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Posts Tagged ‘Actor’s Studio’

 I love Inside the Actors Studio .   Which, by the way, this website (the one I found) has not been updated since April of 2007.

 

At the end of every interview, James Lipton  asks the following questions, based on French television personality Bernard Pivot, after the Proust Questionnaire – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, which is actually much longer.

 

So, I get to play “pretend actor” and answer the questions today.

 

 

The ten questions Lipton asks are:

 

 

1.     What is your favorite word?   Knowledge

2.     What is your least favorite word?   Adjunct – just say it, it’s an ugly word and it’s an insulting term: “a thing added to something else, but secondary or not essential to it.”  I mean, no one wants to be considered “not essential.”

3.     What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?  Being out of doors/outside

4.     What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally? narrow minded bigots (DEFINED: All Bigots are narrow minded.  But, all narrow minded people are not bigots. Either one turns me off.)

5.     What sound or noise do you love?   Musical Instruments and ‘ flat’ notes

6.     What sound or noise do you hate?    Complaining (Gosh, I should have eliminated all those posts about my move.)

7.     What is your favorite curse word?    Shit

8.     What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?   Classical Musician

9.     What profession would you not like to do?   Being stuck in an office.

10.    If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?   “You are so right.  I could never be that mean.”

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I have moved so many times in my life, that I have lost count. Unlike the people I see interviewed on Actor’s Studio. I did not move as a child, thus causing trauma, and creating a person who can, not only, act in any part but win an Oscar for doing so. I WANTED to move as a child and daydreamed about it, but I lived in one house until I married.

When I was a teen, I wanted to move so bad I could taste it.  As an adult, I worked in a high rise, which overlooked an expressway. I remember stopping by the window a dozen times a day and wishing I was one of those people, down there, in those cars, going anywhere.

Then, as an adult I started moving. My record was the year I moved five times. One of the apartments had so many rodents in the walls that the cocka-poodle I owned refused to go into the kitchen at night; even though her water and food were in there.

The next move, was only a few blocks away and I moved everything I owned (except the fridge) in a sedan.  Every night, I would get home from work, put the boxes I had packed the night before, in my car, drive to the new apartment and empty them. Then, I went to the old apartment and packed them up again. I worked as a secretary with a two hour commute, each way, to Chicago, during this move. I was young and had energy.

Another time, I moved everything (with two kids) in the middle of the night. That was from a BAD boyfriend’s house back home to mom. I was young AND stupid.

Not anymore, though. Now, I treat moves with the disgust they deserve. We moved from a 2,100 square foot well built home in the high plains desert of Wyoming; meaning a nice house on sand, without water. We had well water but no one had enough to water plants. A brush fire encircled our house once and we were evacuated several times for fires. But, I loved it there. I moved because I wanted to be closer to family. So, I decided to see what the house was worth; you know, call the realtor out and just see.

Honest, that is what I intended to do. Just check the value and THINK about moving. NEVER, EVER, EVER say to yourself, I will call a realtor out, just to see how much your house is worth. Because, when they leave, you will be standing there, papers in hand, mouth open, saying, “I don’t believe I signed this. How did this happen?” I honestly was not going to sell for another year and a half because Gaffer was still in High School.

The next advice is: Don’t believe it when you say, “Oh, it’s not the right season, my house will never sell, it’s a mess, it needs work. I’m safe.”

NOT! Twenty-four hours later, we had our first offer to purchase. I immediately went to WalMart, purchased tons of large Rubbermaids, and started packing. Two weeks later, the guy was going to start another round of inspections and I said, “NO.” Sigh of relief here. It was a fluke. I’ll go into the realtor’s office, refuse his inspections and the house will sit for six months and then I can pull it off the market.  HAH!

I go in to sign the contracts to turn down his latest offer and she, upbeat realtor that she is, bubbles over as she hands me the second offer to buy.  We had exactly two weeks, to pack up for three adults and one teen. This included my mother’s two bedroom apartment upstairs. The only help we had was this elderly woman, who has never learned to pack, one disabled man (husband) and a teenager, whose claim to strength was having very strong thumbs from gaming. Thank goodness, he worked his sorry little muscles to the bone.

The two week time period, included finding somewhere else to live and being able to move into it. We went to the internet, found possibilities, found a realtor and drove to Indiana. We spent three days looking for a house and found out that our price range in Indiana was called fixer uppers. This included a house with some of the foundation missing and a house without electricity in the second and third floor levels. Our price range was more realistically, tear it down and start overs. We finally settled on this house, over what we wanted to pay, but doable and life has not been boring since.

Tomorrow: Our move, from Wyoming, in two and a half feet of snow.

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