Hooray For Hollywood

Even though I was thousands of miles from California, on Monday and Tuesday I felt like I was back in Hollywood, rubbing elbows with the stars and hob-nobbing with show biz big wigs. As I told you Sunday night, I was shooting a little thing that industry insiders like to call a television commercial or "Spot". I love using industry jargon. It makes me seem less like a goof and more like a pompous jackass. I always prefer the latter.

I had told you I was going to be an extra in the spots and I was. What I didn't know was how good even the extras have it when working on a union commercial. What a life! I don't mean to brag, and if you don't want all the magic spoiled for you, leave now, but if you're still here...it is so cool! I got to the "set" for my "call time" (woo-hoo, more jargon) at eight Monday morning. We were shooting at a place called Teamster City. I knew there were a lot of Teamsters, but I never would have guessed they could populate an entire city. I was sent to the basement, and secretly hoped I was not about to meet some Hoffa-like fate. Once I checked in, I had to meet with the wardrobe lady who decided what I was going to wear. As an extra, I had to being my own clothes. The wardrobe lady was quite impressed with my stylish wardrobe and on both mornings told me what a "snappy" dresser I was. Of course I am. Do you think all this hunkiness happens by accident?

The days are long on commercial shoots. Monday we "worked" thirteen hours and Tuesday we put in nine. "Man, you must get hungry. Do you bring a lunch?" No way my uninformed pal. Per union rules, we are fed like freed hostages all day. When you arrive, there is a large truck where sweaty men make you whatever you desire for breakfast. All day, the holding area is stocked with delicious snacks. Then you have a gourmet lunch, more snacks, you vomit, then get back to work. For a business that is as image obsessed as television, you're stuffed like a veal calf all day long. I had written about there being a person whose sole responsibility was wiping my brow. That didn't happen on this shoot. We were all supposed to look hot and sweaty, so I actually had a woman dab "bag balm" on my face all day. That sounds like something I should be doing to a woman doesn't it? There's no way to make a bag balm joke without it sounding dirty, especially when dabbing and face are involved. I'm done with mine. You write your own.

I thought we were doing one or two spots, but it ended up being six commercials in all. I was very happy to learn that I was getting paid for each spot, not just per day. You gotta love the union. The best news came during the last shot on the last day. I was "upgraded" to a principal performer for the last commercial. That means, you'll get to enjoy my fine acting, and I'll get to enjoy the fine residuals every time that commercial runs. Did I mention I love the union.

The commercials are for Coors Light. You won't be able to miss them. They involve press conferences and I think you'll especially enjoy the one where a rather snappy dressed reporter lusts after someone's beer. The spots seem pretty funny and I'm hoping they run for a hundred years. Now it's back to my regular life. Nobody has snacks set out for me, and it doesn't look like I'll have any dealings with bag balm in the near future. Later...Brian