| 29 March 2011
Nadine Velazquez has a lot of life accompanied by many dreams. She’s been busy since I met her almost a decade ago – acting, dancing, modeling and writing. You’d recognize her from many years as Catalina on “My Name is Earl” and Sophia on “The League.” She’s currently filming two new TV pilots: “Charlie’s Angels” in Miami, and she returns to Los Angeles to become the hot Puerto Rican wife of Rob Schneider in a CBS comedy. Nadine wishes she had more court time, and she offers, “I often play the fiercest matches in my dreams.” Here’s her first serve.
Brad & Nadine
Brad Pitt. Last night I had him all to myself. In a stolen semi-truck heading down the dangerous streets of Los Angeles, we are two run-a-ways on a mission. The truck races through red lights and nearly runs over downtown denizens. The driverless semi weaves as I wonder how the hell are we gonna make it out alive? Did I accidentally cross over to one of his chase scenes while I was escaping my own nightmare? Where are we going and why is the truck sans driver? Beats me, it’s a dream. All I can say with certainty is that Brad was mine and we were headed toward disaster or heroism together.
While in the truck, resisting being like tossed human salad, I think of my devotion to Angelina and her small community of children. I recall another dream where she tries to pry her eyes open with sewing needles and I kiss her injured eyelids. I’m her only friend - the one person who loves her for who she is, treating her demons and angels as the same impostor.
I look over and see sexy Brad dripping in sweat. His face so much like a boy, yet so much like a man. Would I betray my friend Angie if I fell in love with him instead of her? As we tumble around in the back of the demon-possessed truck, a sudden intimacy takes over under this duress. Wondering whether or not I would survive this chase, I have an epiphany: If my child was snatched from my arms during war and I’m forced to choose between Brad and Angelina, I would have to choose Brad. I felt no guilt.
Before I end up in the back of the truck with Brad, I am hired to be in a movie produced by a Harvey Weinstein kind of man; large and important. I play the part of a neurotic, worried, scared and chronic perfectionist. Problem! The part IS me. As a self-hating perfectionist, my fear and self-doubt keep me from memorizing my dialog because I am not perfect enough to be perfect. I show up on set looking identical to a messy-haired mouse that got trapped in a mousetrap just inches away from a piece of cheese and the director yells action and I still have the script in my hand. Unable to move or blink, the camera keeps rolling and Kristen Bell notices my paralysis and makes it a part of our scene. She grabs my wrist and hauls me down a dark creepy hallway.
This went on for several takes. Sometimes, I say my lines catatonically; other times, in rare moments of confidence, lines splurt out; however, the moment I realize how well I’m doing, I botch it up. Similar to when I suddenly notice how well I’m playing tennis - while I’m actually playing tennis - and then do something stupid and hit it into the net or miss the ball completely while I’m staring at it like an air head.
Moving past the dark creepy hallway, I begin to realize that the boy we’ve just stumbled upon is the next one to get killed in the scene and another epiphany happens. Not for the character, but for me - the actor. Looking at the boy, I now understand God’s big cosmic puzzle: that life is eternal and death is just a veil I’ve yet to lift before I realize that the real dream is the one I thought was reality.
People who’ve had near-death experiences say that right before they leave their bodies, time collapses and their life plays like a movie in a matter of seconds. This was one of those moments. Great for me, right? Except while I’m transcending/traversing my mind, I’m still in the middle of shooting a big budget movie and I start laughing uncontrollably when I’m under contract to start crying. Imagine what would happen if Serena Williams, during her Wimbledon match against Maria Sharapova, suddenly falls down on her knees to laugh like she's at some big fun family BBQ. That's how I felt. As I’m struggling to bring myself back to conformity, I can hear the director mumbling, “whhaaa thuuuh fuuuuuuuckkkkk!” A panic in me so deep begins to grow; my shoulders fold over a la Count Dracula. How could I go from elation to fear so quickly? Has self-awareness caused me to be terrified of my own hidden power? Just as it does on the tennis court? If I can transform so quickly from clarity to dread, what am I to become with absolute courage? I stumble out of the creepy hallway through to a tunnel with a light at the end of it. A speeding truck pulls up. Brad’s arm grabs me and I fly into a perfectly destroyed t-shirt covered in mud and drenched in his sweet perspiration. I immediately grab on to the strap hanging above my head and I look into his light blue eyes and swoon, “You’re my hero.” “No,” he says, “I’m just your sidekick.” And with that, I woke up to this insight: Asleep or awake, I am always the hero of my story and yes, everyone else IS my doubles partner. Even Brad.
The End.
follow Nadine on twitter @nadinevelazquez
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