Sydney's "Star Wars" Adventure, Part II

And so the "Star Wars" saga continues…

When we last left our hearty little band of travelers, they were holed up at a Red Roof Inn with a questionable stain on the dresser, a loud marital dispute in the parking lot and the thermostat set to a fiery, sleep-preventing 85 degrees. 

Our heroes departed for their destination at 6:30am to be confronted with a determined line of between 50 to 75 fellow dream-seekers.  Armed with little oranges (marketed as “Cuties”) and Raisinettes, Sydney and I joined the throng (sorry for the sudden switch in narrative style). We quickly made friends with our line-mates:  Anthony, a local college student who was a wonderful blend of my nephew Colby and Schmidt from “New Girl” and Jacob, an acting student from Denver who was a dead-ringer for Peeta from “The Hunger Games.” We immediately forged an unshakable alliance; each member contributing to the well-being and success of the group. Anthony was responsible for surveillance and information-gathering, jettisoning from our position in line to interview others and bringing back valuable updates. “I heard that they ask a series of three questions,” Anthony said upon returning from one of his missions,

The line of would-be stars wrapped around the building,

“Do you act? What do you do to relax? and “What’s your favorite movie?” Debating the best possible answers to these questions occupied us for about an hour.  Jacob’s contribution to the group consisted of sharing his acting knowledge with us, rattling off three different types of acting methods which all sounded eerily similar to the fancy-type of pasta dishes served at four-star restaurants.  Besides being eye-candy, Sydney and I were in charge of snack distribution and had direct access to Brad Mosiman, waiting in the van to purchase umbrellas and store backpacks that weren’t allowed into the auditions.

After four hours and one brief rain shower, the line, which had grown to an astonishing 1,500 or so, suddenly began to move as Anthony was shaking down a facilities director for information.  We called out for him as we were swept along toward the door.  Quickly catching up, Anthony and Jacob were admitted before the door was barred.  Sydney and I waited an additional ten minutes before we were also directed in and asked to wait at the entrance of the conference room.  Anthony met us there, explaining to the staff member that he had seats for us and off we went.

Muppet Stormtroopers

The conference room had an occupancy of 600 people.  Our nearly hour-long wait there was filled with lively discussions, picture-sharing, script reading and a lot of checking out the competition.  Without warning, Muppet characters dressed as storm-troopers bombarded the room, racing up the aisles. Sam the Eagle, Gonzo, Monster and Kermit posed with fans, sat at the reception tables and chased an 8-year-old up the aisle before handing it over to the audition representative who explained the process and directed the staff to begin lining people up for their 30-second shot at stardom.

I maneuvered around the room to get a good picture of Sydney as she approached the table. I felt

Syd shaking hands with the casting call representative

terrible for all the other girls because it was so clear that Sydney was perfect for the part. Poised and confident, Sydney stepped forward to shake the representative’s hand. The woman was obviously speechless, so dazzled by my daughter that she was only able to croak out, “Thank you for coming,” before motioning Sydney to the exit. It was the most exciting moment of my life. Jacob, Anthony, and Sydney all left on Cloud 9, all justifiably certain that they will each be receiving a very special phone call in the near future. We all bid one another a heart-felt farewell; glad that we could all say that we knew one another before attaining super-stardom.

All that was left was Brad’s explanation as to why we were traveling through Canada at customs. On the way to the audition, my husband’s response was met with a long pause and then a surprisingly human grin before the agent wished us, “Good luck.” On the way back, the custom’s agent again paused before saying, “Really?”  After answering further custom’s-related questions such as “Was it a play or a movie?” and “How did you do?,” we were on our way back to our home galaxy. Be sure to look for Sydney Mosiman as the starring female lead in the up-coming “Star Wars” release, coming soon to a theatre near you. 

The Road to Stardom, Part I

What a strange world. One day, you're eating under-cooked onion rings at a Bob's Big Boy and the next, you're being "discovered" at a moderately-priced hotel conference room in a suburb of Detroit. But this story actually begins far from our luxurious penthouse quarters of the Red Roof Inn...back almost a week ago when Brad saw a news program about open casting calls for the new "Star Wars" movie. It was (almost like) an act of God. Our family's conversations are peppered with "Star Wars" quotes, Sydney owns an impressive collection of "Star Wars" themed t-shirts, Savannah once talked us into purchasing a $50 Darth Vader mask for Halloween, and Brad and Sydney spent several hours constructing me an R2D2 costume just this year! If there was a movie custom-made...fated, if you will...for the Mosiman family, "Star Wars" was it.

Sydney immediately began doing research and almost as immediately, was devastated as she learned that the cities hosting casting calls (Nashville, Chicago, Detroit) were well out-of-geographical-range...seemingly light years away. Add to that, this week-end coincided with the opening day of deer season, a sacred holiday religiously observed by Brad Mosiman consecutively for well over two decades. One hundred percent behind my secret plans to drive Sydney to Detroit, Brad listened with some concern and trepidation as I mapped out my route. "You will be driving through Canada, won't you?" he inquired. "Why," I asked, "Oh! Is it because a Great Lake lies between NY and Michigan?" "No," he sighed, realizing that he would be missing his favorite day of the entire year to drive me successfully to my destination, "It's because Canada lies between NY and Michigan."

