That boy ain't right

how to be a cut-rate Borat

Just before we were about to leave the Bay Area, I get an email from friend Kevin, who works with friend Max at a small startup where they do unspeakable things with DNA.

It seems they had a niche I could fill: April Fools' Day was coming up, and they wanted to play the ultimate prank on several managers: have someone come in with the dream resume for a series of interviews, for a position that desperately needs to be filed, but this person should turn out to be the worst, most amazingly bad interviewee on the planet.

Given the fact that my improv skills were a little rusty, I hadn't done any acting in a while, I was leaving the area anyway and this was as perfect a way as any to say goodbye... shit yes. Or maybe it was the fact that I'd be pulling out all the stops in front of people who had zero idea what they were up against.

However, as April Fool's was on the weekend, and Friday I'd previously set aside to go to the deYoung and the Grand Lake on a long-anticipated date night with my wife, so Thursday it was, which made it even better.

STEPS TO SET UP FAKE JOB INTERVIEWS

1. Having someone on the inside is required. Otherwise you'll be popped in the ass with a Taser, and nobody wants that.
2. Get permission from the HR professionals at the company to be pranked, as high up as you can go. The VP of HR helps. This is also good because HR can come up with the dream resume far better than you can, as well as the interview schedule you'll follow.
3. Your marks should all have healthy senses of humor. Duh.
4. Set up a "dry run" interview with someone who's already in on the joke, who will ask you as many real sorts of interview questions as possible.
5. Set up a dress rehearsal of sorts: a second interview with someone who's not in on the joke, to better gauge if you should tone the "performance" down, or even dial it up.
6. We decided to err on the side of versimilitude/hoaxing rather than comedy; I wanted to be able to make it through all three interview sessions without someone either finding out I was fake or simply ending the interview because I was too much of a nutbar to continue wasting anyone's time.

Now, the fun part.

COSTUME

1. Thrift store ladies' watch, giant clock face, numbers all grouped down on the bottom of the face in some crazy-ass jumble
2. Thrift store silver glitter
3. Thrift store men's white dress shirt, slightly see-through
4. Thrift store men's belt, with giant belt buckle saying "SOCCER", complete with a soccer ball
5. Thrift store women's perfume
6. Thrift store tie, blue, with I HEART PERTH AMBOY on it
7. Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds, from Walmart -- (There is nothing quite so satisfying as asking a WM cosmetics clerk to point out the single nastiest women's perfume she hates in the store for you to wear.)
8. Blue cargo pants
9. Ratty sandals
10. Nice bottle of Chianti (Gabbiano), in a Walmart gift bag
11. Corkscrew, stolen from hotel
12. Foot-long deli sandwich, with plenty of mustard, from Safeway
13. Revlon eyeliner, also from Safeway
14. Bottle of Coke
15. Tic-Tacs
16. Bag of peanut M&Ms
17. Book: More Best Answers to the 201 Most Frequently Asked Interview Questions
18. Cell phone, with an extremely tinny (and loud) version of Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On set as its ringtone
19. TiVo backpack to contain most of the above

I hope it's as funny on DVD/internets as it was doing it.
I've saved the watch, the belt and the tie for the memories. The tie especially.

There was a checklist of "don'ts" at a specific page in the book, and I tried to see if I could nail a fair percentage of them. I'll scan that page in later as well.

