In my four years of college, I've been in three student films—and I
haven't once let it go to my big, sexy, perfect head.

Most of the projects I've helped create were for broadcasting majors
who had to turn in projects "in like 40 minutes." They always used
fancy cameras and lighting kits and tripods to somehow work miracles,
making me look less like Gilbert Gottfried and more like Steve
Buscemi.

"Wow!" I'd say, reviewing the videotape. "I'm in everything!"

During the filming of these projects, I'd often suggest ways the
students could improve their films. Most of the ideas were thrown out
due to lack of a realistic CG budget or lack of girls willing to show
nip. Or lack of a plot in which we could work in my "he's really a
ghost" ending. Which probably wouldn't have worked anyway in a
documentary about copper.

I was in my third film this week. This student film was a public
service announcement about physical fitness because, apparently, the
college I go to has a problem with students getting their Kirstie
Alley on. My friend Josh, a broadcasting major, approached me a little
over a week ago with the opportunity to star in this PSA.

"Hey," he said. "You're skinny and your malnourishment creates the
illusion of abs. Want to be in a video about fitness? I'm not paying
you anything. In fact, you now owe me $12."

"SURE!" I replied, energetically. So energetically that I, ironically,
ran out of breath.

Josh told me to be ready for 9 a.m. the morning of the shoot and that
I should wear athletic clothes. I told him I couldn't guarantee
anything, but that I'd try. Luckily, my cat decided to scratch my
uvula and pee in my ear at 8:44 a.m., so I was up in time. I rode with
my friend to his partner (for the project)'s apartment where I was to
act out eating a healthy breakfast.

We ran into problems early.

"Do you have any healthy food?" my friend asked his partner.

"****," she replied.

After a few minutes of foraging, we found some fancypants, healthy
waffles. I could tell they were healthy because they tasted like
blueberry-flavored corrugated cardboard. Yuck. Blueberry.

The broadcast students yelled action and I pretended to eat. I wanted
to ask what my motivation was just to be an ass, but figured it
wouldn't really be funny. Plus I figured their answer would be:
"You're eating a waffle." Which would have been funny, so screw that.

After the apartment scenes were filmed, we headed over to the student
fitness center to tape me pretending to work out. This was acting that
I was used to, because that's what I do every time I go to the fitness
center anyway. Usually I'll wander around and look at all the fitness
machines. There's always girls around, so I'll usually work up a
sweat. I then get water and check out a basketball and pee. I usually
end the workout by running from basketball players I may have
supposedly stared at in the bathroom. None of this was included in
this student film, so I predict they will receive F's.

The best "part" I ever received was in an "independent art film." When
I heard the phrase "art film," I immediately pictured myself dressed
in goth clothes dancing around in a field somewhere while holding
pussy willow branches and pretending I was made of stone. I couldn't
have been more wrong. There were no clothes involved.

Cut to me naked and covered in mud.

"OK," said the director. "I want you to look toward the nuclear explosion."

"The what!?" I asked, waving the branches around.

"Didn't you read the script?"

"There's a script!?"

I was in such a bewildered rage that my head almost asploded. We had
to go out into the middle of a cattle pasture to film this project because
cows apparently represent something other than cows. It was during the
filming of this project that I met my friend Megan. I learned that she was
a regular in film projects and that she was equally as bewildered as I was
on this particular evening. As we shivered virtually nude in a field with
clothed cameramen surrounding us, I questioned how I got myself into
this mess.

"Because you're an attention whore?" she suggested.

"Oh, yeah," I replied.

 ©2005 Tim Landry