I joined a new gym.

Having felt a little meat and potato-y since a hairdresser decided to frame my face with a cut rivaling Ramona Quimby’s, I joined the gym downstairs in my company’s building. I decided that I wanted to forgo the feeling of relief that you gain when a new better paying job provides a financial breath of freash air.  I believe that my natural state is one of flailing. This gym causes weight loss by removing the extra pounds from the wallet.  You no longer spend money on food because you have convinced yourself that the convenience of an expensive gym downstairs justifies the price and outweighs rational thought.

I’m used to going to a gym with Norms.  The Norms wear old T-shirts and Umbros, they sport a pooch of a belly that never quite leaves because they have to leave the gym to feed their dogs at home.  They grunt, they sweat, they understand that they’ll never be models, their frame is what it is, god bless us, everyone.  I’m used to this.

This new gym is for Superheroes.  Superheroes who work in sales and power up with Miller Lite.  Superheroes that have tight butts in tight butt pants and shoot from work to the gym in pneumatic tubes.  They spend three hours in classes that have puns in their titles. “Fant-ASS-tic Workout!” “Be More BUTT-iful!”  ”ASS! ASS! ASS! ASS!! ASS!!!”  After the classes, they emerge glowing (not sweating), maybe even twinkling like Twighlight Vampires, and hover towards the dressing room.  There, they proceed to pose and flex without shirts.  In the women’s locker room, a staff photographer captures their perfect frames as they do 20 push-ups with their perky breasts before continuing to vogue topless.  They drop their towels and mousse up their already magazine-tousled locks as the photographer captures their god-like figures, shamelessly displaying a half-boner beneath his jeans.  Now, I know I live under a rock, but I was quite surprised at how many naked people there are in the locker room.

Of course there are a few other Norms at the gym that can be seen doing leg lifts under a heavy blanket in a dark corner, or are straining to keep up with the über-race in the “Save America from Burning Buildings with Your ASS” class.  They’re there.  We’re there.  And you may even see us buying some tight workout pants some day because they’re like, totes supes cute.  In fact, we gain confidence walking amongst the Superheroes. We know that we are protected and we are not really threatened by this race of  Übers.  They go about their business, and we go about ours.  Them with their lightening tree legs, us with our excess packaging.  It’s focused and calm in the gym since there is no sexual tension or possibility of mating betwixt the two species.  You don’t see humans lusting after cheetahs.  The Norms and the Superheroes are two different breeds. In the bedroom they would cancel each other out and there would be some sort of, I don’t know, sparky explosion as their piston-like genitals attempted to climax in a vat of sex dough. Capes would get caught in ceiling fans and Norms would have heart-attacks, breathlessly attempting to rescue the spinning lover just out of reach above them.

So in the gym, we feel safe, at ease even.  The Superheroes are there as eye-candy, as inspiration, and as protection in case there is ever an Evil Villain lurking, waiting… plotting… Ready to attack at a moment’s notice–

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”  scream the Norms, struggling to sit up with their medicine balls.

The Superheroes’ ears perk to the sound of the gym walls crashing, the building’s innards shoveled forward.  The smell of cedar overtakes the room as the sauna crumbles and is pushed into the main machine room.  A steely tank-like machine now sits breathing smoke and steam in the middle of the workout room blasting Ted Nugent ominously from a tinny boombox strapped to the roof. The Norms stare in horror as they see a now half-toweled Norm, startled at this repositioning, scramble to safety away from this geared creature.

The metal beast begins to move forward, and The Norms now look to the Superheroes gazing calmly at this impending danger.  Just then, the top of the tank opens and a leathery Norm dressed in an ill-fitting track suit emerges from the tank.  He delivers his manifesto.  A lot of evil plan blah-blah-blahs similar to the ones at the end of movies, grandiose statements and gesticulations, those snap-poppers you throw on the ground during the 4th of July… But still, it’s not something The Norms see every day, so it’s pretty scary.  Then, a giant laser death gun rises out of the tank and sheer panic erupts in the gym.  The leathery Norm unleashes his fury and workout equipment explodes with a push of a button.  Yoga mats rocket across the room, slicing and mauling any slow-moving victim in its path.  The Norms desperately cry to the Superheroes for help. Surely this is the time when Good and Super-Good unite against Evil!  The Norms begin to psych themselves out for this great battle.  They have taken enough step-aerobic classes to help throw at least one punch at the side of their muscled comrades!  They look around to sound the battle cry, but the Superheroes are no longer found.  Realizing they are now alone, the slack-jawed Norms are left to be es’ploded by lasers.

If you were to check the surveillance video you would see a flash of spandexed individuals bolt out of the gym as the Evil Norm struggled to deliver his lengthy evil plans in iambic pentameter.  In perfect form, they speed off in their Audis and laugh about it later on leather couches over a Miller Lite and an episode of “America’s Got Talent.”  Tomorrow’s just another day at the ‘ol office.

I’ve been downgraded.

I got really jazzed as friends alerted me of the commercial broadcast.  It’s the first union gig I’ve had and I was dreaming of romantic things like “bill payment” and “eliminating debt.”  Each airing was another dollar in my pocket.

Nope.  I’ll be receiving an amount equivalent to another session rate.  When a budget is pre-determined and actors are intentionally edited to be unrecognizable or out of shot, SAG jumps in and downgrades your performance to eliminate those tasty residuals.

But I’ve gotten over it, and there will other commercials where I’m featured and paid many monies for delivering awkward copy.  Plus, I’ve updated my headshot to ensure the utmost cast-ability.  Because it’s quantity over quality in my book, and I bet this change in appearance will land me a lot of gigs.  This lack of face can sell anything.

It’s been a week of gluttonous celebration, but for good reason.

The New Colony somehow managed to rally enough support via the social-networking interweb we live in and placed in the top 100 for Chase Community Giving contest.  That means there was a collective jaw-dropping when we realized we’d gotten enough votes to win $25,000 for our cause.

Eventually I’ll realize that such good news doesn’t warrant downing a near-bottle of cheap champagne.  Eventually I’ll remember that downing that much cheap champagne is no cause for celebration the next morning.  Until then, on with the show and we toast to all that voted for us!  Many many thanks!

No soup for me.

Close, but eventually released.  Today, an awkward audition for  one person and a camera guy.  I was liked but not cast.  Tomorrow, a pretty big deal audition where I’ll my best to say the product’s tag line without flubbing, or at least be likeable as I butcher it.

In the real world my coworkers and I discuss auditions with vigor and enthusiasm, hail artistic projects and collaborations, swap ideas for upcoming pieces of brilliance… and then put on the customer service phone headset and get chewed out for 25 minutes by a patron.

As if cued by the snow landing on the sidewalk outside my apartment, I finally discovered a link to the commercial I was in posted online.

So at least I know I didn’t end up on the cutting room floor and there will be some form of financial gain to this whole adventure.  I can’t wait to blow it all on jelly beans and popsicles.  Once I found out the other hip TV spots the producer was responsible for, I was a smart ass on the set and asked if there would be a cute indie rock song accompanying the images.  Damn cute indie rock songs are damn cute, aren’t they?

Speaking of tunes and show and tells…  For my theater company’s upcoming show, I’m writing the music for the scenic transitions or ambience, or whatever else I can squeeze in there.

And dammit, I still can’t figure out a good WordPress plugin for a media player.  So I’ll save it.