Michelle Markowitz

Failing Our Twenties

However.

I am constantly on the business end of racial profiling.  Just this morning as I was dropping off my laundry it happened again.  We did our typical ritual where she says it will be ready far into the future (tomorrow afternoon) and I ask if there is any way I can pick it up tonight at closing  (11 hours from now).  She eyes me skeptically, sighs dramatically,  and says fine, she will do it, but only for her special clients.  It is our own little thing.  She asserts dominance over me, and I like that she calls me her “special client” because it fulfills a secret wish I have of being a beloved neighborhood fixture, not unlike the East Village man who walks his pig on a leash through Tompkins Square Park.  This morning was no different, but at the end she handed me my ticket with the name “Sarah Cohen” on it.

“Oh, that’s not me.  Here you go – it has the wrong name on it.”

“But that’s your name right?  You look just like-“ and then she trailed off.

So there we have it.  Apparently my exotic dusky looks are reminiscent of any other girl in my neighborhood who also has a partiality towards Ann Taylor, Portnoy types,  and dropping her laundry off last minute.

I have recently gotten more and more into twitter.  Now, it can be used for a variety of purposes.  I'm sure there are even one or two people who are using it for the good of humanity, promoting coal miner's rights and Kickstarter campaigns so their friend from high school can FINALLY make that short film they've been writing for years.  However, once again because it is now 2008 on my blog, I will therefore share the following things that must stop on twitter:

Me:  I booked my ticket to Australia!!!

Dad:  Oh, Michie.  I get so nervous when you leave the country.  I don’t know what Australia has that Key West doesn’t.

Me:  It’s gonna be great, don’t worry, I’m very safe.

Dad:  I just don’t want you girls to accidentally break a law you don’t know about, and then we’ll be in a situation where we’re at the mercy of the embassy…  

Me:  Neither do I Dad.  You do know we’re not secretly drug mules, right?

Dad:  Also, you should know that the Australian culture is VERY misogynistic.

Me:  Really?  I’ve never heard this… When did you hear this though?  Was it in the 1960s?

Dad:  I have heard it, trust me on this one.

Me:   Wait, are you basing you assumptions of all of Aussie culture off of the movie CROCODILE DUNDEE??!

Dad:  …...  I’m putting your Mom on now.

I have no idea why this happens or what started it. I had a conversation with someone in 'the industry' the other day.  The fact that I put that in quotes might explain why I am not fully a part of said industry yet.  According to this advice, one must use the same principles of seeming confident and appealing in one's personal life to project an air of being insanely busy at all times.  Like the heroine in every romantic comedy who wears pristine pencil skirts and never rewards herself with reading home decor blogs but fastidiously works all day,  I must act like a person who is extremely busy and humblebrags loudly about it.  I personally cannot stand when people complain about how busy they are.  Why?  Oh yes.  Everyone's busy!!  I was texting with someone last week and he was complaining about how looking for a new job (while he still has his current one) is pretty much the worst thing.  You know what else is the worst thing ever?  People that have real problems. 

All this is to say, I am ready to try the plan of projecting an air of importance and demand in the industry.  The last time I tried it, the results were disastrous. 

I had first moved to New York, and met with a manager I found through a random mailing.  I was so excited he called me in.  I woke up early that morning, put on my best H&M, and planned out the meeting in my head.  I pictured us having a fun slightly antagonistic relationship, like how all famous actors always tease Harvey Weinstein, and he takes it good-naturedly.  I walk in and open his door.  His office was covered from floor to ceiling in CLOWN paraphernalia.  Clown bookends.  Clown pens.  Clown paintings (which were popular in the seventies, I'll give him a pass).  Bozo mug.  Krusty the Clown throw pillows.  And he wore a clown tie.  I walked in excited to do my monologue and immediately my shoulders slumped as I took in the clown menagerie and thought "Yeah, this seems about right."  One of his career highlights was the six years he spent in the Barnum & Bailey circus he told me, and he can still juggle.  OK.  I did my monologue.  Afterwards as he eyed me skeptically, a thousand clown eyes seemed to be giving me the once-over.  "Well, I work with a lot of big name clients."  I summoned all my acting skills.  "Oh yeah?  Anyone on stage or on TV I would recognize?"  "Did you watch Sopranos?"  "YES.  I LOVED the Sopranos!!  Who did you represent??  Uncle Junior?  Silvio??  Not Edie Falco??"  "No... I represented several of the BADA BING! girls."  Ahh, the topless dancers with no lines.  I felt like the biggest clown of all in that room.  (Ok, that's not true.  I remember thinking that line at the time, and even then deciding it was too self-indulgent a line to actually think.)  Before we parted, the manager gave me one piece of advice:  he told me that in any meeting or audition, I should seem like I have many irons in the fire and that I am on the verge of booking major work.

