Ever since I started dealing with legitimate modeling agencies I've been told to grow my hair out. I was never a fan of the Abercrombie - Justin Beiber look but complied with my superiors instruction. The shaggy hair style was a constant nuisance at the gym through my rigorous cardio sessions with sweaty bangs whipping my eyes at every thrust plus it was so long that at photo shoots unless the hair stylist was quite talented my hair was endlessly styled in the comb over look which is not my preference. The long hair had shown no true beneficial effect until I found a casting for an instructional hair cutting video for a prestigious hair/make up school.
I was out of the city with my family for Christmas when I had discovered the casting call. Originally I had planned to stay up North a few days past the day of the casting but decided to cut the stay early due to the generous compensation which was offered. It turned out to be a wise decision.
Taking trains through blizzard conditions prompted delays and transfers that I had expected but sincerely wished not to encounter. After about 5 hours on this train and that my bed welcomed me. The next morning I was looking severely exhausted with blood shot eyes, puffy eye lids, and some unflattering facial hair. I figured that since those holding the casting were a make up school as well as a hair school they could look beyond that of which could be concealed with their expertise.
The inevitable tardiness of the persons in charge of the casting was unsurprising yet still annoying though I took this time to scope the competition. The majority of the folks were female models and the men that I saw were with long hair but of a completely different overall aesthetic. One was big like a football player with long curly hair and the other was of some foreign descent with overgrown characteristics like mine. I remained neutral, neither worried nor confident. I acted my normal self, the owner of the school met with me, and I told him that I was beyond due for a cut and that if he wasn't the one to cut my hair I'd soon find someone else.
Days had passed since I had heard any news and my anxious worry pushed me to email the school. I didn't type a message asking if I had been selected no I decided to add some finesse to my inquiry and sent, "I've been holding the dates of the potential shoot and I'd just like to know if I may release them as I haven't heard back from you because I have others who would like to shoot on those days." I got a nearly instant apologetic reply stating that I had been selected and that details were soon to follow.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Dead Mans Free Zone
Ties used to be my thing. My collection consists of over 200 unique, colorful, amazing pieces. The ties are old to new and came from thrift shops, donation, or as gifts. Every one acquires random things such as ties but their method of finding them can lead to some interesting stories.
As I was sitting in my corner at work waiting for the bar patrons to check their belongings I was browsing Craigslists' "Free" section. I found a title to a posting which I could not resist clicking to learn more. "FREE ESTATE", the location listed was Chelsea which anyone familiar with Manhattan real estate knows is a pricey area. My automatic assumption was that there could be something of value so I emailed the address listed to inquire with and got a nearly immediate response.
A tenant in an apartment building had recently died and had no listed family so the landlord created a post on Craigslist to see if anyone would be interested in taking some of the items. I was given an address and time to arrive, the information was added to my calendar. On the day of I went to the gym and then made my way to the apartment.
I entered the large building where I instantly came to the conclusion that this building required some significant financial standings to reside in due to the fact that the front door was one of those automatic sliding doors you see in Grocery stores. There were also desk men and elevators-all further signs that the rent in this building was high. All these signs and the fact that I was headed to an apartment on the top floor at the end of the hallway made me think that this was it, I'm going to find something good here today.
Walking down a dimly lit carpeted hallway I instantly pictured seeing the man who's apartment I was about to pick through wheeling down the hallway on a stretcher in a body bag. I saw the zipper slide down, his body perk up, and him saying that he hopes I find something good as his skin starts to fall off. There was something odd about what I was about to do but let's be honest, that feeling had never stopped me before.
The apartment looked as if it were searched through by the FBI and in rage of a lack of findings they just threw his shit everywhere. As you enter the residence there's a huge living room, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a good sized kitchen. There was even a blood stain on the carpet from where the previous owner had been shot. HaHa come on-just playing.
I was there for clothes so I immediately went for the bedroom. The landlord said that most of his tenants clothes had already been sent to the salvation army and my heart dropped. Fortunately though there were still some items for me to browse.
The jackpot was a few boxes of old watches clearly with no value mixed in with some old school (like 60's-70's) sunglasses. I took 2 watches and 8 pairs of sunglasses. Then I noticed a few unopened closets in the kitchen and I found a suit that fit and a vintage Paul Smith shirt. After concluding that I had covered all areas that required searching I managed to leave with a full body mirror as well.
Some clothes, lots of sunglasses, and a mirror added to my inventory all because I was bored at work and was scanning the free section of Craigslist. This is clear evidence that dead people can still be cool. Thanks dead guy from west 23rd street, may you rest in peace.
As I was sitting in my corner at work waiting for the bar patrons to check their belongings I was browsing Craigslists' "Free" section. I found a title to a posting which I could not resist clicking to learn more. "FREE ESTATE", the location listed was Chelsea which anyone familiar with Manhattan real estate knows is a pricey area. My automatic assumption was that there could be something of value so I emailed the address listed to inquire with and got a nearly immediate response.
A tenant in an apartment building had recently died and had no listed family so the landlord created a post on Craigslist to see if anyone would be interested in taking some of the items. I was given an address and time to arrive, the information was added to my calendar. On the day of I went to the gym and then made my way to the apartment.
I entered the large building where I instantly came to the conclusion that this building required some significant financial standings to reside in due to the fact that the front door was one of those automatic sliding doors you see in Grocery stores. There were also desk men and elevators-all further signs that the rent in this building was high. All these signs and the fact that I was headed to an apartment on the top floor at the end of the hallway made me think that this was it, I'm going to find something good here today.
Walking down a dimly lit carpeted hallway I instantly pictured seeing the man who's apartment I was about to pick through wheeling down the hallway on a stretcher in a body bag. I saw the zipper slide down, his body perk up, and him saying that he hopes I find something good as his skin starts to fall off. There was something odd about what I was about to do but let's be honest, that feeling had never stopped me before.
The apartment looked as if it were searched through by the FBI and in rage of a lack of findings they just threw his shit everywhere. As you enter the residence there's a huge living room, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a good sized kitchen. There was even a blood stain on the carpet from where the previous owner had been shot. HaHa come on-just playing.
I was there for clothes so I immediately went for the bedroom. The landlord said that most of his tenants clothes had already been sent to the salvation army and my heart dropped. Fortunately though there were still some items for me to browse.
The jackpot was a few boxes of old watches clearly with no value mixed in with some old school (like 60's-70's) sunglasses. I took 2 watches and 8 pairs of sunglasses. Then I noticed a few unopened closets in the kitchen and I found a suit that fit and a vintage Paul Smith shirt. After concluding that I had covered all areas that required searching I managed to leave with a full body mirror as well.
Some clothes, lots of sunglasses, and a mirror added to my inventory all because I was bored at work and was scanning the free section of Craigslist. This is clear evidence that dead people can still be cool. Thanks dead guy from west 23rd street, may you rest in peace.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Fit Model
New York City does sleep. Usually when the weather is shit or after 3 am on a weeknight before Thursday. The constant here is that your survival instinct is always on and those without financially comfortable careers are always in contemplation of where their next dollar will come from. Those who don't plan their income find themselves on the streets or on some form of cheap public transportation back home.
I've maintained my aggressive pursuit of survival and success in modeling as well as in the general life of a city goer. Since I transitioned from catering work to being a coat check boy at the gay bar I've gotten used to long nights on the weekends with quite an unpredictable guarantee that I'll make a decent income for the evening. Coat check aside, jobs still exude through the sketchy gates of Craigslist and I've some how managed to maintain a constant flow of again an unpredictable guarantee of a decent income.
One new job I've acquired from Craigslist which relates to modeling is "Fit Modeling". A mens shirt designer posted an announcement searching for a fit model and I managed to get the job. Fit modeling is basically acting as an opinionated mannequin for a clothing designer to report any discomfort in size and any other thoughts in regards to the final cut of the piece. I met with the designer 3 times before he permitted the group who would be fabricating the shirts to go ahead with production.
We met in the second floor of a building on west 38th street in Manhattan. The room was long and artificially lit with multiple long fluorescent bulbs, the ones that make you feel like you're in a lab or a stale office building and all of the workers were of Asian descent. Clothes of many varieties were either on hangers or on mannequins and I took from my observation that the people I saw worked with designers to put their art into production to send to the consumers. It was a really neat experience to see a new step in the process of how clothes come to be.
At my first appointment I was measured thoroughly as my body shape was to be the mold for which the shirt would be created. The "work" for the next two meetings itself was effortless as all I was asked to do was merely put on the shirt which was of a low quality fabric the business used to make test runs for the designers to check measurements and use on their fit models. They asked how the piece felt on me, how easily I could move my arms, and if I could recommend any changes.
The section of the shirt in between my shoulder blades was where my only comment was instigated as it was a bit tight. After speaking of my discomfort they said they'd add 3/4 of an inch to the location where it was tight and other than that the shirt was ready to go. The designer added a few minor alterations such as pocket location and collar width but other than that the shirt was good to go.
I got paid in cash and was thanked sincerely for my laid back attitude and professionalism by the designer. He said that he'd like to continue to use me throughout his work and that he'd like to use me for his look book (basically a catalog) which equates to more money I can look forward to also the potential of getting more images to use in my portfolio. Getting paid to have your photo taken is one thing but then when you receive quality photos with potential to be placed in your book its a really nice feeling because most of the time the photographer is the one getting your money or you or your agent has to request a free test, its a win win scenario.
Networking, as I've said before is a large part to the success in modeling so the more designers I work with the more confidence and optimism I get that good things are right around the corner and with fashion week around the corner I need to do as much as possible to get my name out there.
More to Come Soon
I've maintained my aggressive pursuit of survival and success in modeling as well as in the general life of a city goer. Since I transitioned from catering work to being a coat check boy at the gay bar I've gotten used to long nights on the weekends with quite an unpredictable guarantee that I'll make a decent income for the evening. Coat check aside, jobs still exude through the sketchy gates of Craigslist and I've some how managed to maintain a constant flow of again an unpredictable guarantee of a decent income.
One new job I've acquired from Craigslist which relates to modeling is "Fit Modeling". A mens shirt designer posted an announcement searching for a fit model and I managed to get the job. Fit modeling is basically acting as an opinionated mannequin for a clothing designer to report any discomfort in size and any other thoughts in regards to the final cut of the piece. I met with the designer 3 times before he permitted the group who would be fabricating the shirts to go ahead with production.
We met in the second floor of a building on west 38th street in Manhattan. The room was long and artificially lit with multiple long fluorescent bulbs, the ones that make you feel like you're in a lab or a stale office building and all of the workers were of Asian descent. Clothes of many varieties were either on hangers or on mannequins and I took from my observation that the people I saw worked with designers to put their art into production to send to the consumers. It was a really neat experience to see a new step in the process of how clothes come to be.
At my first appointment I was measured thoroughly as my body shape was to be the mold for which the shirt would be created. The "work" for the next two meetings itself was effortless as all I was asked to do was merely put on the shirt which was of a low quality fabric the business used to make test runs for the designers to check measurements and use on their fit models. They asked how the piece felt on me, how easily I could move my arms, and if I could recommend any changes.
The section of the shirt in between my shoulder blades was where my only comment was instigated as it was a bit tight. After speaking of my discomfort they said they'd add 3/4 of an inch to the location where it was tight and other than that the shirt was ready to go. The designer added a few minor alterations such as pocket location and collar width but other than that the shirt was good to go.
I got paid in cash and was thanked sincerely for my laid back attitude and professionalism by the designer. He said that he'd like to continue to use me throughout his work and that he'd like to use me for his look book (basically a catalog) which equates to more money I can look forward to also the potential of getting more images to use in my portfolio. Getting paid to have your photo taken is one thing but then when you receive quality photos with potential to be placed in your book its a really nice feeling because most of the time the photographer is the one getting your money or you or your agent has to request a free test, its a win win scenario.
Networking, as I've said before is a large part to the success in modeling so the more designers I work with the more confidence and optimism I get that good things are right around the corner and with fashion week around the corner I need to do as much as possible to get my name out there.
More to Come Soon
Friday, November 5, 2010
I am FAT
So I've had this frequent occurrence lately where people seriously have been calling me fat. No matter how kindly they try to put it, its like a handicap people awkwardly observe and freely announce. Many people ask me how that makes me feel-to be called fat with the physique that I've got. I'm not self conscious (just yet) about myself nor my body and I strive to just say Hey It Is What It Is but when people start calling you fat and you have less than 10% body fat its sort of frustrating considering the amount of time I put in at the gym.
I work out religiously and have stubbornly come to the point where I finally embrace that even if I work out for 5 hours a day I can't eat yodels and burgers after my work outs and expect to achieve the goals I have for my physique. My abdominals are like bears in hibernation and the fat on top is like a cold winters frozen temperatures. I will not have flawless (fatless rather) abs until the winters air ( a new diet is Spring weather ) thaws and I get 95% discipline in my diet.
Like being called fat another constant in my NY life is the question of how intensely do I want to be a model. The answer determines the effort I'm willing to put forth to make success a reality. While there's a lot of bad in the industry the small percentage of good almost makes it worth the constant negativity. Working with designers and aspiring photographers is an enlightening experience.
I once used to be in love with art whether it be music or simple drawing. As life has passed reality has flooded my thought process with distraction from my artistic endeavors and now there is a serious diminished interest which is sad. When I see an emerging designer or up and coming photographer an attractive characteristic I observe is the heart filled passion they put into their work. Creating a new piece for the line or contemplating a new concept to shoot is just as exciting to them as a child opening the first gift at their birthday party and that reminds me of my days of passion and enthusiasm. Sure I put a lot of effort into modeling but my passion for it is not there, my enthusiasm for New York City has faded, I've reached the point where one seeking something new relocates their residence and acquires the "geographical fix".
I was recently on a shoot with a female model from Finland and we were chatting of traveling and moving around the world. We both agreed that we as humans most always want what we can't have and that it is very necessary to incorporate variety into your life especially in regards to travel. Now that the streets of New York aren't new I seek a change. I do not foresee another opportunity to get a geographical fix in the near future so I shall incorporate more variety into my life.
There will always be constants but a great way to add variety to my boring (and one of the benefits of modeling-shooting with new people all the time) is to add to my network of acquaintances. Every day I email many people I don't know and either introduce myself so that they may consider me for future projects (whether they be designers or photographers) or inquire with stylists or hair and make up artists to see if they're interested in testing (shooting) with me. I suppose you could say I'm an explorer and since most of the earth has already been discovered I opt to explore people and sift through the good and the bad. Since I cannot travel as much as I'd like I suppose something I am semi passionate about is meeting new people and seeing where our relationship leads me to.
It could be a casting director for a shoot whom I shot with that calls me up randomly months after a shoot to see if I'm available that day for a last minute project or a photographer that I haven't heard from in ages that remembered our test and wanted to see if I'd be interested in another collaboration, you never know where a good first impression/encounter could lead. So-Look at this-in this one writing I've realized that I still have a passion in modeling indirectly and its through the adventures it lures me into...brilliant
I work out religiously and have stubbornly come to the point where I finally embrace that even if I work out for 5 hours a day I can't eat yodels and burgers after my work outs and expect to achieve the goals I have for my physique. My abdominals are like bears in hibernation and the fat on top is like a cold winters frozen temperatures. I will not have flawless (fatless rather) abs until the winters air ( a new diet is Spring weather ) thaws and I get 95% discipline in my diet.
Like being called fat another constant in my NY life is the question of how intensely do I want to be a model. The answer determines the effort I'm willing to put forth to make success a reality. While there's a lot of bad in the industry the small percentage of good almost makes it worth the constant negativity. Working with designers and aspiring photographers is an enlightening experience.
I once used to be in love with art whether it be music or simple drawing. As life has passed reality has flooded my thought process with distraction from my artistic endeavors and now there is a serious diminished interest which is sad. When I see an emerging designer or up and coming photographer an attractive characteristic I observe is the heart filled passion they put into their work. Creating a new piece for the line or contemplating a new concept to shoot is just as exciting to them as a child opening the first gift at their birthday party and that reminds me of my days of passion and enthusiasm. Sure I put a lot of effort into modeling but my passion for it is not there, my enthusiasm for New York City has faded, I've reached the point where one seeking something new relocates their residence and acquires the "geographical fix".
I was recently on a shoot with a female model from Finland and we were chatting of traveling and moving around the world. We both agreed that we as humans most always want what we can't have and that it is very necessary to incorporate variety into your life especially in regards to travel. Now that the streets of New York aren't new I seek a change. I do not foresee another opportunity to get a geographical fix in the near future so I shall incorporate more variety into my life.
There will always be constants but a great way to add variety to my boring (and one of the benefits of modeling-shooting with new people all the time) is to add to my network of acquaintances. Every day I email many people I don't know and either introduce myself so that they may consider me for future projects (whether they be designers or photographers) or inquire with stylists or hair and make up artists to see if they're interested in testing (shooting) with me. I suppose you could say I'm an explorer and since most of the earth has already been discovered I opt to explore people and sift through the good and the bad. Since I cannot travel as much as I'd like I suppose something I am semi passionate about is meeting new people and seeing where our relationship leads me to.
It could be a casting director for a shoot whom I shot with that calls me up randomly months after a shoot to see if I'm available that day for a last minute project or a photographer that I haven't heard from in ages that remembered our test and wanted to see if I'd be interested in another collaboration, you never know where a good first impression/encounter could lead. So-Look at this-in this one writing I've realized that I still have a passion in modeling indirectly and its through the adventures it lures me into...brilliant
Monday, November 1, 2010
My new job as a coat check man @ a gay bar
New York City life is a hustle and hustling requires extra energy. With prolonged exposure to the hustle I've encountered an exhaustion I can't seem to kick. I feel that the intelligent resolution to the situation is to counter the hustle characteristics I've flooded my life with upon moving to NYC with somewhat of a more simple lifestyle. The main experience I had when moving to the city was an instability in my schedule. I was doing work from craigslist, flyering, catering, as well as striving to shoot as much as possible all of which proved to be successful but increased my internal pace and set a subconscious anxiety in place.
