This past Saturday was Press Day for Christopher Guest’s For Your Consideration. Before I dive into that, let me just point out that my current day job has me working a shift that I haven’t quite adjusted to yet. In fact, I should have been in bed hours ago, but instead I’m writing. So, because I don’t get enough sleep throughout the week, I overslept on this past Saturday morning. It wasn’t fatal. I still had time to make the junket since the invite said it started at 10:30 am and I was up at 8:45 am, but there was more to consider than just drive-time. There was shower-time, invitation and map printing-time, visual and audio recording prep-time, etc.-time.

I was out the door at 9:15 a.m. Check-in was at 10 on the nose. From Fullerton to the Regent Beverly Wilshire in Beverly Hills it’s about 45 minutes with light traffic and an hour and change in moderate traffic. Even if I got there a little late for check-in I’d be okay. I’d just miss out on the catered breakfast they usually have for Press. And they don’t skimp at these functions, let me tell you. We’re talking Mother’s Day brunch buffet over here.

Anyway, so I’m out the door and I’m thinking to myself, “Man, I know I’m forgetting something.” But seriously, how many times have I thought that and not forgotten anything? Almost every time. So I didn’t think much about it as I rushed out to my car. So I’m driving, right? And I’m half-way to LA when I realize that my right buttock doesn’t feel as supported as it usually does. I scoot around in my seat and then feel down there with my right hand and I realize I’m missing something no man should ever leave home without: my wallet.

That’s means I have no ID. What if I have to furnish a picture ID to get into the Press conference? Eh, who am I kidding? I’d be able to finagle my way in. I’m a charmer. Strangely, my biggest concern was tipping the valet. Having worked in the “hospitality” industry for many years, I understand how getting stiffed can just ruin your day. And we’re not talking about just any valet. We’re talking Regent Beverly Wilshire valets. Career valets. Men with salt and pepper hair and families to feed. Not some kid in a red vest and sneakers. So I scan my car for change. Nada. I had my car washed last week and I make it a point to remove anything of value before I take it in. While I’m scanning, I glance at my fuel gauge.

Less than a quarter of a tank. Crap. I could be stranded in LA!

But I’m at the point of no return. Turning back now would mean I’d be late for check-in and possibly miss vital interviews. If nothing else, I am always committed to my writing gigs. The only choice is to press on. I make a few calls to people in LA to loan me the scratch. No good. No one’s home or conscious at this hour on Saturday morning, it seems.

Screw it. If I have to panhandle to get home, so be it.

I pull up to the Regent and hand my car over to valet and dash inside. It’s 10:15 a.m. Fashionably late for check-in, but plenty of time to catch the Press conference. And maybe just enough time for a sausage and scrambled egg? We’ll see. I make my way to the elevators and pause to marvel at how well I remember the hotel since the last and only other time I’ve been here, which was a year ago. DING! The elevator doors open and a not-quite-middle-aged woman steps in after me. I press the button for floor five. The woman glances at my dusty shoulder bag and asks, “Are you here for the junket?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it on the sixth floor?” She makes a move to the button panel.

“The invite says fifth.” I pull it out and show her. She steps away from the panel and nods. “Who do you write for?” I ask.

“People [the magazine, not people in general; at least, that's what I thought she meant],” she replies with rehearsed nonchalance. “You…?”

I tell her. She half nods and her cheeks make a valiant effort to crane the corners of her lips into a smile, but ultimately fail, resulting in a stoically unimpressed expression. “Well,” I say good-naturedly, “You got to start somewhere.” She laughs derisively and the elevator doors DING! open. I rush out with People Magazine trailing me, but matching me stride for stride. At last, we reach the suite which is split up into two rooms: left for buffet, right for check-in. I check-in.

Alice, my contact with the PR firm managing the event, greets me from behind a guest list. “Print and Online or radio?” she asks, getting right down to business.

“Print.”

She flips some pages, “And who are you with?” I tell her. Unimpressed, she checks me off the list. “Okay, Fred and Jane already started at ten so if you sneak in quietly, you might be able to get about 15 minutes with them.”

“I was told it started at 10:30,” People Magazine interjects.

“Yeah,” some girl behind us chimes in, “Things are kind of confused right now.”

“Great,” I state blandly. “Where do I go?”

“It’s in the Burgundy room. Do you know where that is?” I shake my head. “If you go down and across and then up…” she jabs the air with her pen to illustrate ineffectively.

“I’ll show them,” the girl behind us says, getting up from an armchair. I follow her out.

“I’m just gonna get a bite to eat,” People Magazine says and disappears into the buffet. Following the girl-from-behind, we pick up another straggling journalist.

“Here for the junket?” I ask. He nods. “Follow us. It started at ten. It’s on the second floor in the Burgundy room.” And of course I say that like I know where the hell we’re going.

“But the e-mail said it started at-”

“Lies,” I reply.

