Because You Never Know Who Else Will Be Involved

I am back. After a hiatus of nearly two months.

Life has been crazy, that's part of it. We're still plenty overwhelmed with the day-to-day here. Managing life on this coast, managing our interests on the other one, figuring out which directions we're going in the future, trying to withstand the current financial tempests—it's a lot of stuff. A lot. But then again, everyone is dealing with most, if not all, of these same issues, so who am I to grouse?

The other reason for the long layoff is that it's just been D. E. A. D. dead here. Pilot season ended early, very few pilots this year, huge competition for them because production has been so decimated by the wake of the writers strike, the threat of the SAG strike, etc. Not to mention the influx of foreign actors. Since my 11th Hour audition on February 3, I have had five, count them, five auditions. I won't bore you with what they were for. I will say that I was not really right for four of them (Parade at the Taper? Yeah, I don't think I'm-a-gonna book that). Everyone is truly throwing the spaghetti on the wall to try to hustle up some work, and my agent is no exception.

In this climate, a casting director asked me if I wanted to take part in a reading at the Writer's Guild. It was a pilot presentation, less to pitch the pilot and more to celebrate its rather succesful author: Larry Gelbart.

Well, heck. Who wouldn't want to meet and work with one of the most brilliant writers of our time? Even though I only had six or seven lines. Even after one of my parts was cut. Even though I was playing a German mogul filmmaker in his late 50s. It was still going to be a chance to see something the world hadn't seen: a new pilot by Larry Gelbart.

Not new, as it turned out, because he actually wrote it on spec some time ago, and had no faith it would ever get produced. Perhaps he was pessimistic about its commercial viability because the pilot is about German filmmaking and the early days of the Third Reich: a time when Berlin was in direct competition with Hollywood as the cinema capital of the world, and when Goebbels was producing propaganda via UFA Film Studios (whose exiles eventually included Fritz Lang, Billy Wilder, and Peter Lorre) , while using his position there to have dalliances with young actresses.

It's easy to see why he didn't think anyone would touch it. But on the other hand, who can imagine the original pitch meeting for Hogan's Heroes? ("Well, it's set in this POW camp, ya see...And there's all these wacky foreign prisoners right?...and....") He also only envisioned it as a four- or five-part series, as after a period of time, all of his major characters would have either left Germany, or been imprisoned or killed. Yeesh. So, yeah, he's not had faith in the past that it would ever be picked up.

But I have to say, as befits a man of his genius, the pilot is pure gold. It's laugh-out-loud funny, it's topical, it's morally intricate, it's compelling, it makes you think without preaching or hitting you over the head. Would that there was more writing like this around! And Larry himself is one of the most gifted and charming men I've ever met. Just in his small bits of direction and notes he was giving us in rehearsal, the man was out-and-out funny......funny without even trying. Humorous lines fall out of his mouth like oranges off an over-ripe tree. It was truly astonishing. And it's not like Mel Brooks where he constantly seems like he's a comedian and he's going for a laugh. He's just intimately familiar with words, and has a knack for commenting on the present situation with le mot juste in a way that touches the heart and the funnybone at the same time. It's rare that I've ever met someone who has such a direct connection to the human condition.

Words are failing me here, so I'll stop with the hyperbole. Suffice to say it was a wonderful two days: a first read-through Saturday, a second rehearsal this afternoon, and a performance tonight in front of a sold-out crowd at the WGA building.

And the bonus was this: as a warm-up, Mr. Gelbart had decided to open the evening with a separate 10-minute play he'd written (a hilarious piece based on the Dick Cheney face-shooting incident). It's a two-hander, and in this case, the two hands were already cast with well-known actors; but he actually needed a third hand, someone play the "stage manager": to read the intro stage directions, and then step in at the end of the piece to "calm down" one of the characters. And he decided to use me in the role. And that is how tonight I found myself inexplicably playing a scene with Bradley Whitford, whose work I've admired since I saw him in Three Days of Rain 12 years ago. And then I got to share the stage with him again in the main reading, along with Carl Reiner, Cary Elwes, David Paymer, and a host of other talented folks.

So you see, you really never do know who'll show up at these things. :)

The whole experience pretty much rocked. It was like doing a play again! And while there are still no auditions on the horizon, at least my creative cup has been filled for a bit.

70 Pilots, Apparently No Good American Actors

From a friend's Facebook feed, I saw this Reuters article:

Pilot castings dominated by non-U.S. actors

Also factoring in are the rigors of pilot season, where 70-plus pilots were chasing actors at the same time, often depleting the existing talent pool. The dearth is strongest for leads -- fresh faces in their late 20s to early 30s who can carry a show.

The chances of discovering untapped but experienced talent in that age range are far greater abroad then they are in the U.S.

I'd heard about this phenomenon from enough people that I knew it wasn't a mirage, but to read about it in Reuters is something else altogether.

This is a case of casting directors not doing their jobs. While I am not a "fresh face in my late 20s to early 30s who can carry a show", you can bet I know lots of people out here who are: people with numerous guest star credits, serious training, winning personalities. People who fought tooth and nail to be seen for ANYTHING this pilot season.

The system needs an overhaul, that's for sure.

Oy Vey Iz Mir

It's been super-quiet on the acting front here for the past month. In fact, since my Eleventh Hour audition, which was February 3, I have had a grand total of TWO auditions.

That's right, two auditions in 6+ weeks. Woo-hoo! Both of them about three weeks ago.

The first was a pilot, my first and only pilot audition this year. Anecdotal evidence tells me that they saw pretty much everyone in town for this role. I know of three other actors (widely different types) who all went in for this same part, and that's a lot. It was an untitled sitcom in which I was to play the "divorced best friend in his mid-30s to mid-40s." Well, that's specific.

The CD kept telling me, "there's a lot of George Castanza in this role. A lot of Jewish neuroticism. You know how George Castanza has that angst?"

I resisted the urge to say, "Then why did you bring me in?" or maybe, "Perhaps you should hire Jason Alexander for this part."

(I say this not with bitterness, btw, just amusement.)

The other audition was for CSI:NY. It's funny, when I came out here, I thought I'd end up getting a lot of procedural auditions because of my Law and Order past; but it really hasn't been the case.

This part was something we almost skipped, and probably should have. It was T.I.N.Y. Two lines, playing the Jewish orthodox son of a watchmaker. Not the role I want I want for my one appearance on CSI:NY.

So we passed, and then they came back and said, "Does it make a difference that the watchmaker will be Ed Asner?"

We reconsidered. It was weird that they were kind of pursuing me. This didn't seem like a role that would be difficult to cast. But then we thought, maybe they're looking for someone with some training, because the script has a big moment at the end where the son sees his father being led off to jail for heinous crimes and basically disowns him in a long glance:

David looks up at his father: a myriad of emotions: shock, contempt, sadness..then simply gets up. Numb. Turns his back on his father and walks away.