Modeling is currently not paying me anything and all I've been getting from my photo shoots is new photos instead of new checks. With that I've been forced to work more and since I feel I need to center myself due to the instability in my schedule I've decided to find a steady job. Most jobs in the city require loads of experience to get hired and since I'm not highly skilled in many forms of employment I decided to pursue a different avenue.
I knew I could find some type of work at a gay bar or at least entice some gay manager to hire a young male model so I emailed all the gay clubs in the city and got a few replies back. A small club/lounge/bar in the west village called XES sent me an email asking me to come in for an interview for the "coat check" position. I figured it would be common sense work so I said I was experienced and was welcomed at my interview. The general manager of the club met with me and said he'd give me a chance to see how I worked with the "team". My first night was Thursday night-Karaoke night.
I got to the bar for 5 pm and the manager showed me where my equipment was and where I was to hang the coats. I set up a small table close to the front door and queued up a few ticket tags for the hangers. The manager that hired me got me a roll of tape for bags (to tape tickets to a bag) and the most necessary tool for my success-a tip jar. When I was ready to go I stood at my position and awaited the crowd. The shitty thing is that there is no closet to hang coats I have to walk up and down the stairs for each item-fml
The bar gets a good rush for happy hour-buy one get one free from 6 to 9 and I arrived at 5 so I had a small crowd there already but few coats. There is a lull in activity until about 11 or 12 and then the true party people come out and I get most of my business. The more alcohol one consumes there the more likely I'm going to get a tip.
I find it very humorous when an older guy clearly drunk and blatantly gay comes up to me not knowing I'm the coat check guy even though I've got my table and a sign that says "FREE COAT CHECK" and tries chatting with me. They'll stumble in front of me and stare for a few seconds-few minutes if they're wasted and then engage in a failure of communication. Some guys will let me know they've been looking at me all night wondering why I'm standing in the corner or will say something like "you look like you're not having any fun" and I'll give them a fake smile and nonchalantly point to the "COAT CHECK" sign above my head and inform them that I am an employee of the bar not a patron or sometimes just point to the sign and follow it with silence so their slow thought process is evident to them without a verbal explanation from myself.
I worked halloween night and one guy asked me what my costume was being that I was holding a coat hanger. Again I gave the fake smile (but wish I said, dude are fuckin dull?) and pointed to the sign. At least he was keen enough to make it humorous and say "well I'm not the smartest cookie". Right.
So I get an hourly rate as well as tips and the tips make the job worth it. Catering made me a little more money but not by much and with that you had to look proper, deal with arrogant cocky assholes (serving them not ALWAYS working with them), and the hours were so random plus the payment was always delayed. Cash money every night and a paycheck every other week, it works. So I've found some stability in employment and when mixed with a daily gym workout things should get back under control just in time for the crazy Fashion Week scheduling-LOVELY.
Modeling is currently not paying me anything and all I've been getting from my photo shoots is new photos instead of new checks. With that I've been forced to work more and since I feel I need to center myself due to the instability in my schedule I've decided to find a steady job. Most jobs in the city require loads of experience to get hired and since I'm not highly skilled in many forms of employment I decided to pursue a different avenue.
I knew I could find some type of work at a gay bar or at least entice some gay manager to hire a young male model so I emailed all the gay clubs in the city and got a few replies back. A small club/lounge/bar in the west village called XES sent me an email asking me to come in for an interview for the "coat check" position. I figured it would be common sense work so I said I was experienced and was welcomed at my interview. The general manager of the club met with me and said he'd give me a chance to see how I worked with the "team". My first night was Thursday night-Karaoke night.
I got to the bar for 5 pm and the manager showed me where my equipment was and where I was to hang the coats. I set up a small table close to the front door and queued up a few ticket tags for the hangers. The manager that hired me got me a roll of tape for bags (to tape tickets to a bag) and the most necessary tool for my success-a tip jar. When I was ready to go I stood at my position and awaited the crowd. The shitty thing is that there is no closet to hang coats I have to walk up and down the stairs for each item-fml
The bar gets a good rush for happy hour-buy one get one free from 6 to 9 and I arrived at 5 so I had a small crowd there already but few coats. There is a lull in activity until about 11 or 12 and then the true party people come out and I get most of my business. The more alcohol one consumes there the more likely I'm going to get a tip.
I find it very humorous when an older guy clearly drunk and blatantly gay comes up to me not knowing I'm the coat check guy even though I've got my table and a sign that says "FREE COAT CHECK" and tries chatting with me. They'll stumble in front of me and stare for a few seconds-few minutes if they're wasted and then engage in a failure of communication. Some guys will let me know they've been looking at me all night wondering why I'm standing in the corner or will say something like "you look like you're not having any fun" and I'll give them a fake smile and nonchalantly point to the "COAT CHECK" sign above my head and inform them that I am an employee of the bar not a patron or sometimes just point to the sign and follow it with silence so their slow thought process is evident to them without a verbal explanation from myself.
I worked halloween night and one guy asked me what my costume was being that I was holding a coat hanger. Again I gave the fake smile (but wish I said, dude are fuckin dull?) and pointed to the sign. At least he was keen enough to make it humorous and say "well I'm not the smartest cookie". Right.
So I get an hourly rate as well as tips and the tips make the job worth it. Catering made me a little more money but not by much and with that you had to look proper, deal with arrogant cocky assholes (serving them not ALWAYS working with them), and the hours were so random plus the payment was always delayed. Cash money every night and a paycheck every other week, it works. So I've found some stability in employment and when mixed with a daily gym workout things should get back under control just in time for the crazy Fashion Week scheduling-LOVELY.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Ryan
My name is Ryan. I am a 25 year old male from Kentucky. My mother died when I was 14 and my father was a wealthy unloving father who raised me harshly. I got into the drug game early ( heroine addict) and became a hit man with 20-30 heads under my belt for a big drug dealer. I gave it all up for christianity but after someone at my church spoke down to my bisexual sister about her sexuality I gave up religion and went back to school for business.
When my mother passed away I started to chat with Nicole online. What my father lacked in warmth and comfort, she was able to fill in. After a few months we shifted to aim and then telephone conversations. Now after 5-7 years of communication, a few visits from my sister Shayla in place of me, and no physical meetings from myself Nicole is fed up and wishes to meet me or else communication will cease as she has confessed her love for me and "must" see me.
Unfortunately I am a woman and Ryan is merely a character I have created for various reasons. Nicole helped me through my struggles in life as my family has encountered detrimental turmoil. I am faced with quite a dilemma as my online friend is tired of waiting to finally meet me and threatening to end communications so I must find a Ryan in real life. Someone who can fit the role of reformed bad boy, educated, and handsome. I will post an ad on craigslist and find this man.
---------------------------------------------------------
As I was scanning through the craigslist ads as I do every hour or so throughout my day I came across a post seeking a handsome young male actor. I clicked the link and read a post with very general details which instructed those who fit the criteria listed on the page to inquire via email for further information. Instinctively I emailed immediately and gave a brief introductory statement of myself and included my model mayhem (model portfolio website) web address for the poster of the ad to see what I looked like.
Shortly after I had sent the message my phone vibrated and I was notified of a new message. Whenever my phone vibrates it could be 5 things; low battery, a phone call, an alarm, a new text, or a new email. The cause of this buzzing was the aftermath of my catching "Ryans" creators attention with my email. After numerous detailed emails back and forth I was briefed on the assignment, whom I would be acting as, and what I would be required to do. Needless to say I accepted the offer and we went into stage two of planning a date and time.
Two weeks later on Friday September, 17th I woke up and made a very tasty broccoli mozzarella and parmesean cheese omelet and washed it down with a few strawberries. I went to the gym where I ellipticalled my way to a heart rate of 175 for ten minutes and then proceeded to work out for 2 more hours. Afterwards I ordered a spinach salad with avacados, broccoli, black beans, croutons, corn, tomatoes, carrots, steamed spinach, cauliflower, cucumbers, and a balsamic vinaigrette then headed for the subway. In the 6 or so stops it took to get from Wall street to Grand central I had consumed my monster salad (was a good way to keep my thoughts from roaming into potential negative outcome scenarios for the immediate future). I departed the subway and made my way for the train ticket acquisition area. My ticket was purchased and I was on my way North to meet the mastermind behind "Ryan".
I made it to White Plains, NY earlier than anticipated and decided to call my father. I always inform him of my wild endeavors so I figured why not continue the tradition and fill him in on this one. His uneasy tone was easily translated into concern and disapproval. He simply asked me to put myself in the shoes of the woman whom Ryan is in love with. "You're fucking with her and the woman who created this character is an asshole". He continued to say that what I was doing is fraud and it just doesn't have a good vibe. I told him that I loved him and sincerely appreciated his concern but that I was to carry through with my unprecedented task at hand.
We hung up and I sat on the bench waiting for my new boss to arrive, contemplating. I had to stay optimistic and confident or else my performance would be with distraction and perhaps my cover would be blown. I tried to think of how this chick who created the male figure could use me to acquire some financial benefit from the woman online and as I was unsuccessfully brainstorming I received another discouraging text from my father.
With a message similar to what he had said on the phone, my father made his final plea for me to abort mission. I replied back explaining that both these women found comfort from the other and that I was merely a catalyst to their depressing (to a third party) relief from the real world.I continued by saying, "its like people who believe in and get comfort from god. A priest provides them with the story and makes everything flow. I'm just like a fucked up (actor) priest." His response was short, "I love you".
Ryans sisters name is Shayla so we will call my boss Shayla. She pulls up in a late model 5 series (bmw) and parks the car in an adjacent garage to the station. When she emerged from the concrete structure her dirty blond hair and short curvy figure matched with a cautious yet glowing face allowed my worries of this all being a staged production to have me arrested or murdered from persons in my past had disappeared. We awkwardly said hello and spent a good 5 minutes trying to find her car that she had just parked a second ago: clear sign she was nervous or a true blond.
As we searched the interrogative dialogue began and I asked her straight off the bat what her benefit and goal for the day was. I could tell she was an intelligent girl because she kept things vague until I would press harder and even then, I'm sure I truly only know half of the actual story's details. We found the car, a navy blue 1995 5 series with new emblems and a worn leather interior; certainly a car to be comfortable in. What was most obvious that this creative girl was who she said she was was the Kentucky license plate. We got in the car and started our journey to Connecticut.
After all the necessary questions were asked from my end and Shayla filled me in on everything that I needed to know we began to chat as if we had been friends for a while. We spoke about current events from our lives, listened to music, and laughed. It was oddly comfortable. I'm not sure whether I was genuinely enjoying her company or subconsciously trying to distract myself from the blatant reality that I was soon going to be acting as if I were in love with a random unattractive woman I knew nothing about as well as play the role of Shaylas brother. Either way, I enjoyed the ride.
We exited the highway and Shayla told me that we were going to get Nicole flowers. She said if we can keep her awe struck that you're actually here, her knight in shining armor, then she will not inquire on any of the details discussed between each other over the many years of chatting I would have been responsible for knowing. Thus the flowers, my gentlemanly ways, and my handsome features. Clearly this girl had contemplated this over and over to assure no room for failure highlighting her love for this woman named Nicole.
Shayla was not the best driver despite her telling me of her love for speed. After she nearly killed us three times with potential accidents, she figured shed see how I drove. It made sense since this was Ryans car and Nicole may find it odd that his sister was driving him around. But let's face it, this whole fucking thing is pretty odd so I'm sure it wouldn't have phased Nicole.
I get in the car, adjust my mirrors, and take a deep breath. I was about to drive to meet a person who was madly in love with me, give her flowers, and pretend that I; knew her, loved her, and was actually attracted to the short ugly and fat person that she was. This is certainly not the craziest thing I had ever done but it ranked among the top ten. I pulled out of the flower shops parking lot and a minute later I was face to face with Nicole.
In Shaylas informative lecture as to whom Ryan was on our ride to this point, I asked her of any pet names I should call her. "Princess" was what I was to call Nicole so when I first saw her I gave her the flowers and said "hello princess its so good to finally see you". We were to go to a movie at 5:45 and it was just about 5 when the rendezvous occurred so I killed some time driving around. We drove past a few stores and decided to go look at shoes and puppies. The shoes sucked and there were no puppies so we drove a bit more and then went to the movies. Shayla wanted to see "Devil" and it was so bad that we ended up walking out and going to dinner early.
Bertuccis. That was where Nicole wanted to go, her special place. Earlier on the ride out Shayla asked me what I meant when I had texted her that obviously Nicole does not need much to be impressed. I was referring to the dining establishment she had picked up. I explained my theory to Shayla and she told me that she couldn't disagree with where I was coming from. As we were entering this mediocre Italian restaurant Shayla told me to tell Nicole my theory on quality of Chain restaurants.
I gave her an example to help her grasp the concept I was attempting to unleash on these ladies. If you buy a pair of pants which were mass produced in China they would in no way resemble the same quality as a pair of hand made designer pants where time and precision was allotted freely to ensure the highest quality. I'm not saying you can't get a tasty meal at a chain restaurant but I am saying that chances are at least where I live, that if you go out to a non chain place to eat you're going to get some stellar dishes. Nicole awkwardly agreed as we entered the over rated bertuccis.
The hostess asked me how many and what name. I was getting comfortable with my character and ALMOST said that my name was Randall. "Ryan for 3 please". We were seated almost immediately and I sought refuge in the restroom for a few to catch up on my missed calls and unread messages. I returned to the table and Nicole went to the toilet. Shayla complimented and thanked me for my performance and asked if I had enough cash for dinner (which she supplied beforehand). I did not so we went out to the car to get some more cash.
We returned and the fat girl had her place set on the table with a vacant spot to her side. I took the hint that that was my sign to sit next to her so I slid in and tried not to look at her. The role I was playing was that of one who was picky with what he selected which to me was a bit of an oxymoron seeing how the aesthetic of Nicole was so horrid. I pretended to be overwhelmed with the menu and asked my Princess what she thought I should select. She said that I was so picky she had no idea. I wanted to get the steak and chicken combo as this wasn't my dime covering dinner but I stayed in character and opted for the lasagna.
Shayla got ravioli and Nicole a salad then a depressing conversation took place. I asked why Nicole had only eaten a small portion of her salad and she explained to me how she hadn't eaten in 3 days and how anything she ate was going to upset her stomach. When Shayla asked her why she would go and do a silly thing like not eat Nicoles response though simple, almost made me feel bad for doing what I was doing. She said she was trying to fit into the shirt that she was wearing. She knows she's fat and really tried to look good for the unreal character she's in love with. I almost felt bad. Fortunately she ordered some sangria and the thought of getting a little buzz erased any contemplations of how wrong this whole scenario was.
This created an immediate worry though. Ordering alcohol generally coincides with showing identification. I thought that if I took out my ID Nicole would ask to see my photo. As she ordered the caraff of alcohol I announced that I needed to go out to the car and as I was getting up the waitress asked if we wanted anything else to drink. I sat back down and thanked the waitress for her offer but declined then told Nicole that I didn't need to go outside anymore. Puzzled she gave me a questioning look and I immediately told her that I was going to put on some more make up but that I decided not to. The topic was dropped right there.
With Nicole being the only one content with her meal I hailed the waitress over. She asked how everything was and I pointed to Shaylas dish and told the waitress to "throw that away, wrap up my lasagna, and do whatever she (Nicole) wants with her dish). The waitress was shocked and asked if Shayla did not like her dish, in a careless tone my sister said that it was disgusting and I jumped in and said the only reason I want my lasagna to go is so I can feed my dogs as they will eat any shit I give them. This was all part of a sick game. Emphasizing that Nicole not only picked a shitty restaurant but that her two "dates" who drove 13 hours to see her were disgusted with their meals. Brutal!
We drove back to Nicoles car and I apologized for the let down of the movie and dinner. Nicole said it was fine and that it was amazing and special that I came to see her. I told her that I'd do everything I could to come back to see her asap and that it made me so happy to see her after all these years of waiting and that she was certainly worth the wait. I think at that moment I threw up in my mouth but that's besides the point. It was LOVE.
Shayla and I drove back to the train station and she kept telling me how happy she was and that I did great. Also, she offered that if I were interested in this situation again that she'd be happy to pay for my services. I'll have to think long and hard about the possibility of a next time. This Nicole girl is nothing I'd like to make regular in my life though living in NY is expensive and that shit just paid my rent!
When my mother passed away I started to chat with Nicole online. What my father lacked in warmth and comfort, she was able to fill in. After a few months we shifted to aim and then telephone conversations. Now after 5-7 years of communication, a few visits from my sister Shayla in place of me, and no physical meetings from myself Nicole is fed up and wishes to meet me or else communication will cease as she has confessed her love for me and "must" see me.
Unfortunately I am a woman and Ryan is merely a character I have created for various reasons. Nicole helped me through my struggles in life as my family has encountered detrimental turmoil. I am faced with quite a dilemma as my online friend is tired of waiting to finally meet me and threatening to end communications so I must find a Ryan in real life. Someone who can fit the role of reformed bad boy, educated, and handsome. I will post an ad on craigslist and find this man.
---------------------------------------------------------
As I was scanning through the craigslist ads as I do every hour or so throughout my day I came across a post seeking a handsome young male actor. I clicked the link and read a post with very general details which instructed those who fit the criteria listed on the page to inquire via email for further information. Instinctively I emailed immediately and gave a brief introductory statement of myself and included my model mayhem (model portfolio website) web address for the poster of the ad to see what I looked like.
Shortly after I had sent the message my phone vibrated and I was notified of a new message. Whenever my phone vibrates it could be 5 things; low battery, a phone call, an alarm, a new text, or a new email. The cause of this buzzing was the aftermath of my catching "Ryans" creators attention with my email. After numerous detailed emails back and forth I was briefed on the assignment, whom I would be acting as, and what I would be required to do. Needless to say I accepted the offer and we went into stage two of planning a date and time.
