Confessions of a Child Model

When I was 8 years old, my mother finally gave in to my obsessive begging to let me take acting classes. My first acting teacher, Barbara Handcock (who had the last on screen dance with Fred Astaire), thought I was cute and rambunctious, and she encouraged me to go to auditions the theatre was holding.

That's her, in the dress. (source: IMDB)

Somehow, my precocious charm won over the casting director, and I got cast in my first play, Chess (for those of you who aren't musical theatre nerds, it's a play about chess champions and USSR/USA relations set to music written by the guys from ABBA). After working in professional theatre, I was hooked. There was no getting me out of show business at this point. So, my parents bit the bullet and got me headshots (for theatre people, headshots are pictures of your head. Not something in Call of Duty).

Apparently, they read somewhere that when you get your headshots you should take the sheet-o-choices to an agent, so they can tell you which ones work best in 'the biz'. We did this. Apparently, I was photogenic enough that the agent we went to really wanted to represent me, so she could get me into modeling.

Yeah, I don't see it either....

I should note: There are a TON of scams to dupe little kids and their over-eager parents into thinking they're getting into modeling. They'll tell you they want to make you a star, so long as you pay a couple grand to take their classes and workshops. This is not how REAL agents work. Real agents agree to represent you with absolutely no charge. They will then send you on auditions and go-sees (which is the modeling version of an audition, where the company just figures out if you look like your picture and makes sure you're not a total brat). If you get a job, they take a percentage of your pay. Anything else is a scam.

Anyway, not long after this meeting, I became a professional child model. I was doing photoshoots 3-4 times a week, and as a result of that I had to be pulled out of public school and homeschooled.

Here are some interesting tibits about my life as a child model:

• There were absolutely no diets involved. I was a skinny kid naturally. I can't speak for all child models here, but I never caught any hints that any of them ever dieted, either. We were just active, normal kids as far as that went.
• Pagent kids (or more aptly, pagent parents) were frowned upon. The very first time I worked with Clay, the photographer I did most of my shoots with, he asked me if I did pageants. A number of agents were known to scout modeling clients at pageants, and so it wasn't uncommon for models to have that in their background. The fact that I had never even considered doing pageants gave me some serious brownie points in Clay's eyes. Pageant kids tended to be much more high strung, and pageant parents tended to be.... well, not too far off from what you see on Toddlers and Tiaras. There was one pageant girl I occasionally modeled with who had such horrible anxiety from her pageant and figure skating and modeling schedule that she often plucked out her eyelashes, rendering her unable to model for weeks at a time.
• I had a shoe bag. Modeling clothes tended to all be shipped to the photographers in the same size, but the clients never provided photographers with shoes (because models foot sizes can vary so widely). This led to me having a giant bag filled with shoes of every conceivable color and style.
• No high heels or platforms allowed! The one thing we had to be extra careful of when buying shoes for the shoe bag was to avoid any heel or platform. When it comes to kids' modeling, the girls are starting to hit puberty a little faster than the boys, but photographers don't want one gender dwarfing the other. Often we'd even have to employ tricks to make the boys look taller, like making me sit while he stood, having him stand on a box out of frame, or having me crouch awkwardly.
• Very few shoots were 'on location'. Often in magazines you see pictures of people on the beach or on a street. Very, very rarely did we ever shoot any of these shots outside the studio. Shooting outside meant not having complete control over the lights and other aspects of the shot. I often opened up the weeks paper to the nice surprise of seeing a photo of myself at the beach.

That's funny, that baby next to me appears to be floating on the sand.

• Clothes were shot out of season which means that when we did shoot on location, you could guarantee I wasn't comfortable. Winter sweaters in the summer heat. Bathing suits in the winter. But part of being a model is smiling, no matter how much you hate the clothes you're in. 

I vividly remember absolutely hating the photoshoot on the left. It was 100 degrees and the sun was right in my eyes. Bonus fact: that was one of my homeschool text books. 

• Clothes often had giant holes in them. The photographers told me it was to keep anyone from having to pay import taxes when shipping them, because they clearly weren't for sale.
• As a kid, at least, modeling is way more about being professional and easy to work with than being super pretty. I was a cute kid, for sure. But there were definitely more beautiful girls out there who got way less work than me, because I never had 'diva moments'. (I once knew a girl who pitched a complete fit because the photographer had spelled her name Sunny, not Sunni on the contact sheet. Guess who didn't work with the photographer again). 
• Modeling 'families' are hilariously unrealistic. My 'mom' would often be played by 20 year olds.

