Oct 30, 2009

Sure, Honey, I can Ride a Bull

Wedded bliss. Exchanging keys to each others'  hearts.  Everything's fresh and new. Feels like the honeymoon will last forever. 

Until deception kicks in. 

So my fake/actor husband, Dwayne, and I were auditioning for this national commercial and the casting director made us swear we weren't allergic to the product. 


My husband was probably lying.

Dwayne confessed to me that he's been dishonest before in auditions. One role he booked called for swimming in the ocean but the director decided to shoot Dwayne's scenes in a boat instead. 


Lucky for Dwayne. The truth is Sugar Daddy Dwayne can't even dog paddle

I asked Dwayne what he would have done if the director had wanted him to swim. 

"Well, no way I was jumping in the water!"  he said.  

He didn't even have an excuse ready, like he spotted a shark in the water.

Yes, people make up stuff on resumes. Happens all the time. Even though the potential to get caught is pretty high for actors, we still say,  "Sure, I ride [check one: ___skateboards, ___motorcycles, ___bulls] like a pro."

What if Dwayne and I book this gig but he has a seizure because it turns out he IS allergic to the product? We'll BOTH get fired because we were hired as a COUPLE.


So my advice, husbands and wives?  Don't lie. Don't cheat. Safeguard the keys to each other's hearts. Learn to swim. Forget bull riding.

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Oct 27, 2009

Mercy

I wanted to be honest in my blog so some posts like this one deal with violence, sex, drugs.

Second Chances
I'm trying to remember the name of that TV show about a girl who encounters God in the people she meets. Something like that happened to me recently.

I was at a Hollywood lounge to meet a friend and ran into a guy who'd tried to pick me up the first time we'd met - clumsily fueled by too much booze.

He was apologetic this time so we started talking. He thought that given my background as a crime reporter, I might be interested in helping him write new parole legislation.


"You honestly believe most criminals can be rehabilitated?" I challenged. 

"You don't?" he countered.

Jaded as it may seem, there's only one story I covered where I felt the criminal deserved another chance...

why did you kill that kid?
It was my first time inside a prison. I felt vulnerable stripping off my coat, purse and jewelry in front of security guards. Sounds of clanging metal bars.  Inmates cat-calling as guards led us to a cell for supervised visits.

My photographer and I were shooting a sweeps series about juvenile crime.  Prison officials had agreed to let us interview one of the state's youngest inmates ever to be sentenced as an adult.


Guards brought him to the room in leg and arm shackles. I was shocked. He couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds.  He looked about 14.

We didn't have much time so I got straight to the point, talking the street language we both understood. 


"What gang?" I asked. 

"Crips," he said.

"Why'd you kill that kid?" I asked. 


"'Cuz he shot my dog," he answered.

I didn't have any more questions.  We both got it. His unspoken words had told the whole story:  That kid killed the only thing that was mine

Street justice.

I stayed in touch with Anthony the next few years on the pretense he was a valuable source into the gangs I covered. Really, we were becoming friends.
One of Anthony's drawings about his life in prison
Anthony would draw to pass the time in prison. Sketches of cops handcuffing a boy. A pregnant girlfriend. Christ on a cross. A tearful boy becoming a man behind barbed wire fences.  

Images of his life. 

My stories with Anthony caught the attention of a college that thought he could qualify for a long-distance program for artists. Anthony gave me some drawings to say thank you.

making peace
Years later I wonder if I failed Anthony. I'd been one of his only advocates. When I quit the crime beat, I quit on him in a way. Sure, he owed something for the life he took but..."he shot my dog..."

"You have to make peace with your past," the man's voice broke into my thoughts. "Most of us who deal with criminals have to accept the fact that justice isn't always clear."


I think that man was Mercy. He was telling me it's ok not to know if Anthony deserved to live or die for his crime. Mercy doesn't even the score. Mercy clears the scorecard and forgives the past.

Anthony, I hope you made it.


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Oct 20, 2009

Popping Pills

Heath Ledger 1979 - 2008. Photo:  FanPop
Got quite a greeting from a childhood friend I hadn't seen in years. "I heard you'd become a drug addict," Julie told me.

Despite some pretty self-destructive behavior growing up, heaven must have assigned an army of angels to keep me from popping or injecting all the drugs I've been offered.
I've worked at TV stations across the country - yet I've never seen as much drug abuse as in LA, especially the prescription kind.

This Hollywood exec I know is a walking pharmaceutical ad: stress meds, anti-depressants, diet pills, sleeping pills...one accidental OD away from death.
She told me she wants off all the pills but can't cope without them. Once when she left a prescription vial on her desk, I wrote down the doctor's name. You know, in case she died. And there was an investigation...

I've lost track of her but hear through the grapevine she's doing alright.
The desire to escape. Most of us get it. So did Heath Ledger. Michael Jackson. Anna Nicole Smith. River Phoenix. Chris Farley. Kurt Cobain -  artists forever silenced by drugs. Anna Nicole once told a reporter, "Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and will always be." I hope she's finally found the peace no pill can offer.

