Base Camp

	Wednesday, September 24, 2003

World's Hippest Epilogue Part 2: The Lasting Supper What did you do on your summer vacation? Wile away the hours at the old fishing hole? Make a lemonade stand or a treehouse? Teach ol' Sparky to roll over? I finally got to see what I did on my summer vacation. At least part of it. We had done a massive outdoor campaign for the relaunch of Marshall Field's State Street store and the media company, Viacom, was driving us around Chicago to see it. The billboards were great. The painted building sides, looking as big as some of those Saddam Hussein murals we've seen on CNN, were even more impressive. But it was the station dominations that really gave me wood. And it wasn't just because saying 'station domination' and making a whipping noise is fun. There were some 'L' stations where we owned every single ad placement. Our work took up entire corridors and platforms in other Metra train stations. "Look what I did, Ma. Will you put it up on the fridge?" In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a cure for cancer. In the small scheme of advertising, it wasn't going to be another Budweiser lizard campaign. But I still wanted to run up to each person I saw looking at our work and go "I did that." Remember those lingerie models we shot in NYC over the summer? I do. And now here they were, straddling the Dan Ryan Expressway in two-story posterized glory. We heard that a morning DJ for a Chicago radio station had developed a crush on one of the women and talked about the billboard every day. A few people with sphincters so tight that when they fart only dogs could hear, called to complain about our saucy girls. The company was smart enough to take it in stride. There's how many millions of people who live here? And five complained? Let's break that down to a percentage. Here, I've got a pocketful of zeroes we can throw in front of it. There were also a few dyslexics who called in to complain about the billboard featuring the clothing line FCUK (French Connection United Kingdom). Okay, actually it was closer to 15,000. Alright, the dinner we had that night was so great, I'm not going to bother with any kind of transition just so I can start talking about it. It was at a place called Tru and the management of Marshall Field's was taking us there to say thanks for all the hard work and the bleeding out of our eyes and such. I'm a bit hesitant about the type of place that requires you to wear a suitcoat. They tend to think pretentiousness can substitute for quality. I was considering not wearing one to see what kind of tartan tweed triple-breasted fashion monster they'd make me wear. But sitting in the lounge, eyeing the Bang & Olufson 5-CD player hanging on the wall like the piece of art it is, sipping a 30 year-old Balvenie and saying witty things like "I believe a man should always endeavor to keep his scotch older than his women" in a Thurston Howell voice, I found myself feeling very comfortable in my suit. I mean, hey, I make this shit look good. The dining room was crisp and clean, but curved around the edges. The soft light was just right and in its illumination I found no trace of stuffiness. There was laughter from other tables that rose up to the high ceiling and stayed there momentarily before falling down onto another table. There were little cushions for the ladies to rest their purses on next to their chairs. The waitstaff seemed to disappear and then suddenly pop out from behind some Romulan cloaking device and serve all five of us at once. Their descriptions of each course were culinary sonnets. They escorted everyone to the bathrooms, stopping short of inquiring if we'd like one shake or two. And, thank God, no bathroom attendant. "And he's climbing a caviar staircase to heaven." Looking at the menu, we all decided to go for Chef Tramonto's Eight Course Collection. The only description following the title was 'sheer sensory overload'. Even Chuck D would have to say "believe the hype". Let me break it down for you: Truffled Celeriac Spoon with Duck Consomme Gelee Grand Amuse-Bouche ("Something to amuse your palate.") Tramonto's Iranian Osetra and Iranian Sevruga Caviar Staircase Deconstructed Beef Tartare, Caper Berries, Quail Egg, Consumme Gelee (For this course, Dave had something served in a bowl that contained a live Fighting Fish. Not for eating, just for looking. We assume.) Lingonberry Foie Gras, Braised Red Cabbage, Veal Jus, Orange Dust Porcini Mushroom Cappuccino, Parmesan Tuile Sauteed Skate Wing, Chanterelle Mushrooms, Escargots, Black Truffle Sauce Venison, Scallion Pancake, Haricots Vert, Huckleberry Jus "Is your palate amused? Mine's merely smirking." It was all washed down with several bottles of triple digit wine ordered by our hosts. And I had a port containing at least 24 adjectives with the cheese course. There were 15 different goat, cow and sheep cheeses to choose from. Not one of them came in a tube. For a palate cleanser there was a White Peach and Raspberry Sparkler. Then Gale's Dessert Collection descended from the heavens on a beam of sunny chocolatey goodness. Over a cappuccino we chose from Mignardises. I don't know what that translates to, but there were brownies covered in 14k gold. I won't say the total cost of the bill, but there are several countries in the world who wish their GNP was that high. I was full, but not stuffed. Happy, but not drunk. We had been there for over four hours. On the way out to a waiting cab, they gave us copies of the menu signed by the chefs and a take home package of Canneles; little cakes flavored with rum and vanilla to have with our morning coffee. We expected a waiter to be standing at our hotel elevator with a tray of something 'for the ride up'. In my room, I kept thinking back to the endless flavors of the meal. I considered not brushing my teeth for fear of offending the chef, but decided that waking up with day-old Deconstructed Beef Tartare coating my tonsils might ruin the experience. Instead, I stood at the window, looking down on the lights of Rush Street slowly winking out, like tired eyes closing, until there was nothing more to see. [Next: How to throw a house party for 5,000...] 11:13:54 PM    Say it don't spray it... []