Three days later I had an audition at NBC for Saturday Night Live!!!!

No.  It was at NBC but it was actually for some webisode type series that never came to be that I found on nycastings.com.  As I recall there was quite a bit of prop humor involved.  I was auditioning for the young Gallagher ingenue part.  I thought it went well. Remembering the clown manager's advice, I tried to play it perfectly.

CASTING DIRECTOR:  So we will most likely start shooting this summer, what's your availability like?
ME:  I have several projects right now.  I would love to make it work though.  I have been auditioning a ton...
CASTING DIRECTOR:  Would you be free next month?
ME:  Hmm.... (dramatic pause)... Next month?  Which days potentially?  I am thinking of my other projects I've committed to...
CASTING DIRECTOR:  We are not sure on the exact dates.  It could be anytime from June 1st through August 31st.
ME:  (dramatic pause)... Let's see.... ANYTIME during June, July, or August? .... Let me think.....  Uh yeah, I am free completely during those months.... After that I am pretty booked up though.... Unless you'd need me then, I am sure I can work it out.
CASTING DIRECTOR:  Great.  We need to still our insurance to clear for dropping fruit off the roofs of buildings, but we'll be in touch.

Wish me luck.  If there are no clowns, topless girls, or bad prop humor, I will already feel like I am succeeding this go around.

Scene:  Wine bar, Upper East Side, New York (for my non-NY readers- this is the neighborhood the Jeffersons lived in once they made it, and where Gwyneth Paltrow grew up)

My three girlfriends proceed to ask thoughtful questions about wine and order a variety of reds.

Me:  (looking at menu) I'll have a glass of the Riesling please.
Bartender:  We actually are not serving that now, since it's winter.  Are there any other wines you like, I can point you in the right direction.
Me:  Great, thanks.  Let's see, do you have anything dessert Moscato-like?
Bartender:  Hmm.  I'm sensing you like sweet wines.
Me:  Yes!  Anything sort of Mom like I love.
Bartender:  Tell me what you think of this... (pours a tasting)
Me: (tries it, and it tastes for lack of a better word, like rubbing alcohol) (trying to be classy)  Hmm.  Thank you.... I am sensing notes that are somewhat....heavy in tone (why am I describing wine using the same description as I would for a holocaust themed movie?)
Bartender:  Understood.  It may help if you spit your gum out too.
Me: (resigned) Touche. 

Here's the thing.  I actually think I am really awesome at dating.  

She did the usual “No, it's way too soon!!  Who knows!” which is womanspeak for “I think so too!!!  And he has blue eyes, so our babies will too!  I just need to be careful to reveal my craziness in small, manageable increments.”

 I asked when his last relationship was, she said “it was fairly recent.  They were together for awhile.  He’s 40.”

 RECORD SCRATCH.

 He’s 40?  Wo.  Way to bury the lede!  I mean he’s way cute.  Hmm.  Wow.”

 “Michelle, you do know we’re in our thirties now.  It’s not that weird anymore.  It's less than ten years apart.”

Now technically, I am still in my twenties.  (For three more weeks.  I might have mentioned it?  I don’t like to make a big deal of my birthdays, but if you’re so inclined I would kill for the Dean Martin Roasts on DVD)  She was right.  We are older now.  When we were in our early twenties it was completely normal to date someone who was around 30.  At the time, they seemed mature and were so appreciative of the fact that we knew absolutely nothing and were over the moon when one of them would spring for a whole dinner to accompany all the numerous drinks we drank to keep up with them to seem older and world weary.  I remember one date I went on when I was still living in LA.  I was 22, had unfortunate caramel highlights which accentuated my dark eyebrows for a Desperately Seeking Susan effect.  How can I best describe how short my Forever 21 skirt was?  I could have easily gone directly from drinks to a gynecological exam and no changing would be necessary.  There is no way possible way I could sit on the subway wearing that.  It was short.  My 29 year old self would have a migraine from all the judgy sideeye I’d be giving my 22 year old self.  I remember I paired that skirt with a white tanktop and black bra underneath and necklaces in an effort to emulate Sarah Jessica Parker.  While I still do use her as a style barometer, I am aiming for something more “Sarah Jessica Parker at a benefit reading of The Merchant of Venice/ Sarah Jessica Parker dropping her son off at elementary school.”  I remember that night asking this guy if the age difference between us bothered him at all.  “Uh, no.  I don’t really think about it.  You’re very mature.”   Once again I’d like to point out that my skirt could be described as cervix-grazing.  I remember thinking “Uh oh.  I think this guy has what women’s magazines refer to as a fear of commitment.  He doesn’t want to be with girls his own age because they’d expect more and be more likely to call him out on his stuff.  I wonder if his three roommates, propensity towards ironic t-shirts, and copious amounts of signed movie posters could have an indicator at all?”

