Me talking about being a supernumerary at the greatest opera house in the world.
#TBT = #Throw Back Training
Since I was in Kindergarten, my father would take the family to the track most every weekend and as he would run I would chase him. Naturally, I would never be able to keep up so I just ran until my father decided he was finished and we would go home.
I did every mile competition in elementary school. I did track and cross country at my high school, Mercersburg Academy. I always considered myself a runner. I was however, never a star. I never won a race or was counted on to run the fast leg of a relay (in the above picture I look fast, but I am certain I am in last place). I just showed up and ran. In fact, though I trained with the team, I never ran a cross country race because I did not want to compete. I know it sounds silly, I just wanted to run.
I sat across from a therapist once who asked me what I did for exercise. When I told her I ran she asked how far on average. I said that I just ran until I couldn’t run anymore. The therapist suggested I think about why I do that. I am a little over 2 weeks away from running my first marathon and I still do not have the answer.
It has been a selfish and solitary training experience so far. I am not running to raise money or awareness for a disease. I am not running in memory of someone. I am not running to compete with the thousands of other runners running the NYC Marathon. I am running to run.
The above picture is me at the end of the longest run I ever did in high school. It was not for the track team or the cross country team. I just wanted to see the covered bridge 11 miles away from campus. The bridge was in the video I had watched before coming Mercersburg Academy and I was about to graduate without seeing it. So I put on my favorite running shorts (a pair of Mickey Mouse boxers my grandmother had given me) and set out. My friend Sarah was on her bicycle along the course in case I needed water and, of course, to take a picture of me when I was finished.
I thought that was the furthest I would ever run because I had yet to see a marathon.
My first year in New York City, in 2002, I watched the NYC Marathon at the entrance of Central Park at 5th Avenue and then followed the course through the park. Watching the runners, all sorts of regular people at the tail end of their race, filled me with the same feeling I had had on the track with my father, desirous to keep up. And every year since then I would watch the marathoners along 5th Avenue and tell myself, “One day”.
Every run I have ever run has been working towards this one day. I decided to do it alone, I trained to do it alone, but I have not been able to do this without the inspiration from many friends and fellow New York Road Runners including Amanda Duffy, Alexis Wiedeman, Corey Brown, Kerry McGuire, Mike Gombrone, Chris Dumont, and Zeph White just to name a few. My ultimate teammate throughout this training has been my husband, Ben Whitehouse, whose dedication to our nutrition has been an amazing transformative experience. His support is incredible. Like a really great sports bra he is with me on every run, hugging my boobs.
I may never be able to tell that therapist why I choose to run, but the not knowing, the not keeping up, and the not winning has not stopped me. I cannot wait to enter Central Park at 5th Avenue and take on those last few miles of the marathon and meet the memory of the girl I was that has been saying I would run this run for 13 years. It is not for the time or the distance, I am just going to run all day to keep up with me.
And now, the continuation of… The Fascinating and Ugly World of Beauty School, as Told by a Grown Up Female Comedian Attempting to Learn a New Skill.
PART 6
The beauty school schedule took a couple weeks to get accustomed to since I had not had a regular daytime gig for a little over a decade. Monday through Friday, 9-5, like a regular Dolly Parton. It only took me a few days to realize that I did not want to forget anything from the classroom. If I was going to completely immerse myself in this and only this for 7 months I wanted to be sure to capture everything about the experience.
Every morning I woke up at 6am, showered, put on a face, did “something” to my hair, and then sat at my computer and regurgitated whatever came to mind about the previous day in beauty school into 750words.com (it’s much like morning pages for those Artist’s Way enthusiasts). If I was going to get nothing from this experience, I at least wanted to remember a few anecdotes for cocktail party conversations. You know, the kind of anecdotes that draw a little crowd of people at a party where someone brings me a fresh drink, another offers me a cigarette, and they all eagerly insist “Oh Julia, do please tell us more about beauty school!”
There are some lessons we, as human beings, must learn again and again. My particular lesson that I learn and relearn time after time, is that I decide too quickly that people are good AKA I trust easily. When I was in the 2nd grade my family had just moved to Greece and my mother was taking a tour of the International School with other new parents while their children played in the school’s playground. While on our way home my mother asked me if I had fun playing and I responded enthusiastically “Yes! I met my best friend!” Needless to say, I never saw the girl I believed to be my “best friend” ever again.
