Deeez Nutmeg

2.19.10

3:59 pm

Surprisingly good day thus far.

Had an audition at Nutmeg, a place I hate because it's always peopled by "those" actors.

You know.

One guy comes in and sees the other guy:

1: Uh oh, looks like they'll let ANYONE in here!

Subtext: Hey everyone! Look at me!

2: Oh boy! Cancel the audition, __________ is here!

Subtext: Great, this asshole.

1: Hey, man, how ya been?

Subtext: Then YOU'LL have to ask ME!!!!!!!!!!

2: Good good, how about you?

Subtext: He is just going to start jerking off aaaany minute now...

1: Oh good good, did that thing in _____.

Subtext: ME! ME! MEMEME!!!!!!

2: Really? Wow...

Subtext: You. Lucky. Fuckrag.

1: Yeah, yeah, _______ was the director.

Subtext: MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2: Wow! Hey, that's awesome, that is awesome. Congrats! You gotta geta copy of that man, and like, tell all the agents and stuff...

Subtext: I wish you cancer of the AIDS of the eyes.

1. Yeah, so, you know, it was a pretty good deal.

Subtext: I came.

That was pretty much verbatim.

This is the same casting house where, another time, this guy just started, ostensibly, reading his resume and talking about how great his summer was because of all the gigs he booked and how well they paid etc.

Pure dick move, psych-out bullshit.

Cool thing is?

The psych-out stuff doesn't work on me, because, unlike on-screen stuff, talent is what gets jobs, not whipping you dick out and rubbing money and bookings all over it.

They just sickens people.

Anyway, the copy was for some financial thing, very typical, direction was: "warm, empathetic, confident, but not arrogant", almost the trite and true Comcast formula, very straightforward.

And I fucking put it in and broke it off on this one.

I'd been warmed up so my voice was buttery leather (something Chris says is going to be in next season?), the kind that gets paid.

I did one take, got notes, did another and she had nothing left for me, but not in a "you're so far off the mark this is a waste of time" way.

I walked out feeling pretty good (not that, in the end, that matters fuckall, but still, it affects your day from that point on) and had about thirty minutes to kill before going to work, so I decided to walk the one or two avenues to Midtown Comics to pick up some more Preacher.

Turns out all their trade paperbacks were 40% off.

On top of all that, the Subways have been treating me very well today.

So, based on all this, I probably have ball cancer or something equally fun.

And:

Last night I watched "Ratatouille".

Not great.

Then again, I'm not 6.

Although I did purchase, eat and enjoy a box of Animal Crackers earlier this week.

I got more enjoyment from the fact that, when he isn't a cute, cooking, talking rat, Patton Oswalt is filthy and hilarious and brilliant.

"Big Fan" might be more up my alley.

BUT

I must address a MAJOR plot hole (in the 'G' rated, animated Disney movie about talking, cooking rats).

*SPOILERS*

So, the climax of the film was the rats making a dish for the big, bad food critic (voiced excellently by Peter O'Toole who also did a great job as Supergirl's father in that shitty, shitty, SHITTY movie from the 80's) and the dish they made was...ratatouille.

They arranged it artistically and when the critic ate it he came in his pants (figuratively) and got all happy (literally) etc.

Thing is: ratatouille is made up of some of the blandest foods in the universe: zucchini, squash, mozzarella and tomato sauce.

Unless I'm missing something huge, that's it.

How can that be so amazing?!

I WANT THAT FUCKING RATATOUILLE!

NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW!

MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Also checked out the new Stephen King novella, "UR" ("ur", not "you are"), and the first 89% is a competent King, utilizing the always-fun Many Worlds Theorem, but the ending ties in in a very interesting way to the Dark Tower series, specifically raising questions about what happened after the events of the final (final until King writes book 8 in 2011) book of the series.

Man, I hope he doesn't die.

Finally, I came up with a great simile for my job:

It's like receiving a clumsy gummer from an elderly, English bulldog with gingivitis: there are so many things wrong with it that you sort of go numb and give in.

Vive l'amore!!!!