RIP George Carlin

So I don’t know how much sass or snark you are going to get out of my this week… the serious side of Brandie is one I don’t think I’ve tapped into on here for you yet… but one of the greatest comedians to ever grace a seedy, dimly lit stage in a smoke filled room is no longer with us. I’m speaking of course, of Mr. Conductor himself, George Carlin.

I won’t get sappy and talk about how hearing he was gone was like a punch to my gut, how losing him felt a little like losing an uncle you always wished you had gotten to know better but always thought you would have the time for, how it immediately made every other aging comedian I love glaringly, terrifyingly mortal… that kind of sentimental hogwash wouldn’t go over with him, and I certainly don’t want to shit all over his memory just yet… I’ll leave that up to the news stations who are already putting together touching tributes to a man who giddily called out their every hypocritical flaw and Puritanical witchhunt.

I can’t honestly say that I’ve even seen every HBO special he’s done, nor do I have entire bits of his memorized… but I know what an influence he was on so many other comics that I know and adore, and how they might not have had the courage to find their voices without him, and I wouldn’t be nearly as articulate as I am without them, and him in turn. I have such a love affair with comedy, for people who dedicate their whole lives to perfecting and constantly giving the greatest gift you can give another person - laughter. And, in Carlin’s case and in that of many others, if you can make people think a little too, then all the better.

I grew up in Severna Park, MD - a small town outside of DC where everyone’s parents are white, conservative and spies. I’m not kidding, about 75% of my friends’ parents work for the government in one way or another… my own Aunt recently retired from NSA and hasn’t been able to tell us anything she’s been doing there for the last 20 years. So as a kid growing up, my view of the world was very sheltered, very safe, very restrained… appearances were to be kept up, at all cost. But in that white picket fence world, I remember watching George Carlin with my Dad, and although I didn’t understand everything and I wasn’t allowed to repeat 90% of it, I remember my father’s belly laugh, followed by the nod of recognition to the bullshit in the situations Carlin was peddling. I learned through Carlin’s comedy and those he’s inspired over the years, that people make mistakes and can be hateful and horrible bigots… but we can also change if we open ourselves to the possibility.

I’m going to stop now, because I feel like somewhere in hell he’s sharpening a pitchfork for me because I’m trying to lay so much meaning on a few silly, simple jokes.

But fuck you George Carlin, you cocksucker. You’re a hero even if you don’t want to be, you asshole. God rest your motherfucking soul.

Oh yeah, and eat shit.

American Idiots

Most of the time when PA’s get together, we tend to compare battle scars from sets of the past. Like the homeless ‘Nam vet outside my apartment screams everytime I hurry past, “You weren’t THERE, man! You don’t KNOW!”. My roommate, Sue, who now works in the Music Industry, has a tale that really gives a whole new meaning to the term “war stories”… working on the Green Day “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” music video, she was accused of being a terrorist!

This is Sue. A skinny, 5 foot tall Asian with emo glasses. I feel like the worst thing she could do would be forcing people to listen to Saves The Day and Bad Religion on loop (welcome to my personal hell).

“American Idiot”, Green Day’s latest album and gasping death rattle of street cred, shot the followup single to the title song in an airplane hanger at LAX. Funny thing about airports post-9/11… security is a big issue. You might have realized this while waiting in line for an hour because a little old lady is getting felt up for bobby pins in front of you. Anyway, Sue was told to go get pizza for Green Day and she went to the front of the hanger, where she was told a shuttle would come by. After 10 - 15 minutes of waiting, a car finally pulled up, but it was airline police who started grilling her on whether or not she had touched the airplane or put something on the airplane. They didn’t know why else she would be there… I guess the music video going on behind her didn’t give any clues. They picked her up and escorted her back to set, and basically stopped production because they needed to confirm she was who she said she was and was supposed to be there. When they finally figured out she wasn’t Osama Bin Laden’s girlfriend, they left her alone…

But Green Day still had no pizza. And because she didn’t do her job, she was told she could go home. Bullshit, yes. But it’s easier to blame problems on PA’s and its a lot easier than a higher up actually having to assume responsibility for their own mistakes.

