BINGO with Ringo! A paying job came along.

But not before we got to see Ringo Star at the Wesbury Theater. A close up venue where the stage goes round and round so everyone can see the stars from every friendly angle. It was a strange crowd too. A fight almost broke out a few rows ahead of us, primarily because of two big guys who couldn't stop standing up at every song that Ringo's All Star Band played. And then there was the drunk behind us who kept clapping with a full open cup of beer in his hand. Needless to say, my friend got a decent dosing of beer on his shirt and some of it drizzled onto my seat as well. He was so drunk that he tried to hide the cup under his seat while we were staring at him! Hic!

Anyway... I got a full time paying job that takes me back to one of my former working places -but this time with better pay and more interesting work!

So I'll be putting my acting career (and most likely this blog) on hold ---at least until they lay me off... or promote me!
Either way, "I'LL BE BACK!"

Hilary Duff on Conan

I ducked into the doorway of the NBC building after my real-world job interview completed at Rockafeller Center -so that I could get on my cellphone to my headhunter to tell him how the hour and 30 minute grilling went down. When, all of a sudden, in the middle of my call, a black SUV pulls up, 2 paparazzi pop out of the revolving door behind me and begin to head for the docked vehicle. The car door opened and out came a bodyguard, some agent-types and... some starlet!?

I was busy qwelling about my performance during the interview to my agent when I noticed that as the entourage passed and the flashbulbs sparkled -a smoking woman across the doorway from me, was taking her cigarette break and not really responding to the fuss, in fact not so much as a blink crossed her nonchallantly gazing eyes. Very relaxed and into her smoke.

After my call was completed, I went over to her and asked if she knew who the young ingenue clad in the black dress might have been. She responded with,

"Hilary... something..."

I immediately clicked on the second part of her nomenclature: "Duff"!

Yup! That was Hilary Duff all right. But the smoking woman was still unfazed -although she did complement my ability to decipher the mystery (frankly, I think she may have been pulling my leg). Nonetheless, I conversed with the smoking woman for another moment or two (so it wouldn't seem as though I was just "using" her) and then got on my way. I was wondering what Hilary Duff was doing here... was she being interviewed also?

So now, here I was in June. Not a single showbiz gig for a month... (and although there were castcalls, neither Spiderman 3 or Enchanted allowed "repeat extras" in their new June scenes) -when along comes this chance-sighting. So I guess it wasn't a total wash after all. I guess this will have to do for now. Thanks Hilary... you made my month!


Later, in the comfort of my home, while watching NBC that night, the announcer mentioned that Conan O'Brien's guest was going to be Hilary Duff. So I stayed up to 1 in the morning and watched her sit in the "gecko-chair". She wore the same black dress... Bingo!

Spiderman 3 on the Avenue of the Americas

The 6:AM call time meant that I'd have to get up at 4:20 AM to catch the 5:11 AM train... (yawn).

But I knew that I'd sacrafice my sleep-time and whatever Memorial Day plans I had -just to be on this set for 3 days as a background extra. The ordeal was draining -but well worth it. I put 36.94 hours into standing around, running in fear, fighting with makebelieve cops, avoiding computer debris from hitting me on the head -and of course clicking away a few paparazzi-style pictures of the cast and crew.

Our director for the first two days was Sam Raimi. He was the first director I've ever seen on set to constantly be wearing a suit. Most of the "trendy" directors wear some type of "nuveau hat" or jacket or some outlandish color that allows their clothes to be noticed. Not Sam. He was neat, focused and professionally kind. He personally addressed the extras with respect and gave a clear synopsis of what we were expected to do. He also did something very classy... he spoke to the gawking tourist crowd and took pictures with them... he also invited a few of the enlisted men to come onto the set and watch the movie making from a few feet away. Observing his style, I developed great respect for him. It's too bad he didn't stick around for the third day. "Unit 2" apparently had a director with a much more different style and all of a sudden there were delays, mishaps, walk-away meals (read: buy your own lunch), and even a thunderstorm which suspended shooting for an hour. I hope Sam returns soon.

The fun part of watching the stunts take place was mezmerizing. The "real Spiderman" (a.k.a. stuntman Henry Amos) was swinging through the canyon of tall buildings on 6th Avenue with Ron Howard's pretty daughter, Bryce Dallas Howard hugging him. The tethers on their torsos were attached to two large cranes -one for the vertical lift and one to create the arc-swing. I was repeatedly amazed by how gently the two actors were able to land on the debris-strewn concrete fountain area. All of the extras were snapping away with their low resolution telephone-cameras, while I had my handy-dandy digital Sony doing a little zooming at a much higher resolution. One of the PA's eventually begged us not to do it in front of the producers! (Otherwise it was O.K.)

In one scene we were told to react and run for our lives as a loud explosion took place and precariously placed desks and computer equipment went dropping all around us. One of the desks landed in the windshield of a taxi cab and another piece of metal crushed a vendor's hot dog stand with broken girders all over the place. I couldn't help but "reminisce" about my experiences during 9/11... Other extras also had a similar reaction to this scene. But thank goodness we have a "friendly neighborhood Spiderman" to look over us!

Bryce, having been saved, ran to the arms of her police-chief father, played by the ubiquitous actor James Cromwell. He is another magnanimous actor who likes to go sit with the extras on occasion and sign autographs. I love that down-to-earth attitude. Enter the scene, Topher Grace (he's shorter than I expected), with camera in hand, interviewing Spiderman while clicking away at his visage. Something was not satisfactory with Topher and he started to pace back and forth while discussing the scene with Sam Raimi.

While this is going on, I elbow my friend and mention how funny it is to see these guys going at it while some little shrimp in a white shirt and sunglasses is standing next to them eating chinese food from a takeout dish. I was then quickly and comicly corrected with the explanation that the kid in the white shirt was in fact Tobey Maguire. Coooool!

So he was here after all. And it suddently struk me how weird it was to see the stuntman in costume, Tobey the eating-actor, and a close look-alike in an orange polo shirt who was his stand-in for light and distance measurements -all of whom, as a conglomeration, were needed to depict Spiderman. (One for the price of 3 -That's the American economy. I suddenly have a deeper understanding of the speedy US debt-counting sign nearby which is showing the amount to be in the KAZILLLION dollar range at the moment. Oh well, I guess we'll just have to export more movies).

