It Finally Haappened

Finally, I got to see myself on the big screen, in a proper film.  While watching "Green Zone," with Matt Damon, I saw myself, in the background.  There's an old saying, "you wait ages for a bus, then three come along at once."  Well, I saw myself in another film, "The Infidel."  I'm clearer in there and visible several times.  I wonder when the third one will come along?  I did manage to attend the world Premier of "The Infidel," my first premier, but they didn't let me attend the after party.  Shucks!

Rushing to See August Rush

I managed to win tickets to see "August Rush," tonight, in an advanced preview. Instead of asking for two tickets as I usually do, then having the problem of not being able to find anyone to go with me, I only asked for one. I also managed to get a ticket to a cinema close by, for a change. The screening was in Slough, which is in the same county as Bracknell. However, things never work out for me with no hiccups. If I was still driving, then it would have been a simple matter to drive to Slough after work, for the 6:30PM screening. Riding the buses was a different matter.
Usually, the bus I take home gets me to the stop around the corner from my house by 5:35PM. If I stay on the same bus, it will take me to the Bracknell town centre, about ten minutes later. It would be 5:45 and I'd just be in Bracknell. There's no telling how close a connection I would manage with the bus onwards, to Slough. To make matters worse, all this would be happening in rush hour, when the traffic is bad. I could take the train, instead, but that would entail complicated connections, as Slough isn't on the same line as either Bracknell, Camberley, or Farnborough. Furthermore, buying a train ticket would entail extra expense. I can ride the buses for no extra charge, using my weekly bus ticket. I am so short of money these days, that this final consideration tipped the balance for me. I would make the epic journey by bus!
Unable to get out of work early, I departed at my usual time, starting with the 4:15 shuttle bus to Camberley. Being a Wednesday, I had managed to acquire a couple slices of pizza, left over from lunch. Having provisions with me would render it unnecessary to buy snacks from the cinema. Although the buses progressed at their normal plodding rate, I felt more anxious than usual, repeatedly checking my watch. When the 194 bus to Bracknell started pulling in to the Bracknell bus station, I looked through the windows, to see if the Slough bus was there. It was. Would I be able to make it onto the Slough bus before it pulled away? I willed the 194 driver to hurry up and open the doors.
As the doors opened, I leaped out of the bus I had arrived in. Dashing across the station, avoiding any of the mammoth buses that were in motion, I raced to the 191 to Slough. I made it! I couldn't have asked for a closer connection. However, whenever I have good news, it's usually accompanied by bad, it had started to rain. The rain would slow the traffic even more than usual. People in Britain seem to really have a tough time handling driving in the rain. Even Nando, my racist, Italian housemate, is bothered by driving in the rain. For Pete's sake! It's just a bit of water. My fate was now in the hands of the driver from First buses.
6:30PM came and went and we hadn't arrived at the Slough bus station. When we finally did arrive, I struggled to find the way to the cinema. The mall was partially closed, so instead of cutting through, I had to walk around. I kept hoping the film started late. If it was a normal showing, there would be about ten minutes of ads, followed by about ten minutes of coming attractions. These advanced previews usually don't have all that. Would they even let me in when I arrive late?
Finally, I rushed up to the box office twenty minutes after the screening was supposed to start. The man behind the counter informed me that the show had started already, but didn't object to me entering. I hate missing the beginning of a film, but I'd traveled so far, I might as well see as much as I could. After all, it was free. I don't know how much of the film I actually missed, as I have no idea if they started on time. I did manage to pick up the majority of the story.
"August Rush" is the story of a boy sent to an orphanage, as a baby. His parents are two unmarried, young musicians. The boy ends up on the streets of New York City, learning busking. He is a musical genius and his talent aids in his parents finding him, and each other. Directed by Kirsten Sheriden, the film has somewhat of a "female" feel to it. With a mother's bond with her long lost son triumphing over everything, I get the impression that this is the world the way a lot of women imagine it to be. It's Kirsten's seventh film as a director, although I haven't seen any of her other projects, nor even heard of them. The film is technically competent and the acting good, although some might feel that Robin Williams supporting role was a tad bit over-played. Freddie Highmore, who plays the starring role, is worthy of particular note. It's so hard to find good child actors, but he did an excellent job. I found it an enjoyable film that's suitable for families. It tugs at the heartstrings a bit and it may be slightly cheesy, but all in all, a nice story, well presented. The soundtrack is also quite good.

