carpet bomb

Figure it out

Two thousand Americans are dead. Fifty times that many Iraqis are dead; 300 times that many human beings are injured. One million times that have been indirectly affected by a barbarous act of inhumanity (Casualties of a war a world away, October 26). War is about numbers. The small number of humans who have much to gain by war. The large number affected. The small number who sit home and rally the large number to send their kids to die physically or mentally. The largest number who say nothing. The financial numbers are so huge that millions aren't accounted for, and millions more are paid in bonuses.
I'm a Vietnam infantry veteran who has taken the time to peel away the onion of war. Strip off the uniforms, the flags, the nationalities, the slogans. War is, at best, the failure of leaders to solve problems. At worst, war is a massive money-generating machine with no regard for life. It's all in the numbers.
Arnold Stieber
Grasslake, Michigan

schlitzkreig

seven auditions in 2 days. so far i've booked one called "e-fan-gelist" and am on first right of refusal for another i'm calling "the lexington medical refrigerator bit".
in "e-fan-gelist" i am a mostly silent wingman to an SEC-manic. he preaches the gospel on time-honored traditions. sneaking booze into SEC football games. running nude quietly down the sidelines. affording pity on the ACC. my agent said they asked not to shave.
the fridge bit is tight. open refrigerator. sniff food. decide it smells okay to eat. BAM! medical coverage logo. the director and writer were there. i did the above scenario five or six times. they laughed at their material. outside in the waiting room sat eight very old women. all white-haired. all wearing a sweater and the same "can i get you anything, dear?" smile. if LA's cookie-cutter models are ripe grapes, these were their raisins.
i got in the car to drive home. i got almost home. my cellphone rang. the wanted to see me again. this was 4 pm. on a friday. i got gas and drove back. there were 2 accidents on the connector. back at the casting agency now were a dozen or more of the same child actor (grapeseeds). i stepped over a few of them drooling on the carpet and did the fridge bit ONE MORE TIME. this time they really laughed. not hard enough to book me tho. i spent 2 grueling, brutal hours in traffic spitting nails and gasping.
this morning i recorded five more spots for ford auto. same set up as before. except i was wrong about jon facenda. facenda is dead. our voice is earl mann, one of the three new voices of the nfl. apparently campbell's soup was sued by the late jon facenda's son for doing a similar campaign using mann's voice. we did five spots today. me playing different fans. i'll try to get copies of these to post.
the kick ass news is this: one of the sound engineers at riot came into the studio.
"anybody here like hockey?"
i did not wait to see if anyone said yes. i was not polite. i did not care if anyone else was a fan. i am a fan. frankly, i answered his question. it would have been stupid to feign non-chalance.
"what're you doing this saturday?"
i had already planned on going to the thrashers home game. but now with his two tickets in the rich guy's section, i will enjoy every forecheck, puck on net and especially the gallon of beer.
thank you. oh dear christ in a cardboard box! thank you.
post data: i just booked lexington medical refrigerator bit. 2 in one day. in LA they call it vicodin.

HUGE CIGARETTE OUTLET

Say what you want. North Carolina is pretty. I’m in Charlotte. An actual city. They have football, basketball and hockey.
I’m staying in this upscale hotel/shopping plaza with its own movie theater. After a bowl of noodles that could smother a little league team, I checked out a scary movie, The Fog. Part hilarious/part real-bad but mostly just bad, it has some of the low-fi-est special effects I’ve ever seen. Lots of victims getting thrown through windows. John Carpenter must think broken glass is terrifying. It’s what you do in case of emergency.
I saw it by myself. There was one couple also there. We all laughed. We laughed at the foot-long fish hooks that hung in the most dangerous places imaginable. We laughed at the limpest shower scene in the history of horror. We laughed at every one of the seven times someone asked “What the hell was that?” That’s a total of nine laughs by three people. Twenty-seven laughters.
The fog itself killed off relatives of a group of men who ripped off some lepers in 1871. Sometimes though, the leper-breath rolled in and killed people who had nothing to do with the scandal. This is never explained. Still, just know if you’re drinking beer on a boat while wearing a bikini and dancing for dudes holding a mini-dv, you’re as good as dead.
Afterwards I tried desperately to have “uh beer” before bedtime. Finding your way around Charlotte is tasking. None of the roads stay the same name for longer than one block. After two full hours, I finally found this Irish pub called Ri-Ra or something. The bartender was super cool, he even let me order a beer. We watched Pujols smack that monster homerun in the ninth inning. Pujols. Pu. Jols.
This little, tiny pot-bellied Mexican guy sat next to me. White paint brush strokes on the right side of his face. One tooth missing. He kept laughing at something on his cellphone then looking around to see if anyone concurred. I know Spanish un poco pollo, so I said, “Whaddya playing, Tetris?”
I’m gonna keep this short. Turns out he was sex chatting on “Chh-otmail” and wanted my number. After I told him I was here to be in a movie, he related that his cousin, the bartender, was “like this” (hands about a foot apart) and made porn movies. Then he bought me a beer. I excused myself, and only myself, but he followed me to the bathroom. I stayed back and hit the trivia machine. By the time I had returned he and his cousin were Audi. Yessiree, an actual city. They have football, hockey and a gay Mexican sex trade.
Right now, I’m in sunburnt make-up getting ready to do a comedy scene with Matt Besser from UCB. We are at Lowe’s Motor Speedway. United we stand.
We did the scene. Besser was hilarious. Really jamming. I played a straight man for the most part, but McKay was trying to get me to say some ridiculous stuff, feeding some silly lines. No point in me trying to top that guy.

