Pumpkin & Booze: a Cure to Colds and Young Adulthood

Bonjour, & bienvenidos to a month after I said I'd be finished with this blog. Anyone surprised? No? Great, let's eat.

Ingredients

• Parents
• Compliments
• Pumpkins
• Celebrities
• Parties

Instructions

When you are an early 20's female in NYC, all of the above are potentially problematic. Take the glaring example of pumpkin: 

Yeah, this article interesting, click it..

Why does this innocent gourd deserve such fiercely loaded judgment &, thusly, protection? You don't see my listing pattypan squash or zucchini or kabocha up there-- why do they get away scot-free? 

I mean, the real reason is because I didn't go home to Ohio to have homemade Krieg's Itz the Berries annual kabocha frozen custard or Homemade Mitchell's Ice Cream's special zucchini fall flavor. SHIT no. I went home to get some PUMPKIN. TWICE. DAMN STRAIGHT. So that's why that's there. And also to provide a sweet transition to: parents.

Indeed, I flee-ed to the Cleve a few weekends ago, thanks to the extra time awarded to me by the national holiday celebrating massacres and a man compelled by Spanish greed-- thanks to it, but not because of it. No, I would've been forced to fly home whether or not I was able to spend more than 12 hours there. My mother made a bold move: she pulled her "I never make you do anything" card to require my presence at my cousin Kelly's wedding shower. A card that, sadly (really only for her), is 100% valid; my mom historically never makes me do anything. The closest she's come has been not letting me do something. I wasn't allowed to participate in both my high school senior spring play and the annual Lorain International Princess Pageant, which I'd wanted to do because this same cousin Kelly won 3rd Runner Up & thus local celebrity as the German Princess in 2003. Now, I'm not saying that the bridal shower of one of my top favorite cousins is not worth a card pulling. It's simply that you'd think my mom would pull this highly valuable, pretty much one-time-only card on, I don't know, her inevitable retirement party or making me move my crap out of her basement. Nope; she's selfless. And, even if I could only be in Ohio for 5 hours, I was to be at Quarry Hill Winery in Vermillion, OH at 1pm on Saturday.

Obviously, this meant that when I woke up Friday morning with a sore throat, congested head, and body aches, I was going to have to suck. it. up. I drank an entire 56 oz jug of orange juice that day. I also performed in an improv show downtown that started at 10:30pm and then got to bed at 2am, with my alarm set for 5:50am the next morning.

Now, don't hide what you're thinking-- "if you couldn't breathe out of any nostril, barely got through work, and felt dizzy in Candy Land all day, why on earth would you go perform in an indie improv show in the East Village?!" No one was making me do it. However, one does not simply bail day-of when they're part of a 7-person team and 2 people already said that they couldn't make it days ago. Also, it was in a really great venue, OK?!

But still.

I successfully wake up at 5:50am, though mainly because I can't breathe. Zombie-like, I travel train & bus from Queens to New Jersey to my gate just as boarding began, which is fine since I fly standby and we get the leftover seats. Unless... there are none. In a haze, I sit there wondering why my name isn't being called, until I finally notice the crowd of others waiting. 

I dedicated myself to <4 hours of sleep and a trip to New Jersey but DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER to check the flight availability before I left the house? Honestly, at this point, I don't know who I am anymore (though that could've been the snot and lack of sleep). The 67 available seats-- that there were yesterday at 9pm, clearly the most relevant time to now-- are now 2 seats, and instead of being 3rd I am now 25th on the standby list. But they (my dad) don't call me the Luckiest Pass Rider in the World for nothin'. Oh, right; that's who I am: Economy Plus on an impossible flight.

Ohio ETA: 10:50am
My bed ETA: 11:35am
Departure for wedding shower ETA: 12:30pm
Shower at a winery with homemade apple cider sangria: 1 to 5pm
Pumpkin frozen custard + farm apple stand ETA: 5:15pm
Comcast On-Demand so I can finally watch "Mr. Robot" ETA: 6pm
Sleep: 9:30pm

10:00am: WE'RE GOING TO A MOTHA-F*#$IN' ISLAND

Oh, you thought that after exhausting my sickly narcoleptic body through 3 hours of sleep, a flight, a 40 min nap, and 4 hours of pure adrenaline partying that I'd not be expected to go to "the Key West of the North" in the middle of October? Then you must've forgotten my mother's card. Ah, yes, when you wrap it all together, my mother was using her untapped parenting power to force her 24-year-old square & stuffed-up daughter to party non-stop. 