Wearing the Real Costume

Yesterday, I worked on the feature film for which I attended the costume fitting last week. I had a 6:30AM call time at Pinewood Studios. Getting there via public transportation would prove tricky. After much research, I decided to take the first bus from Bracknell, towards London, but get off at Langley. The production company was providing a free shuttle bus service from Langley train station to Pinewood. They were expecting people from London to arrive at Langley on the 6:11 from Paddington Station. The bus from Bracknell was due to arrive in Langley at 6:06. The only problem was that the bus stop isn't at the train station. Could I walk to the train station in five minutes?
The answer turned out to be, "no." It wasn't helped by the fact that my bus was a bit late. The train station proved to be quite far. After walking a while, I caught a bus that was going my way. I asked the driver if he stopped at the train station, but he said no. He did get me closer, faster than I could have walked the distance. By the time I arrived at Langley Station, it was 6:25. When I walked to the front of the station, I figured the shuttle to Pinewood would have left already. Maybe I could catch a cab from the station. As the front of the station came into view, I was pleasantly surprised. There were a bunch of men waiting there. The shuttle hadn't come yet.
The mini buses didn't start arriving to pick us up till just past 6:30. Technically, we were late, but as we were all in the same boat, I figured I couldn't get into trouble over it. We had been told to arrive at 6AM, if we wanted breakfast. I was concerned about missing breakfast, as I hadn't brought anything to eat with me. Upon arrival at Pinewood, I was in for my second pleasant surprise of the day. They were still serving breakfast. There were so many background artistes in line for their costumes, that there was plenty of time for me to grab something to eat first.
The only downside to this shoot was that all of the actors for the scene were men. There must have been a couple of hundred of us, but not a single female. The only women around were a couple of production runners, a couple of costume people, and all the makeup department. The makeup ladies were quite old and matronly looking, but the female runners were on the cute side. Oh, one of the assistant directors was female as well, but she wasn't so good looking. Mostly, she kept repeating, "quiet please," so often that towards the end of the day, I felt like pushing her head through a wall. Strangely, I ended up resisting the urge.
Although my agent had originally told me the job was for two days filming, I found out that the production company was going to try to cram it all into the one day. That's why we started so bloody early. Because I had been told it was for two days, I had booked two days off work at the restaurant. If they succeeded in getting all the filming done in one day, I would end up with a day off for nothing. The day was long. They didn't wrap us till just past 7PM. It was then that they finally told us for certain that we would not be needed the next day. By them, there was no one left at the restaurant for me to call and cancel my day off for the next day. Oh well, I resigned myself to spending the next day at home, relaxing. Poor me.

