Recent Adventures In Brief
The Archeological Dig That Wasn’t: Aside from being a national park and the birthplace of at least one Smothers brother, NYC’s Governors Island is also a notorious hangout for artsy-fartsy weirdos. This should have been my first hint that Goverthing, the so-called “lost settlement” of GI that was mysteriously evacuated and buried (yes, buried) by the U.S. government in the 1950s, was some kind of beatnik prank. Still, I was intrigued by the photos I saw online of abandoned buildings and street signs partially submerged in the soil, so I took my bippy to the penile tip of Manhattan for the brief ferry ride to Govz Isle. Found plenty of goof balls and New Englandy vegetation but no Goverthing. After an hour or two, I found a park ranger who curtly informed Goverthing was just an art installation created by some Belgian wiener to promote a nearby art collective. I felt pretty dejected in the days following this excursion until I learned there’s a 100% for real abandoned Burger King somewhere on Governor’s Island. Time to head back…
Catalyst: The ad on Craigslist was looking for attractive males in business attire. I’m no hump and I own a suit, so I replied. An hour later, I found myself in a Manhattan real estate office pretending to be one of many harried stock brokers standing behind the main character in an advertisement for a new energy supplement called Catalyst. You mix the tiny vial of colorless, odorless liquid right into your soup or water bottle, and BLAMMO! You’ve got energy to spare, apparently. Didn’t try the stuff myself. I did repeatedly chest-bump the main character after his “transformation,” though, a little piece of improv we came up with on the fly. On the elevator ride down to the lobby after we wrapped, the girl who coordinated this shoot of course told me they didn’t have the budget to pay me what was quoted in the add. What a terrible place to break that news. What if I had flipped out and tried to gnaw off her forearm in anger? Thank Jebus I’m a restrained guy. I took the chicken scratch she could offer me and promptly farted as hard as humanly possible while exiting the elevator. That’ll show her, I thought.
Coughing On Command: In another instance of hilarious Craigslist-related odd jobbery, I was paid a small sum last week to provide additional dialog recording for a character in a short film who has some kind of life-threatening respiratory disease. For thirty minutes, I coughed as hard as humanly possible, taking breaks here and there so the director could clasp his hands together and say, “Can you bring it up a little more? It’s really the best when you sound like you’re choking on your phlegm.” I kept going and going until I thought I was going to vomit all over the studio’s fancy carpet. On the last take, I felt a lung coming up. Thankfully, Spielberg was pleased with my last hacking fit, and I was promptly paid in Toys R Us fun money.
What Did The Nutmeg State Ever Do To You?: Saturday night, I was at a party that included one guy I went to high school with, two Penthouse Pets, and a giant plastic rendering of Ronald McDonald’s head. I struck up a conversation with some female wallflower. Eventually, she asked where I was from. When I told her I hail from the CT originally, she rolled her eyes and said, “Ugh, I hate Connecticut.” I inquired about her state of origin. “New Jersey.” I laughed and wandered away.