On The Wings of Love

I might as well come right out and say it: I am addicted to 'The Bachelor.' I don't know why, I don't know how it all even started, but I can't get enough of it. Thank Goodness we can download it from Graboid out here, or I don't know what I would do with myself! Although I truly detest most reality shows (especially because one of my favorite sitcoms of all time got cancelled because it didn't have as high of ratings as the reality shows on the network,) I cannot deny that The Bachelor makes me giddy. And this goes the same for The Bachelorette.

My best friend Kat and I would tivo it when we were roomies and wait until we both had the evening free and have our special little night. We'd break out the wine and usually some hummus and veggies and yell at the screen as if it were Monday night football. We became so invested in these people, and we'd catch ourselves talking about them like they were in our circle of friends, and crack ourselves up. That's probably where I really began to love The Bachelor. It was something really fun for Kat and I to do together.

But then, what was once a delightful little past time with a friend becomes an obsession. I'd find myself running into people at auditions, or chatting with people at work and The Bachelor would come up. I'd get into HEATED debates! "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Kypton is totally wrong for Jillian! She belongs with Ed!" (Which, by the way, I was totally right about, all you nay-sayers.) I started getting nervous at the rose ceremonies, my pulse would be racing and I'd breath a sigh of relief when my favorites were handed a rose. I'd also argue with the television when the poor naive bachelor or bachelorette picked someone that I knew was not the right person for them.

Now I have forced my boyfriend Del to be my Bachelor buddy, since my bestie is back in the states. I have to say, he gets pretty involved. But mostly he just loves to sing "On The Wings of Love," because it is the cheesy theme song of this season, since Jake, The Bachelor, is a pilot. However, Kat and I have a regular Skype date mid-week once we have both watched the weeks episode so we can discuss what has happened. Kat relayed to me last week that she made the detrimental mistake of inviting non-Bachelor watching people over to her apartment in the hopes they would get as into the show as we are. After having to pause the show repeatedly because they were socializing and she couldn't concentrate on the show, she realized her mistake.

As an actor, I should completely protest a reality show like the Bachelor that is taking up a two hour time slot that could be filled with shows that would give my fellow actors and myself work. But instead, I guiltily hunker down with a glass of wine and some snacks, ready to help The Bachelor find love. (He needs me, you know.)

I'm Betty Boop Gosh Darn It!

I was walking home from the bus with a co-worker of mine tonight and I was explaining my blog to her. I told her that I still hadn't thought of something to write about for today but that I had made a pact with myself to write everyday. She said, "Write about me!" in her adorable French-Canadian accent. It was actually perfect, because I had been thinking about writing about her the past few days anyway!

Marie-Eve is a stilt walker at Universal Studios Singapore, but really, she is a dancer and singer. I hadn't had the chance to really get to know her until the past week and a half while we have been doing the Chingay parade together. She is such an inspiration to me right now because she is so positive and excited to be working at a theme park.

As a girl who grew up in Orlando, theme park nation, I don't really get much of a thrill when I spend the day at Disney or Universal. In fact, sometimes, that is just about the last place I want to be. I've worked at Universal on and off for about 8 years now and the honeymoon is definitely over. The excitement I felt when I first got hired as Kimberley Duncan at T2-3D in Orlando has faded over the years but I know that I was genuinely over the moon when I first got that call that I was hired for the role. It was the most money I had made as an actor at that point and it was fun to have your friends and family come see you host a show with 700 something people!

When we had our first dress rehearsal on Saturday night, Marie-Eve was running all around on her stilts with her camera getting pictures with all the characters. She was just over the moon! I remember thinking, "Woah, we'll all be working together for the next 9 months! What's she so excited about?" And when we got to the end of the parade, there were a few children who came up to her and wanted a picture. She walked away towards me, with tears in her eyes. I said, "Marie, are you okay?" thinking that she had hurt herself. She said, "I'm just overwhelmed! I have always wanted to work at a theme park and be in a parade! I just can't believe it's happening!"

