First mobile update proved unsuccessful. Some robot plugin needs to be activated before a satellite can sing its 110001110101s to the respective device.

But I’m on my way to Pie Fest. That will be successful. Pie Fest gives kids and adults alike the opportunity (in jolly and much anticipated festival-form) to rate people’s best pie recipes. Auditors leave bloated, yet satisfied in the end. Winners are chosen and leftovers are rare.

I’m heading there after work which means I’ll clean up the pies categorized as “savory.”

…And I just missed my train stop. I’m a moron. Fuck this mobile upload bullshit; I missed my destination by two stops! It’s important to pay attention to your surroundings otherwise you’re gonna miss your serving of pie.

I felt like I was “really doing it” this week.

That is, if “really doing it” equals “sitting in waiting rooms and unintentionally taking a 2 hour lunch break because of an audition running behind schedule.”

Is blind optimism regarding goals in a slightly shallow industry an interesting subject to read about?  If not, I talk about my cat being a perfect mixed-breed of American Butthead and a Short-Haired Cutey-Darling or talk about the seemingly assassinated squirrel I found on the sidewalk.  Ew, sorry.  I’ll stick with the audition topic.

I’m waiting to hear if a callback landed me a Miller Lite spot. Though it was apparent the director’s smile was mainly directed at my scene partner who very much looked the part, we read several times and it was no bomb of an audition.  So now I wait by the phone in the hopes it will ring with good, bill-paying news.  Eh, no, I’m pretty sure I did not book this one.  Moving on.

I’ll be doing a callback for a US Cellular commercial next week:  Less funny, more Joan Cusick-y–who I’ve met and is very nice and she liked my nail polish.  I was paired with an All-American Male with Shoulders as a scene partner.  So All-American, and so Shoulders, he made the casting director giggle like a schoolgirl.  She told us we made a cute couple after he picked me up nearly over his shoulder in a fake snowball fight.  Sweet, but I assume that this guy’s taste leans more towards leggy, traditionally proportional women, or proportional women with penises sans vaginas or boobies.

I have today off and will be journeying to a look-see for a possible print ad.  Not much chance of a shining personality winning over someone when it’s solely based on your look, see?  My choice of wardrobe depends on how old I think I look, according to the color-coordinated casting call notice:

MEN IN THEIR 30′S DRESS BUSINESS-LIKE. ALL PEOPLE IN THEIR 20′S AND YOUNGER DRESS VERY FUNKY ARTSY. EVERYONE ELSE, JUST DRESS ATTRACTIVE CASUAL.

So… I am still in my twenties for another month.  And I definitely can pull off artsy better than attractive casual… Attractive casual always looks more like awkward casual on me.  I’m hoping that the Tina Fey glasses and scarf will win them over.  Or at least win my cat over, the Butthead.

I don’t want to jinx it, but here it goes.

My sister provided me with some artistic fodder and encouraged me to write a screenplay. So I’m going to try my best to do just that.  I mean, I wrote one in film school and I have enough anger/envy towards the current trend of indie-hipster bro-mantic comedies, so I probably have some sense of what to do (or not to do), right?  I mean, I already know I have to cast Michael Cera and have some Bishop Allen in the soundtrack (I’d say The Shins, but that’s so “Garden State”), so what more do I need?  Story?  Maybe.  Or I can just add some animated transitions.  Frankly, I’m following this guide to writing an indie film and can’t say it any better.

And that’s all I’ll say.  I’ve said it though so I can hold myself accountable for it.  But if I don’t provide details it’s easy to drop if, uh…if I give up.

But let’s consider it as if I’m quitting smoking.  Don’t ask me about it, but hope that I’m following through with it.  You don’t want to be the one who asks, “Hey, how’s that thing that you referenced that one time? You still keeping up with that?”  And I’ll have to say, “No, I got too busy/I bought a pack the other day/it’s not a tumor/I gained it all back/we broke up/I fell off the wagon/they went with another candidate/he’s dead now.”

That’s just awkward for everyone involved, so let’s just keep this to ourselves until we get Paul Rudd on board.

Dear Self,

In the future, if someone posts a video stating “OMFG it’s the most disgusting thing they’ve ever seen” involving the lancing of a quarter-sized pimple, do not watch it.  If comments following the video describe it as “vomit-inducing,” give it a second thought before you decide to click Play.  Don’t watch it.  It’s an internet sensation that will top puddingfarts.com and it will burn itself into your brain.  The image will surface as you are trying to add horseradish to your potentially delicious chicken dinner.  It will flash through your subconscious.  It will pop into your mind as you are trying to think of ANYTHING OTHER THAT GIANT AMOUNT OF PUS THAT CAME POURING OUT OF THAT MAN’S FLESH BUMP.

What have you done?!

Thanks,

Your Gag Reflex

PS:  You are a moron.  And you’re definitely gonna regret watching it for a second time.  I mean it.

PPS:  You are an asshole for posting the link to the video.

Well, no callback for Dove.

Guess I’m not attractive enough to be real, too normal enough to be quirky, or uh… too concerned with her appearance to be natural?  Dunno.  Lucky for my wavering self-esteem I don’t dwell too much on commercial auditions since your look is judged in three lines of dialogue.  Just give me the opportunity to make you hate me more.  I swear I can do a lot of damage in 25 seconds.  Three is too little.

Tomorrow is Miller Lite.  Ah, beer commercials.  Where men are allowed to be fat n’ funny and women (obviously attractive, but less superior to water-booze) wonder why their men like their alcoholic beverage more than the relationship.  It’s really quite obvious, ladies.  Your relationship is awful because he’s just not into you and you can read a book to verify that insecurity.  He’s more into fucking a beer bottle than having sex with you because you won’t let him do it in the butt.  Now we know you drunkenly promised him otherwise if buys you that chocolate lab, but you have to come to terms that dog does not replace the fact that you want children and he prefers to put his weenie in a bottle.

At least this is the subtext I’m bringing to the audition tomorrow.