"Mom-Like"

The other day the assistant at my commercial agency called to tell me I had an audition for a Budweiser commercial. He told me the time and the address and he told me what to wear. At first I thought he said a "skin tight dress" but was relieved when I realized he actually said "mom-like dress." And then I was sort of disturbed. Have I really entered into the "mom" category? Not to mention since when are there "mom" types in beer commercials? After hanging up and heading to my closet, I realized I actually have a lot of "mom-like" dresses. Most of them are my mom's. But now what sort of "mom" are we talking about here? An L.A. "cougar-type" mom in Uggs and a Juicy sweatsuit or a "sensibly dressed" perhaps "Talbots-clad" PTA Board Member mom? Being a mom for the first time was very confusing. I opted for a "conservative" yet "form-flattering" DVF-esque "wrap-dress" ("Nothing flatters a figure better than a good wrap dress, Lilibet, especially with three-quarters-length sleeves,") my mom, Betty, (of the latter school of moms) has told me many times. So I slapped on my wrap dress and combed some baby powder through my hair because I didn't have time to wash it. I accidentally put a little too much baby powder in my hair, however, turning it a lovely shade of frosted gray. And all of the sudden I went from "fresh young mom" to "old mom" or perhaps even "hot grandmother who's had lots of plastic surgery."

Cox High Speed Internet Audition

(not much of an actress this one)

Every time you watch a commercial you need to realize that hundreds of people made an ass of themselves in the hopes of being in that commercial.

Today I got oven mitts thrown at my head. And various other items, while a giant industrial-sized fan blew my hair. It was an audition for a Cox High Speed Internet commercial. I was told to walk in with my empty coffee cup prop, sit down at the computer -- a laptop they had provided -- and start typing, or pretend typing. Seconds later a giant fan was turned on and my hair was blown back, not too mention the skin on my face, and I was told to flail back in my chair acting as if I could barely hold on to the desk because the wind was so strong, but, as the camera operator instructed, I wasn’t upset about this wind, I was excited about it. I liked it! I just couldn't get enough! The wind, it turns out, was supposed to symbolize how astonishingly fast the new Cox High Speed Internet is. So while I was getting blasted in the face by the fan and flopping around in my chair like I was having a seizure, the camera operator started throwing things at me – an oven mitt, a few markers, a pencil, a ruler. Fortunately I had possession of the coffee cup. So there I was flailing back in my chair, dodging oven mitts and various other household items, my hair whipping itself into a beehive of sorts, but I was smiling, oh yeah I was smiling ‘cause I was so amazed by this magical high speed internet. And then I was told to stop all my gyrating and look into the camera and say, as loud as I can, “Cox High Speed Internet! It’s a beautiful thing!"

That's the sort of thing people do on a Tuesday at noon to get in commercials.

A Match Made In ...

this could have been me... damn! what a hunk...

I went on an audition for a Match.com commercial the other day. Yes, it's true, I hate to be the one to tell you, but the people on the commercials did not actually meet on Match.com, they met in the lobby of a casting facility on Beverly Boulevard in West Hollywood.

Some assistant at the casting facility played Cupid in the waiting room. You, yes you with the way-too-big-for-your-frame implants and you over there with way too much hair gel come over here. You'll audition together. And you, I'm sorry could you get off your phone for juuuust a minute, thanks much, yes you and him -- oh perfect! you both have on the same Ed Hardy tee -- it's a match made in heaven! You two get together. I was paired with an Australian dude, blond hair, blond slightly scruffy beard, and if he was the male version of me, well, out of this bunch, I was flattered 'cause the pickings were slim. She then told us to come up with a few things to say in front of the camera like "what attracted us to each others' profiles on Match.com" and "what are some of our common interests." So we all sat and chatted frantically for a minute or two. It was sort of like speed dating. After some slightly awkward forced chitchat my new "mate" and I were called into "the room" and started our little charade. He said he was attracted to my name because it was unique and I said I was attracted to his accent, which I almost immediately realized was a stupid thing to say because you can't hear an accent on an online profile. We then talked about (lied about) our mutual love of surfing even though I have only surfed maybe twice in my life and he admitted to me when we were leaving that despite the fact that he was Australian, he'd "neva been. Eva."

We were then told to slow dance in front of the camera (with a twirl) ala erectile dysfunction commercials and embrace in a warm hug. "You've found the person of your dreams, act like you mean it people!" the camera operator barked, while laughing, because he too realized how ridiculous the situation was.

While walking out I noticed one of the "matched up" couples was really hitting it off. Like actually hitting it off. And I thought, now THAT would be a great story. "Well, actually, funny that you asked, we met on an audition for Match.com."

Just Another L.A. Day

At the cafe table across from me a group of older, gray-haired ladies sit down and one of them says, "Hi, you're back! We've missed you!" to their Mexican waiter who says he just returned from thirty days in Oaxaca. "Oh I love Oaxaca, it's so beautiful there! Did you hear that Deb," she says to her friend who is finishing something on her phone, "He's from Oaxaca!"

