Julie Morris - Smart Plants: Power Foods & Natural Nootropics for Optimized Thinking, Focus & Memory

I m sorry to tell you this, detective, but the forensic lab called and they wont have any answers until Friday. We need to find another way.

No.

Im sorry to tell you this, detective, but the forensic lab called and they wont have any of the results until Friday. We need to find another way.

Was that it?

As I parked my car on a side street off Santa Monica Boulevard, I picked up the crumpled script on the passenger seat and read the highlighted section:

JOCELYN: Im sorry to tell you this, detective, but the forensic lab called and they wont have any of the results until Friday. Its not looking good. We need to find another way.

Its not looking good. Its not looking good. Got it now?

Its not looking good is right, I said out loud to myself as I readjusted my dress, which had become awkwardly pasted to my body after sitting in traffic for more than an hour.

Even from a very young age, I had always enjoyed acting. In fact, you may recognize me from my incredible first-grade school performance (as I am told... by my mom) as Snoopy in Youre a Good Man, Charlie Brown. Or perhaps you know me from some of my finer work: as a background actor in an antialcohol video shown at driving schools in the late 1990s. Yes, unfortunately my commercial success never seemed to match my enthusiasm for the craft, but when you appreciate acting as much as I do and also happen to have grown up in Los Angeles, you get to a point where you decide to at least dip your toe into the water of whats simply known in LA as The Industry.

And thats where I was in 2003. At 22 years old, I had scraped the top ceiling of my credit card limit to take twice-a-week acting classes downtown, procure a whole set of headshots to include all my different looks, and sign with a zealous manager who could just as easily fight off a bear as charm a snake, whichever was required at the time. To put the ramen on the table while I went to college, I had a part-time job at an upscale toy store at The Grove, a celebrity-studded Los Angeles shopping enclave, working as a costumed character. The store had cast me as Princess Pretty, a mortifying title that made me feel almost as itchy as the costume itself, and it was my job to walk around the two-story environment with my trellised pink cone hat and Febreze-scented gown and interact with children in the store as they planned new outfits for their dolls or begged their parents for the mini electric child Ferrari in the front window, which cost more than most real cars on the freeway.

I considered this job a slow path to actual insanity. Nevertheless, it was perfect for my fledging career as an actor, because it just so happened that most of the other costumed characters who walked the floor with me were actual (and would-be) thespians as well, and if you had a sudden midday audition during your shift, it wasnt a big deal to just take off.

The thing is, when I wasnt commiserating with my buddy the Toy Soldier about the unexpected perils of costumed character work, I was actually getting some auditions. Most of them were for fairly small gigs, like the counter girl handing a family their order in a fast-food restaurant commercial, or having a quick one-liner guest spot on a TV show. These opportunities were a bit like playing the casting lottery, because, basically, if you had a freckle in the wrong spot, you werent getting the part.

But my audition that warm day in Santa Monica was different. I was up for the role of the main character in a TV show pilot, which can be a bit of acting gold, because if you get cast and the pilot gets picked up by a network, youve got yourself a showand a steady paycheck. As I clacked down the street in my favorite merlot-colored platforms, I tried to ready myself. Chill out, Julie, just chill. I had rehearsed the scene ad nauseam ever since getting the script a few days earlier. I knew I would be good for the part: a tall, brunette junior detective determined to claw her way up the professional ladder, but with a secret past on the wrong side of the law that could compromise everythingjuicy stuff. The tailored pinstripe dress I was wearing clearly screamed young business-professional, and it was even a good hair day. There was only one small problem: I was having trouble remembering the lines.

Memorizing had never been my strong suit. Though I was a good student in school, I found test-taking extremely difficult, as the load of random facts and figures I was expected to remember never seemed to stay in my head for very long. And my memory issues trickled into the rest of my life, too: Id often forget the names of places where Id vacationed, people Id met, movies Id seen, and heaven help me if I needed to remember a phone number or an address, even if only for a minute. I never gave it much thought, as my mom is similarly absentminded, as she calls it, but my penchant for acting really brought this handicap to the forefront. To be an actor, you absolutely have to memorize your lines.