I'm going to try hard to remember that feeling. It seems as though it's buried deep down somewhere with all the cynicism I've piled on top of it over the years. It's my own feelings of disappointment at not being where I "want to be" as an actor yet, and my snobby theatre actress attitude that makes me feel the way I do about working at a theme park. We also haven't opened the park which means I haven't been able to interact with guests at all, so I'm forgetting why I'm here. There are tons of people who would absolutely kill to do what I do. I get to live in Asia, make my debt disappear, visit places on the other side of the world I'd never dreamed I'd get to see and make people smile all day. Heck, I'll probably end up on peoples mantles, facebook pages and photo albums for all I know. I'm a lucky girl. And thanks to Marie-Eve for reminding me of that!

Just a Friendly Note Without Any Traces of Sacrcasm

Dear Lady at the Adult Pool with your Children,

Hi. You might remember me. I was one of the only caucasian people at Cafe Del Mar today. And definitely the only one with red hair. I was also the one that your 7 year old son kept swimming into repeatedly while he did laps in the pool.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love kids! But perhaps a swanky adults only pool bar at the beach, where there are signs clearly posted all over that say, "Only 18 and older permitted at this establishment," might not be the most appropriate place for them. Granted, it is partly the establishments fault for letting your children into the pool, but under your supervision I would think when the child was using the swim up bar as his jumping off point for laps, you might question your judgment of play areas.

I'm sure the early twenty something Phillpino gals liked it when your adorable 4 year old daughter was screaming at the top of her lungs because her swimmies were too tight as they sipped their over priced champagne cocktails. And I certainly enjoyed your son doing his spectacular back stroke into my rear. I also noticed the icy glare you gave ME when I turned around to see if you had seen him do that as if it was I who was rude for having been in the way of his swimming lesson.

Was it the ear thumping techno music or the over greased Indians in speedos hitting on every female insight that screamed, "Kid Friendly"? Just know, that with all of the family oriented attractions on Sentosa Island, you picked the right place to spend the day.

Sincerely,

Red-headed Ang Moh sipping a Lychee Mojito

The Fall Caller

I remember my first acting class like it was yesterday. I was 11 years old. My best friend at the time, Jenny Hoen and I asked our parents to let us take class together at the Civic Theatre in Orlando because we had seen the fabulous plays they put on there. I remember being really nervous because up until that point I had been strictly a dancer. My mother had me enrolled in all kinds of dance classes from the age of three. And although I always had and always will love to dance, in that little acting class, I found what I was really meant to do. I was born to make 'em laugh.

One of our assignments was to make a commercial of either a new product or a parody of a product that already exists. Many of you will remember the, "I've fallen, and I can't get up," commercials. If you are not familiar, it was a commercial that seemed to run for years and years which depicted a sweet old lady who now had independance and freedom because of a little button, that looked much like an electronic garage door opener that she wore around her neck. You see the "before" shot where this sweet little old lady falls down helplessly and says, "Help me! I've fallen, and I can't get up!" Then, she falls again after obtaining the product (which now I can't remember the proper name of) and simply has to press the button on her necklace and the paramedics come to help her.

Jenny, a fiery red head with adorable freckles, and I decide to make a parody commercial of this product. We came up with the "Fall Caller," which was actually an entire wall telephone that you would see hanging in the kitchen in the late 80's strapped around my chest. I donned my grandmothers housecoat, a grey wig and glasses and a huge wall phone strapped around my 70 pound lanky 11 year old frame. Jenny took on the pivotal role of "narrator/salesperson." Our commercial was so good it got chosen to be in our final class showcase.

We performed it at the showcase to uproarious laughter, and I don't want to brag, but it was the best thing in that showcase. I was a hit! I just remember hearing the laughter when I hobbled across the stage as a little old lady, fell down, and picked up the reciever and dialed the paramedics on my Fall Caller. I was addicted from that moment on. Nothing made me feel better then making people laugh.