At 11:15am, we board the Miller Ferry to Put-In-Bay Island, the "crown jewel of Lake Erie"-- indeed, the Key West of the North. Other than being the favored locale for the Scherach & Rupp families (mine) to drink and eat (mainly drink) in a marathon-like fashion, PIB actually holds awesome historical significance. I grew up thinking that Oliver Hazard Perry's famous Battle of Lake Erie won the War of 1812, but now I'm not sure if that's true. It was a major battle, though, and it was from the harbor called Put-in-Bay that Perry sailed to defeat the British fleet and gain command of Lake Erie. Perry was one eloquent dude, and through this battle he gifted America with "We have met the enemy and they are ours..." and the less widespread "Don't give up the ship" that was printed on his battle flag, which I think is pretty badass-- and which PIB's Perry's Monument has printed on a lot of T-Shirts and tote bags, so sue me if I want one.

<3

Adult children know when to power through. I don't drink the traditional starter/breakfast drink of a Bloody Mary stuffed with a pickle and meat stick at a dive called Joe's Bar. I do drink a hot mulled spice wine at the boiled down Oktoberfest, as Oktoberfests on a summer destination island of 138 permanent residents on a Sunday football afternoon tend to boil down to. At one point, I become so focused and intensely enraged at this bigoted, white-haired redneck (I'll say it if it's true) singing and playing guitar on top of a round bar fully surrounded by Cleveland Browns-clad Ohioans cheering him and his backwards insensitive jokes on... so intensely focused probably due to my cold meds. Yet, in the spirit of a family wedding shower, I hold back from interrupting his act and possibly angering a crowd of tipsy Midwestern football fans. Sometimes you have to hop into a 10-person golf cart, sip a mini plastic cup of wine, and let it go. 

There's nothing like drinking Pink Catawba Wine, of the Catawba Islands of Lake Erie,
in convenient plastic cups.

I not only survive but also feel surprisingly better; must be that fresh lake water air. I wake up for the last hoorah-- being fitted for a bridesmaid's dress for cousin Kelly's sister (also known as my cousin)'s wedding. Then, my mom and I stop at the "nice" mall before going to the airport, and if you were wondering where the other ingredients were coming in, they occur here.

Parents: While sitting at Panera, my mom asks if I've been flossing. If not, I should, because my breath smells; she barely got through our order at the counter. Thanks. Also, I'm to "stop it, with your hands." I've got this sub-conscious twitch with my right hand that I've been trying to lessen, but leave it to one's mother to stomp it out without any explanation other than a firm "stop." Walking around, my mother notes that I am wearing 2 different socks, which my dad had already managed to mention within an hour of my being home two days ago. With different different socks.

Compliments: While on the phone outside of Teavanna, where my mother is purchasing some Oprah Chai Tea only because it's on sale, because it is UNREAL expensive, a young woman smiles at me and quietly offers, "I love your outfit." I'm taken aback by a few things: 
1. her confidence to say something not 100% direly necessary to a stranger; 2. her unknown reasoning of why this kind thought was important enough to interrupt my phone call; and 3. that someone complimented my entire outfit. I am not an icon of fashion and this was so important enough. I smile a slowly formed (due to shock) smile and thank her genuinely. 

The next compliment I receive from a stranger-- I forgot that that must happen a lot in Ohio!-- is at the Cleveland Airport. It's been a textbook beautiful, sunny, perfect day thus far with my mother and the dress and the mall, so when the middle-aged TSA security agent who checks my boarding pass and ID looks from my ID to me and says, "You lowered your ears... It's cute!", I bumble through initial shock, again, to a "thank you, " smile, and laugh. As my chuckle begins, though, I realize how freaking weird & potentially inappropriate it is for this TSA agent to tell me that my haircut is "cute," but at that point I'm taking off my belt and shoes for some other guy. 