Two weeks later on Friday September, 17th I woke up and made a very tasty broccoli mozzarella and parmesean cheese omelet and washed it down with a few strawberries. I went to the gym where I ellipticalled my way to a heart rate of 175 for ten minutes and then proceeded to work out for 2 more hours. Afterwards I ordered a spinach salad with avacados, broccoli, black beans, croutons, corn, tomatoes, carrots, steamed spinach, cauliflower, cucumbers, and a balsamic vinaigrette then headed for the subway. In the 6 or so stops it took to get from Wall street to Grand central I had consumed my monster salad (was a good way to keep my thoughts from roaming into potential negative outcome scenarios for the immediate future). I departed the subway and made my way for the train ticket acquisition area. My ticket was purchased and I was on my way North to meet the mastermind behind "Ryan".
I made it to White Plains, NY earlier than anticipated and decided to call my father. I always inform him of my wild endeavors so I figured why not continue the tradition and fill him in on this one. His uneasy tone was easily translated into concern and disapproval. He simply asked me to put myself in the shoes of the woman whom Ryan is in love with. "You're fucking with her and the woman who created this character is an asshole". He continued to say that what I was doing is fraud and it just doesn't have a good vibe. I told him that I loved him and sincerely appreciated his concern but that I was to carry through with my unprecedented task at hand.
We hung up and I sat on the bench waiting for my new boss to arrive, contemplating. I had to stay optimistic and confident or else my performance would be with distraction and perhaps my cover would be blown. I tried to think of how this chick who created the male figure could use me to acquire some financial benefit from the woman online and as I was unsuccessfully brainstorming I received another discouraging text from my father.
With a message similar to what he had said on the phone, my father made his final plea for me to abort mission. I replied back explaining that both these women found comfort from the other and that I was merely a catalyst to their depressing (to a third party) relief from the real world.I continued by saying, "its like people who believe in and get comfort from god. A priest provides them with the story and makes everything flow. I'm just like a fucked up (actor) priest." His response was short, "I love you".
Ryans sisters name is Shayla so we will call my boss Shayla. She pulls up in a late model 5 series (bmw) and parks the car in an adjacent garage to the station. When she emerged from the concrete structure her dirty blond hair and short curvy figure matched with a cautious yet glowing face allowed my worries of this all being a staged production to have me arrested or murdered from persons in my past had disappeared. We awkwardly said hello and spent a good 5 minutes trying to find her car that she had just parked a second ago: clear sign she was nervous or a true blond.
As we searched the interrogative dialogue began and I asked her straight off the bat what her benefit and goal for the day was. I could tell she was an intelligent girl because she kept things vague until I would press harder and even then, I'm sure I truly only know half of the actual story's details. We found the car, a navy blue 1995 5 series with new emblems and a worn leather interior; certainly a car to be comfortable in. What was most obvious that this creative girl was who she said she was was the Kentucky license plate. We got in the car and started our journey to Connecticut.
After all the necessary questions were asked from my end and Shayla filled me in on everything that I needed to know we began to chat as if we had been friends for a while. We spoke about current events from our lives, listened to music, and laughed. It was oddly comfortable. I'm not sure whether I was genuinely enjoying her company or subconsciously trying to distract myself from the blatant reality that I was soon going to be acting as if I were in love with a random unattractive woman I knew nothing about as well as play the role of Shaylas brother. Either way, I enjoyed the ride.
We exited the highway and Shayla told me that we were going to get Nicole flowers. She said if we can keep her awe struck that you're actually here, her knight in shining armor, then she will not inquire on any of the details discussed between each other over the many years of chatting I would have been responsible for knowing. Thus the flowers, my gentlemanly ways, and my handsome features. Clearly this girl had contemplated this over and over to assure no room for failure highlighting her love for this woman named Nicole.
Shayla was not the best driver despite her telling me of her love for speed. After she nearly killed us three times with potential accidents, she figured shed see how I drove. It made sense since this was Ryans car and Nicole may find it odd that his sister was driving him around. But let's face it, this whole fucking thing is pretty odd so I'm sure it wouldn't have phased Nicole.
I get in the car, adjust my mirrors, and take a deep breath. I was about to drive to meet a person who was madly in love with me, give her flowers, and pretend that I; knew her, loved her, and was actually attracted to the short ugly and fat person that she was. This is certainly not the craziest thing I had ever done but it ranked among the top ten. I pulled out of the flower shops parking lot and a minute later I was face to face with Nicole.
In Shaylas informative lecture as to whom Ryan was on our ride to this point, I asked her of any pet names I should call her. "Princess" was what I was to call Nicole so when I first saw her I gave her the flowers and said "hello princess its so good to finally see you". We were to go to a movie at 5:45 and it was just about 5 when the rendezvous occurred so I killed some time driving around. We drove past a few stores and decided to go look at shoes and puppies. The shoes sucked and there were no puppies so we drove a bit more and then went to the movies. Shayla wanted to see "Devil" and it was so bad that we ended up walking out and going to dinner early.
Bertuccis. That was where Nicole wanted to go, her special place. Earlier on the ride out Shayla asked me what I meant when I had texted her that obviously Nicole does not need much to be impressed. I was referring to the dining establishment she had picked up. I explained my theory to Shayla and she told me that she couldn't disagree with where I was coming from. As we were entering this mediocre Italian restaurant Shayla told me to tell Nicole my theory on quality of Chain restaurants.
I gave her an example to help her grasp the concept I was attempting to unleash on these ladies. If you buy a pair of pants which were mass produced in China they would in no way resemble the same quality as a pair of hand made designer pants where time and precision was allotted freely to ensure the highest quality. I'm not saying you can't get a tasty meal at a chain restaurant but I am saying that chances are at least where I live, that if you go out to a non chain place to eat you're going to get some stellar dishes. Nicole awkwardly agreed as we entered the over rated bertuccis.
The hostess asked me how many and what name. I was getting comfortable with my character and ALMOST said that my name was Randall. "Ryan for 3 please". We were seated almost immediately and I sought refuge in the restroom for a few to catch up on my missed calls and unread messages. I returned to the table and Nicole went to the toilet. Shayla complimented and thanked me for my performance and asked if I had enough cash for dinner (which she supplied beforehand). I did not so we went out to the car to get some more cash.
We returned and the fat girl had her place set on the table with a vacant spot to her side. I took the hint that that was my sign to sit next to her so I slid in and tried not to look at her. The role I was playing was that of one who was picky with what he selected which to me was a bit of an oxymoron seeing how the aesthetic of Nicole was so horrid. I pretended to be overwhelmed with the menu and asked my Princess what she thought I should select. She said that I was so picky she had no idea. I wanted to get the steak and chicken combo as this wasn't my dime covering dinner but I stayed in character and opted for the lasagna.
Shayla got ravioli and Nicole a salad then a depressing conversation took place. I asked why Nicole had only eaten a small portion of her salad and she explained to me how she hadn't eaten in 3 days and how anything she ate was going to upset her stomach. When Shayla asked her why she would go and do a silly thing like not eat Nicoles response though simple, almost made me feel bad for doing what I was doing. She said she was trying to fit into the shirt that she was wearing. She knows she's fat and really tried to look good for the unreal character she's in love with. I almost felt bad. Fortunately she ordered some sangria and the thought of getting a little buzz erased any contemplations of how wrong this whole scenario was.
This created an immediate worry though. Ordering alcohol generally coincides with showing identification. I thought that if I took out my ID Nicole would ask to see my photo. As she ordered the caraff of alcohol I announced that I needed to go out to the car and as I was getting up the waitress asked if we wanted anything else to drink. I sat back down and thanked the waitress for her offer but declined then told Nicole that I didn't need to go outside anymore. Puzzled she gave me a questioning look and I immediately told her that I was going to put on some more make up but that I decided not to. The topic was dropped right there.
With Nicole being the only one content with her meal I hailed the waitress over. She asked how everything was and I pointed to Shaylas dish and told the waitress to "throw that away, wrap up my lasagna, and do whatever she (Nicole) wants with her dish). The waitress was shocked and asked if Shayla did not like her dish, in a careless tone my sister said that it was disgusting and I jumped in and said the only reason I want my lasagna to go is so I can feed my dogs as they will eat any shit I give them. This was all part of a sick game. Emphasizing that Nicole not only picked a shitty restaurant but that her two "dates" who drove 13 hours to see her were disgusted with their meals. Brutal!
We drove back to Nicoles car and I apologized for the let down of the movie and dinner. Nicole said it was fine and that it was amazing and special that I came to see her. I told her that I'd do everything I could to come back to see her asap and that it made me so happy to see her after all these years of waiting and that she was certainly worth the wait. I think at that moment I threw up in my mouth but that's besides the point. It was LOVE.
Shayla and I drove back to the train station and she kept telling me how happy she was and that I did great. Also, she offered that if I were interested in this situation again that she'd be happy to pay for my services. I'll have to think long and hard about the possibility of a next time. This Nicole girl is nothing I'd like to make regular in my life though living in NY is expensive and that shit just paid my rent!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Gotta Love Catering
So when modeling is slow catering takes over, I think any struggling model or model with slow work can relate. Tonight I worked an event at Bloomingdales where we served a few dishes, tastings rather with samples of various wines. There was a crew of 5 with one captain and each of the non captains were assigned 2 tables.
The evening was slowly paced and very manageable. At the conclusion of the sampling each guest was presented with a gift bag. The head chef who was answering questions with the owner of the wine company who provided the wine for sampling had provided $50 gift cards to his restaurant. Each guest received their bag and there was a plethora of surplus so we were given the OK to take a bag for ourselves.
Once we had cleaned up the entire area and put everything in its designated place and departed the desolate store. Three of us posted up outside and an additional two came out. A few lit their cigarettes and I waited patiently as the idea of using our gift cards to purchase drinks was presented. It was brilliant.
A classy, dimly lit, italian establishment cautiously allowed us entrance. We walked in and my two fellow employees allowed me to break the ice and see if the bartender would allow the gift card to permit us a few beverages. We were granted the privilege and proceeded to order the most expensive cocktails we could look up on the menu. Our fellow on the right had to depart due to an obligation to report to the lower east side for a DJ gig and had his cocktail and left us with a $10 bill for our tip. Myself and the other "partner" had two cocktails and conversed for about an hour.
Apparently I was working with a private military weapons trainer who learned his knife fighting skills in taiwan and turned that into a career training military personnel here in the states. He was also from the south where his ex navy seal father showed him a thing or two on weapons. We chatted mainly on fitness and I picked up some great new perspective to achieving my fitness goal. Balance Protein, Carbs, and good fats. Also when attempting to lose fat deduct your age from 220 and that is where you will burn the most fat. He said its not easy but even doing it for 10-15 seconds will get your body zapped in the right direction. Lastly, I ask him how to get the highly desired V. He said to hang from a pull up bar, lift your legs parallel to the ground, and do your pull ups.
I start my new training tomorrow before I attempt my most unique acting feat yet, more to come.
The evening was slowly paced and very manageable. At the conclusion of the sampling each guest was presented with a gift bag. The head chef who was answering questions with the owner of the wine company who provided the wine for sampling had provided $50 gift cards to his restaurant. Each guest received their bag and there was a plethora of surplus so we were given the OK to take a bag for ourselves.
Once we had cleaned up the entire area and put everything in its designated place and departed the desolate store. Three of us posted up outside and an additional two came out. A few lit their cigarettes and I waited patiently as the idea of using our gift cards to purchase drinks was presented. It was brilliant.
A classy, dimly lit, italian establishment cautiously allowed us entrance. We walked in and my two fellow employees allowed me to break the ice and see if the bartender would allow the gift card to permit us a few beverages. We were granted the privilege and proceeded to order the most expensive cocktails we could look up on the menu. Our fellow on the right had to depart due to an obligation to report to the lower east side for a DJ gig and had his cocktail and left us with a $10 bill for our tip. Myself and the other "partner" had two cocktails and conversed for about an hour.
Apparently I was working with a private military weapons trainer who learned his knife fighting skills in taiwan and turned that into a career training military personnel here in the states. He was also from the south where his ex navy seal father showed him a thing or two on weapons. We chatted mainly on fitness and I picked up some great new perspective to achieving my fitness goal. Balance Protein, Carbs, and good fats. Also when attempting to lose fat deduct your age from 220 and that is where you will burn the most fat. He said its not easy but even doing it for 10-15 seconds will get your body zapped in the right direction. Lastly, I ask him how to get the highly desired V. He said to hang from a pull up bar, lift your legs parallel to the ground, and do your pull ups.
I start my new training tomorrow before I attempt my most unique acting feat yet, more to come.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Brutal
I haven't seen the inside of the lincoln center mercedes benz fashion week tents yet. I consider this season an absolute failure. The number of castings I went to was between 15 and 25. My days before this week were busy and anxiety stricken. Now I know I was not selected so a new wave of anxious worries drifts into place.
I walked in one show and had a bad day so I missed my second booked show. The third show I was confirmed for, I called the day before the show to confirm timing and they said I was too euro/skinny/high fashion AKA they fucked up at the casting and when the designer saw me at his fitting he said no. These weeks have passed and I feel that I've given my heart to a goal which in the present has gotten me no where. Feelings of failure, disappointment, and fatigue have set in.
I have realized the significance of energies and patterns. A few days ago I was hustled into a -$20 bank balance. I was walking past two guys early in the morning. They went to both of my sides rather than pairing up while passing me. As they passed, the man to my right hit my shoulder and a conflict was the outcome to this impact.
As we made contact he dropped the bag that was in his hand. I looked back merely because I heard a loud noise: my head phones were on at full volume so you can tell I was unable to hear noises beyond the headphones. The man runs up to me and says "Yo you broke my bottle of whiskey". I told him that I was sorry but he bumped into me and dropped his shit.
I could smell the booze on his breath and he was swaying back and forth so I knew he was already drunk and there was no chance to reason with him. I took out my wallet and showed him that I only had two dollars and said that I was broke. He went on some rant how he was not playing games and that if I didn't pay him wed settle this here. He put his hands up and got in my face like someone getting ready to fight and his partner was slowly walking towards me.
First thing I thought was that I could definitely smash him in the face and out run him. But then I thought responsibly and said to myself no. This is a block from where I live and I cannot start a war. I bit the bullet and with his recommendation/command we went to the atm and I withdrew $20. It was a really shitty situation.
With my lack of shows and this bad energy around me I'm worried that these are signs. Perhaps it is a test to see if I will quit. The truth is always out of sight it seems. To make things worse I now have a cold and haven't been able to sleep which prevents me from looking presentable. What to do? What to do?!
Carry on...tomorrow is another day.
I walked in one show and had a bad day so I missed my second booked show. The third show I was confirmed for, I called the day before the show to confirm timing and they said I was too euro/skinny/high fashion AKA they fucked up at the casting and when the designer saw me at his fitting he said no. These weeks have passed and I feel that I've given my heart to a goal which in the present has gotten me no where. Feelings of failure, disappointment, and fatigue have set in.
I have realized the significance of energies and patterns. A few days ago I was hustled into a -$20 bank balance. I was walking past two guys early in the morning. They went to both of my sides rather than pairing up while passing me. As they passed, the man to my right hit my shoulder and a conflict was the outcome to this impact.
As we made contact he dropped the bag that was in his hand. I looked back merely because I heard a loud noise: my head phones were on at full volume so you can tell I was unable to hear noises beyond the headphones. The man runs up to me and says "Yo you broke my bottle of whiskey". I told him that I was sorry but he bumped into me and dropped his shit.
I could smell the booze on his breath and he was swaying back and forth so I knew he was already drunk and there was no chance to reason with him. I took out my wallet and showed him that I only had two dollars and said that I was broke. He went on some rant how he was not playing games and that if I didn't pay him wed settle this here. He put his hands up and got in my face like someone getting ready to fight and his partner was slowly walking towards me.
First thing I thought was that I could definitely smash him in the face and out run him. But then I thought responsibly and said to myself no. This is a block from where I live and I cannot start a war. I bit the bullet and with his recommendation/command we went to the atm and I withdrew $20. It was a really shitty situation.
With my lack of shows and this bad energy around me I'm worried that these are signs. Perhaps it is a test to see if I will quit. The truth is always out of sight it seems. To make things worse I now have a cold and haven't been able to sleep which prevents me from looking presentable. What to do? What to do?!
Carry on...tomorrow is another day.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
September 6th
The Monday before fashion week and I've only got one casting, compliments of the agency. Something is really fucked up with that. I woke up late and had a leisurely morning. The casting was from 10 am to 4 pm where I could arrive anytime in between and I got there at about 2pm. After waiting 45 minutes and battling the urge to urinate all over my fellow models due to the large water and shot of vodka I had consumed on the train ride to the casting I was finally seen.
As I've said before, when the casting directors don't like what they see the models get an automatic "Thank you". Perhaps I've been fortunate enough to have been spared the embarrassment of being laughed at or cruelly turned down but today I saw Michael Bastian. When I entered the doorway I could see some models walk with clothes and some in underwear...I quickly learned that if you were walking in underwear then the designer and casting team approved your clothed walk and wanted to see more.
I entered the studio and warmly shook all the hands that I could as I introduced myself. They reviewed my book and asked me to walk. I did my walk and when I returned the designer had a look on his face with raised eye brows which I could not interpret. He asked me to pull my hair back and said to his colleagues something in regards to my look having army or military qualities. I was then asked to strip down to my underwear and walk. I did as I was told and they continued the selection process where they photographed me a few times and allowed me to go.
I left feeling a bit content and somewhat cocky. Shit, I probably won't get the show but I felt as if through the designers reaction I already acquired the confidence one would get after walking such a notorious show. Perhaps this is the answer...Do work and see the results and you will be happy. Perhaps happiness is easy to come upon for others and challenging as fuck for myself. It is what it is and so I move on.
