Showing posts with label FluMist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FluMist. Show all posts

8.16.2011

Crunchy Bits

8.16.11

8:53 pm

 

Very tired today.

Bear with me.

There is a bear with me.

 

WHY I am tired pertains to a thing that Digitas and I have going on...

I have booked three out of three recent auditions, plus a re-record for an earlier project in the past week.

Two of these bookings in one day, both of them (along with this morning's re-record) all paid for by Digitas.

I don't know who is running this company, but obviously they think they owe me some money.

Or they realize that I'm a hot, young talent.

Probably both.

Which I'm fine with.

The two bookings on one day were pretty damn disparate: the first was a growly, kill-the-kids-because-they-won't-survive-what-is-about-to-come-to-pass-and-death-would-just-be-more-merciful voice over for Harley-Davidson cookware.

Or vacuums.

I can't quite recall.

I think I may have mentioned that audition here a while ago...

Whatever the case, I got it and recorded it in the same booth with a bunch of characters from Grand Theft Auto IV were recorded.

Which I thought was cool until I talked to my engineer who informed me that Rockstar (the makers of said game) were total shitheads.

Bummer.

From that booking, I went across the street pretty much to record a lot of text, while maintaining a level of enthusiasm that, if used in every day affairs, would result in repeated tazings, in a crazy short amount of time.

Like five lines in seven seconds.

This was for Optimum Online.

Which also makes cookware and batteries or something along those lines.

Before that, I played a talking dog in the style of Christopher Guest from Best In Show.

The first two are straight up television commercials, but this is a fun one: in late August or early September, on Zyrtec's web site, you will be able to play a sort of choose-your-own-adventure game involving talking dogs.

I am the bloodhound in episode two, which I believe is called Parks Unleashed.

It was fun as hell and the folks in the studio were also fun as hell.

When I came in, they were recording some sort of rap about lobster rolls.

And I continue to love my job.

The same can be said of the Optimum session: Chris, Chris, Brian (who'd won an Emmy!!!), Laura (who's voice didn't register on autotune...but that's neither here nor there), Bill, T.J. and...Melissa, I believe.

Between the actual recording session and waiting for the client to call, we all hung out and got to know one another a bit.

Very cool people, all of them.

And, thanks to one of them, T.J., I had my first Chick-a-cavo sandwich from Lenny's.

That man knows a good sandwich when he sees one.

Chicken breast, avocado, roasted red peppers, melted provolone and toasty beard.

As mentioned above: I continue to love my job.

Then, early this morning (the equivalent of 4 o'clock in the morning for you Daylighters), I was called in for yet another Comcast/Xfinity spot.

Specifically to remind folks that Boardwalk Empire is starting up again on September 29th.

Or 25th.

I'm not paid to remember, I'm paid to spit buttered leather.

AND, I found one a few days ago, that the Flumist "Pick Your Nose" campaign I was involved in was nominated for a Webby, which has something to do with Huey, Dewey and Louie's relation, that little duck chick.

Still haven't found the actual thing I was involved in...it's an app that has a bunch of different people saying "I want to pick my nose".

Could someone with a smartphone check this thing out?

Then...don't tell anyone...but I recorded a scratch track for a super secret thing that Ray is working on for Batman...or some other super secret organization.

I can't remember, but I already told you, I'm not in the remembering business.

I'm in the spitting buttered leather business.

So, in other words, I've had a pretty good run, despite my sweatiness...or...perhaps...because of it?

 

And during NONE of these recording sessions have I been dissuaded from buying an iPad.

In fact, pretty much everyone at these sessions that has one says it is fun as hell.

Consensus has pretty much been that it is more of a toy than an actual life-tool, but, fuck you, I like toys.

 

Also:

Since I obtained a Twitter account, I have been using up a lot of text messages (I have a lot of very interesting and exciting things to say) and I was reflecting that, although sometimes I find it odd that I'm writing a tiny message on a tiny keyboard when I'm holding a telephone, literally, in my hand, there are just so many things that would be weird if you called someone and said it rather than texted it.

I mean god forbid you got into a conversation with someone.

That would suck apes.

Curse this information age.

Maybe Marilyn Manson had it right when he totally coined the phrase "DISinformation age"!!

No.

No, he doesn't have anything right.

Poor guy.

 

Over the past two days I have watched Supergirl for the first time since I was 7 and, just this afternoon, Apocalypse Now.

Okay.

This is going to totally sound off the wall...but they were basically the same movie.

Basically.

Although Supergirl was a total piece of badly produced and edited shit, Faye Dunaway looked like she was having a ton of fun and some of the practical effects were actually pretty cool.

And Supergirl is a cutie.