A Real Costume

Yesterday was a really busy day for me. A long one, as well. First, I went to my day job, at the restaurant, arriving at 7:45AM. After working till 11:15, without my usual break at 10:00, I left and rushed over to Pinewood Studios. Traffic was moderate and the drive took 35 minutes. I made my costume fitting, scheduled for Noon, with a few minutes to spare. Walking from the gate to a temporary structure behind the 007 sound stage, a fellow supporting artiste asked me to show him the way. I am usually slightly less enthusiastic about helping guys, as opposed to pretty women, but what the hell. As I was leading the way, my new, talkative companion let slip that his father is a producer. Hello! Major networking opportunity.
Upon arrival at the marquee, we were given payment paperwork and confidentiality agreements to sign. Because of the latter, I can't say which major motion picture it is I will be working on next. The film industry can be so secretive sometimes. Usually, when I have attended a costume fitting for supporting artiste work, the costume ends up being primarily my own clothes. They look over what I have brought, add this, or takeaway that, but I end up wearing my own clothes. What fun is there in that? This time was different. I was given a complete costume, shirts, trousers, even shoes. Finally! This feels more like acting. I will enjoy playing my small part much more, knowing that I am wearing a real costume, not just my own clothes. The only items of my own that I will be wearing will be socks and underpants. Producer's son was going a bit slower and I needed to get back to work. I bade him farewell and scampered off towards the parking lot. Hopefully, I would talk to him more during filming, next week.
Rushing back to work in my rented, Italian car, I got there by 1:05PM, just five minutes later than I had hoped. I was in a great mood, having listened to my favorite Black Eyed Peas song, "Hey Mama," on the radio, in the car, while speeding down the motorway. That was the first song I ever liked by B.E.P. and every time I hear it, I can picture Fergie in the video, shaking her...ass-ets. Back at work, I struggled to catch up on my work, which had piled up while I was gone. There was no time to relax. I needed to get finished as quickly as possible, so I could head to my next project for the day.
I finished at the restaurant by 4:50PM. After a quick break in the lavatory, I raced off to return my rented car. The rental firm dropped me off at Hatton Cross Tube station. As I rushed down the stairs, to the platform, I heard a train pulling out. I reached the platform just in time to see it was an eastbound Piccadilly line train. Just the one I needed. Trains on the Heathrow spur of the Piccadilly line run a bit infrequently, so I sat down to wait for the next one. I was racing to meet my good friend, Mucky Sarah. She was producing some project of her own and needed a male for voiceover work. When she offered it to me, I jumped at the chance.
Catching the next train, I figured out I could change to the District line at Acton Town. The District line would take me to Ravenscourt Park, the nearest station to my destination. From there, I could walk to the studio where we would be recording. Unfortunately, the London Underground system was recovering from a strike, which had just ended in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Even though it was now Wednesday evening, full service had not yet been restored. The District line was running again, but only on a limited service. I ended up with a long wait at Acton Park. Sarah called me on my mobile. She'd beaten me to Ravenscourt Park. I told her to go ahead and I would meet her at the studio. Trying to be helpful, she offered me directions from Ravenscourt Park Tube station, to the studio. Even though I had a map, I took note of Sarah's directions. After all, she'd been there before and was traveling the route at that very moment. I had never been to that part of town before. Surely, her tips would save me valuable time fumbling with my map, printed from the internet.
By this time I had been going for over twelve hours. I guess was tired, or something. That could explain why I totally forgot that Sarah is navigationally challenged, even more so than most women. When driving her car, she's almost completely dependent on her GPS. When her GPS wasn't working for a while, this summer, even with computer generated directions from the internet, she still managed to get lost, twice, while driving us somewhere in northwest London. None of this was in the forefront of my mind when I left Ravenscourt Tube station. I blindly followed Sarah's directions and lived to regret it. Subsequently, it began to dawn on me that I was going the wrong way. Consulting my map and struggling to find a street sign, I eventually figured out that I was on the wrong side of Ravenscourt Park. One of the quirky things about Britain is that many intersections lack street signs. This makes navigating much more of a challenge than it is in the States. I made a right turn and cut through the park, trying to get myself back on course.