This is fine; I excuse it on the basis of this is Ohio and things are different here than in New York, where I typically yell obscenities or shout "Shut up!" to any male stranger who says anything complimentary to me. The other day some jackass young guy was loitering in the Duane Reade check-out area. I couldn't get past him, so we did that fun little dance, which he soundtracked throughout with his creepy, "Oh, hello," "You wanna dance?" and "Hey, good day to you, too, beautiful"-- shit like that. As I finally got around him, I yelled, in front of a long line of customers, "Shu-ut up!" over my shoulder and proceeded to pay for my bag of pretzels. I'm not proud of how much I shout or swear at catcallers in public, because that's honestly not the best way to handle the situation-- but, for this shy Grandma-like Midwestern gal, that's simply what comes out.

Celebrities: An angel from my improv class is a swing (like an understudy, but for many character tracks) in "Hamilton," which is currently the hottest ticket on Broadway in years-- sold out until at least January with those tickets at $200+. It tells the story of Alexander Hamilton using rap and hip-hop, told by a non-white cast, and one isn't to listen to the soundtrack before watching it onstage. It is nearly impossible to see, and I had fully accepted I'd see it in, like, 2 years. But this talented angel happened to be on that night, so he offered my class a few standing room tickets for FORTY DOLLARS. I'm still in shock that I saw it and had such a great view! Anyways, back to the important part: He takes the 3 of us who attended backstage, where I see my female friend who is a swing, and. Also. So You Think You Can Dance Season 3 finalist Neil Haskell, aka also a swing who was on that night, aka also the high school celebrity crush obsession of my friend Lindsey and me circa 2007 to 2009. One never imagines they'll meet their first celebrity crush and I'm now standing 10 feet away from him. It was, honestly, bafflingly funny and unreal to me, because when we were "obsessed" with him, we were 16 and never dreamed of meeting him, so that gave us permission to be silly and playfully dramatic about it. But there he was.

We were 16. Come on.

And then. Then suddenly there also was. In addition. JENNIFER ANISTON.

Perhaps you don't know, but I am, not playfully, obsessed with "Friends." It was monumental in my formative years. As I've mentioned before, I timed out the completion of the 10 DVD box-sets from 7th grade to my high school graduation, so that as I was leaving my best friends at the finale of our childhood, I would simultaneously watch the "Friends" finale with my best friends at a party; I'd had it planned for years. It was an emotional mistake that will forever embed "Friends" into every fiber of being of my adolescence. Without any agency of my own freewill, "Friends" will always be my favorite show and Jennifer Aniston one of my favorite actors. 

Imagine being flanked on the same stage by two people who, on two totally different levels of celebrity, were strangely both largely emotionally tied to your high school years. Lindsey was also my "Friends"-watching confidant, so I began sending strong SOS signals to her from my beating heart. I felt like I was going to puke, in my own little world, unable to hold a conversation. I walked over to my female swing friend and her boyfriend-- also my friend-- and told them what was going on with my body/mind/vomit. She says,

"Oh my gosh! You have to tell him."

Both her boyfriend and me: "NOOO." 

She proceeds to say that "OMG he's so weird, he'll love it, you have to, when else would you ever get to blah blah blah" and of course she's right-- why the hell not? Since she walks over to get him from the other side of the stage, I know she's definitely already primed him. When they all try to be civil and introduce me like I'm a normal person, I shake his hand and then cut the crap.

"OK, so, just being honest/just so you know/you should know (I blacked out, I don't know), you were my first ever celebrity crush."

Continue black out. All I remember was mentioning Lindsey and spouting a few unnecessary lies, such as that I was 14 that summer and that it was the first reality show we'd ever watched-- as if these made it more innocent-- and also as if that would make it less awkward-- as if it even needed to be awkward. I distinctly did say, "It was a weird summer." 

I didn't meet Jen, but I didn't want to; it wasn't my time. Not yet. But Neil Haskell, hottie of 2007 to roughly 2009, did ask me where I studied improv, twice, and took a picture with me where I was trying to make some sort of cool ironic face but instead look like I'm crying. 

No, if I'd have known I was to need to make a good impression, I wouldn't have worn my box-like Limited Too jacket, thanks for asking.

Anyone keeping a scoreboard of how difficult it is to be a 24-year-old white lower-middle-class female in a big city, that's another tally in the Inconsequential and Annoying category. 

What this recipe shows is that my parents, though states away, are still so actively involved in my life that they can smell my breath and force me to suck up a cold for family time; that, despite popular belief, young women can be intelligent and still love pumpkin; that discerning how to react appropriately to compliments from strangers is a complicated and difficult issue for young women; and that, at this time, I am not emotionally fit enough to meet celebrities on the spot. It appears there is learning and growing to be done!

