A Working Actor's Lament (Chapter 27)

If a Quest is a Journey, what is a Question?

The actor woke up with "eye sleep" crusted in the corner of both eyes. He knew when he went to bed last night, he was going to be restless, for the next day had the potential to be big. He had decided to step out of his comfort zone and audition for a musical theater show. As he jumped in the shower, he practiced the audition song that he would perform for the artistic director of the Sierra Rep Theater in four and a half hours. Plenty of time to run it till it was perfect. Every note sounding like the morning bird gently waking up the drowsy town of Burbank.

He had rehearsed enough, now this was the day of reckoning. As he pulled his car into the parking lot and turned off the ignition, he pull his wife's iPod out and plugged it into the lighter socket. He practiced his song one last time, knowing that the next time would be in front of his judge and jury.

He sat in the lobby waiting for his docket number to be announced, a room which held seven of his fellow inmates, really only suited for two. As he tried to remember the lyrics to his song, he heard his name. Without hesitation, he blindly went into the audition room. Behind the table sat the producer, a man one year older than Death's cousin, Bob. Next to him was his translator. Behind the piano sat the pianist, because that is where you usually find them. He walked over to the pianist, gave him the music and went to his mark on the floor ready to perform.

As he walked back to his car with the realization that he would not be busy for the next 3 months onstage, a smile came across his face. He had stepped outside of the norm and did a decent job. Yes, he heard the obligatory "That was great. Thanks for coming in. We will be casting by Friday. We will let you know" speech. His deductive reasoning came out to play, figuring in the fact that he did not read the sides of any character and was told to "dress to dance" and never danced, he would have to be content with what he showed them and move on. It was not a good way to start off the day, but he knew it couldn't get any worse. That must have been when his deductive reasoning went back into hiding.

For the past couple of days, he had been keeping up on the film festivals that he had submitted his short film. The first one that would be notifying him was to be the Palm Spring International Short Film Festival, which was to start on August 24th. He figured he should have heard by now. Logging onto the internet, he joined in on a message board of other filmmakers looking for answers regarding the films they had submitted. After looking over weeks of worried comments, he read one that put his mind at ease. Someone had reached the production office and informed this filmmaker that they were running behind and that everyone would know by Wednesday of next week. The actor took a sigh of relief; he was still in the running.

He decided that he was going to treat himself after his audition and took his wife to see the new "Superman Returns". Upon returning home, his wife opened up their emails. Looking over at her husband, she had a look that could only mean one thing...

As he read the first line of the "form email", his good day began to fade away. "We regret to inform you..." was as far as he had to read. This prestigious Film Festival had turned away his baby. Why? What was the reason? He could assume it was because it didn't have any stars, a major staple in last year's festival. Or maybe it truly wasn't in the top 14.57% of the films the festival had received from around the world. Either way, it was a hard pill to swallow. However, this was not the "end all" of festivals, this was just the beginning. Yes, he could be bummed for this one day, but, to quote Scarlett O'Hara, "tomorrow is another day." He would now be hearing from other film festivals, and he knew that at least one would be a "Hell, yes, we want your film!!" Or, at least, an acceptance form letter.

As he put his head upon his pillow, he felt "eye sleep" forming in the corner of his eyes. Or maybe it was just a tear. As he drifted off to sleep, he knew this was going to be another restless night.

Even Scientologists Abort the "Mission"

Let me start off by saying that I am not a Scientologist and I still don't think there is a baby Suri anywhere on this planet...or any other, for that matter. That said...

I am sure that every 'thetan' here on Earth is scratching their heads (they do have heads, right?) wondering what happened this summer in the movie theaters. I mean, how could Mission Impossible III, starring the head thetan Tom Cruise, be raped and pillaged by 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest'? These two movies were supposed to be the blockbusters of 2006 and fight neck and neck (do thetans have necks?) to the end...or at least till September 4th.

To be fair, I have not seen 'Pirates' and I have seen 'Mission'. I did like the impossible mission that Tom chose to accept this time around. The story didn't dumb down the audience, it had one of the best villains in recent history (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), and the first 5 minutes before the opening credits has to be the most nail biting beginning of any film in the past 50 years of film. I am not saying I didn't have problems with some of the story, but what film doesn't have some problem, be it continuity or minor loopholes? I still left knowing that I was entertained and didn't lose any IQ points in the process. Don't believe me? Read any of the 139 out of 197 glowing reviews from papers around the world here. A 71% (C average, fair grade) for it's third time out is the perfect grade for this movie.

