A few days ago, I binged on an entire humble pie and lived to tell the story.
By Geoffrey Kidwell (actor)
Let’s talk about pride.
Of course, by “let’s talk” I mean that I’m going to write something and you’re going to read it. One-sided conversations in which I’m the star player are definitely my favorite.
As you may recall from a previous post, I believe that as an artist who must work a day job for a living, it is tremendously important to avoid becoming defined by one’s survival job.
So in my case, I must always remind myself that I am an actor who waits tables at a bowling alley with fancy lighting and not a waiter who occasionally acts. Catch my drift?
Most of the time I do fine. I go to my day job, work hard and leave knowing that it’s all just a means to an end.
Other days aren’t so easy.
I show up at Bowlmor Lanes and Strikes in Times Square (AKA the seventh level of Hell) and witness quite a large crowd entering the building.
“Ugh,” I think to myself. “It’s probably some corporate party full of pinstriped-clad bankers.”
So you can imagine my shock and awe when I make my way to the third floor and find that the large crowd of people is actually heading to one of our large event spaces to celebrate the…get ready for this…
Theatre World Awards.
THE MOTHERF’ING THEATRE WORLD AWARDS!!!
Immediately, I find myself in the midst of an emotional tailspin…
I’m almost thirty years old. I graduated second in my class at UCLA. I’m a pretty damn talented guy. And now I get to serve pigs in a blanket to fucking Jeremy Jordan (who is shorter than I imagined but even more handsome) and God knows who else.
Needless to say, I was not in a great headspace.
So I mope around the building for a bit, setting up for my shift and trying my best to avoid running into one of the many casting directors for whom I have recently auditioned.
I can feel myself getting pissier and bitchier by the minute.
And then, kind of out of nowhere, it hits me…
What the Hell am I doing? Am I really that full of pride? Am I really incapable of remembering that I am certainly not the only actor on the planet who has to work a day job (or five day jobs) in order to pay his bills? Additionally, Geoffrey, you’re constantly reminding your readership here at Crazytown of the importance of getting out of your own way, of not being defined by your survival job.
Time to practice what you preach.
And so, I take a deep breath and just start to laugh at it all.
It is pretty funny, isn’t it. Here I am, clad in blue jeans and a…it pains me to even write this…a Bowlmor Lanes football jersey, surrounded by many of the who’s who of the New York theatre community.
My shift ends up going pretty well. I make some money, see a few of my theatre idols and I make a promise to myself:
Next year I’ll be at the Theatre World Awards as a guest. No. Strike that. As an award recipient.
So there you have it. Sometimes you gotta swallow your pride, put on your jersey and do what you need to do.
AND NOW...THE WEEK IN WHITNEY HOUSTON!!!
As if I didn't love this woman enough?!?! She was gorgeous. Sang like a damn angel. Had an inpeccable fashion sense. Dance...err...moved well. And...she loved America!!!! Come. On. Here's Miss Houston doing her thing with The Battle Hymn of the Republic at a concert for the troops in 1991.