Thursday, April 30, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Details on a strange audition...
OK, so I pull up and the first thing I see is Corin Nemec (Parker Lewis) pacing in front of the office going over his lines. I roll up to him to shake his hand and he pulls me into this great big hug. I hadn't seen him since like, before 911.
Then I cruise inside to sign in and I see Richard Greico's name plus some others that I won't mention here.
Then an older looking fellow that I can't quite place keeps coming in and out of the holding area until he finally signs in and sits down to focus on his sides. He's wearing shades. I look at the sign in sheet and it's Parker Stevenson. I introduce myself and say hi. He's a really nice guy.
Then Booker comes out from the reading and he looks camera ready. I'm serious, his hair was all dyed black and he had on way too much jewelry for a guy. He sauntered out without acknowledging anyone in the waiting room.
Then Corin heads in to be put on tape, and I sit down and run over the scenes one more time because I'm up after him.
No nerves.
I guess I'm only nervous when I don't feel prepared enough. Incidentally, I believe we all had at least two days with the material before the audition... that is very rare these days and I can only attribute it to the fact that it was a bunch of old school actors going in who happen to remember the days when you would have up to a week before a call. That was the old days. Now, you get the sides late in the day for a next day audition, or in some cases... a same day call. Having some extra time to prepare probably helped me feel relaxed.
Before I knew it Corky was coming out after giving a solid read... you could hear right through the wall... and I, of course, was kind of listening in. Corin changed his name a while back but the casting director still called him 'Corky' when she saw him, I'm not sure if that bugged him or not.
Then Ian Ziering walked in and things got all West Beverly High. Ian and Corin seemed like they were old friends, I've never really met him so I didn't say hi. But I did say hi to Parker... who I don't really know. Perhaps I did meet Parker a long time ago... and the only time I saw Ian before was back in the 80's when I saw him walking down the sidewalk in Westwood. I'm intimidated by him... not by the guy himself... but the character he played on 90210. I'm scared of Steve Sanders. Ian's that good of an actor that I am convinced he's really a douche. Then I hear a really quiet, "Keith"... and it was time to do my business.
I will spare you all the details... mostly because it is a very, very private and difficult process to audition for real shows. It's one of the most intimidating, scary, thrilling, sickening, hopeful, crazy, ego pumping, and ultimately ego killing things an actor has to go through in life. I also won't go into it too much because when I get into character and things are going smoothly... I tend to black out and not remember much from the room anyways. But I do remember not even turning over the last 3 pages of my sides... so I must have been pretty into it.
The casting director and the assistant casting director said I was very funny. And that's all I really needed to hear.
Then I cruise inside to sign in and I see Richard Greico's name plus some others that I won't mention here.
Then an older looking fellow that I can't quite place keeps coming in and out of the holding area until he finally signs in and sits down to focus on his sides. He's wearing shades. I look at the sign in sheet and it's Parker Stevenson. I introduce myself and say hi. He's a really nice guy.
Then Booker comes out from the reading and he looks camera ready. I'm serious, his hair was all dyed black and he had on way too much jewelry for a guy. He sauntered out without acknowledging anyone in the waiting room.
Then Corin heads in to be put on tape, and I sit down and run over the scenes one more time because I'm up after him.
No nerves.
I guess I'm only nervous when I don't feel prepared enough. Incidentally, I believe we all had at least two days with the material before the audition... that is very rare these days and I can only attribute it to the fact that it was a bunch of old school actors going in who happen to remember the days when you would have up to a week before a call. That was the old days. Now, you get the sides late in the day for a next day audition, or in some cases... a same day call. Having some extra time to prepare probably helped me feel relaxed.
Before I knew it Corky was coming out after giving a solid read... you could hear right through the wall... and I, of course, was kind of listening in. Corin changed his name a while back but the casting director still called him 'Corky' when she saw him, I'm not sure if that bugged him or not.
Then Ian Ziering walked in and things got all West Beverly High. Ian and Corin seemed like they were old friends, I've never really met him so I didn't say hi. But I did say hi to Parker... who I don't really know. Perhaps I did meet Parker a long time ago... and the only time I saw Ian before was back in the 80's when I saw him walking down the sidewalk in Westwood. I'm intimidated by him... not by the guy himself... but the character he played on 90210. I'm scared of Steve Sanders. Ian's that good of an actor that I am convinced he's really a douche. Then I hear a really quiet, "Keith"... and it was time to do my business.
I will spare you all the details... mostly because it is a very, very private and difficult process to audition for real shows. It's one of the most intimidating, scary, thrilling, sickening, hopeful, crazy, ego pumping, and ultimately ego killing things an actor has to go through in life. I also won't go into it too much because when I get into character and things are going smoothly... I tend to black out and not remember much from the room anyways. But I do remember not even turning over the last 3 pages of my sides... so I must have been pretty into it.
The casting director and the assistant casting director said I was very funny. And that's all I really needed to hear.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
What is a Man?
A man carries cash.
A man looks out for those around him -- woman, friend, stranger.
A man can cook eggs.
A man can always find something good to watch on television.
A man makes things -- a rock wall, a table, the tuition money.
Or he rebuilds -- engines, watches, fortunes.
He passes along expertise, one man to the next.
Know-how survives him.
A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere.
A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one.
A man can speak to dogs.
A man listens, and that's how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It's not that he must. It's that he can.
A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.
A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not. Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.
A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering.
A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided.
Style -- a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It's a set of rules.
A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the pale bosom, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the wrist and the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the crease of a bent knee.
Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his bottom.
A man doesn't point out that he did the dishes.
A man knows how to ridicule.
A man gets the door. Without thinking.
He stops traffic when he must.