The pretty girl that I call my own texted me the information of a casting that she had gone to earlier where both male and female models were present. I headed to the location after my first casting of the day. My routine is to go to any casting with my BOSS book as well as with my neutral black book to house my modeling photos. Though boss had not sent me to this casting, I decided to use the book in hopes that the name could be used to my advantage.
I used a photo that was not necessary for my book and wrote all the relevant information that a casting director would need on the back. When I arrived I signed in and awaited my name to be called. I was called and the casting crew looked at my book and kept staring at me. They took my makeshift comp card and said thank you. THE DEADLY "THANK YOU" was burdened upon my ears though they confirmed that it was ok for them to take my comp card. A truly confusing and hard to interpret response to viewing me as their model. So I thanked them kindly and departed from the tension filled room.
About a week or two ago I had shot with the bamboo t shirt designer and had not signed a model release. He had emailed me requesting that I join him at a bbq to sign the model release and consume a burger, hot dog, or alcoholic beverage. Since I was not obligated to any significant events in my schedule I opted to take him up on the offer and traveled north to West 105th Street.
We met in the streets and he was with one of his gay friends. We walked to the townhouse where the barbecue was being hosted at and entered the residence. In the back there was a small area outside where the lesbian host had tables and chairs along with a barbecue. The snacks consisted of hummus and crackers, sun chips, and garlic bagel chips with some sort of garlic and spinach dip-WOW.
I thought that shit was good enough and then we were treated with burgers, hot dogs, AND grilled veggies. This was a true delight; lounging in the upper west side, BBQing, and drinking with complete strangers. I love modeling in the sense that I am always subjected to unpredictable extravagant ventures such as this. The funny thing is that I was summoned to this event merely to sign a model release and on exchange I was wined and dined. Lovely.
As I've said before, when the casting directors don't like what they see the models get an automatic "Thank you". Perhaps I've been fortunate enough to have been spared the embarrassment of being laughed at or cruelly turned down but today I saw Michael Bastian. When I entered the doorway I could see some models walk with clothes and some in underwear...I quickly learned that if you were walking in underwear then the designer and casting team approved your clothed walk and wanted to see more.
I entered the studio and warmly shook all the hands that I could as I introduced myself. They reviewed my book and asked me to walk. I did my walk and when I returned the designer had a look on his face with raised eye brows which I could not interpret. He asked me to pull my hair back and said to his colleagues something in regards to my look having army or military qualities. I was then asked to strip down to my underwear and walk. I did as I was told and they continued the selection process where they photographed me a few times and allowed me to go.
I left feeling a bit content and somewhat cocky. Shit, I probably won't get the show but I felt as if through the designers reaction I already acquired the confidence one would get after walking such a notorious show. Perhaps this is the answer...Do work and see the results and you will be happy. Perhaps happiness is easy to come upon for others and challenging as fuck for myself. It is what it is and so I move on.
The pretty girl that I call my own texted me the information of a casting that she had gone to earlier where both male and female models were present. I headed to the location after my first casting of the day. My routine is to go to any casting with my BOSS book as well as with my neutral black book to house my modeling photos. Though boss had not sent me to this casting, I decided to use the book in hopes that the name could be used to my advantage.
I used a photo that was not necessary for my book and wrote all the relevant information that a casting director would need on the back. When I arrived I signed in and awaited my name to be called. I was called and the casting crew looked at my book and kept staring at me. They took my makeshift comp card and said thank you. THE DEADLY "THANK YOU" was burdened upon my ears though they confirmed that it was ok for them to take my comp card. A truly confusing and hard to interpret response to viewing me as their model. So I thanked them kindly and departed from the tension filled room.
About a week or two ago I had shot with the bamboo t shirt designer and had not signed a model release. He had emailed me requesting that I join him at a bbq to sign the model release and consume a burger, hot dog, or alcoholic beverage. Since I was not obligated to any significant events in my schedule I opted to take him up on the offer and traveled north to West 105th Street.
We met in the streets and he was with one of his gay friends. We walked to the townhouse where the barbecue was being hosted at and entered the residence. In the back there was a small area outside where the lesbian host had tables and chairs along with a barbecue. The snacks consisted of hummus and crackers, sun chips, and garlic bagel chips with some sort of garlic and spinach dip-WOW.
I thought that shit was good enough and then we were treated with burgers, hot dogs, AND grilled veggies. This was a true delight; lounging in the upper west side, BBQing, and drinking with complete strangers. I love modeling in the sense that I am always subjected to unpredictable extravagant ventures such as this. The funny thing is that I was summoned to this event merely to sign a model release and on exchange I was wined and dined. Lovely.
FW Castings
Castings for fashion week shows have been sporadically happening over the past few days. Before this week I had thought that it was difficult to plan work around my few castings but now I see how that was merely a watered down preview for fashion week. I've had to cancel numerous paid jobs for "big" castings and its a challenge because I've got to survive in the moment through catering and promotional work but the more shows I do, I am in a better position for success in the long run. Baa Hum Bug.
The castings have been going well so far minus waiting in the long lines to be seen. I try to study the other guys when they walk and see who the casting persons are sending away before even being allowed to walk due to their look so I can figure out what the designer wants before I strut my stuff. I've yet to be turned down before walking and have received positive feedback from the casting directors though no definite bookings as of now but one and it isn't even a menswear show.
I continue to struggle with accepting my agency. There were numerous designers that I was not sent the casting info for and the agency's reasoning, my book is not strong enough. I am still a newbie to the NY scene, yes but with the castings having hundreds of models why can't they just add me to the mix in hopes of catching someone's attention?! Perhaps there's is much to learn, perhaps I need a new agency?
My main struggle is with patience and determining the point when impatience is logical. How long do I allow my agency to hold onto me while I am discontent with their efforts? How long do I give modeling before I determine whether or not it is destined to be? How long before I get so tired of NY I simply pick up my belongings and move on?
I was walking in the lower east side this morning and acknowledged that the newness of the city which instigated awe and the feeling of being content in this city has worn off. I've acquired my geographical fix and now that I've adapted am stuck to face my personal issues of what will bring me happiness. I saw someone driving a younger VW Golf and it reminded me of my care free days of when I had my own 2002 GTI.
I could party well after the sun had risen, blow off work to chill all day, and travel where ever I had desired with whomever I chose and yet always thought of what life would be like in tibet, costa rica, or the military. I had achieved a scenario where money was no worry and I had the people I thought I had wanted around me present and yet always sought more. Is that my American Culture and I'm just being greedy or is it my human nature to bypass the fake or materialistic amenities of life and search for depth and true happiness?
No matter where the solution to my worries may lay, I must push on and endure the constant temptation to fuck it all. I am dabbling with a field in modeling I never would have fathomed being part of and am constantly venturing into unknown territory. When I was younger I could turn to others for guidance or advice and now I feel as if I must be the one to answer the questions even when my optimism fades and negativity takes hold. The key to my success is being able to acknowledge this, remove my thoughts from the present moment, and hit a refresh button. Perhaps that is what this so called blog is for.
The castings have been going well so far minus waiting in the long lines to be seen. I try to study the other guys when they walk and see who the casting persons are sending away before even being allowed to walk due to their look so I can figure out what the designer wants before I strut my stuff. I've yet to be turned down before walking and have received positive feedback from the casting directors though no definite bookings as of now but one and it isn't even a menswear show.
I continue to struggle with accepting my agency. There were numerous designers that I was not sent the casting info for and the agency's reasoning, my book is not strong enough. I am still a newbie to the NY scene, yes but with the castings having hundreds of models why can't they just add me to the mix in hopes of catching someone's attention?! Perhaps there's is much to learn, perhaps I need a new agency?
My main struggle is with patience and determining the point when impatience is logical. How long do I allow my agency to hold onto me while I am discontent with their efforts? How long do I give modeling before I determine whether or not it is destined to be? How long before I get so tired of NY I simply pick up my belongings and move on?
I was walking in the lower east side this morning and acknowledged that the newness of the city which instigated awe and the feeling of being content in this city has worn off. I've acquired my geographical fix and now that I've adapted am stuck to face my personal issues of what will bring me happiness. I saw someone driving a younger VW Golf and it reminded me of my care free days of when I had my own 2002 GTI.
I could party well after the sun had risen, blow off work to chill all day, and travel where ever I had desired with whomever I chose and yet always thought of what life would be like in tibet, costa rica, or the military. I had achieved a scenario where money was no worry and I had the people I thought I had wanted around me present and yet always sought more. Is that my American Culture and I'm just being greedy or is it my human nature to bypass the fake or materialistic amenities of life and search for depth and true happiness?
No matter where the solution to my worries may lay, I must push on and endure the constant temptation to fuck it all. I am dabbling with a field in modeling I never would have fathomed being part of and am constantly venturing into unknown territory. When I was younger I could turn to others for guidance or advice and now I feel as if I must be the one to answer the questions even when my optimism fades and negativity takes hold. The key to my success is being able to acknowledge this, remove my thoughts from the present moment, and hit a refresh button. Perhaps that is what this so called blog is for.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
August 28th
I go to the gym everyday and spend hours of hard work for a goal of which I cannot say my heart is 100% set on. Laziness is something that I am guilty of daily though not in the physical sense but in the psychological sense. I don't know what makes me happy and yet what effort do I put forth to contemplate what will make me happy, the answer is not clear. I wish I knew. All I can say is that everyday I work to get closer to my goal I don't feel any better, what is the point to work so hard just to one day die? What happens when you die, does the aftermath of death make all the struggles in life worth the wait or do you realize how important the little things you had and enjoyed were and the point of which life concludes you become nothing. How can one say that they truly are something? You don't know...tell me anything that is a "truth" and explain to me how you or whomever you believe to be so knowledgeable has such a supremacy in the universe that they are correct...even a simple equation such as one plus one. Tell me that that is a definite. There are no definites besides the one absolute in life that one day (or night) your body will stop working for whatever reason and the greatest questions of my life will be answered. What happens after death? I do not fear death though I do fear that when the time comes, I may look back and regret...Alas I carry on in hopes that one day I will grasp happiness and live a fulfilling life. So I strive to fill my schedule to partake in the process of elimination (in regards to what doesn't make me smile or feel as if I am happy) and to be productive.
I woke up just early enough to have my oatmeal, pack my clothes for the day, and take the train (ALL LOCAL STOPS ON WEEKENDS) all in perfect timing to walk into my gym 2 minutes past opening. I did my work out, showered, shaved and took the train to Union Square where I walked two avenues west to catch the F train which took 20 minutes to arrive and then got off at my old residence where the hostel used to be located. I met a man there to try on three shirts he made for a photo shoot tomorrow...they were made from bamboo, softer than egyptian cotton. He was satisfied with the fit and told me of the details for our shoot.
Being near the old hostel location definitely bums me out. I get the feeling of when I was younger and would fall in love so quickly and then in the same time I had fallen for a girl the same time I would have a broken heart. My time at the hostel was brief but it had such an impact on me; the people I met, my experiences in the hostel, and my experiences in the city while living in the hostel. I sincerely wish the place were still running and Collin were my boss and Hanna was still the owner and I still had my bed in the corner (next to Collin) in the back. It was simple, somewhat of a small community, and surreal. "If its too good to be true, it usually is"...NYC why do you fuck with my so badly?! I cherish those times and my interactions with the people I had there...when I think more deeply, I cherish the emotion I felt when I was there. Perhaps it was because I was so new to NYC or perhaps it truly was a magical place, it felt like a whole new world-must be a combination.
I was unable to linger as I had to head to Brooklyn to pose nude for an art class. I arrived to my artists studio, filled my water bottle, and undressed myself. Today was 3 hours of holding a pose for 20 minutes and then breaking for 4 minutes and continuing this pattern until 3 hours had found its way past our start. This session differed from the last as before I was changing my pose very often but this time was forced to hold the same pose so as the timer reached our first 20 minute marker, the head artist used tape to mark my hands and feet so I could get back into place. While I was seated, there was a twist in my back and to be sitting in a turning position for virtually 3 hours is not easy.
I tried to determine whether this was easier work than catering or moving. You do have quite a bit of time just to think, shame how the struggle to stay in pose hinders my ability to fathom methods towards happiness. The aforementioned lines of work require physical stamina but this motionless 3 hours of employment requires stamina of the psyche.
Once you get over the fact that you're naked in front of a bunch of strangers you acknowledge the difficulty of staying still and in pose for basically 3 hours. I try to see who is staring at me, my body, or my cock...peek at their drawing papers as their heads drop to add the next line of my recreation on paper...and attempt to profile the people. There is no other point for the profiling other than to kill time. 3 hours came and went and I was off to fifth avenue for a night of catering at a wedding.
Earlier in the week I had an "open call" for a catering company based in the upper west side. I lied at the group interview and said that I had heard about the gathering last minute which is why I came with no resume nor head shot when in reality I knew that I did not need them. If an employer is truly seeking staff for a job which requires no true skill then they will hire me. The interviewer asked everyone what they do and what their experience in the service field involved and when she got to me she wrote all my info down on the back of the "actor" next to mes resume-brutal. Needless to say, later that day I got a call from the woman saying "so we're skipping the next step of the interview process and we'd like to see if you are available to work Saturday night". Of course the offer was accepted and I was officially hired by yet another caterer.
This event was for some spoiled bitch who was marrying some unfortunate wall street looking type. I was fortunate enough to arrive after the entire place was set up so all that I was required to do was serve and assist with the break down. The location was pretty nice, right on fifth avenue and on the 12th floor (roof top). The bride freaked out because her husband saw her while he was headed to the roof and I just wanted to slap her in the face and tell her that she didn't need to worry about that nonsense of not being able to see this and that as that will cause bad luck because she was already a bitch and would obviously push him to alcoholism if his job didn't first. She was pretty tame the rest of the night, the guests at my assigned table however were not.
Before I could pour the first glass of wine they spilled a glass of water so obviously with the wine present there was not an inch on my table to be unmoistened. I was beyond pleasant and helpful until I went to take the plate from a woman finished with her meal and she grabbed my wrist and barked at me telling me that I don't take a plate until everyone is finished. Bitch is lucky she didn't lose her dentures and please if your tits sag to your belly button don't wear a fuckin low cut dress.
The party faded out around midnight and with breakdown we were out by 12:45am. With trains running local I was unable to make it home any sooner than 2am. The new employer was OK. They made sure we were fed and taken care of though lacked direction in the busy times. I'll give them another chance. It was certainly a long day.
I woke up just early enough to have my oatmeal, pack my clothes for the day, and take the train (ALL LOCAL STOPS ON WEEKENDS) all in perfect timing to walk into my gym 2 minutes past opening. I did my work out, showered, shaved and took the train to Union Square where I walked two avenues west to catch the F train which took 20 minutes to arrive and then got off at my old residence where the hostel used to be located. I met a man there to try on three shirts he made for a photo shoot tomorrow...they were made from bamboo, softer than egyptian cotton. He was satisfied with the fit and told me of the details for our shoot.
Being near the old hostel location definitely bums me out. I get the feeling of when I was younger and would fall in love so quickly and then in the same time I had fallen for a girl the same time I would have a broken heart. My time at the hostel was brief but it had such an impact on me; the people I met, my experiences in the hostel, and my experiences in the city while living in the hostel. I sincerely wish the place were still running and Collin were my boss and Hanna was still the owner and I still had my bed in the corner (next to Collin) in the back. It was simple, somewhat of a small community, and surreal. "If its too good to be true, it usually is"...NYC why do you fuck with my so badly?! I cherish those times and my interactions with the people I had there...when I think more deeply, I cherish the emotion I felt when I was there. Perhaps it was because I was so new to NYC or perhaps it truly was a magical place, it felt like a whole new world-must be a combination.
I was unable to linger as I had to head to Brooklyn to pose nude for an art class. I arrived to my artists studio, filled my water bottle, and undressed myself. Today was 3 hours of holding a pose for 20 minutes and then breaking for 4 minutes and continuing this pattern until 3 hours had found its way past our start. This session differed from the last as before I was changing my pose very often but this time was forced to hold the same pose so as the timer reached our first 20 minute marker, the head artist used tape to mark my hands and feet so I could get back into place. While I was seated, there was a twist in my back and to be sitting in a turning position for virtually 3 hours is not easy.
I tried to determine whether this was easier work than catering or moving. You do have quite a bit of time just to think, shame how the struggle to stay in pose hinders my ability to fathom methods towards happiness. The aforementioned lines of work require physical stamina but this motionless 3 hours of employment requires stamina of the psyche.
Once you get over the fact that you're naked in front of a bunch of strangers you acknowledge the difficulty of staying still and in pose for basically 3 hours. I try to see who is staring at me, my body, or my cock...peek at their drawing papers as their heads drop to add the next line of my recreation on paper...and attempt to profile the people. There is no other point for the profiling other than to kill time. 3 hours came and went and I was off to fifth avenue for a night of catering at a wedding.
Earlier in the week I had an "open call" for a catering company based in the upper west side. I lied at the group interview and said that I had heard about the gathering last minute which is why I came with no resume nor head shot when in reality I knew that I did not need them. If an employer is truly seeking staff for a job which requires no true skill then they will hire me. The interviewer asked everyone what they do and what their experience in the service field involved and when she got to me she wrote all my info down on the back of the "actor" next to mes resume-brutal. Needless to say, later that day I got a call from the woman saying "so we're skipping the next step of the interview process and we'd like to see if you are available to work Saturday night". Of course the offer was accepted and I was officially hired by yet another caterer.
This event was for some spoiled bitch who was marrying some unfortunate wall street looking type. I was fortunate enough to arrive after the entire place was set up so all that I was required to do was serve and assist with the break down. The location was pretty nice, right on fifth avenue and on the 12th floor (roof top). The bride freaked out because her husband saw her while he was headed to the roof and I just wanted to slap her in the face and tell her that she didn't need to worry about that nonsense of not being able to see this and that as that will cause bad luck because she was already a bitch and would obviously push him to alcoholism if his job didn't first. She was pretty tame the rest of the night, the guests at my assigned table however were not.