And so began our impromptu road-trip. Sydney, somewhat shell-shocked when she learned this morning that we were heading to Detroit, immediately immersed herself into her character of "Rachel," a beautiful, rough-and-tumble, street-smart girl by singing Disney's "Bare Necessities" for the first hour of the ride. Brad, forgetting how easy we are to please, was disgusted by our excited appreciation for his generous side-trip at a McDonald's along the way. I was caught up in simultaneous feelings of worry and wonder when I discovered that a little ladybug had hitched a ride with us and I worried about this startling transition. This was a big move for her.

Anticipating long lines, Sydney and I packed lawn furniture and sleeping bags good to 40 below. ("40 degrees," Brad sighed, "Don't you EVER listen?"). We arrived at the location a full day early to scout it out, prepared to join the throngs of thousands and spend the night in the bitter cold to defend our place in line. We pulled into the nearly vacant parking lot while Brad, who never for one moment planned to sleep in a parking lot, smirked and pointed out perfect places to set up our lounge chaises. Sydney and I surveyed the lay-out of the hotel and banquet facilities before heading out to fuel up on snack supplies and to settle into our fine accommodations, here, at the Red Roof Inn. It has been a long and arduous journey, fraught with frustration and terror. Alone in a dark parking lot, Sydney and I struggled to secure the van to no avail, faced with the futility that we were too stupid to manage an automated locking system, unaware that Brad, intent on revenge from his having to miss the opening day of deer season because his wife suffers from spacial-deficiency-syndrome, was poised on the 2nd floor balcony, remotely unlocking the van and unhinging his family.  When Syd and I approached Room 217, we paused uncertainly before its darkened window. Is this the wrong room, we wondered? Did we not listen carefully enough to Brad (again)? We knocked hesitantly, peering into the window when a face suddenly loomed out of the darkness, causing us to scream. Brad opened the door, laughing, his self-therapy somewhat relieving the stress of his having to sit in a Bob's Big Boy booth rather than a deer stand.

Tomorrow: the audition!

Napping on a feather bed

Ours is a household constantly at odds.  Brad delights in a meal completely manufactured by Mosiman means.  The girls and I adore the convenience of paper plates that can handle the weight of pre-packaged foods laden with preservatives.   Brad revels in laundry drying outdoors on the line while we are content to leave completed clothes stored in the dryer for days.  During the bitterly cold Western New York winters, Brad harkens back to heartier pioneer days and sets the thermostat at a frosty 58 degrees so blanket use is at a premium, driving them quickly to a thread-bare state.  Brad refuses to throw them away despite gaping holes.  It appears to snow indoors throughout the year as the dogs dig comforter stuffing out and scatter it attractively about the house.  Hanging outside, these beaten-down blankets look like they've reached the end of the line from a Mosiman-imposed death sentence.

Yesterday, I was curled under one of these magical blankets taking a Saturday nap when Brad came in the room to torment me.  After he had the dogs perform a series of back-flips and tricks on the bed, my husband's attention became fixated on an object hidden within the recesses of my blanket.  "Did you lose a squeaker toy," he asked Chlo, beginning an enthusiastic search of the comforter.  Brad's arm disappeared into one of the many holes in the blanket that was once, sort of covering me during my nap.  "It seems to have lost it's squeak," he told Chlo as first my feet, then leg became exposed to the cold afternoon air of June.  My husband's nose wrinkled slightly as he paused in his search for Chlo's lost toy, "Did you do something," he asked me.  "No," came my muffled and disgusted reply from where my head was buried in my goose-down pillow.  Despite the odor, Brad continued his ceaseless search for the squeak-less toy.  Chlo was, at this point, all a-twitter.  I couldn't wait for my husband to get the heck out of my bedroom.

Shoulder-deep, Brad's hand successfully clamped down on his goal.  My entire body was shivering from exposure as he removed the object victoriously from the comforter.  Brad and Chlo were both shocked by the big reveal.  The toy, lost deep within the depths of the blanket that had been tucked under was, in fact, a dead bird.  Brad, whose grandfather is 1/8th Blackfoot Indian (making Brad...what? 1/16th?), involuntarily began the intricate steps of a death dance ritual to ensure this animal's safe journey to the afterworld.  As he danced around my room in complete disgust and revulsion, Brad found himself trapped like a....like a...like a bird that had gotten into a hole in a ratty ol' blanket hanging outside on a line to dry.  As he fought his way out the door with a fist full of feathers, Brad began the next series of his ritualistic dance, flapping his hands and letting out a small series of screams before projecting the bird heavenward.

As my nap cycle had not yet reached completion, I took this moment of silence to tug the blanket back up to grab a few more zs.  Please don't judge me too harshly, I didn't tuck it up under my chin.  I harkened back to Star Wars:  The Empire Strikes Back when Hans Solo kills his Tauntaun and stuffs a freezing Luke inside its body cavity for survival.  After he gets over his heebie-jeebies, I'm sure Brad will simply liken this comforter to the feather beds from days of old.  The best I can hope for at this point, is for a misguided raccoon or opossum to wander in and become lost in the labyrinth of my laundry if I ever want to get a new blanket.  Until then, "tweet" dreams!