And my WWII Sergeant Grandfathers thought they had it rough fighting the Nazis. Psh.

“Someday, I’ll get you, John Stamos!”

Tom Cruise dates his male personal trainers.  Will Smith gives one of the best BJ’s in town.  If you book Priscilla Presley, she will demand that NO ONE on set mention Elvis… and if your name happens to be Elvis, she will have you banned from her presence!  Oh whispered rumors on the sound stages of  Hollywood.  And these are just that, rumors…  so don’t sue me!  Unless you want a beat up ‘98 Ford and a few tacky belt buckles, because that’s about all I’ve got.  Here’s a rumor you can start about me:  I’m awesome.  Although that one is more of a fact.  Regardless, I can’t tell you how many of my relatives call and ask for “insider gossip from the front lines”… being a PA is probably one of the better positions for this kind of trivial crap too, because most people don’t really watch what they say in front of you, because you’re “just” a PA.  Mmm, I love hubris and all its glaring, glaring errors.

But I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors lately about my absolute favorite Hollywood man putting the moves on young ladies, and I want them to stop, because they are just NOT true!  And who might my #1 gentleman be?  The star that I prefer to work with abover all stars?  The one, the only: Jerry Springer.

Stop rolling your eyes, I saw that!  Think what you will about his body of work, but Jerry is probably the best  celebrity I have ever worked with on a set and I’ll knife fight anyone that says different!  I was his personal PA on Thank God You’re Here about a year and a half ago and it’s been a hard day of work to beat ever since, it was a blast!

Basically when you work as a Talent PA, you get paid to babysit/entertain/walk/get food for your “talent”.  I ended up talking about Full House for 3 hours with the former mayor of Cincinnati.  You see, he has it out for John Stamos… he broke his daughter’s heart.

When Full House was taping in LA and his daughter was young, he flew her out with him to see a taping of the show so she could meet her first love, Mr. Jesse Katsopolis (or Jesse Cochran if you’re watching the first season…  not that I am quasi-religious about Full House or anything.  …).  Anyway, so he introduces his little daughter to Stamos, who signs her an autograph that says something along the lines of “When you get older, will you marry me?”  Adorable?  Yeah.  Kind of creepy?  Also yeah.  A bad idea because a fragile young girl will take that to heart?  You bet.  That is, until Daddy Jerry has to be be the bad guy and tell you that you most likely will NOT become Mrs. Jake In Progress.  It devestated the little lady and Jerry’s had it in for Stamos ever since.

That might have to be my absolute favorite story from someone else, ever.  Seriously though, he was an absolute  joy to work with!  He was funny, humble and made fun of himself and his show a lot…  he kept calling it dumb, but if that’s what the people wanted, who was he to say no?  It was pretty refreshing, after having to fawn over bitchy Chelsea Handler not long before…  someone should tell her to pull the stick out of her ass, unless that’s research for her next “comedy” book.

Jerry did his comedy bit for the show and then had to fly back to Chicago for more tapings, but not before telling me I had been the highlight of his day…  that, in turn was the highlight of MY year.

Interesting Springer Fact:  The Jerr-Bear only flies on private planes.  This is not because he is a diva though, this is because whenever he walks through airports, he is constantly haunted by the “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” chant…  he told me it follows him everywhere.  I personally feel bad for when he passes away, because I feel like even in death he will not be able to escape gaggles of crazy rednecks littering Bud Light cans on his grave and chanting for parapalegic transexual furries to make out with their mothers.

But for some reason, I’ve talked to a few people lately who have made some crazy claims about J-Spring coming on to girls they knew.  And that’s just bullshit, because if the man didn’t hit on ME, then seriously, forgeddaboutit.  I happen to be irresistable.  He was a perfect gentleman and I hope we get to work together again someday.  I would like to develop a secret handshake.

And that’s my final thought.  Take care of yourselves.

Creepy Creepy Carradine

I would like to recount a story that happened to me and some friends recently.  It’s not directly Production Assistant related, but it trumps pretty much every celebrity encounter I’ve had so far because it is so creepy, so I felt the need to share.  Here is a small play about the encounter:

EXT.  Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre - Night

Bianca, Kyle and Brandie stand in line for a comedy show when they see none other than Mr. Kung Fu Kill Bill himself: DAVID CARRADINE, emerge stumbling from a nearby sushi place.  He makes eye contact and beelines to them.

