A Freakin One Liner On NIP-TUCK?

A freakin’ one-liner on “NIP-TUCK”? Are you kidding me? I spent 3 years on “ER” fer pete’s sake!

Whooooooaaaaaaaaa…………. Slow down there, Big Timer. You haven’t had an audition since October of ’07. That’s right. The beginning of the writer’s strike. SIXTEEN MONTHS since you could call your self anything other than … someone with nothing to do. So git yer lazy arse of the couch, learn yer one stinkin’ line, and get over to the casting office.

So the scene is: An actor who is shooting a scene and is supposed to be dead and Sean comes in and doesn’t know it’s a scene and runs over to help, wrecks the take and I’m like “Whatup, Dude?”
 

Okay? Got it?

Now being the consummate professional that I am, I can’t just say a line. I have to make it about something, so I come up with an entire bit based on the personality of this guy who is trying to work, and these amateurs get in the way. Cuz, dude, I know this guy!

Soooooooo, I get there and there’s five other guys waiting in front of me, but it moves pretty quick, cuz, let’s face it, IT’S JUST ONE LINE. But, now it’s my turn and I go in, and I do it, and I PULL OUT ALL THE STOPS! I mean… I do my bits, I have attitude, I give the scene an entire life! On top of that, I’M HILARIOUS!!!!

So the casting guy, (who be the way, was in high school when I turned 40) he gives me a polite little laugh to acknowledge all my hard work, and says, “Let’s do it again, but with out all the …you know.”

Sigh.

JP

School Schmool

By JP

The state of Washington has decided that it is not illegal for a teacher to have sex with a student who is 18, and looking for extra credit points.

Okay, let’s start with that premise and think back a few years, shall we?

First of all, when I was in high school, I was, to put it simply, the horniest 18-year-old in the history of America…and I can’t think of a single teacher I would have touched had she (too easy! Don’t touch it!) been writhing naked on the floor in front of me. But apparently the state of Washington has been losing so many good teachers to prison that they actually had to step back and say “You know what? We need to re-think this whole ‘banging the students’ thing.”

Kind of gives the term “Honor Roll” a whole new meaning.

MARY: Hey Katie, who are you going to prom with?

KATIE: Mr. Pudgebucket.

MARY: Ooooooh….

KATIE: Yeah, I’m only getting a “C” in his class, and I need at least a “B” to get into college.

I’m a little embarrassed that Washington State has beaten us to the punch. We here in So Cal pride ourselves on being cutting edge, especially on all things edumacational.

Seriously though, in this age of falling test scores and failing schools, perhaps this is just the incentive we need to attract better and smarter young people to the teaching profession.

Running in LA

Where is a guy who’s older than say, 17, supposed to get a pair of shorts any more? And how come clothing manufacturers don’t seem to understand that they’re called shorts because THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT!!!!

I can’t find workout shorts anywhere that don’t go half way down my shins. Swim trunks used to be a good way to go, but now they’re every bit as long. Seriously, how does anyone play volleyball in the sand with trunks on that are designed to clutch at your legs and slow you down? I know these shorts are made for teenage boys who are skinny and self conscious about their skeletal frames, but what about the rest of us? As guys get older, they loose that self-conscious thingy. (Kind of the opposite of women.) Guys in their twenties love to show off their chiseled abs and bulging biceps. And as they get older still, they become proud of their sickly white thighs and grossly swollen beer guts. It’s a sign of manliness. Any one who’s ever “posted up” against someone who out weighs them by 50 pounds knows how effective that belly can be.

But I digress; back to shorts. I’m stuck wearing shorts that I bought in 1995; I had to thread a shoelace through the waistband because the elastic gave up about 400 washings ago. So picture if you will, a man somewhere north of 35 years old, (OK, way north) desperately trying to stay fit because his vanity and his career depend on it, wearing short-shorts and no shirt.

“No shirt?” you ask yourself? That’s right, I like to work on my tan when I go running. I know, I know, it’s not p.c. any more. The sun is our enemy now; SUNSCREEN is the mantra of the new millennium. But as the very wise Mr. George Clooney said, “Everyone looks better with a tan.”  Or was that George Hamilton? Some George with a tan. Anyway, there I am jogging around the “Sepulveda Dam Recreation Area” on a lovely Sunday afternoon, when the bike path seems to be getting more and more crowded with families carrying blankets and lawn chairs and picnic baskets and coolers. As I get to the far end of the park I see why, it’s WE ESCAPED FROM MEXICO AND NOW WE’RE IN AMERICA BUT WE DON’T SPEAK ENGLISH SO WE DON’T WATCH TV ON SUNDAY LIKE YOU DO day. Now I’m weaving between revelers who alternate between laughter and derision at my pursuit of a tan, (two things you’re never going to convince an immigrant of: going running on purpose or getting a tan on purpose) when suddenly, my foot comes down on the edge of the bike path, my ankle rolls and I pitch forward onto my face, in the dust and dirt and rocks. “OOOOOWWWW!!!!!!!MOTHERF…….”  I say gently, rolling to and fro, collecting even more dust and dirt and now mixing in a little blood, all seemingly for the entertainment of my new neighbors from the south. As I struggled to my feet amid great laughter and scattered applause, cursing under by breath and testing the weight-bearing capacity of my now painfully damaged ankle, I noticed several young drunkards reenacting my prat-fall.

Humiliated, I began the long limp back to the car, contemplating how much skin I might have saved had I worn longer shorts.

And a shirt.

JP