By Michael Goldstein
By Dennis Romero
By Sarah Fenske
By Matthew Mullins
By Patrick Range McDonald
By LA Weekly
By Dennis Romero
By Simone Wilson
A louder, older pair of twins from Texas precedes us into the studio. One of them is determined to snag our boy’s favorite “ayaya” (truck) from him, and so we get to strike up a conversation with their mom. She drives two and one-half hours each way from the high desert for every audition, which completely floors us — the 20 minutes from Echo Park to Hollywood in the heart of nap time was chore enough for us.
Finally, it’s our turn. The directors and clients are assembled in one end of the room, and after the most pressing question is asked — namely, when are his naps and is it possible to skip one of them if need be? — the bit is explained to us. All he has to do is sit on command. The director even goes so far as to say, “If he can do that, he’s got the job.”
Well, at 14 months, he can’t do that. He can sit, run, hop, whatever, but only when he feels like it (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in this instance). The missus and I try everything; he doesn’t budge. We get him to laugh and throw a ball and ride on Daddy’s back — that draws big smiles all about — but he is just too young for the bit. We aren’t nixed outright, but this old hand knows we’ve struck out. In fact, without even seeing the video, I can tell you that the kid who comes in after us is the likely winner — an 18-month-old who radiates charm and very much resembles a pintsize Jackie Gleason.
I know not to dwell on the rejection — it’s the actor’s credo. The moment an audition is over, forget about it, period. But his mom is determined to relive every second of what happened, what went wrong, why didn’t he sit, you think we still have a chance? The endless second-guessing. My son and I don’t play that game — me because of my experience, him out of exhaustion. After this tumultuous occasion, he sleeps all the way home.
Morning in America
I don’t have a normal work schedule because I work at home, so I never know exactly when there’s a holiday going on. But I can usually sense it from the front stoop of my cottage. The air feels different and sounds different and I feel calmer. This is because people are not out and about hustling and filling up the atmosphere with their hustle vibes.
That’s why today feels like Sunday.
Today is a day we celebrate an outlaw. A national holiday for someone whose entire strategy was to break laws, all sorts of laws.
This is important. And let’s also remember that the tactics of the civil rights movement didn’t just work because they were smart — they were also used toward good. The pro-lifers tried to get all civil disobediency and they lost.
The morning-after pill is soon to be available over the counter, and the day this happens a very dark era for women (and men) will finally come to a close in this country. This moment will be bigger than the Pill, bigger in a sense than Roe v. Wade.
White people used to say that the black people (and women) weren’t ready to vote; they would fuck it all up and it would be a disaster.
People also used to say women couldn’t handle the freedom of birth control.
Then they said they couldn’t handle the freedom of abortion.
Now they say we can’t handle the freedom of the morning-after pill. I say, if that’s true then I really can’t handle a baby. So fuck you and your stupid tie.
I’m so over anybody trying to tell me what to do with my body and my future.
Good morning, Martin Luther King Jr.
(Taken from Kate Sullivan’s Rock Blog, 1/19/04.)
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