Wouldn't it be nice if we were all as poised as Jen? As financially independent as Jen? As trained at taking compliments as Jen? As not required to go to events when she's ill or tired as... Oh, no. Jen's life is not perfect. And if I want to be a successful and respected actor like her, that means that partying even when I don't want to doesn't have an end in sight... 

Better get me a Bloody Mary with a meat stick.




For a taste of what PIB is like when I'm not sick, here are different shots of my mother and I eating and drinking in the span of 1 day:

And this doesn't even show the winery.

"Yes, And..." Pizza!

Ingredients

• Saying what you mean
• Making a genuine connection with strangers
• Making a genuine connection with your friends
• Fake crying 
• Crying for real
• Pizza Suprema
• Calming down
• Jumping on a grenade

Instructions

If you've ever thought you were funny, take an improv class; you'll soon find you're not.

If someone's ever told you that you were funny, take an improv class; they'll owe you $400 (running cost of a class, mates!).

If you've ever wanted to gain confidence, take an improv class; you won't survive without it.

If you've ever wanted more ownership over what you say, take improv; you have no choice but to say what you think as they will force it out of you with the jaws of life.

If you've ever felt lonely, take improv; you'll be surrounded by people who want to laugh with you.

If you've ever wanted to be a better listener, take improv; you will find others' words are filled with gifts. 

If you've ever been told you need to be more agreeable, study improv; you'll learn how much easier and more fun it is to connect to others with an open mind.

If you've ever wanted to be fearless, study improv; you'll witness the value of jumping out onto an empty stage and committing to speaking a foreign language you don't know, playing a sport you've never played, or simply speaking words that you've never said.

If you want to diminish your ego, study improv; it works every time.

If you want to take improv because you think you're funny, you won't get far. Through my $2020 of almost 9 months of improv classes, I've not gained an inch of insight into whether or not I'm funny. That's because whether or not I'm funny isn't relevant. I wish I could say, "There's no I in improv!" but then I'd sound stupid and you'd miss the point. Instead, I'll ask you to think of the last time you saw a solo improvised show. If you've somehow seen one, or two, or more recently, then screw you; you're touring the country looking for them. For the rest of us, our answers are probably, "Uhhh...," or "Wait-- subtract 2, carry the 4...," or "Never," because we're used to seeing improv with at least 2 people. More often than not, we see improv performed by a team. The magic of improv is watching people create worlds and relationships out of nothing. It's seeing people listen and agree. It's so damn satisfying to watch a group of people all do the same thing-- no matter how simple-- at the same time! Why? Because it's so hard. Guys it's so hard today that sometimes we cry real tears (in private) (and actually I haven't, but I've heard of people who have, and I get it). 

Everyone walks around life with their own ideals, fears, and dreams, but how often do we share those? Or ask to hear others'? I recently heard a seasoned improviser point out: In improv, everyone comes in with their own stupid ideas, but they're not interesting or funny until they put them together with someone else's-- if it's only you up there, with your ideas, it's stand-up. Nice! Improv isn't stand-up! An improviser can't exist up there with another person if she's only spouting what she thinks is funny, or interesting, or important. No good scene exists in which the people onstage separately say what they each want to say, not listening to the other person or people, and carrying on with their own personal plans. You have to follow the golden, famous rule: "Yes, and." Listen to your scene partner, accept the scenario he's presented to you-- even if it's in the opposite direction of where you wanted the scene to go-- and then to add to it. Respect your partner by adding more information, a gift of sorts, to what they've said. Imagine what life would be like if we did this in real life...

You walk up to the customer service line in Kohl's (yeah, I am gonna ignore the fact that you've never shopped here, because it's insane). The associate looks you in the eyes, focuses her attention on only you, and says hello. You tell her that you forgot to use your 30% off coupon on this comforter you bought and you'd like to apply it now. Also, you just waited in this line for 20 minutes and you're in a big hurry. The associate ensures that she will get you out quickly and adds that she'd have liked to use a 30% discount on such a purchase, as well. She is never defensive about the line wait but instead recognizes your hurry and situation. You both exit the interaction swiftly, without any altercation. Hey, I guess customer service ain't so bad after all!

People! Can you seriously deny $10 of Kohl's Cash?!

