The Casting Ouch

I may not be hosting any TV shows soon, but I’m holding out for a spot on The Surreal Life 5

I’ve never tried out for American Idol, but now I think I’ve got a pretty good idea what it feels like. I recently traveled to New York to audition for a TV show, and said audition required me to stand in front of a camera and answer questions from a British guy while five other people sat there taking notes. How’d I do? Well, I should have just ignored the questions and belted out “She bangs, she bangs!” at the top of my lungs in my trademark singing style, which is something like Seal. I’m sorry, did I say “Seal”? I meant to say “a seal.” One that’s in the process of getting molested by a walrus. Which, incidentally, is a fate I would’ve welcomed by roughly the five-minute mark of this experience.

I put myself in this position because I answered a casting call for a new TV show about cars. I figured, “Hey, I know a lot about cars. I should probably host that show and become rich and famous and get myself some oversized sunglasses. Maybe someday I’ll be big enough that Cameron Diaz will invite me to travel around the world with her and patronize indigenous peoples.” Based on my audition tape, someone thought I might be right, and so I traveled to the Big Apple to wow the producers and become the Ryan Seacrest of TV shows about cars. I thought about cars all the way there, even going so far as to drive a car to the audition. Sure, I could’ve taken the Fung Wah bus for less than the cost of parking on 22nd Street, but true acteurs like myself do everything they can to inhabit their role. Charlize Theron gained 30 pounds for Monster; I drove a Mercury Montego to New York.

If you imagine casting agencies in New York as intimidating, brightly painted places that are crawling with six-foot-three-inch women and cute babies, you’re a fair bit off, my friend—many of the women there were no taller than six-foot-one, and several of the babies looked like troll embryos. Now that I mention it, I think all babies look like troll embryos, but these must’ve been extra-attractive, blemish-free ones because I believe they were auditioning for a Clean & Clear commercial.

I signed in, writing “N/A” in the space for “Agent,” though I was briefly tempted to write “Scott Boras.” But what if they actually thought Scott Boras was my agent, and then rejected me out of hand because they assumed he’d want at least four years guaranteed, with a no-trade clause? I know, that’s ridiculous—I totally wouldn’t mind getting traded to the Food Network. Sandra Lee could cook while I sat there on the set drinking cocktails and making lecherous comments about stuffing and pies, just like I do at home.

About 45 minutes after my appointment time, I got called into the audition room. I thought I was going to give a spiel about Ford Mustangs, and I had several bon mots cued up regarding Vanilla Ice rollin’ in his 5.0 with the ragtop down so his hair can blow. Instead, it was pretty much like a job interview, if at a job interview you had to stand in front of a blue screen and have a camera pointed at you and try desperately to say witty things about cars to a British man who doesn’t smile. He asked me, “If you had a date with Nicole Kidman this Saturday night, what would you want to drive to pick her up in?” I replied, “A motorcycle. And I’d ride on back. And not wear clothes.” No, I didn’t. I said, “A Lotus Elise, because it’s so small she’d be forced to touch me, and it doesn’t have cruise control, so she wouldn’t be reminded of her past.” Of course, I didn’t say that, either. I actually mumbled something about the Mercedes CLS that made no sense and thought up 15 better answers on the long ride home. Ditto for most of the other questions. Near the end I had to read something about Korean car company Daewoo suing a Chinese car manufacturer, and again I thought of the best conclusion—that Daewoo was itself being sued by Redman, Method Man and the estate of Ol’ Dirty Bastard for starting a Korean rap posse called the Daewoo-Tang Clan—somewhere around New Haven.

I’m not letting my dream of TV stardom die here, though. There are so many damn TV shows that I’m bound to end up on one of them sooner or later, and I’ve got my eyes on the low-hanging fruit. Watch your back, Al Roker.