I'm on "The Sopranos" today, which they say is a big deal, since they usually shoot in New York. So, it's a once-in-a-lifetime chance akin to a Smurf getting pregnant or seeing Catherine Zeta-Jones on a bad hair day. I don't care, since I've never watched "The Sopranos," but I'm in a pretty good mood. We'll see if that continues five hours from now.
This was a night shoot, so I had vast amounts of time to arrive, but just before I was ready to leave, it started to rain. Rain, you see, is like Kryptonite to a Los Angeleno, impairing their already retarded ability to drive and causing more accidents than bad baby formula.
I've never liked being late for things, probably because I so often am. I was due on set at 4:00, and around 3:50, with at least twenty minutes more of my fifteen minute drive to go, a strange thing happened: a sense of peace and well-being washed over me, a calming sensation like drinking your problems away or sleeping in your childhood bed again. As the minutes ticked by and I found myself no closer to my destination, instead of worry, panic, and rage, sweet, warm apathy covered me like Gramma's blanket. I just didn't care. When I parked my car, went into a building I thought was home base, and found out I was far from the right address, I shrugged and started over agai. When I couldn't get over to head west on Santa Monica Boulevard and the guy in the Beemer behind me actually SPED UP as I moved into his lane, a surreal sense of unimportance filled my being.
Finally, I found where the shoot was, but crewmembers ignored me when I asked where to park. I discovered the basecamp eventually, and made my way to the check-in point. By now, I was nearly an hour late, and I semi expected to get sent home, but didn't care about it one way or another. Well, they didn't give me a hard time, but one of the A.D.s laughed at me because I used the word "part" in conjunction with what I do. "Your 'part?' That's funny, kid," he actually said, and because I was in my good mood, I didn't call him a giant schlong, but laughed at myself along with him.
The shoot was pretty uneventful, though it was rainy, uncomfortable and entirely pointless. I mean, at no point did we encounter or interact with any of the "Sopranos" gang, but we couldn't even see the camera (and ZuZu's teacher always says, "If you can see the camera, the camera can see YOU."). There were a couple of insanely hot chicks there, more than one decked out in cocktail/premiere dresses. One poor blonde hottie had a black see-through dress that kept getting wet and stepped on. Her suffering helped me get to sleep that night, however.
I was playing a valet, but at no point did I park a car or even get someone's keys. Though we did a Kubrickian number of takes, it was all for naught, since we were far, far away from the action being filmed.
The highlight of the evening, besides staring, slack-jawed at a babe named Andrea, was learning how to play Spades with three other valets (or rather, re-learning how to play, as I was taught a few years before dinosaurs roamed the earth and I had forgotten). In the middle of the second game, a P.A. asked if anyone wanted to go home, and I and my Spades partner volunteered.
And that was it, I changed out of my valet's uniform, got in my car, and drove on home. Barely worth mentioning, really.
Carefree Rish Outfield
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