Remember the audition I had last week at Nickelodeon?

I had a crush on this project as soon as I read the breakdown. After I
met the director and grokked what sort of story she wants to tell, I
was hopelessly in love with the project. I really, really hope I get
this job.

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about jobs after an audition. In fact, I have a ritual where I take my sides, and dump them into the first trash can or recycling bin I find, so I can let go of the whole thing, and put it into the hands of The Universe — or a higher power, like the producers. But this one was different. I felt such a connection with the character, and had so much fun looking at his character model and creating the voice and character it inspired, I thought about the show every day, and called my manager about it several times.

I probably shouldn’t disclose too many details about the story that
I auditioned for, but it is a wonderful, funny, charming animated short
about a geek and a goth who are starcrossed lovers.

I’m sure you’re all surprised to hear that I read for the geek. I used my sense memories to recall the Kyra crush
and did my best to be the kind of guy who "you want to take his glasses
off, and mess up his hair, because he’s so cute and he doesn’t know
it," according to the director, who I really, really liked.

Just now, as I was about to make my daily call to see if we’d heard anything, the phone rang (true story). It was my manager.

"Remember [name of project]?" He said.

"You mean the one I call you about every single day?" I said.

"Yes, that one." He laughed. "You got it."

I lept out of my chair and hollered. "What?! Are you serious?!" Which is a stupid thing to holler, because he wouldn’t call me if he wasn’t. "Really? I really got the job?" Which is also a stupid thing to say, but I’m passing this one off on the surge of adrenaline and seratonin my brains released upon receiving the news.

"Yep. I called to see if they had made a decision yet, and [casting executive] told me that she was just about to call me with the news!" He went on to tell me that the director could have picked anyone in the whole world to do this part, and she chose me.

I’m going to say that again: she could have picked anyone she wanted, and she chose me. Man, that feels so good. I mean, it feels tasp good.

I hung up the phone and ran around the house like a hummingbird being chased by a dog that shoots bees from its mouth.

After all the times I’ve written about the audition that went great, but didn’t work out, or the audition that was a lot of fun, but it turns out I’m not edgy enough, it’s so insanely awesome to write about one where I not only had a great time, but actually get to do more than just the audition sides. When this show is animated and released, for the rest of time, I will be the actor who helped bring that guy to life — and I really love this character. I am so excited! Squee!

Anyway, I had a blast reading for this project, and I was so excited
when I left, I totally forgot to steal a camphone snap of the hawesome
four foot tall SpongeBob made out of LEGO in the lobby. If I get the
job, or the next time I’m at Nick, I’ll grab a picture of it on my way
in, because I’m usually skipping with nerdy excitment whenever I’m on
my way out.

I’ll be sure to snag a picture of the giant LEGO SpongeBob on my way in when I record my dialogue next Wednesday or Thursday, and I’m taking a gift to Don, the most awesome security guy ever, who works at Nick and is always so awesome to me when I go there for an audition.

Last night I watched an amazing episode of TNG called Family.

It is a truly wonderful episode that focuses on the human element of Star Trek. It is very dark and very heavy. It deals with the consequences of some very serious events from earlier in the series: Picard’s assimilation by the Borg and subsequent stint as Locutus, Worf facing his parents for the first time since his discommendation in Sins of the Father, and Wesley’s first face-to-face meeting with his father, Jack Crusher, via a holographic message which Jack made for him when Wesley was born.

It is a fantastic opportunity for the Patrick, Michael and me to take a brilliant script, filled with wonderful dialogue and complex relationships, and show the world what we can do as actors.

Partick and Michael are brilliant. They make the very most of every single scene, especially when Michael deals with the conflict between Worf’s need to
suffer for his discommendation with his obvious love for his parents,
and when Patrick finally lets Picard’s fall completely
apart as he acknowledges how helpless he felt at Wolf-359 and deals with its aftermath. It is a Ron Moore script that previews the depth and pathos that I have come to love on Battlestar Galactica, and they are absolutely outstanding in it.