I must have gotten slightly disoriented in the park, because I ended up on the east side of it, rather than on the north side. However, I wouldn't figure that out until later. I tried comparing the streets I was seeing to the few that were named on my map. Instead of relying on this crappy Mapquest printout, I should have consulted my trusty, old, London A -Z, but as I said, I was tired. I pressed on in what seemed like the right direction. Sarah called to find out where I was. "I don't know," I said. "Your directions were shit," I informed her. A brief discussion ensued and she admitted that she had given me a wrong turn, sending me left out of the station, when it should have been right. Oopsie! Sarah started making unhelpful suggestions, based on her own habits. This included suggesting that I go back the way I came and start over. That's a well known tactic of hers. I had been walking for half an hour, by then. No way was I going to redo that, then still have the walk to the studio to do. Next, she suggested asking someone. Asking is a stereotypical female, navigational tactic, but I am a man and real men don't ask! Did Christopher Columbus ask? Hell no! She started debating with me, which wasn't helping. In fact, it was distracting. I pretended that I was getting a bad signal on my mobile and couldn't hear her. Then I hung up, saying I would call her back. When I didn't, she called back, a few minutes later. I just let my phone ring and didn't answer.
Having finally found a main road that was on my map, I tried to figure where I was along it. Lack of street signs again caused me to walk along it in the wrong direction. Those street signs I did find didn't correlate with the ones on my map. Reaching a bus stop, I consulted the local map displayed there. Finally, I knew where I was. By reversing direction and walking a bit, I was able to get to the street the studio was on. I finally arrived there, an hour late. I did it my way, as Frank Sinatra would sing. No asking strangers for directions! Male honor was satisfied.
In the studio, I offered Sarah and the sound engineer croissants, but they declined. How cool...I was able to appear generous, but without any of the negative side effects. She gave me a copy of the script I would be reading. We were recording a segment of her book, which is based on her blog. Sarah writes a sex blog, "Naive London Girl." The book is based on her blog and real life sex exploits. The publishing company she is negotiating with want to put it out as a podcast book, as well as traditional print, and wanted a sample. Sarah writes under the pen name, Anjelika Jinxs. You can check out her sex blog at: http://www.naivelondongirl.com . That site also has her podcasts, including a couple with me on them.
Looking over the script, I noticed that the male parts I was doing involved some very sleazy sex talk. This script required me saying all sorts of pathetic, sleazy things that I just wouldn't normally say to a woman. Noticing my distaste, Sarah said, "it's called acting." Sarah and I sat in a studio, together. We did a couple of practice run-throughs of the script. It's funny how Sarah can be so inhibited about so many things in day to day life, like driving without a GPS, or eating vegetables, but the filth that calmly spews forth from that girl's mouth is enough to make a sailor blush. Once we started recording, Sarah did a few bits on her own, then we did some together. Listening to the criticism of the sound engineer, we did a couple of takes of some parts, trying to get it right. Finally, we came to my last part. It was a single line, but it involved me pretending to be having an orgasm. Faking orgasms is what women do. I have no experience with that. It was my turn to feel inhibited. I did it over and over again, but Sarah wasn't satisfied. She kept urging more out of me. The problem is the character is saying things I would never say during an orgasm. Finally, the engineer said to try ad libbing it and saying whatever I was comfortable with. Once I did that a couple of times, he said he was satisfied that he had enough. He will edit parts together to produce what he and Sarah want. Sarah teased me that I don't make noisy enough orgasms. I teased her back that her scriptwriting was crap. My parts finished, I was free to leave.
We had finished a little earlier than I expected. Not wanting to repeat the disaster of my journey there, I caught a bus to Hammersmith Underground station. From there, I walked to the bus stop for the coach to Bracknell. I was happy to get the 9:50PM Coach from Hammersmith. Originally, I had been expecting to end up on the 10:50. Arriving in Bracknell after 11:30PM, I walked home from the town centre, as the local buses had stopped running by then. A Taxi would cost the equivalent of an hour's wages at the restaurant. It only took me half an hour to walk. That's the like doubling my wages. It was after midnight by the time I waked through my doorway. I felt hot and sweaty. I had just endured an 18 hour day. Uncharacteristically, I had a shower and went to bed. Blogging could wait for another day.

