A Quote by Rainn Wilson

I remember being unemployed and walking the East Village streets for many years, constantly checking my voice mail on pay phones, hoping for an audition. — © Rainn Wilson
I remember being unemployed and walking the East Village streets for many years, constantly checking my voice mail on pay phones, hoping for an audition.
I grew up in a quiet suburb in South Texas, and loved the in-your-faceness of the East Village. In the early days, when I was still unemployed, I'd lie on a bench in Tompkins Square Park perusing the listings in the 'Village Voice' for a place to live.
My parents spent 16 years hauling my butt to L.A. for audition after audition. I remember always hoping I could help take care of them because they took such good care of me.
Where today people surf the Web and check their e-mail on their cell phones, tomorrow they will be checking their vital signs.
Even when people are watching a movie in a multiplex, they insult the film by constantly checking their phones and flashing lights. At times, even when the audience is being told to not flash their cameras, they do, and you can't do anything because it's a habit for them and they can't stop. I don't want that for myself.
I remember at the time, there were all these teen movies being made. It was this resurgence of John Hughes-esque teen comedies. I was sent a lot of them to audition for, and a lot of them at the time didn't really impress me. I remember I was sent one called East Grand Rapids High, which ended up becoming American Pie, and I didn't like it. Although I think I did audition for it.
I've known the poet Eileen Myles since the 1990s, when I first moved to New York, and I remember seeing her walking her Pit Bull Rosie around the East Village. She had these beautiful arms and David Cassidy hair and the sort of swagger so many of the gay boys I knew wished we had. We all had crushes on her.
I'd spent my first 12 years in New York in an East Village walk-up. The upstairs neighbor was the cowboy from the Village People.
I like being able to put out my own content instead of just going from audition to audition and just waiting and hoping.
One metaphor for how we are living is that you see so may people with cell phones. In restaurants, walking, they have cell phones clamped to their to heads. When they are on their cell phones they are not where their bodies are...they are somewhere else in hyperspace. They are not grounded. We have become disembodied. By being always somewhere else we are nowhere.
I already shred all my mail. What am I supposed to do now? Use pay phones? Smoke signals? Train pigeons? There's no such thing as privacy anymore.
I started in theater when I was 14 in the Henry Street Playhouse on the Lower East Side in New York. You hustle, you beat the sidewalk, the pavement - audition, audition. I just started working around town everywhere. I mean everywhere - the Village, Harlem, you know. Brooklyn Academy Of Music. Just job after job.
Unlike then, the mail stream of today has diminished by such things as e-mails and faxes and cell phones and text messages, largely electronic means of communication that replace mail.
When you start thinking about taking pictures, sending an e-mail, receiving an e-mail, speaking into your phone and have it transcript voice into text and then sent as an e-mail, it's mind-boggling.
I met many Christians leaving the Middle East, hoping to come to Australia feeling they would leave behind a society where they were inferiors in their native lands and they are disturbed about the rise of more separate radical Islam in Australia, not necessarily the main stream but there is a voice.
I don't find imitating other people's music easy at all. I remember being fifth in line for a Rolling Stones tour, early '90s, when Bill Wyman left, and I was hoping against hope that I wouldn't get the call to audition. I wouldn't be able to play a Stones song if you put a gun to my head.
I remember coming to New York, in 1974 to do a play here called Equis. And I remember the first morning getting up and walking around the streets and I thought, "I'm home." I felt really at peace here.
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