So is Martin Sheen.

According to his son, Charlie, who is also an actor, he watches that movie once a week.

Charlie, not Martin.

And Apocalypse Now, not Supergirl.

That might give some insight to his whole...thing.

I went into Apocalypse Now knowing only that it was supposed to be nuts.

One thing stood way out and that was the creepy chaos at the last U.S. post on the river, that scene at night with all the fireworks.

Man was that effective.

Killgore was fun too.

The whole surfing thing was wonderfully surreal.

Overall though, I think I saw this way after the fact and could have done with less close ups of sweaty people's eyes.

I then found out about all the crazy shit that went on behind the scenes and decided I'm done with this one.

I would like to maybe watch some West Wing this evening, just to freak myself out.

 

Just a few moments ago I finished the Millennium trilogy.

Satisfying read, if, at times, a bit...oh, I don't know...focused on the minutia of Swedish finance.

I do get the point the author was making though, about how reading about the inner workings of the Swedish financial system is as painful as actually being ass raped.

Apparently, Stieg Larsson did not like economics as the whole trilogy was written to support that fact.

But I appreciate his dedication to the joke.

You know I do.

 

That would have been a great segue.

 

Since picking up those two Submarines albums after the Eels show, I've formulated an opinion of them.

Want to hear it?

While the lead singer's voice can be crazy saccharine at times (she sounds a lot like the lead singer of The Cardigans from time to time...fair warning) and the subject matter just so adorable and twee that listening to it is like burying your head in a bowl full of rambunctious puppies, there's a sincerity there that not only makes them tolerable, but endearing.

As for the music itself, if there were just a little less effort put into the production, this band wouldn't be worth mentioning, but the additional noises, instrumentation and layers add enough to make things interesting and to warrant repeat listening.

The songs tend to be sunny, wonderful (as in full of wonder) and joyous.

I'm referring to the two later albums, "Love Notes/Letter Bombs" and "Honeysuckle Weeks" (fae title, no?), and not their first album, "Declare A New State" which is a bit too underdeveloped for my bitchy tastes.

Standouts from the latter albums include: 1940 (a bit sexy, if you can handle it), Tigers, Swimming Pool (sweeter than an actual swimming pool full of cotton candy and Care Bears) and You, Me and The Bourgeoisie (in which they manage to make an attack on consumerism cute...it's insane).

I probably wouldn't go out and buy their albums...as I just did...but track them down on MyBook or FaceSpace and give them a listen.

You could have just lost two legs and an arm in a combine accident and they will manage to make you smile.

Try it.

 

I've also been listening to Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, a weekly podcast on which Michael Ian Black and Tom Cavanaugh (from Yogi Bear and Ed) pick, eat and rate snacks.

They deliver exactly what they promise and their friendship is evident and hilarious.

 

I have nothing else for you.

And that is a relief.

6.01.2011

I Want To Pick My Nose

6.1.11

4:11 pm

 

That is what I said earlier today in exchange for money.

Yes, real, actual money.

It appears, in an effort to pussify the children of today, the AMA has created some sort of a mist option that kids get shot up their noses as opposed to cold, hard, steel needles plunging into their supple, pink bodies.

And I am one of the spokesvoices for this pussification.

I would feel bad, but for the money I'm going to receive.

Depending on how many of the voices I recorded today that they use, I will get paid a fee, double that fee, triple that fee or quadruple that fee.

I'm hoping for the last one.

But, here's the fun fun.

This thing I recorded...it isn't for TV...it isn't for radio...it isn't even for the Internet...it's for doctor's offices and your motherfucking iPhone.

That's right, the Flumist app, hitting cyber-shelves in August.

I am going to help children.

Bottom line.

I am going to help children.

And you know that is exactly what I am all about.

Helping children.

While I was in the waiting area waiting for the fun fun, I sat and spoke with Mark Odgers, a colleague of mine who I've worked with a bit over the years.

We discussed just how few people we, as actors, can relate to.

99.9%....you know what? Fuck that, 100% of the people we tell about a typical booking (I had to read the same paragraph six times and get a thousand dollars for it) respond with the same thing: Fuck you.

Obviously Mark and I understand these people don't really mean it...but...yeah, they kind of do.

Which is fine.

You get your "Casual Fridays" and your wacky office Christmas parties and we get Kraft Services and inordinate and incongruous amounts of money for relatively little work.

But our job is more competitive.

And sexier.

And, honestly, harder than you think.

Like skulling.

No, not skullfucking, skulling.

I'll never forget the time my father popped in around the end of my summer a crew camp and tried to make it seem like what I had learned to do was easy.

