CHIRPY PRODUCER: Ok! Now what three words would you use to describe yourself as a couple?! But don't use fun, happy or outgoing. Everyone uses those."
-- it dawned on me that I was actually more sick of hearing the chirper chirp than I was of looking at her.
CHIRPY PRODUCER: Chirp-chirp-chirp! Chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp!?
KA-BOOOM!!!!
KA-BOOOM!!!!
And then I remembered that hidden within those chirps was a question. And that Michelle was staring just as blankly as I was, probably also not sure what to make of the latest query into our personal life. We stuttered and mumbled over each other for a minute - a common practice at this point - and then I really knocked it outta the park --
ANDREW: Um, well, we like to travel.
CHIRPY PRODUCER: Whoops!:) Remember what we talked about?! Start each answer with the question first. You know, like, "the three words that I'd use to describe us as a couple are..."
ANDREW: Yeah. Ok. Got it.
Over and over and over again. The chirpy producer would lob a moronic question our way looking for a made-for-TLC soundbite. Bile would quickly rise up my trachea at the thought of delivering said bite, then I'd remember my feet weren't on my mark. I'd look to Michelle to see if she had an answer, then remember that I was supposed to face the camera at all times! and jerk my head back like I had some kind of nervous tick. This went on ad infinitum until finally the mousy producer with the notepad hiding behind the camera spoke up with --
PRODUCER WITH NOTEPAD: Let's take a quick break. Neither of you are actors are you?
FLASHBACK -- MY FIRST YEAR IN LA
Jobless. Living 300 feet from the border of Lawndale (not a nice area) in a 3 bedroom townhouse with five people. The first job to come my way was background work*. Through sheer dumb luck I found myself on a TV movie set, getting paid union wages (a big deal if you're an aspiring actor), and rather enjoying the free food, the pretty actresses ( I hadn't met Michelle yet) and the 16 hour days of doing next to nothing. Then one day I was pulled out of the herd to be "featured" in a scene with the two leads.
A.D.: Does he need a line here? Let's give him a line.
For an actor, this is huge. For an unemployed and broke LA newbie (that's me) this is also huge - an extra $500 huge. Yes, your pay rate jumps something like $500 just to say a line. But for someone who hates to be the center of attention, and doesn't have an acting bone in their body, this was awful. I really needed that $500, but I needed the breakfast burrito from craft services churning in my butterfly-filled stomach to stay right where it was more than the money.
The director pondered whether I should speak for at least a minute, long enough for me to swear off any other acting or background opportunities that may arise in my future, and then finally said no. I've never been happier to not make $500. I respect those in the acting trade, but it's just not for me. You couldn't pay me enough to be an actor. Seriously. Well, maybe Brad Pitt money and a double Xanax prescription and I'd think about it. But I emphasize the word think.
BACK TO PRESENT SITUATION
A.D.: Does he need a line here? Let's give him a line.
For an actor, this is huge. For an unemployed and broke LA newbie (that's me) this is also huge - an extra $500 huge. Yes, your pay rate jumps something like $500 just to say a line. But for someone who hates to be the center of attention, and doesn't have an acting bone in their body, this was awful. I really needed that $500, but I needed the breakfast burrito from craft services churning in my butterfly-filled stomach to stay right where it was more than the money.
The director pondered whether I should speak for at least a minute, long enough for me to swear off any other acting or background opportunities that may arise in my future, and then finally said no. I've never been happier to not make $500. I respect those in the acting trade, but it's just not for me. You couldn't pay me enough to be an actor. Seriously. Well, maybe Brad Pitt money and a double Xanax prescription and I'd think about it. But I emphasize the word think.
BACK TO PRESENT SITUATION
Where Michelle and I do our best not to scoff at this question. We shake our heads no. No, we're not actors. And it's highly unlikely that we will ever will be.
PRODUCER WITH THE NOTEPAD: You're a beautiful couple but you both look nervous. Especially you (she points to me. Awesome!). Just pretend the camera isn't here and we're having a conversation.
ANDREW: This isn't a conversation, this is an ambush!
That is what I wanted to say. Instead, I mumbled something more along the lines of --
ANDREW: Yeah, this is a little awkward.
We were assured that this was going to be a classy wedding show. We both had our doubts, but when someone says, "We'll give you 10 grand towards your wedding and a famous wedding planner to plan everything," you kinda have to show up and see what it's all about. We were sold on the premise that the show wasn't really about us, it was about the wedding planner. They just needed a wedding for the planner to plan. Ours.
