The Season 2 Premiere!

It has arrived!

The 2nd season of Inside The Box is in full swing with the season premiere, "Introductions!" In this funny, heartfelt, edited collection of interviews, I introduce you to the 11 women who will be featured throughout the season. This extended episode gives you a peep inside these inspirational women's lives and to mine! The women of this season are, Amy Adams, Tara Donovan, Lisa Starry, Charlotte Crow, Carla Delaney, Kimberly Condict, Katie Walder, Sierra Delgado, Fara D'aguiar, Madelynn Elyse, and Stephani Casey. These women are fascinating as they discuss both their careers and personal lives and the attempt to find the perfect balance. Enjoy and tune in every Monday for new episodes. Next week: "Hometowns: and what makes them fantastic... or not so fantastic."

Inside the Box Episode 6- Jenny Cadena

From right: Ana, Andrea, Jenny, Randi

Episode 6 of Inside the Box is, as always, hosted by Andrea and co-hosted by Randi. This week, new panelist, Ana joins us with special guest, Colombian-born actress and activist, Jenny Cadena! We discuss the purpose of Inside the Box, Randi's new segment, "Randi's super irrelevant movie review," late-life religious conversions, activism, female roles in film, the tough business of acting, and how to survive in Hollywood with "unpopular" political views. Listen here or download us on Itunes! 

Regrets, Second Chances, and 'Star Search'

Everybody knows you were the real star, Ed. There was no need to search.

My first big audition as a kid was for the popular talent show of the 80s and 90s, ‘Star Search.’ I don’t remember how old I was, but I do remember my hair was cut short (the beginning of the white-girl-fro that kept me a virgin until my 20s.) So, I was at least 8 or 9. I loved to sing and was not new to performing. You may know me from my stint as a front row performer in “The Talent Sprouts” from 1985-87 as ‘Skidamarink-a-dink-a-dink’ soloist. (A title I gave myself.)  By 8, I had taught myself to play the piano and was performing regularly around the house, so, to my parents, this seemed to be a way they could really support me. My dad heard on the radio that they were holding auditions at the Arizona Biltmore in Phoenix and asked me if I wanted to do it. This was a special thing because it is one of the times in my life that stands out to me where my dad was really excited for something I was going to do. He was going to drive me the 30 minutes to the Biltmore on his day off, he was going to wait with me, and he was either going to dry my tears or deal with an impossible diva for several years. Or both. (Hint: it was both.)

I was so excited! ‘Star Search’ was my favorite show.  I can still remember the adrenaline running through me as a I envisioned my 4 star rating, a pat on the back from Ed McMahon himself, and that side-eye smirk I’d give to the talentless twit I’d inevitably beat out. I could be on TV! When my dad said he’d take me, I had to tell somebody, so I ran through the house to tell my neighbor and ran full speed into the sliding glass door. It hurt pretty badly, but no matter. I had to shout it from the roof tops! “I WAS GOING TO BE ON STAR SEARCH!” Then I threw up. Maybe from the excitement, but probably from a concussion. This should have a been a sign to work on my nerves and excitability, but I had visions of stardom in my eyes. 

I still remember the drive to the Biltmore in our brown Subaru. It was a long drive into a part of Phoenix I had never been. I wore my coolest outfit sewn by my grandmother and definitely brushed my teeth. (Anything for Ed.) I chose to sing the title theme from Beauty and the Beast. The movie was all the rage at the time and Angela Lansbury sang it too, so it seemed the appropriate choice for 8 or 9 year old me. The Biltmore was an intimidating, much-too-fancy-for-me place. There were other kids there in outfits much superior to mine. (Their grandmothers must have been more talented.) They’d put on make-up and had long beautiful hair. I didn’t even own make-up or hair. I began to get nervous. Were there really other children who could sing like me in Arizona? Where did they all come from?!