You're holding a team meeting at work. You introduce your proposal for a new graphic, but then Marc with a C presents an idea that goes in a totally different direction. You distance your brain from your ego by hearing his prospective with an open mind. You say "Yes, and" by opening up his idea for discussion from the rest of the team. Instead of instinctually saying "No," you let go of your original plan and honored Marc with a C's creativity. Alright, team meetings don't have to be the pits! 

Suuuuuper cool meeting format, sure.

You and your boyfriend are fighting over at which restaurant to have dinner. You want to try Veeeeeal, a farm-to-table restaurant where your friend works, because said friend invited you to come in for free food, drinks, attention tonight. Your boyfriend wants to dine at Get in My Belly (which he insists is really nice), yet you know it's only because it's close to the Oklahoma State bar and he wants to meet his buddies there by 8pm for kickoff. You label his motivations early on without any judgment; it makes sense that he wants to celebrate 2-game Oklahoma's winning streak alongside $1 shots. You ensure him that you get it, then, before moving on, wait for his response. He softens and thanks you for understanding, then returns the gesture: he sees why you'd be jazzed to get free Veeeeeal and is appreciative you'd be taking him along. You promise you'll do everything in your power to get the two of you down to O'Flannigan's by 8pm. Since you both practiced an open, positive approach to your possible conflict, you avoided a huge argument and now have time to get spoiled with fresh, organic food and slam frat football beers. You know, disagreements don't have to end in Seamless in separate apartments! 

But what if the football players ran the farm-to-table...

These interactions seem idyllic and corny, but I wasn't picturing any of them going down with smiles. Not one smile. Maybe when they agree on a time to leave and kiss, or when the meeting is released for lunch, or when the customer says "have a good day"-- but that's it. It's not about plastering a fake obnoxious grin and pretending to care; you aren't giving up your stance and completely conceding to someone else. However, you are conceding to being open, listening, and recognizing another person's perspective. Sure, in improv you're encouraged to "jump on the grenade" (/fearlessly do it), but you're also reminded to calm down. That's the only way you'll be ready and open to listen. Did I already mention it's so hard? I can do a scene with one of my best friends and still forget to look him in the eyes. Seriously, we don't do this in real life because it's hard.

Sooooo has anything in the above addressed being funny? Nah. It has addressed being truthful and a good scene parter, though, and that's how it starts. Scenes are always so much funnier when they're based in truth: you start with some sort of reality, a true connection, and then, inevitably, because you're 2 humans making up words onstage, something weird or unusual will happen and it will be funny. There's this rockin' book called "Truth in Comedy," and it's like the bible to improvisers. In class, we never talk about how to be funny, but we do learn a lot about being truthful and a good listener.

Oh, btw-- I'm most certainly no improv expert, ain't pretendin' to be. Though, I do listen to the very nerdy & informative UCB Long Form Conversation weekly podcast and have a great memory for large general concepts drilled into my head for 3 hours every week for 9 months. I am not, as of yet, a great improviser, but I'm quite OK with that-- not only because I've only been taking classes for less than a year but also because I've found that being a phenomenal, top-notch improviser isn't the only outcome of studying improv. I've become a better conversationalist! And a better listener! So, let's just put it out there-- a better person! Shyeah! I like looking at "Improv Artvice," a Tumblr by an artist named David Kantrowitz who posts known quotes & mantras related to improv, and seeing how almost each and every one of them can apply to my life in general:

 

 

       

That's the kind of stuff you learn if you study improv, guys: how to fire your therapist and gain friends! Or... eh, no guarantees. Oh, and if you study at UCB then you'll inevitably, at some point, learn about Pizza Suprema, which is "the best pizza in NYC." How can you tell it's "the best?" Because "municipal workers eat there." (It's good; I don't know; try it.)  

If you haven't taken an improv class and you can, what are you waiting for?! You get to jump on grenades and make mistakes and bear your soul and maybe even cry for real and not learn if you're funny and spend thousands of dollars. But at the end of the day... pizza. 