	Thursday, September 18, 2003

World's Hippest Epilouge Chapter 1: Flying In [Base Camp gets taken to Chicago to witness the grand reopening of Marshall Field's historic State Street Store] I fell asleep rolling down the runway in a dirty dishrag dawn of day and snapped awake up in the secret second sky above the clouds, in air a blue as deep as the infinite space of stars hidden behind it. The clouds dispersed into scattered fluffs, floating like the ghosts of buffalo over the prairies. Looking down now there are fields cut only by a straight razor of dirt road. Rarely they'll unravel and lead to a town stubbornly built onto a floodplain fertile with optimism. Clumps of trees are soon replaced by clumps of houses as man tries his best to replicate nature using her own materials. Inside the city I rattle along to the rhythm of the 'L', but Ryan Adam's 'Dear Chicago' is my personal headphone soundtrack. I'm in a movie and the opening credits have just ended. 10:03:18 AM    Say it don't spray it... []

	Wednesday, September 17, 2003

The Making of A Commercial in Six Acts Scenes 4-6: Putting It All Together Before You Fall Apart Back home in Minnesota. Now that we had all our footage, the real work was about to begin. We had to edit it, add sound, music, SFX and graphics. We had to cut film, adjust colors, contrasts and other visual imagery wizardry. We had to record a voiceover. Each step required the blessings of clients with titles on their business cards so long, they wrapped around to the back--that's after we agreed on what would be best. Then we could make dubs and get them Mr. McFeely'ed out to the stations to run. Did I mention all of it was happening pretty much at the same time in about four different studios? Did I mention it was going to be airing in a week? Basically it was going to be a week sitting inside dark little rooms watching the same clips of film running by, listening to the back of someone's head ask "Better like this? Or like this? Like this? Or this?". And then they'd click on their keyboards and the process would repeat itself. Oh, yeah, and there'd be lots and lots of lunches. Around 10:30am, the door to every little dark room would open, letting a little arc of sunlight fall upon our pale skin. In the distance, we could hear other copywriters and art directors playing outside in the fresh fall air. The receptionist would hand us a thick book of take-out menus from local eats joints like it was a gastro-intestinal bible. Just one of the thousands of decisions we'd need to make coming down the stretch. SCENE 4: EDITING Somewhere in the hours of film we had, we needed to find thirty seconds of poetry. No more. No less. It wasn't like a movie, where you could let it run however long you wanted. Thirty seconds exactly. Sometimes you find yourself with an embarrassment of riches to choose from. Sometimes you leave white-knuckled finger impressions in the Etch-A-Sketch or Magic Eight Ball or whatever retro toy they have sitting around because you're not seeing what you thought you saw at the shoot. Our editor was David Henegar at Uppercut Editorial. He recently edited a number of the BMW Films spots, so we knew we were in capable hands. And when we showed up to take a look at a rough edit, the first sound David heard from us was a sigh of relief. It was lookin' good. Hey, you never know until you see it. "I don't know. Just cut away everything that sucks." David has some renaissance man flash and was also going to be doing all our on-screen graphics. Sliding stripes, moving logos, colorizing film and other crazy stuff. About a decade ago it would have taken a crew of six several days to make it happen. Now we could make adjustments in a matter of minutes. Lunch: Sweet Green Curry/Fresh Spring Rolls from Sawadtee and Curried Tuna Burger from Joe's Garage SCENE 5: MUSIC AND SOUND Our spot has no dialogue, so music is a huge component. It's practically another actor. A local music house, Asche & Spencer, has signed on to be our tunesmiths. They've done tons of national ads and most recently did the soundtrack for Monster's Ball. They're currently at work on the soundtrack for Ewan McGregor's newest joint Stay. Check it out. They be good. Actually, they be gooooooood. It's always uncomfortably funny describing what kind of music you want. Sometimes you really don't know and you don't want to limit your possibilities right off the bat. So you find yourself saying things like "we're thinking a classical and sophisticated sound like jazz, but Moby-ized and cutting edge current". If you hear an echo it's because I've disappeared up my own ass. Same thing with the voiceover we were asked to add at the end of the spot. Something sexy and sophisticated seemed perfect, so we went in search of a woman with a European accent; most likely English. Again, technology came to our rescue. I could sit in the editing suite at Uppercut with my iMac's wireless connection and download voice demos from around the world. Although there was a Scottish woman with a voice like thistled butter, whom I'd happily date forever over the phone, we decided on Sarah Wellington from Chicago. She's English, but moved to Chicago a few years ago, so her accent had been perfectly tempered. It made you think 'Wow, that's sexy, but I can't quite figure out why.' Over at Babble-On studios, we set up a digital patch with a studio in Chicago. If you think it's hard describing music, try telling someone exactly how to change their voice. Especially when they're in another studio hundreds and hundreds of miles away. "Okay, like that, but sexier. Good, but a bit more aggressively sexy. Not mean. Now sultrier. More sultry. Make it 'Off come the knickers and I'm gonna eat you up like sticky toffee pudding sexy!' Now a bit more casual. Add a bit of purr in your voice on the last bit. Hit the intro a tad harder..." Meanwhile, somewhere in Chicago, an English woman slowly shakes her head. God, that didn't make me miss my last English girlfriend at all. Sigh. By now we had picked a music track for the spot we felt was perfect. The client hated it. They would have defecated on it, but felt it wasn't worthy of their waste. Asche & Spencer sent over another couple dozen tracks and we found one more energized. The client loved it. All in a day's work. Lunch: Rachel from The Brothers Deli SCENE 6: OFFLINE We got picture and sound locked up, now we send it to the equivalent of a beauty spa and plastic surgeon. Offline is just a confusing word for saying we're going to play with color and stuff. Crash & Sue's was giving it a final buff before sending it out into the world. It's pretty amazing what you can do these days. Remember the final shot we were trying to get outside Marshall Field's? The one where it was so dark, the streetlights were already coming on? A few magic taps on the keyboard and the whole scene brightens up to look like a warm and sunny morning. A few more silicon incantations and that swath of dreary gray clouds is now Norman Rockwell blue. "I'm sorry, I've tried everything and I just can't make her look unhot." You can take single frames of film out to make effects look smoother. You can zoom in or out of a frame to get the exact framing you want. You can remove the reflection of the Steadicam operator in a picture frame on a shelf. You can push the contrast or pull back just the reds. Half the time you don't know what to ask because you don't know it's possible. So you just ask for the impossible and most the time it can be done. Lunch: Chopped Salad from Key's So...we got word that the Creative Director, the Executive Creative Director, the Head of Marketing of Marshall Field's and the biggest of bigwigs at Target have seen the spot and loved it. Blessed it. It's done. It's shipped out. Coming soon to a small screen in a living room near you. Just for the record, we had about four weeks from the word 'jump' to finish this spot. Compared to another spot being done for Marshall Field's right now, we had a seventh of the time and an eighth of the budget. I'm proud of that. The SVP of Field's came up to the Creative Director and said the spot was so good that we should give that agency more work. She laughed and said it was just two guys. "Well," he said, "make sure you give those two guys more work." I'm proud of that too. And everyone else who plused the work at every step of the way. Dave and I feel like the grinning parents, but it truly takes a village. So thank you to all the village people who made it real and made us look good. So what now? I had time for one deep breath and learned the company is flying us down to Chicago tomorrow for the grand opening ceremonies. So stay tuned for tales from parties oozing of glam and glitz, rare photos of me in a suitcoat, the country's first ever Vertical Fashion Show and me sipping mojitos with Brooke Burke and Bond. 12:31:42 AM    Say it don't spray it... []

