February 18, 1992
This is a momentous occasion. Today was the first audition arranged for me by I.C.A., that world-renowned center for aggressive marketing. But, of course, nothing is simple...
I checked my messages around 11 a.m., before running out on an errand or two. As usual, nothing. So off I go. I returned home at 1:30 to find a message: It was Mary Fleming from I.C.A., calling at 12:15, saying I had to call her back by 12:45 to get to Venice by 1:30 for an audition. Nightmare.
So I call Mary, and convince her to call the casting people and see if they can still take me. She does. They are willing to see me at 2:30. I grab a bite to eat and head for Venice.
No sweat. I arrive at the casting office with 5 minutes to spare. No rush, though, they're on their break. This is not your average break, though, and it lasts until about 3. As I sit waiting for the audition, the room fills up with 50 to 70 year olds, most dressed like hippies. I get the feeling I'm in the wrong Venice.
Once they start calling names, they skip over me because the post-break auditions are for the 50 to 70 year-old hippies. Luckily, I'm armed with the geometry book I'm supposed to tutor from at 4.
A few side-angle-side proofs later, one of the other 20-year-old misfits complains that he has to take off soon, and they bring in him, me and the third sore thumb.
We audition. We slate our names and then show both profiles ( I went zit-less first, zit-full second). We sit around our "table" and improv dialogue. We are weary travelers at a small cafe somewhere in Canada. One of our party drifts off into a bikini-clad women daydream, as the other guy and I continue. Our mayhem is interrupted by a "big, fat, ugly waitress" who wants our order. (How groundbreaking.) The dreamer snaps out of his dream to the sight of this woman and places his order in disbelief. And that's a wrap.
STUFF:
I was to ask for "Wendy"