Breakfast and lunch for the first two days went really well... especially the 2nd day, when we had blackened cajun catfish and tons of garnish and desert to go along with it at the Roseland Ballroom. Throughout the day there were little sandwiches being passed out to the crew. The rule was that the crew must be the first to take from the tray... and if there's anything left over, we, the extras, could have it. I guess it's part of the Caste Laws in the Movie-Manu System. Needless to say, there were few, if any mid-day sandwiches left. But I kept a bottle of water in my pocket. This came in very handy because the weather turned really warm (we're talking 80's) and all of us were told to wardrobe for autumn weather (suits, scarves, gloves, overcoats). My raincoat was black and it absorbed heat like a sponge. Other extras were stripping off their clothes between takes. It was a real do-your-laundry provoking scene. Even Spidey was dragging his ass.

The three days ended and some of us exchanged emails so we could share the pictures we took on the set. One of the guys who asked me to take a picture of him in "costume", was a "ticket concierge" and said he would be "helpfull" in getting me any tickets to theater shows and concerts. I'll be testing that offer pretty soon! My other background buddies are shown below.

The following day I got an offer to work on the Spiderman set again... in 2 weeks. So I guess this is a "to be continued" ending!

Auditioning in Connecticut

It had to be one of the rainyest days for my drive up to the Norwalk studio. But 60 miles later I had arrived at a pretty modern setup in the middle of a family-style quaint and quiet neighborhood. As I approached the entrance, it was laden with tons of electronic equipment, neatly arranged and well organized. A young woman was speaking to a tall man as she greeted me and welcomed my "talent" status inside the hipster-stylized abode. Friendly, yes... but all business in attitude. I was asked if I wanted any refreshments, given my lines and seated inside the studio's grand white backgrounded set. I found my cofort and began to internally rehearse the syllabus:

"The doctors and nurses at St. Vincent's gave me superb care...
[pause]
...I'd trust them with my grandson!"

I pretty much glanced at it and had it down pat. Two lines of script. How easy is THAT?

The young cameraman came in and fiddled with the video camera that I would be slating in front of pretty soon. It was quiet for a while... and then I broke the ice with him by stating that the white background of the studio looked like something out of "THX1138"! That got him to look up and immediately shmooze about the film. (After all, that was George Lucas' first big breakthrough in the early 1970's... and one of my personal all-time favorite movies). Our banter was soon interrupted by the cordial director, Paul, who explained the scenario and got me right up in front of the camera. He did a few takes with a couple of different suggestions and then asked if it would be alright for him to make my hair look more "salt & peppery" for the hospital ad. "No problem." I heard myself respond. But internally I had instantly grasped that I was too young for the part and that unless a miracle took place, I wasn't going to be making the $600 bucks for this stint. But cordial-Paul asked if I'd be available on Monday and Tuesday if the client had decided in my favor. To which, of course, I had no problem aquiescing... again knowing fully well that this would be a very remote possibility. The part really called for a more silver-haired grandfatherly-frail-looking old bugger.

This was a complete reversal of my full-time job interviews, where jobs are predominantly given to those who are young. You just can't win!

So I got back into my car and drove antother 60 miles back home through the avalanching thunderstorm. Cost of trip (gas, tolls, nerves): $30.00 plus "interest". I don't think I want to travel across state lines for an acting job -unless pay is assured (and how many times have I said that before?).

Now my mercenary side is starting to kick in!!!

Banking on a commercial in Brewster, NY

First and foremost, the craft food services were EXCELLENT! Much more extravagant when compared with the cheap Disney or skimpy Warner Brothers food provisions for the extras on set. The other feel-good moment came when friends from previous gigs started showing up. And still better was the fact that we were 75 miles upstate from NYC -and we were breathing clean air. That made up for the 3 previous days of sucking bus fumes in Times Square. Also my cold was starting to subside.


Three small movie theaters made up the location kown as Empire Cinemas. Our holding area was in one of them and we settled comfortably into the modern cushy rocking seats. In the lobby and in the next movie room, the crew was doing the lighting setup. In the third movie theater, we had the hot lunch arrangement. Holding didn't take too long and we were all called into action at the lobby. I was placed with one of the women I had met at the ONE NINE shoot. As a couple, we and the rest of the extras, would grab the popcorn from the counter and head into the theater. The director was a hearty and energetic soul who went by the name of Ed Buffman. He was jocular but stern with a good focus on what he wanted to accomplish. The principals consisted of a young couple, whose overly-cordial banker would provide them with everything they needed -even before they needed it!

"I got your tickets… RIGHT HERE!… Here's your popcorn… JUST THE WAY YOU LIKE IT!"

Upon which he ushered them into the apparently fully seated movie theater, walked up to two isle seats and grabbed a bar which had been joining two "mannequin seat holders" together, raising them into the air with the obvious service of making sure his bank customers had seats. Everyone cracked up laughing. But after a couple of takes it became routine to see the dummies' arms dangling helplessly while the "smart banker" provided his enthusiastic grin between their lifeless heads. The shoot was over before 4:00 PM and we got paid $100 (that's more than what Warner Bros. and Disney pay their extras). The gas and toll (at today's $3.12 /gal prices) unfortunately offset the euphoria. Tolls = $9.00, Gas = $25.00… That nets only $66.00. Might as well be working for Warner Bros. or Disney.

The actors networked and I got the email address of a casting broker whom I had tried to contact two months ago via phone -without much success. Her name is Desiree and I've heard that she gets jobs for background extras on a fairly regular basis (more than once a month). However, she does take 10% of your gross pay for each gig. I sent her a request to put me on her email list to get the process rolling. Got a strange feeling about this one…

In the meantime, my other avocation's headhunters were beginning to call me. It seems that the "real world" jobs were starting to pick up and I might start getting some face-time soon. Hollywood may have to wait for me a bit longer.

ENCHANTED in Times Square

Three days… I spent 3 exhausting days at the center of the universe: Times Square, New York City.

Of course the story line for the tongue-in-cheek fantasy movie, Enchanted, describes this location as the worst possible place in the real-world. And that's exactly where a cartoon-world princess (Amy Adams) is to be banished by the evil queen (Susan Sarandon). She is followed by the handsome prince (James Marsden) and his rotund friend (Anthony Spall), so that they could rescue her and return to the perfect happily-ever-after cartoon-land called Andalasia (aka: the production company working for the Disney money-machine).
But things get complicated… the princess falls in love with a real-world almost-married man (Patrick Dempsey)… and… I guess I'll have to go to the movies to see how the story ends.


