2005-12-04 - 6:25 p.m.

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Yesterday: BFA auditions. Roughly 65 high school seniors, and a few more BA's, auditioning to be part of the entering BFA class next year. I was partnered with Michael R; Akeem was our timer; Amy and Adam and Britany were our helpers/runners. We saw a third of the kids, in three or four waves of six to seven each, and we called back maybe three or four.

It was a long, long day. We saw probably the worst Shakespeare I've ever seen; worse, even, than Michael W's Mercutio at the beginning of the term: A large-toothed girl in a sheepskin vest and stained green corduroys (Who suggested that you should wear THAT?) doing Imogen finding the headless Cloten (whom she thinks is Posthumus). Even more painful to watch was a girl who held her hands out as if pointing a gun at us; she took turns, pointing first at Michael, then at me, etc., advancing downstage toward us all the while. As she grew closer and closer, I jotted on my pad "if she takes one step closer to me I'm going to ask her to STOP." She scared the daylights out of me.

I had lunch with Michael. He told me things I felt privileged to hear, about his journey. I couldn't help getting paranoid for a moment: I said, "I'm boring" (meaning I listen to old-fogey music) and he said, "You are certainly not boring." Meaning...?

I don't know why I feel so insecure; I hate feeling so insecure. But I do. Will I never grow beyond these particular demons?

Michael insisted on calling back a girl who did nothing for me; later, in callbacks, when Jean asked our opinion of her, he couldn't even remember having seen her.

We called back two who were offered places, one who will be an alternate.

Deb had one of the auditioners do his second piece directly to me. It was a privilege to "act" with this boy; he was - is - the real goods. Can't wait to have him as a student, lucky me.

A stunning African-American girl named India, most interesting person we saw all day. She drove 17 hours from Kansas City, though I can't begin to imagine why.

"Drood" rehearsal today - we polished/cleaned the "Don't Quit" choreography, went farther with it. Staged folks in and out of the Puffer/Rosa scene, which is going to be lovely. Barked at Nick who was whispering to Daniel R while I was talking.

Best of all I figured out what the hell it is Durdles is talking about - what it is that happened that night. I have to re-write Durdles' speech.

Chelsea was better today.

I haven't written nearly enough about yesterday. It was so . . . so hard. How do you determine from four minutes whether or not this boy or girl is an actor? Hell, if he or she really is the real thing, you sometimes know in a moment or two. Monologues went on for ages. Certainly we know immediately, sometimes at least, that someone was not an actor. Other times, I don't know. You saw glimmers. Glimpses.

You give a little coaching, you ask for an adjustment. Sometimes they can make it, sometimes they can't.

And then we decide the rest of their life.

Or at least the next four years.

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