What's up, Team?
As I'm typing this it's a bit before 6:00 am. I got to Starbucks at 5:30 am.
Last night I took an advil PM at 8pm. I had crazy medicine induced dreams throughout the night that kept me in a half wakened state until 3:30 am. Dreams of Break In scenarios fueled by the outside arguments (or should I say Screaming Matches) of neighbors in the real world.
Tossing and turning until the bright illumination of my phones background showed me 4:00 am. Wide awake. As if sleep hadn't even touched my eyes.
The shower water that cycles between the glacial waters of the artic and Satan's bathwater hit my face at 4:09 am. Soap, Shampoo, and spit up toothpaste circle the drain.
Fuck. Forgot to shave. Hope they like Stubble.
Pants, Belt, Socks, Boots, and a casual Superman T-shirt to soak up whatever sweat wells up in the boiling waiting rooms.
Dark doesn't even begin to describe the morning. The sky is so black, as if it doesn't even know that the next day has already begun. It pleads ignorance to the sun that looms in the future.
Cold doesn't even begin to describe the weather. It bites, stings, and infects like a virus. You and the cold now share a chromosome. You can't shake it, no use trying. Just accept it, let it be a part of who you are this day. At least until you can get into the subway car...which seems to be taking forever.
Sitting in that plastic bucket next to the mother, up early to provide a living for her family, the circles deeply burrowed in her eyes. The dozen or so people, all here because they need to be, not because of want. It almost makes the small slice of misery I'm putting myself through completely miserable, because my choice is one of artistic fullfillment and passion, not necessity.
One stop, two stop, three stop, four. Walk to the next platform. Wait. Shiver. Try to shake the cold, do a few lip trills to see how the voice feels. Hope that it's not disrupting anybody else's sense of quiet. It's not. Everybody wears ear buds, shutting off the squeaks of subway cars and the squeals of subway rats. I wonder how many of them are listening to something that will help them get out of the rat race and get to the point where they can fly on granite clouds on a private car, with their own driver whos nick name is "Skip." Skip's a quiet fellow, but he enjoys hearing about your day and drives aggressively and effectively. Nice guy, that skip.
Back on the streets. It feels twice as cold near time square. The wind blows twice as hard. Like the buildings are creating massive wind funnels. The streets are empty enough where I don't mind opening up my voice box and letting a casual "If Ever I would Leave You" flow out.
I land at Pearl Studios at 5:20am. A small pool of people have emerged from their own scenarios that somehow reflect mine. Each bundled to the teeth with as much fabric as their person can hold. Each of us prepared for a nice long sit until 6am when the doors are scheduled to open.
Lucky for us, the doorman takes pity and allows us to enter. We ascend the elevator, landing on the 12th floor where the official sign up list sits there waiting. Despite my best efforts to be a spartan in this race, I'm still 40th on the list. But this bodes well, I believe I will be heard today.
Starbucks opens at 5:30 am. God bless them and their hot, brown water they call coffee and their free wifi. It's up to me to kill time and stay sane so I can sing the Jesus out of my audition. We sign up for official times at 9am.
Despite what this may appear to be. I'm having the time of my life. Feeling empowered and purposeful once again in this fight towards a career in the singing/acting/performing business.
Also, This City is Boss
Until Next Time,
Lift Big, Sing Big, and Look Great Doing It.
The Opera Bro