Some People Like Soda

I did the show Some People Like Soda on Friday. It was their 400th episode. One of my long-time pals coincidentially is the lighting director for the show, so I got to surprise him on set. A long time ago he had suprised me on the set of a show he worked for by licking my ear. It was a variety show starring a genuis lesbian performer, and on this particular day, she had invited the UCLA Lesbian club to come out and see her shine. I looked behind me at the line of lesbians, and marvelled how each one had seemingly picked out a folk singer to model her hair on (Tracy Chapman, Joan Baez, K.D. Lang). On a break, I felt a flick of wetness hit the back of my ear. I turned around and saw a lesbian flashing a kitty-kat grin. This happened about four more times, and my mind (which in the absence of information creates paranoia) constructed a worrisome paradigm of lesbians taunting the boy. Finally on the fifth lick, my friend, the lighting director popped his head up. He had been crouching down behind my seat.

Now he does lights for "Some People Like Soda." The show is still funny in it's Fourteenth year. Sitcoms seem headed the way of clowns: so overly stylized they are getting creepy. Friends signing off last year, makes me think the genre is on its last legs, like the westerns that dominated for so many years. The ADs and Second-Second ADs treated us well on this show, remarking it was fun for them to work with extras, the show sticks to the regulars generally. We were fed the same grub as the crew and extended the courtesy of treating us like humans. Which, of course, meant that some extras who had been treated badly over the years, took this as their cue to act the fool. You never seem to act out against the person who caused you to act out, but instead some poor fambah down the road who's only sin was being nice to you.

The background bunch was ducking out of scenes, not being on time (usually this gets you fired), and bugging cast members. Ugh. I had that feeling I was in a class that was acting up and we were about to get punished. This girl I was standing with during a car race scene had worked with me on the Fondue George movie, and also the fourth in the series of the U.S. Cake movies (this one being subtitled: Drill Team). She was overly made up, and had enormous breasts. Breasts so big I figure they had to be real, they seemed like glandlular disorder, elphantitis, etc. One of the Backies commented on them, and I said imagine if your balls were as big as her breasts. He didn't listen to me, and went on and on lavisoulsy about them, and I repeated it again: imagine if your balls were that big. The trick with many extras is to say things twice and look them directly in the eyes with your hardest stare. Otherwise, the backies will blather.

Anyway, I was next to this lady for a spell during this race car scene. She told me how she was happy that her boyfriend could no longer steal money from her bank account and that she was happy he was back in jail. I commented that attractive gals like her seem to always make a beeline for the bozos, and she agreed, claiming she had low self-esteem. That's why she had gotten the breast job. She wanted a regular size, but her boyfriend goaded her into making them so big they require a wheelbarrow more than a bra. A squat producer walked by us and started shouting at her during a break. He was on his cell, and wanted her to go out with him. She asks me if she should. I said yes. Sex being her strong suit, why not use it? Then she went back to flirting with another extra.

We had a lot of black guys on this scene, and they all playah-play the ladies pretty hard. It's a funny thing to see the lines and all that. Lines always seem so corny to me, but they work on some ladies. Of course, as a backie, your at a distinct disadvtange, cuz the lady you are sweet-talking nows exactly how little you are making. These fellas were also all late, 6 black guys walking in about 20 minutes late. Of course, I'm thinking if they were on BFT ("black folks time") when this happens. And before you put me on a watchlist, I got that phrase from someone inside the culture.

U.S. Cake/Drill Team was another experience entirely. Beautiful setting in Topanga for the shoot, a luvely outdoor ampitheater. But the A.D. (actually the second-second) returned from my Fondue George movie with all her ugliness. The A.D. of the shoot, her boss, was actually fun, while still being stern. He felt like a game show host. The Second-Second commented on his geniality, and you could sense she hated the fact that he was liked and she was not. At one point she told us we should give catering a thank-you, prefacing this command with: "My parents raised me right ..." I looked around the room, I recognized the silent communication amongst all of us: this is one command of yours that we don't have to follow. So we won't. We all liked the food just fine, our parents were not rude miscreants, however we were not about to play her kintergarten class. It was a very good fuck-you moment to her. In fact, anytime she spoke, I just mouthed fuck-you-fuck-you-fuck-you to myself until she quit speaking.

The movie was directed by a guy who specializes in dumb-unfunny comedies, and this one is headed straight to video (they've already made that determination my in-the-know pals tell me). Finally, I've noticed this one extra showing up on all my shoots. He seems to get special treatment from the ADs, works one scene, and then spends his time circulating among the crew in a chummy way. He's an older Vietnemese dude, 40-50, looks like a weathered jockey, and wears expensive watches and rings. I heard his sister got him into this country, after he got his sister hooked up with a GI during the war. Keeping my eye out for him. Tomorrow I'm off to do a Swazie Bird film. One of those directors's who's career I envy so much, I always claim they stole mine. You stole my career! John Cusak is another one like this.