	Thursday, September 11, 2003

The Making of A Commercial in Six Acts Scene 3: Lights...Camera...Traction Today is shoot day. When dozens of people's work and weeks of planning and all the money and best intentions and hopes and plans are condensed down to a little ray of light coming through the camera aperture. Game day. Right now I'm more troubled by the light switch in my hotel room foyer that doesn't seem to do anything. I flip it and run into the room to see if some secret passageway opens or the bed's magic fingers turn on. Nothing. I can't shake the feeling there's some old woman in Germany wondering why her reading lamp keeps going on and off. The scene outside our first location, Café Zinc, is a madhouse. But it's a madhouse with a purpose. Stuff is getting done. Props are being placed. Lights and reflectors are perched atop skeletons of metal arms. Talent is being primped and preened to perfection. Wires and cables course like veins into countless sockets. Mobile homes line the street, alternatively taking in and disgorging streams of sweating crew members carrying sandbags and 'apple crates'. Cargo shorts sag under ten different colored rolls of tape and walkie-talkies. Two dozen different cell phone rings create a digital soundtrack. Expectation is hot in the air. I hate this time. I'm ready to work. Give me something heavy to carry. Want some help with those cables? Here, let me give you a hand setting that up. What can I do to be useful? Nope. Someone points us to directors chairs over near where the Craft Services lady is making fresh breakfast burritos and asks us if we'd like a cappuccino. This is when we start getting referred to as 'The Agency'. As in "Can we get some shade set up for The Agency?" or "The Agency needs some more water". The Agency sits around watching the crew pit out their T-shirts and then asks everyone to do everything again because you didn't feel that shopping bag was tilted at quite the proper angle during the last take. As long as it makes sense to someone. Since you know who we are, let me introduce you to the rest of the crew. Here's who was scurrying and scrambling around trying to make thirty seconds of pretty film: A Director, Producer, Executive Producer, Production Manager, Director of Photography, Steadicam Operator, Asst. Cameraman, 2nd Asst. Cameraman, Gaffer, Key Grip, Best Boy, Best Boy Electric, Dolly Grip, Crane Operator, Art Director, two Props Assistants, Wardrobe, Wardrobe Asst., Hair, Make Up, VTR Person, Location Manager, Craft Service, Drivers, two Chicago policemen, a half dozen Production Assistants and a few others. The credit roll alone takes up thirty seconds. We were shooting this spot entirely with a Steadicam. The rig consists of a vest that the articulated arm is attached to. The camera is on one end of a post, weighted on the other end to put the center of gravity right at the operator's fingertips. Faires, our Steadicam man, said the whole rig weighs around 70-80 pounds when loaded with film. Most of that weight is evenly distributed and rests on the vest, but you still need to be in excellent shape to hold up for a full day of running around. How good of shape? Let's just say that nobody would make fun of you even if your name was Faires. You gotta be a real man to work the Steadicam. Lacking any car chases with women in bikinis firing machine guns or mutant ninja battles aboard star cruisers, the day was rather uneventful. Which is an extremely great thing when you're shooting a commercial. Our director, David Orr, had done a masterful job of figuring things out before we had begun shooting. He gave us plenty of points to cut from so our scenes would flow smoothly. He had distances and geometry all work out to capture those 'magic moments' when the bag and model would be perfectly lined up. Plus, how can you not like a guy who wears a Felix the Cat shirt to work? Much like sex--at least for other people--there is a lot of standing around, lots of hoping, lots of figuring things out and then BAM! a few seconds of action. And a lot like sex, you watch the video afterwards to see if you need another take. Most of the action would be taking place half a block away and we'd be huddled around a little TV screen watching it. David O. would come back after a few takes and talk to us. We'd discuss what we liked and what we didn't and then run through it a few more times until we exchanged smiles and thumbs-up. "Can we get The Agency some skim half-caf double caps with a twist and no foam?" There are always little unforeseen problems that need to be worked out during a shoot. Finding a homeless person living in the alley you wanted to film. Discovering the store next to the café was being painted right when we started shooting. A lens not showing up on time. The transmitter from the camera to the monitor freaking out. Wind. Models wearing wool for extended periods of time, but not being allowed to sweat. Making sure the see-through lingerie wasn't totally see-through. Details. Details. Our last shot was at the Marshall Field's State Street store. We'd start on a crane, two stories up, level with the Great Clock. The crane would swoop down, the Steadicam man would travel along the storefront and into a cab along the sidewalk. Very cool to do it in one take. Only problem was it was getting dark. We were losing light fast. It seemed to be racing across the sky and behind the skyscrapers like it does in vampire movies. To make it even more interesting, it was rush hour. In downtown Chicago. Try setting up all this craziness and then telling hoards of curious people that there's nothing to see here. With a little giddy-up, some swearing and lots of abracacinematography, we had our final shot in the can. Done. Finito. The producer checks with the director, checks with The Agency and then says "People, that's a wrap! Thank you!" I love that. Feeling mentally like we had just run a marathon, we ended up at Papa Marino's for dinner. The sign saying 'No Tank Tops (For Men)' indicated we were at a quality establishment. There were big baskets of bread and drizzles of olive oil. Rich smells of garlic and red sauce, as heavy as a Stu Hamm bass solo, followed the scurrying waiters in and out of the kitchen. There was a lake of cheese the size of a human heart on my plate held back by a burrito-sized shoreline of manicotti. Over it all presided a big panting of Papa Marino; a smiling man with a belly testing the tensile strength of his white dress shirt and sporting a pinky ring big as a rodeo champion's belt buckle. I wanted to shout "Waiter, we are here to celebrate! Bring us your finest wine! Something in wicker!" Still feeling like little kids swinging our feet in the big chair. Dave and I contemplate how to work 'The Dubliner' and our waitress, Jeanine, into our next spot. [In our next episode: Naked Lunches in Small Rooms With Big Screens...] 11:35:07 PM    Say it don't spray it... []