I'm not an overconfident person, in fact, I'd say I'm fairly insecure about a lot of things but I do feel like comedy is a gift I was given. And I don't feel like it's a frivolous gift. My mother made me realize this when I was in college playing a Betty Boop type character, Ginger Brooks, in 1940's Radio Hour. We were 2 weeks away from opening the show and we all got pulled from class to the student center where we watched 2 planes fly into the Twin Towers. Everyone in America was devastated. I was on the phone with my mother and I said, "This is the first time I feel like what I want to do with my life is just silly. Peoples lives are devastated and I'm supposed to get on stage and play this goofy floosy in this show. It's going to be awful!" My mother, who is one of the most compassionate, caring people I know said, "I always had wanted you to be a nurse like me, but I realized early on that that wasn't what you wanted to do. But I you did follow in my footsteps. You heal people, too. You make them laugh and lift their spirits. This is the time when people really need that. They need an escape." That ended up being one of my favorite productions that I have ever been a part of. When the crowds rolled in, and the audience laughed at every punchline, I realized she was right.

Comedy also helps me cope with hardship myself. When I was going through "the breast cancer scare" recently, I was giving my friends heart attacks with all the jokes I was cracking at my own expense. And when I awkwardly threw my exam room cover up "cape" over my shoulder before my umpteenth mammogram and told the technician, "Oh! I feel like a bullfighter," I realized that my sense of humor helped me, most of all, to distract myself from reality. Otherwise, it's just too easy for my sensitive nature to pull me into a dark, sad place. However, I have found that a lot of people in the medical field don't share my sense of humor, and tend to either ignore my comments or look at me like, "How can you make jokes while your face down, layed out on a table with your boob pulled through a hole, in a vice with a needle the size of a McDonalds straw in it?"

I guess it's because I'd just rather laugh. Life is short.

Do me a favor, the next time you think the world is over, or it's the worst day of your life, or nothing is going right, find the funny. I bet that even when you think you can't, that it's impossible . . . you can. Something funny is always lurking in the misery. And even if you are laughing through tears or screams of rage, you'll feel better! I promise!

Back in the Saddle

I haven't "blogged" in quite a long time. I'd like to say it's because I have been extremely busy, but that's not the case. In fact, if I had been busy I would more likely be writing. But, my new commitment to myself is that I will write a new blog everyday. And, I'm sure I will have little failings here and there, but for the most part, I'd like to stick to it.

The main reason I haven't written is that I haven't been overwhelmingly happy in Singapore. I always find it so much harder to be creative when I'm in a "blah" state of mind. I think I have finally, in the past couple of days, been able to admit that I'm in a rut and it's actually helped tremendously. Now I can actually try and do something to turn it around instead of wallowing in it.

I talk to my parents almost every day on the phone and my dad (who very rarely gets sappy) said, "We really miss you. It's different then when you were in California. You're just so much farther away, it makes it harder." And of course, my big 'ol eyes immediately fill with tears. It's true. As much as I repeated to everyone at home in Florida, "It'll be just like it was when I was in California, I just can't come home as often!" It's not like I'm in California, at all. I am having a very homesick week.

Singapore is not what I expected at all, although how could I possibly know what to expect? I can't help but be thankful and grateful for all the lessons I am learning on patience and adapting to another culture. And all the reasons I came out here are still valid. The universe is constantly sending me signs that everything will be okay and I feel fortunate for that. I inexplicably have the song, "Don't Worry, Be Happy," in my head today, so obviously someone or something is trying to send me a message, albeit through Bobby McFarren.

The park is still not open officially yet. I have done a few days of practice sets for employees, and I just started rehearsals for the Chingay Parade for the Chinese New Year so that should be fun. Apparently Chingay is a lot like our Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. It's a really big deal in Singapore and our float for Universal is pretty amazing. I get to see it in person for the first time tonight.

This entry was just to scratch the surface. I had to jump back in to writing so I apologize that this blog is sort of scattered and not a very thrilling story, but that's where I am today. Stay tuned for more tomorrow!

