Sucker Punch (a story that demands italics)

You will be scammed. You need to face this fact if you surf the shark infested waters of Hollywood.

Usually, I can see these things coming. And the fact that this agency was named "I Saw Your Commercial on Television," should have alerted me.

But in the excitement of getting an audition for a commercial agent, I decided that this was a bold move on their part, to diffirentiate their agency from all the other Schiffman-Grove Talent Partners, etc. The headshots I had sent out to the various agencies listed in the Silver Screen Directories had actually netted me something.

I got to the audition on time, parked on a residential side street, and walked up the street, pretending not to notice the other actors pretending-not-to-notice-me as we journeyed to the audition.

As I neared the building, I noticed it was in a crappy area. Hey, don't waste your clients money on the rent I quickly rationalized.

Sadly, my powers to rationalize soon failed me. A giant banner hung from the chain-link fenced-in area they wanted us to enter at:

"SIGN UP FOR I SAW YOU COMMERCIAL ON TELEVISION, COMMERCIAL SEMINARS!"

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Your audition is to get me to come out here. Tell me that I'm not good enuff for your agency, but I could really benefit from some $500 classes.

I've ventured inside the chain-link fence in a stupor. While my mind can no longer deny I've been scammed, I'm still dressed up, and I spent freeway time to make this audition. I think about throwing myself against the chain-link fence and singing a Godspell song about Judas and betrayal, but I figure no one will quite get it. So, I pick up the sides for this audition.

Here's the sides:


IT'S NICE TO HAVE A FRESH, FRIENDLY WAY WITH PEOPLE.

IT MAKES YOU WELCOME ANYWHERE.

MAKE SURE YOUR BREATH, IS FRESH AND FRIENDLY TOO.

YOU CAN RELY ON DOUBLEMINT GUM.

IT'S CLEAN, FRESH FLAVOR KEEPS YOUR BREATH EXTRA FRESH AND ATTRACTIVE.

DOUBLEMINT GUM, IT'S A NATURAL FOR FRESH BREATH!


Apparently, copywriting hasn't evolved from 1942. Still not quite ready to give up on this endeavor, I peak into where the audition is taking place.

There is a room full of women, all dressed in their ho-ho-hore best to catch someone's eye. They are listening with rapt attention to a magically good looking black man. He is pacing the room like a self-help guru, all he needs is the headset microphone. Actually, he doesn't need it, because he's got a commanding baritone.

"You will learn how to sell stuff like a bad man has sold himself to you!"

This gets a big laff from the room full of hotties. They are attractive ladies, each and every one of them. I am the only man, and I'm just peaking my head around the corner. I can see that the Motivational Maven has spotted me, and I'm about to become a life lesson for these desparate lousy-lives. This is my cue to duck out the door.

And the way home, I question my hollywood tenacity, should I have stayed? Are they a real working commercial agency? I call my luvah and explain. "Fuck No," he cuts me off after a few sentences.

Yeah, Fuck no.

Then I call up my pal Blankie, the hollywood hottie I've essayed about before (http://no-biz.blogspot.com/2005/04/blankies-conventional-wisdom.html). I'm sure she's gone down this road before, and she doesn't disapoint. Once she went to a private house where a creepy old man claimed he was holding a look-see for a calendar, but had no real plans about how to distribute it. He admitted he couldn't pay them -- he wanted them to pose for a percentage of the profits. Blankie said when she heard rats running in the walls, it gave her the jolt to leave.

Another time she went to one of these commercial auditions, they made her watch an infomercial about plastic surgery, and then tried to sell her plastic surgery before they would consent to tape her! Blankie being a good sport had sat through the infomercial (again, you invest in the drive, and she's put on her makeup for an hour), but bolted when they wouldn't stop the hard sell during the audition.

I told you this story needed telling in italics.

on the RADIO. RADIO.

NPR invited me to come speak on their show The Business. I have to tell you, the craft services were shit. I think they had a vending machine. I had to take some pasta out of the fridge, with someone's name on the container. Sorry, Marcie. The directions to set were crap too, I walked all over the campus for an hour, and then the producer tried to dock me for being late. A call to SAG backed him off, but he just jumped to his next persecution -- my wardrobe. They had asked me to bring several different changes, and I kept saying "but this is radio, who cares?" I showed up in a yellow pants suit and they had to deal with it.

I sit down at the mic to do the interview, and I hear myself in the headphones. It's a special NPR Flem microphone that makes you sound like Garrison Keillor with a head-cold. Every bit of mucous lodged in your throat suddenly gives you character. I can't believe how freakin' erudite I sound on this mic and make a mental note to steal it when the interview is done. I already have one of those lil' speakers you can wear like a fanny pack, and my dream of constantly being amplified in life moves one step closer.

The interview goes really well and fast. He treats me like I have something to say and next thing I know I'm saying it. I try not to reveal things that will end my lucrative extra career, and I protect the integrity of every second, and second-second-second assistant director I ever had the pleasure of doing a cross for. The producer mocks me on several occasions, but I already have several SAG violations that should get his set shut down, so we'll see how far his sarcasm gets him. The actual host of the show was too much of a pussy to come down and deal with me.

The Producer checks that he's got it all, and then I'm wrapped. I asked for an NDB, but he shuts me down. Also no voucher. I tell him I should get a smoke bump, but he sez that's just the Santa Monica fog. The producer promises to let me know when the show will be aired. He sez I'll be featured prominently in the show, and I say if I am, then they'll have to pay me at a day player rate.

Of course, last week the show airs and no call. I had to find out by friends who said they heard a weird version of me on the radio. I go to the website playback (I'm at 18:25 into the program, instead of leading the program like they promised: http://www.kcrw.com/etc/programs/tb/tb060501pellicano_wiretappin) and realize they've edited my entire section. All the funny stories I told about opium & gay bath houses are gone, and you just hear me crabbing that I didn't get to put croutons in my soup on Garfield III. They've also digitally replaced some of my dialogue with the computer voice from 80's answering machines. This is all actionable, and I've got several calls into Alan Rosenberg right now. I read in his SAG bio he was a champion backgammon player before becoming our president, so KCRW will be having some medieval-shit happening on their ass!