'Pirates', on the other hand, had 100 out of 185 good reviews. That is 54%, an F in my book and at my old high school stomping grounds. And with glowing reviews like "It ought to sink from the weight of the cargo, but it's buoyed by another high-wire performance from Depp" (Joe Williams, St. Louis Dispatch), and "(It) returns to theaters for more summer swashbuckling, only they may have forgotten to buckle their swash" (Joshua Tyler, CinemaBlend), the raves really don't rave about it. And, you should see the reviews of the critics who hated it. Ouch.

Forget about the reviewers for a second. I have asked many of my friends who have seen this film if I should pony up the $12.50 and sit through it. I get the occational "It's not as good as the first", but I get more of "They just rehashed the same jokes from 'Curse of the Black Pearl'". To me, it sounds like this movie just doesn't have a fanbase, movie critic or Joe Public.

Here is my problem...'Pirates' has made almost 350 million dollars by the time you are reading this. It has broken records (biggest single day gross of $55.8M, largest grossing weekend with $135M, heftiest 10-day take with $258.4M, fastest grossing film to $300M in 16 days, etc.). It looks like it is on it's way to surpass "Titanic" as the biggest grossing film of all time, domestically at least.

Question: What happened to us? Are we willing, as movie-goers, to sit through dribble and rehashed stories just because it is 100+ degrees outside? Movies that make us think don't do it for us anymore? Yes, I could be proven wrong with 'Godzilla', 'The Adventures of Pluto Nash', 'Batman and Robin', and 'Battlefield Earth'. However, I ask you, is 'PotC: DMC' truly better than any of these films?

I am bummed that the third installment of 'Mission Impossible' will top out at the box office with what 'Pirates' made on it's opening weekend. I am sure that using a couch as a trampoline and spouting verbal diarrhea at Matt Lauer does not help any situation, but can't we separate all the extraneous crap that comes along with being a celebrity and not settle for second best? Yes, Tom Cruise is an cushion-jumping, Xenu-loving, memory-implanted alien who impregnated Katie Holmes with an invisible baby, but come on. Maybe we could strive for a D- film next year.

Crazy Frog Bros.!

These kid need to win some sort of award. Keep your eyes on the one in the red shirt and thank your lucky stars that he is not yours. Enjoy.

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A Working Actor's Lament (Chapter 26)

Life Needs Perspective Every Now and Zen

Robin and I decided that it was time to put our Toyota Corolla in for it's 15,000 mile service. Gotta keep the car in running condition, right? I mean, how are we supposed to get to those auditions that our agent isn't sending us out on without a car? Bitter, party of 2, your table will be ready in an hour, thanks for being patient.

Robin followed me to the Toyota dealership. I was in the lead in our 1987 Volkswagen Cabriolet. After dropping off the Corolla, we decided to head off and do some errands, but our 29 year old VW Cab had other plans. I have not heard a sound that loud and irritating since the time I continuously hit my hand with a meat cleaver while standing on razor blades. As our trusty car seized up by the AC compressor taking it last breath, it finally hit Robin and myself that maybe we were in the market for a newer car. All I can say is, thank God for AA. And AAA. They were there in 20 minutes and had us at our local Pep Boys, just in time to catch attitude from an underpaid employee who took it upon himself to try and rack up every possible service that Pep Boys offers. However, they wouldn't be able to let us know the full extent of the damage until Monday, when the AC guy would be able to look it over.

At this time, the mercury in my internal thermometer hit 104 degrees, the same temperature as it was outside. And, since both cars were inoperable and out of our possession, Robin and I got to spend some quality time together on our nice, brisk 2 mile walk home. It is a good thing I wore shorts so my pasty, white legs could get some sun. Was this my lucky day? You bet it was.

It was a good thing Robin got those tickets to see "Last Comic Standing" tonight. If we needed to laugh on any day, this was going to be the day. We jumped into our newly serviced Corolla and drove into Pasadena, birthplace of Julia Childs, Marvel Superhero Tiger Shark, and Craftsman School of Agriculture. After finding a parking space a mile away from the theater, we finally arrived to see the line of other fellow fans who couldn't wait to see the comedic styles of Ty Barnett, Josh Blue and Chris Porter. As we passed the ticket holders, we noticed we couldn't see the back of the line. By the time we got to it 10 minutes later, we were about 3,500 people from the entrance. It was 6:25 PM, plenty of time to get all of us into the theater, seated, and get the show started by 8:00.

