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GOD but I'm an asshole!
GOD but I'm an asshole!
I used to do acting for fun - nothing major, no commercials or anything, just plays here and there. Last year I was in a reading for a play that I thought blew. The guy who wrote it, however, wanted to make a film of it. Stupidly, I agreed to be in it.
The thing is, I really suck at learning lines. Go figure! It's a bitch. Nothing ever sticks to my brain except movie trivia, Internet marketing lingo, and the occasional name of a porn star.
That all went down last year. He never finished it, and I figured I'd never hear from him again. No such luck. The guy calls me last month, saying they're ready to get moving again, here are the lines I'll need to learn, and see you there.
That was today. And I was dreading it. It's all very flaky, shot on video, zero production value, cast of ASU theater students. I agreed to show up because I used to be one of those ASU kids and didn't want to screw up his project.
But he didn't give me an address for the shoot! All the directions said were, "the beige and glass building on Vernon and Central!"
I drove around a bit, satisfied that I did my best, and came home. I was determined to ditch out of this thing having at least tried to show up. It's not very nice, but then again I didn't know a single one of my lines for the six pages of script that needed to be shot.
I am almost home, and the guy calls me. I tell him I couldn't find it, maybe you should have finished the damn thing last year, I'm much too busy these days to play movie maker, better luck next time.
The guy was really nice, but persistent about my showing up later and finishing the thing.
This is when I conjure the useful lie of my life:
I tell the guy I quit smoking, and I wound up gaining a LOT of weight and don't look like myself anymore.
This is blatantly false. Not only because I am not fat, but because I'd quit smoking years before I'd ever run into this guy, so he's never seen me smoking anyway.
I'm telling him all this, and how in truth I was just embarrassed to be seen on camera, and trying not to laugh myself stupid. He went for it, and said, "Well, let's talk again in a couple of months... if, you know... you look like yourself again."
I guess I have to amend my first post, where I say I'm an honesty junkie. I am, but I can also see the value of a good lie. I feel guilty for having done this, but to me, it beats the alternative.
After all, a good lie can keep you from having to turn around and drive another 20 miles back into Phoenix to be in some dopey video that will only be seen by 9 people, all of whom have the same last name as the Director.
(Was that last bit too obtuse? The joke is only his family will watch it. Never mind.)