Tuesday, May 19, 2009
For years, I foolishly watched American television. I endured marathon sessions of Airwolf, Golden Girls and Magnum. I purchased my own copy of Gotcha, so as to replay the scenes where Anthony Edwards teaches Linda Fiorentino about Roots Beer floats and Big Macs. I would sit there, blurry-eyed from hours of study, absorbing as much as I possibly could, before passing out and being woken by the dog licking my face. As time went on, and we got satellite TV, I even sat through weeks of the first Iraq war on CNN, just to hear Wolf Blitzer's scholarly tones.
Little did I know that there was another, quicker and more effective way to learn an american accent; indeed, any American accent. The solution? Furniture. But not any kind of furniture. Oh no. You can't sit your ass down on a pine dining chair and expect a transformation. There's only one kind of material to help master an American accent. And that's wicker, my friends. Good old, time-trusted wicker. Like a good neighbor, wicker is there. Or maybe that's State Farm.
Anyways, I thought about getting an armchair and then I thought "Why not get the whiole dinette set, too?" So I did. Well, I tried to. Fact is, it's not furniture they're advertising, but paint. Spray paint. No matter. I bought a couple cans, but after a month spraying my throat with "ocean blue" and "matte black", I sound no more American than when I brought it home. Though I am sounding a little more hoarse. And the nausea's killing me.
But maybe that's how it starts! The transformation might already have begun. This will be handy at my next audition - I can just throw a can in my bag and have a quick pfffft before I go in! Gonna sign off and go spray again. I just wish I had a can of "pearl white". I could give myself a movie star smile at the same time!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
There are many strange and interesting sights on offer in a town such as Hollywood. Today, I offer you a glimpse of but two. Strolling to my local coffee shop, I passed this gentleman, lying sprawled on the sidewalk. Still recovering from a heavy night of drinking, no doubt. Returning home an hour or so later, the man was still prone and passed out. Or possibly dead. He did fit the very stereotype of a chalk-outlined corpse. And in that, I took some solace. If he was really expired, I am sure his position would have been far more ghastly.
The following day, en route to watch a certain film, I was accosted by 3 peculiarly dressed thugs. They were speaking in foreign tongue and brandishing weapons. As I passed by, they became aware of my presense. (Although, I suspect they were aware of me all along) I surreptitiously snapped this photo, before moving on. Only in the comfort of my home, hours later, did it hit me. These men were undoubtedly responsible for the sprawled man's demise!
Phew. Another lucky escape. You gotta watch Hollywood, people. Turn your back for a second and it'll stab you with a spork.