n o w p l a y i n g - s c r i p t b i n - f a n c l u b - s t u d i o

make love to the camera



October 09, 2003 - 1:51 pm

My Name Came Up!

Settle in, kids. It's been a while and this is going to be a long one.

I am the hardest working man in unemployment these days. This is Jonny's first full week of not having a job, and it's a good thing that I haven't been home at all, because it's pretty damn clear that cabin fever could set in at any moment. Yesterday, I was so bored at one point that I began a penny war in which we whipped currency back and forth for a good half hour.

It ended in a draw.

So, I've been out and about. Interviews, late nights at Hooter's and British pubs, errand running, car repairs, some shows, and even an audition. Granted, a lot of these things are extra-curricular, and I wouldn't be doing half of them if I had a job, but I still wonder how I'd be able to pull off the things I need to do if I did have one.

Let's get caught up:

Street Smarts. I had to cancel my audition when I found out I knew someone who was a producer on the show. Apparently, one can't have an outside connection to it and be a contestant on it. So there went that. I was advised to audition for Pyramid, as one can make more money that way anyway.

Car repairs. Oh so lovely. My brakes decided to disintegrate over the weekend. Each time I came to a stop, my car would rumble and shake like it was about to fly apart. I took it in to Midas, figuring that a corporate, big-company shop would be cheaper than a mom and pop. They attempted to rape me for $650, parts and labor. I then took it to a local mechanic that my friend Natalie uses, and he did the job for me, same day, for $300 less.

In the process of inspecting my brakes, the Midas guys must have removed something important, because the car would barely brake at all on my way to the other mechanic. I may as well have put a sail on top of my car for all the brake power I had. On my way out of the Midas lot, a guy coming fast down the street nearly hit me.

I don't understand people who experience road rage. I thought it was understood that, when driving, mistakes occur, and we correct and catch them before an accident 99% of the time. It's like drunkenly walking through a crowded bar. You might brush against people, but you don't spend time getting mad at them because maybe it could have been a whole lot worse. And that's what happened with this guy.

He's barreling down the street and sees me waiting to turn out into traffic. He brakes, and pulls to a screecher right in front of me. Keep in mind that I had been doing nothing but sitting there at this point. He decides that he's pissed, however, and gives me the old stink eye. For a good ten seconds. I'm not mad. I hadn't seen any sort of foul occur. But here I have this bald guy in sunglasses sitting ten feet in front of me, looking at me like I'd just slapped his kittens.

Eventually, I returned his look with a look of my own. While his look was one of pure death, mine was more of an amused half smile and shrug that said 'What now, sir? Am I supposed to do something? Should I cry? Can we continue to live our lives, put this behind us as if nothing had happened?'

He decided to answer in the affirmative by driving off without shooting me, and I wondered if he would later consider that a good ten seconds well spent.

So. A few weeks ago, we had this thing at the Improvolympic called an Industry Showcase. Our teachers had selected a few of us that weren't on official 'house' teams to go and perform for the talent management company that handles the IO out here and in Chicago. Myself and a few of my classmates performed, and we had a pretty damn good show, and then the night ended and that was that.

Now, I knew that this was for a creative management company, so, while it wasn't a very active daydream, I liked to imagine in the back of my mind that each time my phone rang, it was the Mgmt. Company with some great news for me.

Tuesday, that little daydream came true.

"Hi, Mr. Burman, this is Jennifer at BlahBlah Entertainment. We saw you at the industry showcase a few weeks back. The show Punk'd is looking to hire new cast members, and your name came up, so they were wondering if you could go in and see them tomorrow."

My name came up! My name! It "came up!"

It was the coolest combination of words I had heard all year.

I very non-chalantly said "Yeah, sure," when inside I was thinking "Fuck! I can get paid for doing improv! And screwing with celebrities! Paid well!"

The (likely) ending to this story is pretty anti-climactic. I went in, I met with a very pretty casting director, and we just talked while she videotaped it. I didn't get to do any improv. I laid out some charm as best I could, but it's all in Ashton's hands now.

So, that was my first big LA audition. It would be great if I got it, but, either way, I'm still ultra psyched that they saw me, liked me, and thought enough of me to say "This guy has the potential to make us some money. Let's send him out."

So cool. This is what I want to do. Not Punk'd, necessarily, just to be thought of and sent out for jobs. Now I just need to find someone who will give me money in exchange for services to survive between auditions, and all will be well.

Who needs an assistant?

If you haven't already, check out Jonny's film journal for the short we're doing.

Last Time On FadeIn - Next Week's Show

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