Even Lab Monkeys Get Paid Peanuts.

View of the Chrysler Bldg from 3rd Ave at 44th St (outside my office bldg).

So I've been temping as a receptionist for major international Jewish organization. The work is mind-numbingly easy: answer the phones, transfer the calls, sort some faxes. I spend the better flipping between NYTimes.com, Backstage, Gmail and Facebook.

Who am I kidding? I spend most of my day on Facebook.

But I also find time (between changing Facebook profile pictures) to send out headshots and schedule auditions. And I've booked some gigs in the last month: a couple of horror films, a new show for a cable network, and a reading of a play ('The Hebrew Hammer vs. Hitler') where I played Hitler and the Voice of God ("Is there a difference," a friend deadpanned to me) at Upright Citizen's Brigade.

Because the new TV show doesn't start airing until the end of July, I will, surprisingly, show a little discretion and not mention the name of the show or the epicurian network on which it will air, but I will give you the backstage tale of one day's shoot:

The listing was headed "Casting for a TV Series." The body of the call went like this:

Do you have an appetite for food… AND science? Are you game for anything? Then, [Production Company] is looking for you! We are casting for the roles of Food Techies to appear weekly in a major cable network series. Come one come all, males, females, identical twins! We are open to everyone! The parts are non-speaking and will require an adventurous spirit and a willingness to volunteer your taste buds for a vast array of fun, mad-capped, food-centered experiments. If you are interested, please forward your headshot and resume.

Simple and straightforward enough. I sent in my info and got an audition. I wasn't sure what to expect at the call but I prepped to be able to talk about my fave foods, restaurants, shows, etc.

I sat alone, waiting for my turn, and could hear the woman ahead of me being interviewed. It felt like cheating, but it was really free prep! I heard every question and set up. Excellent.

The videotaped part of the audition was really just answering questions about food, eating and food shows on TV... I talked about how I love of food and eating and quantum mechanics and String Theory and Anthony Bourdain... and then was asked for nonverbal facial reactions to tastes and flavors:

"Now show me 'bitter'..." and I'd make a face and suck my cheeks in a little... "How about something 'sweet'..." and I'd raise my eyebrows and give a goofy grin while licking my lips... "What about 'you just finished Thanksgiving dinner'..." and I let my eyes roll back a little and my mouth hung open to one side and I moaned a little... "That seems a little drunk." Well, I told him, you haven't had Thanksgiving with my family. And so the audition went.

A couple of days later I got a call and was asked if I wanted to be a 'Food Tech.' Sure, I said. Just show up in jeans was the instruction, we'll give you a t-shirt to wear.

"Great!" I thought. Test some exotic culinary concoctions, mug for the camera, draw a check. What I didn't realize was that I was hired as an on-camera lab monkey. With much, much less pay.

The first segment I shot was a test of whether 'double dipping' is just gross or an actual health hazard. The end of the day had the food techs all double-dipping into some French onion dip take after take. Gross, yes (especially since the sour cream started separating under the lights), but so far I haven't shown signs of Hepatitis.

This week I shot another segment on remedies for crying during onion cutting. First it was established that onions do, in fact, make people cry.

But our onions made no one cry. And I had spent minutes working on a sense memory!

So.... ACTION! We all start cutting our onions and crying imaginary, crocodile tears. (During which one poor girl nearly chopped part of her thumb when her dull knife jumped off the skin of the onion. She hid the wound, but the blood poured down her arm. She didn't want to seem 'difficult.' ) We chopped and diced take after take. No tears. The onions were just too weak. But have no fear. The producers were prepared for just such an emergency: liberal applications of Visine and menthol rub.

Visine we all know from our younger, partying days. Menthol is the active ingredient in Tiger Balm and Vick's Vapo-rub and Hall's (mentholated) cough drops and Newport cigarettes. As a topical ointment the oil acts as an analgesic, relaxing muscles and allowing blood flow. In all cases, keep away from eyes and mucous membranes.

In all cases except theatrical. Menthol sticks and Visine are old hat in The Industry.

So, I get swabbed first (of the four 'Food Techs). Inside corner of boths eyes. Outside corner of both eyes. And then a squirt of Visine. Whoo! The burn comes quick, then the tears. Makeup went down the line. (Both girls on the shoot had some allergic reaction to the Visine which made them look really good and teary on camera. Lucky bitches.) By the time we finished the next take, my eyes were red, but the tears were gone. No worries, quick reapplication takes care of that. Ooo hoo! Burn!