	Tuesday, September 9, 2003

The Making of A Commercial in Six Acts Scene 2: Pre-Pro...A Day of Details There's nothing like running along the shore of Lake Michigan in the early morning. The city has yet to stoke the coals of its industry, so all is cool and placid. Chicago just has a skeleton crew of people populating the streets. The sun yawns and stretches a few beams above the clouds, turning the proud buildings into blushing rosy temples to the dawn. Too bad I didn't get up early enough to see it. Behold the sweet break of day. Now go away and let me sleep. Instead I had to settle for the hotel's meager exercise suite to limber up and sweat out whatever I had absorbed from the smoky and tall tale'd air of The Lodge. Ahhh, endorphins. Better than a cup of coffee. Of course I had a cup of coffee as well during a hastily gobbled breakfast at the hotel restaurant. I was served by a staff of somber, smiling men who moved with German efficiency, but had accents I couldn't place even if I had been paying more attention. The reason we were now standing outside a French Bistro on Rush Street at 7am was because this was our pre-production day. Basically a dress rehearsal before we start exposing film. The chaos before the storm. We'd visit each of the six locations we were shooting at and make sure we could do everything we needed to. We'd figure out what props and wardrobe were needed. And we'd consume massive amounts of Starbuck's coffee. I'd also sneak out to buy the newly released The Two Towers DVD at Borders. But first, a little review of the commercial we planned to shoot is in order. Basically, our spot starts at Marshall Field's on State Street and then travels through Chicago at crazy fast speeds, stopping occasionally on scenes we've dubbed 'magic moments'. These are where a Marshall Field's shopping bag comes through frame and lines up perfectly with someone wearing something from one of the 350 new product lines the store is carrying. Then we scream off again to the next scene. In selling this concept to our client, we were thinking about how to describe the film technique. The best example we could come up with was Prodigy's 'Smack My Bitch Up' video. So, imagine sitting across a table from the Head of Marketing of the second largest department store in the world--trying to get him to agree to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars--and having this conversation: "So what's my commercial going to look like?" "Have you seen Prodigy's 'Smack My Bitch Up' video?" "Yes." "Well, it's like that. But not as dark. And with fewer nipple clamps and midget beastiality scenes in restroom stalls." "Cool." So here we are. Leading our brigade was our director, David Orr and his right hand man and producer, Kipp the Capable. Which is what you have to be, because a producer is a human Swiss Army Knife. Over the next couple days, Kipp would have to do everything from drive a cab to find flowers for a café table. He would have to stand in rush hour and direct traffic at the top of his lungs and whisper politely to old ladies if they'd mind waiting a minute so we could get a shot. Kipp had a shaved head, but I think it was just precautionary. He would have lost it all by now anyways. "So how come there ain't no words in this here lens thingy?" (I talk shop with director David Orr.) We also met several other people involved in our shoot. All of them were running around asking questions, taking measurements and scribbling furiously in notebooks. We met Curtis Clark, our Director of Photography and member of the American Society of Cinematographers. His movies include Dominick and Eugene and Triumph of the Spirit. Curtis was a short gray-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard and deeply quiet eyes that looked out on any second of any day and saw film speeds and