This Takes the Biscuit

Today, I worked on my first commercial. It was a TV advertisement for a magazine. I am excited about it for two reasons. First, it pays better than the film work I have been doing. About three times as much, so today was the best single day's pay I have ever had. Second, I should be seen in this commercial, given that there are only six of us in the scene, and it will be shown repeatedly, thus maximizing my public exposure.
I arrived early, which is good for me. As I was sitting waiting, a gorgeous actress walked in. She had a beautiful, full head of auburn hair, flowing down over her shoulders. Wearing a business suit, she also had a sizzling hot figure. I later learned her name is Carla and she's a TV presenter on Sky Channel 634. She's also a former dancer, which would explain the figure. For my sins, I got to sit next to her for the entire shoot. What's also impressive about Carla is that she's over thirty, but still looks gorgeous. That's one of the nice things about working in TV and films, you get to work with some stunningly beautiful women, sometimes.
The premise of the ad is that Carla and I, plus four others, are sitting around a table in a meeting room. We are all dressed like lawyers. At the head of the table is an empty chair. It's empty because the boss is not there. Instead of being in the meeting, he's off reading this magazine we are promoting. He can't put it down. We're all bored waiting and doing various things to pass the time. One woman is texting on her mobile phone. Another woman is doing a crossword puzzle, while a male colleague sits next to her, trying to chat her up. Carla is doodling on a pad. Originally, I was supposed to be rolling a biscuit (cookie for American readers) back and forth, across the table with a male colleague, opposite. After a couple of rehearsals, the director decided that instead, my colleague would be sleeping with his head on his hands. That left me and the biscuit. He asked me to play with it in some way. I decided to spin it, on edge, like a top, on the table. The director liked that idea and decided to go with it. Thus began the great biscuit challenge.
The director decided he wanted to end our shot on my spinning biscuit. The problem was to work it so the camera finished tracking back just as I spun the biscuit, but have all the action fit within the time allotted for this part of the commercial. We were shooting for a 30 second commercial and our scene was supposed to take 7 seconds. Coordinating the camera tracking, my spinning, and the 7 seconds, became very difficult. We did take after take. I finally lost count when we hit 40 and that's not counting the numerous rehearsals we did. Little bits and pieces of the scene kept being adjusted and re-adjusted. We had a female cinematographer, which was a first for me. The whole crew were great and a joy to work with. They got us water and fed us breakfast. When we finally wrapped, around 1PM, I was being teased about being typecast, forever more, as a biscuit spinner. Given that my spinning biscuit became such a central part of the scene, I feel fairly confident I will be seen in this commercial. I am looking forward to when I finally see it on TV.
Between takes, I spoke with Carla as much as possible. When I asked her where she lived, I thought she said "northward." So I guessed Honslow. To this, she replied, "northward," or so I thought. I tried Harrow, even Luton. Still, every time she would say, "northward," in an ever more exasperated voice. Then I figured out that she wasn't saying "northward," but "Northwood." I found that funny. Carla looked so good, I thought she should be doing bigger time stuff than this. I pictured her as a leading lady in some film. When I asked her if she wanted to do bigger acting projects, in the future, she replied in the negative. "I'm a better TV presenter than I am an actress," she explained. She just does the acting on the side, on her days off from TV presenting. In any case, she made my day. In what other line of work can you spend a day playing with biscuits and chatting to a gorgeous lady, and get paid for it?

Program Alert: The Whistle

The short film I was in last summer, is being shown on TV tomorrow night. "The Whistle" will air at 10:27PM, Saturday, August 11th, on Propeller TV, Sky Channel 195. It's a short film and I only appear during the first few minutes, but I have lines and I get a credit. So, make sure you watch through the credits.

Best Laid Plans

After purchasing a ticket to travel by coach, within England, this weekend, I received a call, today, from my agent. This time, it was Emma on the phone. She asked me if I was available to work on a film shoot this Saturday and Sunday? In a flash, I recalled that I was due to leave Friday, after work, and return on Sunday evening. Without hesitation, I told Emma that I was available. She said she'd call back tomorrow and confirm things. I don't like to say no to my agent, as I have heard they don't offer clients as much work if they find you to be routinely unavailable. Besides, I need the money. After I got home, I called the friend I was supposed to visit and broke the news. We decided to keep our plans open until things were confirmed with the agency. The last time they told me I had work, they ended up telling me it was cancelled before the day.

