Alas, I missed the last ‘audition’ “American Idol,” so I’m having to scour ultra-detailed online recaps for names. I’ll check next week to see what names were so horrible the producers hid them from us in the previous round.
My fellow Bay Area-ers trying out in San Francisco included Mathew (actually from Fresno). And…. yeah, that’s it for weird names. Woo! As usual, we kick ass. Go San Fran! We’re No. 1!
Then the producers hid a girl named Aloha from me for a month! A month! But I had to sit through the clip of the lady who hocked her wedding ring (instead of her karaoke machine) saying if she can’t sing, she’ll just DIE before and after every commercial break. And no Aloha. Who’s making the editing decisions over there?
So to fill up space I’ll mention actor Christopher Noll, who depending on who was watching went in “in character” or is a needy, needy man who once had their own eponymous show yet would answer a cattle call for amateurs. Since I didn’t see what happened, I can’t comment, except Noll goes by the stage name of Chris Wylde and that, my friends, is what we’re all about. It’s so pathetically young-actor-in-L.A. I can’t even stand it. It’s so self-parodying it creates a black hole from which no vowels or talent will ever escape.
If I were at some trendy eatery on Melrose on an infrequent, teeth-grinding visit to my parents in Southern California (I’m allergic – why I moved to S.F.), and at this eatery someone called Chris Wylde were my waiter, I would sit in the booth for two solid hours trying to decide if I should give the putz an extra big tip to ease his pathetic desperation, or give a bare minimum tip to help drive him out of L.A., and if so, would it be for his own protection from being eaten alive, or to punish him for being so so SO goddamn sad? Or does the end justify the means, meaning it’d be OK to drive him to the state line in my trunk?
Moral of this story: Actors, don’t give yourselves stupid names. If I roll my eyes, imagine what a casting agent’s going to do.