At 7:50, only 100 people from getting in, we were informed that there were no more seats. Curse you, Julia Childs, and this city of your birth!!!! We were given a number to call for possible "VIP Priority" seats to another showing, but the damage had been done. We were spent. We tried to find a bar to drown our spirits completely, but it was Saturday night...everyone was looking to drown themselves. After paying for parking in a city we didn't do anything in, we headed home. On the trip home, the zen list, which was recently emailed to me, was the only thing I could think of to keep me centered:

ZEN SARCASM

1. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me the hell alone.

2. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tire.

3. It's always darkest before dawn. So if you're going to steal your neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it.

4. Sex is like air. It's not important unless you aren't getting any.

5. Don't be irreplaceable. If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted.

6. Always remember that you're unique. Just like everyone else.

7. Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

8. If you think nobody cares if you're alive, try missing a couple of car payments.

9. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.

10. If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.

11. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.

12. If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.

13. If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

14. Some days you're the bug; some days you're the windshield.

15. Don't worry; it only seems 'kinky' the first time.

16. Good judgment comes from bad experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.

17. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket.

18. A closed mouth gathers no foot.

19. Duct tape is like the Force. It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together.

20. There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.

21. Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your lips are moving.

22. Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.

23. Never miss a good chance to shut up.

24. We are born naked, wet, hungry, and get slapped on our butt. Then things get worse.

25. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.

26. There is a fine line between "hobby" and "mental illness."

27. No matter what happens, somebody will find a way to take it too seriously.

28. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday... around age 11.

29. Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.

30. No one is listening until you fart.

On Monday, I will be ready for you, Mr. AC Man...oh, yes, I will be ready.

A Working Actor's Lament (Chapter 25)

"The Search for a True Character"

As an actor, you are constantly trying to think of better ways to 'sell' yourself. Sure, you could put up a billboard on Hollywood Boulevard, or plaster your face on a park bench across the street from NBC Studios, but would that really help? I was thinking "No, what I really needed was a mascot." My own acting mascot that the acting community could look at and say "Hey, let's call that guy in. He has a cute mascot." But who, or what, could I get as a mascot? It seems like all the best one's are taken.

That got me to thinking about the best Advertising Mascots in history. I mean, who could think of any better mascots than:

Steven, the Dell Dude - "Hey, I'm looking for a new computer...why not ask that 35 year old stoner kid who hangs out with our high school son ." Why not, indeed.

Kool Aid - Nothing quenches my thirst like a car-sized punch bowl slamming through my living room wall with his kid in hand. "Hey kids, how would you like to partake in the juicy remains of my child?" Oh, YEAAHH!!!

Orville Redenbacher (and Grandson) - Remember when you used to sit around with grandpa and talk about the good ole days when popcorn used to be just bland puffs of air, and how grandpa's would puff up lighter and fluffier then the average kernel of corn? Neither do I. Absolute Gold.

Mr. Six (Six Flags) - A creepy, old, dancing man pulls up to a group of kids and invites them to go to the park with him. How much fun would that be!!! Immeasurable!!!

The Burger King - "Uh, honey, that smiling statue that is stalking me got in the house again, and he has a BK Broiler and fries. Honey, are you still there? Honey? Where is my wife??? What did you do with her, you sick preparer of delicious burgers?"

Campbell Soup Kids - There is nothing that says "soup is good food" as two Swedish kids sharing a creepy, uncomfortable look over lunch. Can you say "Mmm Mmm, good?"!!!

The Fruit of the Loom Guys - "Four men dressed like fruit: an apple, purple grapes, green grapes and...a leaf...a brown leaf. Kiwi? Watermelon? Peach? Orange? Pear? Why would we have those? I'm telling you, a brown leaf is perfect." And so are your mascots, my friends, so are your mascots.

Joe Boxer - How do you compete with four fruits? You put one in your own boxers and let him move like he was a background dancer for Madonna's "Truth or Dare" tour. Joe Boxer, you wizard of merchandising!!!

