Thrice a Vomit Then a Show

Yesterday was a single hoot. Possibly even a double. Someone had canceled for a gig last minute, and I was asked if I could step in for them. It was a paid gig involving a hot dog eating contest, so I of course said yes. Remember that calories in LA are expensive. So I show up and learned that if I had already eaten two slices of pepperoni pizza for breakfast, as I had before I received the notification regarding this gig, I can eat precisely five hot dogs (and two bottles of water I think) before I projectile vomit not once, not twice, but thrice. Then I kept trying to eat, which alotted me a bonus $25 gift card as a "Spirit Award" for pushing through, even though there was truly no reason to do so apart from the need to perform.

Then I had an audition to record. I have found a place in a parking garage nearby that has bouts of relative quiet and a blank wall. The lighting is not great, but decent enough for the task. Or so I assume, though maybe it will keep me from getting booked. In any case, my insides were still working through the enormous input of food and water and the instability of the intestinal tract that inevitably follows a round of emesis, so I had a headache and felt less than ideal for the next few hours. This was a shame, because that night, I had a show. I wrote a song for the first time over this past month, along with standup about my friend's testicular cancer diagnosis (and removal). My intention had been to spend the day workshopping and memorizing what I had written, but my body had finally begun to earnestly decline approaching further cognitive efforts, and I thus was still reading from my script when I performed. It was alright, but like most times I have performed, I felt like it was sorely lacking.

After writing the above paragraph, I texted a writer/director friend about filming a comedy special, partly as a way to raise capital on the cheap. He is interested. Braining some storm about that now.

It could be so, so fun.

Technically Sustainable

I wrote a song on ukulele to accompany a standup set about my friend's ball testicular cancer. I am still unsure about how audiences will handle jokes about a cancer survivor, but in my defense, my friend and I were pretty immediately joking about it, even when things were uncertain. What spurred me on to actually write standup about it was the fact that that friend posted on social media a PSA to check yourself for lumps. I do not do it with regularity, which is dumb, so hopefully I can make this and other medical PSAs.

I have been going through my old xanga blog posts and apart from being horrified at how I spelled some words ("schedual"), I reference a girlfriend named Tasha multiple times. Since I have never had a girlfriend, I wonder if this is a repressed memory or a bit. I am leaning toward the latter, though knowing me, I might never actually explain it in the blogs.

New strategy since getting back to LA is to focus on doing background work to make money. You get to be on set, eat from crafty, and (barely) be on camera for a little bit. And it can pay $100+ a day, which is about as good a rate as a lot of other roles these days. You meet people and basically hang out. And if I can get enough of these gigs lined up, even just one every week or two, that might be enough to cover my overhead. Did one last week, and I have another one booked for Monday.

I have officially signed the paperwork to be co-executive producer for two pilots. I met the writer/director/producer through another project, and have since been going over the scripts with him and offering to help however I can. For myself, the script noting was, at baseline, a good exercise for me to do. But for him, especially for the dark noir pilot, the notes resulted in a rewrite of the second half of the pilot, and the introduction of a character intended to be played by me. Recurring role baby! He is chasing after funding, and I am trying to connect him to talented but undiscovered friends.

He set a deadline to get funding for October, which is, what, six weeks away. What is nuts is that if we do get funding, I will go from living in my mom's car in a parking garage to making six figures next year as co-executive producer. $50k per episode, and even at the low end of the projections for return on investment in the financial plan, I would literally become a millionaire. Crazy. Of course, because I am loving my current situation, my brain currently thinks that I should pocket the money rather than spend, what, half of it on rent. But maybe that opinion will change when I am not poor. I spend so much time writing that really, I imagine just traveling more. I daydream a little about going back to Isle of Skye just to write for a couple weeks. It was an incredible place. But then again, I could see myself going to any number of places around the world, including new spots, in the same way.

In the meantime, I will assume that such an idealized financial situation is beyond my grasp. Keeping working and writing, keep honing skills.