No Mom, I don't judge you for having me when you were 11.

• The number one thing I learned from being a model is to never trust adverts. The number of giant sandwich clips and safety pins they use to make your clothes fit nicely for the camera is hilarious. I often looked like some sort of stegosaurus with all the clips down my back. I don't think we ever took a picture of the clothes as-is.
• There is a LOT of photoshop that goes into modeling. Even with kids. Actually, especially with kids. I was a normal 9 year old. I had scrapes and bruises all down my bony legs from playing in the woods. I was often completely covered in mosquito bites. It's amazing what a little makeup and a good photo editor can do. 

In the picture on the right, where I'm in orange, I had a fat lip from playing basketball with my dad. You'd never know. Also, there are at least 5 mosquito bite scars absent from my legs. 

• Some of the kids I worked with did go on to become famous. I never wanted to. I was happy with the success I had locally, so I never went out to LA for pilot season (not planes. TV shows). 

Those two pictures on the left are with Devon Werkheiser, star of Ned Bigby's Middle School Survival Guide. I also got to kiss Lucas Till (Havoc from X-Men first class) on the cheek a bunch, but those were all in commercials that I don't have copies of. 

• You make a fair amount modeling. I paid taxes to the government as a 4th grader. You make about $95/hr doing photoshoots, and even more for modeling commercials. That being said, if you factor in the gas money to and from location, the cost of headshots, the cost of my acting classes, the cost of my shoe collection, etc... It's not as amazingly lucrative as you might think.
• Modeling was 150% less catty and demoralizing that public school. If it hadn't been for the economy tanking and the modeling industry slowing down so much, I would have had a hard time going back to public school. I feel like I got nothing but good things out of my experience modeling. I learned about professionalism, interviews, punctuality, and responsibility. I also learned some neat makeup tricks from working with makeup artists! I worked with a ton of absolutely amazing people and I earned money for college! 

(Hey guys! I'm about to make a fancy new blog where I plan on only posting my highest quality creative writing, journalism, and science communication. If you want to help me make that dream come true, PLEASE check out my Patreon page. You'll be my favorite person in the history of all time. And remember, I know famous people. You'll be more favorite than famous people. Imagine that). 

Things that surprised an Irishman about America

So, someone posted this on facebook:

http://thoughtcatalog.com/michael-koh/2013/11/16-people-on-things-they-couldnt-believe-about-america-until-they-moved-here/

For those of you who don't click links, it's a list of things people found mind blowing about america once they moved here.

I decided to ask my resident foreigner about what he found fascinating about America.

• Cracker Barrel (Stephen has an overwhelming love of Cracker Barrel. If given the choice between going there and going just about anywhere else, he will ALWAYS pick Cracker Barrel). I ordered pancakes, and they brought me like fourteen plates of food. There was sausage and bacon and eggs and so much deliciousness. It was awesome. 
• Free refills were pretty awesome, too. You can ask someone, "Can I have another Coke?" and they'll pour it. And you ask "How much will that be?" and it's FREE. 
• Planes are like taxis. One time, I missed a plane. They were just like, "Oh, that's okay. Just catch the next one".  If you did that in the UK it'd be another $400 and a long wait. 
• There's free booze in casinos. FREE booze. 
• Deep fried turkeys. The idea of frying a whole turkey in Ireland is ridiculous. Or, how in the south you can see people barbecuing a whole pig on the back of their car. 
• People are so friendly in the south. You can walk down a street and say hi to someone and they'll say hi back. People wave at you from their cars as they drive by. In Ireland, if you wave at someone, you're going to get something shouted at and something thrown at you. 
• America is huge. It's just... it's massive. And there's so much variety. Mountains, beaches, deserts, forests..... 
• This is the only place I've ever seen dirt poor people. I mean, seriously dirt poor. People wearing hand me downs held together with rags. People talk about Ireland being poor, and it is, but it's nothing like the dirt poor people you can see in the south here. 
• Aside from that, quality of life is generally better here. Things are huge. Everything's cheap. Food is awesome. 
• That people have this weird romantic view of Ireland. St. Patricks day, Irish pubs everywhere. On several occasions I've had Americans argue that they were 'more Irish than me'. 
• Americans seem to hate their own country. living there, you don't see how huge and gorgeous your own country is. You haven't lived in just one small country all your life. So many Americans think america sucks. It really doesn't. It's pretty bad-ass. 

Then I asked him what people in America are most surprised to learn about Ireland.