Before I could pour the first glass of wine they spilled a glass of water so obviously with the wine present there was not an inch on my table to be unmoistened. I was beyond pleasant and helpful until I went to take the plate from a woman finished with her meal and she grabbed my wrist and barked at me telling me that I don't take a plate until everyone is finished. Bitch is lucky she didn't lose her dentures and please if your tits sag to your belly button don't wear a fuckin low cut dress.
The party faded out around midnight and with breakdown we were out by 12:45am. With trains running local I was unable to make it home any sooner than 2am. The new employer was OK. They made sure we were fed and taken care of though lacked direction in the busy times. I'll give them another chance. It was certainly a long day.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Paul the photographer
Last night I went to a casting for a pre fashion week show. I find it humorous when I go to castings and have no idea what they are for. The amount of emails I send and postings of potential castings I experience on the daily is absurd and when I receive an invite or confirmation to attend a casting I usually just add it to my schedule sometimes without a proper label. This sometimes puts me in awkward situations when I am forced to act as if I know all about and am a fan of a designers work, BAD MODEL-i should be spanked! None the less I got selected for the show and am awaiting details.
After the casting I walked up a few streets to a Starbucks where I met a photographer I had just found through craigslist, Paul was his name. His posting stated that he was moving to China in a few weeks and was seeking models to get some last additions to his portfolio, something like that...I'll be honest I don't remember the post! I got to the coffee shop 10 minutes early (GOOD MODEL-you can still spank me if you like) and gave Paul a call. I told him that I was there and he replied "oh I'm just trying to find a seat". I looked around and saw no one with a phone to their ear so I told him that I did not see him and he replied with a humor that I can appreciate, "I'm here, I'm everywhere, I'm everything you see...no just kidding, I'm the little black guy over near the bar waiting for my drink". QUALITY.
We made our introductions and he explained to me what he does and why he is relocating to China. When he was younger he was with a surveillance squad in the special forces and actually photographed for them. He was being sent on a mission to photograph the sweat shops and put an end to the misery once and for all so that we would no longer be forced to read "MADE IN CHINA" and feel guilty about little Lo Mein spending 100 hours a week in a hut made out of chop sticks for his ten cent pay check. No wait, he was being sent there to photograph for some fashion company...whatever, its the same fuckin thing!
Paul asked the usual questions about my journey through modeling and then put a smile on my face by telling me, "well you've got the look". He then asked if I had some time to shoot and even though I had a fitting to attend I told him that I was all his. Something about him gave me the vibe that I should jump on this unexpected opportunity for a mini test. We walked north and stopped first in front of a diner with red lighting. There were mad people walking around us on the sidewalk but he was down on the ground rolling around so in depth to his mission of capturing the angle that he could care less of the pedestrians. This was a clear sign of how seriously he loved his craft and I was ready to commit to him until he was satisfied with our shoot. We continued north.
He was seeking the correct lighting and we found a spot with a very bright street lamp so we stopped, took a few shots in the street, and moved to the sidewalk. As we began to shoot the window rolled down to the drivers door of a limo parked on the street. Paul walked over and they started chatting then signaled me over and told me to get in. Shocked I looked at him and he said, "this how we do it".
I got into the limo and he told me to act as if I were a super model and was looking out at the paparazzi like what the fuck are you shooting me for. I posed a bit then he shot me stepping out of the ride and called it a shot. We thanked the driver and continued heading north. After a few shots on the stairs of the public library we walked towards Bryant park. While I was leaning on the concrete barrier to the park my new found photographer said "we need something else!" So he jumped in front of a women and asked if he could borrow her scarf.
She complied and I shot a few with the accessory round my neck and we called it a night. His actions in that short photo shoot made it clear that he was someone to work with. He said he will try to find a classic car for me to shoot with in a nice suit, something resembling that of a GUCCI ad. We Shall See.
After the casting I walked up a few streets to a Starbucks where I met a photographer I had just found through craigslist, Paul was his name. His posting stated that he was moving to China in a few weeks and was seeking models to get some last additions to his portfolio, something like that...I'll be honest I don't remember the post! I got to the coffee shop 10 minutes early (GOOD MODEL-you can still spank me if you like) and gave Paul a call. I told him that I was there and he replied "oh I'm just trying to find a seat". I looked around and saw no one with a phone to their ear so I told him that I did not see him and he replied with a humor that I can appreciate, "I'm here, I'm everywhere, I'm everything you see...no just kidding, I'm the little black guy over near the bar waiting for my drink". QUALITY.
We made our introductions and he explained to me what he does and why he is relocating to China. When he was younger he was with a surveillance squad in the special forces and actually photographed for them. He was being sent on a mission to photograph the sweat shops and put an end to the misery once and for all so that we would no longer be forced to read "MADE IN CHINA" and feel guilty about little Lo Mein spending 100 hours a week in a hut made out of chop sticks for his ten cent pay check. No wait, he was being sent there to photograph for some fashion company...whatever, its the same fuckin thing!
Paul asked the usual questions about my journey through modeling and then put a smile on my face by telling me, "well you've got the look". He then asked if I had some time to shoot and even though I had a fitting to attend I told him that I was all his. Something about him gave me the vibe that I should jump on this unexpected opportunity for a mini test. We walked north and stopped first in front of a diner with red lighting. There were mad people walking around us on the sidewalk but he was down on the ground rolling around so in depth to his mission of capturing the angle that he could care less of the pedestrians. This was a clear sign of how seriously he loved his craft and I was ready to commit to him until he was satisfied with our shoot. We continued north.
He was seeking the correct lighting and we found a spot with a very bright street lamp so we stopped, took a few shots in the street, and moved to the sidewalk. As we began to shoot the window rolled down to the drivers door of a limo parked on the street. Paul walked over and they started chatting then signaled me over and told me to get in. Shocked I looked at him and he said, "this how we do it".
I got into the limo and he told me to act as if I were a super model and was looking out at the paparazzi like what the fuck are you shooting me for. I posed a bit then he shot me stepping out of the ride and called it a shot. We thanked the driver and continued heading north. After a few shots on the stairs of the public library we walked towards Bryant park. While I was leaning on the concrete barrier to the park my new found photographer said "we need something else!" So he jumped in front of a women and asked if he could borrow her scarf.
She complied and I shot a few with the accessory round my neck and we called it a night. His actions in that short photo shoot made it clear that he was someone to work with. He said he will try to find a classic car for me to shoot with in a nice suit, something resembling that of a GUCCI ad. We Shall See.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
another day
"Survival of the fittest" certainly relates to success in modeling, fittest not solely related to fitness. I've learned that every opportunity you encounter must be used to its best ability and you should leave no ounce of opportunity wasted. Additionally the ability to create opportunity is absolutely mandatory. Google is an amazing resource so one way I create opportunities is to go fishing through the web for various fashion industry pupils, introduce myself and interest in them/their work by email, and hope that I get a response. It's a strategy game really and if you want to win you must be able to think outside of the box.
Last week I scanned the official fashion week website for designers participating this season and last season. Compared the two seasons and compiled a list of designers from last season whom were not presenting this season and emailed all the designers as well as various other googleable menswear designers (showing and not showing this season). Another thing I've learned is that no one wants to be grouped with others, they want to feel special and unique. Alas I typed individual emails to them all...astonishingly I received an email from a casting director while I was still on the bike(I do all my emailing while on the stationary bike at my gym-THATS RIGHT I LOVE BLACKBERRY).
A casting director for a designer (find out designer if I actually book the show) emailed me and said that he received an email from the designers studio and that he'd like to meet. Flabbergasted I immediately replied and ended up meeting with him that afternoon. His demeanor was nonchalant when he began to attempt to hear my story and why I wanted to be a model. Here is a great example of what I had previously said about people wanting to feel special. If I had replied with bullshit answers and generic responses he would have dismissed the notion that he may cast me and so I replied with sincerity.
I told him that modeling was never a dream nor a contemplation in my youth. The reason it all started was because of craigslist where I would find postings from photographers or artists willing to pay to work with my look to enhance their book. Through that I found model mayhem and from there events similar to this and with my networking the path towards modeling became evident and intriguing.
I also told him of my loyal readership to the publication, GQ and how even as a youth I would acquire every months issue. My interest in fashion developed into a passion as the years of GQ stimulated my tastes for classy, stylish, and unique menswear. Of course I would have no sense of where to begin with styling if it were not for my one of a kind grandmother whom constantly supplied me with clothing through the holidays and even took me out to select my own outfits (usually for back to school) throughout my upbringing. The idea of being a model in GQ was quite enticing and thus with so many motivational factors I took a step into the first stage of the modeling challenge and moved to New York City.
He reviewed my book and said he couldn't guarantee me anything but the fact that the designer sent him my info rather than the reverse it was a good sign and that he'd be in touch. He also referred me to go see a booker at a smaller agency which I've done and am currently waiting to hear back from. So from googling a designer and sending a note of interest I got a good chance at walking in a fashion week runway show and met with a new agency which I had not been seen by yet-point and case.
Last week I scanned the official fashion week website for designers participating this season and last season. Compared the two seasons and compiled a list of designers from last season whom were not presenting this season and emailed all the designers as well as various other googleable menswear designers (showing and not showing this season). Another thing I've learned is that no one wants to be grouped with others, they want to feel special and unique. Alas I typed individual emails to them all...astonishingly I received an email from a casting director while I was still on the bike(I do all my emailing while on the stationary bike at my gym-THATS RIGHT I LOVE BLACKBERRY).
A casting director for a designer (find out designer if I actually book the show) emailed me and said that he received an email from the designers studio and that he'd like to meet. Flabbergasted I immediately replied and ended up meeting with him that afternoon. His demeanor was nonchalant when he began to attempt to hear my story and why I wanted to be a model. Here is a great example of what I had previously said about people wanting to feel special. If I had replied with bullshit answers and generic responses he would have dismissed the notion that he may cast me and so I replied with sincerity.
I told him that modeling was never a dream nor a contemplation in my youth. The reason it all started was because of craigslist where I would find postings from photographers or artists willing to pay to work with my look to enhance their book. Through that I found model mayhem and from there events similar to this and with my networking the path towards modeling became evident and intriguing.
I also told him of my loyal readership to the publication, GQ and how even as a youth I would acquire every months issue. My interest in fashion developed into a passion as the years of GQ stimulated my tastes for classy, stylish, and unique menswear. Of course I would have no sense of where to begin with styling if it were not for my one of a kind grandmother whom constantly supplied me with clothing through the holidays and even took me out to select my own outfits (usually for back to school) throughout my upbringing. The idea of being a model in GQ was quite enticing and thus with so many motivational factors I took a step into the first stage of the modeling challenge and moved to New York City.
He reviewed my book and said he couldn't guarantee me anything but the fact that the designer sent him my info rather than the reverse it was a good sign and that he'd be in touch. He also referred me to go see a booker at a smaller agency which I've done and am currently waiting to hear back from. So from googling a designer and sending a note of interest I got a good chance at walking in a fashion week runway show and met with a new agency which I had not been seen by yet-point and case.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Trip to the uncles
I made a trip to the uncles place up north for a few days. It was a pleasant break from the fast paced rhythm I've become accustomed to in NYC. Though my uncle and I worked two and a half days and accomplished lots, I still felt it was far more peaceful than any "rest" day in the city. We worked on the two new rooms added to his house, had some beverages, and the auntie made us some very tasty food.
Being my youngest (and more like a brother than an uncle) uncle its odd to call his two beautiful daughters my cousins but they are and soon to celebrate two years of life. Its always a pleasure to be around kids of that age. Even though they'll cry and fuss on occasion there's some sort of refreshing energy they dispense with their learning how to communicate and take on the new challenges of life. Like reading a first hand description of an explorers first steps in a new land, watching my cousins progress into independent humans was inspiring to keep living a diverse and unique life. I left my uncles place with a fresh perspective to continue battling the temptations to give up on my goals in this ever demanding city I've chosen to dwell in.
Now that I am back I've made it a point to constantly assess my thoughts and embrace the fact that negativity and weakness is waiting at every moment to dissuade me from pursuing my ambitions.
No matter how tired I am I will go to the gym.
No matter how hungry I am I will not eat like a fat ass.
No matter how frustrating and discouraging the progress of my modeling is I will not quit.
I will not quit.
Being my youngest (and more like a brother than an uncle) uncle its odd to call his two beautiful daughters my cousins but they are and soon to celebrate two years of life. Its always a pleasure to be around kids of that age. Even though they'll cry and fuss on occasion there's some sort of refreshing energy they dispense with their learning how to communicate and take on the new challenges of life. Like reading a first hand description of an explorers first steps in a new land, watching my cousins progress into independent humans was inspiring to keep living a diverse and unique life. I left my uncles place with a fresh perspective to continue battling the temptations to give up on my goals in this ever demanding city I've chosen to dwell in.
Now that I am back I've made it a point to constantly assess my thoughts and embrace the fact that negativity and weakness is waiting at every moment to dissuade me from pursuing my ambitions.
No matter how tired I am I will go to the gym.
No matter how hungry I am I will not eat like a fat ass.
No matter how frustrating and discouraging the progress of my modeling is I will not quit.
I will not quit.
Egyptian-Nude
The week began with a green screen (think weather man) shoot where I played the role of an egyptian soldier. The movie was being shot for a bar mitzvah (spelling: I'm not a Jew!). Clearly another way for a rich family to show off how much money they've got to friends and families, how sweet. The only bright side I saw was the birthday boy who was thrilled to be in the studio being featured in his own movie. I was not a lone soldier though, I had 4 fellow soldiers.
2 of them were the producers friends and they did not know each other, a short nonstop talking Canadian, and then one tall guy from france-Random. I was first in the studio and the other soldiers slowly came in. The first one was a tennis player looking guy who made his introduction and settled into the couch. Second was a short fat dude who smelled like a skunk. Third was the tall frenchy and lastly was the short Canadian.
There were a few other Jew characters for the film and surprisingly they were actually Jewish! I told one of them (the one that looked like frodo just with a few dozen more donuts in the belly) that there was a potent scent in the air and he told me to follow my nose and I may find the pot at the end of the rainbow. As the sentence was being completed one of the producers friends whom was to play the soldier role walks in stankin like dankin with a full plate of danish, muffins, and pastry (Quality). I look at him and smile, "those are some good lookin munchies" - yeah you want some munchies - "sure".
Cheech the Jew ended up getting dismissed due to his trip to his mothers minivan (parked out of the studio on the street with his brothers handicap rearview mirror decoration permitting the spot) every 10 minutes. The boys father who was funding this whole operation was not appreciative of that vibe around his son. I'm not gonna lie it added some humor to the hours of eventless waiting but with the youngin round thurr it shouldve been more quietly executed.
The short Canadian guy was the epitome of what the dalai llama writes about in regards to looking at annoying people positively and dubbing them great exercise of your patience. He just kept talking and talking. I told him about model mayhem and that he could find photographers who would work for free. He was pretty clueless on working the site so I filled him in but he just kept talking and talking while we kept waiting and waiting to be used.
This was a video shoot so needless to say the food table was full of danish, pastries, and bagels/muffins. Then what do you know, for lunch they bought 5 pizzas-all cheese. Alright, I know cheese is a safe bet but damn GET ONE PIZZA WITH A VARIETY OF TOPPINGS! I ate to quench my hunger and then my boredom.
After 6 hours of waiting we were called to action. Headbands, weapons, full costumer, and of course the make up making me look egyptian. We walked into the studio, pretended to be fierce warriors then fierce warriors walking down a road, then got let go. We waited 6 hours for 20 minutes of shooting. Story of my life.
After the shoot I traveled to a new part of Brooklyn (to myself). I was to dabble with something I had yet to do in the fine city of New York; pose nude for an art class. My history has plenty of experience in posing nude for artists so it wasn't a huge deal but after not doing it for quite some time I wasn't feeling enthusiastic about it. Money is Money and its not like I work for free so after I departed the train I explored the new area a bit then went to the artists studio.
There were about 15 artists in the room. Painters, drawers, charcoalers, all sorts of methods to capture my figure. The man organizing the class informed me of the location for me to change into my robe. I told him I didn't have a robe and he had a puzzled look on his face. He said usually models bring their own robes, I can look for one around here though. I replied, aren't I going to be naked on the stage? "Yes" then I'll just take my clothes off and go on stage, not a big deal. The class started out with my posing for 30 seconds and then changing the pose.
Most of the artists had a folding chair for themselves and then a second chair facing them to rest their canvas or other materials on. With the chairs in a horse shoe shape I was on a 5X5 stage with two holes in the base to hold a bar with two poles as the base and one going across them perpendicular up top, this was my leaning bar. The space was not air conditioned so there were numerous fans humming in the background and the only other sound was the timing beeping after the allotted time for a pose had concluded and the occasional pencil or paper dropping. The lighting was scattered around the room though the attention was certainly on me.
My poses at first were simple. After a few the boss of the operation spoke up and told me to do some more high fashion poses (arms at angles, leaning, basically any pose that looks and feels uncomfortable). As the pose durations extended I was comforted and guided more and more from the "students" of the class on my posing. The most helpful advice was to pretend I was in battle. They want to see my muscle in active positions so I pretended to be throwing a spear or reaching down to pick someone up or dance like a ballerina...void the third pose, I just did that in my head.
Poses went from 30 seconds and ended with one 25 minute pose. As the timer signaled the end of the session I felt like collapsing, curling up into a little ball, and sleeping like a baby, I resisted the urge. I dressed, collected my money, and departed quickly. A feeling I had not felt in a while flooded my body: exhaustion. I needed to sleep and prepare for the next days shoot.