draft the dodge

man, was i sad when i lost this job. see there, how sad i was? now, wait a few seconds...here it comes...eff yeah! i'm happy. i just got rebooked for the will ferrell movie high wide and handsome. at least one day. not with a large jungle cat. but rabid is a keyword.
note: gary cole is also in the film. playing ferrell's dad. i did a made-for-tv movie with cole in new orleans last year. hey, the old gang is back together again.
now i could go on a week-long drinking binge without a hint of guilt.
i hafta remember to use my blinker this time in south carolina.

i'm a fool to do your dirty work

this week at pushpush friedrich schiller's the robbers opens. billed as a 'movieplay' the production is largely video with only 3 live actors performing on the stage.
i cameo as a... hmm..a unique -- one man struggling against... ah, hell i don't know what. i got a call to be in a scene at atlanta's supra-dive: lenny's.
you think the clermont lounge is nasty? lenny's doesn't even have nudity. in fact, the last time i was there, a man dressed like a police officer threatened to kick my ass. the bar was closing. my wife was inside. i attempted to gather her. when i opened the door this hulking dude grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. he had a gun. i called the atlanta police department and they said there should not be a cop working there. they'd check it out. the securi-fake had left. i had not yet been back to funland lenny's since.
the movieplay scene had me being thrown from a wheelchair to the floor. my face made contact with booze-hardened worn carpet and broken glass on every take.
for free.
that candy machine to my right had a nickel stuffed in the quarter-slot. i snagged it.
that was my payday.

graey mondaey

i auditioned for a spec this morn. specs are normally shot to either sell an idea to a client or else pad a director's reel. this one is of the latter ilk.
i arrived exactly on time, toppling two curbside garbage cans with my bumper. the air was misty with light rain. this casting director's waiting room, usually swollen with hopefuls, was empty. twelve director's chairs line the walls. so close to the walls in fact that i always wrack my back-head-neck into the window sill. i yanked my chair out a few inches and waited.
coming from within the other room were two familiar voices, casting agent melissa and hopeful jamie. i listened to this exchange:
"jamie, you farted."
"i did not!"
"it's unpleasant."
"it's coming from over there, melissa. nowhere near me."
"hoo."
jamie continued the audition, playing a reverend. a real fire and brimstone delivery. an overabundancy of effort.
before i went in melissa left the door open, airing the space out. i'm a sort of a connoiseur of stink. it was neither butt nor armpit. decay. an unfortunate squirrel in a wall. that's my guess.
i ran into my buddy george afterward, and we talked guns. he competed in a target event. his favorite was the IPSC. i sat down to chat about this and nailed the small of my back against the molding. george went on about moving targets, highlighting the mime with 'bang'.
outside a steady drizzle. that monstrous, toothy cat they care for was splayed out on the hood of a car. it didn't give a fuck about the rain.

i've been on some other planet

i did a photo shoot. for a medical magazine. the night before the shoot i stayed out late. very late. the wee hours. i woke up late. very late. the more than adequate hours.
my agent rang me. it's not a fun feeling. so skipped a shower. ran to my car. i had a flat tire.
i called my good friend linnea. she drove to my house, picked me up and took me to the studio. i was bleary-eyed.
the producer/photographer was super cool. afterwards, since i had no car, i walked 5 miles to the MARTA station.
come pick me up i've landed.

hash browns

mother's day celebrations are scattered the world 'round. moms are smothered in loving cards, breakfasts in bed, and hugs. any gambler's mom knows her bet is covered.
today i recorded voice-overs for macy's big mother's and father's day sale. the origins of mother's day are said to lie in the greek celebration of rhea, the mother of gods. u.s. presidents enacted laws validating ours: woodrow wilson in 1914 for moms, and tricky dick nixon for dads in 1972.
the idea behind the advert was folks sitting around reciting parental cliches.
"eat your veggies."
"if you don't have anything nice to say..."
"i'm so proud of you."
this last one was followed by several different recordings of me gushing "awwww.'
we added "semper ubi sub ubi" for good measure.
for the dad's:
"measure twice, cut it once."
"righty-tighty, left-loosy."
a lot of tool humor.
we added "no crystal meth in my garage. use the school lab." followed by "awwww."