Fresh Bread, Anyone?

There was a man sweeping the aisles at the Rite Aid tonight.  I saw him enter my aisle, see me and promptly turn around and go on to the next aisle.  I couldn't blame him.

I brought my purchases to the counter and plopped them down.

"How are you this evening," the young, be-acned checkout kid asked me.

"Judge for yourself," I replied, nodding to my products.

He laughed nervously and rung me up.

"You have a good night," I said, as I walked out with my tube of Sensodyne and my box of Monostat 1.

Thank you, Mr. Crackhead!

Wednesday morning, I woke up with a gnarly headache and asked KB to move my car for me so I wouldn’t get towed.  He grabbed my keys and headed out.  He returned a minute later and said, “Um, where did you park?”

“Right across the street,” I said from under the blanket.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. . .”

The next 4 hours were spent locating my VIN and license plate number, finding someone to take me to the police station (because, you know, your car was stolen, so of course, they shouldn’t come to you), uselessly reporting the theft to the police and to my insurance company (with which I only had liability).

As my car was a Honda Civic, I'm fairly confident that my chances of getting her back before she's been stripped of all her parts are pretty low.  As my car was an older model, I had been hoping she would hold on until I was "ready" to go back to New York, at least for a couple months.  So, I thought I had more time.  In retrospect, though, I don't know what "ready" means, exactly. 

The only real tragedy in this is that I had an original painting by Theoni V. Aldredge of one of my costumes from "The Secret Garden" in the trunk.  I was going to take it to a frame shop to have the glass replaced.  It was in my trunk for months and months.  Another lesson in not procrastinating, I suppose.

So, without a car and with enough money saved to either buy another shitty car OR float me for a couple months without a job, I have decided to see this as an opportunity.  I have been in L.A. for over 8 years.  In the words of Randy Newman, I love L.A.  The weather is ideal.  I have a beautiful apartment with a beautiful partner and two amazing little doggies.  I have a respectable job.  I have friends.  In short, I have what might pass as a real life here.  So, why stay?  You know?  Why relax into something comfortable and relatively successful??

So, I am officially announcing the formation of a committee (consisting of myself) to explore the viability of completely uprooting my life and stability by going back to NYC for a bit!  I’d like to get there before things completely die for the summer.  So, this is going to happen, like, soon.

What’s that you say?  “Is there anything I can do to help?”??!!  Why, yes, there is!!!!  I’m hoping my parents will find it in their hearts to let me stay with them, but I sure could use some kind of part time work (that doesn’t involve serving people food or drinks) to keep me in Metro Cards.  I have held a job at a university, keeping a Master’s in Psychology program running smoothly and moving forward for over 3 years now.  I have stellar references and I’m fun to be around!  If you know of anything, please send it my way!  I will be eternally grateful and will give you comps to my next Broadway show (Stay with me here, folks)!!

Yay social networking!

Why You Don't Need to Lose 10 Pounds or Your Agent is a Douche Bag.

Recently I had the great pleasure of meeting a young actress who is relatively new to L.A.  While this kind of meeting is generally not one I would call "pleasurable", this particular young woman was wearing a gold dress and heels and looked like a Greek Goddess and seeing her was an actual pleasure.  I'm not entirely certain, but I think everywhere she goes she is back lit and one can hear a faint choir of angels.  She was a good looking broad, you dig?  I told her as much and she responded thusly, "Oh, thanks.  My agent says I need to lose 10 pounds, though."

Now, I'm no dummy.  I've been around the block a few times and I know the game.  But this woman was 5'6'' and maybe 120 pounds soaking wet.  I barked at her to have a seat and commenced with my diatribe.  How long had she been in L.A.?  "3 months."  Had she booked anything?  "No."  Had she been sent out on anything?  "No."  Had she ever been on TV?  "'E.R.' once."  When?  "2009."  Who was her agent?  "No Name Magee."  Was she aware that her agent was a half-witted asshat?  "Well, I am a little over weight."

Yes, we all know that Hollywood promotes the image of the underfed (to put it politely), vacant-eyed, baby-voiced, big-titted blonde as the ideal woman.  Any woman who has spent more than 2 months in the industry has been told she could stand to lose some poundage.  And that extends to writers, directors, P.A.s and on and on down the line.  Maybe she hasn't been told this explicitly, but it's implicit.  It's everywhere.  Sure, Leah Remini would DEFINITELY fuck a fat, dumpy, ugly sack of turd like Kevin James.

But here's the thing.  If No Name Magee hasn't even been able to get you an audition, it ain't because you need to lose 10 pounds.  If you're going out several times a week and not booking and the feedback is always, "We like her, but she needs to lose 10 pounds," then, yes, lose 10 pounds. 

Let me be clear.  I am not ADVOCATING or helping to promote the unrealistic, unhealthy "ideal" that Hollywood is pushing.  But, if you are trying to book a job in Hollywood and you are a pretty young woman, there are certain things you need to do, for example be really, really skinny.  And yes, I know there are many exceptions, but I'm talking about a type here, folks.  I'm talking about the "pretty young woman" type and she is, with VERY few exceptions, really, really skinny. 

So, by all means, lose 10 pounds.  Have at it.

But, if No Name Magee hasn't even gotten you an appointment, it ain't the size of your ass that's the problem.  It's No Name Magee that's the problem.  Your agent's job is to get you in the room.  Agents who type actors out of roles without submitting them are shitty agents.  You remember Jorge Garcia?  You know, the guy who played Hurley on "Lost".  Jorge was the first person cast on "Lost".  

 

And you know what part he originally auditioned for?  Sawyer. 

No joke.  You know why?  Because his agent was doing his job and sent him out because Jorge is talented and his agent wasn't worrying about the type.  That and most likely his agent had a good relationship with the casting director, something No Name Magee surely does not have.  And you know what happened next?  J.J. Abrams wrote a part for Jorge Garcia.  Now, that's a man who earned his 10%.  You dig?

Here's the other reason you don't need to lose those 10 pounds, you weren't on TV last week.  In case you haven't noticed, scripted shows are an endangered species these days and studio execs are pissing their pants in terror over the future of their jobs.  And they aren't the world's most creative people, just in case the majority of current TV offerings hasn't clued you into that, and they like to be able to point to someone else when they fuck up.  So, unless they saw you on TV last week or your resume shows you've been on every cop/forensic/medical drama in the past month, they don't know if your castable or not.  I mean, yes, they could actually have you audition and see that for themselves but they don't want to be the first ones at the party because, you know, what if it's a shitty party?  But once they've gotten the memo that the party is okay, then it becomes worth it to dust off the old tuxedo and call their driver.  It's stupid, but that's how it is.  And the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you can forget about going on the Master Cleanse and the sooner you can stop waiting for No Name Magee to miraculously become good at his job.

Instead of spending the energy on losing weight you don't need to lose, spend it on creating work for yourself.  If you want to work, then work.  Make the work you want to do.  Don't wait around for some shithead agent who would rather see you starve (literally) than hustle for you.

Oh, and that play you're doing in a 50 seat theater in Tajunga?  He's not going to come see you in.  Trust me.  Don't waste the postcard.