Sleep came and went and I found myself in the basement of a vampire/goth store waiting for the photographer to get this catalog shoot started. I'm not going to get into details but to sum this shoot up; tons of gothy clothes, lots of pizza (yeah, they didn't get the model memo), and a long day with cash money in hand at the end of the day. Living in NYC exposes me to a variety of encounters, encounters I will look back on while in my 30's-40's and say wow...but for now I just say-Damn, I'm tired.
2 of them were the producers friends and they did not know each other, a short nonstop talking Canadian, and then one tall guy from france-Random. I was first in the studio and the other soldiers slowly came in. The first one was a tennis player looking guy who made his introduction and settled into the couch. Second was a short fat dude who smelled like a skunk. Third was the tall frenchy and lastly was the short Canadian.
There were a few other Jew characters for the film and surprisingly they were actually Jewish! I told one of them (the one that looked like frodo just with a few dozen more donuts in the belly) that there was a potent scent in the air and he told me to follow my nose and I may find the pot at the end of the rainbow. As the sentence was being completed one of the producers friends whom was to play the soldier role walks in stankin like dankin with a full plate of danish, muffins, and pastry (Quality). I look at him and smile, "those are some good lookin munchies" - yeah you want some munchies - "sure".
Cheech the Jew ended up getting dismissed due to his trip to his mothers minivan (parked out of the studio on the street with his brothers handicap rearview mirror decoration permitting the spot) every 10 minutes. The boys father who was funding this whole operation was not appreciative of that vibe around his son. I'm not gonna lie it added some humor to the hours of eventless waiting but with the youngin round thurr it shouldve been more quietly executed.
The short Canadian guy was the epitome of what the dalai llama writes about in regards to looking at annoying people positively and dubbing them great exercise of your patience. He just kept talking and talking. I told him about model mayhem and that he could find photographers who would work for free. He was pretty clueless on working the site so I filled him in but he just kept talking and talking while we kept waiting and waiting to be used.
This was a video shoot so needless to say the food table was full of danish, pastries, and bagels/muffins. Then what do you know, for lunch they bought 5 pizzas-all cheese. Alright, I know cheese is a safe bet but damn GET ONE PIZZA WITH A VARIETY OF TOPPINGS! I ate to quench my hunger and then my boredom.
After 6 hours of waiting we were called to action. Headbands, weapons, full costumer, and of course the make up making me look egyptian. We walked into the studio, pretended to be fierce warriors then fierce warriors walking down a road, then got let go. We waited 6 hours for 20 minutes of shooting. Story of my life.
After the shoot I traveled to a new part of Brooklyn (to myself). I was to dabble with something I had yet to do in the fine city of New York; pose nude for an art class. My history has plenty of experience in posing nude for artists so it wasn't a huge deal but after not doing it for quite some time I wasn't feeling enthusiastic about it. Money is Money and its not like I work for free so after I departed the train I explored the new area a bit then went to the artists studio.
There were about 15 artists in the room. Painters, drawers, charcoalers, all sorts of methods to capture my figure. The man organizing the class informed me of the location for me to change into my robe. I told him I didn't have a robe and he had a puzzled look on his face. He said usually models bring their own robes, I can look for one around here though. I replied, aren't I going to be naked on the stage? "Yes" then I'll just take my clothes off and go on stage, not a big deal. The class started out with my posing for 30 seconds and then changing the pose.
Most of the artists had a folding chair for themselves and then a second chair facing them to rest their canvas or other materials on. With the chairs in a horse shoe shape I was on a 5X5 stage with two holes in the base to hold a bar with two poles as the base and one going across them perpendicular up top, this was my leaning bar. The space was not air conditioned so there were numerous fans humming in the background and the only other sound was the timing beeping after the allotted time for a pose had concluded and the occasional pencil or paper dropping. The lighting was scattered around the room though the attention was certainly on me.
My poses at first were simple. After a few the boss of the operation spoke up and told me to do some more high fashion poses (arms at angles, leaning, basically any pose that looks and feels uncomfortable). As the pose durations extended I was comforted and guided more and more from the "students" of the class on my posing. The most helpful advice was to pretend I was in battle. They want to see my muscle in active positions so I pretended to be throwing a spear or reaching down to pick someone up or dance like a ballerina...void the third pose, I just did that in my head.
Poses went from 30 seconds and ended with one 25 minute pose. As the timer signaled the end of the session I felt like collapsing, curling up into a little ball, and sleeping like a baby, I resisted the urge. I dressed, collected my money, and departed quickly. A feeling I had not felt in a while flooded my body: exhaustion. I needed to sleep and prepare for the next days shoot.
Sleep came and went and I found myself in the basement of a vampire/goth store waiting for the photographer to get this catalog shoot started. I'm not going to get into details but to sum this shoot up; tons of gothy clothes, lots of pizza (yeah, they didn't get the model memo), and a long day with cash money in hand at the end of the day. Living in NYC exposes me to a variety of encounters, encounters I will look back on while in my 30's-40's and say wow...but for now I just say-Damn, I'm tired.
Jewelry Shoot-Party Server Shirtless
Fortunately I have continued to get cast for paid work. I got selected to be in a video look book for a jeweler. The humor in this is that I had actually found this gig by myself and one morning I emailed my agent to see if he had a casting for me and what do you know, he had the one that I had worked on finding! This is cool though because the more I show Boss that I can book things the more likely they will be willing to send me to castings in the future.
So I did the fitting for this shoot before meeting with Ford and that helped keep my mind off of the bigger things I had in the works. The day of the shoot came and I was not required to report in until noon. I got to brooklyn earlier than necessary and before I got to the studio my agent calls and informed me that the designer was trying to hold payment and lower the amount. My Boss man continued and said "we will not play bitch, Randall I know you new to modeling but we will not let this happen-i am on vacation and they call me telling me that they do not want to pay the agreed rate, no no no."
So I'm told not to go to the studio until I get a call. When I got the call I was told that they'd be giving me a check before I left and that all was well, "you don't know nothing about this. Just go there, smile, and be beautiful." So I arrive and there was no drama. I introduced myself to everyone and after I found out that I was to wait before getting my hair and make up did I do what always comes naturally, I sought out the food table.
You can determine whether you're at a photo shoot or a video shoot by viewing the table of food. Any video productions I've been included in have had gnarly amounts of candy, carbs, and crap (pizza, subs, granola bars) while at a photo shoot most of the time I find food where the composers of the shoot take into consideration what the model can eat. They understand we aren't the fat ass behind the scenes who can scarf down 20 slices of pizza and 50 bagels throughout the day without worry and provide the models with lovely trays of veggies or salads. None the less I am a poor model and take what I am given, HAPPILY.
If I'm not mistaken I consumed 3 bagels, 2 granola bars, and a lot of water in the 4 hours I was there. For "lunch" they bought some weird things that were like over sized ravioli with cheese and potatoes in them...I had one and wanted to puke in the mouth of whomever had the brilliant idea to order them. Fuckin nasty.
So I got my hair done, comb over (big fuckin surprise!!!) and then proceeded to get my make up. I voiced my distraught feelings of how my hair was styled to the make up artist and she attempted to comfort me by saying "oh no, its looks good!"
I grew my hair out to allow people to have flexibility in styling my hair. Now all I get is stylists doing the comb over. I told the make up artist that even at my punk runway show when i was expecting some wild spikes or maybe even a punk mohawk I was let down and what do you think I got?! The comb over, ahhhhhhhh I think its time to shave my head (there goes modeling) anyway, I told the MUA that its cool though. I'm just a mannequin and do as I'm styled.
My first scene was me in a striped sailors robe and some white cotton pants. My freshly shaved chest was exposed to display the necklace I was wearing. I was directed to look at the camera, look away, and close my eyes. Then I had to blink for a solid minute. Like I said, I just do as I'm told! Try blinking as fast as you can for a minute, something I would have never fathomed modeling would lead me to.
I ate some pretzels and changed my outfit. The director said she didn't need me so I passed out for a solid hour and a half in the break room and awoke to consume another bagel but this time with peanut butter. My next scene was to step into the frame where a female model was wearing a backless dress with a necklace draped down her back. Her back was being shot so her face was a mystery to the viewer. I step in and slide my hand from her shoulder to the side of her lower back. Very complicated.
The next shot she was facing the camera and I was behind her. I was directed to slide my hands over her stomach and down her legs in a sensual manner and then after a while her hands would meet mine. Lastly, I slid my hand from her ear to hear jaw line and turned her head towards my face. It was an interesting and completely boring experience but the pay was good (for the effort I had to put forth) so who could complain? They cut me a check in my name and I departed.
I had nothing else planned for the day so I decided to walk back to Manhattan via bridge. I believe its the Brooklyn bridge but whatever the name, the bridge that drops you on Delancey Street in the lower east side is what I took. The lighting was pre sunset so it was still a bit warm but my sunscreen was on and I was relaxed.
The check was written in my name and this made me think. My agent had argued for them to cut me a check but I thought it was to be written out to the agency so they could get their cut. For a brief moment I considered just cashing the check and having half my rent paid...then I figured no. I am a slave to this agency seeing how they are the only ones to give me a chance and take me on their board so I must show my thanks by obeying. The next day I brought the check to the agency.
My agent was out so the other in the office advised me to keep the check. Fortunately for me a photographer just so happened to be there awaiting the arrival of another model to shoot for the show package for fashion week. The other agent decided to have me shot for the package since I was there. Such a mind fuck seeing how my agent said I could not do fashion week because my book was too new. Whatever!!! I happily had my photos taken on the roof and carried on with my day.
The following day consisted of an extremely lazy morning and I did not depart the bed until about 2:30 pm. I dressed and headed to Penn station. This day, my assignment was to travel to Long Island where I would serve at a pool party shirtless. I took the Long Island Rail Road about 40 minutes out and got off the train. Since I had not eaten breakfast I went immediately to the nearest pizza place (I know, such a fat ass BUT the alternative was dunkin donuts and what would you have thought if I said "I went to dd and consumed a dozen donuts."? Those days are over!)
The pizza place was impressive. I consumed a bbq chicken slice which was loaded with chicken and then ordered 4 garlic balls. The inevitable question was presented to the cashier, "do yall have hot sauce?" I got my hot sauce and covered my slice thoroughly, DELISH! Garlic BALLS did not follow suit. Anyway, I had some time so I opted for a second slice but this time it was only covered with cheese AND HOT SAUCE! I departed the pizza parlor and proceeded to walk 3 miles to the residence where my "work" was about to begin.
The first thing I did was take note of the neighborhoods I was walking through. What type of houses, cars, and people was this community populated with? This is an easy way to determine the expected over all tip as well as the individual tips I'd be receiving. Once I found the house I scoped the cars parked out front as this was my last resort to determine my income to conclude the evening...nicest car was a mini-worst was a mini van...hard to read but I'm an optimist, it'll be a good night.
I ring the door bell and am greeted by a gay man. I completely forgot the husband of the couple I was working fors name and just said I was here for the wife, dude probably thought I was the stripper. I'm lead to the backyard pool area and meet the hostess who already has her white wine and looks as if she's had a few already. The first thing she does is welcomes me and thanks me for being there then proceeds to offer me food and drink, a genuine and kind woman.
After I settle in, take my shirt off, and throw some jeans on my hostess informs me that I need to loosen up and work the crowds. She forced me to take a shot but I told her that I won't be taking any shots solo that evening so she hesitantly accepted her accompanying shot. As she was raising her shot her sister yelled her name and gave her the look, clearly this chick gets blitzed easily...she took her shot and I took two.
I walked around with a tray and no shirt. Did I mention I was shirtless? I really do feel like a douche bag walking around a party with no shirt on-i really don't love myself enough to be like OHHH YEAH I'm cool with no shirt on. Work is work though and I do what I need to do for the benjamins-baby. So my introductions were sincere and I started taking drink orders.
The crowd had about 35% gay men so I was forced many more shots. The party had an ice luge for shots so I definitely had some facebook worthy shot shots of my partaking in that insanity with the gays and drunken ladies-FUN. I'll be tagged "shirtless boy" or "Randall". Whatever.
So after about an hour my assistants rolled up. One woman in her late 40's with pretty large breasts and a 23 year old chick, a little lady. Did I mention they were topless as well? So we make our introductions and take our obligatory introductory shots...not gonna lie, I could read on the little chick that she was a partier and I thought itd be funny to see her tipsy. She got tipsy alright.
So the party carries on into the sunset and the tips are getting larger. At one point the younger topless chick asks me how much I'm getting tipped because "I've been serving mad drinks and only gotten $3 in tips". I lied and said only a few dollars as well but my pockets were bulging with money. Then as I was leaving she decided to enlighten me.
She told me to listen to her advice. "Listen, if a chick asks you for a soda never ask if she wants diet. I forgot how insecure women can be and if you ask her if she wants diet she'll think you're calling her fat." I thanked her for her words of brilliance and departed the kitchen. Apparently this chick has some sort of a degree and dubbed her job in genetics a "wicked hard job" yet she's still working topless at a pool party she found of craigslist. I'm sorry but I feel its worse for a woman to work topless than for a man to but that's just based on the standards of our society...perhaps that's just my close minded thoughts, shhhh.
More and more shots were consumed and I found myself attempting to be responsible and drink a few bottled waters to maintain my charm for those tips! My 23 year old female topless serving partner was beginning to get noticed by all and I saw her being spoken to by the hostess at the pool so I went over.
Apparently she served someone a vodka when they asked for a water and the hostess was trying to be like, you fucked up. She argued saying that she got the right drink and even if she was wrong she was right. Her rant continued, "I serve parties at fashion week all the time. In fact they always call model bartenders like me for fashion week (cuz I'm so beautiful) and when I serve celebrities they should be happy to even get a drink. It doesn't matter what you give them you just give them a drink and they better be fuckin happy." This is where it got awkward because the woman who originally ordered the drink was right there and this chick was basically saying just drink the fucking vodka even though you ordered a water. Quality mess...I'm not judging though, I've worn those shoes many a time.
So as I was trying to get her mind off of the drink and onto being chill she abruptly stated that she needed to be in the pool and dove right in. She said some drunken statement that I ignored as at this point every sound out of her mouth was a nuisance to fix my hearing to and told her that itd be a great idea to go off the diving board. She enthusiastically agreed! Unfortunately some of the motherly figures at the party disagreed with my suggestion and as she boarded the board she was quickly denied and told to go home. HAH.
With my entertainment gone home it was nearly perfect timing when a woman started rolling a doobie on the kitchen table. I nonchalantly walked over and asked her what she was doing. She offered for my participation and the boring atmosphere got a bit more bearable.
The end of the party consisted of a male stripper swinging (no pun intended) through, my staying an hour later than booked (don't worry I got paid for it), and the larger chested topless woman giving me a ride to the train station. That's it, just a ride! I sloppily made it back into the city and into bed. As I was attempting to pass out my stomach informed me that this was not an option and I made a run for the toilet...story of my life.
So I did the fitting for this shoot before meeting with Ford and that helped keep my mind off of the bigger things I had in the works. The day of the shoot came and I was not required to report in until noon. I got to brooklyn earlier than necessary and before I got to the studio my agent calls and informed me that the designer was trying to hold payment and lower the amount. My Boss man continued and said "we will not play bitch, Randall I know you new to modeling but we will not let this happen-i am on vacation and they call me telling me that they do not want to pay the agreed rate, no no no."
So I'm told not to go to the studio until I get a call. When I got the call I was told that they'd be giving me a check before I left and that all was well, "you don't know nothing about this. Just go there, smile, and be beautiful." So I arrive and there was no drama. I introduced myself to everyone and after I found out that I was to wait before getting my hair and make up did I do what always comes naturally, I sought out the food table.
You can determine whether you're at a photo shoot or a video shoot by viewing the table of food. Any video productions I've been included in have had gnarly amounts of candy, carbs, and crap (pizza, subs, granola bars) while at a photo shoot most of the time I find food where the composers of the shoot take into consideration what the model can eat. They understand we aren't the fat ass behind the scenes who can scarf down 20 slices of pizza and 50 bagels throughout the day without worry and provide the models with lovely trays of veggies or salads. None the less I am a poor model and take what I am given, HAPPILY.
If I'm not mistaken I consumed 3 bagels, 2 granola bars, and a lot of water in the 4 hours I was there. For "lunch" they bought some weird things that were like over sized ravioli with cheese and potatoes in them...I had one and wanted to puke in the mouth of whomever had the brilliant idea to order them. Fuckin nasty.
So I got my hair done, comb over (big fuckin surprise!!!) and then proceeded to get my make up. I voiced my distraught feelings of how my hair was styled to the make up artist and she attempted to comfort me by saying "oh no, its looks good!"
I grew my hair out to allow people to have flexibility in styling my hair. Now all I get is stylists doing the comb over. I told the make up artist that even at my punk runway show when i was expecting some wild spikes or maybe even a punk mohawk I was let down and what do you think I got?! The comb over, ahhhhhhhh I think its time to shave my head (there goes modeling) anyway, I told the MUA that its cool though. I'm just a mannequin and do as I'm styled.
My first scene was me in a striped sailors robe and some white cotton pants. My freshly shaved chest was exposed to display the necklace I was wearing. I was directed to look at the camera, look away, and close my eyes. Then I had to blink for a solid minute. Like I said, I just do as I'm told! Try blinking as fast as you can for a minute, something I would have never fathomed modeling would lead me to.
I ate some pretzels and changed my outfit. The director said she didn't need me so I passed out for a solid hour and a half in the break room and awoke to consume another bagel but this time with peanut butter. My next scene was to step into the frame where a female model was wearing a backless dress with a necklace draped down her back. Her back was being shot so her face was a mystery to the viewer. I step in and slide my hand from her shoulder to the side of her lower back. Very complicated.
The next shot she was facing the camera and I was behind her. I was directed to slide my hands over her stomach and down her legs in a sensual manner and then after a while her hands would meet mine. Lastly, I slid my hand from her ear to hear jaw line and turned her head towards my face. It was an interesting and completely boring experience but the pay was good (for the effort I had to put forth) so who could complain? They cut me a check in my name and I departed.