Okay, we thought, this is a scene with Ed Asner and Gary Sinise. Maybe despite the low screen time, they are going to linger on this scene and are looking for a really solid actor to pull it off. Maybe they want someone who will have the presence to hold his own with these two heavyweights.

And I've clearly demonstrated I can play orthodox jews on TV. ;) So why not take a flyer?

So I went in for it, and SURPRISE! It was none of that.

They didn't even look at the end scene in the audition; instead they taped the only other scene, where the son is introduced and has two lines: "Everything all right?" and "Okay, Pop." They were running the session VERY quickly, about 2 minutes/person. Churning 'em through. There were 8 guys waiting when I came in, and probably another 10 waiting when I left. Not exactly a scenario where they were looking for the right actor for a "moment".

When you go in to read two little lines like that you realize they're truly casting about 95% based on the look. And as you all know, I can squeak by as Jewish on TV based on some acting and dialect work that I bring to the table, but when competing against, you know, actual Jewish actors, in a role that will be primarily about appearance, I don't even chart.

The role was for an orthodox kid who works with his dad in a watch repair shop. Not a hassidic kid from Crown Heights. So I literally stifled a chuckle walking into the waiting room. It was filled with guys getting their heavy orthodox vibe on for the day. Like a callback for the bottle dance in Fiddler on the Roof. There were black vests. There were yarmulkes. One guy was actually sporting tzitzis. I was half expecting the next to have clip-on payos or a shtreimel.

And from the lack of professional vibe out there (loud discussions of previous work and current temp jobs, nervous laughter aplenty) it was clear that most of these guys have not been in the big leagues yet. Or not for a long time. Many of them were comedians I think, based on the LOUD and COMEDIC energy in the room. Many of them were also guys who make a living out here doing extra work and co-stars, based on the conversations I heard.

So I kept my head down, went in and did my bit, and chuckled on my way out the door, knowing that this was three hours of my life that were gone forever.

Keeping You In The Loop

First of all, a pic from several weeks ago:


This is from mid February. I snapped it during my ADR session for Lie To Me. ADR, or "looping" is when you go into a sound studio after something has been shot and re-record certain dialogue. It is usually done for one of two reasons: either because a line didn't come out clean (like, a plane passed during that moment, or another actor cut into the line), or because a line has been changed (to further explain the plot, or sometimes even to change it).

In this case, it was for clarification. My scene opened with a pan shot that, on its way to picking me up, passes over a waiter being interrogated in the corner of the kitchen. The director was afraid the audience would think the waiter was the one speaking. So to my original line ("If you're not part of the families, we can't give you the tapes"), they added the following for the sake of clarity: "We're professional videographers. We have rules. So....."

I guess the idea was that with the added line, the audience would realize that the waiter isn't a professional videographer! Brilliant!

ADR is nicknamed "looping" by everyone in the biz because in Ye Olde Days, the way they did it was to have an actor listen to and watch a "loop" of the same film clip over and over and over; after hearing it many times the performer was able to easily sync up with the soundtrack on the next "loop" and thus match his/her lips moving onscreen.

I've done a fair amount of looping on past shows and I feel like I'm pretty good at it. I've found that it's less about matching the lips perfectly (which comes with repetition) and more about matching the intention and intensity of the original scene.

In the case of this shot, there was no lip-sync to worry about: because my entire first line occurs during the pan, I wasn't even on camera until the very tail end.

A good production company will always get "room tone" at a location before they leave it. That's about a minute of recorded "nothingness" on the set/location that actually isn't nothing; it's whatever ambient noise exists that day: air conditioners, rain, even the hum of fluorescent lights. No matter how controlled your set is, there's always a little room tone to pick up. Later, if a scene has to be looped, they can mix the "room tone" under the new dialogue and make it sound more real.

Of course, there are varying degrees of success (or failure) at getting ADR to meld seamlessly into your final product. And as a viewer, once you're aware of looping, it jumps out at you all the time. Either because the room tone doesn't match well, or because even though someone's back is to camera, you can tell their cheeks aren't moving in sync with the dialogue (as was the case with me on Law and Order: Trial By Jury a few years back....but there was nothing I could do, because they were adding an entirely new line, so the synch would never have been right).

So now when we're watching TV, I'll often mutter "looping" when I see it.... much to Jody's chagrin.

"Tom, from the elevator, turns to Rachel, tears streaming..."

I'm back. It was a long layoff, I know. Basically, I got sick. And I was really busy at the same time. But lots of posts in the coming days, I promise...

...Starting with my shoot for Eleventh Hour, which took place the day after my last post. Warning, I'm still low on time, so this will be very stream-of-consciousness, just to get it out, and not the usual, refined writing you're used to. ;)

The title of this post refers to the lines in the script that were haunting me leading into the shoot. They wanted someone who'd be able to give a strong emotional performance on cue, and I'd been able to do that in the audition. But how would I fare on the set, with take after take after take, and about 50 people watching me?

"Painfully shy Tom, from the elevator, turns to Rachel, tears streaming...."

This is after painfully shy Tom has killed Hailey, his supermodel neighbor, and is now perched on her balcony overlooking Eighth Avenue.

Of course, by the time we did the episode, I was no longer Hailey's neighbor; I was now her doorman. And we no longer had an awkward scene in an elevator; it was now a creepy scene where I followed her upstairs to "give her mail to her" and then forced my way into her apartment.

The script changes came at the eleventh hour (ha ha, get it?), literally the night before, and they changed my day somewhat, that's for sure. Starting with trying on an ill-fitting doorman's outfit at 8am. And then psyching myself up to be "creepy guy" all day, instead of "painfully shy geek" which I was before. I threw on a little Brooklyn accent (much more polished than the one I did for LIE TO ME) and proceeded to set.

Where I encountered something I've never dealt with before: two directors. The episode director whispering in one ear, and the executive producer in the other one. And not always agreeing. The exec producer was a Scottish expat and had a THICK accent, and it was hard to take him seriously sometimes as he gutturally said, LAYTS NOOT MEK IT ALL HAWLYWID, YAH? LAYTS MEK IT REAL!

I did okay for the main scene, except I had to close the door behind me when I forced my way in to the apt., and the E.P. kept giving me alternate lines to end the scene with. (Original line: "Aren't you going to invite me in?" Alternates: "Maybe you should invite me in." "Shhhh, shhhhh, don't be afraid Ms. Vaughn." CREEPY!) And I'd say on about HALF of the takes, I forgot to close the door because I was trying to remember which line I was doing this time, and the director had to remind me a couple of times, and that sucked. I'd remember to shut it twice and then forget the third time, and about the 4th or 5th time this happened, I shouted "GodDAMNit!" after the take ended, and startled half the people on the set.

But it was a good creepy scene, and I was psyched that we got a nice shape out of it.

"Painfully shy Tom, from the elevator, turns to Rachel, tears streaming...."