Had I not done my research on the IMDB website during the previous night, I would still be in a fog about what my role as a tourist in the background would have signified in the context of the movie's story. This is typical of most shoots -"they keep us in the dark and feed us mushrooms"... or something like that. As I observed during the course of the production, no one on the set was able to give a clear synopsis of what the movie was supposed to be about. And I find that attitude to be the typical level of work-related-IQ for most of the crew I've chatted with in the past. Either they are uncaringly aloof or they're just into "guarding the secret" (so that they won't have to go into a long-winded spiel about the meaning of our purpose each time one of us asks for our "motivation").

The first day was a 6:00 AM call. A chilly, albeit sunny day was spent between the various filth-laden curbs and ominously dangerous crossing-islands created by the intersection of Broadway and 7th Avenue. The food services for the 300 extras was skimpy and lacking any appetizing appearance. Many people thought that the ersatz-egg-salad sandwiches were constructed of some kind of astronaut-food powder. I stuck to eating fruits and cheese… occasionally flushing it down with some grapefruit juice. I figured the citric acid would kill any germs that may have been cultivated while awaiting our anxious fingers to rip open their plastic-enshrined confines. Some of us decided to seek culinary-euphoria at any of the nearby quick-food establishments (Shbarro's Pizza, MickyD's fries, and Starbuck's cafeinated panacea). Standing in the breezy chill while the "prince" was stabbing a New York City bus or prancing through the sea of yellow traffic; we snuk inside the food and hotel establishments between takes, seeking an atmosphere that would return the natural color of our now bluish skin. I had developed a nasty cough and later that week had to be put on antibiotics.

A roving band of FOX5's camera crew invaded our nearby corner and quizzed passersby with some political questions. If you answered it right, you got a FOX5 t-shirt. I couldn't resist!


"State your name and where you're from!"
"Who named the White House… "White House"?…

…and BAM! I won a t-shirt (which immediately contributed a degree of Fahrenheit to my body's low core temperature). I love America. You just have to wish for stuff and there it is. I was warm for the rest of the day.

The second day was warmer but the filming wasn't progressing with any great success and some of us (150 strong) were given a chance to come back for a third (and final) day to help complete the necessary background effects. Now that my unemployment benefits were exhausted, the extra work came in handy. Occasionally we were taken back to the holding area where the friendly banter created some interesting verbal exchanges and autobiographical sketches of those in our immediate circle of extras. When the chatter wound down, I took out my playing cards and taught the group how to play "I DOUBT YOU!". This was a huge success as we all tried to bluff our way to a win. One of the beginners won… Naturally!

Soon we were back on sin-city's streets, guided by our fearless handlers and placed into position. While there, any number of foreign tourists would stop and snap off a few digital pictures… and also try to sneak into our group. This was not a good choice on their part because our fearless production assistants immediately recognized their colorful garb (we were all told to dress in muted and drab colors) and guided them politely (yet firmly) away from our area. This "tourist invasion" was unceasing throughout the day and the procedure would be repeated countless times during the course of the shoot. I still don't know how the production crew thought they could control a NYC crowd in Times Square without the help of the riot-police or at least some tape. No-my-yob. I took it all in with smiles. After all, here I was standing in the middle of Times Square . A sense of tranquillity waved through me as I looked across at George M. Cohan's statue and thought: "I finally made it to where I needed to be... crossroads of the fantasy and the real-world at large.".

(EPILOGUE: The final release of the film showed me in 3 areas: 1 behind Timothy Spall, when he appears out of the manhole, another when the prince stabs the bus and has a confrontation with the bus driveress, and a third when the busdriveress is in panic mode -trying to get the chipmonk off her body... see me at the red arrows below).

The Reconstruction of JANE FONDA

My wife loves to read biographies - amongst which she's been reading "My Life, So Far" by Jane Fonda. So when she heard about her book-signing appearance at the Union Square Barnes & Noble... well, "we just had to be there"!

B&N had a part of their 4th floor set up for the occasion and issued "red wrist-bands" for the "lucky" first ones to arrive. This entitled us to a seat near the front -wherein we sat for the better part of an hour and a half, awaiting Lady Jane. The people of Union Square have been known to be, ummm, "somewhat politically eccentric" (that's about as understated as I can make it). As an example, the guy sitting in front of us had his entire newspaper clipping-collection in his handy-dady duffelbag (you never know when one might have to site some "reliable" material). He and the two guys sitting around him were debating the downward spiral of WBAI's popularity since the radio station's anti-semitic rhetoric became more rabid and was denounced by Garry Null. The guy behind us was muttering politically incorrect sounds to himself (people should only do that with a fake cellphone attached to their ears). And then a well-dressed drunk sat near us, professing to the man next to him that he was psychic. This immediately started an exchange about "Oh...do you believe in intelligent life on other planets?". And at that point, Jane Fonda walked in with a couple of escorts.


The stage had two large pictures of litterary sybolism on either side of the signing desk. Jane walked passed the one with Gulliver starting to wake up as the Liliputians were trying to tie him down. When the host introduced her, she walked over to the microphoned podium and began to comment on the inspiration of her book. She was now in front of a large picture of Moby Dick with it's maw open. As the Q&A began between the audience and her, I was tempted to ask her opinion about the irony of her standing there, being dressed in white and juxtaposed against Ahab's favorite obsession. But I held my tongue and took in the show.


Her responses were interesting. She was angry at Hillary Clinton for "not being braver" but conceeded that there was something imperfect about every politician. She denounced the fake photos with John Kery... and the historical revisionism regarding the "truth" of Viet Nam. One guy from the audience was thinking of leaving the US because of his "disappointment"... she urged that "we need to stay here and fight for what we believe in". And then a clergyman stood to ask her a question:

"You seem to have come to spirituality late in life... how do you see that impacting your '3rd Act'?"

Her response was a bit comical but still poignant: "I come too late in everything. But when I come it's a 100%." She went on to say that the "empty place" in some peoples' lives gets filled with... addictions (she was always trying to please people -at the cost of her own lack of development, leaving her as someone who had no confidence in herself during her youth)... and she mentioned that she is presently attending school as a divinity student. Her perspective from the days of Barbarella have been redefined and now she is enjoying her older life... her 3rd Act. She also confided that the only thing missing is "intimacy" -sex was easy, but a meaningful, loving relationship is something that she is still looking for.


Then we all lined up and got the book signed and the pictures taken and the experience filed away under the notation of Act 2, Scene 99.

CASH in the Ring Of Fire

It was a pretty good musical... accompanied by some very innovative electronic scenery.