NOT SEEN ON VIDEO

1. Both Max and Kevin had seeded the fertile interviewing ground by saying that they'd already interviewed me, found me to be slightly weird but extremely qualified and desperately needed, and that these interviews were just there to see if I could be a good "cultural fit". In theory, this was to add extra insurance against anyone ending the interview prematurely -- it would be a mark of disrespect against a colleague, especially in a startup environment as this.
2. The smell of perfume was overpowering. By the time of the third interview, I'd been allowed to stew in my own smell in the same room for upwards of three hours. I was supposed to have a warmup practice interview with Max before my three marks, but he had to leave the room it was so bad. God knows what my interviewers must've thought. Speaking of which -- it's very hard to thoroughly prepare a dress shirt to have an overpowering perfume scent. I eventually settled on taking a large cooking pot, stuffing the shirt and tie inside, using up about 80% of what was in the bottles, clamping the lid down and stowing the pot under the sink to soak. It still overpowered the hotel room.
3. With some help from my wife and Max, I produced the ultimate weak handshake: shake someone's hand like a dead fish, but clutch a piece of ice in your hand beforehand for the ultimate feel in corpse handshakes.
4. Another brilliant idea from Mer was to stare 5 or 6 inches to the right of the interviewer's head at all times. This was relatively easy to do, as I could just pick a point in space (say, the top of the interviewer's ear for example) and just focus on that while talking to them. In the abstract, it doesn't sound like much, but making eye contact is a human need: not doing it will drive someone fucking bats if that person is purposefully trying to talk to you face to face. My first interviewer was cocking his head to insert himself into my field of vision. My second intervewer just avoided looking at me entirely once she got too creeped out by it. I mixed it up with the third -- I chose to make sudden, staring eye contact with him at inappropriate times, but otherwise avoid eye contact with him just like before.
5. In light of the foregoing, it's especially creepy to be talking with someone in a job interview setting who is wearing eyeliner and streaks of glitter down his face. Yet, NO ONE ASKED ABOUT THIS, PERIOD.
6. It may not show up on the video, but I was barefoot for half of the second interview and all of the third. I think I took my sandals off during a discussion of poor social graces. I greeted my third interviewer with bare feet and my shirt almost out of my pants. I think he gave me the biggest double-take I'd ever seen anyone give me.
7. As the third intervewer showed me out of the building, he held out his hand for a handshake in the lobby, and I gave him an enveloping hug complete with my head on his shoulder. I don't think he'll ever forget that.

THINGS I LEARNED

1. People really want to believe. Either that, or the eccentricity mean in the Bay Area has increased significantly over what I expected. Or, people (especially brilliant scientist-type folks) are really more polite than I initially gave them credit for. Or, they just kept talking to keep me from talking and embarrassing myself. Or all of the above.
2. Kevin and Max really work with a bunch of goddamn weirdos, since I actually got the job. Granted, it was with caveats such as "well, he's insane, but he has such good skills -- if you think your group can handle him, I say we hire him", but the fact that I got the job even after saying that I coded robots in HTML, went to Africa to teach robotics in remote villages, or got my programming inspiration from the Terminator movies... either that speaks very well of my abilities as a bullshit artist, or not very well of the skepticism in Max & Kevin's company. I hope it's the former :)
3. My first guinea pig, the "dress rehearsal" interviewer who wasn't in on the gag, thanked Kevin profusely for including him -- and he's already planning revenge.
4. The company wants me back, whenever I'm in the Bay Area again, to prank some other managers -- maybe even the CEO. They want me to come back as someone they've already hired, to sit in on meetings. Heh.

I suppose the video will be up soon. Who knows -- maybe I can add it to a demo reel.

new headshots

...So I said to myself:

"Self, you are laboring under the impression that:

1. you will lose 20-30 pounds in the next 2 weeks or even months
2. your old headshot, while good, accurately represents your svelte manly physique -- when you had more hair
3. your old headshot is getting you lots of work these days."

So a change was in order. Therefore, I took some money that I got from a prior acting gig and set off for a very well-repected local photographer to get some new headshots done. And I ended up with what I think are some real winners here -- let's see if these will get me more work:

Headshot 1 (general all-round auditions)
Headshot 2 (corporate, used for getting industrials)
Business Card

(Mammamer immediately seized on the bedroom eyes here and somewhat disconcertingly made it her tiled desktop image on her laptop. ROWR!)

Anyhoo, as long as we're still talking about me me me here -- when I sent these off to the printer, I had them perform the actor's cheap plastic surgery of brightening my smile slightly with some PhotoShop filter or another. Retouching is usually some sort of extra charge, but I got this email reply:

"No charge for the teehts"

That's so good I may consider putting "No charge for the teats" on my business card. In fact, I may change this very site's tagline from "disturbing obsessions, surly petulance and drunken ranting, infrequently updated" (which was a little wordy and long, anyway) to "No charge for the teats."

....so not what I was expecting

False alarm, people. You're not going to see me on TV anytime soon. DVD, maybe, in a month or two.

Turns out what I'd gotten wasn't a TV commercial, but an industrial film for said mortgage finance company (New Century Mortgage). The agency didn't say it was an industrial film, and the setup at the casting agency seemed... well, commercial-like.

So of course I got very excited, and ended up being paid maybe a tenth of what I was hoping.