His shirt is unbuttoned to an unsettling degree and a medallion hangs out with his old man chest hair.  Brandie is immediately skeeved - this is an encounter that is great in theory, but horrible in practice.

David: What is this line for?
Brandie: A comedy show.
David: What do they do?
Brandie: They interrupt movies.
Bianca: Yeah, all these comedians bring funny movies and they all talk about and make fun of them.
Brandie: You should come.
David: (to Kyle) And what would you be doing if you weren’t standing in this line with these gorgeous ladies?
Kyle:  I work at this store right here so I would be working…
David: No.  That wasn’t the answer I’m looking for. (to Brandie) What would you be doing if you weren’t in line right now?
Brandie: Um… probably sitting at home in sweatpants watching Battlestar Galactica.
David: (to Bianca) And you?
Bianca:  I would probably be with her.
David:  These are not good answers.  You are wasting your youth.
Brandie: Whatever David Carradine, what would YOU be doing if you weren’t here talking to us right now?  Where does your evening go?
David: I’m going to be at home.  In front of my computer.  Painting.
Bianca: Oh, Photoshop?
David: NO.  I use something else.

He tilts his head back, closes his eyes and smiles the perviest smile I have ever seen.

David:  I paint naked ladies.
Brandie: …Oh.
Kyle:  …Oh.
Bianca: …Oh.   Have you ever had an art show?
David: I had one in Beverly Hills once…
Brandie: Are you going to have another one?
David: Maybe…
Bianca: We want to go.
David: Are you going to buy anything?

At this point we discuss with him how we would buy something if we could afford it.  Mostly because all three of us are imagining that David Carradine is making Microsoft Paint Porn, because if he’s not using Photoshop, what else could he be using but Microsoft Paint?

So it stands to reason that all of his art is shitty, 7-color naked ladies, most likely with a lime green or hot pink background - they look like child drawings, because everything you draw in MS Paint looks like a kid drew it.

David:  Let me give you my email address for my next art show.

We give him a pen and paper - he scralls, in barely legible writing his email, hands it to us, then wanders off without another word into the night.

Cue the wooden flute solo.

Brandie looks down at the paper in her hand – It’s an aol.com email address…  so that means he has a screen name.

…Really?  This dude is so 90’s its not even funny.

THE END.

Now readers, this where I need your help.  I have added him to my buddy list and keep staring at his screen name, I have no idea what to say, haha.  Give me a ridiculous question for Mr. Kung Fu Kill Bill, and I will get you an answer.
Until next week!

Hot Tranny Mess!!!!

This weekend was the first brutally hot weekend of the year in LA, which, when you don’t have air conditioning and are kind of poor, limits your options of entertainment.  Why couldn’t this blasted heat wave be next weekend, when I’m planning on watching Indiana Jones 20 times in a row in an air conditioned theatre?  No character in the history of cinema is hotter than Indiana Jones, and if you say otherwise, I will fight you.  That isn’t to say Harrison Ford is the sexiest man alive, because ew, no.  Have you seen Regarding Henry?  It’s like one day he woke up and decided to look like a creepy, grizzled old man.  But Indiana Jones.  Damn.  He gives me the vapors. 

REGARDLESS!  HEAT WAVES SUCK!  I’m going to put it out there right now, if any of my loyal readers:

1. Have a pool
2. Are not a creepshow (unless your name’s Indy, after the dog)

We should hang out, like now.  I will regale you with plenty of crazy non-PA stories, trust me, lots of insane things happen to me when I’m off the job too.  But today’s hellish heat made me think of my wildest PA gig, a music video for Chris Garneau, the song, Relief.  Found a link for the video if you wanna take a look:

http://media.revver.com/broadcast/28227/video.mov/14351

Yep.  There are trannies.  I was thinking about them today because in my neighborhood, when the temperature goes over 100, apparently people forget how to dress like human beings and decide instead to wear soul-shattering hi-cut/low-cut tank tops and booty shorts…  everyone looks like a bad drag queen.  And not in the “fierce tranny hot mess” way that Christian from Project Runway means it.

