it’s different.

“Do you play a…little um, instrument…and sing, too?” my yoga teacher asked me, after he walked into the studio tonight.

“You’re talking about the video on youtube, right?” I asked.

“I KNEW IT WAS YOU!” he said, smiling now. “I had NO IDEA you did that! I just thought you were a dancer…”

“Well, what am I supposed to say, “Hi, my name is Jessica, and I play little instruments and sing?”

And as we laughed, the new girl behind me raised her hand and piped up, “I saw the video, too.”

This. Video.

It’s doing things, guys.

This past week, I’ve been talking to more people who have the ability to actually help me get my music “out there” than ever in my entire life.

I mentioned this to my yoga teacher, too.

“This year–” he said, “It’s a different one. I don’t know about you, but the last few years have been kind of rough–”

*INSERT HUGE NOD OF AGREEMENT*

“But, 2012–it’s different. It’s good. I mean, I wanted to tell you guys this, anyway–I got a show at Rockefeller Center! My photography is going on display there starting tomorrow!”

“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” I said, after we all congratulated him.

Which is when he gave me a taste of my own medicine with, “What am I supposed to say, “My name is Timothy, and I take pictures?”

Touche, Timothy the Magical Yoga Teacher; touche.

Oh, and it’s amazing what happens when you are not desperate. Take today, for instance. I went in to audition for a new Broadway show. I go casual. Well, I wore my pink tutu, but I also wore my duck boots–so we’ll call that ballerina casual, okay? I wake up with barely enough time to get ready and run to the subway. I don’t feel nervous–partly because I am not even quite sure that Broadway is what I want at this point, not when I have the chance to play my music. But, anyway, I still go and give it the old college try, as my pop would say.

First, the monitor walks me into the audition room. And I quickly notice that these guys mean business. Full casting business. There is a table with 6 or so people behind it. Big Wigs of Broadway are here, listening to the monitor announce me.

“Here is Jessica..Latlishoasdfakjqbr6oqe…er…”

After hearing him butcher my poor name, I am like, What the heck was that? 

So he tries again.

“I mean,” he says, with a little more deliberation this time, “Jessica …Latlisdfhao7oq…”

I swear he even added some animal noises into the mix, for good measure. And numbers, too. 

“LATSHAW!” I jump in. “My name is Jessica LATSHAW!”

Off to a great start, I think, smile at everyone, say hello, and walk over to the accompanist.

Then I sing. It goes great. No, really–just great. I belt out a high note like it ain’t no thang. I decide that my duck boots were really a perfect choice with my tutu. I also don’t care if they aren’t. I also don’t care if these people cast me. I have this confidence that the right doors will open, and I am excited about this.

The casting guys consult for a moment.

“Could you please read sides for us?” one of them says to me.

“Sure…”

“You have them, right?”

And this is when I remember that, no, I don’t have them.

“Um, no. It’s my fault–I am sure my agent emailed them to me, but I didn’t see the attachment, so…”

“Don’t even worry,” the same guy speaks again, “We have a copy for you–take some time with it, and come back in when you’re ready,”

He says all this as nice as pie.

I go out. I make jokes with some guys who are waiting to sing. For a reason that is too long to explain right now, we pretend that the casting director is my cousin; it makes us laugh. An adorable broadway producer walks out and says to me, “Great, big voice. Really, just terrific.”

I swoon; I fall in love; I am positive the duck boots were the perfect choice.

And then I go back and read and it goes well and yada yada yada, there you go.

Then I go meet up with Biet. She is Russian and lovely and we are collaborating on two songs to perform at Sleep No More here in the city. “Tell me,” I say, after the initial greeting and small talk. “What is Biet?” I ask.

She looks at me for a second before simply stating, “Biet is my name.”

And then I started to laugh. Both at the matter-of-fact way in which she told me this and that she really thought I didn’t understand that what I had been calling her is her name.

“I know this!” I say. “I just mean–what does it mean–you know, in Russian?”

“Oh, it means Betsy,” she tells me. Which can only be a good thing, considering how much I love the Betsy who I am lucky enough to live with right now.

And then we practice our version of Sweet Child of Mine. I play the uke and harmonize to her melody. It was so fun. We also practice another song–the title of which escapes me at the moment.

It was a lovely day.

And I am just gonna go right ahead and agree with Timothy, my yoga teacher: 2012 is different than the past few years. It’s a good one. A really kind of great one. How bout dem apples?