But at least I'm going to split what I *did* get with The Divine Miss M, and we're going to blow our respective wads on something fun. For me, just take a wild guess. For her, something on our upcoming trip to Monterey with Mr. L. But it better not be to save money, on the trip or otherwise, as she is wont to do when some cash comes in as opposed to spending it on herself. I have decreed it! No boring stuff to be done with money!

(Sigh.)

It was nice to do this, though -- it didn't cost me anything at work, I got to meet a nice actress who is in exactly the same situation as I am: very young daughter, was lots into acting before the child came but now does the *very* occasional gig through the agency, or the odd independent film, just to keep sharp. She also put me in touch with the website for another independent film that's taking submissions, and I think I'll put in for it. Doing film is nothing like being in a play whatsoever... they're a lot more forgiving with people's time, even though you don't get anywhere near the high you get from being on stage.

So, sorry I made everyone read all this angst for nothing, since it turned out to be a lot less than I thought it would be. However, in a month's time you'll get to see me with tape all over my face, on the DVD I'll get. If you're into that sort of thing.

I'm about to claw my own face off

Here is is, approximately a quarter to 3 in the PM and no one -- not the agency, not the director, no one -- has called me to tell me:

- where specifically the shoot is
- when I'm supposed to show up, either tomorrow or Friday
- how much of the desperately-needed bling I'll be getting

All I know is that they would like me to bring a selection of business-casual outfits. Which is really helpful because I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE DAMN THING IS.

I've called my agency twice already today and left messages. Argh... all this is making me behave like a meth addict with ADD.

Breathe.... breathe...

I got it!

I may collapse on the weekend, after everything's done (but I doubt it).
My manager may have a conniption when he sees me on TV with tape on my face (but I doubt it).
Union involvement may shrink my paycheck down to some miniscule level (but I doubt it).

In a house starved for some good news, it's nice to know there's life in this old career yet.

I guess that's how life works

Periodically, once in a while, I'll get called by my agency to go to an audition. Generally, this is no problem -- the auditions are normally scheduled at or around lunchtime, and I'm close enough to the city that I can easily go to and from work in an hour, an hour and a half on the outside.

Sometimes, I'll have to lie a little: "doctor's appointment", "appointment in the city", and the sparingly-used "LM is sick and the nanny needs to leave early" are all excuses I've used on occasion. I suppose soon I'll have to make up new ones. A friend of ours, Nathan, says that the best excuse is one that really discourages followup questions and prying, such as "anal polyps". In any case, I had to use excuse #2 for a late-afternoon audition up in the city.

The casting agency handling the audition is right in the middle of the financial district, and is hence a bit of a nailbiter to get to. Adding to the neurosis level is the fact that this casting agency sometimes casts a wide net for commercial parts; you don't know until you show up whether you'll be spending a while there.

But you have to take a risk on something sometime. Even if you have a mandatory meeting back at work at 4PM and your audition is at 3:40.

However, you can nudge luck along a little: I arrive at the casting agency at 2:30PM and beg and plead to be seen early if humanly possible. They're in the middle of casting the first commercial out of the 2 they're casting that day, and I'm told that if a woman shows up to partner with, they can see me first thing.

Bonus! A woman shows up promptly at 3:00...

And the spot they're casting for? A mortgage lending company. A bored banker is sitting at his desk, sticking pieces of tape to his face, making it all grotesque-looking because he's so bored. He feels a presence in the room, and turns around to find a husband and wife, holding hands and smiling at him, their faces taped up just like his. They've obviously taped up their faces in hopes of getting the loan.

Yeah, it's not Much Ado About Nothing. But it's fun and it gives me the chance to be a big ham for a big wad of cash.

The actress and I set about taping up each other's faces right in the waiting room. We go in, slate ourselves, hold hands, and smile at the camera in all our silly grotesquery. The cameraman and the casting director behind the table both laugh at us -- genuinely, and positively. That's it: no lines for us to read, not even any improv to try out in front of the camera. Just tape up your goofy mug, walk in the room and smile at the camera. The actress and I attempt a bit of lame humor after the fact: "You had me at Magic Tape." "Does this nose job look fake?"

The actress and I descend the stairs to the first floor: "I thought we totally rocked the casbah in there."
"We are so cast. It's gonna be great to see you there."

