I know how to shut that toilet up

Stage 222 at Worldwide Studios is very close to where I work, in fact our Hollywood Death Cab often goes on a quick pass through a part of the studio. We have a contractual relationship with Worldwide. Of course, when we go through Worldwide, we have to tone down our act, way down. Careful not poop on their party and lose our privilege. There's a new sitcom being made at Worldwide by two of the powers-that-be on the Johnsons, the longest-running animated show of all times. I have a "go-see" for this sitcom. I am to show up in my approximation of the character they are casting. It's a background character, but I guess more prominiently featured.

I've badly fucked my wardrobe. They asked for a "Sipowitz" cop type from NYPD, but I really didn't have anything that frumpy in my closet. I was frustated and getting late for the looksee, so I ended up being more "Hip-o-witz." Put on a shirt with Malaysian print, figured the show was set in Times Square, someone would do the tourist angle. When I arrived I saw all the other candidates were very bald, and wore short-sleeved white shirts with ties. Got a withering glance (the most ouchy glance of all), from the director, and then he stomped away. Come to find out, he's a relation of someone who I've studied under in impovisation techniques. Fuck. But, as a union member, I got $30 bucks for my trouble. As I leave the soundstage, a Hollywood Death Cab goes by with a buddy, and I wave like a star at the Cab. "Have you ever watched CSI-Miami?," my bud sez to his Cab crew, "well, that guy has too."

Later in the day I signed up for an extra's agency. I've been making the rounds, and dropping my $40 here, my $50 here to register with all these extra agencies, now that I'm union. All of them require a "photo" fee, where they take your shitty mugshot. At least the girl was honest at this agency, she admitted it's a total ploy to get cash-money that they don't have to report. If you don't ask for a receipt, they won't give you one. She told me she makes most of her money doing life-guard duties in the Hollywood hills. She said all the kids were no-biz brats, and destined to have a True Hollywood story about them on E! some day.

While at the agency, I stumbled in on an audition for a new Dr. Drew show. Dr. Drew is the pyschologist made famous from Loveline. Loveline answered teen's questions about sex and love. Funny and Blunt. Apparently, he's got a new show happening. So I was asked to pair with this lady and pretend to be a couple, being interviewed on the street about our love life. "Be REAL!" the callsheet said. Uh, okay. I thought we were real boring, the lady would not shut up and kept babbling. She decided that we had kids, and that would be the ruination of our sex life. "Yes, AND!" I said back to her, realizing I was not about to steer this ship with her as captain. We got videotaped and photographed from several different angles. Maybe they'll just build a computer model out of us and use us for eternity.

I went to Holllywood Death Cab under the illusion I would be reviewed this weekend. I'm trying to get into their Extra Special People program, where you take around the high-end clients. My gay lover had figured out through his contacts that I would be reviewed, if possible, since I hadn't been reviewed in over a year. It didn't happen, but that didn't keep me from not eating and having a nervous stomach all day. In the guideroom, everyone talked about the inequities of the review process. Completely arbitrary, random, and subjective. Nevermind all the people who leave your Deathcab saying "That's the best tour I've ever had." Those comments are lost like tears in rain, because a supervisor never hears them. I suggested doing gang-reviews with one of the right-wing guides ("From the left, it's Josh Ramsey, and from the right ..."). We also watched a commercial about a pesky talking toilet that wouldn't shut up. "I know how to shut that toilet up," I said quietly.

Then, I went to a party at a producer person's house, invite courtesy my gay lover. Gay Lover is an industry suit, so we get these sorta deals. It was Cupcake&Book party. Bring your unwanted books and bring some cupcakes. Several of the industry folks inhabit the higher rungs of No Biz, and were amazed to hear my tales of being background. They thought all background people were indigents, criminals, mental defectives. Which is partially true, but I tried to present a larger picture. One of the clowns, when he realized I was background, tried to stop talking to me. Early, he had been laffing at my wit, investing in converation with me. When I said I was background, he actually grimaced. He writes for a dismal show that I had worked "Deaf Court."