Actor for a day. Me. Really!

I'm actually quite surprised at myself for not blogging about this immediately, since it was damn near the most exciting thing to happen to me in...well, awhile. On a whim, I had registered to be an extra on my favorite show, Friday Night Lights. The fact that the show is filmed in Austin helped ease the pain of moving to Texas, so I felt the least I could do was offer up my acting talents (which I believe hearken back to an elementary school production about fruit.) But I registered online, diligently provided height, weight, a photo and various other embarrassing statistics, and waited.

So this is what it's like to wait for your big break in the glamorous world of Hollywood stardom.

Then, I got The Call.

HEY! Guys! Guys! I'm over here!!!

Did I have anything better to do on a Thursday afternoon that be part of a TV show? Hell, no!

OMG, OMG, was I going to be important? Was I going to be visible? Would they fawn all over me in hair and wardrobe? Most importantly, would Riggins be there?

(The answer to all of these was a resounding NO, but I didn't know that yet. Although the fact that I was not cast as a Mrs. Robinson-esque love interest for any football heroes but rather as a "pageant audience member" should have tamped my expectations a bit.)

I washed, brushed, flossed, spackled, squeezed my puffy summer feet into some grownup shoes and headed out for the set, an abandoned school near the Austin airport. Immediately excited to learn that Panther/Lion stadium is, like, right here all the time, just 10 minutes away, I parked and trudged over to the "bunker" where all the extras were assembling. On my way, I saw Aimee Teegarden pop out of her trailer with a Chihuahua. A brush with greatness so early in the process? This was promising.

Inside the bunker, it was a crisp and refreshing 10,000 degrees (I love you, Texas) and stuffed to the rafters with one of the most random assortments of people I have ever seen. There were men and women, old and young, thin and fat, Caucasian, Black, Hispanic (surprising, considering Austin is AKA Whitey McWhiteville. OK, at least most of Austin.). There were teens in ball gowns (the scene to be filmed was a beauty pageant) and sloppy middle aged men in bad shoes. There were Ladies of a Certain Age who arrived in their Lexus SUVs and full-on Texan hair. You get the idea.

While waiting, I (sweated) chatted with a few of these folks. They (sweated) told me more often than not that they were just doing extra work for the money, and hadn't even heard of or watched the show. We (sweated) discussed our careers as extras - some do it all the time, others, like me, were virgins - and waited while, of course, sweating. So much for coming to set "camera ready."

Anyway, after much waiting around ("THEY are having lunch now. You guys have to wait.") we got the once-over by wardrobe ("you're good.") and were loaded into shuttle buses that took us to the real set, a local Omni hotel.

Once there we (stopped sweating, thankfully) and finally shuffled into Ballroom A which was decked out as a pageant:

We sat arbitrarily in rows staring at the various people and gadgetry around the room. They said "rolling" and some other filmy crap a bunch of times and then opened and closed the thingies:

 

and then we were told to applaud ("golf applause, not too enthusiastic") when Becky received her award. Then, in about 5 minutes and 4 takes, it was over.

We herded ourselves into Conference Room D to gorge ourselves on granola bars and bananas, (Why no more craft services?) then did a police lineup to see who would be picked for the next scene, to take place in a C-level Mexican restaurant (sorry, Tres Amigos, but the truth hurts, doesn't it?). We stood against the wall while a dude picked us. Trying to shake off any long-buried family scars from dark places, I tried to look cute. Or at least like someone who eats at Mexican restaurants. And WHOHOO! I was picked. I changed my shirt in a bathroom that was a casserole of partial nudity, and I was ready.

This meant herding into the back of some stranger's BMW convertible with another dude and my pretend husband (who I believe, sadly, to be gay) and hurtling at high speeds towards certain death on the highway, or dinner.

We got there safe and sound, then dutifully shuffled over to our table - right next to the big breakup scene! - and sat down to dinner. Which looked like this:

 

My "husband's" meal, on the other hand, looked like this:

Which begs the question: how is it fair that even in my pretend world, I STILL HAVE TO EAT SALAD???? It's not.

Anyway, we pretend ate, and I tried to pretend talk to my pretend husband while trying to ignore the sorta-celebs having a cheesy breakup at the next table while I tried not to cough and ruin the scene. Once again, they said rolling, then some filmy crap, then snapped the thinges then said cut then we were done. I got home at 11pm tired from all that hard work and starving from the less-than-satisfying dinner. Yet all in all, it was a fun and interesting thing to do.

Some important and no doubt earth-shattering observations:

1. It takes a LOT of people to film ONE tiny scene in a TV show.

2. It must take a LOT of time and money to produce, like, a WHOLE episode.

3. Film would have been a cool career. Oops.

4. Stardom would have been an even cooler career. Oops again.

5. Working as an extra is mostly boring, but something you might want to try. Once.

6. People are strange, but sometimes interesting.

7. It's too hot in Texas to have to "work."

8. If you think working as an extra will make you rich, guess again. And don't spend your $58 check all in one place!

9. Friday Night Lights is a cool show made by cool people.

10. No Riggins! No Coach! Not even a Mrs. Coach. I was ROBBED!

So...you probably won't see me getting a SAG card anytime soon. But you might, if fact, see me on TV, if you squint really hard, and zoom in really close to that blur in the background, sometime in 2011, on NBC...

Comments

[kim]

we've been loyal viewers since you turned us on to FNL a couple of years ago...jealous of your big day! p.s. who breaks up? p.p.s. did I ever tell you about the party I attended in Connie Brittain's loft?

[WCG]

Can we have your autograph?

[lz]

I think your calling is writing my dear.....you crack me up. Love your little note to your hubby. So sweet.