So then I had a couple hours to kill. For one, we had lunch, and for another, they were shooting a quick intervening scene before my big breakdown. During the latter, I met Rufus Sewell, who was lovely, and was to be in my next scene. We talked a while about what it's like acting in Stoppard plays (Mr. Sewell originated the role of Septimus in Arcadia, and I had also recently seen him in Rock 'n' Roll on Broadway), which was a total trip.

I had spent some time trying to get mentally in shape for bawling. I had a full-on deep tissue massage the day before just so my body would be loose, with all the tense spots released—I wanted to be fully available to myself, as it were. I also made a playlist on my iPhone called "weepies", which had 7 or 8 tracks on it of songs that really move me emotionally. These included (in no particular order), the Finale from West Side Story, Albinoni's Adagio in G minor (which you may know from Gallipoli), Barber's Adagio for Strings (which you may recognize from Platoon), Górecki's Lento e Largo, andSunday and Finishing the Hat, both from Sunday in the Park With George. Last, but certainly not least, Judy Collin's masterpiece, Suzanne, which wound up being my key for the day.

But first, let me talk about the fun part. In this scene, I was to be seen on the balcony ("tears streaming"), and after a couple of lines, over I go. Suicide. Having just been shot the previous week, I was really looking forward to another yummy death scene.

I'd originally assumed this would be shot outside with an airbag or something. Ha! Not in the world of tee vee. When I found out we'd be shooting it in the studio, I wondered how they'd fake it and still assumed I'd be 3-4 stories in the air. Nope. My 16th-floor balcony was on the ground floor of the studio. The camera, which I guess would have had to have been on a crane otherwise, was on the floor a few feet away.

To give you an idea, here's the balcony I'll be appearing on, complete with its view of 45th ST and the Majestic Theater. (Try to imagine a few taxis honking below):


Now take another look at that same shot with a slightly wider view:

Pretty funny, huh? Pretty magical at the same time. I like how if you look closely at all the apartments across the street there's no one actually visible in any of the windows. Just sofas, plants, weird shapes. No people though.

"Painfully shy Tom, from the elevator, turns to Rachel, tears streaming...."

So all afternoon I'm pacing around, feeling mopey and listening to my iPhone. All of the songs above have led me to cry at one point or another. I respond very viscerally/kinesthetically to music, and I knew it was going to be my ally today. I pictured Mel Gibson arriving one second too late to stop the charge. I pictured Maria shouting at both gangs, "How many bullets left, and still have one for me?" I think of that quote and it gives me chills, even as I type this. I also shamelessly used what life has dealt me in recent years. You all know the various tragedies we've had to stare down and I went there. Thought about all Jody and I have been through, and what my worst fears had been on some of those days. I worked myself into quite a miserable state. And I tried to envision having just unexpectedly snapped and killed someone I knew (as in, the "event" of the scene), although, truth be told, that didn't trigger a whole lot.

We did a rehearsal of the shot for lighting, and when it was done, I turned on Suzanne. This song is a gorgeous and melancholy 70s ballad written by Leonard Cohen. And it has a powerful effect on me.

Sometime in his last year or so, my dad had figured out iTunes and was downloading songs from his past that he'd always really loved. He picked me up at Amtrak for a particular visit, and proudly popped a CD in the car's player, telling me it was the first CD he'd ever "burned". Suzanne came on and he told me how it was a song from back when they WROTE SONGS, not just crap, and how it TOLD A STORY, and how there was COMPLEXITY, and it MADE YOU THINK. And then we listened to the song all the way back to my parents' house, not a word spoken between us. I remember seeing the dashboard of the car and the smell of Barry's shampoo, and listening to this song. It's a cutting and profound and timeless memory for me.

And here I was on set, playing it over and over again, and thinking about all of our last moments, and his last moments with my mom, and of course I just let loose. Except I needed to try to harness all that. So I'd get to the brink, and then stop. And get up and turn off the music and go get a cough drop (I was already coughing that day), and chat with my stand-in. And when the feeling was going away, I'd restart the song from the beginning. And summon up the memories again. And so on.

When it came to shoot the scene, I had to have fake blood all over my hands, which meant no hanging onto the iPhone and then stowing it in my pocket until the last minute. I had to surrender it completely. But by then I was walking this fine line between cool actor on set and complete basketcase breakdown. So I hoisted onto the balcony with my bloody hands in front of me, and as they called the regular sequence of the shot—"picture's up......rolling!......speed!.....xxx scene 26 take two!"—I was summoning those opening chords in my head and picking one new memory of the last three years to focus on (mostly Barry, but stuff about Jody's dad as well, and my mom, and even some stuff that Jody and I dealt with).

And the tears came powerfully, and I sobbed, and we'd shoot the scene, and at "CUT!" I would just cut it off and hitch it back and STOP. Which was not too hard, because the scene ended with me pitching over the side of the balcony, falling a distance of about a foot and a half, and landing with a quiet "thud" on these two gymnasts' mats they'd stacked up. And that sideways "thud" was a weird enough sensation that it jogged these other thoughts right out of my head. And it was a bit of a relief to stop crying each time, but I was going so hard to the well that there was a lot more that wanted to come out, so it hurt a little bit to keep it in as well. But stopping each time was the way to go, because we did 9 takes from one angle and 3 from the other, and I was able to start it up again at the top and sob through every damn one.

I felt guilty the whole time. I asked myself if I was betraying someone—it certainly felt like I was cheapening my father's death or the like. But at the same time, I thought, "this is my job, I have to get there, anything is fair game." I'm sure Barry would have told me USE IT! USE YOUR LIFE! So I made my peace with it.

And then I was wrapped, and the director came over to personally thank me for giving him what I did for the scene. It's going to wind up being all of three seconds on camera, but I hope they pull in close for those three seconds. A lot of work went into them. Plus, I really hate watching TV and seeing someone making fake crying noises and they're not really crying. It's not an easy thing to do, and that's fine, but if you're not in that state, either GET in that state, or else play the scene the way you're actually feeling.

Okay, off my high horse now.

I was keyed up for the rest of the night, probably because I never let it all out. After being in that manic state for over an hour, letting out and then pulling it back, my body really wanted that final release. I could have sat in my trailer and blubbered, but it felt bizarre to try to trigger it at that point, and I was so tired, besides. So I called Jody as I was leaving the lot, and THAT triggered some of it, just telling her about the day, and I cried over the phone to her for a bit. And then she wisely took me out for a burger and a serious martini. The latter of which finally brought me down.

Okay, this is an absolute TOME, thanks for reading this far, I hope it's not too self-indulgent, but it actually helped me to write it all down. And as I said, more posts in the coming days, promise. :)

An Action-Packed Day

As you know from previous posts, Wednesday was my second day shooting on [redacted]. It promised all kinds of intrigue. Gunshots! Dust storms! Lightning shooting from my arm! Craft services!