Rereading some of my first impressions of my classmates in beauty school, I fear I am doomed to relearn this lesson for the rest of my life because I still see what I want to see just as I did in the 2nd grade, namely, my initial understanding of my classmate Pebbles*.
“...she is awesome. She is 19 years old and beautiful. I overheard one of the other girls tell her that she had beautiful lips (she does, they are huge beautiful big full bouncing lips) and she said "I get that all the time.” And then, just for good measure she added "Guys are always coming up to me and saying 'I can't wait to put those lips around my dick'." I sit next to Pebbles in class and she talks a lot because she is either so very enthusiastic or nervous or just clueless and has never been told that she is disrupting class. Or all of this could be true.
“She is sweet though. Making sure everyone is supported and making friends with people, following people on Instagram. Pebbles is the kind of girl who just inserts herself into the conversation with "You know it's like..." "I mean, I was experiencing that too...".
“She wants to have a good life and not work at something that she doesn't like. She has no idea yet. There are going to be parts of this class and this profession that she will not enjoy and I worry that she will give up on herself before she has really tried just because it got a little hard... she is adorably young and confident with a air of fear so I care about her. She also told me yesterday "Julia, you give me life girl." What does it mean? Does it matter? She seems to like me. And that sort of overdramatic statement is why I like her.”
I was so excited to have a new friend.
*name changed just in case.
And now, the continuation of… The Fascinating and Ugly World of Beauty School, as Told by a Grown Up Female Comedian Attempting to Learn a New Skill.
There was a whole lot of “passion” being bandied about the first few days of beauty school. As though trying to out do each other, every girl claimed to be more passionate about hair and beauty than the previous girl who had just claimed to be more passionate than the previous girl and the girl before that.
At orientation, the Friday before our first day of school, every one of them looked the passionate fashionista part in their tight black leggings and cool girl tops, nailing the “not trying too hard” outfit. By comparison I looked like a clown, having just come from a final dress rehearsal at the Metropolitan Opera (one of my many jobs I was saying goodbye to in order to go to beauty school), hair in fuzzy pin curls, enough rouge to look as though I’d been running laps, and half eaten off lipstick. I am of the school of thought if I do not try at all I will never appear as though I am trying too hard. It is better to look a mess than like you give a shit what people think you look like? Right? Right?
Amanda and I were the oldest in the class of 15 with the median age being 19 years of age. It was all girls and one very tall boy, most of whom had just graduated from high school or attempted a year of college before deciding to “follow their passion”.
I could not wait to get to know these young women and one man. This was a whole new generation that I knew nothing about and here I am, 15 years older and in the exact same boat: We are all new to this world and all committing ourselves to 7 months learning all about beauty. The first few days of school I was fascinated and lapping it all up as these girls and one boy introduced themselves again and again to each teacher who came in to teach us. These impassioned people and I would spend these months learning together, growing together, working together, building our dreams together, and discovering the heart of our passions together.
Admittedly, I was also hopeful that maybe when school was all over I could entreat them to come to my shows and be my audience! I was so sure that we were all on the same passionate dedicated page that we would become involved in each other’s lives despite the very different places we were in in our lives. We have a passion to be in beauty school in common, what more do you need? Right? Right?
Oh first impressions! How beautifully wrong you can be!
And now, the continuation of… The Fascinating and Ugly World of Beauty School, as Told by a Grown Up Female Comedian Attempting to Learn a New Skill.
The first day of beauty school on November 17th could not come fast enough. I could not wait to start school again until I remembered that it was school.
I have had many a first day of school. My father was a diplomat so my family moved around my entire childhood. Every two to three years I was starting over in a brand new country, at a brand new school, with a brand new culture to adapt to. Being the new girl and sticking out was never an issue for me because I reveled in the opportunity to re-imagine myself. I was like Madonna. New album, new style. New country, new Julia.
In the 3rd grade I went to a British school called St. Catherine’s in Athens, Greece where I had to wear a uniform for the first time and thus transformed myself into a proper little English lady like the little girl in The Secret Garden. In 7th grade, my family moved to Caracas, Venezuela where I went to Escuela Campo Alegre and was quick to pick up the peck on the cheek hello and necessary Spanish phrases like “Donde esta el autobus?”, “Me encanta futbol” and “Una mas arepa por favor”. When I was 13, the quintessential height of wanting to “fit in”, I started high school at Campion College in Kingston, Jamaica where I was the only glowing bright white redheaded girl with headgear and braces in my class (pictured here with my girls Sanya, Audi, Juliette, and Janai) but it didn’t matter that I didn’t look like anyone because I would sing with weird voices and do a bad Spanish accented character called Valeria who “looooved pound cake” to make my classmates laugh. I loved that change was my only constant and that assimilating was second nature.