Relief was shot overnight at a diner on La Cienega with a skeleton crew of 6, me being the only PA.  My job description that night was twofold:

1.        At 4:30 am, go pick up “lunch” for the crew

2.        Watch the trannies like a hawk.  Do not let them drink or do drugs.  They will try.

And try they did.  The big tall one that pees in the women’s bathroom in the video was particularly vexed by me not letting him/her get him/her’s fix for the night.  He/She pouted and sulked and wouldn’t talk to me after I laid down the law.  He/She even laughed at me when I told him/her I don’t drink.  A drag queen laughed…  at me?  I looked back in one of my notebooks and these are the notes I scribbled down about him/her that night:

A transvestite with trackmarks running down his legs sits alone at a seedy diner,

Waiting for his eggs,

Over easy.

Make-up smeared and wig askew, he longs for a drink –

Or something stronger.

He holds a knife on the edge of the counter and flicks it, idly watching it vibrate up and down…

There’s still a child left inside this hulking queen.

Didn’t know you would be getting pretentious poetry this week, did ya?  I’m full of surprises.

But I’ve left out the most awkward part about the whole affair – one of the trannies decided they had a crush on me that night… and it was the ugliest one of the bunch!  How’s THAT for a blow to your ego?  Because seriously, if you can’t even get a decent looking tranny, what CAN you do?  The tranny in question isn’t even shown in the video, all of his/her scene’s were cut!  But I will never forget the tight mesh dress, 5 inch heels, stubbled face and bloodshot eyes, making kissy faces at me.  Believe me, I’ve tried.

“So.  Do you want a boyfriend or a girlfriend?”

“Umm…  I’m fine…”

HOW DO YOU ANSWER THAT?!  Seriously, I feel like either way you’re trapped, that’s so not fair.

It was one of the longest nights I’ve ever had…  I did not want to get into an in depth conversation with a bunch of drag queens.  I was the enforcer, they were the enforced.  Not that I’m judging them though, I don’t want you to think that.  But after being berated for being straight edge by a 7 foot tall man in daisy dukes, I generally conclude that nothing good will come out the interaction.  Just tears.  Manly, manly lady tears.

The Hills Kills My Soul

One of the most interesting parts about living in Hollywood is going out and stumbling across a project shooting when you least expect it. I went out to dinner this week with a few friends from shows I’ve worked on, and went to Magnolia, this restaurant on Sunset Blvd. We were seated three tables down from Zachary Quinto, and I geeked out because he’s going to be the new Dr. Spock in the J.J. Abrams “Star Trek” movie. Seriously, I’m so stoked for it… I’ve always said the first thing I will splurge on when I sell my first script is the “Star Trek: Next Generation” Complete Series Box Set… Oh my God, it was my favorite show as a kid, EVER!! J.J. Abrams better not make a space smoke monster, that’s all I’m saying. If only they had been filming a scene from THAT movie… instead we got to witness firsthand, the “reality” that is shooting “The Hills”.

Now mind you, I’ve never watched the show… I don’t generally believe in glorifying vapid, shallow individuals by giving them a television platform to spread their inane, self-centered chatter. But apparently someone’s watching it… and if it’s you, please STOP feeding the machine. Shows like that make it harder for good, scripted television to get a real chance because they can be done on the cheap. 3 of my 4 favorite shows of last year were cancelled before their 8 episodes had even aired. If you’re drinking a beverage while reading this, pour a little on the ground for my dead homies, “Raines”, “The Winner” and “Andy Barker, P.I.”.

I know the debate has been raging back and forth on whether “The Hills” a “reality” show or written… so I’m here to set a few things straight. We stayed at the restaurant for 3 ½ hours, and during that time they lit the dinner table for 2 ½ of those hours… with PA’s standing in for the “stars”. There was a Script Supervisor… I couldn’t tell if she had an actual script or just bullet points for the conversation to hit, but she was definitely a Script Supervisor. Oh, and once they started shooting, they cut two or three times to start again. Doesn’t sound like reality to me.

