When it comes to auditions, I have some stories. I mean, suffice it to say, I'm no stranger to creepy warehouses in the Bronx, okay? Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking casting couch, I'm just talking strange people asking me to do strange things. The kind of stories that make me breathe a deep sigh of relief that my mother doesn't read my blog ("Internet? That's becoming a thing now, huh?"). But let's be honest, most performers have a mental rolodex of uncomfortable audition stories, right? I mean, my roommate just got cast as a lead in a musical and when she went to her first rehearsal it turned out to be an acting class for homeless people. I mean, legit crazy people. One guy signed in as Christopher Guest - and it wasn't Christopher Guest. So with that said, I think a sufficient amount of time has passed and my emotional wounds have healed thoroughly enough that I can finally reveal the story of how I got my microwave.
I responded online to a casting notice for a "Music Video - seeking dancers." Sounds harmless enough, right? I dance, sure. I like music videos, who doesn't? "Who knows?!" Thought I, "Maybe this is actually a Beyonce music video in disguise!" I'll go ahead and quash the excitement for y'all right now - it wasn't a Beyonce music video. The guy responded casually asking me what kind of dance I do. I told him, "I'm primarily a tap dancer." He didn't seem too pleased with that. So he proceeded to ask me if I owned tights or any other "dance uniform pieces." Breezing by that little red flag, I responded, "Yes, of course, I'll bring plenty of options!" I was still hanging onto the thread of hope that this could be my chance to finally meet Beyonce. I got to the location which turned out to be his apartment (red flag) and I was the only one there (RED FLAG). It was just me and him. No Bey. He was still in his pajamas and camera equipment was strewn across his eerily empty living room (RUN AWAY, NATHAN!). He told me just to get changed, get comfortable, stretch and put on whatever music I liked. So I put on a nice long sleeve turtle neck and long pants and I asked him, "I can pick whatever music I want? You don't have a specific song that you are making the music video for?" He said, "No, I just want to film you dancing and I'll pick the music later." So that's when I said, "Peace out, dude, you're a fucking weirdo." Right? No, that's not what happened. That's what should have happened. What happened was - confused, and with an astounding amount of innocence and naiveté, I asked him, "What sort of dance are you looking for?" He said, "Ya know, contemporary." And that's when he handed me a black rose and said action.
Now, I'm usually pretty game for anything. And when I get into uncomfortable situations like this, I turn to the wisdom of Kelly Clarkson and say to myself, "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." Of course, I wasn't totally sold that I was gonna make it out of this alive. So I danced. I cued up some Adele - and I danced. Literally, for my life. In his living room. While he filmed me. Then he asked me to change into some tight, short, white shorts. So I did that because I respect and listen to my directors, ya know? And he filmed me more. Then he asked what other shirt options I had. I showed him my options but none of them were good (revealing) enough. He said, "Wait a minute, I think I have something for you." He came back with a tight, mesh shirt. The kind of shirt I've only seen on creepy Latino men in the dirty corners of the Ritz. I put it on (what doesn't kill us make us stronger, right? haha... ha...ha..) and I danced with that rose like it was the last time I would ever dance (#kisstodaygoodbye). Posing. Posing. Then he asked me if I would take off the shirt entirely, maybe just dance in my underwear. I stopped dancing. Looking back, that may have been the moment in my life when I became a New Yorker. I told him absolutely not, I was not comfortable with that, and then I asked him what that microwave was doing on his floor (I had been living without a microwave for like four months because I couldn't afford one and the first thing I noticed when I walked into his apartment was that he had two microwaves #selfish). He told me it was an extra microwave that he bought on accident. I told him I wanted it and I took that microwave and left his apartment. That was that. A few minutes later he sent me a still from the video (below).
7/24/2013
What Doesn't Kill Us Gives Us Microwaves
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I literally danced for that microwave. And I became a man. All in a New York minute. Perhaps I should have asked for him to delete the dance video. Perhaps I should have noticed any of the red flags. But, every time I microwave something, I think, "What doesn't kill us gives us microwaves." Stay comfy y'all.
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