The day began for me at 8:30am, when I got in the Prius and, after a pit stop at Intelligentsia, commenced the nearly hour-long drive out to Polsa Rosa Ranch, a 700+ acre site near Acton, CA. The ranch is basically wild terrain that has been dedicated to shooting movies, commercials and TV shows. They have gullies, tableaus, dry riverbeds, a water tank, an airport, etc., etc.. Pretty cool stuff.

When I first arrived, I thought I was on the set for The Sound of Music. This isn't a great picture, but it gives you an idea:

There was snow on the distant mountains, and apparently on the ground at our location as recently as yesterday. One of the wardrobe people told me they'd had to find over 100 vintage coats in the last 24 hours in case the snow didn't melt.

I was pretty amazed at what a TV studio can do when it puts its mind to it. They had basically built a small compound, complete with electricity (supplied by enormous generators) and running water, on top of a vast desert plateau several miles from the nearest civilization. Everything was set to look like the 1960s. Again, I'm being careful about not putting too much info out there, but here are a couple of cool buses that look like they could have been in a movie about the civil-rights movement:

There were, I'd guess, between 150-200 people on set: maybe 60-70 background actors, all in period clothing, plus 5 principals. And the crew: stuntmen, body doubles and stand-ins, gaffers, camera and sound, wardrobe, makeup, props, set and art directors, the show's producers, FX guys, safety consultants, caterers, etc. etc. A HUGE conglomeration of people on a chilly, muddy mesa in the middle of nowhere.

The morning and afternoon were mostly establishment shots of myself and my family arriving at the compound and being introduced to our hosts. Looking around and seeing everything vintage was a real treat. The costumes and hair design were fantastic. We did several takes from various different angles (including a few crane shots) and dodged the ominous weather on the horizon. We had one or two moments of sprinkly rain, but mostly the sun was shining.

I had always wondered how film crews dealt with making marks for actors to hit on rough terrain. You can't really put down tape. Turns out they use multi-colored beanbags:

... which look vaguely religious.

We broke for lunch at 4:30, so a loooong "morning", but a productive one. I grabbed some lunch along with the other 150 people....

... and a quick lie-down, although it was too noisy to get any sleep.

The day had been relatively comfortable temperature-wise (especially when the sun was out), but the night was another story. As the sun set, the wind picked up and our mountaintop went from a sunny 58° down to a windy 37° (which felt more like 20°). It was a wet, raw wind, and staying in it without protection for more than a minute or two set your teeth chattering. Plus, because the night shots involved the dust storm, we had artificial breeze to add to the natural one:

There were four or five of these wind machines on the set. Some of the shots had them as close as five feet away from me. Plus the "dust", which was really more like thick smoke. And tumbleweeds! They'd throw a few tumbleweeds rolling through each take. It was totally "Wrath of God" stuff, as Indiana Jones would say. Here's one shot from the video village:

Note the crane camera overhead, and the goggles the producer is wearing.

My night scenes were with my 9-year-old daughter, and she and I were in regular shirts for the scene. So we had people standing around with coats to throw on our shoulders after each take, and whenever there was a pause in the action, we would bolt for one of the set's propane heaters or, if there was enough time, for a dedicated "warming van".

The night scene also involved me hitting a guy with a bolt of lightning from my arm. There were several effects used to create this moment, and I imagine more will be done with CGI later. But the most fascinating part of it was the moment when the guy gets hit: he is driven back by the bolt. This was accomplished with a stuntman in a harness attached to a cable which was suspended from a crane about 70 feet in the air:

During the shot, I'd lift my hand, and then this guy would literally get yanked back about 15-20 feet by the cable. Incredible. He was clearly a pro, and had various moves he did to leave the ground delicately and land safely. There were a few takes shot from a ground camera which showed him in the distant background and then flying through the air into the foreground to practically land on the camera. Awesome.

I also got shot in the scene, which involved having a "squib", or small explosive charge, placed under my shirt. There are bloody squibs and powder squibs, and this was the latter. When it goes off, it rips a hole in the shirt, and leaves a black, burnt void behind the hole. Less gory, more about the bullet's impact. We went though 6 or 7 squib rehearsals and three different squib takes. The sensation was a little odd (in one take, I felt a little powder from the squib hit my chin), but ultimately felt really cool—I mean, who as an actor doesn't relish the chance to be shot onscreen?

I had to wear earplugs because of the squib. And this meant it was nearly impossible to hear the director. We'd get ready to start the scene, and between the earplugs, the natural wind, the manufactured wind, and the fan motors, I couldn't hear damn near anything. At one point the director was yelling "action!" at me through a megaphone from maybe 10 feet behind me and I still couldn't hear him, so he had to send the 1st A.D. running into my eyeline and waving at me to start.

We wrapped around midnight and I was home by 1am. All in all, an amazing day. By the end of it, everyone was frigid and chapped and tired—but we definitely got some magic in the can. The [redacted] crew are clearly having a good time working on an unusual show, and that infectious good cheer permeated every corner of our set. Alas, I know I won't work with them again (barring some other flashback), but the one day was plenty to chew on for a while.

All's Well That Ends Well

I am trying my first mobile blog post.

Am on the set of [redacted], and just heard that 11th hour is a go.
The two productions were nice enough to find a work around. Yowza!

This has been some crazy week, and it's only Thursday...

Insanity!

When it rains, it pours. I can't believe this is happening.

It turns out the reason the sure-thing callback for 11th Hour didn't materialize is that they were casting straight from tape.

And this afternoon I found out I was their choice, pending network approval.

And tonight I found out WE GOT THE OFFER! TWO BOOKINGS IN TWO DAYS!

And?.......

And there's a conflict with my shoot on [Redacted]. The 11th Hour gig, originally set to shoot only one day (on the 18th), now has an additional day of work (this coming Friday) which overlaps with a "hold" day for my current shoot.

Unbelievable.

So now my agent and manager have huddled and are going to try to finesse the situation with both production crews in the hopes that i won't have to turn down the second job.

I'm overjoyed, freaking out, stressing, and on pins and needles all at the same time. Won't know until sometime tomorrow if I can keep the second job, but when I know, I'll post it here.

Crazy, right?

[redacted]

If you look back, you'll notice that my last two posts have been slightly altered.

That's because when I got the script for this shoot, there was a copyright/disclosure warning on page two that sent chills down my spine. It was signed by the producers and it threatened IMMEDIATE DISMISSAL for leaking any details about the story.

I mean, serious business.

I shouldn't be surprised, I guess. And I'm probably over-reacting (or over-redacting—get it?).

But even though this blog has a readership in the single digits, it's still visible to anyone who stumbles across it, and there's no way I'm going to let that jeopardize this job.

Two other items of note:

1) My lines in the new script have been reduced to one word. Woo-hoo!