What I didn’t love was school. I once brought a report card home in elementary school and as my mother looked over it, comparing the grades of her three school aged children, she remarked “You’re a different kind of smart, Julia. You have to work much harder for the same grades your brother and sister get without trying.” So, am I the dumb kind of smart? Sounds like I might be stupid. Cool, cool. Thanks Mommy! I’ll be in the corner trying to tie my shoelaces until dinnertime.
Needless to say, mothers’ off handed remarks like these are the only ones we all tend to remember. Still, though I enjoyed learning about new things, my mother was right. Things would never stick as quick as I wanted them to and any slack or default in study habits would result in report card disaster or worse yet, having to repeat levels of improv training at the Upright Citizens Brigade.
And now I am a grown up woman putting myself back into a school setting for 7 months and I am suddenly frightened that my brain is just not going to cut it. (Pun intended because hair puns are fun puns). There is math and science involved in haircoloring and geometry involved in haircutting. I idiotically prided myself on getting through high school without taking chemistry and every math class I took required me to have multiple tutors and additional office hours with the teacher. What if the lessons go too fast and I don’t understand and burn someone’s hair off their head forever?!
As Monday, the 17th of November, 2014 approached I found solace in my husband’s reminder that I was no longer a teenager or twenty-something. My years of experience outside of school could benefit me because I had achieved a new level of personal focus that was never possible when I was developing breasts or discovering that I might want boys to touch said breasts. I was not going to be distracted by the things a younger Julia would be distracted by and therefore the goal was all the more attainable.
Still, I was going to have to buckle down and study harder than I had in years, so I extracted myself from the life I had been living in order to be completely submerged in everything beauty school. I stopped going to shows, doing shows, and auditioning. I put my life on hold and crossed my fingers that nobody in my family would become seriously ill or dead. I eliminated anything that would distract me because nothing was to get in the way of me learning this new skill. If I was going spend this money and take this time, I was going to learn to love school.
It may sound a little dumb, but that is the kind of smart I am.
And now, the continuation of… The Fascinating and Ugly World of Beauty School, as Told by a Grown Up Female Comedian Attempting to Learn a New Skill
Talking about money is uncouth. Especially when you identify as a poor yet privileged woman who has been afforded many great opportunities. I am one of the lucky ladies whose parents paid for college and were always there for me if ever I was in a dire situation with rent. I never had to take out a loan and accrue debt. I never used my credit card if I didn’t have the money to pay it off immediately. Though I did once contemplate the benefits of selling my body for sex, I never didn’t have a monetary strife that a tearful phone call wouldn’t alleviate.
I did, however, always feel incapable of keeping up with my friends whose lives were getting fuller and richer. The occasional night out or brunch felt like a secret splurge. I felt guilty for every time the check was split and guilty for every time my friends would pick up the check and assure me that if I “Just leave the tip!” then we would be even. Secret guilt is uncomfortable but it’s easy to swallow when your friends treat you to places like Per Se.
Taking out a loan was the only way that I was going to pay the $17,000 price tag for the boutique beauty school downtown. I had some money saved so I could cough up the first couple thousand they needed to secure my spot in the next class. The rest seemed impossible because it was just about the same amount of money I would make in a year doing the odd jobs that I wanted to go to beauty school in order to never have to do again. I didn’t want to have to wait and I didn’t want to take out such a huge loan from the government. You cannot call the government, crying, like you call your mother and expect that the government will understand how hard you are working and be so proud of you and tell you that you never need to pay them back because they are happy to invest in your dreams.
And then another stroke of luck arrived in the form of a scholarship opportunity from Beauty Changes Lives. All I had to do was make a video about why I wanted to learn how to do hair and then pester all of my friends and family for weeks and weeks so that they would watch and “Like” the video and then the amount of “Likes” I got would determine whether or not they would pay for half of my beauty school tuition. It’s a fabulously stupid world we live in now where merit equals popularity and being social online equals being annoying.