By the way, Julie, the closest I've come to being a drug addict was auditioning to play one in the movie, Rent.  They didn't cast me.  Guess the director felt I wasn't really believable as a crackhead since I edited out all the foul language.

And thanks for the angel army, God.


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Oct 15, 2009

Eye Candy

photo by Favim
Some people are born for Hollywood: perfect specimens of the human race. As I was reminded at a recent audition, I am not one of them.

A woman with a tape measure met us at the sign-in table. Actors usually just fill out a size card: height, weight, bust, hips, hat size. 

Sometimes there's a scale in the room but that's rare. We're trusted to give accurate measurements because if we book the role and the wardrobe doesn't fit, there might not be a payday.

The tape measure felt like a judge. Everyone knows curvy women are seldom cast as eye candy and here I was having a full-sized flashback.

When I first started working in TV news, I honestly thought viewers would care more about my storylines than my waistline. I didn't worry about my size; I cam
e out of the womb BIG, the largest of five kids.

I lost weight after receiving some pretty humiliating comments from viewers.

Then there's hair and skin bias. Chris Rock's new film Good Hair reveals the ugly truth:  cain't be sportin' no nappy tresses or dark chocolate skin on TV.

Right after moving to LA, I saw a casting notice for a newscaster role.  I wanted to audition but the director only wanted to see "light-skinned" blacks. I pitched myself anyway and booked the part (Showfax magazine ran my story in an article here: http://more.showfax.com/columns/avoice/archives/2007_08_27.html).

So maybe I don't have the assets Hollywood covets:  fair skin. size zero hips. blonde hair. I'm ok with the image in the mirror. Oh sure, the booty's smaller these days but what's more important is the knowledge I do have:  no tape measure defines your value.



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Oct 9, 2009

Atonement

Long before Hollywood, my sights were set on a network news job in New York. I had no idea when I started writing this blog that moving into the present would require revisiting my past.

Soon after starting my first TV news job at a small NBC affiliate, I was assigned to cover a hostage standoff. Swat teams were negotiating with a man holding five children and a woman. Police thought the crisis would end quickly after the man, a family acquaintance, let one of the kids go.

As the standoff dragged on, I started drafting a script so I'd be ready to go on air as soon as it was over. A gunman has just released four children and a woman that he's been holding hostage in this house...I wrote, trying to get my headline just right.

Hours passed. Things grew quiet. The phone line went dead. After nearly a day with no response from the gunman, swat teams got ready to storm the house.


I don't remember exactly how we got the official word: "They're all dead."

The man must have herded the mom and kids into the basement and shot them before killing himself since no one heard any gun shots.

Escaping to one of the TV station's soundproof editing suites, I screamed, "No! That's not the ending I wrote, God!"

The murders pierced my heart with a pain I'd never known before. Somehow I felt responsible - not that I thought I was God and could script outcomes - but I'd expected the kids to come out alive, not in bodybags.

I had to meet with my producer but first I made a vow: I would never hurt like that again. Not for anyone. I willed my tears to dry up. From then on I would pursue justice armed with a news camera and a heart of stone.

Maybe I was trying to make atonement for those children's lives. Whatever the case, in time I, too, would become a hostage. Trapped. Unable to feel deeply. to cry. to love.

I opened the newscast on cue.  Six people, including four children, are dead tonight after a tragic ending to the hostage standoff we've been following.

I learned that day that a human life is worth a minute and 45 seconds on the nightly news.

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Oct 7, 2009

Now You're in Love...Next!

Just finished a "go-see" (modeling audition) for a bank ad campaign. Nice gig that pays well if I book it.

I was supposed to audition alone but the photographer needed someone to partner with a male who might be cast.  Smart-looking, thin Asian guy, late 20s/early 30s. I was waiting for my audition so voila: petite black woman meet skinny Asian guy. 

"Oh," says the casting director, "you're in love."

First we had to pose in an embrace.  Awkward. We'd just met 30-seconds earlier.  But he was sweet and I liked him better than some of my real-life first dates. So we wrapped our arms around each other and smiled like we'd just had the best honeymoon sex ever.

Ms. Casting Director, however, felt we were stiff. "It's not a prom picture!"

Then she had us walk arm-in-arm, "Faster, faster!" she kept directing.  Not sure why; maybe we were supposed to be running back to the bridal suite?  

Amusing since my partner was about a foot taller than me even in heels.  I could barely match his stride without breaking into a horse trot.

The director seemed happy with our five minute audition, though. I've learned to let go of the outcome or the constant re-play in your head can drive you crazy.

Some actors hate auditioning but I don't mind not knowing what to expect in the room. I thrive on spontaneity, probably because of my breaking news background. Sure, I get nervous - especially on those days when LA traffic is snarled practically to Mexico and I'm anxious about getting to the casting studio. 

But those brief moments in the room help make the waiting and disappointment and hope deferred worth it. Next!

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