As the Wombury writes this post he's being treated to a free Tuesday night concert being held outside of his window. It's 10 o'clock and apparently the Caballero club is convening for a casual session of yelling in Spanish accompanied by an accordion.
Funny thing happened today. A casting director from a reality show contacted the Wombury to invite him to be apart of an episode that will be taped January 29th at 4:30 pm. See, back in December, three days after returning to New York, the Wombury was approached at the Union Square Barnes and Noble by some dude. Dude buttered up the Wombury with shameless flattery, told him he was casting for a reality show about unfamiliar tourist destinations in New York. Then he gave the Wombury a quiz and a card and said a casting director would call in December. Well, December came and went without a call, so it was out of mind, but lo and behold, she phoned today. She told the Wombury to expect a phone call 2-3 days before the target date with information about my "site." She said a crew would film for an hour and half and then edit down the footage to five minutes.
She also told the Wombury to bring a few friends along. Friends who would be good on camera. Have a good time. What, the Wombury isn't good enough on his own? He needs to bring other people? The question is, who do I bring? Most of the Wombury's friends are either funnier than the Wombury or better looking than the Wombury, or smarter than the Wombury. A few surpass him in all three categories. This is supposed to be the Wombury's big break. ME ME ME ME. What do you think of that Anon? Should I bring you along? Maybe Mlevy. Maybe Louie. This feels like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except the Wombury is too big of an asshole to be in the role of Charlie or the Grandpa. The Wombury is like Veruca Salt or the fat slob who eats his hand or his mom or whatever.
This is what will happen: The Wombury and friends will be together at their undisclosed location, probably a bar or a tire factory, and they'll be having a decent time, but the Wombury will get all panicked that his group is not being "fun" enough, or "humorous" or "photogenic." Worse yet, he'll start worrying he's not being funny enough or that Louie is getting all the big laughs. Then he'll start "trying" too hard. He'll say something unintentionally hurtful like, "maybe you should stop sleeping with married men." Or he'll try to flirt with the waitress, or he'll pretend to trip on the hood of taxi cab. The other members of his party will avert their eyes, there will be awkward silences and pauses, the Wombury will continually massage his bald head and stroke his beard and pick his nose and peel labels off of bottles and make comments about sexual frustration and wonder how big Freud's cigar was, and then after seven minutes of filming the producer will say "thank you, I think we have enough. Here's my card; we'll be in touch." End of episode.
Ah. A star is born. Speaking of taxi cabs, here's a picture of butler,
(Your lips like wine, your hair like twine, your words like swine )Until then,
The Wombury
The Wombury
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