Luckily they didn’t try to silence the restaurant while shooting… I think they would have had a mutiny, everyone was rolling their eyes and hating on the interruption to their evening. Right before they started shooting, Baby Spock and his friend got out of there… good move on their part, wouldn’t want to confuse real actors with no-talent ass clowns who can fit into a size 00 and ignore their soul’s last gasping attempts at maintaining their dignity.

My friends and I made a game of going to the bathroom when it looked like something emotional was about to happen – you got to walk right by the camera rolling, woo! Thank goodness for our attentive waitress, Marissa, who kept the Arnold Palmers flowing. If you see a striped purple and green shirt walking by the camera in a scene where some girl and a guy eat salads and backstab their friends, then that may be me!! I’m like, totally FAMOUS!!

The most riveting part of the whole experience was watching the crew and seeing how bored they were with the whole affair. Even the PA’s were dragging. Seriously, nothing is more fun than working on a project people believe in, or at least one that is about… something. Anything. I’ve worked on a few shows like “The Hills”… there’s a reason that’s in the past tense.

Here’s a video from FunnyOrDie.com that James Franco, Judd Apatow and Mila Kunis did during the strike about The Hills. Kinda gets my point across.

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/56c2d6a703

Tune in next week, same Brandie time, same Brandie place.

A Day Off in the Life of Brandie

Quick blog this week ladies and gents, it’s a beautiful day in Los Angeles and I’m going to the zoo! My friend Bianca and I got a couples pass in the mail last week… not because we are a couple, but because it was cheaper than buying year-round passes individually… too bad we get Zoo mail addressed to both of us, and only one membership card, with “couple” written real big on the back. I feel like I need to walk into the park making out with a dude just so I don’t feel like a huge lesbian.

Last night I went to go see Iron Man – it was AWESOME! My on-again-off-again crush on Robert Downey Jr. is back in full swing, even with that Tony Stark cartoon-y facial hair. I’d put it right up there with Spiderman 2 and X Men 2, my other two favorite comic book movies. RDJ can go from smug to vulnerable in 5 seconds flat, I love watching that man act the pants off of a role. Stay through the credits, if not just to give his personal trainer a round of applause, but also for the teaser AFTER the credits… all the comic book geeks around us were screaming about it and high fiving, it was hilarious.

This is my first weekend to myself in a while where I’m not working or taking a class or workshop, so I’m enjoying it by getting out. In this industry, when you get free time, you live it up to the fullest because it doesn’t happen often. 14 hour days kind of make you disappear off the map for a bit to your friends and family, but there are ways to stay in touch. I’m a big fan of snail mailing things to people, since no one ever gets good mail except for birthday or Christmas cards. I feel like the only reason we buy things off the internet is so we’ve got more in our mailox than just bills. I’ve started a game with my friend Louis where we mail the most random high school senior picture we can find of people from our class back and forth to each other.

And whenever I’m stuck in traffic (which is ALWAYS), I’m usually making phone calls back east to people. My poor iPod doesn’t really get much play unless it’s too late and people are sleeping, or I’ve got new music that I’m dying to check out… like right now I’ve been listening to Private (http://www.myspace.com/weareprivate), this pop group from Denmark that my friend turned me on to… go check them out if you like Prince or early Michael Jackson, I’m obsessed. The best part is they all dress like crazy Goths, but they have this awesome catchy pop music, it makes no sense. The lead singer looks like Crispin Glover. I’ve got their full album, (imported it from Hong Kong because it’s $61 in America as an import, and only $20 if I import it MYSELF… explain that one), leave a comment and I’ll burn you one if you want. I want them to get big in the US so they will come here and tour!

Anyway, I’m rambling with no real point other than I HAVE THE DAY OFF! So why am I writing to you? Peace out, cub scouts.

The Incident with the Midget

First and foremost, I would like to offer a formal apology to my fabulous readers.  Last week, I spelled “implore” wrong as “emplore”.  I know this has caused mental anguish to at least one of you, and for that I am deeply, deeply sorry.  I only hope that, in time, you can forgive me for my egregious error in spell-check, and stop crying about it like a girl.