I had nothing else planned for the day so I decided to walk back to Manhattan via bridge. I believe its the Brooklyn bridge but whatever the name, the bridge that drops you on Delancey Street in the lower east side is what I took. The lighting was pre sunset so it was still a bit warm but my sunscreen was on and I was relaxed.
The check was written in my name and this made me think. My agent had argued for them to cut me a check but I thought it was to be written out to the agency so they could get their cut. For a brief moment I considered just cashing the check and having half my rent paid...then I figured no. I am a slave to this agency seeing how they are the only ones to give me a chance and take me on their board so I must show my thanks by obeying. The next day I brought the check to the agency.
My agent was out so the other in the office advised me to keep the check. Fortunately for me a photographer just so happened to be there awaiting the arrival of another model to shoot for the show package for fashion week. The other agent decided to have me shot for the package since I was there. Such a mind fuck seeing how my agent said I could not do fashion week because my book was too new. Whatever!!! I happily had my photos taken on the roof and carried on with my day.
The following day consisted of an extremely lazy morning and I did not depart the bed until about 2:30 pm. I dressed and headed to Penn station. This day, my assignment was to travel to Long Island where I would serve at a pool party shirtless. I took the Long Island Rail Road about 40 minutes out and got off the train. Since I had not eaten breakfast I went immediately to the nearest pizza place (I know, such a fat ass BUT the alternative was dunkin donuts and what would you have thought if I said "I went to dd and consumed a dozen donuts."? Those days are over!)
The pizza place was impressive. I consumed a bbq chicken slice which was loaded with chicken and then ordered 4 garlic balls. The inevitable question was presented to the cashier, "do yall have hot sauce?" I got my hot sauce and covered my slice thoroughly, DELISH! Garlic BALLS did not follow suit. Anyway, I had some time so I opted for a second slice but this time it was only covered with cheese AND HOT SAUCE! I departed the pizza parlor and proceeded to walk 3 miles to the residence where my "work" was about to begin.
The first thing I did was take note of the neighborhoods I was walking through. What type of houses, cars, and people was this community populated with? This is an easy way to determine the expected over all tip as well as the individual tips I'd be receiving. Once I found the house I scoped the cars parked out front as this was my last resort to determine my income to conclude the evening...nicest car was a mini-worst was a mini van...hard to read but I'm an optimist, it'll be a good night.
I ring the door bell and am greeted by a gay man. I completely forgot the husband of the couple I was working fors name and just said I was here for the wife, dude probably thought I was the stripper. I'm lead to the backyard pool area and meet the hostess who already has her white wine and looks as if she's had a few already. The first thing she does is welcomes me and thanks me for being there then proceeds to offer me food and drink, a genuine and kind woman.
After I settle in, take my shirt off, and throw some jeans on my hostess informs me that I need to loosen up and work the crowds. She forced me to take a shot but I told her that I won't be taking any shots solo that evening so she hesitantly accepted her accompanying shot. As she was raising her shot her sister yelled her name and gave her the look, clearly this chick gets blitzed easily...she took her shot and I took two.
I walked around with a tray and no shirt. Did I mention I was shirtless? I really do feel like a douche bag walking around a party with no shirt on-i really don't love myself enough to be like OHHH YEAH I'm cool with no shirt on. Work is work though and I do what I need to do for the benjamins-baby. So my introductions were sincere and I started taking drink orders.
The crowd had about 35% gay men so I was forced many more shots. The party had an ice luge for shots so I definitely had some facebook worthy shot shots of my partaking in that insanity with the gays and drunken ladies-FUN. I'll be tagged "shirtless boy" or "Randall". Whatever.
So after about an hour my assistants rolled up. One woman in her late 40's with pretty large breasts and a 23 year old chick, a little lady. Did I mention they were topless as well? So we make our introductions and take our obligatory introductory shots...not gonna lie, I could read on the little chick that she was a partier and I thought itd be funny to see her tipsy. She got tipsy alright.
So the party carries on into the sunset and the tips are getting larger. At one point the younger topless chick asks me how much I'm getting tipped because "I've been serving mad drinks and only gotten $3 in tips". I lied and said only a few dollars as well but my pockets were bulging with money. Then as I was leaving she decided to enlighten me.
She told me to listen to her advice. "Listen, if a chick asks you for a soda never ask if she wants diet. I forgot how insecure women can be and if you ask her if she wants diet she'll think you're calling her fat." I thanked her for her words of brilliance and departed the kitchen. Apparently this chick has some sort of a degree and dubbed her job in genetics a "wicked hard job" yet she's still working topless at a pool party she found of craigslist. I'm sorry but I feel its worse for a woman to work topless than for a man to but that's just based on the standards of our society...perhaps that's just my close minded thoughts, shhhh.
More and more shots were consumed and I found myself attempting to be responsible and drink a few bottled waters to maintain my charm for those tips! My 23 year old female topless serving partner was beginning to get noticed by all and I saw her being spoken to by the hostess at the pool so I went over.
Apparently she served someone a vodka when they asked for a water and the hostess was trying to be like, you fucked up. She argued saying that she got the right drink and even if she was wrong she was right. Her rant continued, "I serve parties at fashion week all the time. In fact they always call model bartenders like me for fashion week (cuz I'm so beautiful) and when I serve celebrities they should be happy to even get a drink. It doesn't matter what you give them you just give them a drink and they better be fuckin happy." This is where it got awkward because the woman who originally ordered the drink was right there and this chick was basically saying just drink the fucking vodka even though you ordered a water. Quality mess...I'm not judging though, I've worn those shoes many a time.
So as I was trying to get her mind off of the drink and onto being chill she abruptly stated that she needed to be in the pool and dove right in. She said some drunken statement that I ignored as at this point every sound out of her mouth was a nuisance to fix my hearing to and told her that itd be a great idea to go off the diving board. She enthusiastically agreed! Unfortunately some of the motherly figures at the party disagreed with my suggestion and as she boarded the board she was quickly denied and told to go home. HAH.
With my entertainment gone home it was nearly perfect timing when a woman started rolling a doobie on the kitchen table. I nonchalantly walked over and asked her what she was doing. She offered for my participation and the boring atmosphere got a bit more bearable.
The end of the party consisted of a male stripper swinging (no pun intended) through, my staying an hour later than booked (don't worry I got paid for it), and the larger chested topless woman giving me a ride to the train station. That's it, just a ride! I sloppily made it back into the city and into bed. As I was attempting to pass out my stomach informed me that this was not an option and I made a run for the toilet...story of my life.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
FORD Models
So two days ago I was complaining to Kirt how it felt as if my modeling career had hit a road block. Boss Models said fashion week is out of the question and the castings continue to be limited and unsuccessful. My extended hours at the gym wear on my endurance and optimism and I need some source of hope, some vision of the light at the end of the tunnel. As I was strolling through Central Park around 4:20 listening to "Shine on you crazy Diamond" I got a text from Kirt asking me to send him some photos.
The first shot I sent him was a terribly terrifying photo I had taken while at the gym on the stationary bicycle earlier that day with a facial pose beautiful enough to be in a porno for those with downs syndrome. After I chuckled over the responding text of "OMG" I continued to send a few photos that were not worthy of killing Medusa. Dear Kirt was sending the photos to a booker at Ford Models who at the conclusion of his delivery asked to meet me. So the next day I was to meet at FORD for 11 am.
As with any other day I started it off with a small bowl of oatmeal and a fat scoop of Nutella ( I know, BAD MODEL ) and then departed for the gym. Worked up a little sweat, pumped the arms up, and then hit the showers to shave my five o'clock shadow away revealing my boyish beauty. My timing was set to be perfect; leave at 10:20, grab a protein shake for energy, and then head south to the agency for a flawless arrival time of 10:57.
Well the protein shake bar was packed and while I was patiently waiting in line it gave me much time to contemplate the shake I would consume. "Berry Blast" or "Peanut butter and Jelly"? What to do?! The customer on deck is ordering and you don't know what you want. SHIT. What am I gonna get?!? I don't want anything too fattening though I do want something uber tasty AND energizing. Wow, this is stressful (I can hear the jeopardy music countdown in the background). "What would you like sir?" I replied...I'll take the Peanut Butter and Jelly with an extra scoop of peanut butter (ItS AU NATURALE) and a scoop of energy protein.
My escape from the gym was later than anticipated so with my shake in hand I hastily made my way to the 6 train and boarded. BEE DOO WE ARE BEING DELAYED DUE TO TRAIN TRAFFIC AHEAD, PLEASE BE PATIENT. Patient? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm about to go to FORD, the world known agency where I was requested to come in to potentially be brought on board and you, you drive subway cars and tell people whom you have no idea of their situation to be patient?!? You're not going to tell a woman who's water broke to be patient so don't tell me to be patient, bitch!
We make it to 59th street and the doors stay open...blaa blaa blaa PLEASE BE PATIENT. This is my chance to transfer to the express train but its all the way down 8 flights of stairs and what if I'm waiting forever? What if I fall down the stairs and smash my face in ruining my modeling career?! What if I spill my protein shake?!?! Before I could finish my legitimate concerns I was sprinting down the stairs, passengers started leisurely riding the escalator in my opposite direction so I knew a train was at the station, DOUBLE TIME! Maneuvering through the last patrons on the train I squeeze through the closing doors and take a deep breath of air conditioned satisfaction, I had made the express train.
I walked into Ford at 11:03 and patiently awaited my potential new booker. She showed me around the agency and brought me into an unused room where my book was reviewed. "Well you've got an interesting look. How tall are you?" I was measured, introduced to all the bookers, and then had some photos taken. My phone number was written down and I was informed that I would get a call this week. I left the agency with an uncertainty that did not bother me. My decision was to take the much repeated advice of various peoples close to me "be patient" and see if my phone would ring over the next few days.
I walked down to the pier where I go to contemplate and fortunately I was the only one there. While I was admiring the beauty of the Hudson my phone rang, AHHHHHH, its FORD asking me to sign a multi million dollar contract and they want to send me to Milan, Paris, and Tokyo tonight-or so I dreamed. It was a man named Ron who was looking for an assistant in his loft bed business.
This was one of my random finds on craigslist. Loft bed designer and creator seeking assistant to learn the trade and work alongside with. I figured itd take me to interesting spaces in the city, teach me some handyman skills, and be a hell of a lot better than dancing around in Abercrombie & Fitch for hours making shit money. I was interrogated to assure the man on the other end that I was not a crackhead and truly who I said I was in the introductory email I had sent. Then he asked if i were free later that afternoon to start working for him. I told him that I had a casting but that it was not as significant as working for him and that I'd forget the casting to work with him.
We met in Williamsburg and he was not exactly whom I was expecting to see show up. An older man in his 60's, short, and slightly overweight. I suppose I expected to see some young entrepreneur carpenter type, whatever.
I learned quickly that he enjoys smoking cigarettes often and he's full of conversation. We had the lumber delivered to the site and hauled it to the elevator then the clients apartment. Construction had begun!
Not too far into the work we took our dinner break. You know you've got a good boss when he pays you while you eat and also pays for the meal! We had barbecue meats and a coke-not very model conscious but it was better than getting the deli food from the corner store. Dinner concluded and we finished up the loft bed. By the time we had ended I was handing him whatever he needed and was virtually one step ahead of him proving that I was catching on to the blatantly simple process.
7 hours logged and I earned $100, dinner, and a secure spot on future jobs with the old fellow. LEGIT. After a long day and night I decided to cut sleep short and hit the gym for an early session prior to my fitting-good idea fat ass!
The first shot I sent him was a terribly terrifying photo I had taken while at the gym on the stationary bicycle earlier that day with a facial pose beautiful enough to be in a porno for those with downs syndrome. After I chuckled over the responding text of "OMG" I continued to send a few photos that were not worthy of killing Medusa. Dear Kirt was sending the photos to a booker at Ford Models who at the conclusion of his delivery asked to meet me. So the next day I was to meet at FORD for 11 am.
As with any other day I started it off with a small bowl of oatmeal and a fat scoop of Nutella ( I know, BAD MODEL ) and then departed for the gym. Worked up a little sweat, pumped the arms up, and then hit the showers to shave my five o'clock shadow away revealing my boyish beauty. My timing was set to be perfect; leave at 10:20, grab a protein shake for energy, and then head south to the agency for a flawless arrival time of 10:57.
Well the protein shake bar was packed and while I was patiently waiting in line it gave me much time to contemplate the shake I would consume. "Berry Blast" or "Peanut butter and Jelly"? What to do?! The customer on deck is ordering and you don't know what you want. SHIT. What am I gonna get?!? I don't want anything too fattening though I do want something uber tasty AND energizing. Wow, this is stressful (I can hear the jeopardy music countdown in the background). "What would you like sir?" I replied...I'll take the Peanut Butter and Jelly with an extra scoop of peanut butter (ItS AU NATURALE) and a scoop of energy protein.
My escape from the gym was later than anticipated so with my shake in hand I hastily made my way to the 6 train and boarded. BEE DOO WE ARE BEING DELAYED DUE TO TRAIN TRAFFIC AHEAD, PLEASE BE PATIENT. Patient? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm about to go to FORD, the world known agency where I was requested to come in to potentially be brought on board and you, you drive subway cars and tell people whom you have no idea of their situation to be patient?!? You're not going to tell a woman who's water broke to be patient so don't tell me to be patient, bitch!
We make it to 59th street and the doors stay open...blaa blaa blaa PLEASE BE PATIENT. This is my chance to transfer to the express train but its all the way down 8 flights of stairs and what if I'm waiting forever? What if I fall down the stairs and smash my face in ruining my modeling career?! What if I spill my protein shake?!?! Before I could finish my legitimate concerns I was sprinting down the stairs, passengers started leisurely riding the escalator in my opposite direction so I knew a train was at the station, DOUBLE TIME! Maneuvering through the last patrons on the train I squeeze through the closing doors and take a deep breath of air conditioned satisfaction, I had made the express train.
I walked into Ford at 11:03 and patiently awaited my potential new booker. She showed me around the agency and brought me into an unused room where my book was reviewed. "Well you've got an interesting look. How tall are you?" I was measured, introduced to all the bookers, and then had some photos taken. My phone number was written down and I was informed that I would get a call this week. I left the agency with an uncertainty that did not bother me. My decision was to take the much repeated advice of various peoples close to me "be patient" and see if my phone would ring over the next few days.
I walked down to the pier where I go to contemplate and fortunately I was the only one there. While I was admiring the beauty of the Hudson my phone rang, AHHHHHH, its FORD asking me to sign a multi million dollar contract and they want to send me to Milan, Paris, and Tokyo tonight-or so I dreamed. It was a man named Ron who was looking for an assistant in his loft bed business.
This was one of my random finds on craigslist. Loft bed designer and creator seeking assistant to learn the trade and work alongside with. I figured itd take me to interesting spaces in the city, teach me some handyman skills, and be a hell of a lot better than dancing around in Abercrombie & Fitch for hours making shit money. I was interrogated to assure the man on the other end that I was not a crackhead and truly who I said I was in the introductory email I had sent. Then he asked if i were free later that afternoon to start working for him. I told him that I had a casting but that it was not as significant as working for him and that I'd forget the casting to work with him.
We met in Williamsburg and he was not exactly whom I was expecting to see show up. An older man in his 60's, short, and slightly overweight. I suppose I expected to see some young entrepreneur carpenter type, whatever.
I learned quickly that he enjoys smoking cigarettes often and he's full of conversation. We had the lumber delivered to the site and hauled it to the elevator then the clients apartment. Construction had begun!
Not too far into the work we took our dinner break. You know you've got a good boss when he pays you while you eat and also pays for the meal! We had barbecue meats and a coke-not very model conscious but it was better than getting the deli food from the corner store. Dinner concluded and we finished up the loft bed. By the time we had ended I was handing him whatever he needed and was virtually one step ahead of him proving that I was catching on to the blatantly simple process.
7 hours logged and I earned $100, dinner, and a secure spot on future jobs with the old fellow. LEGIT. After a long day and night I decided to cut sleep short and hit the gym for an early session prior to my fitting-good idea fat ass!
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Shirtless bartender at the gay 5th ave party
Knock on wood, the work continues to pour in. Yesterday delivered quite the variety of events. It all started with the daily few hours at the gym which was nice. Put in a solid hour and a half on the stationary bike and banged out mad reps of low weights.
I've quenched my agencys thirst to have me increase my muscle which is honestly a satisfying feat. It's been said that once you've acquired the necessary muscle to drop the weights in half and increase the reps. I don't enjoy moderation so in between my shoulder exercises I do 100 curls of 10 pound weights for the biceps. I;m starting to thrive from that burn I get when i push myself. I;m never sore the next day though so I imagine its not too damaging.
The steam room enticed me before the shower and it was a pleasurable experience shower followed suit. With the work out completed I rewarded myself with an ounce and a half of almonds and a half water and half liquid protein mix-lovely. Then made my way to the other gym I'm fortunate enough to have access to and had a photo shoot for their marketing paraphernalia.
The make up artist, director of the shoot, and other "model" I was working with were all very gay and very lovely to work with. Next week I'll be working with them again for some new images to boost my book. Oh joy! I love networking in this city because it boosts my chances of meeting those random important or valuable people. After the shenannigans are the gym I wandered down 8th avenue to pick up a protein bar and then to my first casting.
The casting was for a jewelry designer who is shooting a video for television. Not so sure on the specifics but long story short they were selecting a male and female and I ended up being the selected male model. Earlier that day I emailed the agency-Big Boss-and asked if they had any castings for me. They emailed me the same info for the casting which I had found on my own for this jewelry designer. I figured by allowing the agency to take credit for it rather than my saying oh never mind I already found that, it would show them that I can actually book work and potentially make them want to push me for fashion week.