At the table next to me, a director, or producer, is talking to a young girl, early twenties, maybe younger -- wearing one of those headbands over her bangs, which I used to like a few years ago but not so much anymore -- about a film he is making that he wants her to be in. He brings up theater and she says she hasn't done any in L.A. but back in Ottawa there was something called the Fringe Festival and she was in that once.

It is sunny and still, cloudless, but hazy at the edges. There are no waves and no wind. The palm trees are limp and sort of crispy looking. Early this morning it was cold enough for a scarf -- and a coat -- but once the sun came all the way up I had to take off all outer layers and put on my sunglasses so the white magazine pages I was reading wouldn't blind me.

Across the boardwalk, a man plays guitar on a bench. He is old and black and wearing sunglasses and I think for a second he sort of looks blind, and then I think, now Lilibet just because he is black and wearing sunglasses and playing music does not mean he's blind.

Very fit and very tan joggers run past, many with dogs, one lady with three on one of those three pronged leashes.

A woman in a long tattered coat, and no shoes, stomps past screaming an animal-like "Rarrrrrrr!" and then screams, toward an imaginary enemy, "I'm gonna find you and kill you! Who leaves a baby! A baby! Rarrrrrrr!" We all look up and shake our heads and a man at another table says, "Welcome to Venice!" and we all give a sort of half-laugh.

I finish my coffee and my New Yorker article about Levi Johnston winning some porn award for his forthcoming appearance in Playgirl and ask for the bill from the Oaxacan waiter. When it arrives I am excited to see it's only $3.51 since I made it in before 9 am, when everything on the menu is fifty percent off. I have to get home to get my laundry out of the dryer before one of my neighbors takes it out and puts it on top of the counter so they can put their laundry in, which always completely creeps me out, the thought of someone else handling my underwear. Fortunately/unfortunately when I get to the laundry room I realize the dryer cycle never started because one of the quarters I inserted was actually from the Republica De Costa Rica and I wonder why in the hell I have a coin from the Repulica De Costa Rica but I don't have time to think about that because I have to get back to my computer to write, then run, then shower, then go on an audition for a Newcastle commercial at 1, for the role of "Female Newcastle Patron" who, according to the casting breakdown, is supposed to be:

"Attractive. Cute. Sophisticated. Confident, individualistic, laid-back and interesting. She's the type of person you'd like to hang out with, interesting/unique enough that you're drawn to her, but at the same time approachable. Tats okay. Urban sophistication as well. MUST BE 25 OR OLDER."

This all before cocktail waitressing at 5.

Just another day as the ultimate L.A. hyphenate: writer/actress/waitress/sometimes fitness model/sometimes box girl/ and hopefully soon-to-be grad student.

As a guy in a recent writing class said, "Are you like Jamaican or something? Cause you got alotta jobs."

No I am not Jamaican, but yes I do got alotta jobs, yes indeed I do.

I'm On A Bus!

And on the walls on subway stations!

I booked this print job for Asics a few months ago and I will never look at a sports advertisement the same way again. Whether it's a guy running stadium stairs in a Nike commercial or a babe launching herself over a hurdle, I now know that athlete/model has performed that move at least --- 300 times. For this shoot they had me run around a track for about five hours, in several different outfits, hosing me down with water and glycerin to make me look even sweatier than I already was. So I am not faking looking tired or determined, I actually was both tired and determined (to survive the shoot).

Run Away With Me

Sometimes, to make extra money, or any money at all, I go on commercial auditions. Sometimes I even book them. (Rarely, but sometimes.) The ones I usually book or at least get call-backs for are normally running-related. This is because I ran cross-country and track in college and I still run a lot. This is also because all of the other girls at the auditions typically come dressed in yoga pants and slinky little tank tops, an outfit befitting to say, painting your toenails, but certainly not going for a run. Anyone who has ever run (competitively, or just somewhat seriously) knows if the wardrobe calls for "running attire" this leaves you with a few very specific options: those very short shorts with the built-in underwear, short spandex (or long ones if it's cold), a sports bra or one of those longer sports bra shirts, a t-shirt or tank top works too, and of course running shoes (shockingly some of these model girls even forget those sometimes).

Anyway, the other day I had an audition for an online running ad. The audition request read:

Description: EXPERIENCED runner, physically toned and fit, 25-40. No on-camera lines, but voiceover dialogue will be recorded at the shoot. Please wear running attire for audition. If cast, you will need to provide two sets of running attire for the shoot. Auditioners will be asked to demonstrate running ability.

This is for a 30-second commercial to be distributed through Google TV.

This is a non-union project.

Yet the above failed to mention that it was actually a commercial for a runners online dating service (“You know, runners trying to meet and date other runners”). During the audition I had to read a script that said something like, "With my busy schedule it's just so hard to meet people. I wish I could find someone who shares the same passion I do for running and the outdoors." And I had to say that while jogging in place.

You just can't make this stuff up.