It Sho Am Hot!

If August is the "dog days of Summer", then I can assure you that Mother Nature has released the hounds. It is crazy hot here today. If I may quote Matthew Broderick in Biloxi Blues, and why couldn't I, "it's Africa hot." While I have never been to the "dark continent" I can appreciate the sentiment. Since I'm throwing out all kinds of weather related cliches, let me also add this little nugget, "it's not the heat, it's the humidity." I concur.

Not only is the temperature somewhere in the mid nineties, the humidity is about 600 percent. "That's impossible" you may say. I say shut up and prove me wrong. I opened my door this morning and instead of being in my picturesque back yard, I was in a sauna. I'm serious, there were hairy old men in towels and everything. A Russian was ladling water onto my pink flamingos to create more steam. I felt like I walked into a wall of sweat. It's miserable.

"Daughter" doesn't want to venture outside any more today. I took her to band practice and we ran some errands, and now she's down in the basement, sitting in the dark, in a loose caftan trying to lower her body temperature. I feel I should regale her with tales of my own over heated childhood. We didn't get air conditioning at my parents house until I was about ten. Summer in Chicago is a horrible time of year as far as humidity goes. The heat is bad too. I spent my formative years sweating like Rosie O'Donnell at a pie eating contest. My brothers and I would lay in our beds melting into the mattresses, creating our own shrouds of Turin, on a nightly basis. Finally, whether by chance, or sheer force of will, I developed powerful allergies and the doctor told my parents it was either cool the house artificially, or endure non-stop mucus for three months. Miraculously they chose cool air. It was always a chore to get my mom to actually turn on the A/C, since running it meant a higher bill. Unfortunately, for a long time I too gave into budgetary restrictions, then one day I realized that I was too old, soft and worked too hard to suffer. Now my house is like a meat locker. I keep all the blinds closed, and the air cool. It's like I live in a cave, but that's fine with me.

I promised "Wife" that I would smoke some meat for dinner tonight. That will entail three hours outside. I guess all the sweat will be good for my youthful complexion. I wonder what the neighbors will think of the sight of me in a Speedo, and a sombrero, sitting on a fifty pound block of ice while I tend to my slow cooked meat. That last part sounded dirty, but you know what i mean. Stay cool. Later....Brian

There's No Biz Like Show Biz

****WARNING*** The following may contain : whining, bitching, complaining and may contribute to your disillusionment with the entertainment industry. If that doesn't bother you, let's get to it.

You've heard the old joke about the guy following the elephants in the parade and having to shovel their s**t. When someone asks him why he doesn't quit he answers incredulously, "What, and give up show business?" I understand the sentiment, but after yesterday, I was tempted to put down the shovel after hours of wallowing in the muck.

As you may know, I am quite the media gadfly. Hold on, it's hard to think when my tongue is so firmly jammed in my cheek. That's better. While I may not be a superstar, I have done a fair amount of work in various mediums and consider myself a professional. I have usually been treated as such and always tell people that doing TV, commercials, comedy or radio is "nice work if you can get it." With that in mind, I was a bit excited when my agent, (look at me getting all show business on your ass) called and asked if I wanted to be part of a Bon Jovi music video. My first concern was that I had no booty shorts or halter tops and since I couldn't do gymnastic moves on the hood of a moving car, this might not be the job for me. I was comforted by the news that I would be playing a construction worker. Blue collar types, thugs and funny dads seem to be my stock in trade when it comes to this kind of work. The money wasn't great, but it sounded like fun, and since I knew that bands always perform in their videos, I hopped at the chance to hang with Bon Jovi. (the money being less than great precluded "jumping" at the opportunity)

I could write an endless dissection of the video experience, but that would only get me angrier than I was when I finally got home last night, and that wouldn't be good for anyone. Add in the fact that it might seem insignificant to you and I will keep the proverbial long story short. The video was being shot in some tiny hamlet Northwest of the city. It took me over two hours in horrible traffic to get there, but that was OK. Normally on any set (that's what we in the business call where everything takes place) there is an area set up with food and beverage for the cast and crew. To my surprise, the food was kept behind yellow police tape (no, I'm not kidding) with a sign that said "Crew Only". I never begrudge the crew their due. They work hard, but I've never had a production company keep the "talent" away from all means of sustenance. Let's move this along. The video contains a scene of a traffic jam. The scene necessitated a large number of cars, impatient drivers, four construction workers (hey, that's where I come in), a deserted stretch of road and a hot chick in a convertible. It took about two and a half hours to get all the cars situated and out to the stretch of road. Guess where I was for those two and a half hours? Standing in 95 degree heat on the side of a gravel road, that's where. The four of us were taken out to the closed off road and left there with a couple crew members. There was no water, no shade, no chairs and no bathrooms. The entire ordeal lasted over six hours. I stood on the side of that road all day in the blazing sun. My head was so red, I could have been the poster boy for matches. No one cared that one of the guys got heat stroke and had to lay in a van all day People were sitting in parked cars sweating like Britney Spears in parenting class. Water was in short supply, and we had to beg for it. As far as going to the bathroom, hold it or go in the bushes so the whole group can see. At one point, someone showed up with small pieces of some veggie sandwich, but when any of the cast asked for one, they were told that the tasty morsels were just for the crew. When we were finally brought back to the holding area, instead of letting us go, since they were done with us, we were kept over an hour longer. This was so we could finally enjoy some of the food that they had now decided to give us. Trust me, I would have rather been sent home an hour earlier instead of being kept until the start of rush hour.

"Hey Brian. Hold on a second. You're so busy whining, you didn't tell us how cool it was to hang with Bon Jovi. Do they really give love a bad name? Did they show up riding their steel horses? Was there any mention of Tommy and if he ever got to go back to work on the dock. Did they have a nice day after traveling the lost highway?" Hell no! After we got there, we were informed that the band had shot their performance stuff the day before. Low money, sunburn and no Bon Jovi. It was a misery trifecta. I finally made it home after another two hour commute of the damned, vowing to head butt my agent for even calling me with this.

I know a lot of this may sound petty to you, but there are certain things you expect with any job. I'm sure when you go to work, there are certain standards you demand, like access to a bathroom for instance or some protection from harmful elements. Wanting something to drink isn't being a diva, it's keeping yourself alive.

Wow, I feel a little better. Sometimes you just need to vent, and you need someone to listen. Even if you don't listen, at least I got to vent. By the way, I'm in a nice cool room, with a drink by my side and I'm off to use the bathroom. As Bon Jovi says "This is the story of my life." Keep Cool. Later...Brian