aperture settings and depths of field like Neo sees the Matrix. As I mentioned, this was the day of details and there were plenty to be discussed and argued about at every single location. Everything had to be ready to go for tomorrow because we only had so many hours of daylight. If it didn't rain. Let's not jinx ourselves and instead talk about the things we can actually control. Here are some of the things we had to accomplish out at our locations. Outside Café Zinc: Had to shoot early in morning to be done before lunch crowd. Create and prop outdoor seating section. Get plants to hide parking meter. Alleyway: Build doorway for transition scene. Office Building Patio: Get clearance from building management. Ask if we could get into underground parking garage. Get told 'No'. Schmooze dwarven lesbian nazi of a building manager until she agrees. Warn everybody to stay off the grass. I repeat, STAY OFF THE GRASS! Discover space is really huge. Feel we need more extras. Call casting to order up a half dozen more. "I said stay off the grass! Don't make me get my stun gun." Steps of Brownstone Townhouse: Clean up steps. Get park bench for sidewalk. Tell inquisitive old lady that we're filming the next Star Wars movie. Condo Interior: Found one that was completely bare. So we had to prop it entirely from scratch. Which meant figuring out everything from lamps to getting fresh flowers to books on shelves to artwork for the hallway. Imagine creating a natural lived-in look overnight. Would you know where to find a Herman Miller marshmallow couch on short notice? Marshall Field's: The spot is to announce the completion of some major remodeling in mid-September. Which means the construction work is still going on. So we had to beg and plead to get construction barriers moved. Store windows had to be redressed. A bank of doors had to be reinstalled. A newsstand was built to block some scaffolding. City wastecans had to be removed. Where would we park the crane? Could we get those powerlines moved? Can we get the canopies rolled up? Who do you call for all this to get done by tomorrow? This is why Kipp has no hair. Of course this doesn't include figuring out which model would be wearing what at each location, clearing this with vendors at the store and getting a wardrobe person over to get them. There was also figuring out what film speed would work best for which scenes--remember, we go from Red Bull overdose to super sexy slo-mo--and which lenses were needed and what type of cameras to use. Plus, all the blocking of shots to make sure they'd work out properly. Fortunately, the last question we were asked this day was "Would you like another Sapporo?" We were in the cool and cushy comfort an amazing sushi restaurant called Tsunami, toasting to a productive day with crossed fingers. Tsunami had a funky dark interior, slouchable seats and the highest urinal I have ever seen. I wasn't sure if you were supposed to get a running start at it or stand on the sink and angle it in. Over ginger ice cream I was chided for suggesting that we should have had Mareya, our lingerie model, try on a few more outfits to make sure we had the right one. A few dozen more to be exact. Hey, that's the kind of attention to detail that clients appreciate. Tomorrow we'll see if we've paid enough attention. [Tomorrow's episode: MoHos and HoHos...] 1:26:35 AM    Say it don't spray it... []

	Tuesday, September 2, 2003

Indulgent Self Shout Out The literary wizards at Virtual Occoquan have chosen 'Sunday Morning Coming Down' for inclusion in this week's issue. Check it out: http://www.voccoquan.com/jorgensen01.htm Or just scroll down to find it here. I'm tickled pink by the honor. Of course, it could just be too much time spent hoarding away sunshine over the long Labor-less Day weekend. 9:35:17 AM    Say it don't spray it... []