Program Reminder: Urban Legends

Don't forget...those of you in the UK and Ireland, who have Sky, or access to FX Channel via cable...tonight at midnight, my episode of "Urban Legends" will be re-shown. Sky Channel 165. American and Canadian residents, the series is supposed to be airing, eventually, in your neck of the woods. Check local listings.

A Tale of Three Auditions

Last Sunday night, I had an audition for a new, original play, which is to be performed in northwest London, at the end of this month. This was the first audition I have had for theatrical acting in twenty-one years. I only received the script early on Friday morning. I felt unsure how to prepare. I tried contacting Bill Buckley, the LBC radio presenter (97.3 FM, London), because he's experienced in such matters and has been helpful to me before. Unfortunately, Bill was away that weekend. I wasn't too worried about not getting the part, I just didn't want to make a fool out of myself during the audition process. Not having the benefit of formal training in drama, I am usually fine with film and television auditions. This was different. This was theatre and I would be facing people who had training and experience.
I arrived at the location for the audition early. Sitting in my car, I went over the script as much as I could. When it was close to my call time, I went inside. I found one woman waiting, ahead of me. There was already one hopeful inside and we could hear him through the closed door. Things seemed to be running late. The woman ahead of me seemed impatient and kept looking at her watch, then tutting. Soon, it was her turn. I move up a seat and sat next to the door to the room the auditions were taking place in. Remaining quiet, I could make out little snippets of what was being said inside. I strained to pick up any clue as to what I would face in the room. In due course, another person showed up. He looked like his family was from southwest Asia. We made small talk until it was my turn.
Inside the room, I was introduced to the playwright and the director. They put me at ease and offered me a drink of water, or orange juice. I can have water at home, so I selected the orange juice. I read for my part twice, with the director and the playwright joining in. The second time they asked me to attempt a Welsh accent. Oh dear! That seemed a bit difficult. The audition seemed to go well and they said they'd let me know the next day. I walked out hopeful, but the next day, my hopes were dashed.
I had a busy audition week lined up. Tuesday evening, I was scheduled to audition for a short film. More keen to get the film role, I tried hard to prepare. Nothing prepared me for what happened. I never made it to the audition, as I was admitted to the hospital that morning (see "Going to the Hospital," Wednesday 9, May, 2007). After spending the night in the hospital, I managed to get out the next day. I tried contacting the casting person for the film, to see if I could audition on a different day, but she informed me that the role was already filled.
I had one more chance and that was on Wednesday night. There was a comedy talent search being held, in London. Once I arrived home from the hospital, I had a nap, then showered. I felt better and headed into central London. At the venue, I discovered there were close to 100 hopefuls signed up to perform. I added my name to the list, then began to prepare myself mentally. There was no audience, other than the people waiting their turn to perform, a camera crew, and some industry professionals, acting as judges. We were allotted three minutes each. Getting a laugh out of this crowd would be an achievement. Because I arrived a little late, I wasn't performing until the end of the night. The advantage in this was I got to listen to the majority before it was my turn.
After we performed, we learned that there was a prize for the "winner." One winner was selected from the female and one from the male. I won't keep you in suspense, I didn't win. At least I got some laughs. Trying to be objective, I decided that I had probably been in the top third. The winners were given a £500 production budget, each. Surely the talent search wasn't a means just to pass out those two modest prizes? I drove home with a spark of hope. I had been required to leave my contact details, in case the production company wanted to contact me in the future. So far, no call, but you never know.