Miles Thirst (Sprite) - Not only have you brought back the nightmares that I had as a child with my action figures coming to life, but you helped me to realize that all they ever wanted was a nice refreshing drink while riding my dog, Ricky. Masterful Marketing!!!

Vince and Larry (DMV) - Hey, hey? I got a great idea...let's take the test dummies and make them talk. And, let's show what they look like after they get into an accident. And, while we show their mangled bodies in the car afterwards, let's give them some funny ironic lines, like "Boy, do I fell like a dummy." Tragic and informative, yet hilarious!!!

I will continue to ponder the look and feel of my mascot, but until then, I will work on my slogan. Unfortunately "Where's the Beef?" would have been perfect. Damn you, Wendy's, and your marketing geniuses.

Drug Mules - It's What's On The Inside That Counts

I was recently reading an article about a drug mule (someone who swallows drugs in balloons and smuggles them into another country) that had me thinking why I don't do drugs.

There was a man who was traveling from Argentina with 86 packets of heroin that he swallowed and was trafficking into Sydney, Australia. The flight was 12 hours, and when he arrived in Sydney he was detained by the officials who waited for the man to pass the balloons. This is also the topic of "Maria, Full of Grace", a movie that depicts a pregnant woman who does the exact same to get out of a life that she no longer wants. Thinking about both of these situations made me realize why I don't do drugs or have anything to do with the taking of or distribution of any drugs:

1. Clowns. My fear of clowns is deep rooted into my psyche and would take too long to explain. However, clowns have this fascination with balloons - balloon animals, water balloons - you name it, clowns will figure in a balloon somehow. The thought of a clown shoving upwards of 80 balloons down my throat with their tiny cars and grease make-up would drive me to the brink of insanity. No way.
2. Bran - Oatmeal - Muesli. Do you know how much of this stuff you would have to eat to get that other stuff out of you. I think not.
3. That Bloated Look. How can I get any acting job if my stomach is all 'pouchy'? I'm not, and I will not let drugs stop me from meeting Quentin Tarantino or Jeff Goldblum.
4. American Idol. Look, if one of those balloons decides to burst, that might cause me to go into a drug-induced coma and miss the next installment of my favorite reality show. I would hate for my vote not to count because I can't dial the hospital phone.
5. Delta Airlines. 12 hours on Delta...don't get me started.

Yes, mom and dad, you will never have to worry about your son ever doing heroin, pot, ruffies, bennies, black beauties, haze, hash, mollys, brown sugar, captain jacks, glory sticks, hairy rags, purps, tweed, butter sandwiches, Bogota bullions, Colombian marching powder, Mexican dirt, cornbreads, special-k's, lucifer's left nostril, hocus pocus, toots, white lions, dextos, skittles, doves, egg rolls, pingers, or scooby snacks. And, definitely not love bugs...

...or whatever the kids are calling it these days.

A Working Actor's Lament (Chapter 24)

"Laura Ingalls meets Jesus"

The actor kissed his wife, put 2 quarters in the meter, and they went their separate ways. She was on her way to the Linen Store to look for more 500 thread count sheets that they didn't need. He was on his way to an equity waiver audition for "Leipzig", starring Melissa Gilbert. As he opened the door to the audition room, little did he know what drama was going to unfold.

He signed in a good 30 minutes early...too early by his acting teacher, but when you find a good parking space in 95 degree weather, you want to get into air conditioning as soon as possible. Looking over the sign-in sheet, he noticed about 10 guys in front of him. He had plenty of time to look over the lines of his character.

He was called in for the role of Jesus. He thought he would have to work on his Mexican accent until he read the sides. He was actually reading for Jesus...son of God...sacrificed his life for man's sins...THE Jesus. He cursed the day he stopped going to Sunday School. Did he have enough time to go to the local Borders and get the Cliff Notes on the Bible? He hoped what he could remember would suffice. He skimmed over the sides for his character and realized that his knowledge of the Son of God would be enough. The role of Jesus was "HELEN'S IMAGINARY FRIEND SINCE CHILDHOOD, he is a wry-witted incarnation of Jesus who is always there to help guide her through difficult periods, quick to reassure Helen that her journey into the past is an important one. He also helps to familiarize her with her Jewish roots" Jesus...wry-witted? They don't tell you that in Bible School, he thought, but he decided to roll with it.