And me? Ron gave me a chance to really shine, to explore some complex emotion and take Wesley beyond the two-dimensional caricature I often complained he’d become. I finally had a chance to explore and perform a human side of Wesley as he sees the face of his father and hears his voice for the first time in his life. I finally had a chance to really do something after years of saying "Aye, sir, warp six, sir" . . . and I fucking phoned it in. I sat there and I made all my stupid little faces and acted like I cared, but It’s painfully clear that I was halfway out the door. I totally and completely blew it. I was ashamed as I watched my eighteen year-old self last night, and rather disgusted by the time my scenes were over.

I looked extremely tanned, so the episode was probably shot in summer, and I’m sure I would have rather been at the beach with my friends instead of wearing a spacesuit on stage nine, but it’s no excuse. I was expected to be professional and do my job, and instead I was a bullshit hack who didn’t show up for work. I suppose the director could have knocked me into shape, but who knows what was going on at the time for him? And who knows if I would have even listened to him? After all, I was eighteen and I knew everything. I had the whole world figured out.

There were so many opportunities in that scene: opportunities to look at him and try to see myself in his eyes or hear myself in his voice; opportunities to make a rare emotional connection with a scene that didn’t involve a lot of techno babble and opportunities to just be simple and honest and truthful. As an actor, I should have thought about all the things we never got to do together, I should have done everything I could to stretch the moment out as long as possible, so the audience is left thinking that Wesley is going to sit in that holodeck and sob and miss his dad and watch that thing over and over for the next several hours. At the very least, I certainly should have allowed myself to feel the resulting sense of loss, but as a fucking douchebag teenager I didn’t feel anything. I’m pretty sure I walked into stage nine completely full of myself, and didn’t stop checking my watch until I was done with the scene.

Jesus, what a pathetic waste. What a complete and total fucking waste. On that day, I didn’t deserve to wear that uniform, and I certainly didn’t earn the right to call myself an actor.

It is such a great episode, and I’m so ashamed and disappointed that I didn’t realize it at the time. 

Ron, if you happen to read this: I am so sorry. When I saw you at Grand Slam, I thanked you for all the gifts you gave
me over the years; I’d forgotten about this one (probably because I
didn’t appreciate it at the time, in all my teenage arrogance and I am so sorry that I disrespected your work and didn’t honor the gift you gave me. Your work deserved better, and I was too much of an idiot to live up to the material. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to create something so wonderful, only to watch it destroyed by an arrogant and entitled teenager. I am so, so sorry.

I have learned much since I was eighteen. In fact, I became aware of what a douche I was about a year after I filmed this episode, and realized that I need to get the hell out of Hollywood and find out who I really was and who I wanted to be. I spent the next three years working all that shit out, looking at myself in the mirror every day until I could truly say that I liked the person I saw reflected back.

These days, I don’t take anything for granted, and I always do my very best to rise to the challenge of the material I’m lucky enough to be given. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, because the person I am today grew out of the person I once was . . . but I’d sure like a chance to take that wonderful material and do it justice.

Hopefully, I’ll get to watch an episode tonight that I can feel proud of.

(image from Memory Apha)

Afterthought – I put a version of this in comments, but here it is for the rest of all y’all (or is it all y’alls? all of y’alls?): It is important to me to examine and reflect on my life, whether it’s something I’m fiercely proud of, like my performance in Best of Both Worlds I & II, or something I’m not proud of, like the things I’ve written about here.

When Family was over last night, I had a visceral feeling of shame and regret as strong as the feeling of terror I had writing about my first day of high school yesterday. It’s lived in me all day, so I finally decided to write about it tonight.

I don’t intend for this to become some sort of big pity party for me or
anything, and by writing this, I don’t feel that I’m sitting in a funk,
dwelling on the past, wasting he present (I’ve done lots of that in the last few years, and I think I’ve hung on that cross enough, thank you.)

I absolutely love who I am today, both as a creative writer/actor and as a person. When everything is stripped away and I am left with nothing but my naked soul, I am very comfortable with what I have. I wouldn’t have that if I didn’t reflect on all the peaks and valleys of my life, including moments like these.

Now that I think of it, if I didn’t have such respect for Ron Moore, and if I hadn’t just seen him two weeks ago, I may not have had such a profoundly powerful reaction to my performance (or lack thereof) in his episode.

Anyway, if I didn’t tear down the wall from time to time, I’d just sit here and wait for the worms to come, and nobody wants that. Trust me.