Have you ever wondered what sort of dark thoughts rot in my mind sometimes?
Well, I'm sure anyone who still reads this has a fair idea of what kind of crap my mind actually convinces itself of. But for those with a morbid curioisity of further examples of my occasional insanity, feel free to read on . . .
I wanted to quit Acrobat tonight.
I wanted to just get up and walk out the door, never looking back, and just forget the whole thing.
I wanted to sooooooooo badly.
Now, I don't still want that. And even at the time of the wanting, I never actually entertained the thought as a possibility.
But for the first time I actually wanted to.
Now Acrobat is an amazing show. Everything about it is just, well, amazing. It's also a very stressful and a very difficult show- especially for the person playing the main character, Arthur.
What makes the role so difficult (for me, at least), is that it's so very personal. I'm not so much as "putting on" the character of Arthur, as I am taking off my inhibitions to become him. Arthur bounces between giddy and despair and rage over the course of a 5 minute scene, or even 30 seconds of dialogue in some places. The amount of honesty and truthfulness required to actually make all that believeable is, well, intimidating. So I'm constantly questioning whether or not I can actually perform this role- whether I am a strong enough actor to adequately bring Arthur to life- to have people care for him at the same time they are frustrated over his self-destructive actions in the show.
But you know, despite that very large, very understandable, very natural apprehension . . . it's still not the reason I would actually want to back out of the show.
Maybe describing the context of the sudden flare of these feelings would be appropriate?
Well, tonight at rehearsal, we (the cast) was all hanging around while waiting to get started. Three guys in the cast were sitting behind me, having a typical guy conversation: working out at the gym. For whatever reason, the conversation just ignited something in my mind. Here were three young, very attractive, very fit guys discussing their fitness goals.
Except my mind instantly translated it into 3 really hot guys complaining about how they weren't hot enough yet.
Now two of these individuals are ones that I have "passionate" scenes with in the play. Already, I'm paranoid and insecure about doing scenes with guys I actually find attractive. Already I feel awkward because I know that they're straight and probably uncomfortable with the whole thing. Already I know that my own discomfort is only making the whole scene even more awkward.
And then, tonight, listening to their conversation, it hits me . . .
Even if they were gay, they'd probably be uncomfortable with the scene.
Seriously. They're all hot, and ripped, and thin.
I'm just a fucking blob.
And when they're not even satisfied with their own physiques? What the fuck do they think of mine?
Seriously, real gay guys would not be attracted to Arthur if he actually looked like me. There's no way any of the fucking story would work because the whole fucking gay community would take one look and run the other way, puking.
I doesn't matter how good an actor I am- I just don't fit this part, physically.
The entire rest of the night, this was spinning through my head. I had to do my scene where I seduce one of those three guys, and the whole time I felt like fucking Jabba the Hut slobbering over Princess Leia.
Arthur isn't fucking Jabba the fucking Hut.
I couldn't fucking lean over for fear that rolls would start poking out of my shirt and make not only the seducee cringe, but the whole fucking audience. So I just kind of sat there while we muttered the lines with no feeling behind them, looking awkward and uncomfortable.
It was a fucking disaster.
So, yeah, that's why I really really really wanted to just walk out and quit. It's going to be fucking humiliting to have Arthur roll himself out on stage to do his monologues, and then roll across the dance floor to seduce guys who are actually hot and attractive. And then Laci, who's coordinating costumes, picks out a shirt of mine that I haven't been able to wear for almost 2 years precisely because it makes me look like a fucking blimp.
I think I'm going to tell her I'm vetoing that shirt tomorrow.
So, yeah, in the midst of all this self-pity, I started trying to figure out how to solve this disaster. Like if I just stopped eating completely, could I actually lose some weight by the time we open?
If my body naturally burns 2000 calories a day, and a gram of fat has 9 calories, then I could lose 3,111 grams by opening night. Convert that into pounds, and . . . I'd be down to just slightly below 200 lbs . . .
Yay! Even starving myself won't let me lose enough weight in time!
You know, I saw the movie The Ruins this weekend (it's actually a really good movie- much better than I thought it would be, I reccommend it), and there's a scene where a character get's "infected" by vines. They start growing in her, and it drives her nuts to the point where she just takes a knife and starts cutting away at herself, trying to rip them out.
And while, initially, I was horrified by her actions, there was this little voice in the back of my mind saying, "That's not so bad, really. You've fantasized about doing something a lot like this."
And I have.
I'll be taking a shower, and I'll sit down and just squeeze a chunk of my stomach and dream about what it'd be like to just take a knife and start slicing away.
Just one simple cut, is all it would take. I know where all my organs are and stuff- I could just cut a slit in my side, and reach my hand in, and just start ripping out handfulls of fat. You know, kind of like how when you carve a pumpkin for Halloween, and you have to pull out all the seeds inside. It'd be like that. I'd just keep reaching in and ripping away big squishy clumps of lard and let them fall to the floor of the shower where the water eventually washes them down the drain . . .
And once I'm done, I'd just stitch my side back up, and I'd hop out of the shower and look at myself in the mirror and for the first time, I'd actually like what I saw. For the first time, I wouldn't feel ashamed to be without a shirt. For the first time in as long as I can remember . . .
And I mean, I know it would hurt- I'm not that crazy. But, really, what is a quick bit of pain compared to years and years and years or guilt and shame and paranoia? Just make the pain physical, and it seems so much more bearable.
But then the bio major in me realizes that I'd probably lose too much blood to actually survive this little fantasy, let alone be conscious enough to actually finish the job . . .
*sigh*
So, I can't starve myself down in time. I can't surgically slice my way down in time . . . Fuck, if the short-cut ways are too slow then the good, old-fashioned diet + exercise is out.
Fucking hell . . .
You know, I'll bet my weight was a major factor into why I didn't make grad school, too. Seriously, an actor who can't take enough care of his body to stay in shape? That speaks volumes about dedication. Not to mention the fact that in such a visual industry, looks are the main thing you need- everything else can be taught.
Plus, with how self-conscious I am with my size, there's no way I can actually be comfortable enough with myself to actually do anything physical on stage- interesting how that's my greatest weakness as an actor, isn't it?
You know, I was actually exercising fairly regularly this past January. I knew Acrobat was coming up, and I knew that this was going to be an issue with me, so I figured if I worked out for 4 months, that I might actually make enough progress to actually do the role comfortably.
Well, then it came to audition pinch time. Then post-Chicago stress. Then the period where I was sick off and on for nearly a month (I'm still getting over the latest cold). And to top it all off, my brother decided to take the PS2 into his room (I was exercising using a fitness program video game), and I was too embarrassed to ask for the PS2 back. And how pathetic is it that I need a fucking video game to get me to exercise anyway?
And you know, as I'm typing all this, I'm pigging out on my clearance Easter candy I bought a couple weeks ago.
Yeah, my brain is great like that, isn't it?
Fucking hell . . .
Time to go to bed so I can get up and face another humilating day as a Cow . . .
Eric 4/07/2008 11:11:00 PM