Pom-poms with Your Hamburger Phone

Ingredients

• An obsessive overachiever who slept with her teacher
• A 30-year-old obsessive compulsive high school guidance counselor and virgin
• A once-homeless, spacey tough-ass Detroit bartender who looks like she just stepped off the Disney Channel
• A "real fixer upper" with braces and... you can never actually remember if there's headgear?, a huge smile, and a nerdy confidence
• A quiet and somewhat passive small-town journalist who "can't even land the shoe shine guy," but somehow gets involved with every guy in town
• A conniving, mature, yet adorable teen heiress with the mind of Moriarity
• A precocious pregnant 16-year-old Minnesotan with an affinity for blue slushies

Instructions

Are you an actor? A model? A comedian? A voiceover artist? A storyteller? Anything remotely related to performing? If you're answer is "Yes"-- if you're answer is "No," keep reading because you might learn something, damnit!-- If you're answer is "Yes," but you don't know your type... 

 

Yeah, that's what it feels like every day that you still don't know your type. For those non-performers out there, I'll attempt to answer your question: What exactly is "type?" This silly stupid little swear word encompasses what you, as an actor, are selling. Sometimes almost irrelevant to what your range and acting ability is, it's the actual look you're marketing, and it's what defines you in the business. You may be 24 years old with a 4.0+++ GPA from Harvard and have never picked up a pom-pom in your life, but if you look like a popular 17-year-old wide-eyed cheerleader, you better know it and be ready to play one. 

Many actors, like myself, were taught in school to screw that confining, mother-effing "type"; we are serious actors who act and that means acting, so ACT! Then, we graduate into a business where type is honored on a professional, respected pedestal and we're all, "... Damn. We all screwed type, then never called him back." So, that's where your ingredients come in.

I've been thinking a lot about my type recently, having been cast and called in for a lot of popular and attractive 16-year-olds. Guys, I don't know if you know this, but I am not 16. And when I was, I was not considered popular or attractive. Look beyond the flattery and to the confusion: Between the slightly vague, 

"16-17 or feels like she could be in that range, very approachable, real and relatable but by no means snotty or with an attitude"

and the ever-infuriating, 

"Just out of high school. 18-20 years old. Beautiful. A sweet yet seductive demeanor. The quintessential girl next door. Can break a heart with the bat of a lash. Fit and thin."

and the fact that I just played a rebellious, popular small-town cheerleader and an adorably naive and impressionable freshman cheerleader, I have been taken aback. None of these fit into my perception of what I thought I've been "selling!" I have needed to go back to the drawing board (until I can get some professional career help). (Don't use this post as a trusted source for accredited career advice.) Remembering various guidance and articles, I sat down and listed which characters on TV or in movies I could play; which actors are "stealing" my parts (what vindictive phrasing!); and which shows could I see myself in. Thus, by this single method alone, without further ado, I present to you, 100% infallibly: My Type.

★ Tracy Flick, obsessive overachiever who slept with her high school teacher and dreams of being President

 

★ Emma Pillsbury (Schuester), 30-year-old obsessive compulsive high school guidance counselor and virgin (for at least a season or two)

★ Candace, once-homeless, spacey tough-ass Detroit bartender who looks like she just stepped off the Disney Channel

 


★ Sue Heck, "real fixer upper" with braces and... you can never actually remember if there's headgear?, a huge smile, and a nerdy confidence albeit being basically invisible

 




★ Shauna Malwae-Tweep, quiet and somewhat passive small-town journalist who "can't even land the shoe shine guy," but somehow gets involved with every guy in town

★ Kaylie Hooper, conniving, mature, yet adorable teen heiress with the mind of Moriarity

She deserves 2 GIFs.

★ Juno, precocious pregnant 16-year-old Minnesotan with an affinity for blue slushies

 





So, those are all the same and that all makes sense. Right? When you bash them all together, there's my type. Right?!

Aaaaaaand that's what an unknown actor's life is like.

I encourage performers and non-performers alike to create their "Who's Stealing My Roles" list (hilarious) and find the best photo and GIF of each to embody both that character and yourself. Sure, it's fun, but mainly I just want to compare amalgamations of batshit bananas "types" we all create.

