Friday, June 29, 2007
I hate models
I often get called to these cattle-call commercial auditions, which often attract a mix of actors and models. You can tell the two apart pretty easily. The actors are friendly, chatting each other up about recent shows or reading plays or books, and carrying a single (often black-and-white) head shot. The models carry "comp cards," sit stony-faced, content to stare into space for more than an hour with nothing to occupy them other than their cell phone. Plus they're abnormally tall and good looking.
And the women! I guess I haven't been down to Rush Street or other such tacky nightspot type place in a while, but according to the woman models I audition with, the definition of "sharp" or "festive New Year's Eve wear" is really, really short shorts in bright greens and fuchsias paired with 3-inch heels that have straps that wrap halfway up the calf and some type of lingerie up top.
Plus they're annoying. They ask you questions but don't listen to the answer. They gripe and grouse. And this chick the other day behind me in line couldn't seem to turn her head without her mid-back-length corkscrew curls whipping around and smacking everything within a three-foot radius. Including me.
I would take a picture, but I just learned that even when my phone is fully muted, it makes that loud shutter sound, probably to prevent people like me (or worse) from surreptitiously snapping photos and posting them on the Interwebs.
Pictured above instead is a pretty sunset from last night. I got my longest ride in yet on the new bike -- 12 miles roundtrip -- spoiled only by John Mayer's pretentious warblings.