"Are you now or have you ever been..."

If you're looking for zany adventures, see the blog prior to this. This said, I felt I had to share.

I auditioned for a part in a movie today. (!!)

Really. Sketchy story short, I was walking down the street with none other than Joseph Swan, Esq. I barked something at him in American English. Then got approached by French film student-looking girl who thus gives me an appointment to go to the bureau of her film company. Les Films du Poisson. Look, it actually exists.

Today I had my appointment and I got ushered into their converted apartment-office off of Republique, and was ignored for a solid 15 minutes. I've never felt cooler.

Everyone in the office was in a hurry, but yet they didn't seem to be doing any work, and still looked incredibly important doing this sort of nothing. Painfully Parisian. And in movies! No, not "movies," films.

Finally, woman that randomly picked me up pulls me into audition room and describes the role. I learn that I would be auditioning for the following part:

• It's 1980. I'm an American Girl
• Who has just returned from a Kibbutz in Israel.
• Declares, "Je suis communiste."
• Then takes the main character to the Art School (Ecole des Beaux Arts a Paris)....
• ...Where she is a nude model. *cough*
• And then takes her to Le Palace, an old Parisian club that the movie is attempting to recapture
• She walks into the club and knows everybody, is really cool (seriously, no way I'm getting this role)
• Where She then does drugs in the bathroom, and corrupts main character.
  

Awesome.

It also occured to me that I should have loved and nurtured my drama/film friends more, at a time like this. I'm sure that I wasn't supposed to be feeling this stupid and unprepared. Or maybe I should've remembered the tough, real life lessons of acting camp when I was in 5th grade.

Woman hands me the script and tells me to pick any line I want and read it.

Another nightmare. I pick the line that sounds the prettiest in French and I feel I wouldn't trip over. "Je pose pour les etudiants des Beaux Arts." I mean, it almost rhymes, goddamnit! She must've sensed my pleasure at how pretty that sentence was, then points me to the one phrase I was avoiding:

"Je suis communiste."

I mumble. "Encore" She says. "JE SUIS COMMUNISTE" I blast, trying to sound as socially concerned and militant as possible.
Anyways, so, if there ever were a time to finally just own up to the fact that i'll NEVER be able to run for public office, this is it. Somewhere, deep in a closet in Paris, there will always be a camcorder in Paris that has a recording of me saying I'm a fucking communist.

And if I get lucky, there will be footage of me playing a cokehead nude-model communist!

Goodnight.

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I love the Delray.