Monday, August 20, 2012

The PA diaries

What a Monday. I wake up after a 12 hour food poisoning battle to learn that Tony Scott has swiftly told his brain cancer to go fuck itself via danger zoning off of a San Pedro bridge and that gashes are now allowed to join Augusta. Some quick thoughts on both: Tony Scott was the man, I was trying to get a job to read his scripts, clearly that is not going to come to fruition now, but needless to say his movies were shamelessly awesome. He is responsible for Cole Trickle and Maverick (two pre-gay Tom Cruise roles) and basically everything good Denzel Washington has ever done. He was working on a remake to The Warriors, one of my favorite movies ever and I am shitty that it will probably never be made now. Also I can't imagine a better way to go out, brain cancer surely would suck, so I think to go ocean base jumping sans a parachute is a pretty rad way to go.

Next, chicks at Augusta...here is the thing, I am not for the discrimination of women, but why would a woman want to join a boy's club. I don't try to join women's clubs. Men at Augusta want to talk about fucking their mistresses while their wives vacation in France, liberally use the word cunt, talk about masturbating to the leaked photos of Carly Rae Jepsen's massive nipples (Side note: I almost constantly use nude photo leaks as a selling point when I try to get girls to send me pictures of their tits. But Blake Lively and Scarlett Johansson did it! Are you better than them? They almost always reply, yah and look what happened to them. Fair point, but no one is trying to hack a PA's phone. I figure if I go through all of the chicks in my phone and ask everyone I'll get about 5% if I haven't asked you yet, don't worry I'm only on the letter B.) Bringing women into this environment effectively squashes this locker room talk. I don't give a shit about the integrity of golf, but there is something to be said about letting some grown ass CEO's bro out a little bit. Now onward to the post!

I've been MIA lately because I have been working on a movie. Now most of my life I haven't worked very hard at all. I get by on my intelligence, wit and the fact that I am cooler than everyone. It's ok, we can admit it..I'm fucking sweet. But unfortunately a solid chill to pull ratio only takes you so far. At some point you have to find something you are half way decent at and at least put up the appearance of giving a shit. So this past week, I was on set doing normal PA stuff, namely trying to fuck the art coordinator. But also managing craft services driving all over California and other menial tasks that an indentured servant would perform. But it's cool, I am better at most at doing random tasks and lifting heavy stuff. The problem is though, that most of the crew is either gay or vegan, or even worse a gay vegan.

Now I know I give them lots of shit, but I have no problem with the gays. But by being gay you are going to take some shit, it's like being a Mets fan, that's probably considered an appalling and ignorant statement, but whatever, people that are different occasionally get ripped on this blog. So I am cool with the gays, but the vegans...I have no tolerance for them. I was in charge of something called craft services, basically this is the guy that runs the snack table. Immediately, I celebrated my post. I thought I would thrive in such an environment. My snacks consisted of Pringles, Cheez-its, beef jerkey, kettle cooked potato chips, Gushers, Rockstar, Red Bull, Five Hour Energy and a shit ton of Pepsi Throwback. Sounds like a video game marathon in a 12 year old's basement. I was in heaven.

I come back to set bearing gifts, thinking I will be celebrated as a hero. As I stood at attention at the table ready to receive my compliments and possible tips a strapping young bro walked up, I expected an immediate high five. Instead I was greeted with, "Where's the fruit man?"

Fruit? This motherfucker wants fruit? What followed was 45 minutes of sharp critiques at the lack of healthy food. Fruit, veggies, sugar free sodas and dry nuts. Apparently people in this state, especially in the film industry are super health conscious  (Read: gay vegans.) No one even appreciated my supersize pack of triple stuffed golden Oreos. Nope, it was "Hey thanks for playing you Btown hick, now go get me some Diet Vernor's and a fiber bar AND TEST THE GRAPES PLEASE.

Add that to the list of responsibilities for a PA, grape tester. It's funny because I come from a world where the taller and more athletic you are usually leads to popularity, power and a plethora of disposable vagina. Such is not the case in Hollywood. In fact my boss thinks that barely straight Bradley has a better chance with art girl than I do. He is dainty and talks like a chick and crosses his legs to the point where he cannot possibly have balls, but he has perfectly quaffed hair and skinnier jeans than me and that's what matters in tinsel town. But aside from the point that my suggestion to order 1000 wings from B dubbs what else does a PA do?