Action! Cut! Lunch!

After lunch, we shot the remedy segment. My remedy was placing a piece of bread in my mouth, which supposedly stops the oniony gasses from reaching the eyes. But that's an old wives tale. Tears still come, but not with our onions. Call in the swabs! A double dose this time, so I wouldn't run low on tears. Swab! Squirt!

"And keep your eyes closed until the camera is on you." A pro knows when the camera is on them, even with eyes closed.

ACTION!

I could barely open my eyes for the burning. But no worries -- tears flowed. And flowed and flowed.

CUT!

And flowed. And flowed. It was five minutes before I could really open my eyes again. All this with a piece of Wonder bread sticking out of my mouth.

But it was a good, if painful, time on set.

My compensation for 12 hours work, half of them with chemically swabbed eyes? Not even enough for an individual membership at MOMA.

. . .

And I was lucky. This day was a replacement shoot for a day shot at Coney Island, canceled due to extreme high temperatures (it was 105 with the heat index). The day at Coney Island supposedly involved amusement rides ridden to near sickness to test whether ginger actually relieves nausea. I'll take burning eyes to vomitting any day!

I just can't WAIT til they call again!

. . .

Thank God for all that classical training.

Lexi's SURPRISE Going Away Party in Central Park

Memorial Day in Sparta, NJ

We all went out to NJ to hang on Memorial Day.

The Fun Never Stops

One of my favorite eateries, Eisenberg's (on 5th Ave at 22nd St.), has a new special on the menu.

. . .

Scout shows off her fancy new haircut!

. . .

Now that we've settled (mostly) into life in Harlem, U.S.A., we finally had a little housewarming party last weekend. A bunch of friends came over and we all had a grand time!


Throughout the afternoon and into evening, I paced my way through (some of) a bottle of bourbon until I finally passed out for a tipsy nap on the couch after everyone had left.


One of the highlights of the event was Scout doing spit take after spit take with a bottle of Welch's grape soda. Evidently one of her friends had just taught her the fine art of blowing a spray of liquid and she couldn't get enough of it. Her face was stained purple from the effort. Now, for me, the spit take alone is just a purple punchline without a set-up. So some of the fellows on the fire escape took turns giving Scout adequate lines: "George Bush is the best president ever!" PPPPPPFFFFFFffffffffffzzzzbpb!!! "Did you hear? American Idol's been canceled??" PPPPPPFFFFFFffffffffffzzzzbpb!!!

. . .

Life in Harlem is good. The apartment is huge! (photos are on this blog or can be seen here.)


Kristina and I have our own bedroom for the first time in five years (we have been living in 1-BR apts for the last half decade). And we have graduated from the futon couch that has wrecked our backs for the last four years to an actual bed. A huge, comfy, queen-size piece of heaven. I look forward to going to bed every night in a way I never have. And Scout's room is easily a third larger than the LIVING ROOM in our last apartment.


One of my favorite features of the apartment is its proximity to some of the best shouting matches that urban neighbors can offer! There is one couple (I think it's one couple) that always seem to get to full voice around 1:30am.
It's difficult to understand every word being yelled, but one fight went something like this:

She: WHY YOU TALKIN TO THAT MOTHERFUCKIN NIGGAH BITCH MOTHAHFUCKIN FUCK FUCKIN GODDAMN NIGGAH BITCH!!!
He: Aw, baby, why you gotta be like this. Come on, I don't even know who you're talkin 'bout.
She: DON'T GIVE ME THAT BULLSHIT FUCKIN MOTHAHFUCKIN GODDAMN MOTHAHFUCKIN NIGGAH BITCH BITCH FUCKIN NIGGAH BITCH!!
He: I tol you I don't know who that bitch is! Come on, baby...
She: FUCKIN NIGGAH BITCH MOTHAHFUCKIN ASSHOLE -- GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!
He: Baby, I don't even know who that bitch is!
She: NIGGAH BITCH MOTHAHFUCKIN GODDAMN FUCKIN NIGGAH BITCH!!
He: Baby, baby... alright, alright... Are we gonna smoke weed now or what?


When he cut to the weed line, I knew he knew who that niggah bitch was and he probably deserved every word she threw.


