My "friend" Tara had ditched me to go flirt with a few of the grips, and I knew nobody. So I did the natural thing.
I went looking for Jerry O'Connell.
Looking back on it now, I blush to think on it. It was the ultimate noob mistake: asking for an autograph. I was fortunate that Jerry was a nice guy. He signed my call voucher (that little pink slip that tells the casting people to pay you) and we chatted for a few minutes. Then, finally, the call went up:
"Background! I need you on set! Let's go!"
Finally! Some action!
Ooooh, how very wrong I was. We got onto set, all right. And then waited for another 2 hours. We couldn't sit down. We couldn't leave to go to the bathroom. We couldn't even get them to open the doors for some fresh air. It was hell. Hell, I say!
Finally, the cameras rolled. For the first time in a decade, I was on television again!
My ecstasy was decidedly short lived.
The boots I was wearing were just a half a size too small. With four inch heels. Ladies, you know what sort of pain this is. Pity me, for I had to mosh in them.
That's right. They had an entire call of 200 Goths moshing. I managed to crawl to the edge of the so-called mosh-pit, my teased blonde hair becoming more and more crazy looking. I think that, by the end of the night, I resembled nothing so much as Phyllis Diller in her younger days. Only with more skulls on her dress than usual.
I somehow managed to survive this night. I put it down to youthful exuberance and copious amounts of over the counter pain killers.
The very next day, I went down to Central Casting and got myself onto their database for real. (Remember, I was "filling in" for a sick friend.) Thus began a long career in background acting.
Adam? More like Had'em am I right?
Downtown LA. I've never been a big fan of the genre. Downtown LA is the crappiest downtown area in the whole of the contiguous United States. Maybe downtown Anchorage is crappier. Couldn't tell you, as I've never been. For some bizarre reason, quite a few production companies just love shooting in Downtown Los Angeles. I suspect that their reasons are largely financial in nature, because urine soaked hobos make for cheaper security than actually hiring a moonlighting cop.
Today's job takes place on the set of a made for TNT Primetime movie. This magnum opus, this epic tale, is called Adam. The premise of the crack-addled-monkey-who-wrote-this-pap's script is that MEN ARE ALL DEAD AND WOMEN RULE THE EARTH. HOORAY.
Frankly, I wouldn't like it very much if men were gone. Who would open the sticky pickle jars for me? And who would carry my groceries up three flights of stairs? Me? Ahahahahah, you're funny.
So the entire call is women. Women of all ages and races, all smugly happy that the men are gone from the world and who exist in estrogen induced peace and prosperity. Hoorah, because women are so gentle and kind and there's no more war or rape or famine. We give birth to the next generation by means of gene manipulation. We're slowly tearing down all the skyscrapers and turning them into vulva shaped buildings!
Jesus Christ, I'm a chick and I find this crap offensive. I was tempted to ask if these brilliant rhetorical women who got rid of the men if they had solved the problem of allowing girls to pee standing up, but I kept that thought to myself. This was for basic cable after all. They can't show that kind of thing at 930, 8:30 central.
Anyway. All 75 of us empowered and manless women extras began our day. Coffee, reconstituted eggs and a cooler full of soda pop made up our NDB. (Non deductible Breakfast, for those who didn't take notes last time through.) The day went by fairly quickly, with lots of rapid set ups and shots.
Oh noses! It's a maaaaaaaan! What's he doing here!? Ruuuuuuun, ladies, or he'll rape you!
Yeah. That was a scene in this movie. All 75 of us ladies had to act supremely frightened of this singular man that showed up out of the blue. Oh, wait; he's the movie's title character, Adam. I see what they did there. Clever.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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