• That we have cars and electricity. And tvs. And trains. People think Ireland is a little back water. We have modern amenities.
• How heavily influenced we are by American culture. (I, personally, was really surprised to hear that he had played cowboys and indians growing up. Those only existed in America, so I assumed it was an american game). 
• I have never ever eaten corned beef and cabbage. That is an american dish. Not what we eat. 

Pages from an Angsty Mars Rover's Diary

I forgot to post this a few weeks ago when it went up on scenemissingmagazine.com, but today's MAVEN launch has brought it back into my mind.

So, first. Scene Missing Magazine. It's run by the wonderful Jason Mallory, who I became acquainted with through my work with Write Club Atlanta. He sends writers a movie trailer (mine was 2009 space-thriller Last Days on Mars), and then asks them to use that trailer as a prompt. There is also an awesome live show version of this every third Wednesday at the Highland Inn Ballroom. It's awesome. Next week will be full of Chevy Chase.

So, here's the trailer for Last Days on Mars.



I got this only a few days after the end of the Government shutdown, and for whatever reason it led me to question what poor Curiosity, the lovable Mars rover, was up to while NASA was on furlough.

Oct 2, 2013
Dear logbook,
I haven’t heard from NASA in 2 days. Normally, I wouldn’t complain. Everyone needs time off, right? However, usually they’re polite enough to give some warning. Normally, I get some sort of explanation for the silence. But this time? Nothing. Not a damn thing. No “Hey, Curiosity. How’s it going? Thanks for discovering WATER ON MARS. By the way, we’re going to take a few days off, and waste your more than valuable time while we go have some sort of nerd-fueled frat party with Wil Wheaton and Sandra Bullock.”

I mean, it’s not like Mars rovers last forever. I’m still young. I still have some life left in me. But, hell, so was Spirit, and that poor fucker got stuck in a sand pile and had to be repurposed as a glorified robotic weatherman. And then there’s, oh, you know, every other hunk of metal they’ve sent up here who just stopped being able to communicate with NASA at all. It’s not like I wouldn’t jump to THAT conclusion.
I don’t want to be a huge fucking exhaust pipe or anything, but this just isn’t cool. I happen to take this job seriously. I happen to think what I’m doing up here is a bit more important than whatever the hell it is they’re doing instead. I can’t think of a single damn thing that would be so important that it would warrant completely abandoning a two and a half billion dollar piece of state of the art machinery to its own devices. What, did Firefly get approved for a new season? Did Half Life 3 finally come out? Did someone leak naked pictures of Felicia Day? Great. Awesome. Good for them. Meanwhile I’m just sitting up here on the planet those idiots fixated on for years, twiddling my gears.
Maybe I’m overreacting. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. In the meantime, I’m going to go laser some rocks to blow off steam.
-Curiosity.

If you're curious about what happens next... click to read it on the Scene Missing Website.

And, of course, come see the show this Wednesday at 9pm at the Highland Inn Ballroom. See you there!

Why I Donated to WABE

I grew up listening to WABE.

I had a brother who was 4 years older than me, so my childhood was always an arms race of privileges. As soon as Robert would get one, I would want it. When I was 3, Robert started listening to the radio at night. I was immediately jealous. They wouldn’t let me listen to any of the pop stations (because I wouldn’t fall asleep). Instead, they put 90.1 on my dial and said that classical music was good for sleeping. Out of rebellion, I would stay up late listening to symphonies and chamber music and operas. It’s no coincidence that I would later become a huge classical music fan.

In 4th grade, I started homeschooling. I was pretty much given free reign over my curriculum, so long as I got it approved through mom. Checking the WABE schedule for programming relevant to my interests became a huge part of my schooling. I became an expert on what shows were on when, and excitedly run up to my mom and tell her to turn on the radio every week for Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me.

In 6th grade, I was back in public school and I had discovered the joys of the band program. As a budding french horn player, there was nothing better for inspiring me to practice than to listen to From the Top. I’m still a little sad that I never got to be on that show, but it was definitely a huge influence in my life.

In high school, podcasts had just become a thing, but I didn’t have an ipod. Instead, I’d burn NPR podcasts onto a cd, and listen to them on the bus to and from school.  I’d also put a cassette tape into my boom box on friday nights to record the radio as I was heading out the door for marching band, because I simply couldn’t stand missing my favorite programs: From the Top, A Night on the Town, and Weekend Radio (where did that one go, by the way? It was the best thing I’d ever heard. I think I’m the only 23 year old who knows who Bob and Ray and Peter Sellers and Victor Borge are, and it’s thanks to that program). I’d get really mad when football games would go into overtime, because I knew the cassette only lasted till about halfway through Weekend Radio, so I’d miss the end if I wasn’t home on time.

