December 9, 2009

"I'm in a room full of models. Kill me."

I text this to Ian after I settle down on the picnic tables and folding chairs set up in the studio space.
He geniously responded with a query: "Seriously question: so when Bella gets her period, Ed just flips a shit, right?"

I arrived later than anyone else to the studio holding space, considering I was awoken 6 hours after I had fallen asleep asking if I was available to work on a popular television show that shoots in NYC.
I said okay, hoping I didn't sound to sleepy, considering I was still in bed.
"Great, so just be there in hour. The studio is in Long Island City."
"How about 2 hours?"
"Uhh alright, just go go go."
"Yep. Okay, thanks."

Which 2 hours later, as promised, led me to a holding room full of bored models in small outfits showing off their small frames and impossibly long legs. Some of them were throwing on various outfits for approval from the wardrobe dept. I had no options, so they gave me this body-con red velvet dress. And thankfully, it looked awesome. Some lady shellacked makeup on my face and then I sat down again. I compiled a small plate of fruit and berries since I never eat those normally. Produce gets expensive. I get looks of disdain from the models. Do they think I'm mocking them, I wonder. I'm just trying to get my vitamins and antioxidants. I can't help but be reminded of elementary school when my mom would brown-bag leftovers for my lunch and they were often unconventional (eg. ethnic) elementary school lunches. I also got dirty looks then.

For a restaurant scene, people are usually seated and re-seated about 4 or 5 times, I don't know why. I sat at a table of four with a pretty curly-haired brunette who smiled too much I thought, a debonair Greek God-type who I bet modeled winter coats for Macy's catalogs, and a nasal lanky dude who could be an aging scientist. He was shuffled to my table last and sat down with a sigh.
"I went from cake... to salad," he lamented.

In front of each of us was a small attractive plate of greens with radicchio, arugula and artichoke hearts, balsamic vinegar drizzled all along the parameters. It was very artfully arranged for a salad that was never to be eaten.

The brunette and Macys catalog man pantomimed chatting while the crew were still prepping the scene. Meaning, they looked like they were engaging in very animated conversation, but no sound came out of their mouths. I think they actually understood each other, or at least it looked like they did. They would not stop. I thought this was weird. But I also felt like a bad sport for not playing along. Instead I poked at the bread basket with the scientist and he explained to me the rates of unioned actors.

"Definitely check off a meal penalty, also since you replaced someone who was a no-show you helped them out so you can get extra for that, and once it goes over 8 hours then you get time and a half. Don't let them fuck you over with that."
"Oh. Yes. That is not something that I would do."

I pointed out Alec Baldwin and we guessed at the female opposite him starring in the scene.
"One time I saw Alec Baldwin play in a charity baseball game in the Hamptons," I whispered. "He wasn't very good. They let him steal first base."

The best part of the day, aside from it only lasting 3 hours, was a lunch for kings. Union projects always have the best craft services. Lamb chops, clams marinara, a crepe station, and a table full of cakes, cookies, and a salad bar for days. The food alone is worth the trip, dare I say.
I was amused to see that the ones who ate the most were the models. Quietly perched over the plates overflowing with baked potatoes, pasta, chicken, steak, and some green beans for good measure. Either texting on their iPhones and blackberries or flipping through a magazine, there's nothing so ironic like seeing a 5'10 thin-as-sticks model wearing a silk jumper nonchalantly snarf down a baked potato seasoned with the works, flipping through Glamour.
I felt no remorse going to town on a plate of lamb chops in that red velvet dress.

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