What's up?! I haven't blogged in awhile because I've been up to my elbows in a day gig without web access, computer upgrades and repairs at home and dvd copying for the big premiere of my movie next week at the MBar in Hollywood. Wednesday, Sept 8th, 7:30 pm - holla!
For the record - so no one's feelings get hurt and so I don't have to apologize to anyone; the following story is pure fiction.
I worked a real job recently I mean like "Office Space" my friend. It's a long story how I got there -- but I basically had to take a day gig doing data entry at a network to cover the spread. This Network happened to be the same network that last year at this time I was second runner up for a writing gig on their most popular show. I pull up to the parking garage in my 1994 Honda Accord (even more pathetic because it's really a '93, but I initially wrote 1994 because 10 years old sounds less loser-ey than 11).
For the record - so no one's feelings get hurt and so I don't have to apologize to anyone; the following story is pure fiction.
I worked a real job recently I mean like "Office Space" my friend. It's a long story how I got there -- but I basically had to take a day gig doing data entry at a network to cover the spread. This Network happened to be the same network that last year at this time I was second runner up for a writing gig on their most popular show. I pull up to the parking garage in my 1994 Honda Accord (even more pathetic because it's really a '93, but I initially wrote 1994 because 10 years old sounds less loser-ey than 11).
Anyway, I'm on like my second week of this data entry type gig and I shut the door to my car and hear... "Tully, what the hell is going on?" I turn to see an old comedy buddy -- let's call him psuedo-edgy comic. Psuedo-Edgy comic thinks I'm there to write for his show. Which, greatly alarms him -- because he was not told of this change... Immediately his eyes reflect the panic of him trying to mentally do the math of who on the staff is most likely to get canned for me. "So buddy, you here for an interview?" He hopes aloud, at least if I'm being interviewed there's still time for politicking. To be honest, this is all told in retrospect -- I could tell he was panicking a bit and most definitely fishing for info. However, I was too consumed with shame to really get my brain around his world.
"No man, I'm not interviewing."
"They hired you? Man that's great!" He says as his eyes literally do a 180 to scan his brain for an scrap of memory that might tell him what happened last Friday. I can literally hear his thoughts now...."Who's on the S list? Who has been writing the worst jokes lately? Who didn't compliment the Producer on his new car or house or wife? Oh God, I think he might know I was the one who let tit leak about the plugs!!!"
Meanwhile, back in my brain, I'm thinking even more pathetic thoughts. Mine are more like excuses I can tell without admitting that I'm temping at the same building that I should for all intents and purposes have my own parking space. Which leads me to remember the temporary parking pass, I step every so obviously in front of the bird-crap riddled windshield to avert the gaze that will lead Psuedo Comic's Eye's to the bright orange parking pass that declares in the boldest of letters:
"No man, I'm not interviewing."
"They hired you? Man that's great!" He says as his eyes literally do a 180 to scan his brain for an scrap of memory that might tell him what happened last Friday. I can literally hear his thoughts now...."Who's on the S list? Who has been writing the worst jokes lately? Who didn't compliment the Producer on his new car or house or wife? Oh God, I think he might know I was the one who let tit leak about the plugs!!!"
Meanwhile, back in my brain, I'm thinking even more pathetic thoughts. Mine are more like excuses I can tell without admitting that I'm temping at the same building that I should for all intents and purposes have my own parking space. Which leads me to remember the temporary parking pass, I step every so obviously in front of the bird-crap riddled windshield to avert the gaze that will lead Psuedo Comic's Eye's to the bright orange parking pass that declares in the boldest of letters:
JEFF TULLY TEMP - DATA ENTRY DEPARTMENT
I think; "Oh man, I am so busted here. What can I say? I know, I'm meeting a friend for lunch. And then I'll tell him it's a really hot chick. He knows I'm married, so this will so totally throw him for a loop that he'll forget to grill me on why I'm not going upstairs to meet with the Segment Producer. And, knowing comedians and how gossip hungry they are he'll be so desperately anxious to spread this rumor he'll literally jump out of his shoes to get out of this conversation so he can share it with our mutual "friends." And, then I won't be late for work." Because even more pathetic than doing data entry, is getting fired from data entry.
"No man, I'm not here for the show, I'm actually here because..."
And before I could finish Psuedo Edgy comic is shaking my hand and telling me we should do lunch sometime and he's busy until December - but he'll catch up with me soon and oh, there's somebody more important than you...
And before I even have to try to think of an excuse, he's on to the next ass to kiss. Because, and here's the most important rule of Hollywood... "If you can't either get me a gig or get me fired, why am I wasting my time with you?"
Sour grapes I know. But they're the only grapes I have.