Growing up in New York, access to fireworks involved a covert recon mission deep into Chinatown. In Los Angeles, all you have to do is cross the tracks into a sketchier neighborhood, and you can buy them legally. I don’t miss much about New York, but July 4th just doesn’t seem the same without committing a Class B misdemeanor.However, I can definitely rely on something else for a thrill this week: I booked my ninth commercial.
It’s for a huge company called West Communications, which runs a great website that helps users reassess their careers and make a change. I’ll be playing an employee’s boss, which means after I had to decline the commercial that coincided with my pilot, I get to wear a suit after all.
So it looks like I have one objective this holiday weekend: run like hell when igniting M80s, so that I make it to Monday with both hands still intact for the commercial. I’m on it.