One with Singapore

One night that so vividly remains in my memory when I think of moving to New York City 4 years ago was my first night there. I had "set up" the room I was subletting as good as I possibly could, having only shown up there with 3 suitcases, one of which had a blow up mattress. I had unpacked my clothes into little piles along the wall, inflated the mattress and made it up, and pulled out my laptop. The ceiling in that apartment was huge because there was a loft and it just made the nearly empty room seem even more cold and lonely. I sat down on the air mattress and looked around thinking, "What have I done?" I just felt like I didn't belong in that city, in that apartment, in that world of New York City.

When I took the subway, I would always manage to get lost or board the train going in the opposite direction. I felt like I was constantly looking for a friendly face to ask which way was what! One day when I was looking for an audition, it had started to pour down rain and my umbrella had flipped inside out and got so mangled I just pitched it in the garbage. New York City garbage cans were often full of umbrella carcasses on particularly rainy and windy days. I had been walking around the same 3 blocks, but it seemed like whenever I reached the street corner, I realized I should have gone the other way so I'd turn around and reach the next corner and still somehow be wrong again. It seemed impossible and I literally stood on the street corner, in the pouring rain, not even caring anymore, just wanting to go home and about to cry. Someone felt sorry for me and said, "Where are you headed?" Then they pointed me in the right direction. (And who says New Yorkers are cold?) I remember thinking I had never felt so alone, while constantly surrounded by people.

Eventually, I learned the subway route. By the time I left I could tell you the order of pretty much every stop on all the trains in Manhattan. I'd hop in a cab and tell the driver which roads to take to get to my destination the fastest. I felt confident walking down the street and didn't have to stand on the corner and stare at the signs when I came out of the subway so that I could get my bearings. It wasn't until about 3 months into living there that I felt like I belonged there, though. I was on the subway platform, listening to my ipod, on my way to work when a young woman came up to me, looking worried, and asked if this was the train she took to get to Union Square. In the few months prior, if someone asked me how to get somewhere (which they rarely did, because I looked lost and vacant most of the time) I would say, "I'm sorry, I'm new here. I'm having trouble figuring it out myself." But the flip had switched. I knew where I was. I said, "No, you have to go to the other platform. Just take the stairs up here, and make a right." As she walked away, I felt this new ownership of New York. I became a "city girl." I loved it.

Moving to Los Angeles had a different feel because you are always in your car. I had a navigation system so I became much too reliant on that. I definitely believe that I didn't know LA as well as I should have by the time I came to Singapore because I was always staring at that stupid Garmin instead of looking out the window and figuring it out. But, it saved me a lot of hours of getting lost and missed auditions, I'm sure. I never quite felt "at home" in LA though. I think California is beautiful and I love the weather, but I don't know if it's really fitting to my personality.

The past couple of days I have been gloomy. It's partly the weather, and partly that I haven't really started rehearsals yet. Everyone else is well into their rehearsals so I feel left out. I had my first fitting today and as I was transferring trains a frazzled looking Australian mother with her small daughter stopped me. "Excuse me, miss," she said, "I'm looking for the train to Clarke Quay. Can you help me?" Instinctively I wanted to say, "Uh, no, sorry. Just moved here 3 weeks ago." But I realized I knew the answer! "Yes, just take that escalator down to the purple line. You'll want to get on the train heading to Harbour Front. It's just one stop." The mother breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you!"

I walked off and couldn't help but smile. I don't think she realized that she helped me a lot more then I helped her. I know I have a long way to go before I feel like I completely belong in Singapore, but in that moment I felt like I took a big step in the right direction.

Erin Go Braugh

I haven't blogged in a few days because I've felt pressure to write something about Singapore. As I haven't been in rehearsal or working, I've lacked inspiration to write. That's the story of my life: when I'm super busy, I always manage to find time to do what I love, but when I'm bored and have all the time in the world, I tend to do nothing. It's a nice little system I have going.