And yeah, I did think we did really well. Sort of speaks to the fact that those people going first have a slight advantage: if you create a good first impression when you're first, any examiner is going to remember you more positively as a result compared to other people.

The thing is, though, that you can't read into things too much, or you'll drive yourself crazy over it. In such a subjective business, a lot of casting decisions are based on three factors: what you look like (whether you fit a kind of type a casting agent is looking for, and these types are extremely unimaginative), your ability and persistence in marketing yourself, and whether you can be available at the director and crew's convenience. With the 50 juggling balls I have in the air at any one time, I don't really have the time to keep a self-marketing campaign active apart from what my agency does for me -- which leaves whatever types I might fit into in a casting agent's mind. (In a commercial setting, my type most often fits a kind of scientist/educated/IT/nerd kind of role. Go figure.) My availability has also factored in gigs being denied me -- my agency called me up one time with an audition that would've been extremely lucrative had I gotten it. Too bad the actual shoot was 5 days in Disney World Orlando, at a critical time at work. So when my wonderful agency calls -- I love them for being so forgiving a working dad's schedule and not holding me to a quota of successful gigs -- I just say whether I can make the audition (almost always) and whether I can make the actual shoot date (maybe 50/50, since sometimes shootdates are in farflung locations even in the Bay Area, such as Sacramento). Then I go to the audition, do my thing, and mostly put it out of my mind except for the fact that it's nice to be still in the acting game, even if it is for little goofy things and not being Benedick up on stage -- the best high I know of.

That is, I put it out of my mind until my agent leaves a message on my cell phone at 10AM Saturday, saying that the casting director was wondering about my availability for 2/9 and 2/10.

Holy crap.

There's a show we like a lot these days, where the dad's character has a number of jobs throughout the day. He gets maybe a few hours of sleep each day, so his kids have to wake him up (he's gone to sleep already dressed in the next job's clothes) so he can get to the next job. His familiar line: "What job am I going to? It's not 2:59, is it?"

Did I mention that at WM the night of 2/9 is a major release, requiring shifts from several members of QA?

I lobbied hard for the graveyard shift, in case I had to spend an entire day on either 2/9 and 2/10. If I get it, it may mean that someone will have to wake me up for the next gig... and after 48 hours straight of being awake, I'll finally collapse. Maybe in a gutter somewhere. Hey, free dummy!

But it'll be worth it. This is a TV commercial, and a union one. I'm non-union, but you get one freebie thanks to the Taft-Hartley Act of 1947. Basically what this means is that if I get this, I'm fine for this one, but if I get another gig with AFTRA I'm a "must-join", and therefore am required to join the union. Which is fine by me -- the union gets health insurance, in addition to other perks. If I'm doing well enough so that I'm a must-join, being in the union will open up more commercial gigs, I think.

The other thing that makes this worth it is that TV commercial compensation -- the bling of residuals -- is based on two factors: what media markets the commercial runs in and how long the commercial runs. Certain media markets are priced higher than others, based on either population or the location of the business.

All this, needless to say, is why I've created a monster blog entry and why my cell phone is surgically implanted in my hip. I figure I'll know if I'm cast -- this is still not a done deal by any stretch of the imagination -- either Monday or Tuesday, but the acting industry is always very last-minute.

We'll see. But that's how life works. One day you're weeping in a work stairwell, and the next week you've got your confidence back (after a little anger advocacy) and this lottery-ticket-with-much-better-odds audition seals the deal on your transformation into a happier human being, at least for the time being until the next crisis hits...

What have I done to myself?

Apparently I am now to be cross-dressing as a nun.

I am also to sing and dance. Mer informs me that this has been her dream for me for the very beginning, her life's work, her crowning glory to see me sing and dance in drag.

Apparently Badger also has a thing for drag, or more specifically, local beloved menfolks in drag.

I'm not sure if this is heartfelt support or sadistic glee, but ego stroking has gotten me into much worse scrapes in the past. In any case this is probably divine punishment for earlier comments about Jesus' voyeuristic fetishes.

Apparently I nailed the audition and the director wants to call me back for Tom Lehrer's Tomfoolery when it goes up after this one. A blatantly political piece going up around election time -- I like it. (Although not very courageous, going up in the liberal SF bubble.)

Who knew -- a guy who normally hates musicals doing drag and going the whole 9 jazz hands and glitter curtains yards.

More news coming soon

Sit tight, my lovelies.