So our IMDB experiment from last week rocked, you guys!  Up 102%!  You love me, you really love me!  And I will now always have this little tidbit in my trivia section:

“Has been known to perform carefully orchestrated sleight-of-hand stunts on most sets as a way to break the ice between cast and crew, including many fancy card tricks, and a Houdiniesque escape from a straight jacket.”

Fantastic.  How did you know I’ve always wanted to own a straight jacket?  Oh you.  ::pinches your cheek lovingly::

I’m glad that made it through the IMDB censors though, I’ve been having trouble with some TRUE facts about myself, like “Has a deep seated fear of little people.”

Don’t laugh; I’m not even being funny.  When I was five, I went to my first sleepover at a girl in my ballet class’ house.  Why was I in ballet?  Because I was a huge tomboy growing up and my mom was afraid I would become a lesbian…  because painting your daughters like cheap little hookers is better than letting them climb a tree from time to time.  Guess what we watched that night though:  Child’s Play 2.  My life would never be the same.  To this day, seeing Chucky’s face or hearing his voice or anything related to him sets me off into a minor panic attack – it’s a debilitating phobia.

On Hollywood and Highland there is a guy that dresses like Chucky and walks up to people with a plastic machete.  If I’m heading over there, I have to drive past first to see if he’s there, because I know that if he comes near me, my animal instincts will take over, and I will punt him across the street before I even realize what I’m doing.  If he only knew the lengths I was going to, to make sure he doesn’t get dropkicked.  You’re welcome sir.

And it’s more than just the doll that gets me, I’m uneasy around little people and children – if it walks on 2 legs and operates out of my peripheral, I don’t trust it.  So you can imagine my horror upon getting to set for a short film I worked on called “The Grass Is Always Greener”…  and one of the four main characters was a midget.

I had to stand in for lighting his scene partner with him time and time again, had to take his dinner order, even helped him into one of his costumes - all the while making conversation and quelling the ever-rising tide of panic within myself.  At the end of the night of shooting, I drove home emotionally exhausted – I had given the performance of a lifetime, AND gotten his coffee order right.

A PA’s work is never done.

IMDBeeyotch

This week’s blog is going to be short ladies and gents, I’ve got a good writer friend in town for the weekend and we’ve decided we may shoot a short tomorrow!  If you’re nice, I may post a link when it’s done.  Her name is Angela Lovell, you should check her out over at http://www.tickingboxes.com, or just google her awesome stories and articles.

I love googling, almost as much as I love myself.  So you can imagine how often I google “Brandie Posey” on a weekly basis.  I promise I’m not full of myself, I’m just finally glad that the more exposure I get, the fewer Parker Posey links come up.  No.  We are not related (at least in any way I’ve found out).  Stop asking.  Oh, and just for the record, I am also NOT named after that song by Looking Glass, “Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl)”.  Do I look like a lonely bar wench?!  No.  Without fail though, at least once a week someone sings it to me.  I may be developing a twitch.  Or start carrying a knife.

Apparently several of you out there google me too though, because my IMDB % is way up this week…  cool.  Weird, but cool.

But you have been found out!  And I have a challenge for you…  it’s time for you to start entertaining ME, damnit!  Brandie Posey ain’t runnin’ no blogging soup kitchen up in this bitch.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go to my IMDB page and submit the most outlandish trivia facts and biography information that you can think of.  DO IT!  It’ll be hilarious. Talk about how I was raised by wolves, or am half cyborg, or the fact that I can name 10 Brendan Fraser movies in less than 15 seconds (not kidding about that last one).

Or start a thread on my IMDB message board!  If you’ve never experienced the joy that is an IMDB message board battle, I emplore you, GO.  My personal favorite is the one for “Riding The Bus With My Sister”, this ATROCIOUS Made For TV movie with Rosie O’Donnell as a retarded woman who wears a lot of kitty cat shirts.  It’s God awful…  but people defend it because its about a mentally challenged woman.  A bad movie’s a bad movie, no matter what the content.