At last, I make it to the Burgundy room. It’s small and stuffy, but not quite packed to the gills. Journalists fill up the front rows first so that they can sit as close to the talent as possible, but the back few rows are pretty desolate. Fred Willard and Jane Lynch are indeed in the middle of their Press conference. As for my suggested “sneaky entrance”: do you remember college? Do you remember taking those 101 courses that everyone takes and therefore the classes have to be held in those gigantic auditoriums with stadium seating? You ever show up late to one of those and have one of those professors with such a false sense of self-importance that he’ll stop his lecture and glare at you while you look for that one empty seat waaaaay in the back while you trip over myriad packs and folders amidst a fog of chagrined “excuse me’s” and “pardon me’s?” That’s what my entrance reminded me of. Oh sure, it wasn’t all that dramatic and it didn’t cause the talent to stop talking. We’re talking about Fred Willard, remember? The man could be in the middle of a carpet bombing run and stand his ground so long as he finished his anecdote or joke.

I sit down, snap on my recorder, and take notes on a legal pad, slowly blending in with everyone else.

For those familiar with Fred Willard’s work, how you perceive him onscreen is pretty much how you perceive him in real life. He’s this verbal force of nature, just loves to talk. On the other hand, when he’s sharing speaking-time with someone else, he’s fair. So while he regaled us with his opinions on the Academy Awards and sitting in for Roger Ebert and sundry other tales, Jane Lynch got in her fair share of bloviating. Jane strikes me as a very elegant and well spoken woman, refined in many ways. During the interview, she reveals that while she had no direct say in moving away from the interview-style filmmaking that Christopher Guest is known for, she was definitely for it and she’s glad it’s gone. In For Your Consideration Fred and Jane play co-hosts for a Hollywood insider-type show called Hollywood Now. Fred plays the “Fred Willard role” with Jane kind of playing straight (wo)man. When you’re paired with Fred, how can you play anything but?

After a few minutes, Fred and Jane rotate out and Christopher Guest and Eugene Levy rotate in. At which time I took the opportunity to move to the front row. Apart from writing Consideration, Levy plays a talent agent in the movie and Guest plays the director of the fictional independent film Home for Purim being shot in the film. One of the things that stands out in Consideration is the outlandishness of the characters’ hair and a few minutes of the Press conference were devoted to discussing that point, which got me scrutinizing Levy’s hair, since he was the one who spoke at length about it. You know, it’s really healthy. Nice and thick with a good shine. On a side note, I think he interviews better than Guest. Levy is more matter-of-fact with his answers, realizing that he needs to help us by giving us good, solid material so that we can, in turn, write good copy. Guest, on the other hand, is easily distracted, playful, and a little bratty. He’s fun to interview, but I’d prefer a straight answer before the funning started.

“Jane says you are definitely happy,” one journalist opens. Guest stares blankly at her for a moment. “With the film,” the journalist adds.

Guest waits a few more beats, “Okaaaay….” He raises his eyebrows in mock confusion. “Is that a question–I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that.”

Levy leans over to him and dictates, “I am happy.”

“Oh,” Guest replies, feigning clarity before giving us his opinion of the film. Later, after yet another cell phone went off and People Magazine gets up to rush out embarrassedly, Guest stops her, “No, don’t leave! We’re going to have a contest after to see which song [ringtone] was the best.”

Parker Posey, Harry Shearer, and Chris Moynihan come in next. All three play actors in Home for Purim. Now, I haven’t seen Superman Returns, but I’m told that Parker looks like hell in it. Not so in real life, thankfully. She comes in drinking Starbucks and toting her needlepoint of some kid smelling a rose…I think. She works on it off and on during the interview. Harry Shearer seems like a very affable fellow. It’s a shame that he doesn’t do much speaking throughout the interview as most of the questions are directed at Parker, being the biggest name in the room at the time. Surprisingly, Chris Moynihan does a great deal of speaking for a guy who doesn’t have that many credits under his belt. Still, that doesn’t diminish the merit of what he says, so I won’t hold that against him.

Lastly, Jennifer Coolidge and Catherine O’Hara come in to round off the interviews. I come in late for this one, too. See, now that it’s later in the day, I figure my LA friend would be up and be able to come down and loan me some dough so that I can tip the valet and get some gas. I figure I’ll give him a call. Unfortunately, I left my phone in my car. So, during the talent rotation, I run out to valet and have them bring up my car just to get my phone and then have them re-park it. Then I run back to the Burgundy room only to find Jennifer and Catherine already there, talking. Oh well. Jennifer Coolidge is remarkably more intelligent sounding than she is onscreen. To be sure, that has a lot to do with the characters she plays, which begs the question: what does Christopher Guest think about her since he seems to assign her stupid-person roles and each role is custom-made for the actor (or so Guest claims)? We all have a good laugh at that one. Towards the end of their Press conference, Catherine O’Hara treats us to a story of her worst encounter with a journalist. Apparently, at the Academy Awards Catherine was asked, “Where ya been? You ever gonna work again?”

To which Catherine replied, “I guess not.”

And then it’s over. We all get up to go. Some go up to the lunch buffet while they wait for the next junket for The Fountain while others, like me, go to get our cars. My LA friend is at work in Irvine, so I stiff the valet and drive home on fumes, but I make it.

In between talent rotations during the junket, I talked with Rick, a writer with the Fresno Bee. He gave me pointers on my writing career and told me about his awkward path to his place in the industry.

“Who do you write for?” he asked. I told him. He tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows, exhaling, “Well, you gotta start somewhere.”

I looked at him and just grinned.