After Casting, The Urge To Be Plastered

In life, things can turn around on you in dramatic fashion. We hear of the hunter becoming the hunted, and of the child's first educator requiring education from their very own progeny. For me the more recent change in positions seems amusing to me, though it may not to anyone else really. As you'll recall I wrote yesterday of trooping off nearly two hours to be interviewed by (and to myself interview) an agent- a person who would attempt to drum up opportunities to be cast in things.

The person who was yesterday to be cast today does the casting. In a switch that sounds like it might come from a Bob Dylan song, I find myself in the position of casting acting friends in a modest comedy sketch (although it perhaps does us all a disservice to underrate it so). I think I may not be suited for this end of things to the exclusion of all others. There is much about it that I would just as soon leave to another.

I don't enjoy ranking friends and worthy performers in terms of suitability for a role when there are real consequences. The people in question are probably thicker-skinned than I imagine (and surely more so than I myself), but I hate the idea of hurting feelings. I hate even worse the practical, logistical concerns of determining interest and ability- of trying to match up schedules when I can't even keep my own straight. One wonders just how much worse digging ditches could be as a living.

Still, it's one of those things. I hate doing it as much as I hate anything (within a fairly comfortable life, all things considered), but if I don't do it then I don't know who will. I would love dearly to turn this over to someone who enjoys it or is at least comfortable doing it, but it strikes me as saying that I would like to have someone who loves cooking, cleaning and paying my bills. Even as I say that, I know that there are people who assert that they do like working in casting, but I am suspicious that they may be lying.