There is no Hell like an old Hell

10.20.05
3:03 PM
Oh my goodness oh my goodness! The sky is so blue today!!
Two things:
First, cabs are getting/have gotten smaller. Either that, or I’m getting bigger and no one wants to consider that…
Secondly, goldurn it, life has to stop getting my hopes up.
Remember that day I had the VW audition where I had to be creepy and the Bacardi sexy French voiceover? Well, I got a callback for the VW thing which I did on Friday. I saw one other guy called in to be “creepy”. They told me the spot would be filming on Tuesday the 17th. For some reason I was really looking forward to booking that spot. I don’t know what it was but I really thought I was going to get it. Now, that’s always a bad sign. Every time you really want something, you don’t get it, it’s just the way things work. That goes double for acting. Anyway, Monday arrives with no phone call and I didn’t get it. Shit. I was in a bit of a funk, uncharacteristic for me; at least when pertaining to auditions, but for some reason this one really hit me. I think it was the fact that, I was ABSOLUTELY creepier than the other guy they called back. But I figured it out. When an on-screen commercial asks for “creepy” they want “Brad Pitt from 12 Monkeys” creepy. Not “Paul Guyet” creepy. And that bugs me. But it totally shouldn’t since on-screen stuff is SO specific.
Anyway, the main reason I brought up those auditions is; remember the recording girl who said I had a great voice? Well…in the case of VO, usually the timetable is as such: audition is Monday, callback (if there is one) is Wednesday and the recording is Friday. Four years later, you get paid. I had forgotten the French thing and written it off as either me being too sexy, or too French for them (since I am not capable of being neither sexy nor French enough for ANYTHING). So today, I had to drag my overly sexy and French ass over to the edge of Manhattan to do some Reebok VO audition. It was at 2pm and, in hopes of getting in and out early, I left my place at 12:30. I arrived at 14th street at 1pm so I stopped into Virgin and burnt some cash, then I headed over to 4fucking50 West Goddamned 15th street. I still arrived at 1:30 but the Reebok people were on lunch until 2. ANYWAY, I was the first to go in and who should be the recording engineer but the girl from last week. I do my thing (a British, casually hip (not too casual or too hip) guy saying, “Pump custom fit technology. Turn it on. Turn it off.”) and again the girl says, “You have a really great voice”. AND THEN she says, “You were here last week for the Barcardi thing, right? They haven’t decided on that yet.”
Therein lies the rub, people. I don’t want to know stuff like that. I want to think that if I haven’t been called back for a VO within a few days, I missed it, so I can move on. NOW I have to wonder every time my phone rings and it’s my agent that I just might book that. Fuck. I dislike hope. Not the concept. I love the idea of hope, but not when it comes to acting and me. If I don’t get the part, I’d like to forget it as quickly as possible and move on to the next thing. Because when I don’t get the Bacardi thing, I don’t want to think that the girl was right; I am good, but not good enough for this spot. It will get inside and get me down. Let me live from day to day, not thinking about auditioning I did a week ago. Let it be a great surprise when my agent calls up and says I booked something. Stop expecting things. This is more for myself than for any of you, but either way, it feels good to get it out. I walk into every audition thinking: “It is mine.” And I walk out thinking “I totally fucked up.” That way, when my agent’s number pops up I think “Oh, another audition”, not “Ooh a callback” or “Oooooh, I booked it”. I have NEVER expected to book something. THAT is why the surprise is so sweet and I’m never disappointed. I’ll sometimes think, “Man that would have been fun or cool,” but I’ll never walk out thinking, “I nailed that”. Actually, only once did I do that: with the Kermit the Frog thing. And that was because I WAS BABY KERMIT THE FROG. For that instant, I channeled the spirit of Jim Henson and made him speak. In no other audition have I so perfectly carried out a voice, and that’s why I booked it. In no other case has that happened…and it is that way for a reason. I guess the real recipient of this is the chick from House productions. Don’t get my hopes up, because from there they can only go down…on an old man in the park. And that is a gross place for ones hopes to be. Especially because it takes like, twelve minutes of lapping and sucking and manipulating just to get him hard, and that’s being kind because “hard” isn’t even the right word. “Less flaccid” fits better. Anyway, once it finally gets stiff enough, you have to work for like another half hour to get it out of him and you’re not even sure he can feel it, let alone enjoy it. Then there’s the mess. The elderly bust massive nuts.
But you see my point. The recording girl from House productions puts me in that place…and that is wrong of her…I’m sure she thought it would help but she was dead wrong…she’ll be the first to admit it…