A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool.
He knows how to lose a month, also.
A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.
He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher's ERA.
A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.
A man knows his tools and how to use them -- just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails.
A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw.
He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn't winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn't see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That's the liberal thread; it's why men won't line up as liberals.
A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That's why men won't forever line up with conservatives, either.
A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps.
Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.
A man loves driving alone most of all.
A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won't spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this -- to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn't. Who knows what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next.
Reprinted with permission of Hearst Communications, Inc.
A man looks out for those around him -- woman, friend, stranger.
A man can cook eggs.
A man can always find something good to watch on television.
A man makes things -- a rock wall, a table, the tuition money.
Or he rebuilds -- engines, watches, fortunes.
He passes along expertise, one man to the next.
Know-how survives him.
A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere.
A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one.
A man can speak to dogs.
A man listens, and that's how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It's not that he must. It's that he can.
A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.
A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not. Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.
A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering.
A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided.
Style -- a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It's a set of rules.
A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the pale bosom, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the wrist and the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the crease of a bent knee.
Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his bottom.
A man doesn't point out that he did the dishes.
A man knows how to ridicule.
A man gets the door. Without thinking.
He stops traffic when he must.
A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool.
He knows how to lose a month, also.
A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.
He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher's ERA.
A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.
A man knows his tools and how to use them -- just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails.
A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw.
He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn't winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn't see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That's the liberal thread; it's why men won't line up as liberals.
A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That's why men won't forever line up with conservatives, either.
A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps.
Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.
A man loves driving alone most of all.
A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won't spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this -- to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn't. Who knows what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next.
Reprinted with permission of Hearst Communications, Inc.
Who benefited from the bailout?
So, we had this billion dollar bailout for financial institutions that got in trouble after the financial markets had been deregulated.
Some people who worked for those bailed out companies have made MILLIONS of dollars from their work over the last couple years.
Their work has destroyed the Global Financial System, resulting in a Stock Market crash, the devaluation of the U.S. dollar, and a change in our status as a global leader and power.
Also, the American taxpayer is now on the hook for money they never had anything to do with.
Doesn't seem fair to me.
Who benefited?
Why have they been allowed to benefit? If there is truly an open and free economy, then those companies that haven't done well for themselves should be allowed to go out of business. Not be rescued by the American taxpayer.
I certainly didn't benefit from the wild currency and debt speculation... but somebody has... and that simply is not fair to the rest of the country.
Some people who worked for those bailed out companies have made MILLIONS of dollars from their work over the last couple years.
Their work has destroyed the Global Financial System, resulting in a Stock Market crash, the devaluation of the U.S. dollar, and a change in our status as a global leader and power.
Also, the American taxpayer is now on the hook for money they never had anything to do with.
Doesn't seem fair to me.
Who benefited?
Why have they been allowed to benefit? If there is truly an open and free economy, then those companies that haven't done well for themselves should be allowed to go out of business. Not be rescued by the American taxpayer.
I certainly didn't benefit from the wild currency and debt speculation... but somebody has... and that simply is not fair to the rest of the country.
Amber Alert
Missing From: San Leandro, CA
Missing Date: 4/15/2009 12:00 AM
Contact: Alameda County Sheriff's Office
510-667-7721
Circumstances: The 22 month-old child was abducted by her father. He is traveling in a white Toyota Camry, CA tag 5GBD911, and may be headed towards the Mexican border from the CA Bay area.
Missing Child
Name: Yosseline Carolina Meza
Hair Color: Brn Eye Color: Brn
Skin Color: Hisp Age: 22mo
Weight: 40lb
Gender: Female
Description: White long sleeve shirt, beige sweatpants
Suspect
Name: Luis Meza Valdiva
Hair Color: Brn Eye Color: Brn
Skin Color: Hisp Age: 26
Height: 5'08 Weight: 160
Gender: Male
Vehicle Information
Make: Toyota Model: Camry
Color: White
License State: CA License Text: 5GBD911
Vehicle: 4D
Missing Date: 4/15/2009 12:00 AM
Contact: Alameda County Sheriff's Office
510-667-7721
Circumstances: The 22 month-old child was abducted by her father. He is traveling in a white Toyota Camry, CA tag 5GBD911, and may be headed towards the Mexican border from the CA Bay area.
Missing Child
Name: Yosseline Carolina Meza
Hair Color: Brn Eye Color: Brn
Skin Color: Hisp Age: 22mo
Weight: 40lb
Gender: Female
Description: White long sleeve shirt, beige sweatpants
Suspect
Name: Luis Meza Valdiva
Hair Color: Brn Eye Color: Brn
Skin Color: Hisp Age: 26
Height: 5'08 Weight: 160
Gender: Male
Vehicle Information
Make: Toyota Model: Camry
Color: White
License State: CA License Text: 5GBD911
Vehicle: 4D
NYT: NSA intercepts exceed limits set by Congress - The New
The National Security Agency has recently intercepted e-mail messages and phone calls of Americans on a scale that went beyond the broad legal limits established by Congress, officials say.
read more | digg story
read more | digg story
Monday, April 13, 2009
The Evidence: Debunking FEMA Camp Myths
Earlier this week, PM editor-in-chief James Meigs appeared on Glenn Beck's FOX news program twice to debunk conspiracy theories regarding supposed "concentration camps" being built by the Federal Emergency Management Agency. But PM's research went beyond what could fit in the short segments.
read more | digg story
read more | digg story
BREAKING - Producer Phil Spector guilty of murder
Legendary music producer Phil Spector was Monday found guilty of second degree murder in the shooting death of an actress at his mansion five years ago.
read more | digg story
read more | digg story
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