The other day I went to the agency and told my booker Florian that I "really really want to be in fashion week". He said that my book was too young and I needed more work done, I did not like this response. I moved to nyc just before last seasons fashion week and now its time to dive in head first. I've got one confirmed show for fashion week, presentation rather. I want more! So I gave Boss this shoot for a few reasons, secondly to see how they will be about paying me. It's all a game and I'm testing them.
So after the casting I made my way to the party where I was booked to be the shirtless bartender. When I enter the elevator and press the top button, floor 17, I wasn't sure what to expect when the doors opened. I found this gig through craigslist and it stated that they wanted a shirtless bartender for the gay party in a penthouse apartment. Was I going to see rainbow flags and guys prancing around in sailor outfits or was I to be kidnapped by men in black leather bondage gear and submitted to the underground sex slave world? The scenario was much more tame than my fears were amassing to. Orange pants, button down shirt, and that kind gay smile..."I'm Ron".
We went over how the drinks were to be served and how the host wished for the bar to look then waited for the guests to show. Most of the attendees were humorously interesting gays. One of my favorites was Andy the porn producer. "Gay porn, straight porn, and solo porn." was the intro to his pitch to get me to enlist. Nonchalantly throughout the night I could observe his desperation in breaking my "no"s to his enlistment requests. He could not succeed in acquiring a new porn star from the party so he was forced to accept the next best thing, the potential of a new straight friend whom he would always wish to be his new star.
I consumed beverages and the guests consumed massive amounts of liquor. I conversed with interesting people, told them of my wild craigslist adventures, and got a few business cards to continue communication at a later point. Extended communication has yet to occur though perhaps boredom will lead me to the dialing of a few numbers down the road. I got tipped out well and the host paid me in cash so I left there with a nice wad in my pocket. Too bad I was so drunk that I blew all my money at the strip club on the way home, just kidding.
I retired late and woke up late the next day to hit the gym again...chilled with an old friend from catering and await tomorrows unpredictable outcome.
Night. Night.
I've quenched my agencys thirst to have me increase my muscle which is honestly a satisfying feat. It's been said that once you've acquired the necessary muscle to drop the weights in half and increase the reps. I don't enjoy moderation so in between my shoulder exercises I do 100 curls of 10 pound weights for the biceps. I;m starting to thrive from that burn I get when i push myself. I;m never sore the next day though so I imagine its not too damaging.
The steam room enticed me before the shower and it was a pleasurable experience shower followed suit. With the work out completed I rewarded myself with an ounce and a half of almonds and a half water and half liquid protein mix-lovely. Then made my way to the other gym I'm fortunate enough to have access to and had a photo shoot for their marketing paraphernalia.
The make up artist, director of the shoot, and other "model" I was working with were all very gay and very lovely to work with. Next week I'll be working with them again for some new images to boost my book. Oh joy! I love networking in this city because it boosts my chances of meeting those random important or valuable people. After the shenannigans are the gym I wandered down 8th avenue to pick up a protein bar and then to my first casting.
The casting was for a jewelry designer who is shooting a video for television. Not so sure on the specifics but long story short they were selecting a male and female and I ended up being the selected male model. Earlier that day I emailed the agency-Big Boss-and asked if they had any castings for me. They emailed me the same info for the casting which I had found on my own for this jewelry designer. I figured by allowing the agency to take credit for it rather than my saying oh never mind I already found that, it would show them that I can actually book work and potentially make them want to push me for fashion week.
The other day I went to the agency and told my booker Florian that I "really really want to be in fashion week". He said that my book was too young and I needed more work done, I did not like this response. I moved to nyc just before last seasons fashion week and now its time to dive in head first. I've got one confirmed show for fashion week, presentation rather. I want more! So I gave Boss this shoot for a few reasons, secondly to see how they will be about paying me. It's all a game and I'm testing them.
So after the casting I made my way to the party where I was booked to be the shirtless bartender. When I enter the elevator and press the top button, floor 17, I wasn't sure what to expect when the doors opened. I found this gig through craigslist and it stated that they wanted a shirtless bartender for the gay party in a penthouse apartment. Was I going to see rainbow flags and guys prancing around in sailor outfits or was I to be kidnapped by men in black leather bondage gear and submitted to the underground sex slave world? The scenario was much more tame than my fears were amassing to. Orange pants, button down shirt, and that kind gay smile..."I'm Ron".
We went over how the drinks were to be served and how the host wished for the bar to look then waited for the guests to show. Most of the attendees were humorously interesting gays. One of my favorites was Andy the porn producer. "Gay porn, straight porn, and solo porn." was the intro to his pitch to get me to enlist. Nonchalantly throughout the night I could observe his desperation in breaking my "no"s to his enlistment requests. He could not succeed in acquiring a new porn star from the party so he was forced to accept the next best thing, the potential of a new straight friend whom he would always wish to be his new star.
I consumed beverages and the guests consumed massive amounts of liquor. I conversed with interesting people, told them of my wild craigslist adventures, and got a few business cards to continue communication at a later point. Extended communication has yet to occur though perhaps boredom will lead me to the dialing of a few numbers down the road. I got tipped out well and the host paid me in cash so I left there with a nice wad in my pocket. Too bad I was so drunk that I blew all my money at the strip club on the way home, just kidding.
I retired late and woke up late the next day to hit the gym again...chilled with an old friend from catering and await tomorrows unpredictable outcome.
Night. Night.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Boston
So I visited Boston for a day. There was a promo that I was to participate in for 3 weeks. Before I could start I came to a realization. A brutal truth with its positives and negatives, nothing uncommon as that's life-plain and simple.
I did my daily gym routine and set off for Megabus's 31st and 8th loading rendezvous. Twas a hot and sunny day yet I still plopped my hiking pack stuffed with dirty clothes (to be washed at good ol' gramma Pats house) directly in the sun to await the arrival of my undesired method of transportation, a double decker bus. To no surprise the bus was late and the whole populous of bus seekers was herded away from the original waiting area due to some "delegates" arriving.
After significant sweat stains and what would be a solid tan had I not covered myself in 70 spf sunscreen the 30 minutes prior after my shower at the gym, my mega bus arrived. I had never been on a double decker bus in the states so I made it a point to experience the ride to its fullest potential. Front row on the second floor, YEAEAH BABY.
As we waited for everyone to settle their luggage into the depths of the bus's behind I settled into my seat and discovered that the power outlet had a cover which prevented my oversized BB charger to be inserted-quality. None the less I did not less this dull my excitement for the roller coaster, I mean long ass ride to come. Think about it...Flying down the highway at 60 miles per hour with your face pressed against the front window 10 feet high like a childs face pressed against the doors to Toys R Us prior to their birthday or a gift receiving holiday, I felt like buzz light year queuing up for flight.
Life has delivered me its share of anticlimactic experiences but this wasn't one of them. I strive to make the best out of any scenario and it was relatively entertaining, stimulating rather than staring at the back of another bus seat though I couldn't get myself to stand up and say "to infinity and beyond!"
My arrival to Boston was simple; I purchased some McDonalds (I know, bad model), got two T passes to grammas location, and carried on to meet her. She kindly met me at the stop 30 minutes out of the city and we carried on to dinner. Chicken with a cranberry sauce and some sweet potato roll things is pretty ridic when you're starving though I couldn't get myself to finish the plate.
We went back to the abode and took some digitals for a new modeling abroad prospect then watched some television and discussed the plan for the next few weeks of promotions. G Ma retired to bed and I found myself folding the now clean clothes I had dragged all the way from NYC. Woke up around 2 am in the chair with the telly on and headed up to bed...it was so foreign to sleep in a quality bed.
I woke up to my Grandmother popping her head into my room saying "Randddyyyyy its 7:20". The plan was to have breakfast at 7:30 so I exuded from my covers and slothily wandered downstairs. Surprise...no, I remembered of my chicken left overs and combined them with the eggs and toast G ma had made me. A solid start to the first day of a long promotion.
Twas a beautiful day in Boston and I had arrived 45 minutes prior to when the team was supposed to report in. I found myself staring at some flowers in a park when my phone rang. "Can you make it to Astoria for a catalog shoot at 11?" My manager asked. I informed him that I was in Boston and his response though simple really had an impact, "Fuck, ok bye".
The simple but powerful reply my phone had delivered to my ear was as influential as a hunters bullet piercing the skull of a tiger who stepped right into the cross hairs. I fucked up. When I went to Miami for my buddy's wedding I missed out on multiple opportunities for modeling but I was so drunk that it didn't really set in. With my clear minded thoughts the reality that if I want to model in NY I must stay in NY flooded my head...30 minutes later I was on a bus back to the city.
Happiness is a foreign thing to me though I wouldn't say I'm depressed merely discontent. I wake up everyday with the hope that I'll get a phone call or email from someone I've poured my efforts or product of my efforts into telling me that they want to use me for a project which will either jump start my career or fill my wallet. Will I fall into the extremely low percentage of people in the world who find success in modeling? Will I be able to pay rent and eat because I keep my schedule open with the thought that I'll need to fill it with a paying photoshoot? My path in life is currently full of insecurities but I suppose the thought of not knowing I will succeed makes it a great adventure and that actually makes me smile.
I did my daily gym routine and set off for Megabus's 31st and 8th loading rendezvous. Twas a hot and sunny day yet I still plopped my hiking pack stuffed with dirty clothes (to be washed at good ol' gramma Pats house) directly in the sun to await the arrival of my undesired method of transportation, a double decker bus. To no surprise the bus was late and the whole populous of bus seekers was herded away from the original waiting area due to some "delegates" arriving.
After significant sweat stains and what would be a solid tan had I not covered myself in 70 spf sunscreen the 30 minutes prior after my shower at the gym, my mega bus arrived. I had never been on a double decker bus in the states so I made it a point to experience the ride to its fullest potential. Front row on the second floor, YEAEAH BABY.
As we waited for everyone to settle their luggage into the depths of the bus's behind I settled into my seat and discovered that the power outlet had a cover which prevented my oversized BB charger to be inserted-quality. None the less I did not less this dull my excitement for the roller coaster, I mean long ass ride to come. Think about it...Flying down the highway at 60 miles per hour with your face pressed against the front window 10 feet high like a childs face pressed against the doors to Toys R Us prior to their birthday or a gift receiving holiday, I felt like buzz light year queuing up for flight.
Life has delivered me its share of anticlimactic experiences but this wasn't one of them. I strive to make the best out of any scenario and it was relatively entertaining, stimulating rather than staring at the back of another bus seat though I couldn't get myself to stand up and say "to infinity and beyond!"
My arrival to Boston was simple; I purchased some McDonalds (I know, bad model), got two T passes to grammas location, and carried on to meet her. She kindly met me at the stop 30 minutes out of the city and we carried on to dinner. Chicken with a cranberry sauce and some sweet potato roll things is pretty ridic when you're starving though I couldn't get myself to finish the plate.
We went back to the abode and took some digitals for a new modeling abroad prospect then watched some television and discussed the plan for the next few weeks of promotions. G Ma retired to bed and I found myself folding the now clean clothes I had dragged all the way from NYC. Woke up around 2 am in the chair with the telly on and headed up to bed...it was so foreign to sleep in a quality bed.
I woke up to my Grandmother popping her head into my room saying "Randddyyyyy its 7:20". The plan was to have breakfast at 7:30 so I exuded from my covers and slothily wandered downstairs. Surprise...no, I remembered of my chicken left overs and combined them with the eggs and toast G ma had made me. A solid start to the first day of a long promotion.
Twas a beautiful day in Boston and I had arrived 45 minutes prior to when the team was supposed to report in. I found myself staring at some flowers in a park when my phone rang. "Can you make it to Astoria for a catalog shoot at 11?" My manager asked. I informed him that I was in Boston and his response though simple really had an impact, "Fuck, ok bye".
The simple but powerful reply my phone had delivered to my ear was as influential as a hunters bullet piercing the skull of a tiger who stepped right into the cross hairs. I fucked up. When I went to Miami for my buddy's wedding I missed out on multiple opportunities for modeling but I was so drunk that it didn't really set in. With my clear minded thoughts the reality that if I want to model in NY I must stay in NY flooded my head...30 minutes later I was on a bus back to the city.
Happiness is a foreign thing to me though I wouldn't say I'm depressed merely discontent. I wake up everyday with the hope that I'll get a phone call or email from someone I've poured my efforts or product of my efforts into telling me that they want to use me for a project which will either jump start my career or fill my wallet. Will I fall into the extremely low percentage of people in the world who find success in modeling? Will I be able to pay rent and eat because I keep my schedule open with the thought that I'll need to fill it with a paying photoshoot? My path in life is currently full of insecurities but I suppose the thought of not knowing I will succeed makes it a great adventure and that actually makes me smile.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
So its been 5 months...
What can I say? Commitment isn't my forte...sorry I've neglected you for 5 months mister blog or shall I say, Rupert?!?
Since we've last chatted much has occurred and I feel it necessary to update you on my NYC situation.
First and foremost, I've lost weight. I know you were always nagging me about eating pizza and drinking all those tasty coffees from mud but now you can't say shit! I've slimmed down, toned up, and popped out some abs getting me the attention of Boss Models. THAT'S RIGHT, I'm a BOSS boy now :)
In retrospect i am full of remorse due to my lack of keeping a log of all my catering adventures. Many late nights of underpaid, under appreciated, BITCH work and now I am left with two caterers who hire me only when absolutely desperate or when the client requests a person with my aesthetic nature. Fuck em...Now I dance around abercrombie and fitch for 9 dollars an hour getting high off of the womens perfume they spray endlessly as if it were oxygen and we were in a space world.
Getting hired at Abercrombie was a bit of a joke. The interview was a group interview and besides some chick from Jersey, I was the only American there. Nothing wrong with not being American though if you can't speak a language how the fuck are you supposed to help customers. With respect though most of our customers are foreigners so it does make sense......I'm not buying it though, guaranteed those kids wont last longer than a month though who am I to judge, not sure I will either! Literally 20 minutes after the interview I got a phone call..."uhhhmm yes Mister Harris we'd love to have you join our team here at A&F"....shit Abercrombie is now the epitome of desperation in my book. I tried everything...besides stripping...and now I must resort to working in douche bagville to barely make an income.
The interviewer asked a few douchey questions but my favorite was, " describe the brand in two words, and you cant repeat what the others have said or you'll have to dance in front of everyone ( a true douche move)". Seeing how I was the only English informed one there, I was told to go last. The folks were saying shit like "sexy, stylish, modern, hot, hip, BLAA BLAA BLAA". No lie, first thing that popped in my head was the two words DOUCHE BAG....now I can't get it out of my head. Everyone there is a douche bag...Not really but in such a douchey environment of such a douchey brand I really need to find humor in whatever way necessary, even if its in lying to myself. I know, pathetic..but what else can you say about working at A&F-PATHETIC...oh and DOUCHE BAG.
Alright.
Being with Boss has only given me a few tests which have given me some high fashion esque photos, whatever...hasn't gotten me any money or any travel and that's all I want! So now I'm just emailing as many photographers, designers, stylists, and people related in any form to the fashion industry as possible in hopes of networking my way to success or at least the next level. Traveling abroad is a temptation, tapping into the asian market sounds fun but I don't want to neglect New York just yet. So many decisions must be made while the pressures of living in New York continue to exude on the daily. Its fun in a stressful way. Whether I win or lose it'll be something to look back on and say, DAMN SON.
Since we've last chatted much has occurred and I feel it necessary to update you on my NYC situation.
First and foremost, I've lost weight. I know you were always nagging me about eating pizza and drinking all those tasty coffees from mud but now you can't say shit! I've slimmed down, toned up, and popped out some abs getting me the attention of Boss Models. THAT'S RIGHT, I'm a BOSS boy now :)
In retrospect i am full of remorse due to my lack of keeping a log of all my catering adventures. Many late nights of underpaid, under appreciated, BITCH work and now I am left with two caterers who hire me only when absolutely desperate or when the client requests a person with my aesthetic nature. Fuck em...Now I dance around abercrombie and fitch for 9 dollars an hour getting high off of the womens perfume they spray endlessly as if it were oxygen and we were in a space world.
Getting hired at Abercrombie was a bit of a joke. The interview was a group interview and besides some chick from Jersey, I was the only American there. Nothing wrong with not being American though if you can't speak a language how the fuck are you supposed to help customers. With respect though most of our customers are foreigners so it does make sense......I'm not buying it though, guaranteed those kids wont last longer than a month though who am I to judge, not sure I will either! Literally 20 minutes after the interview I got a phone call..."uhhhmm yes Mister Harris we'd love to have you join our team here at A&F"....shit Abercrombie is now the epitome of desperation in my book. I tried everything...besides stripping...and now I must resort to working in douche bagville to barely make an income.
The interviewer asked a few douchey questions but my favorite was, " describe the brand in two words, and you cant repeat what the others have said or you'll have to dance in front of everyone ( a true douche move)". Seeing how I was the only English informed one there, I was told to go last. The folks were saying shit like "sexy, stylish, modern, hot, hip, BLAA BLAA BLAA". No lie, first thing that popped in my head was the two words DOUCHE BAG....now I can't get it out of my head. Everyone there is a douche bag...Not really but in such a douchey environment of such a douchey brand I really need to find humor in whatever way necessary, even if its in lying to myself. I know, pathetic..but what else can you say about working at A&F-PATHETIC...oh and DOUCHE BAG.
Alright.
Being with Boss has only given me a few tests which have given me some high fashion esque photos, whatever...hasn't gotten me any money or any travel and that's all I want! So now I'm just emailing as many photographers, designers, stylists, and people related in any form to the fashion industry as possible in hopes of networking my way to success or at least the next level. Traveling abroad is a temptation, tapping into the asian market sounds fun but I don't want to neglect New York just yet. So many decisions must be made while the pressures of living in New York continue to exude on the daily. Its fun in a stressful way. Whether I win or lose it'll be something to look back on and say, DAMN SON.
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