#Doppleganger #Hotfor8 #Lansburyhair

#Doppleganger

With words of encouragement from my parents, I signed in and waited my turn. There were other kids around me doing, what I now know as “warm-ups” but then, I was like, “Why are they wasting their voice? I’m saving mine for Ed.” They all sounded pretty good and for a moment, I worried. Again, my parents encouraged me to ignore it and focus on my song. So I did. And when it was my turn, I walked into the conference room where my parents were not allowed and up on to the makeshift stage and to the microphone stand. My karaoke music began to play and I… began to shake uncontrollably. This was literally my first time singing into a microphone alone. The lights were so bright, I could barely make out what was in the room. I squinted and saw what looked like a panel of 3 judges. They were intimidating and for some reason wore sunglasses in a very dark room. I remember being absolutely convinced one of them was Murphy Brown. Not Candice Bergen, but Murphy Brown herself and I got even more nervous. It was time for me to sing. My throat was so tight that I was barely able to get out the first phrase. So, I sang louder but this made my lips quiver with nerves. Don’t stop! I thought. Think of Ed! I embarrassingly squeaked through the rest of the song. It was the most terrified I’ve been in my entire life and it may be the most pathetic rendition of “Beauty and the Beast” there ever was. I finished to a few sporadic claps and I ran out of the room with tears in my eyes. I met my parents in the hallway. “I did sooooo bad!” I said still shaking, still teary eyed. Of course, they consoled me, but I was devastated. I’d ruined my ONE chance to be on ‘Star Search.’

My dad had left, presumably to see what the judges had to say and when he came back, he said, “good news! They really want you to try it again and maybe hold the microphone this time!”

“No. No, thank you.” I said. At the time, I was thinking that I had done so terribly that they were going to let me try it again to see if I could sing and not be so unbelievably pathetic a 2^nd time. So, of course I was not going to give them the satisfaction of making me look like a fool!

“Are you sure?” My dad asked. “We're here now, Andrea. And they want you to try it again. How often will you have this chance?”  

I started to cry again. “Please don’t make me do it,” I pleaded. I was just too scarred from the whole experience to try again. I obviously was a terrible singer. So, we left. And I was never on ‘Star Search’ and I have been left to fight my way to stardom the old fashioned way, as a waitress in a restaurant.

"Brittany AND Andrea got their starts on Star Search. Poor Brittany, though." - everyone.

This. THIS. This is my one regret in life. I don’t regret volunteering as my junior high mascot, I don’t regret cutting my hair short at 16 when I should have been dating, I don’t even regret wearing Birkenstocks during my formative years, but not taking that second chance in the Arizona Biltmore that Saturday afternoon in 1991 in front of Murphy Brown? I regret that day.  As I’ve grown older, there have been other auditions. Good ones and bad. And I’ve learned second chances don’t often happen in life, let alone in the audition room. At the time, I thought the second chance meant I’d done terrible the first time so I NEEDED to try again. Now I know, what that second chance really meant was that I’d done well enough, the judges saw possible potential in me, AND they didn’t think it would be a colossal waste of their time while having to see hundreds of kids that day, to have me sing for them, possibly the most boring song ever written, ONE MORE TIME. The Andrea of today knows that a second chance is the highest of honors in an audition room. I’ve never turned down a second chance since then. Second chances are the greatest of gifts from our creator. They allow us to grow and learn and, best of all, redeem. I wish I’d known this then. Who really knows what would’ve happened had I taken that opportunity that day? I’m not saying I’d be one of those rare child stars that had a successful movie career, remained well adjusted, and is now the loveable and hilarious young mom on a successful sitcom with 2 kids in real life and a husband whose career is really taking off named, Charlie Hunnam. (No offense to my actual husband-to-be, its just that most couples meet at work so I’m being realistic.) What I am saying, is I would KNOW that I did my best. I would KNOW I took every chance. I would have lived so far, with no regrets. I hope I can always remember to live this way, especially when I’m most terrified, because that means it will be worth it. 

A monologue for the Everyday Ingenue

This is the full length version of the monologue originally delivered by actress, Meagan English as "Louise" in 2014's "Louise and Myra: Take an Acting Class." It was written by me with lots of love. 


You can watch the episode here. 


This monologue is inspired by the many monologues we, as actors are required to study. I wanted to pay homage to the playwrights who've allowed us to "show our range" throughout the years. Actors, feel free to use it as you wish. In fact, I dare you to. 



BECKY, early twenties, southern

I watched the birds that day. The sky was cloudy. There was a distinct chill in the air. I knew something was different. Mother was actin’ strangely when she came back from the grocery. Usually she was chattier than a Mo-hen. I suppose grief brings on reflectin’ for most people. She’d even forgotten the lemons for Grand-mammy’s marmalade. I was gonna make if for her… for her funeral. I suppose I thought that if I continued to make her marmalade that she’d somehow still be with us. How could I possibly have left for Charlotte then? When my family was grievin’ so. They needed me. Daddy needed me. Oh, Grand-mammy! (tears) She would always know what to do!