We craned our necks to see stage-right situated beneath our protruding box seats, but it was worth the effort. Especially since the singers and the musicians were terrific. The part of Johnny Cash was played in four different ways by four different actors at different times of his life... which in this depiction was mostly set around his songs. And that was OK with me and the friends we went with... but it was the simple stageset in the background that was the most magical of all. In fact, they were "TV sets". Literally!
3 huge TV's were being manipulated both physically and image-wise as the backdrop changed from countryside to Main Street to Bar scene (complete with well timed "broken bottles falling" as the actors bumped into it). Very cleverly done. It certainly kept my attention riveted to see how they would arrange them next.

I've only been on stage occasionally during my distant "yut(h)". Once as a chorus singer during 3rd grade, then playing a Spaniard dignitary from South America in the 4th grade... and recently, I actually won a bottle of champagne while participating in silly stuff in front of a packed audience at a hotel in Eilat. But otherwise, I haven't really pursued participation in theatrics... it's too repetitious. Doing the same act, night-after-night? Not for me. But I do like watching a live performance... good, bad or otherwise, and consequently I must have seen a hundred or more plays in the past (thanks to the low rates offered by TDF).

With the show over, it was off to nearby Cafe La Madelaine to discuss our impressions while dining on French food and drinking some red wine... and reflecting on how lucky we are to be able to do this every now and then.

The pits

What a piss-hole it is behind the Port Authority... beneath the bus-overpass ramp on 9th Avenue!

As I was treking through this area from 34th Street to 47th Street, to get one of my meager showbiz paychecks, I had suddenly dropped my usual apathetic armor for a moment and realized the world I was now smack in the middle of. Homeless men with puke on their clothes and barely-filled liquor bottles sticking out of their jacket pockets were leaning toward the dark end of a dilapidated garbage alley. One hand propping themselves up while the other was hidden from view in front of their pants, leaving the barricading chainlink fences with dripping urine onto the sidewalk. A block later there’s a cornerstore-pantry advertising 99cent pizza… one shady customer biting into it’s spongelike crust as his nose drips snot onto the “savory” goo passing for food at this 9^th Avenue locale of the wretched refuse. Most subway stops also have "the aroma" and it’s not much different on the upper west side either. As I walked past Zabar’s delicatessen the other day, on my way to an early morning movieshoot, I saw homeless people leaning on the multicolored freebie-newspaper dispenser stands and sleeping standing-up. Their clothes wreaking of urine, their skin bruised and bloodied from countless fights and falls, while uninvolved shopkeepers hosed down the sidewalk around them… only to spread the stench of the concentrated urine left behind by the nameless wraiths we call bums. I can not help them -though I wish I could. But I can’t pass them by without thinking that I could soon end up like one of them. And considered how it would all start?

Lately, I feel like it's already started... the depression of the downward spiral.

It begins when you start to turn down unpaid gigs. And before you know it, other opportunities suddenly evaporate as well. The phone falls silent; the emails stop coming. It appears as though a kind of balancing act was constantly making karmic adjustments to keep your ego in check (just in case you might drift toward thinking that you're better than anyone else).

I declined an audition for a lawyer part in a Hofstra student film. The reason being was that a part-time job had come along with a web-design company that I decided to take, in order to stay in touch with some semblance of my former reality. In fact this position came about just after I had agreed to take on a crude web-design assignment for one of my relatives. Guess I put some kind of energy into momentum that had vortexed me toward a new direction. The “web-job” had a lot of elements I’d always dreamt of: A venue to express my creativity through some form of designing art while still being connected to the technology I had been trained to work with… along with a short drive to work and short hours... there's minimum pressure (and minimum wage). Alas no real income but plenty of future possibilities… and the possibility of eventual independence.

Unfortunately, my showbiz “career” was immediately affected. I had missed an important (and well paid… $3000+) “farmer modeling role” because I had kept my cell phone on “mute” as a result of not wanting any interference during my web-design day-gig. Although I returned the call within 2 hours, the part was given to someone else. Also, I had to rescind my availability as a volunteer for the Tribeca Film Festival. And soon after, a 2-day weekend shoot was cancelled because the director’s camera parts were missing and her set-design was destroyed!?! Ironicly, the web-job ended prematurely as well (due to the fallout from the latest legal decisions against Microsoft). It would seem that the 2 worlds can not coexist without immediate complications of one or the other -or both at the same time.

All this has made me reticent to take on anymore unpaid showbiz gigs. As a result, I’m now officially wearing Gurdjieff’s "galoshes" and attempting to ride 2 horses with one ass!

TRAVELER at the Waldorf-Astoria

Another 7:AM call... for the Warner Brothers/ABC-TV pilot called "Traveler". But luckily it was to be in NYC at the famous Waldorf-Astoria. Rene, the Sylvia Fay(e) rep had led me to believe that we would be filming in the lobby.

No.

It was outside. It was the first day of Spring. It was snowing!!!
And since we had to be background extras in business suits, we froze our nuggies OFF... and so did the principals (one of whom was Logan Marshall-Green) from the TV series, "The OC".

But I have to say, that the film crew, headed by the director David Nutter,

was a tenacious bunch and kept us working almost from the time we arrived to the time we finished at 3:PM. Yes, lunch was served but only after the SAG guys had their fill. This class-distinction is still not sitting well with me. One of the women, with whom I had to walk with, told about her experience on a set with Nicole Kidman, who was very gracious and invited the extras to eat from the SAG-side. She also mentioned that Jimmy Falon was one of the friendliest person since he mingled and chatted with the extras on a regular basis during his movies. Robert DeNero also has a good rep among the extras as being the best food provider. Apparently he caters from the best places and makes sure the extras eat well. I still feel there should be a revolution of sorts to keep everyone on an even food-keel during the filming. I'm neither a socialist or a communist but I do believe in equality when it comes to food. This Hollywoodier-than-thou caste-system has got to go.

A sober reminder of my relationship to this industry came when we were being herded from our holding area at St. Bartholemew's to temporarily line up against it's walls prior to heading over to the Waldorf... our handler kept telling us to "Stay against the wall and let the 'real people' pass by!". It "brought me back" to thinking about my first post on this blog -pertaining to the "phantom zone" existence in which I was... or rather, was not.

EPILOGUE: That's me as a hotel patron passing by the boys as they rush into the Waldorf in the 1st episode.