My friend Amanda and I both made video submissions and were both awarded the Vidal Sassoon Professional Beauty Education Scholarship. We still talk about how grateful we are that so many people we know took the time to watch and “Like” our videos and how embarrassed we are that we went so insane for a $7,000 scholarship. But then I know that I would do it all over again. Remember, I considered prostituting myself once. There is little I wouldn’t do to not be considering it again.
I watched my scholarship submission video for the first time in many many months again today and it holds up as one of the most sincerely naive and beautiful displays of optimism I have ever created. In the following months I would take out a loan for the rest of the money needed, my husband would cover the rent, and this lucky little privileged know-nothing was on her way to beauty school.
And now, the continuation of... The Fascinating and Ugly World of Beauty School, as Told by a Grown Up Female Comedian Attempting to Learn a New Skill
I had decided to go to beauty school. Now I had to pick which one in the stunning array of options all around me in New York City.
My friend, Amanda (pictured here as we finish the Spartan race in 2013), had just dropped out of a beauty school (cue song) after an unfortunate display of gross disrespect and prejudice from a teacher towards a transgender student in transition, so we decided to look into schools together. The timing was perfect. What better way to make a huge transition in my life than with a friend I love and inspires me in every way.
The search began the day after Labor Day, two days after my dream and three days after Amanda had unenrolled herself, because we were not messing around. Make a decision, make it happen.
We toured the loud midtown beauty school where the students wore all black and the woman who gave us the tour had no hair. There is nothing wrong with sporting a bold beautiful bald look that she was absolutely selling, but we were not sold on the school. There was a rolling admission with new groups of students starting every two or three weeks. People seemed confused and angry in the hallways. There was a girl crying in a nearby office because she said somebody had stolen her scissors. It seemed a bit more chaotic than we were looking for. And just in case the woman who interviewed us had no hair because of the school, we decided to look elsewhere.
Next we toured the massive downtown beauty school which was calm and cool, relaxing to a fault. The woman who interviewed and gave us the full pitch on the school had a lovely soothing voice. The ceilings were high, the lockers were tall, the space was great, but then of course it had to be big because their class sizes were 25+. It was a big beautiful beauty school factory but I feared that in a class so big it would be impossible to get any individual attention and if there is anything I know about myself, it is that I need lots of individual attention.
And then we walked into the little boutique beauty school. The smell of the products in the air was intoxicating and sold me almost immediately. The decor was simple and clean. There was a red and white color scheme and huge posters of hip haircuts. One little couch to sit on while we waited for our classically beautiful blonde school administrator to give us a tour. We watched the students in the student salon work and they all appeared happy and positive. The director of the school joined us for a moment on our tour and gave us a look up a down that I felt was appropriate for a small selective boutiquey school. I was at once intimidated and wanting to belong. I went to boarding school, I went to college, I will get into this special little cosmetology school with small class sizes and a standard of excellence. They do not even know how great my essay is going to be to get into this beauty school. This is a serious and determined beauty school for a serious and determined grown up woman like me.
Amanda and I sat on all the information for a day before submitting our applications, but my mind was made up as we left the boutique beauty school that afternoon.
I had no way of knowing that beauty school is only skin deep.
This time last year I felt very confused. Simultaneously happy, contented, deliriously in love and lost, directionless, and out of options.
And then, one year ago today, I had a dream: It was the last day of the Del Close Marathon and I was outside UCB Chelsea Theatre watching the Manager, Chuck, set up popcorn machines and a Nicki Minaj photo booth. I sat on a plastic foldable table with my friend Amanda and we swung our feet as we watched a marathon of children of all ages run buy us down 26th Street.
I woke up from this dream and the first thought that popped into my head was “I should go to beauty school”.
Successes, I had had a few. Every kind of performance a performer can do, I had performed it. From my “wildly popular” (quoting my mother) solo show NAKED PEOPLE at the UCB to a handful of commercials, I had achieved some success as a performer. I loved my life, my friends, my new husband, and the variety of opportunities I was juggling. Auditions here and there, hosting a weekly storytelling show, teaching workshops, and yet there was a sense that I had no control over my monetary and artistic future. I was beholden to every job, asking, begging, trying to convince the world to give me the chance, the break, the opportunity to work hard. I was waiting for someone to tell me that I was right for the part and that part was my life.