“No, 40 is great-“ I told her.  “Very mature.” 

I guess it’s just weird that now we are going to have to start to be attracted to guys who are the same age as our friends dads were when we were 10.  In fairness though, being 40 in 2012 is entirely different than it was in 1992.

Ways 40 Year Old Men are Different in 2012 vs. 1992:

For starters, we have gastropubs now.  I told my Dad recently about a dinner I had the night before at a gastropub and tried to describe how great it was.  “So it’s like bar food?”  “Well, I mean – the gastropub movement is more unique to major urban American cities.  You really won’t find one in the suburbs.  Like pickles – they fry them in a duck confit then you dip them in a goose infused jelly and it is garnished with maple cured pork belly.”  “Can I get a burger there?”  “Well.  Yes.”  “Great, I love bar food!"

Guys our dad’s generation usually went straight from college to being married in their early twenties.  Since most guys now are delaying marriage into their early thirties and beyond they must find activities to preoccupy themselves, since they will have no part in previous generations’ hobbies of sitting on a bench waiting for their wives to try on work pants.  Hobbies can be a great thing.  Hanging out with friends, drinking, indie comedy and music shows, and trying fancy restaurants are all things I can get behind.  Apparently these things get to be boring by the time one is 28.  That’s when they enter the ‘I actually brew my own beer” phase of life.  This is when you know they are ready to settle down.  You must enter their lives at just this moment.  If you delay at all, they will immediately shack up with the first girl they meet who owns her own Etsy store, or they will enter the “I have my own podcast and will be too intense about discussing notes in wines for my hobbies have taken over my life” phase of life.

Finally, we must discuss video games.  Remember how in “Big” it was so laughable and absurd to see a fourteen year old in the body of a full grown 40 year old man?  The thought of a thirty year old guy still being extremely interested in video games and awkward around women was unchartered territory.  I have seen my dad play two games in my entire life.  One was Pong in the mid-80s.  The other was “Minesweeper” which used to come standard on PCs.  His love of it knew no bounds.  It was a game of calculating mathematical possibilities, and heroism.  I’d like to think he gave it a backstory of sparing remote villages and protecting women and children from landmines through using math.  But I remember not being able to access our computer to use for homework (read: AOL chatrooms geared toward “musical fans!”) for two weekends while he obsessed with Minesweeper.  He cut his addiction cold turkey.  He removed it from our computer, and his weekends went back to being spent as they always were; following my mom around crafts fairs and eating dinner at 5:30.  In 2012, this would never happen.  Even the most masculine of men will still need to play Madden at least a few times a week.  We must accept this.

So basically a 2012 forty  year old is like a 1994 26 year old.  Just please, for the love of God, never tuck any type of shirts into your jeans.

Every single time I log on to Facebook to respond daily to the dozens of event invitations I am invited to of course,  I am bombarded by three things that constantly dismay me.  Since Facebook blog posts indicate I have my fingers firmly on the pulse of the zeitgeist (and that in my mind it is still 2005) I will tell you what they are in list form.

1.  People You May Know

Do you guys remember that special Diff'rent Strokes where Kimberly had bulimia and the one where Arnold and Dudley were almost molested?  Or the Growing Pains where Carol's boyfriend played by a young Matthew Perry was killed in a drunk driving accident, then at the end of the episode everyone broke the fourth wall to tell us how many people were killed by a drunk driver in the thirty minutes we were watching their show, thereby driving their point home even more intensely?  You do, right?  Well like that, this Thursday night is a verrrry special Failing Our Twenties you will not want to miss!

Come out to a SPECIAL Failing Our Twenties as it will be the only one ever in which my co-host Bryan is in his thirties, while I hold on to my twenties with white knuckles till my 30th birthday in a few weeks.  Will Bryan have a newfound perspective on life?  Will I win my twenties in the end?  There's only one way to find out...

The People's Improv Theatre (123 East 24th Street btwn Park & Lexington) this Thursday, January 5th at 8PM!                                                 

Join me and my co-host Bryan Rucker along with the hilarious, lusty, and provocative:

- UCB Legend PAT BAER (Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, College Humor)

- ALISON LEIBY (RISK!, The Onion)

I would love to see you all!  Email me ASAP for comps at:  michellemarkowitz AT gmail

Or buy tickets for $5 here:  http://thepit-nyc.com/show/failing-our-twenties-5/?cur_d=120105&cur_m=1201

Or show up and get tickets at the door!

XOXO.