The Making of A Commercial in Six Acts Scene 1: A Cast of Several "Holy shit!" The words unintentionally left my mouth instead of being left inside my mind where they were intended. The heads of our group turned expecting to see something like a murder in progress or Ben Affleck wolf-bagging Matt Damon. "They have Tetley's and McEwan's on tap." Well, it is good beer. But here in the Chicago speakeasy known as The Lodge, it seemed as out of place as an ascot and spats. Not that this was a dive. It was a bit worn, but like a comfortable sweatshirt after a couple seasons of football. Not much more than a wood-paneled hallway off the street, the low ceiling kept your hopes from getting too high, but also kept them within reach. Suits mingled with shorts and the regulars knocked back half-pints of suds with Jaeger chasers while shouldered next to the irregulars. Peanut shells filled the floor, the Boss and the Stones filled the jukebox and the bartender winked and called you 'Hon' no matter how old you were. My current pint of Tetley's was being handed to me by Lee. Just Lee. He was a 'Nam vet who currently worked for Burlington Northern. He had a major beef with the union and a strong love of Guinness and making sure the world worked right. Amy Jo, Colleen, Lee and Scotch keepin' it real in the wee hours. "I tell you, brah." he drawled as our wardrobe person, 'Sweet Dream' Colleen, helped herself to the top half of my pint. "I'm all about bringing people together. The rich gotta work with the poor. The poets gotta work with the workers." "Philosophers and plowmen, each must do his part." I added, hoping he wouldn't pick up on the fact I was quoting a Rush song. Lee adjusted his yellow tanktop and caught a spark in his squinting eyes. "Yes. You know it, brah!" he shouted above people singing along to Van Morrison's 'Brown Eyed Girl'. He floated another C-note down onto the bar--winnings from a big score at the track--and insisted on buying another round for us. We were here in Chicago to film a TV commercial. We had spent the day casting the characters for our spot. We needed lots of good-looking people, a white trash mullety-looking slob and a lingerie model. Sadly, there was no need for someone like Lee, who was, as my father would say, a real character. An actual casting couch. Casting folding chairs not pictured. Now, I know what you're probably saying, because I've heard it from family and friends. "Oh, what fun. Sitting around all day looking at beautiful people and being brought lunch and cappuccinos every time you snap your fingers." Yes, nice work if you can get it, but the reality is as far from glamorous as Michael Jackson is from becoming a licensed daycare provider. Take our search for the lingerie model. Sounds like fun, until you're actually in a small room with a group of people and this absolutely stunning woman walks in and begins stripping down to a bikini that has less cotton than an aspirin bottle. You don't know where to look, because you don't want to stare. You feel stupid saying anything. And then there she is, posing and turning around a few feet in front of your unblinking eyes without any need of airbrushing. To make matters worse, she's got some kind of European accent. Or an Argentinean one. Or she's sporting a North Face backpack. And you have to pull back that strand of drool and act professional. Actually, it's every geeks' fantasy. Here the most gorgeous women, the ones who spurned you in high school--er, hypothetically speaking of course--are now at your mercy. You decide whether or not they're good enough. I actually found myself getting paid for saying things like "Yes, but her butt's too jiggly." or "Her breasts don't look even." This is one of the few workplaces in the world where such talk is considered professional. Before you start screaming sexism, remember this is exactly what they're being hired for. Would you hire a plumber without the right tools? Would you go to a doctor who dabbled in medicine? No. You want the best. In this case, it had to be someone who looked the best in lingerie. Props to our client for liking curvy women and not the type of heroin chic models who need to go get themselves a steak sandwich. We also had to cast a couple hot looking guys. They came in with pectorals the size of Belgian waffles and twelve-pack abs with cheekbones you could cut yourself on. Of course, they were all either gay or incredibly dumb. Of course. They had to be, otherwise my sense of justice in the universe would be totally thrown out of whack. All our potential talent were sitting out in the lobby, getting called in a couple at a time. Which meant you had gorgeous Greek god-like figures sitting next to our pork-bellied white trash characters. I've always wondered how that would feel. To have people go "Yeah, we really need an ugly dude that no one would ever date or even befriend. Hey, you. You're perfect for the part!" Actually, a lot of those characters are crying all the way to the bank from their private islands. "So do you wants us to like put on our lingerie and stuff?" We reached our final cast, including extras, with little argument. A good mix of sexes, races and ages without looking like we were trying to get a good mix of sexes, races and ages. "Holy shit!" This time it was our producer, Amy Jo--who once worked as Bebe Nuewirth's body double--getting our attention. "It's past 2am." Relax, we told her, the bars are open in Chicago until 4am. She reminded us we had to meet the director tomorrow for our pre-production meeting and location scout at 7am. That brought us back to reality. Fortunately, The Sutton Place Hotel was just up the corner and a few blocks away. We hopscotched among the streetlights giggling that we should have included some kangaroos in the commercial so we would have to shoot in Australia. 12:34:56 AM    Say it don't spray it... []

© Copyright 2007 Scott Jorgensen. Last update: 1/4/07; 8:54:55 AM.