Yep. I'm now officially late-mid-twenties/mid-late-twenties as opposed to regular old mid-twenties. Whatever the fuck it is, the glass is half-empty, not half-full. *Sigh*. Oh well...
Sorry I haven't posted since Monday's blogstravaganza de Sex & The City, but I figured, seeing as that was 4,000 words long, I figured I had a few off days. So yesterday was spent enjoyably enough. But can I TELL you about the fucking day I had on Tuesday? HOLY CRAP...
SO - Monday night, I get a call from my former agent saying that I had been requested specifically to come into a casting house in Toronto to audition for a Futureshop commercial. This is odd. I'm currently unrepresented and my former agent is no longer in business, so yes, I'd imagine that if someone in the casting world wanted to see me, they'd certainly have to do some searching around to find out how... (or you could just facebook me... really, either/or).
So I find this all too curious. Me? Requested specifically? For a Futureshop Commercial? Whyever for? I went down and relayed this circumstance to one Kathleen Phillips - Toronto's premiere alternative character comedienne who'll be appearing in her first full-length one-gal show entitled "Kathleen Phillips Is... Beside Herself" later this month... can't wait! - and she speculated that 'maybe they want some gay tech guy'... a theory that would have made perfect sense...
To say that I had trepidations about going would be the understatement of the year... I hate hate HAAAAATE auditioning for commercials... it's not my bag... I can't imagine an existence worse than being some theatre-school grad whose day/life is filled by auditioning for commercials... I could care less. And the money really isn't that terrific. Unless you're the Snapple Lady or some shit like that, it's only a couple grand here and there, it takes months to see the money and you get known as a commercial actor and blah blah blah... none of this applies to me. I'm a live act, a pop-cultural pundit and a 'personality'... soon to be mogul when I launch my line of signature knee pads. I could not care less about auditioning for commercials is the bottom line.
Beyond that, the last time I was at this particular casting house it was SO preposterous I can't even tell you. It was for a callback for - ironically, Futureshop - which ran TWO HOURS late. By the time I get in there this assfuck casting director sees me do it once then says... "hmmm... well, I feel like I should give you some sort of direction" implying that I was a lost cause or something and I'm all OHHHH NO YOU DIDN'T MOTHERFUCKER! For realz - he was one of these bitches who probably started out wanting to be Spielberg but had to settle for being a commercial casting director and hates life because of this... which is such a shame... such a shame that I've already made more of a contribution to culture than he would doing what he does dozens of lifetimes over, but I digress...
Anyballs - I sit around, waiting for this assfuck casting director to send me the sides he said he'd send the night before, I e-mail twice, call twice, nothing. All signs are point to DO NOT GO. But I couldn't help but wonder: what sort of part in a Futureshop commercial is SO right for me that I'm requested specifically?! Ooooooooooooh! You know how they say that curiosity killed the cat? Well flattery killed the fag...
So I go. Curious as all get-out. When you get into these things, there's a sign-up sheet that will be like: "Name, Agent, Agent's #, ACTRA #, Time arrived, Time allotted"... I don't have an agent nor an ACTRA # (ACTRA's the actor's union... I'm non unionized) so right away that's three "N/A"'s in a row... awesome... I go up to the bitch behind the desk and say that I never received sides and have no idea who I'm here for (here comes the surprise!!! ooooh!!!)... it's just some random dude who fixes shit in the background - the same one that fucking 30 some-odd other dudes are auditioning for... I saw RED...
So I'm sitting there. Listening to these 5 actors who were ahead of me in line (and had been waiting for like, an hour) who know each other talk about this so excitedly, ACTUALLY running their two lines with each other, and holy mother fuck it just made me want to put a gun to my head... I sat there for about 5 minutes, then put on m'jacket, grabbed my gym bag, pulled out my Diet Coke, flounced my fierce ass up the counter and, as faggily as I possibly could have delivered it: "Hi. I have a very narrow window of time today [illustrated by me miming closing a window], so if I can't do this in the next 5 minutes, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave." MmmmmHmmmmmm... I was like "See ya in Hell" thinking that would be over and done with it...
Well, the bitch called my bluff and ACTUALLY put me ahead. WHAT?! Well... I certainly wish I would have known to do that back in the days that I was actually auditioning for shit and waiting for hours on end... so there ya go...
Anyway - the thing went fine. I tried my damnedest to look like I didn't completely NOT want to be there. I ran the fuck out of there, called Yerxa and proudly proclaimed "that is my LAST commercial audition ever".
So, to whomever at Futureshop did want to see me specifically, and thought to themselves, "you know who we should get for this behind-the-scenes tech guy in our latest commercial for home gaming? Andrew Johnston!" - while I can't express how flattered I am that you thought of me, for future reference: LOSE M'NUMBER, BITCH!
And that's that.
Speaking of bitches...
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH SNAP!!! Yeppy. It's that time of the month again.
A dear, dear friend of mine, Kerri Carrisse, posted this on my wall yesterday. It's one of the greatest things I've seen in my life...
Yep. Amazing.
Bye!
--- Aj
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