Next Great Artist?

About a year ago, I was on the phone with my friend Lucy, a Columbia grad student in social work back from NY for the summer. As we were discussing our dinner plans for the evening, I said "You know what I could be doing right now? I got an email for a casting call in LA for a reality show about artists. It's tomorrow morning". And because she is nutty (that's why I love her), she said "You have to do it". I called in sick, we got in the car, and instead of going to dinner we drove to LA. The drive itself was insane- I had to fill out witty answers to a 22 pg. questionaire, stop at a strip mall to put together my portfolio at Kinkos, and then later watch the truck directly in front of us swerve from right to left and flip over in front of us. We stopped and called CHP, only to tell them we were located in the middle of nowhere on I-5. Does that help? Everyone was OK, by the way. By the time we arrived at the hotel we booked over the phone at 2 am, the guy who had given us the wrong directions was also the guy not letting us check in. I flipped out and swore at him and he gave us a room. Not my finest hour, as Lucy will attest.

Now, we did make it to the casting call, and I have to tell you I signed a waiver that I would not, ahem, write or blog about the event. What I will say is that if you are ever going to attend a casting call in Los Angeles, I learned it is best to bring a friend who studies social work so she does not compete with you and also brings you popsicles. Also bring sunscreen.

Needless to say, after four hours standing in line in the sun, I did not get the gig. I didn't even make it to the video round, where I planned on wowing them with a combination of hilarity and bitch factor. Snark factor, if you will. Even so, the best moment of the trip was leaving the trail of tears of the doomed-to-be-rejected hopefuls (nothing is quite so pathetic as a dejected artist at a bus stop) and getting in the car with Lucy with a laugh. "Let's go to the beach! Fuck this bullshit!" We went to Venice Beach and gawked at girls in thongs on rollerblades and ate ice cream. Then we drove home.

That's my sunburn.

What to say that hasn't already been said on other blogs, or perhaps doesn't need to be said? I haven't seen the full first episode yet, so I'm excited about indulging in it late at night when no one's looking. The premise is weird, but I thought it would be funny. Maybe established artist, Nao Bustamante did too. I will have more to say after I watch it, but for now, really? They put them in high fashion? I don't know everything but I know that's Rodarte.

Read the review in the LA Times.