As he sat down on the comfy wooden bench next to the water cooler, he watched as the door opened and another actor would enter or leave. Forty minutes sitting there. He thought how the time was flying by, each minute shorter than the next. Then, the door opened again. There stood the epitome of "The Hollywood Actress" - long legs, flowing hair, fake breastages, and oozing with either confidence, cockiness, or cattiness. In this town it was hard to distinguish between them, but as the actor watched her sign in, he knew that one of the three was going to rear it's ugly head.

The breastaged woman looked up from the 'sign-in' sheet and had a puzzled look on her face. She turned to the Equity Monitor, a plus-sized woman, and asked her when the Equity auditions were ending. The monitor pulled herself away from the script she was reading and informed Miss Long Legs that the sign in for union actors ended at 12:30 PM.

As the actor peered over his "Jesus" lines, he knew that cattiness was pushing cocky and confidence out of the way to be heard. He tried to concentrate on his script, but the argument between Long Legs and Plus Size Monitor ensued: "I am SAG and AFTRA, so you have to see me!" "You're not EQUITY, so you can come back to the Non-Union Auditions." "I am SAG, which is a Union!" "Yes, but you are not EQUITY." "That doesn't matter!!!" "Yes, it does. And besides, sign up ended 10 minutes ago". "You have to see me since I am in SAG!!!" "No, we don't" "Blah (nit-pick) blah SAG!!!" "BLAH (personal dig) BLAH EQUITY!!!"

"Sean Spence?"

Through this whole argument, the actor didn't see the other monitor come out. He had called his name. It was now the actor's turn to go in and audition. The actor could tell he wasn't nervous, but he surely would have liked to have some peace and quiet before such an important audition. That obviously wasn't going to happen. He had to do his best Jesus with what he had already prepared. As he entered the casting room, a last thought went through his mind - "I hate actors."

Brad Gilmore, the casting director, introduced the actor to his assistant, Pam. They seemed like nice people but you can never tell in Hollywood. Brad took his seat behind the table across from the actor and, after a brief "get to know you" dialogue, he asked the actor if he was ready. The actor said yes and waited for his lead-in line "I'm not who I thought I was my whole life."

"M notwooi thotwas miholif"

As the actor sat there trying to translate what could only be explained as a mix between Broken English, Swahili, and a language only spoken by a tribe in the back woods of Zimbawe, he knew this was not going to be good. As the casting director kept feeding him garbled words in foriegn languages, he pulled out every trick his had in his back pocket. The actor fought long and hard - hitting beats, showing wry wit, getting in touch with his old imaginary friend - to show the man at the table that he was best Jesus that would walk through the door.

When the two men got to the end of the script, they shook hands and parted ways, both knowing that they would not be seeing each other in the near future. Jesus had left the building.

The Floating Fish - A Tragedy in One Act

There he would be again, the bright red betta in the round bowl of water. He had to be dead today. He had to be.

The man got off the elevator by himself, his eyes bloodshot from the night before. Nothing in particular happened the previous day, which isn't to say that there wasn't a reason for the veins in his eyes to be visible. The fluorescent lights searing through his pupils day after day; the constant staring at the bright box sitting on top of his desk in the corner of the building; the sun reflecting off the glass building across the street; how could his eyes be any other way?

As he slowly walked towards his cubicle, he reminisced about his time with his finned buddy. He remembered purchasing the gray stand with the 'blue' light that would accentuate the colors of his fish; thoughts of how he didn't want to name his cubicle buddy until it was the right time; memories of how the fish never really looked healthy and having to drive to the local pet store to purchase medicine for the water; how the white dots across the fish's body eventually went away, but the betta from that day on would always float on it's side; he remembered the day when he finally named the fish, Lazarus Jesus.

Almost three months had past. Did Lazarus Jesus know that fish are not supposed to float on their side? Did he know how people would react to a fish in that position? Did he know how the man defended him to fellow co-workers about his condition?

The man knew, as he turned the corner and entered his square domain, that LJ would once again be on his side. This time, would it be the last?