2) My sure-fire callback for 11th Hour yesterday never materialized. I'm really a bit surprised, but it just goes to show you that you can't always know what goes on behind closed doors. And that I shouldn't get too cocky, either.

Did You Ever Know That You're on "[redacted]"?

BOOKED IT!

My producer's session yesterday rocked. I am officially shooting a large co-star on [redacted] later this week! I found out last night that I was "their choice", as they say, and the deal was worked out today.

There is not a lot of room for negotiation on the compensation for what is, at the end of the day, a small but challenging role. But the casting office ([redacted]) is notoriously difficult to meet with and/or make an impression on, so this is a great victory—they are one of the better offices in LA and they cast a lot of stuff.

In deference to the show's producers, I'm not saying anything more about the role because they really are super-secretive.

Here's the bonus:with all the residual confidence from last night's session, I went in early this morning (9:15am!) for a nice role on a new CBS show, 11th hour, with Rufus Sewell. It felt like I nailed it—we'll see if anything transpires.

Suffice to say, things are picking up a little speed out here, and that's a huge relief. We can only hope they continue to do so, and aren't derailed by Alan Rosenberg's ridiculous lawsuit against SAG which was filed yesterday. Seriously, could someone give him his meds already? The guy is clearly delusional.

Third Audition Of The Year

Audition #1 was a one-day guest on The Unit, where the LIE TO ME folks called me in. Liked me, but not for this part.

Audition #2 was the "Kevin James type" fiasco. Can I please have a mint to get that taste out of my mouth?

The mint came yesterday in the form of....

Audition #3: A protective father on [redacted]. (Shhh! They're very secretive over there). It's my first time at this casting office, and I hit it off with them so far. I have a callback for producers on Monday. Would love to do this; if I book the part, my character gets to punch someone and then get shot. How cool would that be?

Website Relaunched

Basically the same content, but a little cleaner and meaner and cooler.

Check it out:

For the Record

I am thrilled, thrilled, thrilled that the more moderate members of the SAG board ousted Doug Allen and replaced the negotiating committee yesterday.

Make no mistake about it, I feel that the deal the AMPTP has offered is a slap in the face. It sucks. It's grossly unfair. The lead folks at the AMPTP are bastards.

In other words, I feel SAG has the moral high ground here.

But despite those feelings I was not in favor of a strike.

I was in favor last year, when there was a chance of striking with AFTRA. Once that ship sailed, I was on the fence.

What got me off the fence and opposed to the strike was not the tanking economy, or fear of losing my own jobs, or pressure from various folks in Hollywood to play along so that the industry wouldn't face its second stoppage in as many years.

No, I was against the strike for one reason and one reason only: I had no faith that the current leadership could get a better deal.

I attended the open house for SAG members in West Hollywood back in December and found Doug Allen and Alan Rosenberg to be incredibly tone-deaf to the concerns of their membership. Valid questions about real issues related to a strike were raised throughout the meeting and were met with contempt, sarcasm, or condescension. What the guys on stage wanted was a pep rally, not a situation where they'd have to discuss their (now failed) strategy with the rank-and-file. There were lots of folks at the meeting who, like me, were on the fence, and with a simple reasoned explanation might have been tipped onto the "YEA" side. But Allen and Rosenberg essentially were saying, "you just have to trust us, we know what we're doing, just get onboard with us and tell your friends to as well." They were spinning us—exaggerating, sometimes distorting facts—spinning their own membership, the same folks who had elected them! And these are the same guys who alienated AFTRA, illegally tried to talk a soap cast into decertifying, the same guys who didn't get a strike authorization BEFORE their negotiations. Idiots.

I tried to imagine what it would be like in a collective bargaining meeting with them and realized I couldn't imagine anyone being able make progress towards a deal with them.

You only strike if you actually think it will lead to an improved contract. With these guys in charge, I think we would have likely had 3-4 months of no work, followed by the same deal we'd been offered—or worse. This is what most members of the writers guild feel was the result of their 4-month strike.

I'm glad we can move on. I expect the new negotiating committee to get one or two token concessions from the producers, cut a (still crappy) deal, and we'll all move forward. My fervent hope is that three years from now, with AFTRA and the WGA by our side, we can force the bloodsuckers to give us the deal we deserve.

In 2011 we'll have leverage. Right now we have none.

Catching Up

In Brief:

• The same casting director who cast me as the co-star videographer on Lie To Me called me in for a sweet guest-starring role on The Unit. I was to play a dickish father who selfishly puts others in danger during a chlorine gas leak situation. An amazing part with a great arc. Great audition, made it to producers, did not book the role. But this office clearly likes me, so that's good
• Was also called in for a comic role ("Kevin James type"—aka the King of Queens) on a new comedy, Better Off Ted. Felt I had to make a strong choice, and did. Showed up to the audition to see a room full of guys who actually look like Kevin James (i.e., blue collar, balding, 300 lb. types). Realized halfway through the audition that my strong choice was not remotely funny to the casting directors. They were very sweet, but I tanked. Oh well. It's gonna happen. I didn't lose my cool, and I didn't apologize. Sitcoms are just not going to be my strong point
• Took Jody to Sundance for a belated surprise birthday weekend. Saw nine films in three days. Two of them sucked, one was so-so, three were very good, and three were breathtaking. Not a bad batting average. Park City was beautiful and amazing—I really want to ski there now. Bonus points: The entire trip is a write-off for me! Keep your eyes open in the future for Amreeka, Afghan Star, and Mary and Max.
• Lastly, saw the premiere tonight of Loving Leah, the Hallmark TV movie I shot in September with Lauren Ambrose. On the down side, most of my scene (originally about 3 minutes) was cut. Or "slashed" is perhaps the better word. Down to about 10 seconds! On the good side, I am still in the movie, and when I appeared onscreen, the entire theater cracked up. The sight gag is that good. Bonus points: the director apologized, said the decision to cut came from Hallmark (they were afraid it might offend). He's going to try to get me the whole scene for my reel. Yay! Loving Leah airs Sunday night on CBS at 9pm eastern. Reprising my Law and Order success of a few years ago (Bible Story), I once again play an orthodox jew. But this time I'm actually a rabbi:

LIE TO ME, Part II

Okay. Since I now know that two or three of you are actually reading this (Hi, CMB!), I'll dish the goods.

The reason I was bummed for the latter part of the Lie To Me booking involves the actual shooting of my scene.

As I discussed at length a couple years ago, and a bit in the former Lie To Me post as well, co-star roles are less about the acting and more about the plot advancement.

So after two days of hanging around on a shoot that seemed perpetually behind schedule (but aren't they always?), we got to my scene on the third day. I played a videographer who is reluctant to turn over a tape from the wedding because he wants to try to profit from selling it to someone. It was a fine little role, one that I thought I'd nailed at the audition, and I was prepared to have my small but fun moment in the sun as we wound down the third day. "Character" is too strong a word for a 4-line part, but nonetheless, I'd figured one out—a guy who was understated and crafty and quietly steaming at the situation. It got me the part, and I was planning to stay true to my choices for that reason alone—maybe flesh the dude out a little, but generally stick to what had worked.