Of all the things I had focused on since moving to NYC in 2002, getting paid for my art was not one of them. I figured the money would come when I was good enough. So I paid my dues performing for free and working the day jobs making cappuccinos and sandwiches, nude modeling for art students, and everything in between to pay the rent. And then over a decade passes and a friend says “I think you’ve overpaid your dues” and I fear she might be right. Last summer it dawned on me that I was never going to be “good enough” because I didn’t know what “good enough” meant.
In the meantime, I had no money and the sinking feeling that the only way that I could ever make money was to do the shitty low level no skill jobs I had been doing for years.
Wah wah, woe is me. That is not how I want to live my life. Banging my head against the proverbial doors that are locked to me like an insane person. If nobody is picking up what I am putting down, I have to put something else out there.
And so, I went to beauty school.
This is the first entry I offer you of the story of that time. Everyday a peek into the fascinating and ugly world of beauty school as told by a semi directionless grown up female comedian attempting to learn a new skill.
See you tomorrow!
Do you want to help make dreams come true with a few clicks?
I made a little video to apply for a scholarship to cosmetology school so that I can learn how to do hair professionally and if you vote for me by clicking the "Looks Good" button next to my video, I have more of a chance to win the moneys!
You have to make a Bloom profile for your vote to count, but after the competition is over you can delete your account I promise!
If you are just killing time between tasks at work or procrastinating and want to help out a friend I am beyond grateful. I do not know why they are making this scholarship a popularity contest and I do not like this kind of marketing one bit, but if you have ever needed money to make your dreams come true, I hope you will understand why I am begging this favor.
At least it's not a Kickstarter right?
Smooch love from your future hairdresser friend,
Julia
Good morning and Happy Tuesday!
I am doing something completely new and going to cosmetology school and if you "like" this video on Youtube, I could win a scholarship! None of this really matters in your life unless you want a haircut from me in the future or you enjoy helping people follow their dreams.
I am literally following a dream!
Enjoy and "like" if you do!
Not much has changed.
The image to the left is a Gay Pride burlesque performance at Rififi circa 2005 and the the image to the left is NAKED PEOPLE at the Upright Citizens Brigade in 2012.
I will always love making out with wig heads.
juliawiedeman reblogged
Source: personalmessageblog.blogspot.com
You know I am particularly excited about tonight's last Happy Hour Story Hour at UCB East because there are curlers in my hair and you can see in my eyes that I am considering wearing a dress.
If you have ever told a story at Happy Hour Story Hour or just come and enjoyed the show, I hope you will come tonight to toast goodbye to the Hot Chicks Room and cheers to the future! This show is too important to the storytelling community to not find a new space so that is just what I am doing! Not to worry!
In the meantime, see you tonight my dear dear wonderful storytellers!
Happy Monday!
EVERY STORY HAS A BEGINNING, A MIDDLE, AND AN END... and ladies and gentlemen, the story of Happy Hour Story Hour might be reaching its conclusion.
UCB East is moving all of their open mic shows to Thursday at 5:30pm to perform once a month on a rotating schedule. This does not work for me. One, it is too early for any of you to be able to make it. Two, I refuse to host a show the same night as Jiji Lee's very popular Split Personality storytelling/character mic because it is about creating more opportunities for you to work on stories and not competing opportunities. And three, I humbly believe that Happy Hour Story Hour is too important of a show in the storytelling community to be offered monthly.
Naturally, I will be looking for a new space that suits the show's supportive, creative, and happy hour nature. Of course, there is the possibility that this will not happen and August will be the last month of Happy Hour Story Hour. I choose to be optimistic because after all, change can lead to growth and I am bound to be inspired to create another wonderful thing for you if this truly is the end of Happy Hour Story Hour.
If you want to take the time to write to the Artistic Director of the UCB Theatre to bemoan the loss of Happy Hour Story Hour, I thank you in advance. If you know of any Manhattan location that is perfect for Happy Hour Story Hour, I would be grateful to you to tell me. If you have been waiting to come tell your story at Happy Hour Story Hour because you thought it would last forever and you could rely on being able to put it off one more week, (shame on you because you should know better that nothing lasts forever!) I hope you will come to the last three foreseeable shows in August at UCB East.
Thank you for all of your support and all of your stories for the past year and a half. This could be the end or simply the "inciting incident" that leads us to the "main event" of the Happy Hour Story Hour story. Let's raise our glasses to the future as it is unknown and therefore so very exciting.