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spacechild and I went to an Irish pub near my house, a really nice place even if a tad overpriced. I think I've found a new hang-out. I may bring my laptop over there some night, find a corner, get a pint, and just relax to the live music and get writing.
Anyway, Danny and I are chatting away as we do, geeking out about horror movies and the like. I'm showing him the first rough sketches my artist Stacy has sent me for THE ADVENTURES OF BUB AND JOHNNY GO, so we're going on about that. Even though we're both exhausted, when we're together we somehow manage to find all this geek energy. You know how it is.
So we're going on like this and I keep noticing this older man at the bar, early 50's, keep glancing over at us. Over at *me*, actually. And after some time has passed, he says, "I don't mean to eavesdrop, I couldn't help hearing snippets of your conversation. I'm curious, what do you do for a living?"
I said, "I'm a writer and an actor."
He asked what kind of writing, and I said novels, stage plays, short stories, comics, and memoirs. He then asked what kind of acting and I said, well, I do a lot of classical but I've done a lot of modern too. He asked me if I was any good, (to which the bartender, a sweet middle-aged woman, chastized him: "You're not supposed to ask an actor that question!") and I simply said, "Yeah, I think I am."
With the same odd smug smile he had the entire time, he says, "Next time someone asks that, the correct response is, 'I am if the role's right.'"
Which completely leaves me at a loss for a response, because, well, isn't that kind of assumed? But anyway, Danny and I get up to go to O'Leary's so we can afford some actual food, but before we go the guy says, "The reason I asked is because I just hired eleven actors today. I'm a producer for television, here's my card..."
The card read: WOODWARD PRODUCTIONS, Television Writing and Production Services, Bart Woodward.
He asked if I had any experience in anything other than stage acting. When I told him that I had not yet had any chances at film work, he said, "When you get a demo tape together, give me a call."
So yeah. On one hand, it's not often that job opportunities just drop into my lap. On the other hand, this guy was a 10 on the creep factor. I'm talking major child molestor type heebie hoobies. Maybe it was just how totally smug and pretentious he was. But then, if he's involved in acting or producing for a living, he probably would be.
A demo tape? How the hell am I gonna get one of those? And what the hell would be on it? What a weird ass night.
Oh, and later that same evening, a group of large trucker types at O'Leary's called me and Danny "ladies." Someone insinuated that I'm homosexual? In a bar?
Finally, I'M A MAN!
spacechild and I went to an Irish pub near my house, a really nice place even if a tad overpriced. I think I've found a new hang-out. I may bring my laptop over there some night, find a corner, get a pint, and just relax to the live music and get writing. Anyway, Danny and I are chatting away as we do, geeking out about horror movies and the like. I'm showing him the first rough sketches my artist Stacy has sent me for THE ADVENTURES OF BUB AND JOHNNY GO, so we're going on about that. Even though we're both exhausted, when we're together we somehow manage to find all this geek energy. You know how it is.
So we're going on like this and I keep noticing this older man at the bar, early 50's, keep glancing over at us. Over at *me*, actually. And after some time has passed, he says, "I don't mean to eavesdrop, I couldn't help hearing snippets of your conversation. I'm curious, what do you do for a living?"
I said, "I'm a writer and an actor."
He asked what kind of writing, and I said novels, stage plays, short stories, comics, and memoirs. He then asked what kind of acting and I said, well, I do a lot of classical but I've done a lot of modern too. He asked me if I was any good, (to which the bartender, a sweet middle-aged woman, chastized him: "You're not supposed to ask an actor that question!") and I simply said, "Yeah, I think I am."
With the same odd smug smile he had the entire time, he says, "Next time someone asks that, the correct response is, 'I am if the role's right.'"
Which completely leaves me at a loss for a response, because, well, isn't that kind of assumed? But anyway, Danny and I get up to go to O'Leary's so we can afford some actual food, but before we go the guy says, "The reason I asked is because I just hired eleven actors today. I'm a producer for television, here's my card..."
The card read: WOODWARD PRODUCTIONS, Television Writing and Production Services, Bart Woodward.
He asked if I had any experience in anything other than stage acting. When I told him that I had not yet had any chances at film work, he said, "When you get a demo tape together, give me a call."
So yeah. On one hand, it's not often that job opportunities just drop into my lap. On the other hand, this guy was a 10 on the creep factor. I'm talking major child molestor type heebie hoobies. Maybe it was just how totally smug and pretentious he was. But then, if he's involved in acting or producing for a living, he probably would be.
A demo tape? How the hell am I gonna get one of those? And what the hell would be on it? What a weird ass night.
Oh, and later that same evening, a group of large trucker types at O'Leary's called me and Danny "ladies." Someone insinuated that I'm homosexual? In a bar?
Finally, I'M A MAN!