There he was, laying on his side. This was the day. The man, eyes still bloodshot (had he cried the night before, he couldn't remember), dropped his portfolio and sat in his chair. He slowly lowered his head onto the desk, the four white walls of his cubicle tomb shined bright from the blue light above. He began to think of how much he and LJ had in common as they both laid in their fish bowls. He watched Lazarus through the round glass bowl, his eyes feeling tired, like they just wanted to close and never open. As they both laid there motionless, the man wondered if Lazarus' eyes were as blood-shot (how would he know if Lazarus was crying?). Then, there was a flinch. He began to move. He stared at the man and wondered when his round pellets of food would grace the top of his aquatic home.

He would be back tomorrow. The fight for survival would continue one more day. Maybe the fish would be there to join him, too.

A Working Actor's Lament (Chapter 23)

"Improving on Improv-ing - The Student Film Experience"

It was a balmy day, unlike any he had seen in July. The invisible water in the air was sticking to his body, causing his clothes to stick to places that previously had never been sticky. The unusually hot temperature had reached above the double digits. The actor kept wondering when he moved to the center of the sun, but he had more important things to worry about. He was on his way to the University of Southern California to meet Michael, a film student who responded to the submission sent out from the actor just yesterday.

On the way to the audition, the actor turned down the radio so he could fumble through the monologue that was requested by the up-and-coming George Lucas. Under 5 minutes, that was all the time he had to prove he was right for the role. The role: a starving artist. Not that far of a stretch for this ball of sweat sitting behind the wheel. He figured he would dust off his standard "I Hate Hamlet" speech, after all, it had worked in the past. After running through it a couple of times, as well as through a couple of stop lights, he was at his destination. Pulling the quarter out of his pocket and placing it in the meter, he knew that one hour would be plenty of time to get in, blow them away, and get out.

As he walked past the campus Starbucks, he thought about adding caffeine into the equation of nerves, dehydration, and a body temperature that was slowly rising, and decided against it. A frap might be good for the ride home. Strolling through the USC labyrinth of buildings, the site took him back to his college years and he felt the urge to build a "beer wall", throw-up at the football game, and skip classes. Oh, the memories.

When he got to the television studies building, appropriately called "Carson Hall" (the actor thought the television studies building named after the great Western hunter Kit Carson was weird, but he tried to put that out of his mind), he saw the hand drawn signs leading to the second floor. It read "Auditions for 'Bored' Room 200". As he got to the second floor, he saw two men standing outside the room. He realized why they had named the short film "Bored", as they had no life in them. They noticed the actor walking towards them and called out his name. He was early, but the guys looked happy about that. Their mood changed as the actor shook their hands. It was time to show them how much he hated Hamlet.

The room was your average sized classroom with all the desks and chairs pushed to one side so to leave an big empty space for the audition. The only furniture on the "stage" were two chairs. There was a table about 20 feet away from the two chairs. This is where the two men headed. The actor took out his photo and resume and started spewing his hatred for Hamlet. When he finished, he felt pretty good about it. The director stood up and walked over to a camera that was placed over in the far left corner of the room. He told the actor that he was going to film him during his improv.

The actor didn't know if the sweat on his scalp was from the 105 degree weather or from his insecurities of doing improv. His obvious shaking probably had to do with his body going into dehydration and not from the fact that improv is not his "strong suit". Was he going to pass out and hit his head on one of the two chairs in close proximity to him? Would it be caught on film and seen on America's Funniest Home Videos in the up-coming months? He would do his best to make sure that didn't happen.

The director told him the scenario: he was to be moving into a small, cramped studio apartment where he could not move from the clutter in the room, and with him was his only inspiration to paint - his chair. "And, go."


The actor went on auto pilot. This big, empty room was now a small, cluttered space, and the chair (his muse, if you like) became his dancing partner. He placed it here, then there, then here. He sat in it, laid across it, flipped it in the air. By the time he was done, he had no clue what he had done. An oxymoron of moronic proportions.

He left, hoping that his hatred for Hamlet shined brighter then the tango/line-dance/hip-hop of confusion he left the two men with. As he thought more about it, he realized that he never played anything towards the camera in the room: good, because he wouldn't be recognized when they showed it on national TV, and bad, because he probably wouldn't get the job. Either way, the heat hitting him as he opened the door to the outside was welcoming to his body, now on the verge of hypothermia.

As he walked to his car, passing the Starbucks by, he smiled. The actor put the keys in the ignition, started the car, and turned the air conditioning on. As his body adjusted to the new temperature, he thought to himself how he wouldn't have wanted his audition to go any other way. This was definitely the career he wanted.