This 74% angelic site will be having some major pieces of news in the next couple days, in the following areas:

1) Housing madness. Very scary but exciting news here. Next week this will include pictures.

2) Job madness. Very annoying, despairing news here. Interesting stories to tell, for those who can't help but watch the downward spiral.

3) Acting madness. Fun news here that promises to be amazing. I'll know within the next day or two, I think.

At any rate, I'm starting on rehearsing this piece for Monday:

SONG--KO-KO with CHORUS OF MEN.

4) Over the weekend I'll be going to beautiful downtown Bakersfield -- in lieu of my favorite race in the universe, Bay to Breakers. I owe my mom a trip down, so I'll bring the camera for interesting (and of course tacky) things.

Bako in May. Yeesh.

At least it's not Bakersfield in July.

and for my next mood swing

It felt good to get that out.

Back in the non-bitter but still neurotic world of my acting life...

Recently I got an email from "The OpenStage Repertory Theater", in SF, about 2 productions they're putting up in '04.

Now mind you I've been in a lot of stage productions, and a crappy movie here and there.

But why don't I just let the email they sent me do the talking?

Hi,

Tomfoolery is yet another encore production of this favorite of ours,
based on the classical satirical songs of Tom Lehrer. Our production at
Goat Hall last year was well received, and we are confident that
placing the show in the heart of theater in San Francisco will make this show
a sell-out, especially around election time. Jan Wahl, the "hat" lady
who reviews entertainment for the Examiner and several broadcast
stations, missed us last year and is dying to see the show this time around.
This show has three male and two female roles. The production will
open Saturday, October 2, and run through Sunday, November 7.

Christ. I've never been in a musical in my life. Avoided them like the scourges they are. Nevertheless, I've thought infrequently about being in one, because I'm not tone deaf and I can carry a tune, my voice carries like nothing else, and, well, the right musical would kinda kick ass. And Tom Lehrer kicks ass. Although I think my wife just wants to see me in really bad drag.

Back to the email:

A short version of audition requirements: please prepare an upbeat show
tune, with either sheet music or music-only CD/cassette tape (we do not
prefer a cappella auditions unless there is no other choice). Bring
something comfortable to dance in (per usual musical requirements, you
will be taught a step and be expected to demonstrate it). Also be
prepared to read cold from script cuttings (do not prepare a monologue).
Auditions will be semi-private (only performers for your group will be
admitted into the room).

Fuck. I've never sung for an audition before. The last time I sang for anything was when I was in the chorus for Beethoven's Ninth (at least it was in Germany), when I was an obnoxious nerdy teenager.

Since I'm so intrigued by the whole thing that I'm actually auditioning for both of them, I have to prepare a piece to sing in roughly a week and a half. Comic pieces, comic pieces....

I have to admit that I've always been drawn to Gilbert and Sullivan, but I have this sneaking suspicion that most musical professionals regard G&S as the inbred stepchildren of the musical world. I'm tempted to say fuck it and go all-out singing the Lord High Executioner's Song from The Mikado.

Mer suggested something from Little Shop of Horrors -- the Steve Martin dentist role -- which I have to admit would be a nice audition piece.

Or something from Urinetown.

Any suggestions to get me into the singing frame of mind? The things I'm willing to do to be in something with Tom Lehrer songs...

anxiety dreams are made of this...

...who am I to disagree?

So let me set the stage (as it were) for you.

Here I am in the play... everything's going fine. Great, in fact.
It's a lively audience tonight.
Plenty of laughs all round.
We've refined our performances to the point where many, many lines are getting a laugh, and we're mining all sorts of rich comic gold out of character and staging.
It's a beautiful thing, and we're clicking.
Third act is going really well, and I'm looking forward to going home after a job well done.
Do our curtain call... nothing untoward there.
Until the actress playing Sibyl doubles up in hysterical laughter as soon as she gets offstage.
All the other actors, the costumer, the crew, everybody: laughing, and laughing, and laughing.
Why?

Because there's nothing quite like standing under a huge spotlight, in front of 20 or 30 people, with your fly conspicuously open. Nothing quite like the slow dawning realization that, well, you've entered into unintentional legend.

In fact, my fly was open the entire act.

I never thought I'd actually be living an anxiety phobia right out of the frigging DSM-IV.

What a night to pick briefs over boxers.

With all the meticulousness of the Warren Commission, I go back over events: did I forget to zip up? No. My one witness, the costumer, saw me go out with my fly up, so somehow it became unzipped somewhere in between dressing room and stage and I really wasn't doing anything strange back there so how the hell did it become undone I knew people were laughing harder than usual is there a back way out of this damn theater?

Sigh. I'm fairly sure this is going to make me a little compulsive about this for a long time to come, like Rain Man.

There's serious discussion amongst us actors about turning this incident into an actual part of the play. Cruel sort, actors.

Oh yes, it could've been a lot worse, Mer says: once she saw someone projectile vomit on stage -- and then continue with acting as if it never happened. I suppose it was appropriate, though, since it was a production of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I could've let out a really huge fart. I could've belched. I could've spit coffee all over someone. I could've forgotten to put pants on entirely (not too far off, given my advancing dementia).

kick ass

He's sending me the final hi-res artwork tomorrow, but this is essentially the finished product for the CD cover.

He's working on the CD label, letterhead, and business cards now.

(To Minnie: I told him about your idea of making a small picture matrix out of different business card images. Who knows whether he'll be able to do it, but I mentioned it to him just the same.)

Getting stuff like this in my email definitely gives me hope for acting earning potential. Onward and upward...

demo CD is coming along

Sketch detail for balloon art

It's not finished yet, particularly the part inside the spoken word balloon, but I think it's coming along nicely.

Does it make you want to listen to the CD? Are there any criticisms out there? Unfortunately, the one fact I've gleaned from talking to many artists and voiceover people is that your average casting director has no imagination whatsoever. They will only think you can do what your CD shows you can do and not ask you to attempt anything else. Hence the inclusion of more boring items on the CD like the commercial banker, the installation procedure and the diagram of the cornea. Boring, yes, but lucrative. Many, many training and howto videos get made every year.

But the animation/video game work is what voiceover actors live for, so I think I'm going to tell him to include the demon on the front along with the terrified Scotsman and the overenthusiastic pet salesman.

more blogging coming soon

...including some kickass pictures of our final day in Austin. No bats, though. It was overcast our entire trip there. No sunsets for bats to eat bugs in.

Anyhow, Fred Leisen (he of the illustration and barter-voice-for-art deal) sent me a sketch yesterday. I laughed my ass off just looking at it:

Interesting how cost is no definitive indicator of quality...

preliminary sketches

Jim Elston (the former Disney slave) gave me a couple sketches today. Here's the one I like best: a twisted portrait of me. The funny part is that without ever meeting me, I think he managed to capture my essential surliness and bile-spewing tendencies.

Unfortunately, even though I love this image I'm going to have him tone the wackiness down a bit, and make the whole look more professional. It's a sad statement, but I have to appeal to as wide a segment of people as I can. And that means dumbing it down and making it less twisted.

There will still be odd bits scattered throughout, though. I'll make sure of that.

not a mosh pit, exactly

Fred Leisen's band has been compared to Queen, Journey and Steely Dan, favorably so.

Although I have to wonder how the creepy shit he wants me to do with my voice is going to fit in his whole musical scheme of things.

I'll find a way. I always do.

too bad I gots a 9-to-5

TheatreWorks called me today with a strange offer: appear in a school tour of area high schools.

In a hiphop version of Shakespeare. It would've been 4-6 weeks at $400/week.

The ghost of Shakespeare appears in front of an average high school student... I was fairly driven to take the job just on principle -- damn that job of mine. I was having visions of saying lines like

I'm the hardest mothafucka in Denmark...

Maybe I should stick to saying the stuff that other people write.

Anyway, they also want me to audition for an Arthur Miller production going up next year. Should I get it, it'll be wonderful to do drama again -- I always love period pieces.

Kick ass -- a play that I've never read before (although there are many in that category) being put on by a company that's put on some incredibly well-received performances before.

in which I become fleetingly cool

I met with another artist last week about the demo CD, and he's going to do the work. The coolest part is that we worked out a barter arrangement. I like having choices...

Fred Leisen is a graduate of the San Francisco Academy of Art. He's taken up residence in LA, in hopes of getting a couple of animation shows produced. (He says he's been told, in Hollywood vernacular, that "the money men are behind this all the way" for a couple projects of his, but as with anything in Hollywood, nothing people say -- especially studio people -- means squat.)