But when we arrived and started to fill out the paperwork we quickly realized that we may have been slightly conned. The creative director introduced himself in the hall and immediately dove into what the network was looking for. As he dodged and weaved through colorful illustrations of what the "perfect couple" for the show was, it became all so crystal clear. In fact, anyone minutely familiar with the underlying principles of drama could figure what this fella was after.
But when we arrived and started to fill out the paperwork we quickly realized that we may have been slightly conned. The creative director introduced himself in the hall and immediately dove into what the network was looking for. As he dodged and weaved through colorful illustrations of what the "perfect couple" for the show was, it became all so crystal clear. In fact, anyone minutely familiar with the underlying principles of drama could figure what this fella was after.
CREATIVE DIRECTOR: It's super important for you to highlight your opinions. You know, maybe you (nods to Michelle) want a traditional white wedding and he (me) wants to go green with the concept. You know, do something eco? Or maybe you want a winter wonderland setting and he's insisting on fall. What's your favorite color darling?
MICHELLE: Yellow.
CREATIVE DIRECTOR: And maybe he's allergic to yellow.
Conflict. That's what they were looking for. Conflict. Conflict. Conflict.
Now, like all couples, Michelle and I differ in opinion on many things. One of the great aspects of our relationship is that we respect those differences, and are also able to easily find happy mediums when compromise is necessary. We are not a conflict couple. Great for us, bad for reality television, which survives on displaying gladiator-like spectacles to satiate their loyal viewer's blood-lust. Sorry reality fiends, but it's true.
So here we were thinking we're signing up to audition for a show looking for a "happy couple that hadn't done much in terms of wedding planning" and instead we're getting coached on how to highlight, or make up, dramatically differing opinions on camera; how to manufacture conflict. Of course, neither of us willing to do that, we ended up looking like two little doe's caught in the high beams of a Humvee when the camera rolled. Which is probably why, after asking if we were actors, the producer with the notepad went on to tell us --
PRODUCER WITH THE NOTEPAD: You're a television friendly couple (insert: Michelle is hot and looks good on film), but you need to be more than just good looking for the network to bite.
It was the second time that she used this technique. In Los Angeles, I imagine it works quite well with people. Tell them they're beautiful and they forget they're nervous. Stroke their narcissistic tendencies and, too distracted by their own beauty to think of anything else -like self-respect or self-loathing for instance - they deliver the goods on cue.
I figured, since I kept flubbing the 'repeat the question in your answer' bit and then generally just babbling with no coherent point in response to their stupid questions, that she meant me. That I needed to offer up more panache, more spice, more drama. That I needed to charm the camera. Unfortunately though, this was not the approach to win me over. All I could think was, do I actually look that vapid? The sad truth is, with thoughts like stand on your mark, keep contact with Michelle's shoulder, look at the camera when your future wife is talking, answer the question with the question, don't be fun, happy or outgoing, relax your face, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp clouding the neural pathways from the auditory part of my brain, I probably did.
Conflict. That's what they were looking for. Conflict. Conflict. Conflict.
Now, like all couples, Michelle and I differ in opinion on many things. One of the great aspects of our relationship is that we respect those differences, and are also able to easily find happy mediums when compromise is necessary. We are not a conflict couple. Great for us, bad for reality television, which survives on displaying gladiator-like spectacles to satiate their loyal viewer's blood-lust. Sorry reality fiends, but it's true.
So here we were thinking we're signing up to audition for a show looking for a "happy couple that hadn't done much in terms of wedding planning" and instead we're getting coached on how to highlight, or make up, dramatically differing opinions on camera; how to manufacture conflict. Of course, neither of us willing to do that, we ended up looking like two little doe's caught in the high beams of a Humvee when the camera rolled. Which is probably why, after asking if we were actors, the producer with the notepad went on to tell us --
PRODUCER WITH THE NOTEPAD: You're a television friendly couple (insert: Michelle is hot and looks good on film), but you need to be more than just good looking for the network to bite.
It was the second time that she used this technique. In Los Angeles, I imagine it works quite well with people. Tell them they're beautiful and they forget they're nervous. Stroke their narcissistic tendencies and, too distracted by their own beauty to think of anything else -like self-respect or self-loathing for instance - they deliver the goods on cue.
I figured, since I kept flubbing the 'repeat the question in your answer' bit and then generally just babbling with no coherent point in response to their stupid questions, that she meant me. That I needed to offer up more panache, more spice, more drama. That I needed to charm the camera. Unfortunately though, this was not the approach to win me over. All I could think was, do I actually look that vapid? The sad truth is, with thoughts like stand on your mark, keep contact with Michelle's shoulder, look at the camera when your future wife is talking, answer the question with the question, don't be fun, happy or outgoing, relax your face, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp clouding the neural pathways from the auditory part of my brain, I probably did.
