Postcards from the cattle call.

I love Craig's List.

Entourage posted a notice for an open call - they were looking for 'model types' to do background work (note for non-film industry readers: an 'open' call means anyone can show up, regardless of union status, representation or lack thereof. Most casting calls are not open, and one must be referred by one's agent in order to get in).

Casting calls, while a necessary evil, can be extremely tedious. One sits in an uncomfortable chair for hours, watching a parade of people who all start to look and sound alike after the first 20 minutes. At the end of the day, one ends up with a stack of photos of a bunch of people who all continue to look alike despite the notes on the bottom of the photos ("Good energy!" "Seems fairly sane" "Bad read but looks great").

The Blonde hasn't had to cast as much as I have, so although she didn't understand my motivation for attempting to avoid it at all costs, she did understand the saving money and time part by not doing this ourselves, and we do use the same 'type' quite a bit.

We swung by the casting call, scoped out some of the women and collected phone numbers, and then left. The Blonde was bummed because there were no model-type guys (so was I, actually. Eye candy's never a bad thing).


I bowed out of the Grammy party at Paramount, mainly because I'm still really tired, but I'm also under the gun with this next project and have to work on it.

Okay, fine. I didn't have the energy to get dressed up and deal with the cluster fuck.

Plus music industry people give me indigestion (no offense to any music industry people who happen to be reading. Of course I didn't mean you).

The Blonde called last night from the party and said it was fun.