All I’m saying is that if Michael Bay made a shitty Holocaust movie, I’m not going to pretend to like it because I’m homies with a bunch of the children of Israel.  There’s only so many times you can swing a steadicam at full speed around Hitler.

You have your mission – Click the imdb link under my bio to the right… GO!

I’m Not Married & I’m 24: The Story of a Southern Faux Pas

So I have these two old, crazy, Italian Great Aunts.  For some reason, they have my cell number in their phone book as my parent’s house in Maryland…  and no matter how many times I have asked them to change it (approximately 57 million), they always seem to immediately forget, and then a month later they wake me up on a Saturday at 7am (10am EST) loudly yelling for my mother into the receiver.  It always turns into a shout off until they stop talking and I can fully convince them that I’m not actually the one they want…  I am three hours in the past and would really appreciate sleeping during my time travels to MY OWN 10am.

A new development occurred this past week though, I got a call asking for my mom from a second cousin I didn’t even know I had – she had gotten ahold of the crazy Italian’s phone book and was calling everyone in it – It’s coming up on  the SUPER AWESOME FUN 5 YEAR FAMILY REUNION!  WOO!

…I guess now should be where I tell you, I don’t really associate with that side of the family, I’ve always identified much stronger with my Dad’s…  maybe it’s my Mom’s uber conservative, southern Catholic upbringing that just rubs me the wrong way, but I’ve never felt comfortable around them, and for me, constantly censoring myself gets exhausting.  So you can imagine a family reunion is EXACTLY what I’m looking forward to.

After I explain the mix-up, there is an awkward moment where I obviously want to get off the phone, but my second cousin pressed on, wanting to know just where the heck I could possibly be, if I wasn’t living at home, or at least within hollerin’ distance of my momma.  I will call her Sally Jean, as her southern twang would lead you to believe would be an appropriate moniker…  don’t forget, I’m from Maryland.

“So.  Are you married yet?  Any kids?”

…I almost laughed out loud, but settled for smacking my head against the wall instead.  Good Lord, like I have enough time out here for myself, let alone someone else…  not to mention that I’m more of a dude than most guys in Hollywood.  (Come on fellas, you know its true.  I have never seen more manly mani-pedi’s in all my life).  Married…  but I AM getting older… after all, I AM 24.  24?!  Lands sakes alive, child!  In some parts of the South, you’re a filthy old nag, put out to pasture, waiting for the glue factory.  That’s all you’re good for anymore – lonely glue.  At least then you can hold two pieces of paper together, unlike any relationship in your more formidable years.

“No, Sally Jean, I’m not married.  I live in Hollywood.  I work for the film industry, on TV shows and movies.  I work 14 hour days, I don’t really have time for a relationship right now because I’m trying to do things that won’t hurt me or waste my time, like getting a manager or selling a script.”

“Oh mercy me!  My sons do that!  They make army videos in the backyard!”

Much like Sly Stallone in Demolition Man, I tried to “enhance my calm, John Spartan”.

“Well its good you let them play with a camera like that.”

“Yeah, I suppose.  But it doesn’t pay well does it?  Are you one of those ‘starving artist’ types?”

If this were a cartoon, I would have reached through the phone, dropped an anvil on her head, then a piano, then a safe.

“Actually Sally Jean, it pays pretty well, I’m making more than most of my friends who got business degrees.  Plus I hang out with movie stars”

“Huh.  Well if you say so.”

I’ll just stop here, the rest isn’t pretty, basically it turned into me giving the best pitch of my life – for her children to go to film school, study, create art, to follow their dreams, fulfill their DESTINIES, damnit!

We got off the phone twenty minutes later and she told me she knew there was a reason my crazy Aunts gave her my number.  I like to think that reason is so I could convince her kids to someday move to California, to NOT get married and never, EVER make her a grandmother, thus ending her specific contribution to the human gene pool.

PA Lesson of the week:  You’re one of the bottom rungs out here, the people at home barely know what “Director” means, let alone “Production Assistant”.  Get used to it.  Don’t expect them to get it.

I may not have time to pop out a few babies right now, but I sure as hell will ALWAYS make time for stealthily crushing the dreams of ignorant hicks.

« Previous Page — Next Page »