Harold had taken up with a band at a new club in Charlotte. They’d asked me to sing for ‘em. No one had asked me to sing for a livin’ before. I knew this was more than a simple proposition. Harold was lookin’ to marry me and I knew it. You can tell when a man’s got intentions. It’s a look in the eye. The way he looks at you. If you melt, then you’re hooked, line and sinker. And oh boy, did I melt with that boy. Charlotte was an opportunity that Palkeepawa Parish couldn’t offer me. If I had left, Lord knows I wasn’t comin’ back! Its like my Grand-mammy always used to say, “Becky! You were meant for more than this good for nothin’ town! You’re a star!” You couldn’t argue with Grand-mammy. Oh! How I loved that old Bitty! Why’d you have to go on and leave us, Grand-mammy!”

The birds were quiet. They weren’t singin’ the same songs. Hell, they weren’t singin’ at all. They sat gathered on the fences connectin’ the crops like they did each afternoon. They were just silent. I reckoned they missed Grand-mammy, too. I knew Daddy would be back with the preacher soon, so I began to tidy up. Lord knows I’m the only one who ever did it. (Laughs) Tidyin’ up always reminded me of singin’ old spirituals with Grand-mammy. (Sings) Swing low, Sweet Chariot, comin forth to carry me home… (After a moment) She’d always said that the good lord planted Grand-dad’s vocal chords right into mine. I loved it when she told me that. I didn’t know him, but I have to suppose he sang like an angel.

While cleanin’ I heard a car pullin’ up. I figured it was Daddy but as I looked out the window, I saw that it was Harold! ‘What on earth was he doing here,’ I thought! I rushed to get freshened up. I was in no condition to see my beloved. What a surprise it was! I ran down the stairs and out onto the front porch to meet him. He seemed distressed and his countenance was a bit dark. He didn’t reach for me like he always did. “What’s the matter, my darlin’?” I asked. He just shook his head as he reached into his pocket and handed me a letter. We stood there in silence as I opened it. It was his handwritin’. I’d recognize that chicken scratch anywhere. I’d smile at the thought if his demeanor wasn’t so damn troublin’. The first words were, “My Sweet Peach, Rebecca. I’m sorry…” I couldn’t read on. I just couldn’t. As I looked up, he’d began to walk back toward his truck and I yelled after him, “Dammit, Harold! What on earth did you do?!” He kept walkin’. Why today of all days? My world was cavin’ and there was no savin’ me if Harold left me. I ran after him before he drove away, cryin’ and screamin’, “Harold! Don’t you go! Harold! I love you, Dammit!” I reached the truck door and he looked at me with pain in his eyes. We locked our gaze for only a fleeting second, both knowin’ this would be the last time. And then, I took Harold’s hand, and he said, “I love you, too.” And then he left me there.

And the birds were never quite the same. Nothin’ was ever quite the same. 

Acting in LA: "Where is my standing ovation?"

I’m an actor. So my life, like many other actors’ lives leading up to

Bitches has NOTHN' on me, dude! 

the move to Los Angeles went a little something like this: The young Actor is an adorable toddler growing up in Suburbantown, USA. Your parents video tape you constantly, catching classic moments like you singing The Donkey Song because it's just so sweet the way you really nail the voice of the donkey. Or they capture your best re-enactments of scenes from The Outsiders. At 5 years old, your impression of ‘Blanch’ from The Golden Girls and ‘Jessica Rabbit’ from Who Framed Roger Rabbit is the HIT of your family parties. Your parents’ friends say things like, “You’re kid is so cute! You should get them to Hollywood!” So, your parents put you in dance classes, piano lessons, voice lessons, clarinet lessons, karate class, etc. because you’re a kid and you can’t make up your mind. All you know is, doing all this stuff is fun and you’re pretty good at it!  Then you hit middle school and you’re doing school plays, you’re the class clown, you’re crying after a really intense debate in Social Studies even though you don’t really care if “Friday should be pizza day in the cafeteria,” you just know that was the role you were given and dammit, you’re passionate about it. This only intensifies when you get to high school. Musicals, dance concerts, choir concerts,… your talents are endless and your focus is stardom. You are the envy of your friends and the hit of every party. Next, you go to college, where, naturally there are more like you, but this only motivates you further and you manage to still come out among the top talents! You’re nominated for awards, you’re cast in local films,

There are no roles like this. Anymore. Ever. 

you’re all up in the community theater scene where standing ovations are regular thing and people are like, “Actor! What are you doing here!?! You should be in LA!” And you start to think…. Yeah, I love to perform and yeah, people seem to think I’m pretty good at it. Yeah, YEAH, YEAH!!! I’m moving to Los Angeles, CA to be a STAR!

