I hope my face will look okay on the TV. The director didn’t want me in make up. That makes for self-conscious thoughts of “C’mon, just a little mascara. PLEASE let me have mascara.” Nope. Go play in the snow. What about a funny wig that requires me to have mascara? No? Okay. So I’m gonna be on the TV without mascara. Also, I am still unsure of if the thing is regional or national and don’t know how to read a casting breakdown in order to fully know details… Dang it. Takes time to know shit. I do know that I’m tired.
I was sent the production details for Monday’s shoot.
The location is about 60 miles outside of the city in the middle of Nowhere, Illinois. Currently I have no car, which means I get to challenge Enterprise to match ZipCar’s price and hope they have two Audis knife fight in the alley to pick the winner. First slashed tire is the loser.
The best thing so far is that there is a Snow Crew. The main special effects guy? Job Title: SNOW KING. Royalty! Mystical royalty gracefully floating down from the arctic heavens! I hope he hangs from a crane in an icy bubble barking orders to his cob-piped subjects. He’ll rip out a coal eye to make an example of an unruly Snow Man who dared to make two snowflakes alike. Threatening them with a warm hug or a hairdyer if they go against his bidding.
You’re wasting time! I want it to cover as far as the eye can see. My palace shall rule past the temperate zones and will chill the equator’s humid wrath. Shut up, it is possible! Don’t question me! I will make it so! I AM THE SNOW KING!
With this new website I can finally track what people search for to get here.
It’s pretty easy to find me online–something I think about each time I’m handing a customer my business card–but sometimes folks seek out something different and land on this lil’ blog instead. (I enjoy reading others’ Keyword Analysis” posts, so I’m following suit.)
A lot of times it’s just my name in various forms, with or without spaces, cAPS lOCK oN… And you’ve found me, I see. Hello, again. How’s that computer working out for you?
Second, either people were seeking out that gross-out zit slaughter video I posted, or there is a poor soul with bubbly epidermis in serious need of a dermatologist. And third, I’m hoping someone just misspelled “public.”
Of course all this analyzation does is make you Google to see what actually comes up as the first hit. Because mine is not the first when seeking out “women AND beer.” Why does one scour the depths of the intra-web, browsing through page after (generally slightly sexual) page and decide to settle on clicking on this site? Looking at the search, “women AND beer,” it’s very apparent how important it is that both words are recognized.
LIGHTS UP
“Look up something to do tonight.”
“Seriously, c’mon.”
“I want to get laid and have a beer, what do you want me to search for?”
“Be specific.”
“What? Look, ‘I’m feeling lucky.’ See?”
“Do you want to get laid or have a beer?”
“I want both.”
“Well, put both words then.”
“No, but I don’t want to drink “women beer.” That’s just gonna pull up an Amstel Lite page.”
“Okay, so…?”
“So, there has to be both things designated in the search engine. Because we’re not looking for just chicks. We’re looking for chicks AND liquor. But not liquor, because those liquor chicks are stuck up, like, with their flavored cotton candy vodka drinks and shit, you know?”
“Yeah, that pussy shit is awful. AND expensive.”
“AND expensive, right!”
“Okay, let’s rephrase. So, I’m not looking for chicks, because chicks are bitches who are all too young and crazy.”
“AND crazy.”
“Young AND crazy.”
“Yeah. We’re looking for women. And I don’t know about you, but I like a beer after the game, right? AND I like a woman after the game.”
“Hey, maybe we should look up if there are any women AND beers out there.”
“No, you gotta capitalize the word ‘AND,’ otherwise Google won’t know.”
“We’re gonna get laid.”
“We’re feeling luck-kay!”
“Ew…What the fuck? What’s this site about zit-lancing?”
My theater company is just about to embark on our second season with the show “Calls to Blood” opening on October 12th. And with the prospects of some of our first season shows being remounted in Chicago or New York, we’re doing a little bit of horn tooting.
Do me a favor, take a quick read of our first season wrap up newsletter.
I’ll be writing some of the music for the summer musical. You better believe there will be three part harmonies, banjos, autoharps and mandolins.
All right, goddamn internet modem, thingie. Yeah you, you smug little blinkie box. You are the third one that I’ve been shipped in the brief six month stint I’ve had this elusive wi-fi in my house. I’m back to stealing the signal from my upstairs neighbor because apparently it’s too hard to do what you’re supposed to do for more than 30 seconds. Listen to me, you’re making me sound like Andy Rooney. Not cool.
“Why is it every time I try to get on the internet, it’s impossible to open a package these days? And ice cream shouldn’t melt so fast. I’m Andy Rooney, funk dat.”
Hey roto-rooter-router , your mother’s dial-up. No, that’s too nice.
I’ve had better. With COMCAST.
I feel dirty just saying that. Ugh.
Listen, I’ll level with you. I know you’re cheap. I know I’m not necessarily promised anything like “a wireless signal” or “the ability to easily navigate your convoluted website,” or “pay my bill online without a combined internet/wireless plan,” but COME ON. Stop being a bitch asshole stick shit and gimme a dang wireless signal, you wireless router.