As I’ve traveled into my adult life, I’m fairly certain that my car’s radio has never left 90.1. I listen to it on the way to work, I listen to it on the way home. Heck, I once got a speeding ticket because Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet and I got so caught up in pretending to be a conductor that I was paying no attention to my driving.

I've had countless bonding moments with volunteers at work over our shared love of various programs. I've introduced several people to Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me and My Word who are now die hard fans. I once drunkenly sent a fan letter to Peter Sagal and squealed like a 12-year-old belieber when I got a response. I got really excited about going to Write Club in Atlanta because I found out that someone involved actually worked for WABE.  I met someone who works for Storycorps and may have made her feel a bit odd with how enthusiastic I was about her job. Even now that I’m friends with Myke Johns, and see Amanda Plumb every so often around town… When Aleck Ragsdale interviewed me at Dragon*con this year, I felt ecstatic.

So, why is this my first time pledging?

Well, one- because I’m broke. With my part time job at the Aquarium (surely you understand the frustrations of working for a non-profit) and non-existent writing career, I don’t tend to have any spare change.
And two- because ever since I endured my first pledge drive, I told myself that when I was a grown-up, I would pledge. It became this huge thing in my brain. My one true sign of adulthood would be my ability to pledge for WABE. Well, I guess I’m a full grown woman, now. I can’t pledge much… but every bit helps, right?

This is literally not like most other literally posts.

I saw this on facebook earlier:

Yes, indeed. Improper use of the English language will decimate our ability to understand each other. Why are so many people disinterested in maintaining the sanctity of our incredible language? I mean, it's almost as though, instead of actually studying language in school like the rest of us, they just casually peruse the grammar books and literary texts. I try to be nice, but they make it hard! I honestly don't want to come across as a bully, but when people talk like that, it just makes me nervous. And what of our morals? It's a slippery slope from bad grammar to being horribly promiscuous (and even gay) especially when even the chaperones of our kids are heard misusing English. I cannot express how much it angers me when a pretty girl opens her mouth, says something like "I could literally die right now" and I realize how dumb she is. I mean, maybe she has a fantastic personality. Great. Terrific. Awesome. But I just can't get over how extremely annoying it is when people don't know how to use this word. In this world of technology, can't we just manufacture some artificial brains to help these morons out?  Because clearly they don't listen when we try and tell them they're wrong. It's become a disaster. Lord save us. Every time I think about the future, I just see this dismal vision of stupid people everywhere. You would think it'd be simple to avoid that, but people are stubborn in their ignorance. Ugh. Maybe we can just quarantine those who don't wish to learn it correctly.

I'm just glad there's some of us who still have enthusiasm for proper English. Naturally, I will never give up in my quest to maintain it.

((be sure to click the links))

Hyperactive Individuality Personality Disorder

The American Psychiatric Association has recently published a new paper on a disorder that they're saying affects 87% of the population. The shockingly common disorder, called Hyperactive Individuality Personality Disorder (HIP Disorder), is classified, according Ian Belknap, an expert on the disorder, as "phenomenon of liking something, seeing lame, annoying people liking it, then questioning everything you thought you knew."  

 Sufferers of HIP Disorder, or HIPsters, as they are frequently called by their peers, are often viewed in a negative light.  Society at large tends to look at HIPsters as elitist, snobby, and oddly dressed, but the truth is that, just like with all psychiatric disorders, the stigma surrounding HIP Disorder does very little to help HIPsters deal with this crippling illness. 

 It took a long time to identify HIP Disorder as an actual mental illness.  At first, even the psychological community thought they were just part of a generation that's having trouble adjusting to getting older. 

"We saw that happen with the Yuppie crowd," Dr. Shelly Ulyte told us in an interview last Sunday, "and we are currently doing research on a new illness similar to alcoholism, but with Botox as the drug. We recently have opened multiple Plastics Anonymous centers, and we're beginning to see mental health on the rise as bosoms and chins start to fall."

 But what causes such a high rate of HIP disorder in the 20-40 age range?  Dr. Kat Nyan, who has been studying the generation in question for a while says It's the fault of the web.