Exactly how my exit from AZ went.....

So, with a family and a community of supporters, you pack up your life and head to Hollywood to be in the movies. You’re so excited. You sell your things. Surely you’ll be on a TV show within the year because you’re hilarious and talented and everyone says so. Well-wishers are telling you how “incredible it is that you’re following your dreams!” and “Good luck! I know you’ll make it!” So, with extraordinary motivation, you arrive in Los Angeles, where dreams come true!

Reality hits hard and fast in LA.

The only place you can afford on your $1000-a-month budget (That paid a mortgage on a 3 bedroom in Suburbantown) is a dilapidated “bachelor” in a super sketchy neighborhood in the not-so-glamorous part of East Hollywood. It has no parking, no laundry, no windows, and the toilet probably does a weird thing. It is a 400 sq. foot room with a mini fridge and hot plate. But, this is fine because it’s definitely only short term….. You spend your first days scouring the internet for auditions and open calls. And because you don’t know about Actors Access or LA Casting yet, you spend a lot of time trying to decipher which of the Craigslist auditions are legitimate. (The answer is "none.") You and your inbox are flooded with advertisements for workshops, classes, headshots, agent showcases, etc.  As you explore your neighborhood, you realize that everyone is in “the industry.”  EVERYONE. Even the homeless have probably had a guest star on Everybody Loves

"Who hasn't, homeless dude? Who doesn't need help?!" 

Raymond or a documentary made about them so, fuck ‘em. Most in “the industry” are so self-involved, they are unwilling to help you and if they do, everyone’s opinion about what to do to “make it” in “the industry” is so vastly different, how do you decide who to listen to? And there are literally, 10's of millions of people in LA trying to make it. Just like you. All of the sudden, the hometown superstar feels insignificant at best.

But you are resilient! Because you are SPECIAL!

1.       Mail your headshots to agents, check.

2.       Sign up for that really expensive acting class a few recommended, check.

3.       Sign up for Improv, check! (Good luck picking that class. Diehards. All of them.)

Now, 6 months have gone by. You still have no agent. You’ve been on a few auditions for UCLA or AFA student films but have not booked one. You were an extra once for a friend’s short film. Well, twice if you count your spot in the audience at Norm McDonald’s short lived comedy sports show on Comedy Central. But you only saved for 6 months of living because you were sure you’d be making $100,000 an episode by now.  So, you’re broke and you need a job. No problem! You think. Because you’ll just get a serving job. Well guess what the fuck every one of the other millions (literally) of struggling actors are doing for money in Los Angeles? You guessed it. They’re getting a measly, pathetic serving job. That’s fine, you think, because you were a server in college! I have experience, you think. This does not matter. You simply have to be lucky enough to find someone that is hiring and get through the “headshot” round of interviews for the little, B-rated, Korean BBQ restaurant in Hollywood (Yes, most Hollywood restaurants will ask for your headshot. And nooooo, this city isn’t superficial at aaaaallll) and hope they hire YOU out of the 100 applicants they received for the 1 open position.

But you find one! Because you are SPECIAL!

NOW you’re a server. You’re an intelligent, immensely and 

Could make millions from the people who claim the titles on this hat.

multi-talented SERVER. That’s OK! You think. Because it’s just your "day" job. And while this may be true, after a little while, you start to get really good at bringing people ketchup because you’re doing it A LOT. After all, you have to pay for the acting classes, the casting workshops, the 2^nd and 3^rd round of headshots people in “the industry” insisted you needed, and GROCERIES… and it’s bumming you out.

It’s been a year since your move to Los Angeles and now you’ve got a commercial agent that you got through mailing your headshot and resume, but she keeps sending you out on bi-lingual, "ethnically ambiguous" auditions because she’s senile. You’re still in acting classes and in Improv

Estelle had nothin' on my first agent in LA. 

and now you’re doing a play! It’s in a theater smaller than your “bachelor” apartment, but you’re doing what you love! You continue to meet more and more exceptionally talented people. And while this can be so inspiring, it can also be discouraging. Everywhere you turn, someone is doing something way better than you. You even met someone whose impression of Drew Barrymore puts yours to shame…. and Shit! That was kinda your thing! You can’t figure out how people get real, theatrical agents (a theatrical agent is the kind of agent that represents actors for film and television) because most agents won’t even consider you as a client unless you’ve got “a few co-stars under your belt.” ('co-star' is LA lingo for 3-5 lines on a TV show.) BUT YOU CAN’T GET THOSE AUDITIONS UNLESS YOU HAVE A THEATRICAL AGENT!! Therein lies the problem.