He almost topple ass over pumpkin into the filthy depths of the waters of Pelham, NY.

Anyway.

So we had a natter.

We also addressed the obligatory buttplug you occasionally see at auditions who talks loudly about how well they're doing, booking this and that and this, and the two assholes who always have that fucking routine:

"Uh oh! Look who's here!"

"Whoa! Clear out everyone! This thing is OVER!"

etc.

Again, we have quite an unrelatable profession, but WE'RE PEOPLE TOO!!!!!

FRAGILE PEOPLE THAT NEED TO HAVE CONSTANT ACCESS TO CHILLED SPRING WATER!!!!!!!

AND GET PAID FOR IT!!!!!!!

OR WE'RE NOT SIGNING ANYTHING!!!!!!!!

 

Speaking of railway accidents, I just spoke with Chris and she confirmed what I had witnessed around 3:15 today: the 6 train I was on did, in fact, kill someone.

The report doesn't state whether the person was pushed, jumped or fell, but, in the end, based on the way the crowd of firemen were looking and gesturing at tracks between four separate sets of cars...that person is no longer with us.

The only thing we can do now is hope they were evil.

Or maybe pregnant with an evil baby.

Or an ugly one.*

THAT is how I get through things like this.

Two things regarding this experience, one which astounded me and one which disgusted me:

First, the sheer numbers of people, ambulances and fire trucks in the area above ground.

And second, the filthy dog fuckers lining up along the walls of the subway station, cell phones at the ready, to record what the firemen retrieved from under the train.

May all your children suffer the same fate as that poor fucker you're fighting to get footage of.

I hope you get to enjoy watching someone struggle to capture the unique experience of having your friend or family member pulled, in baggies, out from under a subway.

You fucks.

And, amidst all this chaos and bloodshed, Christina tells me there is a tornado, hail and wind warning in effect for New York City.

Tornados.

In New York City.

Golf ball-sized (is there really any other size?) hail.

In New York City.

70 mile per hour wind.

In New York City.

Who opened that fifth seal?

I swear...

I also picked up dry cleaning for the second or third time in my life.

The lady was totally nonchalant, like she did this several times a day, every day, and I played it cool as well, but inside, my heart was flying.

I PICKED UP DRY CLEANING!!!

I think the excitement stems from the fact that, no matter how messed up my nice clothes get, these dry cleaning mages always manage to get things spotless and folded...without a drop of water.

It's as unnatural and amazing as a duck-billed platypus.

But I digress...

 

I finished  A Game of Thrones and needed a break before plunging right into A Clash of Kings, so I picked up Mike Sacks' Your Wildest Dreams, Within Reason. Mostly good, some real gems and some things too inaccessible even for me.

*slow, yet sincere clap* 

 

At home, I've been scorching my way through the four seasons of 24 that I missed, namely, the fourth through the eighth.

Two or three hours into the sixth and they just keep on raising these stakes...I'm seriously concerned about the plot of the final season.

Will Jack be a clone?

Will he have to eat his own face?

Only time will tell...

 

I've also jumped into L.A. Noire and I'm having a lot of fun with it.

It's not quite as messianic as the reviews made it out to be, but it is a superb experience.

 

On the artistic tip, I finally got down to recording the first few chapters of Mr. Phil W. F. Tucker's demon-hunting opus, The Grind Show.

He, reportedly, is enjoying it xmax.

As soon as I have a clear, audition free morning, I plan to record another few chapters.

Three down, thirty-eight to go.

Let the adventure continue!

 

And then there is Chris' birthday this weekend.

I'll be dressed as a sweaty guy in a fae costume.

I have a super special gift for Christina that is going to blow her mind.

As soon as I had it, I kept trying to give it to her because I was so excited...she's resisted thus far, but I'll wear her down...

AND, at this party, one Ray Zablocki will be presenting me with a Warlock guitar that he no longer has use for.

I did some digging and this thing looks fucking awesome.

Even if I never use it as a musical instrument, I could make a living just posing with the god damn thing.

I will look like the Guitar Apocalypse with this thing in my hands.

Who knows, I might even learn to make it sing for daddy...and you shall all reap the "benefits".

Reap them hard. 

 

All right, that's enough.

Time for a hail bath...

 

7:00 pm

Just got back from outside.

You know, with the tornados and hail?

No tornados, no hail, hardly any fucking wind.

Just humidity.

Humidity and anger.

 

Call me crazy...but does anyone else think that installing some sort of punishment for weather forecasters when they are incorrect would serve to both make weather forecasters less cavalier when it comes to making false predictions and make me feel better when weather forecasters are wrong?

Ponder, whilst I drip...

 

 

 

 

 

 

*STREUTH!