August Rush in March

Silvia Fay's rep, Ali, gave me a call last night with a "check-in-number" and the "call-in line" to get the rest of the details for the Newark shoot. It was to be 7:AM!!! Yiykes... I'd have to wake up at 4:30 AM to drive there in time. Fully well knowing that I'd probably be waiting hours prior to being called on to the set and lamenting my obsessiveness to be punctiual. Of course, I was right. But Ali had told me that the movie had Robin Williams and Kerri Russell in it -and I really wanted to see those guys. So I relented and decided to do the "time".

I drove to the NJ site and discovered that we, extras, were not allowed to take advantage of the holding area's (Robert Treat Hotel) free parking space which I had been counting on. We'd have to use the public parking building across the street ($15... caching!), the total toll turned out to be $17.50... so that's $32.50 for the honor of being in a Robin Williams film! Compensation: 94.50 + 7.50 (had to haggle for it) = $102.00. So I guess I would go with it (even though it will get me to lose $100.00 from my next week's unemployment check). Sacrifices I make for "my art"... and so did a few hudred other extras!

The holding room was the Victoria Room in the Robert Treat Hotel across the street from NJ PAC (the Newark equivalent of Lincoln Center), where the filming was taking place. We all checked in, got our vouchers filled out and settled down for a 7 hour wait. Lots of chatting, reading, iPod playing, and other innovative time wasters were being conducted at each of the tables in the large dining-room-type set up. But none of them were as whacky as our table. We had Keren -the "almost violin player"!

Her talkative exhuberance was inexhaustable. It seems she forgot to "take her meds today"! The consequences of which allowed us to observe a relentless yaking for hours on end. It started with her being picked to portray a "real violin player". Apparently, when she was taken by the PA's to the filming site, the audition didn't work out and she was replaced by a "fake violin player" -Carl, the tuxedo guy! This started an endless lambasement of poor Carl and it didn't stop until he good-naturedly brought over his "just-for-show" $38 violin and Karen made an attempt to play it. Although she had studied violin at a younger age, she was unable to bring forth any sounds that would even remotely resemble violin playing. All that, after her rantings about being trained by Izhak Pearlman and desciples of Yasha Heifitz. Eventually, her wind dissipated and we were conversing on the "sane plane" (for about 10 minutes). And it was at that point we were requested to accompany our handlers to the filming site across the street.

Our purpose was simple: look like upperclass patrons of the theater while applauding the cello-playing virtuoso embodied by the role of Kerri Russell. We, the audience, would be moved around the huge theater several times for special effects later to be provided on a blue screen. As a result, a few hundred patrons will appear to be a few thousand in the CG-editing room. Kerri Russell was the only star in this scene and it was interesting to observe her acting... very minimalist (IMHO). Still, it was a bit of a charge to see her. And that 's what this whole ordeal was really about for most of us. To see a star... whether she twinkles or not.

While moving around the theater, we had different seating partners and numerous sound-byte introductions. I asked the guy next to me why he had chosen to do this work. He explained that although he was 33 years old, he had a very high-pressure job and had suffered an increase in his heart beat (160 per minute) and some liver problems as well. It took the doctors 22 hours to get his heart back to normal and now he was ordered to stay away from tension-causing situations. Another fellow was a high-level executive, who left his lucrative workplace because it was causing him to miss out on his family life. Now he was involved with locating antiques (hence allowing him a personal pleasure of pursuing historical artifacts) and selling them on E-bay. As we relocated again and again -I wound up next to a very happy woman who had been miserable as a teacher for 40 years and now she was "pursuing her dreams" by being in movies. Still another person whom I rubbed elbows with, admitted that this background-extras job had too much waiting associated with it, and she would never do it again! I was still wondering why I was doing it... It certainly wasn't because of the money. And how long before I too, would lose the magic of the diversionary "pixie dust"?

I suppose my introspective response would be that the "industry of illusion" has ironicly given me a sense of purpose -if only for an undetermined short time.

Just God and me

She descends effortlessly through the smokey clouds (of dry ice) and hands me (a business-suited politico type), the golden egg, with which I play and then, in turn, hand it over to a soldier who manages to break it -whereupon the gooey mess is seen dripping all over the map of the world... and yada, yada, yada. So now I'm doing politics and mixing it with religion.

Well, I liked the idea that I'd be playing a "support role" to God, so I stuck around for the grueling seven hour wait for the scenery to be prepared. It seems that no one ever prepares their set on time but the "talent" has to be on site and availble -no matter what! The crew was nice and I got to chat with Bobby (aka "God"), an Indian girl whose family hails from British Guiana in South America. She was 20-ish, shapely albeit with a diminutive build and a very calm demeanor. Nonetheless, she had broken away from her parents' influence and decided to have "fun" in the fantasy world that we were presently filming. (There's something "Pinnoccioan" about her story and I was wondering what my role here really was. )

In my mind, I couldn't escape the invevitable effect of my superimposing her deific role upon her mortal personality. And it was wreaking havoc with my psyche. Here I was, conversing with someone who has "somehow" been selected to play "God"... and I'd be "Her" co-star! Hmmm, so this is what "Joan of Arcadia" must have felt like.

Ironic, because just a few days ago I had whimsicly considered applying for a "reality show" wherein you had to submit an idea for starting a new religion. I had developed this whole idea about the religion of the ORB (Thanks again Woody!)... and the leader would be the "subORB"... the congregation would meet in a circle and each follower would ... well, never mind. Needless to say, I never submitted anything. But it was fun thinking about it. The stipend offered was to be $5000 and you would have a film crew follow you around and witness how succesfull you would be in recruiting some "followers". And today, here I was, face to face with "God". An omen for sure! (As in: "Oh man... don't you be messin' with my turf!")

All in all, a very inspiring shoot.

An INDUSTRIAL gig

I got the call while chatting with some artists at the NY Art Show in the Javits Center -I suppose that being there, was an indication of sorts, given the "industrial" nature of the artworks being exhibited. Giclee… phooey!
Oh well, at least I got to pose with MM.


Call time for the Sunday shoot was 9:AM at the Chelsea Market on 9th Avenue and 15th Street. It's a renovated old structure that has become a combination office space and shopping mall. A welcome "sheeky-trendy" spot for Chelsea's west-side financial infusion.

Heading for the second bank of elevators, I heard some steps clicking behind me through the deserted early morning corridors of the pealing brick walled mall. I held the door and was pleasantly surprised by a young woman whose whispery enunciations of gratitude upon her entrance to the elevator recrated a Marilyn Monroe-type of mystique (perhaps a leftover flashback from yesterday). I guessed at her destination being the same as mine -to which she confessed… and a sense of "mutual functionality" between two strangers had now been established (as opposed to just being "who's this creep in the elevator with me").

