It's been an up and down sort of day.
I called the people at New York State taxes because I sent them my tax payment on April 14 when I mailed my Federal taxes. According to the website of my bank, the check never cleared...and God knows I didn't want to leave that particular loose end hanging around. As I know to my everlasting regret, the tax people have a ghastly habit of ignoring these little lapses (i.e., never receiving your check) for years on end, at which point they come at you with years worth of interest. This is how, at one rather ghastly point in my life, I ended up owing the IRS $35,000. However, I spoke to NY State, and they went into my records and assured me that not only did they receive my check, but it cleared just fine. HUGE sigh of relief.
Until, of course, I got home from a short hop around the neighborhood (oh, you know...cigarettes, a large chocolate bar, cat food, some chili sauce...well, suddenly I had $226 more dollars than I thought I had) and found a notice from NYS announcing that I owed them $67 because I had underestimated my taxes.
On the other hand, my check from Boardwalk Empire (hereinafter referred to as The Endless Day of the Waistcincher) turned up...$321.50. Not at all shabby (and God knows I deserved it after that instrument of torture). Unfortunately, we were just shy of going into Golden Time. When you took out our lunch hour, it was only fifteen hours, which is deeply annoying. Golden Time, you see, is any portion of an hour after fifteen hours, at which point you get a day's pay for every hour. They came in one hour and five minutes under the limit. Rats!
Meanwhile, I'm deeply annoyed...Date Night is shooting damn near under my window, and although I submitted myself, nobody called me on it. This is no fair. I live in the damn West Village, which has a shoot going constantly. For instance, when I was coming home on Thursday from the Bounty shoot, I went right by a shoot in the Meatpacking District. You can imagine how infuriating it is to be out trying to get to East Flatbush at 5:30 am and finding a shoot setting up a block from your front door. Do I get called for these? Oh, no...begs to be excused (a quote from Peter Pan...Mr. Darling, complaining about trying to tie his evening bowtie..."Round the bedpost, ten times! Round my neck? Oh, no, begs to be excused." Aren't you glad you know that?).
Caesar came over tonight and we ordered lovely Indian food. Shrimp curry and lamb korma and garlic nan...
Tomorrow I will be up at the ghastly hour of 5 am so I can go and stand out in front of the
Actors Equity building to audition for (small drum roll here) an actual SHOW! I can't wait. Well, you know...God bless the Screen Actors Guild and background work and all like that...but my home is the stage, damn it. And this particular show will A. pay me $450 a week, and B. take place on 42nd Street...not Carle Place, NY, not East Flatbush, not Greenpoint. And rehearsals will begin at their usual civilized hour of 10 AM. And while I am at rehearsal, I will actually be doing something other than sitting around in (variously) a catering hall, furniture store, elementary school cafeteria, warehouse...I will be actually working. Presuming, of course, that I can convince these lovely people that I am the only person in the entire sidereal universe who could possibly play the role. Let us pray.
Oh, more or less parenthetical note. I was doing a crossword puzzle the other day, and I have discovered that the creeping rot of the English language has invaded all that I hold most sacred. Four letter word starting with S going down...clue, Withered. So I filled in Sere (which is correct), only to find that (this was very clear from the down words) they had made it Sear...which means to burn or char. Good GOD.
Love, Wendy
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