Pants up. It ain’t as good as it sounds.
My trials began on the 18th when my Dear Old Mum landed at LAX just before midnight. United had bumped her twice and I have no doubt if there weren’t a grandchild in the picture she would have said screw it and gone home.
As it was, we arrived home at 1:30 in the morning Sunday after we finally exhumed her luggage from the United boneyard.
We had a nice President’s Day lamenting the current lack of same and then Tuesday morning The Wife flew off to DC on business for four days and The Kid got sent home from school with infections in both ears.
I said workplace non-friendly things and dropped out of “Big News” for the week and took turns with Grandma soothing and administering antibiotics and kiddie kold drugs. The Kid took it well.
Friday rolled around and The Wife announced she was flying back from DC with laryngitis which, by the time she landed, had turned into a full-on sinus infection. More antibiotics were acquired and Grandma wisely got the hell out of Dodge.
On the brighter side, I had a last-minute audition for a Comcast spot for which all concerned were magnificently unprepared. The Persons In Charge evidently decided it would be great to have every improv/sketch comic in LA show up for this “Benny Hill Meets Independence Day” thing in which lots of crazy people run around in lots of crazy costumes.
Sadly, all my group was told was “We’re looking for people who do sketch, y’know, like Monty Python.”
So four of us show up wearing suits and casual attire to a waiting area filled with drag queens, “Little People”, and one guy with a full “Knight and Squire Riding a Dinosaur” costume that said to even the most casual observer “Get your non-wacky ass out of my audition, you vanilla feeb.”
We ended up going in and improvising a few things and chasing some poor Blonde Bikini Babe-for-hire around a room that made it feel even more sad and amoral than it was. Many thoughts occurred, among them:
1. “But I’m a feminist!”
2. “Do I even mention this to my wife who went to Bryn Mawr?”
3. “Please, God, let her be getting paid for this.”
4. “How much must pretty blonde babes in this town hate each other? I mean, any other place in the world and these women could have gladiators chopping each other to bits for the chance to drink their bathwater. In LA they are mere wall-paper, as memorable as a cloud in Seattle.”
5. “Should I tip?”
Our Bikini Blonde gave her full name to the camera before stripping down to something that was more an idea of a bikini than it was actual cloth. All I can remember was that her first name was “Shari.”
(sp?)
The best part of the whole experience, other than the peace that comes with knowing there’s no way in Hell you’re getting hired for this one, was seeing Deborah Theaker in the lobby.
When I first got to LA Deb was one of my teachers at the Second City franchise out here. She made what otherwise would have been a nearly total waste of time something really enjoyable and useful.
My Second City LA experience is a whole ‘nother animal and should be the subject of a separate post.
Someday.
Anyway, Deb’s just one of those amazingly talented yet equally cool humans we sometimes get to run into. She’s also, justifiably, one of Christopher Guest’s go-to talents for every movie he does. Consider this to be my latest recommendation. Go through the Guest Canon and watch Deb do her thing.
I’ll set up a PayPal link so you can thank me later.
And yeah, if Comcast offers the gig I’m taking it. It’ll help pay my Comcast bill.
