Thursday, November 04, 2010

What I'd pay for a life plan

I met with an ABC network producer today for a job interview. In addition to himself, he was also scouting assistants for the executive producer, director, and a former A-list, now B-list, television star back with a new leading role.

We talked for nearly 2-hours, but the likelihood of a callback appears slim considering he had met with five other candidates only yesterday and told me there was more to come. It requires no explanation: the competition is, uh, sorta, kinda, stiff. (Also, if I were to get the job, I'll have to sign a confidentiality agreement, which means no blog entries divulging anyone's diva demands.)

There might be another TAD gig in my future though. An assistant director with whom I worked on two projects flew back from Germany looking to crew up a show and asked for my availabilities. I am (*drumroll*) free indefinitely! Pick me, pick me, pick me!

Not that I'm desperate or anything. I applied for E.I. last week to prevent that stuff from oozing out of my every pore. (Fooled you! I'm aware I sound pretty desperate.) But you know what I resent? That I continue to apply for writing/editing gigs whenever the film industry experiences a slowdown even though writing for other people sucks balls. What's more aggravating is that there's still a part of me that thinks writing is a realistic back-up plan. I mean, it's comparable to trading in a car with no wheels for one with no windshield. Hmm, decisions, decisions ...

The cycle of regular unemployment does get tiresome sometimes. Other times, it's a friggin' relief: Forget decades, I can't imagine doing the same work with the same people year after year. I spoke to my career counsellor the other day about my ambivalence and she said to embrace these cycles for what they are: An acceptance of an unorthodox lifestyle. She said rather than get anxious about not knowing where my next paycheque will be coming from, I should have confidence that it will come due to the nature of the business combined with my "unique" chutzpah.

That means I need to get a pair of Lindsay Lohan's knee-pad leggings, right?

*Note: Can you believe I've only been in this industry since last year and I've made more head room than I ever had in journalism, which I'd been doing since I was 17 and was the main focus of my university education? That's some crazy Harrison-Ford-was-a-carpenter-type shit.

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