It was not to be.

We got set up for the scene. The director came in, looked at lighting, looked at getting the shot set. Pretty much ignored me and the other guys in the scene. Did not even introduce himself, which I guess is not that unusual, except I'm used to at least getting a handshake. The first AD put us on some marks, and we got ready to go.

Fine, so far, so good. I don't need to have my hand held.

We do a rehearsal. The director come over, says to me, "no no no no no. Much bigger, much more BLUSTERY. He's waving his arms around. This guy's a tough New Yorker, he's basically losing his temper in this scene....Alllllllright, let's SHOOT IT!"

Now, I know it's my job to take the note and turn on a dime. And I really had no problem with his direction. It was a very different take on the scene, but it was a perfectly reasonable one and I could see how it would go that way. And he's got to make the story work for him, so it's his call.

But I would have liked maybe ONE more rehearsal. Because going from "understated seething guy" to "blustery arm waving guy with an accent" is more than a little pivot. It's a shift. And on camera, the way everything gets magnified, if I don't do it very specifically and precisely, it's going to come out like a bad Pacino impersonation. So I'd have liked a moment to recalibrate.

But there was no moment to be had. We immediately ran through about 8 takes. The new guy landed in my body somewhere around the 4th one and felt pretty good and organic after that. Ahh, but by then we were no longer on my coverage. So my best crack at this dude was during the scenes where the focus was elsewhere; and my most hamhanded attempts at him were the ones where the camera was on me.

I dunno, it might be fine. But it kind of felt like ass. And it reminded me, once again, why I prefer to do roles that get a little talk time with the director instead of these fly-by scenes.

If, when it airs, there's a lot of editing around me (shots of my hands, shots of the extras while I'm talking), now you'll know why.

LIE TO ME, Part I

So, I booked my first role since the move. Yay!

It's a co-star on a mid-season replacement on FOX called Lie To Me starring Tim Roth. The show is about a group of behavioral doctors, etc., who solve cases by reading "microexpressions" in people's faces which indicate that they're lying. I watched a promo for it, and I actually think it's going to be a really good show.

I'm a little bummed to be back in co-star land, but am happy for the work. And the main thing is that I got in to see a casting director who I met two years ago, and she really liked what I did, took some time to get reacquainted with me, and called me in the next day for a much larger guest star on a different series. Actually, a Mossad agent, which would have been incredibly fun. But she decided I was too young, told me she'd definitely use me in the future, and in the meantime, did I want to play the original role I came in for? Which was Videographer #1 at a Korean wedding. And having hardly even auditioned all fall (it's been deadly quiet), I was happy for the job.

The shoot was most of last week. This post is about the first couple of days, which were wonderful and bizarre. The main action at the beginning of the episode takes place at the wedding of the son of a Korean ambassador—a huge, opulent affair. Most of the other co-starring roles were Korean-American actors (or other asian types who were playing Korean-American). Plus there were about 250 extras (or "atmosphere" as they are called here), by far the most I've ever worked with on a set before. The extras were about 3/4 asian, 1/4 caucasian. There were guests, waiters, other videographers, photographers, secret service people, the wedding party, a group of traditional korean fan dancers.....and of course about 40-50 crew. Madness!

It was fascinating. First of all, I was hanging out with the other co-star types. The Korean guys all pretty much knew each other and what kind of work each had done lately. Many of them had appeared together before, on numerous occasions. I realized that as a subset of all LA actors, the Korean acting community must be pretty tight. There were animated discussions about the script, which dealt with "microexpressions" of behavior but with a Korean twist (i.e., one character had to betray his inner feelings by not bowing deferentially enough....a tip-off to the resentment he's feeling. The actor playing the role was debating how low he should bow so as to show the microexpression, yet not be too obvious). At one point the episode's author writer came over and said he'd read that Koreans never showed disgust as an expression; the actors all cried in unison, "unless he's drunk!"...indicating to me that this must be a commonly accepted fact in Korean culture. Again, fascinating stuff.

Looking around the wedding reception, I saw many older actors (which is right for a wedding, yes?), including an entire table of extras of what I guessed to be Indian descent. They were wearing saris and seemed completely out of place compared to the rest of the room! I found myself wondering what in the world they were doing there, and decided that the ambassador must have colleagues at the embassy who he invites to his son's wedding or whatever.

All in all, it was a great couple of days shooting the wedding scene. The kind of stuff I love about shoots: meeting a bunch of talented and very diverse people, figuring out how to make the scene consistent but fresh for each take, having fun imagining what the actual wedding would have been like.

Alas, Part II of the shoot was not as great. But more on that in my next post....

The $400 Audition

Yesterday at around 10:45am, I was pulling into a parking lot at LAX, gettting ready to fly east for a much-needed weekend in NYC with Jody.

Then I noticed I had a new voicemail.

It was my agent, with my first pilot audition. Ever. And only my second or third audition this year. It was scheduled for 5:15, and was I still in town?

I had to weigh the pros and cons, but quickly decided to say and go on the audition. For one thing, it's been quiet, and I wanted to get back in the saddle. For another, it was actually a very good part for me. For a third, it was with a casting director who does a lot of stuff in LA.

The audition was only a pre-read—meaning, I'd meet the casting director, and she'd get a sense of me, and then decide if she wanted to bring me back for producers the next day.

I cancelled my Continental Ticket (I have a year to use it), spent the afternoon going over the script and sides, met the woman at 5:15 and had a great audition with her. She laughed at my bits, she chatted with me a little, said good work, etc. There was a great vibe in the room. And you can tell where this is going.

I went home and sat around waiting to hear whether or not they'd be having me back the next day. FInally, at 7:00pm I got the call from my agent with the dreaded words: "It isn't going to go any further." Sigh.

Ah, well. I was glad to have done it nonetheless, and I really do think I made an impression on the CD.

I went to the Jet Blue website and found a redeye leaving in an hour and a half. Grabbed my still-packed bag, shot up to Burbank and made it with 30 minutes to spare.

Cost of the original ticket: $338.80
Cost of the new ticket: $748.80
Difference: $410.

Ouch.

Oh, and not only was it a redeye, but we had stop in Denver in the middle of the night to add fuel, because it was too windy for us to take off at Burbank with a full tank. The cabin crew announced Denver as a "tech stop" for refueling, and told us that if we tried to leave Burbank with a full tank in the Santa Anna winds, we wouldn't have enough "climb performance". Which I guess is a nice way of saying "we won't make it off the ground."

At least the ticket's a write-off, right?