We were greeted by our Production Manager in the 6th floor offices of NY1/Time Warner, who immediately provided for a few introductions of the people we'd be working with and ushered us to our holding area: a company-lounge with plenty of space, breakfast food and a couple of "lounging extras". After being wardrobed and madeup… we were brought back to holding and began to consume the bagel and cream-cheese delicacies. The rest of the floor was a modern-designed wide office space complete with a news-caster's stage and lots of electronic editing rooms. I was impressed.

Sean was our director and he called me and a few others for an office scenario discussion. He described four scenes: Finance, HR, Marketing and Executive. As it turned out I got to be in 3 out of 4. During the first scenario, I was standing near the ad-client's copy machine (RICOH), pressing a button, grabbing a sheet of paper and begining a succession of mobile chain-reactive office interactions. While the crew was setting up, I was fooling around with the copy machine and kept screwing it up. Lights were flashing and alarms were beeping!? This activity did not go unnoticed by the intrepid film crew and after a few takes, I was told to change places with a tall, skinny, young German-accented guy by the name of Gabriel. I was placed into a "safe cubicle" where my "paper-interactions" would be more benign -albeit still in the frame shots. The film crew kept bumping their camera-dolly into the desks as they rolled back and forth to get the right shot. The dolly was being pushed and pulled by an ADP whose aim wasn't always within the tolerance levels of the narrow office aisle. As it turned out, sitting in the cube was the best deal since the bumpy shots took 2 hours to straighten out. With all the advanced camera equipment around, I couldn't understand why they didn't use the customary rails. Wow… I realized I was getting smart… I'd better shut up and just enjoy the show. The second scene went better (the aisles were wider)!

The final scene of the day was the Executive meeting room. For those who only got to be in this scene, the waiting time in the lounge was close to 8 hours. At least the TV in the lounge room and the munchies would keep them semi-conscious. Otherwise it's a brutal ordeal -especially if you're not loquacious, sleepy or don't know how to meditate. I kept conversing with my elevator buddy and her attractive friends. One of them kept complaining that whenever she got hungry, she'd have an anxiety attack. I made sure to keep some candy in my pocket -just in case she decided to go cannibalistic. Gabe came over and we hit off a friendship when he found out that I was Hungarian: it's that "European thang"! Eventually, as we spoke, I found myself accenting my own English in perfect Zelig-like style. (Thank you Woody Allen, for putting that neurosis in my psyche.)

We, the "executives" were now all in suits and ushered into the modern boardroom for a meeting-scene. The "CEO" would walk from the copy machine with new favorable info and distribute it to us at the table, where "smiles of approval" would abound. Sounds simple… BUT… by 8:PM we were all getting "loopy" and the cross-banter was making all of us giggle… until we finally got the scene down pat and it was a WRAP. Haleluyah!!! Time to get paid our 100 bucks.

The kicker: we had to fill out W-9 forms...
Translation: paid by check within… a month…two at the most!? ...and of course, there would be the dreaded tax-deduction! A typical industry tactic that reduces your real income. Even worse, my unempoyment check got docked $100 for my "working" one day. That just inspired me to expound a few immature expletives: Shnitzelgrooben and BASZ MEG!

CUT-oh!

This was a real “Lost in Translation” experience. I was told to go to 77 Bleeker Street for the Japanese TV-ASAHI documentary about MADONNA! The address was easy to find –problem was that there was no crew there. After a couple of phone calls and some frantic door-to-door searches, it turned out to be a basement bar, next to a café near the corner of Greenwich Village's Broadway. Went downstairs and opened the heavy doors into a dark, cozy, warm and confusing scene of young people in various stages of costume changes, makeup and spinning dance steps. The crew was there and from what I gathered, were mainly conversant solely in Japanese. As I approached one of them to ask for instructions, he asked my name and after telling it to him he began to call me “Russ”. Wrong-O! When I corrected him, he kept repeating the same name “Russ”. OK?... I figured it was the confusion of pronouncement problems that Japanese people have between the “L” and “R” –the old “rots of ruck” stereotyping. I was told by the oriental agent, who went by the name of Henry, to settle in somewhere -so I found a corner on the cushioned periphery of the lounge and changed into my silk shirt per instructions for the 70's/80's period wardrobe. As it turned out it was the perfect outfit because the scene was to depict the “early years” of young Madonna as she hung out in various dance bars. I began watching the dancing dudes do their fancy steps with “added verve” when I suddenly realized what kind of bar-scene was being shot as the director’s heavy accented instructions were enunciated…

“GAY BAR SCENE!”

One of the PA’s was asked to round up the guys. She started saying, “We need gays at the bar…” When no one responded she figured she had made the wrong pronouncements so she started requesting “ … we need the homos…”. One of her asian friends started to giggle and waved her back for a little western-PC consultation.

In those days, Madonna was picking up gay guys to dance with. The actress depicting Madonna was a cute blonde, overly made up in rouge and frizzed-out hair. She played her part with great exuberance which was demonstrated by a slight wardrobe malfunction as her “boobies” (her words) popped out of her dress. Prior to each take there would be some emotive Japanese instructions from Hiro, the director, which was followed by the english interpretation from Mariko –our female interface to the mysterious whirlwind methods of Japanese TV/movie making. At the end of each take, the Japanese DP would shout “CUT-oh!”. And Mariko would translate for the rest of us: "CUT!"

My part in all this was background bar-fly and way-background-dancer. When the crew couldn’t remember my name, they would call me the “older guy”. Since I wasn’t exactly very active in any of the scenes, I figured that I’d just fade out with the rest of the crowd as we wrapped up the bar scene and got ready to go home. BUT noooooooo! Henry, the director asked me if I could stay another two hours to do one more scene uptown?! Given the sexual predilection of the existing atmosphere, I began to stutter. Uh… w-w-hat was the scene? H-h-ow far uptown?? (Why me?)

"We make you judge”! (Oh good… my “older guy” status had paid off. I'd be doing a "featured role".) And as the gay guys left, it was me and the girls and one other guy packed into the movie van, zipping along the FDR drive chatting about acting schools, method, Meisner, Stanislavski, Brad Pitt, Nicolas Cage, Dustin Hoffman and having a great pseudo-thespian time. Mariko was ordering “lunch” for us from a fancy Japanese restaurant. We arrived at a church (what else is new) near 1st Avenue and 88th Street, where we snuck quietly in the back, past the main sanctuary, where some services were being conducted. (I realized on my subway ride home later, from looking at the darkened foreheads of the passengers, that it was Ash Wednesday .) We went down some winding stairways, up a rickety old elevator to the 3rd floor and opened an aging door to a dilapidated gym. Aging... dilapidated... I knew I was in the right place.

