The Law&Order : U.S. Airways, Bite Me.

Nothing like a 10 a.m., 11.2 fl can of Beck's on a U.S. Airways carrier to start off the day.  Bonus, too.  Middle seat.

The past 36 hours have been sleep-devrivatingly comprised of negotiations between lawyers, layovers, and Law&Order.  Not a day before we get off the boat from the overseas contract, I get The Email I touched upon late last night during  some rapidfire jetlagged blogging.

An email blips into my inbox from someone I haven't heard from in a very long time.  The same someone I stumbled into the office of asking for the keys to my former employer's production office.  The same someone that has Emmy's and Oscars and Sundance grand jury golden's dotting his shelves.  The same someone I almost got a breakthrough opportunity from... but the project fell through.

This Someone had just sent an 8 p.m. email for a 4 o'clock Law&Order last-minute producer session.  The next day.  In New York.  And while it wasn't a role offer by any means (come in, audition, we're shooting in two days and haven't cast it) it was damn flattering.

Within twenty minutes, I also received an email, voicemail, and text message from Fabulous Manager, who never seems to sleep and is perpetually amazing.  Who works for clients that late?  Especially those who haven't made her massive amounts of money?  While my agent experiences have always been under par... my management makes up for them tenfold.

Getting off the point -- a certain Marc Levin (one of the most intelligent producer/directors I've ever been flattered to take a meeting with... piercing gray-blue eyes, bores through the soul to examine if any threads of chat-worthy intelligence happen to be there) sends an email regarding his director of an L&O that shoots in a few days.  "Last minute, but I'd really like to have you come in... can you make it?"

He CCs the head of casting's personal email in the process.  Director flattery and direct copy correspondence?  The last seventeen days of undernourishment, apartment-in-LA breaking-and-entering, smashed computers, broken toes, fights with Delta, stolen property... all seemed to wash away for a moment.

My manager calls a second time.  I'm with my family at dinner, and they gesture me to take it.  Fabulous Manger asks if I can possibly fly in.  I'm scheduled to go to Los Angeles on Saturday... but if I could just...

Yoda Dad (the wisest individual who treads the planet, I'm convinced) gestures over a chicken wing, waiving a buffalo-stained napkin in assent to The Plan.  "I'm sure there are flights available, honey, just do it."

Mom and Future Political Candidate 18-year-old Yale-bound brother nod with similar vigor.  I call F.M. back. 

"I'm calling the airline now... I'll book a flight."

And, as always tends to happen due to my impulsiveness "slash" unfathomably awesome family support -- I'm on a plane to Manhattan, sides in hand, and counteracting my accidentally absurd coffee intake this morning with a nice, cool Beck's.

As poor and (sometimes) under-appreciated we artists are -- what fabulous lives we lead.

Audition's at four.  We'll see what happens.

-- Utterly content, Ashley Avis