It struck me today, on my long drive back from an audition for a training video in Watsonville, where I used an East Coast accent that brought chuckles to the audience as I portrayed a mean bill collector, that I may be some sort of gambler. But, instead of betting on horses or playing the numbers, I audition for roles. Isn't it a numbers game? Am I not the horse I am betting on?
Is it in the DNA? One of my grandfathers was an inveterate gambler. Horses. Cards. He was an accountant, too. Held down some serious jobs in lower Manhattan. An immigrant with big dreams, he lived a fast life and died much too young.
I went to the beach today after the audition, enjoyed a tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat on Aptos Beach. Tasted the salt, felt the breeze, gazed at the crowd. Drove home before sunset.
So, did I win?
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