Well I'm a glorified pledge, but much like when I was an actual pledge, I get away with more than your typical PA because I am physically imposing and I make people laugh. Petty cash is probably my biggest responsibility. Unlike a regular work environment, no one on a movie set is allowed to leave except for me. They sit there acting or video taping for 12 hours and in 12 hours people need stuff: Cigs, food, props, waters whatever. I am that guy. I saw a Dennis Quaid interview (if you jumped off the Quaid train after The Parent Trap remake, you need to get back on, he's a fucking bro) a few years back about how he was a raging coke head in the 80's because all of the petty cash spent on drugs. I am sad to report that that is no longer the case, as cocaine dealers hardly give receipts (there is a market for a dealer with square!) but that's the thing, you can literally buy anything with a receipt and then bill it to the studio. I went to a sex shop and bought a purple vibrator (second time I've done this) to make the camera shake. I bought like $100 of beer every night for the director and the crew. That's not really a big deal, but the idea of it is awesome. It was my responsibility to go out and buy beer for the crew. Needless to say, it was a hoppy affair. And fortunately, our director was a g so he would let the PA's drink with him every night after the wrap. We would watch shitty horror movies and have hypothetical debates about which slasher icon would win in a royal rumble style match...no one is fucking touching Michael Meyers.

Another thing that rocks about being a PA is mileage. For every mile you drive on various errands, you get 56 cents. I averaged about 200 miles a day, so that's an extra $112 tax free per day in addition to my day rate and any over time I incur. Do you know how much money that is? That could finance a Chicago drug habit for 3 no problem. And going on runs is fucking great because you aren't being bossed around by 30 different producers/directors/department heads. It's just you, a Rockstar and Skrillex driving around for hours. Sometimes I would throw on a little NPR so I could learn something. Off topic: I seriously think if someone just listened to NPR 2 hours a day for 4 years they would be more knowledgable than most college grads.

So ya, I mean that's pretty much it. Drive around, carry shit, ask the script girl if she wants to give you an otphj in the pool during lunch. Oh yes, the set. We were shooting in this little forsaken pocket of Los Angeles county named Santa Clarita. It is located in the Antelope Valley about 20 miles north of Los Angeles, temperatures averaged about 112 degrees. It was hot as fuck but at least I had a reasonable excuse to wear nothing but bro tanks the entire shoot. But the reason people build houses in Santa Clarita is because you can get land about as cheap as the homes in Detroit. The particular house we shot at had a pool, basketball court, tennis court and batting cage. In fact one night after a few pops I took some bp and lined a rocket up the middle breaking our director of photography's nose. Apparently he didn't get the memo that I was the clean up hitter for the Skiles Test All stars when I was 12. I'm happy to report that I've still fucking got it.

Pretty much the only downside of working on a film is your days go 1pm-2am and you shoot Monday-Saturday effectively ruining your weekend. We were welcome to stay at the house and drink every night, but when it's 5 sweaty guys all gunning for art girl it's probably best to drive home google Carly Rae Jepsen leaked nudes and call it a night. (Call back! Dear aspiring writers, just throw like 1 or 2 call backs per blog post and you'll kill it)

So ya, that's basically it, I spent the better part of a week standing by the snack table crushing everything in sight because all the health conscious fags wouldn't touch my bro snacks. Just as I planned it. Now I'm well versed in film production, I know what a gaffer is and a best boy and a grip. They all make way more money than you. $1000 a day to hang some lights. Dear aspiring writers, quit, learn how to rig electrics. Profit.

I would love to make the PA diaries a consistent section. You know, peel back the curtain for my friends back home and let them know what it's all about. Unfortunately, it looks like my reality show (I'm not the creator, just a character and associate producer) looks like it's going to sell, so I'll be casting some PA's of my own (my cockiness must be nauseating, why do people read this) It's not illegal to make girls give you blow jobs on a casting couch in order to get a job right? People always joke about that in this town but it has to be based in fact? But if said reality show fails to gain traction, or some producer decides that I am a douche (fact) and feels the need to kill me off or something, I think I'll be happy being a PA for now, as long as the gay vegans keep their distance.

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