Monologue

Okay, made it with ten minutes to spare....I've done all my homework, I'm ready to go, just throw it all away and relax and have fun now....looks like it's going to be a while before they call any of us in....keep the energy up.....should I look over the lines again?....yeah, but don't obsess about it, don't want to overplan.....okay, yeah, I know these lines, just need to trust that it's all there....that guy is dressed exactly like me....good thing I'm going in before him.....I feel good....I feel great....this is totally mine for the taking......just need to RELAX and HAVE FUN....that's the name of the game, have fun, and remember today is a day I get to "play"......okay, I've been sitting too long, I'm feeling the energy go......my feet are a little numb, gotta stomp that out...(stomp! stomp!)...okay that's better, I feel a little more grounded now......I feel very relaxed....I feel a little too relaxed.....I could use a little of that adrenaline now.....I need to pee...should I pee?...having the extra energy from needing to pee might help me out.....on the other hand, it could be another ten minutes before I go in there.....fuck it, I'm going to hit the john..... (pees).... yeah, glad I did that, because there is NO SIGN of this woman....that dude over there is totally stressing....dude, you've got to breathe, you look terrified. and next time, you might not want to wear blue jeans you look a little too casual to me, but hey, that's just me.....it would be funny if I got this...I mean, who'd imagine my first breakout movie role would be in a Martin Lawrence film?....it would be like when my mom did that Tim Allen movie For Richer, For Poorer a few years ago....what?...oh we're going! that was sudden.....do I know this? yes, I know it! it'll all be there.....just relax and have fun HAVE FUN! HAVE FUN, GODDAMNIT!!

Co-Star Crapshoot

I had my first audition of 2007 today. For a co-star on a hit show. Against my better judgement. It went fine, we'll see, blah blah blah.

I say "against my better judgement" because I am now well tuned-in to the caste system of television roles. And I know that auditioning for a co-star role at this point, even on a hit show, probably doesn't help me and may, in fact, be a detriment to what I'm trying to do here.

Let me explain.

Most people first work on TV by doing extra work and/or co-stars. Extra work is wandering around in the back of a scene to create atmosphere. It involves blending in and being unrecognizable. Extras are treated like second class citizens on a set. They are herded like cattle. There are usually several signs saying "extras holding area" which is a nice way of saying that day's cattle pen. There are more signs warning extras not to eat the food at Kraft Services (Kraft Services="catering table", and please don't ask me where the name comes from...sometime I'll write about the "honey wagon" and being in a "triple-banger" and then the fur will really fly on this blog). Extras are expected to show up on time, bring their own clothes (not too bright or colorful!), cross through the scene when directed, hit their marks, get the hell out of the way, and never call attention to themselves. It's a pretty unfulfilling way to spend a day, although it does count towards benefits.

Then there's co-star roles. Co-star roles actually involve lines. Yup, you get to speak! So it's certainly a step up from extra work. Actually, most of the non-recurring characters you see on TV are co-star roles. A co-star part is anything from one line to several lines to even a few scenes. The vast majority of them, however, are three to five lines of plot advancement. ("Well, her neck is fine, but I noticed some old bruises on her back. It looks like she may have been in an abusive relationship." Gee, thanks Dr. Exposition!) Co-stars are expected to show up on time, wear sometimes ill-fitting clothes from the costume shop, hit their marks, advance the plot, and then get the hell out of the way.

The next level up from co-star is guest star. Guest star roles are the ones you see on TV that are major players in the show: the defense attorney, the murder suspect, etc. The director actually talks to guest star actors (the extras and co-stars only get to deal with the First A.D.), and involves them in the show. To be a guest star is to have arrived, to some degree. It actually requires making some choices and, you know, acting. (The only level above guest star is series regular, and that's a whole different ballgame.)

For my last year or two in NYC, I had graduated out of the ranks of co-star roles into guest star roles (don't ask me, by the way, why co-star is hyphenated, and guest star isn't; it's just another burden the co-star must shoulder). This is important, because if you do too many co-stars , casting directors feel you can't do more than that (likewise, you have to avoid doing too much extra work). And once you start doing guest stars, you really shouldn't turn back.

This prejudice is much sharper and far more overt in LA. Out here, they practically hold it against you if you've done any co-stars. Because the darlings of the TV industry are the actors (usually gorgeous, usually young), who just started working in guest stars from the get-go. Why can't we all be as brilliant as these wunderkinden?

You see where this is going. My agent and manager have strongly pushed me as a "guest star only" kinda guy out here. It's important to present yourself as "belonging" at a certain level. My last three roles have been substantial, juicy guest stars—they have demonstrated my range at that level. That's what we have to shoot for. Otherwise, particularly when dealing with casting directors unfamiliar with his work, a forty-year-old character actor is only going to toil in obscurity on the lower rungs.

Which brings me to today.

Today I was requested kind of last-minute by casting directors I met in the fall to be seen for a co-star role on a hit show. Normally, we'd say "thanks, he'd love to do this show, but in a more substantial role," and wait to see what else came up later in the season (for most shows in LA, once you've worked on it, you're done....you can't repeat as a different character).

But this particular show has its scripts shrouded in secrecy, and although the part was only three lines, there were possibilities here: often this show has people read for one scene then they do three during the shoot; sometimes co-stars on this show become recurring co-stars. And things have been quiet for me thus far in '07.

So we all agreed I should go in on the hopes the role might actually be something juicier than imagined, and the casting directors, who knew my work and had complimented my reel, might want someone with some decent chops to pull it off.

Wrong.

I got to the audition and there were five or six other guys there who ran the gamut from 25-year old bald black guy in fatigues, to 30-year old guy in motorcycle outfit, to me (today reading as about 35 and kind of rural), to forty-ish guy who looked like a professor—all reading for the same role!

This was a case of them not really knowing what they want. This was a case of a role that probably got written into the script yesterday. And this was, most definitely, a case of a character who is going to show up, advance the plot, and get the hell out of the way.

Roles like this are a crapshoot (hence the post title above). When you audition for them, you're told repeatedly, "throw it all away"; "do it with less feeling"; "faster than that"; "say every line like you don't really care what you're saying". It's an exercise in making yourself as unnoticeable as possible, while advancing the crucial plot line. For the most part, unless someone's having a bad day, everyone who comes in will do a decent job. And these auditions are a bummer because you know that everyone will give the same, slick, understated read, and it really will come down to whether my slightly tousled hair and plaid shirt trump the other guy's two-day growth and eurosport fleece.

And, not to whine about it, but I had kind of moved past that. It's good to get out and be seen, and to flex the audition muscles again, but there's nothing that makes you feel less like an actor than going in to play Officer Plotadvance. A role that I won't even put on my résumé, because it will make other LA casting directors think they can have me for cheap.

I still hope I book it though.

Kamsahamnida

My first week back in LA after the holidays, I was really grumpy.

I had been home in New York for three great weeks: I'd seen my family, cooked up a couple of great meals, hung out with good friends, caught up with my cats, seen the premiere of Dreamgirls and, of course, had loads of blissful uninterrupted time with Jody.