The scene was Madonna’s high school days – she was doing cheerleading. But there was one thing missing:

“MAKEUP-oh!”


Madonna needed to have “arm-pit hair”. This was a real scream. The ticklish application kept her laughing in stitches while the rest of us were rolling on the floor every time she raised her “cheer-leading arms”. Then came the “judges scene”… just as "lunch" had arrived at 9:PM. A stack of warm goodies (a.k.a. motivation) were waiting for us on the table across the gym while we, the 2 judges, were seated as Madonna pleaded with us to let her in to dancing school. My role was to tic-toc my index finger and say “Not this time!”… then wave her to leave.

They shot the scene from every inanely significant angle and finally kiai-ed the word we were all waiting for -so we could eat…

“CUT-oh!”

We grabbed our dishes and dug in. Very tasty, very good… but the crew was not eating!?
They were packing franticly. And inside of a couple of minutes we were asked to leave (apparently they only rented the space for a short time and evacuating it was of paramount import). Damn! I had to rush eating (hate that) and didn’t get the chance to finish the rice. I scrambled, packed up my stuff and felt the rush of freezing weather around me as I exited the house of peace all by myself, carrying the unfinished dish of rice. No ride was offered to the railroad… in fact they had all evaporated like ninjas… the job was done. It was back to Japan for them because, as I found out – it would air this Saturday! Wow… these guys are fast. Perhaps too fast, because they never asked us to sign any wavers. I guess it's not needed in Japan? Visions of vast amounts of Japanese yens for residuals went through my dreamscape... as I foresaw the eventual favorable outcome of an international law suit: "RUSS vs. TV-ASAHI" for unauthorized use of my image. As it turned out, eventually the whole documentary was put on YOUTUBE.com and I got paid fifty bucks from Henry. ( Flashback to 1991: I was at a tech-fair in my former job, where a couple of celbrity look-alikes were posing... one of them was Madonna-con-mia.)


During my walk to the Lexington Avenue subway station, all I could think about was plotting out how I could find a place to sit and enjoy the rice. But as my five block walk-of-obsession progressed, I realized how the cold weather would affect it and how the taste and consistency would turn it into an unappetizing clump… but I still wanted it and began scheming about how I’d be eating it on the train… and then a kind of zen moment pervaded my primal instincts for the gluttonous goal of my culinary satisfaction… and I realized that I ‘wanted it way too much”… and that there was something wrong in that. So I stopped at the nearest trash can –and let it go.

I had found my own translation and solved the koan of “CUT-oh”.

It's called WEBcasting

My first initiation (there's something redundant about that expression) into the world of making movies for the Internet dealt with the concept of “product placement”. It would be a “Sex in the City” type of series wherein a couple of women search for the “perfect man”. Hence the name of the series: “IN MEN WE TRUST”. When completed, people watching the show on the web could click on the actors’ clothes and get immediate information about it’s brand name and where it could be purchased -in addition to which, they could also have selections on how the story ends. Very innovative… but unproven.

The shoot was in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn, on the corner of 8th Avenue and 16th Street –a church (why don’t they shoot more movies in synagogues, or mosques, or Buddhist shrines…?). We were given a morning call to get there an hour even earlier than the original call time… the old hurry up and wait routine again –I knew better. Parking was brutal in Brooklyn so I had to cruise around for 40 minutes before I found a spot –thereby arriving at my original call time.

Our extras holding area was downstairs in a chilly, albeit finished basement where we bantered about movies, politics, paint-ball adventures, celebrity-gossip, martial arts, cabbie stories, and constantly grabbed snacks off the Kraft-table. After stuffing my face with jelly-beans, m&m’s, pretzels and power bars… we were pleasantly surprised by Kelsey, the casting PA, who suddenly announced that we were getting “lunch money”… and that we could go out for 45 minutes to eat lunch. Great… except that it was only 11 in the morning and most of us weren’t very hungry after all the munching. Later I’d go out and scout the neighborhood for something other than a slice of pizza or a hero sandwich. I found Lailah, a Greek-run middle-eastern restaurant that also provided for take-out food. Perfect! I blew my lunch money right then and there on a "combination plate".

Four hours had passed without any activity for most of us. No wonder they called it “holding”. Then a walkie-talkie call blared off of Kelsey's lapel to send two actors "upstairs" for background. Upstairs was a room decked out as a horticultural display. Tatiana Pavlova was the director in the center of a bunch of lights and various assistants. She appeared to be a dark-haired discerning young woman with a calm, Russian accent. Her directions were gentle but specific. The scene showed two geeky males and two ditzy women sitting around a table and having a “double entendre” conversation about the plants:

“Gooseberries… they love to reproduce!” (hyuk, hyuk)

My role was that of a horticulturist, inspecting a plant in the background. Another horticulturist would come over and we’d compare our “stalks”. Cheeeesy!
The whole thing took only a couple of minutes, and then it was back down into the basement… for another couple of hours of male-bonding (the women were smart and steered clear of us) until we were released.

Pay: $40.
Lunch: $8.50
Getting the heck out of there: priceless

I took the Belt Parkway in order to get to the location this morning, but now I decided to return home by way of the longer BQE, even though it was going to be during the busy rush-hour trek back to my house. And although it took me two hours to get home, I considered it a “peace-of-cake” after the “wait-training” production I’d just come away from. They wanted me to return and do it again Sunday in lower Manhattan for the late hours of 3:PM to 4:AM in the morning!

I think I’ll have to sleep... or coma... on that decision.

Oh the HORROR

A chopped off arm here… some bloody make-up there… a chained up guy in the basement… and you’ve got the right ingredients for yet another banal horror movie.

So it was with the Adelphi student thesis film production (ERIE ROAD) in Queens –as good a place as any for me to depict the patriarch of a cannibalistic family. My funkiest line: "Show us what you're made of son... I can taste him already! (accentuated by evil laughter)". Other gems were aimed at an unexpected young visitor: "Can we have YOU for dinner?"