I Bumped Into Matt Damon

On Tuesday, I bumped into Matt Damon...literally. Okay, to be fair, the actual bumping into was with his stunt double. I was working on a film shoot for a soon to be released, major motion picture. We were on location at London's Waterloo International Station and I was one of 300 plus background artists involved in the day's shooting. Matt Damon was doing some scenes with us and, at one point, his character was supposed to push his way through the crowd. I suppose the film company couldn't risk Matt running into someone as big as me. We were doing a take and I was concentrating on playing my part as a passer by, in the train station. All of a sudden, I almost collided with a guy going the other way. He was dressed like Matt Damon and looked like him...sort of. Ah-ha! A stunt double! How clever.
After a long work day with more waiting than filming, I was ambling along, on my way back to our base for the day, so I could sign out. I picked one of the exits from the station concourse, other than the main exit. Suddenly, I noticed that Matt Damon had picked the same exit. He was standing with some fans, signing autographs. I left them to it and continued to make my way to the base. As I came out on the street, I noticed a couple of paparazzi waiting at the corner of the archway. When I realized that they weren't there for me, I continued on my way. I was tired by the end of the day, having gotten up at 4:30AM. At least I worked with Matt Damon, that day. What did you do at work, on Tuesday?

Am I Being Type Cast?

Yesterday, my agent called. When I received the voicemail, I felt excited. Oh boy! Work!! Of course, me being me, I waited till I got home to call back. It's cheaper calling from my home phone than from my mobile. At home, I pulled up the number for the agency from the memory on my fancy, new, cordless phone handset. I love technology. The phone rang at their end. A woman answered and told me her name, which was entirely forgettable. I asked for the woman who had left me the message. The answerer asked my name. "Joseph Brennan," I said.
"What was that surname?" she asked again.
"Brennan," I replied.
"Can you spell that?" she asked.
I SHOULD have said...I should have said, "yes, T.H.A.T." Instead, I thought, "oh for fuck's sake," and said, "B.R.E.N.N.A.N." She put me on hold.
She came back off hold and said, "the person who called you was...," giving the exact same name as I had asked for when she answered. Duh! She then said that the woman was busy and could I call back tomorrow. It's nice to know they are so desperate to speak to me. "Hold everything, Mr. Brennan is on the phone."
"What time should I call back?" I asked, for further clarification. I didn't want a repeat of this fiasco.
"In the morning," she said. Gee, how specific. I agreed and hung up. Damn, that would mean using my mobile phone. Why the heck couldn't she just call me back? Maybe the agency owns shares in mobile phone companies. The real way they earn money is by luring desperate actors to call them from mobiles.
I decided to call at 10AM, during my breakfast break. So today, I pulled out my phone during breakfast, in front of my co-workers, and brought up the agency's number from the phone memory. I love technology. When the agency answered, I asked for the same woman I had asked for yesterday. Again, I was asked my name. I gave it, but this time the person who answered managed to understand me on the first go. The woman I needed to speak to came to the phone. Even though I had given my name to the person who answered, I said my name again and that I was returning her call. She sounded like she had no idea who I am. Great. I reminded her that she called me, yesterday, then she seemed to remember. She then asked me if I was available at the end of April and the beginning of May, for a couple of days of filming. "Sure," I said.
She went on to tell me that she wanted to submit me for some show for the Discovery Channel. "They want Americans," I heard her say. Am I being type cast as an American? It seems that most of the work I have gotten, over the past nine months, has been because someone was looking for Americans. At the end of the day, I don't care too much, so long as I get work. She asked me if it was okay for her to submit me for the show. What was I supposed to say? No? So I told her yes, to please submit me.
After I hung up, I turned to the Nepalese I call "Billy," who was seated to my left, and said, "that was my agent." You gotta love the pretentiousness of it.

Girls Aloud Versus the Sugababes

Tonight, for the first time, I saw a music video that Girls Aloud and the Sugababes did, together. It's a cover of the old Aerosmith song, "Walk This Way," in a similar vein as the one Aerosmith did with Run DMC. It was filmed to benefit Comic Relief and has cameo appearances from a number of stars, including Davina Mc Call and Graham Norton. The real frustrating thing is that I had a chance to be an extra in this video, but didn't because I would have meant taking off more time from work during a week when I had already taken off for another project. Besides, there was no pay involved. Now, seeing the video, I see that the scene I would have been in would have involved being in the same room with two of my favorite girl groups, Girls Aloud, including Sarah Harding and Nicola Roberts, and the Sugababes. To make matters worse, Davina was there and I adore Davina. I now wish I had done it. Wish I, could of, would of, should of.