All that changed the evening of Friday, January 5. I was back in LA, on my own again, and—what else?—oh yes, I had lost my glasses on the flight.

Just a pair of glasses, right?

Wrong.

They were a pair of effing expensive, magical glasses.

There are very few things in life I will actually go out and spend real money on. But Jody convinced me long ago that it's wise, especially for someone in my profession, to invest in well-made glasses that flatter me: I wear them often enough; it's important that I look and feel terrific in them.

And these glasses had been more than just some vanity pickup for me; I swear, they had gotten me jobs. I had a run of several auditions where I wore the glasses because I felt they helped create the look I was going for (all lawyer/techie/professional types), and I booked all of them.

Can a pair of glasses get you a job? I don't know, but I know that these babies seemed to be working for me.

So after moping through a few days of desolation and letting it really sink in that they weren't coming back (I called and emailed JFK, Burbank Airport, JetBlue, the car service that I took in Brooklyn and the friend that picked me up here—all to no avail), I finally set about replacing them.

First I called the Upper West Side store where I'd originally purchased them. Yes, they still had that model, and they could replace them—for $720. "Um, that price has really gone up," I said, and they replied that everything goes up, and I'd had a coupon last time. I talked them down to $660, but that was as far as they'd budge.

Grrr. I had the feeling I was paying more for the shop's Broadway address than for the glasses themselves. So I got the style name from them ("The Advocate") and set about finding a replacement pair in LA.

I started at the manufacturer's website and found that they listed all of the local stores which carried their specs: 59 locations in a 10-mile radius. And I began working my way down the list, calling the shops one by one. But nobody had them: the model was no longer in the catalog, I was told, it was an old style that was no longer à la mode. Did I want to see some other pairs? No, I did not.

After reaching about a dozen places and getting a bunch of "NOs" and one "We'll call you back," I decided to call the store's own flagship boutique. Success! They had a new shipment arriving in two days, and some "Advocate" frames would be included in it. I could get them, no problem—for only $530.

Well, $530 was certainly better than $720, so I decided to suck it up. I made plans to visit them later in the week to get the glasses fitted and ground. And hanging up the phone, I felt a little better: I'd have to shell out a bundle, but at least I had been able to find them.

And that would have been the end of it, except..... the shop that had said they'd call me back actually called me back!

I'd been a little leery of them. When they'd answered the phone it had been in what sounded like Chinese, and there had been a significant language barrier during our conversation. I'd kept saying "Advocate", and they'd thought I was saying "Avocado". So when they called back, I seriously doubted they could help me.

"We found Advocate!" the gentleman said.

Mmm hmm? "Advocate", not "Avocado"?

     Yes.

In brown?

     Yes.

In stock?

     Also yes!

And I could get the frames, lenses, anti-glare coating, the works—everything I needed—for $380! Almost half off the original New York price.

When I first drove over, I got spooked again: the shop, smack in the middle of LA's Koreatown (so that's what they were speaking!) was renting space on the ground floor of a monolithic, windowless building that clearly had originally housed some entirely different kind of business. They had strung a big tarpaulin sign to one parking lot wall to announce their store's presence. There was no English to be seen anywhere in their parking lot except for the handicapped sign:


Then there was the sign that said something like (I'm guessing here): "These parking spots for tenants of 2880 West Olympic Boulevard ONLY...Violators will be towed!"


But inside, they were incredibly nice, and incredibly professional; plus, they threw in a free eye exam, and updated my prescription. And the glasses were ready two days before they said they would be. I just picked them up on Friday.

Awesome. I've got my mojo back.

So, to Jake and Julie, and the entire staff at 1001 Optical I'd like to give a very heartfelt "thanks"; or as you would say, "kamsahamnida":




_______________________________
Had to run roadside again: the track is in use by the school during the week (duh).
2.8 miles, 31:20.

Pony Express

This post will seem like another indictment of LA. But it's not.

It's about the luxury of having something that I think maybe doesn't exist anywhere else in the US except Manhattan: a 24-hour post office.

I take way too much of my New York life for granted.

I have been to the 24-hour GPO (="General Post Office") at 32nd and Eighth more times that I can remember: for late-night postcard mailings such as this one; for warranty instances where I had to have a postmark by a certain date (they'll even do that on Sundays); in the old days, I was there on April 15th every year to get my taxes in. (If you've never been there the night of the IRS filing deadline, you should go just to see the carnival that occurs for one day every year—it's like when they blow up the Macy's Day Balloons. My favorite part is that Bayer or Bufferin, or someone similar always sets up a truck to dispense free headache pills. But I digress.)

So yesterday was the day that I had set aside to do a big postcard mailing. The kind you send to casting directors every month or so (if you're diligent) to remind them what you look like and tell them what you're doing.

My postcard, by the way, looks like this:



My day began, however, with an unexpected war against ants.

As I mentioned before, it's been cold here. (And I have to say, all my snarkiness aside, it's been a problem. I personally still have not been cold, but something like ¾ of the local citrus crop has been destroyed by frost. Prepare to spend a lot more on produce next month.)

So, if you've ever lived in California, you know that ants are kind of a fact of life here. Particularly in the summer months. And, as I discovered, during the winter months when it gets really cold outside (either that, or it was the fact that my roommate made fruit punch Wednesday night and didn't clean up well). Whatever the cause, yesterday I was greeted by kitchen counters teeming (yes, teeming, thank you very much) with hundreds of ants.

And so yesterday morning was spent pulling everything off all the kitchen counters, spraying them with ant spray, leaving the house for a while, coming back and cleaning up the carnage, cleaning the counters down to the tile with bleach and other chemical-filled products, and reassembling the now-ant-free kitchen.

All of which took me until early afternoon. At which point I got down to business and began to get my mailing together. Which involved:

• figuring out which casting directors the postcards were going to
• cross-checking their addresses online in case any had moved since my last mailing
• composing some breezy copy about my latest accomplishments
• adding personalized notes for the casting directors I knew personally
• mail-merging the whole thing and having it print out on oversized labels
• adhering those labels to the backs of my postcards
• creating a label trumpeting my Without a Trace appearance, to go on the front of the card next to my face, where it will garner even more attention from the bored receptionists at the casting directors' offices
• stamping them all
• signing them all

Normally, this kind of thing takes me 3-4 hours. I've gotten pretty good at it, but the clock was ticking, and I wanted to get it in the mail last night so that it would hit people's desks Friday morning. The advantage of Fridays is twofold:
1) you're arriving on a light mail day (as opposed to Monday, which is a heavy mail day); and
2) some CDs take their mail home and you're with them all weekend.

So I did all the above stuff, and was running late, and wrapped up at about 7:30.

And then (can you see this coming?), then I went online to find the location of LA's 24-hour post office.

To discover there isn't one.

In fact, the latest any post office in LA is open (that I could find, anyway), is 7pm.

Oops.