Upbeat Cynicism

what do you mean i lost my mind?

The Lion roars, then gets confused.

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The Capitalist Lion, who works in New York’s theater scene and thus keeps his real identity jealously private (because those who do not toe the lefty line will get blacklisted), had a hell of a run of good luck a few weeks ago:

I overslept a bit, and had a meeting to get to. Typically, driving at a “normal” pace, it takes me around 45 minutes to get into the office. I can shave around five minutes off that driving “quick” and another five driving as one would in your average WRC stage. The meeting was in 25 minutes. Great.

So, I caned it, as they say on the other side of the pond. Fortunately, the realities of working in the entertainment world are late mornings and even later nights. That means that traffic is usually fairly light by the time I need to actively get anywhere. […]

And so it was on my expedited commute. Ten minutes in, and I was already 2/3rds of the way there. I could actually make this work. But then I made perhaps the most grievous error any driver can make when everything is going right. I looked in the rear view mirror. And there was a black car there. Curious, I thought, as I was driving like Rosie O’donnel had mistaken me for a bucket of fried chicken a few miles back. So, I glanced down at the speedo, which happily reported my triple digit speed. Dividing the limit of the road in question by said speed would have yielded a whole number greater than two. So again I made the fatal error of checking the mirror.

Christmas time.

Then he gets out of a ticket after getting caught doing thrice the limit. Read it all to find out how.

Alas, with good luck comes some bad. To wit, a recent audition:

Anyway, the instructions were to prepare a pop song, monologue, and short comedy routine. Song and ‘log, sure. I’ve got a dozen. Comedy routine… not so much. So, as this was not the Big Show I Simply Had To Be In, I decided to just borrow an old Cosby routine. One of his best, and perhaps most well known, though I’m not going to say exactly which on the off chance it gets googled.

So I show up. Warm up. Do the song and dance bit. Then comes the routine, which apparently falls flatter than the Hindenburg. This does not compute. They ask me what said routine is about, and who wrote it. I am stunned.

Uh.. Bill Cosby, I state. Who?, they reply. Um… alright then. Thank you.

Yes, I do believe that’s the first time I’ve thank-youd myself and walked out of an audition.

How. In hell. Can anyone not know Bill Cosby???


Written by [IMH]

6 December 2006 at 6:24 pm

Posted in Blogosphere

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