Monday, January 7, 2008

Hollywood Week 2: Top Ten Hollywood Highlights from Week 1

June 11, 2005

Tuesday and Beyond—manage to get all of my clothes on right-side-out (although when I was checking my shirt for armpit freshness Tuesday morning, I poked myself in the eye and walked around all day winking like that Seinfeld episode where Jerry’s grapefruit squirts George. Grooming at this new gig is fraught with peril.)

Continue to make it to work in under 15 minutes, but stop showing up early, as no one else does, and end hanging around in the parking lot like a moron. Apparently, when everyone showed up at 9:20 the first day, they were just showing off for the new kid.

Tuesday, June 7—spent all day in a productive story-breaking session in the Writers’ Room. Oh yeah, except for the 12:30-2:30 workout break. I go to a fancy-pants gym in Glendale called The Total Woman. Bonded with co-workers in locker room when I admit that I’ve forgotten post-workout underwear and therefore, will be Going Commando for the remainder of the day.

Alex, Rob’s assistant, goes grocery shopping and loads the staff kitchen with goodies (root beer! Tootsie Rolls! String cheese!)

Tuesday, 3:10 p.m.: One of the writers tells funny story about being pantsed in ninth grade P.E. while climbing the peg board in too-tight shorts he had to borrow from the loaner bin.

Tuesday, 3:20 p.m.: Goofing around on internet with co-worker, we dig up photo of Tony Danza crashing golf cart. We giggle. Rob shoots us the Evil Eye.

In an act that truly personifies just how quickly the foundation of my being is collapsing, I purchase a TV Guide Wednesday night.

Writers’ Room discussion strays from story-breaking to random discussions of pop culture trivia at least 18 times a day. Long segue into band name origins with a question about which band, besides Steely Dan, is named after a dildo. No one knows. I apply librarian skills and find nothing. Friend from home suggests via email that we just imagine all bands are named are named after dildos. Try it.

Besides pop-culture segues, typical WR bird-walking includes telling humiliating personal stories about ourselves. I describe meeting former boyfriend’s parents for the first time and tracking dog shit onto their expensive Persian rug. Immediate bonding ensues.

No comments: