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(Again, I fuck up and bring you part of a lost entry from Friday.)
All hell is breaking loose here at work today. I was late since this morning I did one of them wake-up-late-because-I-guess-I-turned-off-the-alarm- because-after-rehearsal-last-night-I-just-had-to- stay-up-watching-Letterman-and-drinking-beer… you know, one of those. It’s costume day and BFT (Big Flaming Temp) hosted a big costume show and barely anyone dressed up. Then Rachel brought her little kid in and we had to try to talk to him. He was dressed as a pirate and I keep closing one eye and going, "Arrrrrrrgggg, matey." But he wasn’t impressed by either the pure humor of it or the irony inherent in doing one of those cheesy pirate impressions. Then it was announced that my group is moving departments – which practically speaking means nothing but does reinforce the fact that decisions here are made with the randomness of the weather. Of the lottery. Of the casting of It’s Like You Know… Then I have a couple auditions this afternoon so I have to only work a half day. So I’m writing this, listening to Ben Folds Five, toggling back and doing work every once in a while, answering personal email, deleting work-related email, trying to decide when to have a smoke, drinking coffee, getting pissed off by Minesweeper, and also dealing with the below 2 items:
First of all, I have to decide what to wear to Frank’s costume party tonight. My first idea this morning was this: Golfer Payne Stewart. Golf club wrapped around my neck. Blood and smoke. An oxygen mask just out of reach… But it’s too morbid even for me. Funny but morbid. Then I came up with this and I’m trying to figure out how to do it: I want to go as Matthew McConaughey. Naked. Blonde wig. Bongos. A doobie. Easy! So I gonna go price bodysuits between auditions. Funny, no?
Secondly, the script stuff has again heated up a bit. In addition to fielding a few more calls – requests for scripts and though-we-love-it-it’s-a pass-but-we-want-to-read-your-next-script calls, I finally talked to the William Morris Agent who called. He was a judge for the Nichol Fellowships and really dug the script. He was very cool and complimentary and went on to say that though his client roster is pretty full, there are two other agents there, women, who might be looking, so he wanted to know if he could get copies for them. A few other cool writing-related things (real life and cyber life) have been going on, but I’m not sure I can mention them yet.
Elsewhere…
Yesterday I was extremely bummed out for the second half of the day. Why? We did our weekly bowling session, during which I always kick ass. Well, there is this new butch-looking chick who came along. So I’m lacing up my size 14’s and getting ready, when she strolls in, carrying a 2-ball bowling bag! She then takes out her own shoes, puts her two balls on the holder, and begins throwing. Bitch is awesome. I ask someone and find out this new stupid employee was on the Women’s Pro Bowling Tour for two years! I’m not fucking with you. She went on to bowl 200 and I barely broke 100. And then when I was feeling just about as low (yes, I know it’s pitiful to get all bummed out about bowling, but I like it so shut up) as I could when 8 people sat down at the lane next to us. I heard these weird sounds so I looked over and my heart sank: they were all retarded. Not that I mind retards at all, but I started having flashbacks to my bowling team days and my retarded nemesis. Oh it was awful. The second game I barely broke 70. Do you see the hell I’m living?
Meanwhile…
Something quite troubling is happening. I am covering a script right now for my side job. The script is arguably the worst I’ve read in the 3 years I’ve been doing this. It’s a comedy about a comet hitting the earth. It is desperately unfunny. The writer is represented by a management company who asked to read my script a few weeks ago. On Saturday I had a meeting with Frank and happened to tell him about this awful script. He read a few pages, shook his head and laughed. When I got home there was a letter from the selfsame management company, "No. Good luck in your career." I’m not baffled that someone would reject me – even a company that happens to rep a few bad writers (hell – this guy could be someone’s brother) – but this script is really really bad. Extra bad. Ass bad. Bad.
Also…
A few minutes ago I got paged by a former ICM agent now between gigs who requested a script last week. I called her back. "Hi Stee. I read your script. Laughed out loud during Act One, which is a good sign because I never do that. But I would have gone a different direction with Acts 2 and 3… Anyway, I would love to meet with you." I calmly replied that I’ll be too busy opening 12th Night but maybe in 2 weeks. So we made a date for late-afternoon drinks. (I researched her and she was indeed an agent at ICM for years.) Many things about this conversation struck me as odd, but it’s been happening so much in the last 2 months, that nothing would surprise me at this point. "Excuse me sir, I like your tie but the rest of your clothes are really ugly. Can I borrow some duds?"
Finally…
Thanks for all your complimentary emails. It means a lot. Really.
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