We started up again after out little break/confidence boosting session. I pasted a smile to my face once again, stared into the camera while my future wife chatted away next to me, and tried to mask the rising anxiety infecting the marrow in my bones. I couldn't keep the possibilities at bay:
MICHELLE AND ANDREW'S CEREMONY - TAKE ONE
TONY THE MINISTER: Andrew, do you take Michelle to be your lawful wedded wife, to love, respect and cherish her, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?
ANDREW: Do I take Michelle to be my lawful wedded wife? To love, respect and cherish her, in sickness and in health, till death do us part?... I do.
The Chirpy Producer jumps from the front row --
CHIRPY PRODUCER: Whoops!:) Silly! You don't have to begin that answer with the question. Let's try it again. Go ahead, Tony. From the top.
MICHELLE AND ANDREW'S WEDDING -- TAKE TWO
TONY THE MINISTER: yada, yada, yada ... till death do you part?
MICHELLE: I do.
The creative director leaps from video village --
CREATIVE DIRECTOR: No! No, you don't! Your line is, "I don't. Not until you put on that yellow lapel, then I might change my mind."
He turns to the shocked gathering of our family and friends --
CREATIVE DIRECTOR: Sorry folks. Amateurs. Let's take lunch and pick up the vows in 30.
MICHELLE AND ANDREW'S WEDDING -- TAKE THREE
TONY THE MINISTER: yada, yada, yada ... till death do you part?
ANDREW: I do.
The producer with the notepad runs over and adjusts my gaze away from Michelle's eyes --
PRODUCER WITH THE NOTEPAD: Look at the camera when you say that. At the camera. And try and relax your face a little.
Needless to say, with catastrophe fantasies running through my brain I continued to come of as a nervous, vapid bystander. Not that I really cared. When you spend a considerable amount of time with someone, enough to want to marry and spend the rest of your life with them, you acquire a sixth sense which is basically an extension of your partner's senses. Standing there, I knew Michelle was losing interest in this thing fast and hard. Which was good. I didn't feel nearly as guilty for silently hating on it, and hoping with all my heart it would just end.
They wrapped up the interview, lied and told us we were awesome! fabulous! dynamite! and then we hit the street and let out a couple deep, hot breaths.
Michelle: What'd you think?
Andrew: That was awful. I was awful.
Michelle: You were great. I don't know why she said you looked nervous. I thought I looked nervous.
Andrew: No, you were good.
For the next week I lived in downright terror that they would actually call us back - tell us we were the chosen ones. It was as if I was stuck in that moment from years back, where my acting fate and the contents of my stomach were held in a TV director's hand. But this wasn't just one minute of agony, it was days worth of jitters, nightmares and fantasies of doom and dread. Of course, I didn't really think they would call us. I'm a realist and I knew that we, thank God, are not a "reality TV couple." But the world works in strange ways sometimes, so I remained on edge.
Days passed. They never called. Weeks passed. They never called. Months passed. That's right, they never called. Despite our effort, you will not be seeing our happy mugs in a wedding planning show on some estrogen sponsored network. And baby, I'll tell ya, rejection has never felt so good.
They wrapped up the interview, lied and told us we were awesome! fabulous! dynamite! and then we hit the street and let out a couple deep, hot breaths.
Michelle: What'd you think?
Andrew: That was awful. I was awful.
Michelle: You were great. I don't know why she said you looked nervous. I thought I looked nervous.
Andrew: No, you were good.
For the next week I lived in downright terror that they would actually call us back - tell us we were the chosen ones. It was as if I was stuck in that moment from years back, where my acting fate and the contents of my stomach were held in a TV director's hand. But this wasn't just one minute of agony, it was days worth of jitters, nightmares and fantasies of doom and dread. Of course, I didn't really think they would call us. I'm a realist and I knew that we, thank God, are not a "reality TV couple." But the world works in strange ways sometimes, so I remained on edge.
Days passed. They never called. Weeks passed. They never called. Months passed. That's right, they never called. Despite our effort, you will not be seeing our happy mugs in a wedding planning show on some estrogen sponsored network. And baby, I'll tell ya, rejection has never felt so good.
*For those of you not familiar with the business of making movies, the masses of people you see running from dragons and fireballs, or cheering for the hero on the sidelines - they're all actors. They are doing what's called background work.