I will wait to publish this until you’re good and ready. I can be very patient.
Today, on my day off, I did things like eat diner food, make a mess of a painting for my friend’s wedding present, and not show up for a callback.
What? No, you said it was Tuesday. Today?! I was under the impression that it was Tuesday. “They really want to see me?” Yeah, I thought it was tomorrow and I would have reserved a car… Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can… Shit.
I felt myself turning into a superhero as I changed from the smelly ‘ol me to “The Girlfriend.” I imagined a bionic A-Team soundtrack playing as I:
Checked my balance to see if reserving a ZipCar would overdraw the account. Hopped in and out of shower. Donned pants and undies. Put shit in hair to tame mane to accomplish the Girlfriend-Do. Reserved ZipCar. Why am I doing this topless? Put on shirt. Got my hair did. This hairdryer is very near death and hazardous. Didn’t catch on fire. Cursed at the fact that I was positive the appointment was for tomorrow. Realized the closest ZipCar is half a mile away. Shook fist in air. Checked calendar to prove that I wrote down Tuesday and not Monday. Patted self on back and gloated to no one. Biked to ZipCar… Which is in a parking garage with apparently no entrance. Found the entrance. Sat in traffic and arrived at casting agency.
In the waiting room are (again) the “Real People.” Real people with interesting talents or stories. And who like to dress like cowboys and tote around guitars, apparently.
I checked in an hour and a half after my call time and noticed I’m amongst a group of Reals. There was a woman who eyed me carrying my head shot.
“We were supposed to bring head shots?”
“You’re fine. I was supposed to be here earlier. There was a mix up.”
This attempt to calm her fears wasn’t good enough. I could tell by her tone that this Real Woman probably has a head shot and wants to be an Actress, not a Real Woman. She should realize she should not only always have her head shot on her at all times, but she should be able to whip it out like a dove from a magician’s coat sleeve. Or just dress like a cowboy.
The casting director came out, saw me and apologized to the Reals for the delay.
“You all just have such interesting stories,” she said as she pulled me into the room before the others.
She excused me by jokingly saying, “She’s an actor, she’s not a real person.” I’m starting to enjoy this joke if it gets me to the front of the line.
I got into the room and realized there’s no scene partner. I’m supposed to have a snowball fight, what the hell? Then the director just asked me about myself.
Acting background? Improv and comedy.
Do you do drama? Shit… I can do drama, why didn’t I say drama? Yes, improv gives you the tools I need to just respond to the scene regardless of if it’s comedy or drama. What are you, writing a thesis?
So, you just do stage? Where are they getting this? Oh, the fact that I have no screen experience listed on my resume… No, not just stage, I do anything. Shit… I’ve done screen stuff, right? Short films in college? I’ve done some short films. Don’t mention that you booked a commercial. That’s totally not important. I normally did stuff behind the camera. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?! YOU WANT TO ACT IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA! IN FRONT!
I started a theater company. Good! We’ve been around a year. Who cares?! Yeah, I don’t act specifically for stage, I just do what it takes to pay the bills with acting… Does that sound weird? You wanted to say, “Does that sound desperate.” Good save, dummy. Now stand there awkwardly until they dismiss you.
Aaaaand, thanks for your time.
Real (Now Self-Proclaimed Nosey) Woman saw me come out of the room after being in there for only about 3 minutes. She was either nervous for me or herself, I couldn’t tell.
“That was fast… You weren’t in there long at all.”
“Yeah, they just needed to see me. It’s for something different from what you’re doing.”
“Sorry I’m being so nosey,” she catches herself.
“No worries. It’s just for something different.”
I started driving home. Pissed that I was thrown by the non-traditional callback. I even called my agent to make I missed something from not being at the the earlier call. “No, another actress said that it was stranger than most.” Okay, I felt better. I tried to shake it off as I sat in traffic again. It’s just an audition.
Ten minutes later, still stuck in traffic, the phone rings again. The Agent tells me they’d like to see me again tomorrow. They really liked me.
What does this mean? My bank account is screaming and my hopes are up and I have to finish this wedding present by Saturday and work at the Computer Store tomorrow and go to a rehearsal tonight and find out Tupperware is possibly doing a run at a great theater come holiday time and I’m so in debt, I’m so fucking in debt and and and… They LIKED me and I have no idea what I did? What the fuck did I do?!
Deep breath. They either will like me or not. Deep breath. Don’t get any hopes up. DON’T. Let’s see how tomorrow goes and later worry about how to feasibly ask off work if this is actually booked. I hate writing about shit that might not happen, but it’s all the brain thinks about sometimes.
I hope my face will look okay on the TV. The director didn’t want me in make up. That makes for self-conscious thoughts of “C’mon, just a little mascara. PLEASE let me have mascara.” Nope. Go play in the snow. What about a funny wig that requires me to have mascara? No? Okay. So I’m gonna be on the TV without mascara. Also, I am still unsure of if the thing is regional or national and don’t know how to read a casting breakdown in order to fully know details… Dang it. Takes time to know shit. I do know that I’m tired.