 "It's the internet, really. As much as we really like blaming psychological issues on the internet, we really mean it this time. And surprisingly, it's not that the internet allows us to see the deep filthy pits of human existence, or all the problems caused by the short attention spans required to watch hours of Youtube. The problem is all the easy access criticism. HIP Disorder stems out of a paranoia that the sufferer is going to fall into one of the many 'mainstream' categories that get so frequently insulted on the internet.  It's impossible to fit into one without meeting insane amounts of criticism. If you post about your religion, you get met with angry scientists saying you need to learn science. If you post about science, then you get met with those saying you learned it wrong. If you post about wanting to lose weight, you're met with an angry mob telling you to stop shaming curvey women. If you post about being happy with your curves, you're unhealthy and should stop contributing to the culture of obesity."

There is treatment available to help ease the symptoms for HIPsters who want to change.  Dr. Michael Hunt explains it's all about sexual promiscuity.

 "When we're attacked by others for our viewpoints, the attacker is coming out of a place of fear and hurt. They're so uncertain of their own opinion that they fear simply reading yours will cause them to lose all faith in their own arguments and, even worse, form new ones. The best way to combat that is to sleep around. If you've already given out all of your fucks, there's none left to give to the idiots on the internet"

Five things of which I am certain:

1. I am certain of nothing. 

2. The desire for certainty rules me.
3. The fear of uncertainty rules me even further.
4. I will never find certainty.
5. I will never stop searching for it, regardless. 

How to properly make a PB&J

First, you want to pick your ingredients.

The bread selection is absolutely essential. Typically, most PB&Js are served on white bread, whole wheat bread, or honey wheat bread, but you can feel free to let your creativity flow here. Ciabatta, sourdough, a sesame semolina loaf from your local Panera... even a bagel. There are some bread choices I would shy away from (such as rye or pumpernickel), but you really don't learn about how to be a culinary master without a few mistakes.

As far as peanut butter, tastes vary. I prefer a nice creamy peanut butter, but there's many who are crunchy fanboys. Also, lets not forget the healthier alternatives; Natural peanut butter also comes with the added benefit of giving you enough of a work out in stirring the separated halves together that it negates any calories in the sandwich (which means you can add Nutella without feeling guilty).

Most people, when picking Jelly, forget that there's more than one fruit on the planet. Have you ever tried a peanut butter and apricot jelly sandwich? That's right. Apricot. Gordon Ramsay would be proud.

Your next step is to get everything set out. The key to making an amazing sandwich is always preparation.

You want to lay out two slices of bread on a plate.
You want to have two knives out. This is to prevent the classic rookie mistake of cross contamination later in the process.
You want to have your peanut butter and jelly out. This step seems obvious, but I have seen many sandwich artisans forget the basics.
You want a napkin. Although a large part of learning is taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy (or so I learned from television), there's no sense in making your counters all sticky and gross if you don't have to.

Make sure you plan out your ratios. Too often have I seen sandwiches made with far too much peanut butter or far too much jelly. This sandwich is all about balance. It's like the buddhist monk of sandwiches. An edible ying-yang.

Alright, it's time. Are you ready, brave noms-warrior? Let's get down to business.

Open your peanut butter. Waft in that nutty goodness. Memory is strongly tied to smell, and you want to be able to remember this sandwich forever.

Grab your knife, and scoop out the desired amount. Remember, grasshopper. Balance.

Scrape your knife slowly across one side of one of the bread slices. That's an important detail. You don't want that gooey paste on the side of the bread where your hand is going to be, do you? Then it'll get in your hair, and all the boys in your 7th grade class will make fun of you. Or so I hear, from... legends.

Now, put that knife in the dishwasher. I know it'll seem wasteful, but I read on cracked.com or something that dishwashers waste less water than handwashing, so do it. For the trees.

Open the jelly and grab your second knife. This is the turning point for all sandwiches. The true test of if you have enough discipline and inner peace to get the balance between sweet and nutty just perfect. This is the moment you've been training your whole life for. Scoop out the jelly, and put it on one side of the other slice of bread.

Oh man, you're so close to being done now. Do you feel it? The power of the sandwich rising in you like the dough of the ancients?

Take the slice covered in jelly and place it, jelly side down, on top of the peanut butter. It's okay to cry at the beauty of these two powerful flavors merging together at last to create gustatory perfection. I know I have.

Once the powerful wave of emotions has subsided, feel free to take yet another knife and cut the sandwich however you chose. Remember, you are the artist. You made this masterpiece. You are the reason that I am drooling right now, as I type this, imagining your impeccable sandwich as my stomach sings hymns of praise.

The time has come, now, for you to become one with the sandwich. Go ahead, have a bite. It was made for you.




((This came from the question:  "Explain how you would tell someone how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." on a job application. This is what I sent them.))