Screen Test Surprise

I survived the dog- eat- dog/ "survivor style" audition procedure for a feature film co- directed by, and costarring, a major Hollywood celebrity.  The celebrity's identity remained a secret, but I immediately embraced the notion that two- years my junior megastar, Justin Bieber, was said celebrity. Admittedly, and unfortunately, I caught a sorry case of Bieber fever and, in preparation for my screen test, imagined myself greeting Mr. Bieber with professionalism and grace instead of passing out or puking. Alas, I was met with a roller-coaster of emotions, (confusion, disappointment, fear, excitement, loss,) when I discovered that my screen test partner was, in actuality, Will I Am from 'The Black Eyed Peas'.

This was my first feature film audition with my new talent agency, and, after somehow stumbling through several rounds of callbacks, one fuck up at a time, I beat out thousands of ladies and secured one of two possible screen test slots for the female star.  I waited eagerly next to my screen test nemesis, a blonde, knowing that, at this stage in the process, a particular 'look' determined who secured the role... an unusual casting circumstance unbeknownst to most industry insiders.  I considered begging the director and his crew, on hands and knees, for said role, professing some unimagined and non- existing love for Will I Am's music, or duking it out with blondie, but concluded that any and all of these methods of persuasion would produce an opposite effect.  Thus, I popped blondie's tires.. just kidding... I proceeded into the room, took my position next to Will I Am, and acted the shit out of the sides...

Several days later, I was met with disappointment when blonde domination came to fruition, and I, in a depressed flurry, subjected myself to the couch with two jars of buttercream frosting.          

Why do I keep subjecting myself to this bullshit?

Simply because I thoroughly enjoy eating, and my unsuccessful endeavors justify said binge eating habits.

In short, Will I Am, I implore you, please, reimburse me for the parking meters, and send me a personal trainer.  As much as I enjoy fueling the economy, one callback at a time, I'll send you a bill in the mail... Perhaps we can discuss logistics over coffee because I am, admittedly, slightly offended by your string of callbacks, leading me on to believe that I, indeed, secured a role in your feature.

Kindly,

(soon to be blonde,)

actor kid

TOURISTS

Tourists get off on star gazing; they hop on these TMZ tour buses like rabid bunnies going into heat, and push and shove each other to obtain a window seat.  In an orgy of sorts, tourists grind up against one another, dripping in the summer heat, just to catch a glimpse of Snow White's star on the Hollywood walk of fame.  Dignity and shame evaporate into the toxic waste bucket that is Los Angeles as adults run wildly through the streets, disposing of their clothes, imbibing le liquor, and taking pictures of each other holding fake oscars.  Time and time again, visitors troll the Hollywood and Highland mall, hoping for one celebrity spotting, and waiting patiently by the stars of their deceased idols, praying for a resurrection.  In viewing their public displays of insanity, obscene and unnecessary sexual acts, and disillusionment, I feel completely and absolutely violated!  

I love to hate the Hollywood and Highland mall.  I frequent the location on a weekly basis, and find myself both incredibly delighted and stressed by the outset of my visit.  On any given day, the mall attracts celebrity seeking tourists, aspiring superstars, screaming children, and the occasional prostitute.  Each and every human labels himself either an actor, director or producer, although experience demands otherwise.  I once spotted a homeless man whip out his package and, while occupying a public bus bench, fondle his genitalia in the middle of bustling traffic.  Passerbys were unfazed by this display, continuing their friendly banter as the man violently thrusted his pelvis into the air.  Although I experience shock with each similar display, the tourist bubble blocks this behavior, focusing only on finding and caging of celebrities.  

Few celebrities occupy the Hollywood and Highland mall, choosing, rather, to indulge in a steak at CUT in Beverly Hills, shop along Rodeo Drive, or hike the Calabasas hills.  Every so often, though, a B list actor, looking to rectify his ego, casually struts across the mall, nonchalantly addressing his fans and pocketing compliments.  This pathetic display is thoroughly entertaining; I pull up a portable seat and nibble at my cupcake as tourists engulf the somebody actor.   

Hollywood: A Glamorous Love Story

My car halts at a stop sign on the corner of Sunset and Highland, and a man on the corner welcomes this action by banging twice on the hood, opening the passenger door, and entering my vehicle.  With his body dangling halfway in and out of my car, and both pedestrians and drivers ignoring this unusual display, I frantically wave my left arm in the man's face and, panic- struck, press on the gas pedal.  The passenger door swings back, and the mumbling man flails his legs in the air.  I close my eyes- (I could drive this route in my sleep, and have, mind you)- and thrust my arm forcefully into this... creature.  The man then falls completely out of my car, and I proceed down Sunset Boulevard, uninjured and unharmed.

If you haven't ascertained by now, Los Angeles is a cultural melting pot of upstanding, agreeable, and selfless citizens, all vying for the American dream.  Energized by the easily attainable goal of fame, people come together, hand in hand, willing to do anything within moral reason to achieve success and prosperity.  Work reaps rewards; gifting suits and lavish parties occupy each night.  And after all is said and done, and the Kettle one stops flowing, the naturally beautiful people recluse to their perspective mansions. 

My sarcasm radiates out of your computer screen. 

Those folks are outliers, the elite one percent who, endowed with luck and by providing various favors, (largely sexual,) live fruitfully in the lap of luxury.  Naturally, Los Angeles welcomes a wealth of delusional dreamers, (who admonish one another to boost their own egos,) manipulators, and narcissists, all of whom occupy one tiny apartment room in Studio City.  I have fallen victim to such scammers, forking over extravagant amounts of cash in compensation for instantaneous success.  And, as I mourn the empty wallet on my desk, and view the crappy headshots I exchanged for $500, I recall the extremes I have gone to achieve success in this unpredictable industry.

This blog serves as a platform for me to share my experiences as an actor, intern, and person in Hollywood.  Learn from my failures, share in my successes, and laugh at my life (because it could very well be a hidden camera show... still looking for those cameras).  I send you warnings not to frighten you, but to enlighten you.  Rise above: Be passionate, persevere, and throw yourself full throttle into what you love-- because life is short, and haters gonna hate.