But YOU are resilient! Because YOU are soooooo FUCKING SPECIAL!

It’s been two years since your move to Los Angeles. You’re feeling just OK at this point. You booked a small commercial for an app no one’s heard of. You’ve probably created your own webseries by now that your mom and her friends really love. You’re in an Improv group with a supremely clever pun as the title. (ie. Barren Mind, Cerebal Ballzy, etc.)  You’re really nailing this amazing scene in your acting class. Your acting teacher thinks you have something special. You subsequently bought 6 more months of classes. You

"I have a gun!" -The best entrance in to any improv scene. 

sign up for a theatrical agent showcase with incredible confidence. You will definitely get an agent this time. You’re performing a scene perfect for YOU. You arrive at the showcase, and you’re definitely the actor with the most “it factor” in the room (because of your new boots.) When you perform your scene, you really “get there” and you know the agents will see this. (Because big Hollywood agents are always intelligent, intuitive, compassionate human beings with an empathy for the plight of actors and an eye for talent. Insert sarcasm asterisk here.) In a room full of your peers, your scene is the performance of a lifetime. Better than anything you did in college or anything for which you won an award. Meryl Streep herself would need to avert her eyes from your radiance.…… As you finish though, there is a painful silence. Crickets. An actor asshole in the back row yawns while the others are looking at their own scenes or are on their phones. The agent isn’t even looking at you, he is scribbling something down on your feedback form you paid $150 for this showcase to get. You stand there awkwardly for a moment because this was somehow supposed to feel different, but you say a confident (still acting), “thank you” and sit down next to an asshole actor who, instead of saying a polite, “good job,” says, “Do you have a highlighter I can borrow?” (Actors like to color their scripts with highlighters, for that is only way they’ll know which line to speak.)  Your ONE hope is that, whatever that agent scribbled down on that form, that piece of paper, it will offer some response, some closure to your performance or maybe, just maybe, it will change your life by saying something like, “You’ve got the “IT” factor. Call me!” You patiently wait until the end of the workshop. You scramble to get in line to collect your form. You retrieve it and shove it in your notebook and briskly walk past your cackling fellow actors (who might as well have their noses directly inserted into eachothers’ anuses) to the parking garage where you can read your feedback in private. You finally arrive at your car, hop inside, and pull out the form……

 It reads only “nice” No capitol ‘N,’ no punctuation, just “nice”         .

This may or may not be an actual real photo from my actual real life. 

Deflated, you fight horrendous traffic back to your much too small and too expensive apartment. You remember you have to get groceries but you gave up that serving shift tonight to go the aforementioned workshop so you have no money and no choice but to heat up that Ramen from the back of your cupboard. On your couch with your noodles and tall glass of faucet water, you sit and question all of your life decisions that led to this exact moment in your life.

THIS. THIS is what it’s like to be an actor in Los Angeles. (For most.)

The glimmer of hope is this: It happens for some. The definition of “it” is different for everyone but whether “it” be fame, fortune, or just a humble, honest living as an actor in LA, “it” dangles in front of millions of aspiring, like a carrot in front of an ass.

My only advice, (if I’m qualified to offer any) is to follow these 3 rules:

Never has a gimmick gone so horribly wrong. 

1.       Do only what inspires you. – You might feel good getting a paycheck for “acting” but after a while, commercials holding a cell phone just so or insisting that a certain tampon was the best for your fictional ski weekend, will not be the fulfilling, meaningful career you hoped it would be. Gimmicks are a great way to “get in the door” but look what happened to Carrot Top.

2.       Create your own work. (Art) Only you know YOU. Create roles for yourself that showcase your abilities. If you are creating and creatively fulfilled, others will be attracted to that. And more work and opportunity will come.

3.       For the love of God, do NOT go on Facebook. Never was there ever a bigger well of depression than the site that makes EVERY one’s lives look way more fantastic than yours. Don’t do

This guy used Facebook to save his father's life... Nothing I do will be better. Ever. 

it. Don’t fall into that rabbit hole. Nuff said.