so I can get back to that. On this, my day off. That's life. At least if I'm working on my day off I can do so in a delicious, charming, cozy vegan cafe.

Blast from the past

Did you follow my blog while I was on my trip? If you did, you may recall this sailboat trip. The never-ending one... led by a perpetually intoxicated crazy captain?

I was recently tagged in this photo, posted by a lady I barely met on this night: New Year's Eve going into the year 2010. I do not have enough pictures of me on this trip and I was DELIGHTED to be surprised by this. All the way on the left is Llani, I can't remember the name of the next guy, above him is Joe, the infamous Captain Dennis (look at those rosy cheeks!), myself in the center (I AM SO TAN), and Kathryn to the right.

Ug. I cannot believe this was me 9 months ago. It is CRAZY how worlds-away this whole trip feels. I was writing a piece for my acting class about an event that occurred during this trip, so I was looking through a bunch of old blog posts. I still can't believe I did this. I want to do it again. Not next month or anything, but maybe next year. For the time being though, things are going really well. I feel some great momentum building, and I am really excited about some things happening, some expectations developing, and some results occurring. Yup, super vague. But suffice it to say my 3 jobs are progressing, I'm the slimmest I've ever been, I love the 2 acting classes I'm in, and I'm being really proactive about my career. For, really, the first time since leaving school. I am thrilled with the state of affairs.

Scroll down to the next post... Yeah, don't I look a whole lot better with a bit of makeup on? I am still really impressed I went this whole trip without a stitch of makeup. Cute boys and everything.

Headshots

Last Tuesday I poked around friends' experience, brains, and the internet to find a headshot photographer in NYC that I liked. Last Thursday I met with one. This past Tuesday I shot with one. I got extraordinarily stressed out about this shoot. Not in a non-functional way, just in a 'Am I doing everything possible to make this a success?' way. I tried to pinpoint the castability I was aiming to emerge with. I shopped for hours looking for colors, textures, necklines that flattered. I didn't buy much. I worked SO MUCH I worried. A lot. I walked a lot. I didn't sleep well. I worked out.

I am an actor. Not a model. Acting feels very different to me than taking pictures. It's not what I have experience doing. It's not what I'm trained in. The only training I have is the school of America's Next Top Model. But what is training without practice?

My photographer and makeup artist were fantastic. I was really reticent about using the required makeup artist. I am a makeup artist and I haven't let anyone else do my makeup for years. But Joey was really wonderful, and open to anything I wanted to tweak. Laura, the photographer, was so professional, unbelievably detail oriented, and was a great coach. Also, so open to any tweaks I wanted to make. Since I'm a slow decision-maker I unfortunately didn't have too many tweaks to work with, but she knows how to take charge anyway. Take a look at her very impressive website by clicking here.

I thought positive thoughts. I thought confident thoughts. I had fun. I let go of the death grip I had on this photo shoot and tried to experience it as openly as anything else. Not as an imperative tool that would make or break my career. It's a really exciting, positive step forward. Do you remember my last headshots? They were lovely, but I needed new ones.Please take 10 minutes and help me decide on a few to get retouched and printed. Before you do, please read the below excerpt from Dallas Travers' book The Tao of Show Business.

"Until your resume stands alone, your headshot must clearly and specifically explain how you're best cast. Casting directors are busy people and in order to stand out, you must convey a clear, specific message. You don't need a ton of specific photos with lots of specific costumes. You only need one to three key photos that speak to your castability in a drama, a comedy, and as a specific character. You've got to know yourself, know how others perceive you, and be willing to showcase your specific and authentic self. The more you showcase your glorious self, the more easily success will meet you. Be your best self. Know who you are and embrace it... Remember that the sole purpose of your headshots is to get you hired. That's accomplished with a riveting photo that showcases the real you and speaks clearly to your castability. It doesn't matter if you're smiling or not. It doesn't matter if your body is off-center, or the photo is cropped tight to your head. It doesn't matter if the photo is horizontal or vertical. It doesn't matter if it's a close-up or shows a little body. What matters is that the photo captures the eye and showcases the real you. That's it."

I'm looking for a commercial shot, a drama, a comedy, and maybe just one solid could-use-for-anything master shot. Remember, I'm not ingenue, I am character. Open a word document or your email so you can jot down the number of the picture and your comments on it as you go. I appreciate any feedback I can get, whether that be specific photo numbers or even just "I like the blue for your commercial shot." Even though any decision I make is ultimately mine, I'm not very good at narrowing things like this down. My photographer narrowed over a thousand shots down to more than 400, which I have narrowed down to 78. Help me out with the last couple of steps by clicking here.

Thank you!

Hello Summer

I've had so many lovely New York moments the last couple of weeks, sometimes I wonder whose life or what film I've inadvertently walked into.