Love,
The innocent-looking neurotic modest Midwestern high-schooler to early-20s female

All-Natural, Grass-Fed Human Laws

Ingredients

• 1 person, other than the performers, in the audience of your improv gig... and it's your roommate
• 1 actual 16-year-old in your commercial audition (for a 16-year-old)
• 1 totally separate actual 16-year-old playing your friend in your filmed scene (as a 16-year-old)
• 2 overnight shoots
• 2 times that you throw up in front of your date
• 2 weeks until your day job starts
• $3 for a bottle of water
•  3 career aptitude tests
• 3 teenage tutoring clients
• 4 days as the only woman with 3 straight guys
•  $4 pints of pre-made margaritas
• 4 days in New Jersey

Instructions

1, 2, 3, 4. The simplest numbers... a pattern as old as time (not really, technically.) Today's recipe is brought to you by the idea that all of life's greatest mysteries can be solved by life's simplest lessons-- lessons so basic, so ingrained that they're easily forgotten. But enough with this flippancy! Castrate your carelessness! Do you see that list of ingredients up there? You don't have time for this forgetful nonsense-- you must dig way down deep and selflessly extract some Laws of Nature, or else you'll continue to be subjected to date vomits, shocking career test results, and countless days in New Jersey. 

Lucky for you, I spent the last 2 weeks excavating incredibly simple, inherently necessary human lessons to help you process this batch of ingredients. I know we're working with the basic numbers 1 through 4 so far (totally arbitrarily, by the way), but, since you've all been such good kids lately, I thought I'd spoil you a bit with DOUBLE the amount of Natural Laws-- that's right, double that arbitrary number of 4! Get these 8 Laws into your body, because summer is almost over; the ocean can't wash off your mistakes much longer.

Law #1:

Anything in a script that takes place during the nighttime will be shot during the nighttime. 

(That means that, even though you have narcolepsy, you can’t avoid overnight shoots. Welcome to the rest of your career!)

Law #2:

Drinking on an empty—entirely empty—stomach is never a good idea. 

(That means that, even though you weren’t hungry, that little voice in the back of your head telling you to eat something all day was right. Ms. Monday Fun-day, say "Hellooo!" to Ruined Tuesday!)

Law #3:

When you’re 5’1, roughly 100 pounds, cute, and blonde, don't be surprised when you keep getting type cast as a high school cheerleader. 

(That means that, even though you are 24 and never were anything remotely close to a cheerleader in terms of both physical ability and popularity, you’ll finally be able to live out that childhood adult dream. Cue Hilary Duff's "What Dreams Are Made Of!")

Wanna play a game called "Spot the Real High Schoolers?" 

Law #4:

When you don’t get a weekly paycheck, you don’t get weekly money. 

(That means that, even though you’re tutoring at $90/hour, you won’t see that lump sum of money until the middle of next month when your paycheck comes. Another dinner of homemade, bulk black bean/quinoa/lentils/rice mash, please!)

Law #5:

People like it when you treat them like people. 

(That means that, even though there is one sole woman hanging with you and your boys, you can still tell your boner stories and make explicit sex jokes! Does this mean you really needn't mention how she's cool "not like most girls" and you don't have to reassure her that she’s funny-- no, like, really funny--  at some point, completely out of context? MIND BLOWN!)

 

Law #6:

Deals on alcohol are no different than deals in the clearance section. 

(That means that, even though it’s $4 Margarita Monday, you don’t really want those margaritas. Mmm, this drink tastes not nearly as good as how quickly it was prepared!)

Law #7:

Career aptitude tests make you feel bad about your life. 

(That means that, even though you already know what you want to do and are simply taking a few tests for fun, seeing "Clergy" as your top match is confusing and upsetting. Ooo, here, a "Vice President," you say?? Ain't nothing like knowing I should aim for 2nd best!)

Law #8:

Any venue's drink minimum also applies to you. 

(That means that, even though you've decided not to drink for a while [see above] and you're performing at this comedy venue, you're not special so you're not exempt. That's right, "strongly encouraged" actually means "if you don't, you're an a$$hole!")

NO. No, YOU'RE NOT.
BUY THE $3 WATER BOTTLE.

... Fun stuff, right? I can see that your body is adapting to the rediscovery of these innate truths, and I hate to interrupt enlightenment. So, I'm going to let you sit motionless & affected for a bit while I go make myself a smoothie. You be careful out there, ya here? There's teenagers in these hills... Let's not make the same mistakes they're making. 

Post Script

We've hit the final countdown, lovers. There are only FIFTEEN (15) more recipes left before we hit the mark! It's only taken 2+ years, too! In honor of true & tangible DISASTER, these last 15 recipes will be coming at you daily. That's right. I said DAILY recipes for complete and utter total devastation to your livelihood. I'll see you on the flip-side on September 17th. 

Thanks, Michael.