Fortunately, lunch was nothing less than 10 boxes of pizza. Which reminded me of my first horror movie a few years ago (2003) with the director Jeff Lieberman. Jeff had done underground horror cult movies like SQUIRM and BLUE SUNSHINE in the 70’s and then kind of faded away until someone from Microsoft apparently funded him for SATAN'S LITTLE HELPER (possibly in hopes of producing a profitable spin-off video game). I spent 3 midnights in Westchester wearing a ghoulish outfit while dancing to the tune of "Play That Funky Music Whiteboy".

There were a lot of extras with some outrageous makeup and we passed the time chit-chatting while mountains of pizza boxes were being delivered as our breakfast, lunch and dinner meals. The principals, Amanda Plummer, Jeff, et al were eating catered pasta and chicken (I still dislike that class division crap). But I snuk around to the place where the good food was and helped myself when no one was there -then all of a sudden, I came face to face with Jeff Lieberman himself. I extended my hand to greet him but he was already munching on some greasy chicken and couldn't find a napkin to wipe up for the customary salutation... so we segued out of the "Seinfeld moment" by attempting some light conversation about another horror movie director I once knew.

"Do you know Sam Sherman? He does Dracula-type of horror movies..."
"No."

"Ummm, would you mind if I took your picture?"
"Amm..."

CLICK!!!

A short-lived private exchange that exuded the epitome of awkward moments. There really wasn't much to talk about. It was more fun being with the other extras, clowning around and exchanging war stories. One heavy-set guy claimed to be psychic and proclaimed that this Westchester mansion was "definitely haunted". He may have had a point. While strolling around the mansion, I took some pictures outside and later realized that I had "captured" the image of a "light orb". These apparations are supposed to be pre-ghost energy sources... or some inexplicable type of camera lens refraction. Neither explanation has been proven -so far.

Fortunately, nothing scarry happened throughout the shoot. Not fortunate enough however, for Lieberman, for whom the only venue for the film was to be at Tribeca and the Horror Film Festival... after which SLH seemed to have gone the way of his other movies: cult oblivion. Apparently there was no mass distribution. Guess I'll wait for the DVD version... Is Satan cold yet?

3 Shows with 3 friends

Went to see Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Savion Glover and The Harlem Globetrotters this month. My wife and I saw them with 3 separate friends with whom we experienced three somnambulistic reactions. LBM at the Tilles Center started out great with their deep-toned syncopation -and then slowly, as the night progressed, managed to put us into a trance state. We, and the rest of the audience, were waiting for some of the Paul Simon collaborations but only one was sung -and all the other tunes were great only if you happened to want to meditate. Our friend Barbara fell asleep and hallucinated. Our African experience at the off-Broadway show, Drumstruck, was the exact opposite. Everyone in the audience got a drum and no one, but I mean NO ONE, got a chance to so much as blink. The activity was frenetic and energetic.

Savion Glover at the B. B. King Blues Club was inexhaustible. His tap-dancing banter with the jazz band on the stage was a remarkable feat (no pun intended) of musical communication. But even here, after a while (close to two hours), we started to feel the repetition of the rhythmic steps and began to wish that there were other elements to the show . The more I watched Savion, the more I compared him to Gregory Heinz... and the more I realized that his steps were "heavier" than Gregory's. Gregory's moves were so much "lighter" and effortless. Savion's steps were loud and "stomped out", pressed hard into the stage floor. Andrea, our friend, became bored. The customary applause was provided and we quietly left the place with the other 200 "tourists" and emptied out onto the welcome chill of 42nd Street. En route to the train, I stopped off at one of the other theaters and what appeared to be "mysterious behaviour" on my part to our friend Andrea and my wife, soon became a remarkable exhibition of faith. I had lost my hat in here, about 8 months ago, and decided to take a chance that it might have been found and remarkably stored for my eventual arrival. AND, it was! Now THAT was exciting.

My wife got 4 free tickets to see The Harlem Globetrotters at Nassau Colleseum -so we asked Arnie and Harriet to come with us to the extravaganza. These guys were good... even though all the basketball clowning was staged... the acrobatics were GREAT! Many cute interactions with the kids from the audience as well as one funny "kiss and tell" adult-moment. We particularly enjoyed the Hot Boys' acrobatic trampoline basket-stuffings. These three guys were unbeliveable in their precise coordination during the half-time show. Globie, the clown was filling in the gaps between periods as "it" pranced around the court for laughs. Yet here too, our friend, Arnie, was "sawing Zzzzzz's"!?! Oh well, maybe the spicy pizza after the show will get him going -one way or another.

... did someone say Winter doldrums?

FASHION SHOW at Bryant Park

SMILE! And she did -avec plaisir...

The invitation-only-tents went up as soon as the freebie-skating-rink was disassembled -and all this week, the center of NYC, Bryant Park, would concern itself with introducing the FALL fashions of 2006 (even though it was still early February). Since my Thursdays are involved with going through this area, I decided to do my paparazzo thing and click some pix of whomever I deemed to be "interesting".


Although my mother was a dressmaker / designer, I never got too involved, but tagged along with her as a kid and got to know a little about the glitzy industry. Descriptions of "EMPIRE" and "A-LINE" dresses with "satin and organza" still echo colorfully through my gray matter. Unfortunately, I'm quite ignorant about constructing clothes or recognizing faces of the fashion-world's who's who -other than the big names of Lagerfeld, Klein, Wang and Mizrahi. On numerous occasions I've walked across Fashion Avenue's embedded brass discs with commemorative engravings to the likes of the classic greats -and so I know their names (Rudi Gernreich, Coco Chanel, Donna Karan, Betsey Johnson, et al) but could never recognize them by face. Nonetheless, whenever I see a fashion show, I think of my mother and it brings pleasant childhood memories of her entourage of customers being fitted for evening gowns in their underwear (and sometimes without their underwear)!


I've only done modeling once... so far. It was for a NYU Tisch Photography theme: JADED BUSINESSMAN. The photog's idea had something to do with a young minotaur being very active in a sleezy bar, while I sat "bored and barely involved" in the center with a bearded aquaintance of mine as we nursed our drinks. It was interesting to see the photog-crew "jell the lights" with all sorts of magenta-type colors. I also got some beautiful photo copies out of it... and an entry into my resume.

And back in 1990, while tracking through the booksigning routes of celebs, Annie Leibovitz was promoting her 1970-1990 collection -which I promptly bought (love her stuff). And while standing on line for her to autograph it, I asked her to snap a picture of me with my handy-dandy-off-the-shelf-instamatic-camera. And SHE DID! She was a really good sport about it, saying, "Yeah -sure...gimme that camera... where's the shutter release...?!". I loved it. A real collector's item.

Not exactly runway work...