Prelude to a Big Break

I don’t know where to begin.  So I’ll begin at the beginning.

On February 14th I sat on top of Runyon Canyon and wrote that I was “Louis The Dog away from being home.” Apparently, I was right.  What a weekend.

Saturday:

6:00 AM — Driving rain woke me up.  When it rains in California, it rains angry.  My alarm was set for 6:00 AM because Lou was due for Air Canada Cargo shortly after 9:00 AM Eastern.  If my Uncle and my Mom needed anything, it was responsibility to be awake and alert.  So I was.

10:00 AM — I sat around and read a script / watched “The Wire” (this is important) for 4 hours.  Lou’s on his way and I have an audition at 12:30.  That’s the thing about Pilot Season…  You have auditions on Saturday.   My buddy Nate had an audition today (Sunday).  Unbelievable.

10:30 AM — Target.  Dog Bowl / Mat for dog bowl / Toy that he can’t destroy immediately / Treats / Swiffer Sweeper and pads / Towel rack (nothing to do with Lou) / New collar (that doesn’t fit) / Food / Food scooper.

11:20 AM — Over to Johnny Bennett’s to exchange the Smart Car with a Ford Escape.  This is the first instance where a friend of mine stepped up – like a friend should – this weekend.  The first of many.

12:30 PM — Somewhere in Studio City for an audition.  A great audition.  A killer audition.  You can build momentum through Pilot Season.  The actual auditions aren’t interconnected, but your craft is dependent on repetition and confidence.  I dismantled that audition.  This is factual.

1:30 PM — Italia Ricci.  She’s Lou’s owner… just ask US Customs.  And she gave up her afternoon to help me pick him up at LAX.  Italia: I love you.

2:15 PM / 3:00 PM / 4:00 PM / 4:25 PM — WAITING.

4:40 PM — Louis.  (Italia calls him “Hand Bag”.  Brilliant.)

5:30 PM — Lou and me hoofing it around Hollywood Blvd.  You’re not going to believe this, but he was excited.

7:00 PM — Arrived at Capitol City (a spectacular sports bar) for the second half of a great college basketball game.  It was also the opening weekend party for a US wide Gay Softball League.

(11 Drinks later…)

9:00 PM — Pre-party for the lovely Italia.  She’s filming a show in Toronto as of next Saturday.  Party, hearty.

10:00 PM — Let’s not understate this…  The Gay Softball Players got me drunk.  My buddy Dave (pictured) was simply trying to shepherd me back towards the soberland.  (Mixed results.)

12:00 AM (ish) — My thought process: “My buddy The Lou is at home chillin’.  I should get out ofDID THEY JUST DELIVER A BOTTLE OF VODKA???”

Sunday:

2:00 – 7:15 AM — Slept with a black guy.

7:30 AM — My head…  MY HEAD…  I couldn’t wait to take Lou to Runyon Canyon.  Get him out…  Get him running.

7:50 AM — Remember when I borrowed Johnny Bennett’s car?  Well, now I’m out on my street and his car is nowhere to be seen.  Seems it touched a red zone and got towed…  To South Central.

8:10 AM — Johnny – miraculously, he’s awake – and I are zooming along with 101 towards South Central. Friends.  Being there.

8:20 AM — South Central.  Tow Yard.  We decide the man guarding it is an Alien.  Picture?  Taken:

9:30 – 11:00 AM — Runyon Canyon brings Louis The Dog to his knees. 8 hours later he’s still a mess. Nothing makes me happier than a tired pup.

12:00 PM — Did you know that Canada and the US were playing for the Gold Medal in Hockey?  It was on television and everything.

12:40 PM — Warren (my buddy and high school roommate), Italia, Davey, Vanessa and Chantal (by proxy) start cheering.

1:20 PM — Robbie Amell rounds out our booth.  We’re exactly the same.  Ask anyone.

2:40ish PM — 24 seconds left in the game — It was my understanding the bar was approximately 65% (US) – 35% (CAN).  Not so.  More like 94% – 6%.  When the US scored with 24 seconds left to tie it, Capitol City erupted.  We sat there with our hearts in our stomachs.  We waited.

OVERTIME (I don’t know what time it was.) — This is tense / don’t get caught too deep / This shouldn’t be 4 on 4 / JUST SHOOT IT / I’d like a Budweiser and some Heroin / Crosby’s diggin’…

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There was a delayed reaction from our booth.  As in: “Wait a minute…  Is that puck in the net?  It is?!?!?!”  At which point, we yelled.  We screamed.  We held it six beats too long.  We punctuated with hoarse calls across a deadly silent room.  Sidney Crosby — our very best player — scored in overtime for the Gold Medal and one fucker of an exclamation point on the Winter Games.  YellScreamYellHugYellPauseYELL.

Then you sit and relax.  You tell the waiter to bring you something Canadian.  They bring you Canadian Club and you kill it.  The medals come out and you start making fun of yourself because you’re crying.  Your cousin snaps a photo:

3:45 PM — Everybody leaves but me.

4:00 PM — A girl from Vancouver at the bar.  She’s a lawyer with a Canada shirt on.  Patron, more Canadian Club, Patron.  An actor from “The Wire” rolls in and we become buddies.  ”Hey Man…  Last time I saw you they caught you with 20K in cash.”

4:30 PM — Quiet moment thought process: “Sidney Crosby scored the overtime winner.  The Golden Goal. The greatest moment in the history of Canadian sport.  Paul Henderson should light a cigar somewhere and think about his 38 years of undisputed glory.”

5:30 PM — Again, Lou’s at home.  Strolling down Hollywood Blvd. with the sun crashing over all the buildings that L. Ron Hubbard owns.  My apartment, my Pup, an audition tomorrow morning.  It couldn’t be more beautiful outside.