I found him originally by scouting the Academy of Art's website for leads on either hiring students or graduates, and I found his site. Here's the image that made me pester him with emails in the first place: the dog in the diaper in the upper part of the page.

The barter arrangement is what's going to make me fleetingly cool, however. In exchange for doing this work for me -- even as we were speaking, he was sketching out characters on his sketchpad, such as a Scotsman with a network of excitable ferrets in his pants -- all he wants is for me to do voiceover work for his band.

He wants a slightly oily, corporate announcer kind of voice (the kind you expect from Dick Cheney or some VP of marketing) preaching a great company line but unable to resist speaking complete evil. Probably a music industry executive. My voiceover stuff would be played behind his band's music.

What kind of cool gig is it where my hammy stuff gets played over a mosh pit? And I attack the music industry in the best way I know how? And I get a cartoon CD cover out of the deal? Where do I sign?

found an artist, *finally*

I'm fairly excited about this. After many weeks of searching and false starts, I finally have an artist for my demo CD. With exactly the kind of look I was going for.

James Elston is a former animator for Disney who hung out his own shingle in Pennsylvania.

Now he draws funny things like a Piggy Big Sip, turtle skaters, or examples of bad pet discipline.

Hee...

Mandy, control yourself

Something else to look forward to! I'm in a Noel Coward play -- "Private Lives" -- which opens at the Calaveras Repertory Theatre October 23 through November 16.

I've moved from the 1880s to the late 1920s. This play was the South Park of its day -- Coward's plays were regularly shut down by government officials -- and again I'm playing the flower of wronged British manhood and entitlement.

However, we have costumes from Utah, a dialect coach from ACT and an actor from the screwball school of self-promotion. So it should be good.

And the director is interested in me auditioning for Iago next year. Sweeeet. It ain't the holy grail of auditioning for Benedick, but it's way up there.

And yes, this thing is all the way out in goddamned Milpitas. The lengths I'll go to to scratch this dramatic itch.

and speaking of disturbing

My mom sent me pictures she'd taken of "Arms and the Man". Or at least the pictures she'd taken of me hamming it up after the performance.

Separated-at-birth: yours truly and funnyman Rip Taylor.

I think I need to go home now. Holy hell.

it's honey glazed...

This is the last week. Three days left. Who could refuse canned ham like this?

Public Amenity #9

Although you might not think it, I don't really like musicals that much. Maybe it's that heterosexual thing.

There are always exceptions, and the exceptions are always the anti-musicals for me: W.S. Gilbert, for example, hated his all of his characters so much that he had them confessing hateful arrogant things throughout his operettas. Even his heroes and heroines.

So, when I heard that Urinetown was a musical for everyone who hates musicals, naturally we had to go. And the fact that it was a musical in the first place meant that Mer was very, very interested as well. Its tagline even got me: "An appalling idea, fully realized."

It's actually cheerful, in spite of the fact that the hero dies, the main narrator is a brutal cop (who happens to be very funny), and the ending emphasizes the fact that natural resources are being wasted away by our unsustainable way of life. The cop even shouts this fact at the audience.

The fact that there are bits in the performance that send up almost every annoying musical convention -- while borrowing heavily from the heavyweights, such as Les Miserables, West Side Story, Fiddler on the Roof -- is almost incidental at the end. You've just seen a musical where the characters have to save meager pennies to pee, and urinating in the bushes carries a death sentence. Something I think Gilbert and Sullivan would've enjoyed.

And after we saw the show yesterday, we poked around SOMA looking at furniture. We've finally found a furniture store that miraculously agrees with both of us -- Mer and I have had bitter disagreements over preferences in design (she goes for colonial, I go for euro modern... I love my clean lines) -- that's not IKEA, charges reasonable prices, and has pieces we love. Evolution, on 9th.

Already, we're fantasizing about spending lots of money we don't have about furnishing our new place to our tastes. I just hope it doesn't end up being fantastically cluttered like our old place.

Hope springs eternal.

Kein Titel

Got the demo CD done today. Finished.
I've put up more cuts, including rueful looks at the wreckage of the new economy, more extreme hamminess* that unfortunately is what the background noise of commercial radio is all about, me giving myself a throat problem, and the inevitable suicide-inducing, but lucrative, training film narration.