I just read my friend Joan's blog, which I do on a nearly daily basis because she is great at keeping up with her blog and her stories are always heart-warming and lovely. She just posted a blog about her name and it inspired me to write because that is certainly a subject I relate to.

I have really always hated my name. Mostly because I feel like I'm a very feminine "girly" girl and my name is very plain and sort of asexual. Whenever I say my name, whether at a doctors office, the DMV, a class, you name it, I get the response, "Is that with an "A" or and "E?"" And instead of smacking the person asking that question on the head, I just say, "With an "e," as in E-R-I-N." And in my head I continue, "The only way a WOMAN would spell it." Which, I know, nowadays there are thirty different ways to spell the name, but really, no offense, its original form and meaning is to be spelled ERIN, not Eryn, Erinn, Aryn, or whatever other combination I've seen through the years.

Erin is the romantic, poetic name for Ireland. It can be used as a male name, (in fact, I went to school with a male Erin, but that was really the only guy I have ever met,) but because of it's meaning it is really meant to be a female name. And "Aaron" is a male name and I have NEVER met a girl who spells it that way, yet I'm always asked if that is the spelling of my name. So even though it has a beautiful meaning, for me, that gets lost in the day to day hacking of it.

My mother was going to name me Megan, but she said when I was handed to her as a beautiful pink cherubic baby with blazing red hair, she thought "Erin" was the only fitting name for me. As my mother smiled retelling the story of my birth, all I wanted was for her to go back and name me Megan. My confusion with my name only grew larger when as a child my mother said she had to run "errands." Erins? huh? It took me many years to realize that wasn't about me.

I always wanted a cute girly name like Sally, Katie, or Brandy. Anything with a "y" or "ie" would have sufficed. When I was around ten I loved the Archie comics and named pretty much every Barbie doll or stuffed animal I had "Veronica" because I loved that name. No one would confuse Veronica for a boys name. And you just imagine Veronica to be in high heels, have beautiful long hair and wear red lipstick.

As I got into high school, and actually acquired friends of the male persuasian, they would all call me "Muroski." Although, no one ever pronounced my last name correctly so it was usually more like, "Mur-ow-ski," but I preferred it all the same. It wasn't very feminine but it was sassy, and that was definitely more "me." It caught on, and in college, pretty much everyone called me Muroski. All of a sudden, even though "Erin" couldn't be shortened or made into anything that felt like it belonged to me, I felt like at least part of my name defined me!

And then along came Julia Roberts in her award winning performance in Erin Brockovich and I was quickly back to despising my name. Because now, instead of having the powerful, spunky "Muroski" moneker, I had everyone going, "Hey, it's Erin Brokovich." And if I introduced myself for the first time, I ALWAYS, I mean EVERY TIME, elicited the response, "Oh, like Erin Brokovich?" Yeah. Just like Erin Brokovich.

Now the Erin Brokovich ship has pretty much sailed. I still get it from time to time, but certainly not like the 3 years at the end of my college days, thank goodness. And although I don't know if I've completely embraced "Erin," I know I love being called "Muroski." So much so, that I have to admit, I don't think I will ever change my last name. When I think of who I am and my name being my identity, I don't think I could be "Erin Who-si-whatsit," or any other last name. As my good friend Beau said to me one day when I was with him in NYC and I was feeling really sad and confused, "You're ERIN MUROSKI. You know that, right?" And, I thought, "Yeah . . . YEAH, I AM Erin Muroski! I can do anything! I rock!"

In the spirit of embracing your name no matter what, though, I have to say that I love that the only person who ever calls me "Erin Marie" is my father. I think if anyone else even tried to call me that, I'd have to correct them and let them know that is reserved for my Dad only. And although you wouldn't think my name could be shortened, my mom is the only person who calls me "Err" (pronounced like the first syllabel in "error.") So I guess there is comfort in "Erin" after all these years. I'd still prefer it if you'd call me Muroski, though.