It started in Brooklyn. I baked some previously-mentioned amazing cookies and joined two sisters and a roommate at Prospect Park in Brooklyn for some free tunes performed by The Low Anthem and The Swell Season. Brooklyn is the most charming if you're in the right part, I kind of wish I lived there. The line snaked out through the park, but we had no problem scoring an acceptable square of grass and proceeded to enjoy our delicious picnic. It was the perfect temperature, with delightful company (I get along with the hipsters of Brooklyn so much better than with the uppity socialites of Murray Hill), gorgeous sun falling through the leaves, and warm golden melodies floating back to us. The Swell Season was absolutely fantastic. I wouldn't mind seeing their act again at all. Glen was sufficiently passionate (read: VERY), and they even played my favorite song from the Once album, 'Golden'! I wouldn't have minded whiling away a couple of more hours lounging on our picnic blanket in the park (I. Love. Summer. Nights. In. The. Grass.), but everyone else was done in for the night so we joined the masses exodusing to the subway.

A couple of days later, a friend invited me to some Hitchcock on the big screen in the Upper West Side. Done and done. I know that any Hitchcock enthusiast would roll their eyes at this, but I couldn't stop thinking of Mad Men. And I felt great about that. If I wasn't in love with the style of the 60's before Mad Men, I surely am now. Some great shots, some great style, some classic Hitchcock.
Post-film, friend and I joined a friend of his at an exclusive rooftop lounge/bar in Soho. How rarely do I get to say that I got into somewhere exclusive because I know someone who knows someone? 'Just drop Vanessa's name at the door, and they'll show you right in.' And the view. AND THE VIEW. I'll leave it at that. Great company, great atmosphere, great music, great drinks, and that wasn't the end. The rooftop lounge closed, and The Friend told us that she and the girls always go down to a small swanky club downstairs for live salsa music every sunday after the rooftop closes. Our group hesitated in the lobby, but after hearing those familiar, delicious strains of salsa I said that we at least had to peek in. And then once we were in, I, at least, could not leave. It was indeed small and swanky, with an absolutely fantastic three-man salsa band. (Word has it they play for the Moore/Kutcher clan.) The vibe was perfect, and the dancers were skilled. We had corner seats, and enough dance partners to go around. Plenty of flirting to go around too, including a very attractive lesbian-- I was so flattered. The night was unexpected, unpredictable, and absolutely perfect. And I didn't even have to take the long subway ride home alone. (Hmm, I did not mean by that what you think I am implying...)

The work carries on, as ever. I continue to work about 60 hours a week, so yes, a late night like that in the middle of my work week does take a toll. But luckily, at the end of my work week, that one day when I might find an hour or two to take a breath before plunging into my next work week, my glorious Thursday, my absolutely wonderful boss treated me to a massage at the Caudalie Spa at The Plaza to reward me for my hard work. I arrived after a liesurely stroll through Central Park and took every spare minute I had to relax in that peaceful refuge. And took about one moment to feel imperiously impressive about having reason to be at The Plaza.

The next night I attended an absolutely lovely cocktail party in the Upper West Side. Dreamy apartment, dreamy company, and it might have been my first bona fide cocktail party. I made sure to enjoy that. Drinks with a girlfriend after that.

And, finally, on Sunday I attended a dear friend's going away party. I am absolutely not happy about this dear friend's departure (well, except for the important fact that this is a momentous and good move for him). But his going away party was so much fun. It started at a little Italian restaurant in the West Village, and continued on to Marie's Crisis Cafe-- a hole-in-the-wall piano bar where everyone gathers around the piano to belt out showtunes with each other. It is tiny, dirty, and perfect. Most of the people there were obviously regulars. The creator/producer of Glee joined us for a few songs, and though I sang my loveliest for him, he was making out with some guy so I'm pretty sure I didn't snag his attention. He requested Funny Girl. Typical. The night included many good songs, a few bizarre people, and some weird-therefore-perfect moments. The piano player made some very inappropriate gropes to some males of our party. There was also a very tanned, bleached, Big Papi rich man who apparently owned half of the Dominican Republic who could not tear himself away from the males of our party, and told me that when speaking Spanish I have no accent! There was also this BRILLIANT MOMENT: the room suddenly went silent (I was mid-conversation and was both shushed and snapped at), and this woman, who I'd assumed was homeless, emerged from the shadows under the stairs to sing us a truly glorious song. Everyone was transfixed, figuratively bowed down to her, and then she retreated back to her shadows, where she remained, silent and motionless, for the rest of the night. And finally, as it was time to depart, Michelle and I sang one last song. There weren't many people left in the bar, and my back was to the door. Somewhere near the end of the song, I saw Michelle's eyes widen as she looked behind me at the door. I turn my head, and making their entrance sidestepping down the staircase, is a trio of truly made-up fabulous drag queens. There is always something dream-like about a drag queen's entrance, let alone a trio. My West Village dream night was so deliciously complete at that moment.

Tomorrow night: stargazing in Central Park at midnight.