I now need a brilliant and cheap graphic designer. But before I find one, I need to find an acceptable title for this expensive piece of screwball canned ham. One that will go well with catchy images and will be uniquely me. Trouble is, I've never been good at coming up with all-encompassing titles.

One demo CD I saw in my teacher's office had an interesting image: tourist-trap pewter figurines of world landmarks arranged in a row (Empire State, Eiffel Tower, etc) and a the end of the row was a pewter figurine of a cassette tape, and the demo CD was titled "really big voice". Interesting and clever; I liked the visual joke.

Anyhow, I need to think up a title. I'll also solicit help from the peanut gallery -- I need to discuss this with Mer, but maybe I can add a little incentive by making it a contest of some sort. Win a date with us? Dinner and a movie? Hiking out in the hills? We make you a pie?

One disclaimer -- if I do make it a contest, Mer has the inside track, because 1) I'm biased and 2) she's known me longer. She also has a good chance of being included in the winnings even if she's lost. Conflicts of interest are actively tolerated in our household, I'm afraid.

Think of the actors, won't you?

* This track also features my teacher's voice -- Susan McCollom. Not that you'd do this (because that would be really sad) but the next time you're listening intently to a radio commercial for Albertson's, it's probably her.

Insecurity,

commonly regarded as a weakness in normal people, is the basic tool of the actor's trade.
-- Miranda Richardson

Had my audition for the play in the SF Fringe Festival today. There were no less than 2 people I knew from the "A Few Gay Men" cast on the production staff -- still very chummy after all this time -- so I hope I at least have a decent shot at it.

On the way to my car, I ran into a friend of a friend who works at a children's CD publishing house (I think). She'd said before that she was interested in hearing what I could do in voiceover work; well, dammit, I was right by the office, so I got my little draft demo CD -- not the finished product yet -- and put some cuts up for your perusal.

The CD is divided into three basic categories: commercial reads, character reads, and narration. This is just a nice way of saying that there will be tracks on the CD dealing with overpriced coffee, slightly disturbing character work for animation/CDROM, long narrative stretches for trade shows, instructional videos, or children's museum tours, and maybe a batshit loco track here and there. (That last bit is to show that I can read the legalese in radio commercials.)

It still needs some work, but I'm well on my way.

Can I actually make money being as hammy as I am? God knows. This is a hail mary pass if ever there was one, but I certainly think the work is easy enough to do and I get things done very quickly in the booth -- very few takes. I'd never respect myself if I didn't try.

There are always things that make me second-guess myself, though.
For instance, this last Sunday the AC crapped out on us in the Bus Barn Theatre. When you're standing there in 50 pounds of heavy canvas under some awful number of lights, you start picking up your cues pretty damn quick so you can go home. You stick to the floor. It seems like you're literally melting -- other cast members can tell how hot it is by how badly you're glistening. You drip on the floor. (Don't worry -- the system has since been repaired, or at least it's working again.)

There's also the rampant insincerity and drama queen attitude that's prevalent among actors, probably including yours truly sometimes.

The omnipresent rejection.

There's the fact that when I'm not doing this for free most of the time, I get a check that basically covers my gas money throughout rehearsals and the run, if that.

And yet, this crap is all I look forward to during the week. It's what I do, and it's also one of the few things on this earth I do really well.

At last Saturday's performance we had a photographer up in the stage manager's booth taking promotional pictures of us. She'll be taking posed pictures this coming Sunday after the show. A nice coincidence -- she's the same photographer that took our pictures for "Art" last year. She took some great ones, and someday I'll buy the server space myself and set up an honest-to-goodness actor website, but right now I'm way too lazy for that. Better just to vomit up a couple good ones for the blog. Hopefully she'll give us a CD full of shots from "Arms and the Man" -- I want a nice one of, say, eye twitching above the handlebar mustache.

"Art" has got its own visual humor, however. Since I've already abused space constraints enough with the mp3s, I've reduced these pictures down to .gifs. Let the mugging begin:

Fun fact: these are not pictures taken during a performance. These are posed shots, which means (particularly in the case of the rabid animal pose seen here) that we had to hold the same facial expressions for 10 minutes on end while the shots were posed and taken. Basic rule of promotional photography: the bigger and more outlandish the expression, the more it strains credulity and even good taste, the better picture it will make in the end. Hence my borrowing facial expressions from Ricardo Montalban in Star Trek II. Hence putting my face through actual physical pain to hold that expression for so long.