Oh my…

23 04 2009

If Tade and I met, it'd be like yin meeting yang.  And thus, global destruction.

If Tade and I met, it’d be like yin meeting yang. And thus, global destruction.

Last night, the website of a certain individual was brought to my attention.  Now, I will begin by stating I have never met this person, nor do I have any reason whatsoever to project any ill will towards them.  However, after browsing through this person’s various blog entries/photos/videos, I do have to say the impression left in my mind is one that warrants this entry.  Not wanting to give said person any more publicity, I’m going to use an alias for him.  Let’s call this gentleman Carthur Tade. 

The reason behind the use of this alias?  It seems that Mr. Tade adheres to the age-old saying of any publicity being good publicity.  This is evidenced the most browsing through his press/media tab, which lists all the articles that have been written about him.  A quick scan seems to indicate that the majority of these articles were written in a negative connotation.  There is even one article from a website where the citizens of Tade’s home state promise to be nice to their apparently rival state if  said state will take Mr. Tade.  And that is merely one of the several articles.

Moving on to one of the other tabs, labelled the Tade Scale.  This scale, created by Tade, is what he uses in determining the attractiveness of a female.  Beginning at a 10, naturally, he then counts down to number 6, where he stops the list, claiming that women below that number do not deserve such an honor like being rated by Tade.  How sweet.

And then there are his blog entries.  The ones that I was able to read through (Note: Do not read the entries before bed.  You will have some crazy dreams) seem to indicate a large amount of self-esteem/ego in Mr. Tade.  I have to say, the entries are fantastic.  It’s like getting a peek into the mind of the kid in  high school that you knew was a punk, and consistently let him know he was a punk, and yet he continued to keep on keeping on.  Mr. Tade has entries on his preferences in female grooming, elite clubs, the desire to own a high-end automobile, and his acting endeavors.

Oh yes, Mr. Tade also acts.

He has apparently been taking meetings with top acting coaches, all of whom see that “something”.  Of course, those coaches will see that “something” in everyone when the first check clears.  The entries on his background work for an upcoming feature film are riveting.  Simply.  Riveting.  Nothing better to start your day than with a play-by-play of a movie extra.  They served you breakfast, you say?  Nice.

All told, I have nothing personal against Mr. Tade.  Even though he may come off as arrogant, I’d like to believe that the passion he has for acting is real.  And in the acting world, it is necessary to display that arrogance on occasion.  But not the whole time.  C’mon, Mr. Tade, let us in a little.  Let me know a time where you didn’t get into that hot club in the Big Apple.  Let me know about a time where you slipped up on a word.  Heck, let me know about a time where you stubbed your toe.  We’re all human*, so knock down that big ol’ superiority-complex built wall and let us in.


*There is debate as to whether this website is the website for a true-blue person, or if it’s an extremely elaborate hoax.  I choose to believe it is real, if only for the fact that the most absurd things are based in reality.  Like gravity.  What’s up with that?



19 02 2009

For the full effect of the title, sing the words in the style of Fiddler on the Roof’s “Tradition…Tradition!

Good morning, you beautiful humans,  you.  Zach here yet again, making a post before heading down to the North Carolina Comedy Arts Festival, where I’m performing in no less than 12 hours.  Eek, indeed.

Typically I’d be in class right now, learning about english or something-or-other.  But, the prof’s sick, so that leaves me with about 2.5 hours before my next class.

Bad news: It’s 2.5 hours.

Good news: It leaves me plenty of time to tell you about the audition I had this past Monday.

Friday I get a call from the talent agency I signed up with here in Richmond about two years ago.  This was the first time they had ever called.  Surprisingly, they wanted to send me to an audition for a viral video that a large credit card company was producing.  I won’t say the name of the company, for fear of litigation, but I will tell you that they ask you constantly what is in your wallet.

So I accept the audition, of course.  They tell me great, and send me the copy.  I open it up, and I’m reading for the role of “Large man”.  Now I’m okay with this, as I am un gran hombre.  So I look through the script, and apparently said Large man is supposed to enter wearing nothing but his undergarments, slippers, and a smile.  Then he makes a euphemistic poop joke, another joke about his skin being delicate, then vacates the scene.

I read it, and read it again.  “Alright,” I tell myself, “It’s not Shakespeare, but long as it pays.”

Monday rolls around, the day of the audition.  I get a little gussied up and head to the hotel where they’re doing the auditions for everyone.  Locating the room, I find that there’s only a couple of people there, all dressed smarter than me, and all looking very, very intense.

I approach one gentleman.  An Asian guy, taller than me, skinny, wearing a black button-down shirt, black slacks, a purple tie, and some very stylish glasses.  Smiling, I ask him if we’re supposed to wait out here in the hallway, or go in.  He scans me pretty noticeably, then says, in a very droll, hipster voice, “No.  We stay out here.”

Now I can handle the drollness, and I can handle the hipsterness.  But why in the world did he feel the need to look me over as if I’m competition for whatever role he was reading for?  I’m 5’7″, and a large, sexy hunk of a man.  He’s 5’11”, thin as a rail, and obviously up to date on whatever GQ is saying is fashionable these days.  Really doubt we’re up against each other, buddy.

In any case, I get called in.  Do the whole little how-do-you-do dance, get my slate taken, and we’re almost ready to begin.  Of course I do the thing that shouldn’t be done, and ask them how they want it read.  They tell me to just do I can with it.

So I do.  I do it twice, they thank me and send me on my merry way.  I thank them in return and head back out into the hallway.  The hipster dude’s still there, so being the friendly guy I am, I wish him a good audition.  He looks me over again, then just tilts his head up slightly in acknowledgment.

So thanks, hipster guy.  Thanks for reminding me why exactly I’m shifting away from the acting thing to focus on a teaching career and improvisation.  Hopefully I won’t deal with your type again.

Gah, actors.