It’s hard to take yourself too seriously when you ask the girl you’re seeing how it feels to be f*cking a blogger. She likes me for the blogger I am. She doesn’t judge me for going to movies by myself or sipping on John Jameson in my underpants and dialing Mario at Time Warner Cable to swindle HBO. She lauds me for also bundling Showtime and Starz for the same price. Better yet, she encourages my effort as I blog to glory.
And she couldn’t believe that a reality TV producer discovered my blog and wanted me to audition for the role of a young, charismatic Jewish guy to befriend a back country hick to show him Jews aren’t so bad afterall.
The producer said she wasn’t looking for some actor. I was a real live Jew, I assured her.
“What’s kind of budget are we talking?” I asked.
“It’s not yet finalized. It could be $5. It could be $500.”
“How about $500?” I inferred.
I looked up audition tips on Youtube. I was told to wear blue because blue is a neutral color. Blinking was also discouraged. Since my dad is a male model I learned that is helps if you look Asian.
I felt very confident going into the audition knowing I only had to be myself. I’ve gotten jobs and had sex being that person. If they didn’t like me at least it would not be because of my acting. It would be on account of my personality.
I sat in the waiting area of a Sunset Strip agency like that you would see on Entourage. The producer greeted me and asked If I needed anything.
“Water sounds great.” I said pretending to read the Hollywood reporter. I sat crossing my legs, holding in a fart.
She returned with a bottled water. “We’ll get started in a moment. We are just waiting on Greg.”
“Sure, of course.” I replied.
“Greg? Who the hell is Greg?” I wondered
I liked the idea of Greg, not so much the idea of waiting for him. The exciting part was anyone in the lobby could be Greg, except for the Mexican guy.
A few fake Gregs walked by with their heads down until one offered me a head nod and raced in the other direction. Maybe Greg had to shit too?
I couldn’t tell what Greg looked like until he finally approached me with a pair of cool glasses and a moustache. I figured there was no chance I could keep a straight face, but he wasn’t the Hollywood hotshot I was expecting. He was a hip dude from Silverlake.
“So you like records,” he opened. “What records do you like?”
“Mainly classic rock and singer/song writers.” I replied to Greg who led me and his two other producers to a large board room shielded by glass doors.
“How much do records cost?” asked the producer.
“You can find some decent vinyl and some rare vintage stuff for $20,” said Greg.
“Or $2 if you like Jackson Browne,” I added.
Greg made me feel at ease as he repeated many of the same details I learned over the phone about how the pilot would help introduce the subject to new cultures and dispel any preconceived notions about minorities.
“How comfortable are you answering questions about Judiasm?” Greg wanted to know.
I name dropped every Jewish organization of my past—the JCC, Emma Kaufmann Camp, Jewish Big Brothers Big Sisters, and the Chabad Telethon. I figured I couldn’t get more Jewish.
“Are you meeting with a lot of people?” I asked.
“We just met with a mohel. He was so funny,” laughed the producer.
And that’s when I realized I could get more Jewish. How can I compete with a mohel?
“Do you drive?” the producer asked.
Aha! Take that mohel. “Yes, with two hands,” I clarified. “And on Fridays and Saturdays.”
Everyone smiled and looked at each other. I smiled and looked at everyone back. “So, what’s the next step?” I asked.
“We’ll be meeting with some more people and should have an answer next week sometime.”
“In the meantime,” the producer interjected. “If you know of any one else, please send em our way.”
That’s like hearing a date tell you, you’re nice but I’d rather f*ck one of your friends.
I’d rather not get typecast as a Jew, then again I will if you pay me. Blogging about myself got me to this point, and it’s getting me laid. Might as well keep doing what I’m doing.
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