One night, at about 1:45am some couple started yelling, kept it up for about 10 minutes, then a party erupted, dance music, crazy hip hop, people having a good time! So the music's going loud (!), it's past 2am and people are drinking and yelling and then in another room another party (or the same one in a different room), music on top of music going full out, laughing, talking, for another hour. And then: Quiet. Party over. It was a Wednesday night.

. . .

The "Scout Special" at Eisenberg's: Scrambled eggs, Chicken noodle soup, and hot chocolate (unlimited refills of whipped cream)

Pope Day at Yankee Stadium

Stop by the NYC Poker Underground and the Warmongerer-a-go-go shops at Cafepress!

The New Apt in Harlem USA

We are nearly unpacked, but not quite...

Will Work For... Whadayagot?

Let's see...my last post was dated July 14th. That was (Good God!) EIGHT months ago. So much has happened, which is partly the reason of my dilinquency (the other part was sheer laziness and some slight depression).

So let's rehash quickly:
July: turned 40. Let the Whiskey flow!
August: was a guest artist at LAByrinth Theater's Summer Intensive. My play "Jerusalem" was one of 35 plays workshopped and read during the two week excursion to Bennington College in Vermont (and shared a double bill with "A Streetcar Named Desire," directed by Philip Seymour Hoffman). Scout was in two readings and was fabulous! Kristina turned 40. Let the Xanax flow!
September: Scout started 6th grade at School of the Future. Let the middle school angst truely begin! Performed in "Patsy Stufflebean Meets The Kentucky Demon" (as the Kentucky Demon and the Storyteller") at the Saturday Night Saloon, performed the last Saturday night of the month from September to February. Much Fun!!
October: daily life as a poker dealer in Brooklyn continues (albeit, slowly).
November: daily life as a poker dealer in Brooklyn ends. My new life as an unemployed actor/writer in NYC begins in earnest.
December: Serious eviction notices arrive, with court dates and everything. Scout is in a play in LAB's Barn Series at the Public Theater. She is still fabulous! I am still unemployed.
January: Still unemployed.
February: At Housing Court, a deal is struck: Vacate the premises in ten days and the back rent and court costs are forgotten! Ten days later, we move. $12,000 in back rent and court fees is forgotten. Still out of work. Scout turns 12. Let the Estrogen flow!
March: Scout attends first official school dance. With a boy. Whom she had a crush on. I find a new friend in whiskey. Still out of work, but starting to book some small films for April.

. . .

Now we're caught up... almost.

I just finished shooting one film short, Hellion, a horror film in which I play the father of the babysitter and the father of the zombie child. And will wrap an NYU experimental film this week. I also booked a film short as the security guard which shoots in the next coupla weeks.
All this work is great and I'll be building a new reel with the footage.

For pay, I am registered with about six or seven temp agencies. I can't even remember which ones at this point. None have found me any gainful employment yet.
My two resumes are the $75,000/year resume and the $15/hour resume. With the 75k rez, I have been the perpetual bridesmaid (several places called to tell me how well I did only to add they hired someone else); and with the $15 rez I am the perpetually overqualified. (One temp agency woman told me, "We need a lot of Indians here, and all I see on your resume is Chief.")
So somewhere between not-quite-right-enough and waaaaaay-too-good is whereI've been straddled for the last half a year.
Best highlighting my experiences seeking work is my interviewed for Executive Director of an unnamed theater company back in January. They had recently refurbished a new facility for over $150,000 and were looking for someone to handle fundraising and oversee production and staff. Perfect, I thought. I submitted my resume and within a half hour, they called to meet me. The interview was going really really well. Really. The new space was beautiful. New lobby. Rehearsal studios. Offices.

They liked me and everything seemed to be forward moving. I knew the question was coming, so I started figuring how much I'd say when they asked what salary I wanted. $75,000 was probably too much, but about right; so I figgered I'd ask for $50k to start with some sort of incentive package or something. And I was willing to accept anything down to $35,000.

Then the bomb dropped. "You realize," she started, "that this position starts with no pay, right?"

I did not, I replied cooly.

So, technically, I could have had a job a few months ago, if I were willing to work for no pay.
I already have a career like that.

On the plus side, I am writing this blog today from work. I've been placed for the next couple of days as a receptionist at a Park Avenue risk management firm. The long dry stretch is broken.

. . .

Next:
"Wha?! Not dealing poker? How will you get arrested?"

and

Life, Living In Harlem.