Hi all ! I’d have oodles to say on all kinds of pressing world affairs issues if I weren’t so upset over this movie thing.
I screen tested, and got the nod for a pulp film called Stars and Stripes Going At It. I’d only read enough of the screen-play to figure out what to accentuate for the audition. Seemed like a character I could do, kinda Johnny Weismuller meets Jack Nicholson. Something about a middle aged couple having a fling in East Africa. And my love-interest played by a hot Latin beauty, a real-life successful Central American fashion designer turned actress. I met her at the studio with the director and it felt like chemistry from the first beaker. A real Bunsen Burner, that girl.
So flash forward to yesterday morning, with emails already discussing on-location logistics… and me finally discovering the scene on Page 393(!)
Now you gotta understand that I really needed this job. Feels like I been out of work since Gone with the freaking Wind.
And add to that my RL experiences with animals, animal husbandry, stuff like that there. A perfect fit… if it were a perfect film.
But it’s not, and I’m out.
Sad, but it’s probably for the best. I emailed the Director with the bad news. He replied within minutes; One word: “WHY?”
So I had to tell him:
“Page 393, duh! Please tell my CO-STAR I CAN’T RAPE ZEBRAS wearing her COSTA-RICAN TRAPEZE BRAS.”
Haven’t heard anything since. They’ll find somebody else, I’m sure. But it’s just a matter of time until that sucker puts the letters together. Whew, at least my reputation is intact.
In real, non-fictional life, I just an hour ago found a diamond/gold ring in a burglar’s cast-off tool kit out in my woods. Complete with fingerprint-less black silk gloves, flashlights, batteries, lock-picking tools, a half a pack of year-old Marlboros, and a wad of Hong Kong dollars.
This explains my night in Hell last New Year’s Eve with two helicopters and a dozen cops traipsing all over my property and me crouching under the bed or peering through the key-hole in the dark.
I feel a sort of closure, since that terrifying five hours seemed to have started a string of bad luck till this very day.
We shall see what the ring is worth. Enough for a trapeze-bra, mebbe. Not for me, for a zebra friend of mine…