I pass 3 Canadians surrounding Alex Trebek’s Star on Hollywood Blvd.  They aren’t there by accident.

4,300 KM away from Toronto.  Home.  (Capital H.)

EDIT: Just because…

Lou went up one side of Runyon Canyon and down the other. He found all four puddles that currently exist in Southern California. He will not move for the rest of the day.

Rocking a self-tape for a Canadian project this morning.  Love self-taping in my new pad.

Look how happy I am…

What’s black, with four legs and has to travel 3000 miles to come home this Saturday?

Sent from my iPhone.

Yes. Callbacks, screen tests, unfortunate jogging outfits, cool mornings, hot coffee, cold beer, possibility. Double yes.

Sent from my iPhone.

Got released from my Test Deal this morning.  As did everyone else.

Don’t have a bad thing to say about the entire process.  Liked the producers and the casting director; enjoyed working with the director; valued being on the Warner Bros. Lot in an official capacity; very proud of the work that I did.

Objectively, I wouldn’t take back a single choice.

Another test coming soon.  (Like, this week soon.)

Happy Monday.

UPDATE:

Not dead yet.  Not even close.

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -

Interesting day today.  For starters, there is a glitch with the Pilot that I tested for Wednesday.  ”Glitch” is a polite way of saying huge f*cking problem.

Going into details would be redundant and potentially damaging.  In lieu, I’ll say that I did a great job and I know there are people who want me to get the job.  The aforementioned problem has nothing to do with the actors.  It’s an executive thing that is effecting every actor for every role they tested.  Thus, I’m assuming that it’s over until I’m told otherwise.

I suppose this is the bad news.

The good news has a higher word count.

Auditioned this afternoon for another pilot and smoked it.  There was an ease and confidence before I walked into the room.  Some combination of repetition, subsequent comfort and the “test experience” had me feeling spry.  Fully expect a producer session next week.

The second section of good news relates to how I digested my bad news.
My reaction: “Okay.  Sure thing.  Next one.”

Finally, I got internet installed and a kitchen table from Target for $22.99 today.  If you don’t think this is a big deal, I think you’re an asshole.

Control what you can control.  In the case of the Pilot, that list looks like this:

1. Pre-read: (Excellent.)
2. Producer session: (Excellent.)
3. Screen test: (Great / professional.)

Once the discussion centers around the executive structure as it relates to the show, I’m off in the wilderness.  You have to make this distinction; otherwise you’re no different than the retarded dog who barks at waves in Venice Beach.

Second full week here.  Second great week here.
Stephen.

EDIT: Very nice person named Shada did a “digital painting” of my headshot and sent it to me.  You can check out the rest of the work here.

9:09 PM, Pacific Time –

Wow… Screen tested today for a series regular on a network show. Felt great.

Things are out of my hands now. While “things” were in my hands, I handled the shit out of them.

Now… A drink with friends and a peaceful sleep.

Really thankful for today.

Sent from my iPhone.

I did not put a coffee stain there on purpose.

Casablanca.  Seriously.  Of all the sound stages, on all the lots, in all the world…

They don’t call it a vanity mirror for nothing.

How the hell is everybody? Good? Good. I’m great.

It’s been a lovely, welcoming transition to life as a resident of Hollywood; since I don’t know where to begin, I wont begin anywhere.

My hood: I’m three blocks east and two blocks north of the most touristy intersection in Hollywood. And yet, I live in a quiet, unassuming building that feels like some combination of a dorm and an ashram. The quickie guide that I popped up here last week wasn’t that far off the mark. My local watering hole couldn’t possibly be better. My first night there I got into a long conversation with Jim, the bartender, about Maple Leaf Gardens (!) while enjoying $3 pints (!!) and listening to the defining album on heartbreak as deemed by The Great Hank Moody (!!!).

“Thanks for the conversation Jim.”
“Welcome to the neighborhood Steve.”

As a tribute to Hank Moody I just threw a little Warren Zevon on. Watch me go.

No TV / TV like you’ve never seen it before: Once I get a kitchen table and my couch is delivered (on eBay from Culver City at a whopping price of $140 that includes delivery and two side tables) I will be done decorating for the time being. That means no TV. It’s an exciting advantage, that plays out like this: It’s Pilot Season and I have auditions flying at me from every conceivable direction. Scripts need to read, lines need to be learned and every audition deserves as much attention as is humanly possible. Something about realizing that any of these jobs could fundamentally change your life keeps you motivated. Not getting a television is sort of like putting blinders on a horse. What choice do I have but to do all my work? It’s awesome. That’s the philosophical.

The practical: I’ve decorated my apartment for less than most people pay for a dresser. Frugal doesn’t even begin to cover it; maniacal’s better. And yet, I can’t go cheaply on a television. Impossible. When I book a show I’ll get proper televisions.

(Yes, plural. I’m going to put three televisions in my living room. A 52′ in the center and two 32’s on each side. That way I can watch three sporting contests at once. It’s a man-cave in my living room. I’m going to do it and I don’t care what anybody thinks… Unless you think it’s sensational.)

Screen testing: I’m testing tomorrow for a pilot. When I wrote yesterday that there are four levels to most auditions during Pilot Season I bungled the order. It actually goes like this:

1. Pre-read with casting director.
2. Producer session.
3. Contract negotiations / Pilot Deal.
4. Screen test.

The Producer session yesterday was super interesting. I’m not going to get into particulars about it or give away any details to do with the Pilot. I’ll just say that it’s an amazing opportunity and I’m ready. Feels nice.

Pictures through the day. And GOOD music below.
Stephen.

Believe me: No celebrities stay here.

Sun tan lotion for scalp = Necessary.