Over the past few years this caption has become a regular refrain during my own crusty Pekar moments. And if I weren't currently making such a conscious effort to reboot my thinking, it would surely have been on the tip of my tongue on my way out the door of Brass Artists & Associates yesterday afternoon.
Given the fact that A) they called me in based on a cold mailing and 2) I've never actively pursued commercial representation, this was ostensibly going to be an egoless, loosey-goosey, let's-just-see-what-they-have-in-mind affair. (As if anything involving actors and potential career opportunities could ever be "egoless".)
The idea behind yesterday's "meeting" is that I would be put on camera reading one PSA and one bit of commercial copy and then, after reviewing the tape in a few days, they would decide if they want to call me in for an actual meeting. The setup: Slate, Deliver the copy, Give a brief overview of your union status and commercial training, Re-slate, Get the fuck out.
Simple, right?
In theory, yes.
But yesterday was a different story.
First off, I thought I'd shaken this infernal cold.
Second, I THOUGHT I'D SHAKEN THIS INFERNAL FUCKING COLD.
Third, I just plain blew it.
I felt pretty good all day Sunday, so I stopped taking any medicine figuring that whatever remained of my cold would be gone by Monday morning. It wasn't. In fact, it was quite present. Drippy nose, rattly chest and an obnoxious cough. My energy wasn't anywhere near the level or quality I needed for such a venture. I was simply NOT 100%.
On top of that, I sabotaged myself. I got there 25 minutes early. Plenty of time to get situated, fill out forms, look over the copy, etc. I sat down, filled out the forms, returned them and had JUST started looking over the copy when one of the assistants comes out and asks if I'm ready OR... if I need another few minutes to look it over. NOW.... The correct answer to this is B: I need a few more minutes to look it over. Unfortunately, this is not the answer I came up with. In a split-second maneuver, I decided it would behoove me to not sit there for another ten minutes going over and over the same bit of text for fear of letting it get stale, stiff and rote by the time I got in front of the camera. I figured why not just go in now, keep it loose, fresh and fluid and don't overthink it. It's not the way I usually work, but hey - I'm all about trying new things. Sounds reasonable, right?
Absolutely not. YOU CAN ONLY KEEP TEXT LOOSE AND FRESH AND FLUID IF YOU KNOW WHAT THE FUCKING TEXT IS, ASSHOLE.
There's a thin line between stepping outside of yourself and betraying yourself. And yesterday, I learned that lesson for hopefully the last time.
Basically, I was a sickly, addled mess. My energy was weird, my voice was tight, the whole read was off.
And, it's FINE. It's part of the business. It's part of life. Sometimes you just blow it. It's OKAY. And if it weren't okay, I probably would have quit doing this 10 years ago.
What did sting about yesterday though, was this: They didn't get to see my work.
If I'm able to walk into a room and do my work and they don't respond, fine. I'm so okay with that. I held up my end of the bargain, the rest is out of my control. But if, through some stupid mistake or bit of self-sabotage, I leave a room and know that what I put in front of them was slapdash or general or nerve-addled or obstacle-ridden, then that's on me. Sick or otherwise. That's bus league shit. Which is why the One on One workshops in March felt like such a win. Because I knew that all 15 of those CD's, agents and managers got to see ME. And that's all you can ever really ask for.
I would be quite surprised if these guys called me in for a second meeting, which is also fine. I think at this point if they did call me, I would find their whole operation a little suspect.
I guess the primary takeaway from yesterday is that normally a bungle like that would have elicited a hearty "Now there's a reliable disappointment." Instead, I ended the day shaking it off with some In'n'Out followed by a bit of Monday night karaoke at a little bar on LaBrea called Little Bar. It's within walking distance of home base which makes it a strong contender for becoming my local watering hole while I'm here.
Still working out my daily routine, but have started sending out submissions and am getting somewhat into the groove of L.A. life.
Somewhat.
-IMBA
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