i got called in by phil my commercial agent to do an audition for valtrex. you know -- the herpes medication. everyone's seen those commercials: young, attractive people relaxing in the sun and chatting in this intimate confidential tone about what they didn't know about their STD. i'm thinking, whatever. it's a national commercial. getting one would be like winning the lotto. i'm not imagining what i'd do with the money anymore. i'm just trying to get good at auditioning on-camera.
that goodness starts with how i look. i stood in the bright shining daylight of my bedroom window like a soldier and put on enough make-up to make it look like i didn't have on any make-up (which is a special skill, especially for someone that's as heavy-handed as i am -- thanks to all the theater i've done over the years) and then i skipped down to 10th Ave. when i got there, the place was packed with young urban hipsters. by that, i mean those attractive, trendy, mostly twenty-something city dwellers that always look slightly distracted as a rule yet somehow never fail to throw shade. i'm thinking, whatever. this hasn't even started and it's over because you ain't got what i got and i don't want what you have. it's so wrong to be done with the room when you walk in. wrong. but necessary.
the valtrex commercial was a breeze. i came out in no time and whaddya know? the hoarde was still there, milling about and struggling to not look at me. what in the world are they auditioning for? i thought. brylcreem? as it turns out, it was all about iPod. i was running late to meet simone and her little girl in midtown, so i called my agent to make me an appointment for the next day. why not? i'm as hip as anyone in that room. and i'm not just telling myself that so i can get hyped up to do the audition. i really am.