A Day in the Sun

Despite my raging performance anxiety;

Despite my rapidly advancing years;

Despite my ability to fuck-up the easiest gimme:

I managed to book a gig, and did said gig this A.M.

A well-paid, lucrative gig. The kinda gig that draws millions here, only to find out they are now members of the waitstaff. Wait for your turn that may never come.

The kinda gig that is like a sunny day at the Rosebowl, that causes midwesterns watching to make a mental note to leave their hidey-holes and venture west.

A well-placed friend, who for years has always given me short shrift, was talked into letting me do a little something-something.

7 national commercials. I did them today. Seven. A whole campaign. Walky&Talky. Living the high life. Eating the good food on set. Being pampered, called "talent." The only thing better would be on an english set where you're called "artist."

The place was tricked out. The waiting room had it's own free lunch catering staff. In-house. They had a piano with a humidor on top of it. Fully-stocked. Oh yes, two cigars went home with me.

Young assistants ran around making sure I had whatever I wanted to drink. I dropped an anti-anxiety pill earlier in the day, so I knew not to mix in scotch. This time ...

I had booked this gig because I spoke up. I have a friend who writes commercials, who often calls me up when he's stuck. I provide free inspiration, and in this case a lot of free lines. I told him since he wasn't paying me, that he should let me do the performance. Bold move, but he was like -- fine. You audition in front of Fox (yup, Network baby!), and let them pick you -- or -- the guy they always use for their commercials.

Well, Fox picked me.

And I showed up today, like a little fledgling Fox, doing my lines, walking my walks, and talking to the extras hired to fill out our commercial. Little did they know that just a few short days ago -- I was one of them.

It was playing a creepy weirdo, so I got to be creepy and weird all day. I blasted at my highest creepy frequency and the waves went through everyone in nauseous surges. I gave them all sorts of different takes, ideas, and variance.

My friend was on set, and I think he was blown away by how good I was. He may see me less as his annoying, shirt-tugging friend ("lemme in the biz, lemme in the biz!") and as a genuine talent. Other extars were imitating my lines and laughing. I'm funny -- I win!

I have booked precious few gigs in this town out of auditions. I usually do the math in an audition, and say "why am I better than the 35 guys in the room? The 500 who's headshots got mailed in?"

But this time I beat out the Fox Network's main go-to guy for commercials. He's had a long career as a commercial pitchman, and he's their dude.

Well, not today. I got the job. I won the audition. I got paid the stupid $$.