It turns out, for no specific reason, there was a casting on the last wednesday for a hands advert for a certain brand which name I can’t remember (if they hire me, maybe my mind clears up) I couldn’t attend. Friday evening comes. I’m out from dubbing classes and find out some missed calls from the models’ agency. I call back: the brand… (I’m not telling unless they hire me, don’t insist) contacted us to know if they could meet you this evening or tomorrow morning. I answer there is no problem and they tell me to wait five minutes, so they can tell me when to go. By the way, the place where the casting takes place is in Santa Coloma de Gramenet and I am in the very center of Barcelona. Anyway, it’s far as hell. Phone rings while I’m walking home, I pick it up, it is not going to be today but tomorrow morning. Great. And I’ve already arranged a party tonight. Night comes: I go out anyway, but avoiding anything pointy with my hands: I’m sorry baby, but I can’t touch you up, you could injure one of my ligaments or worse, but taht doesn’t mean you can’t… Why go further. The point is next morning arrives. The alarm clock wakes me up. I could seriously hurt the guy who invented the beeps for this stuff. It’s nine o’clock. My head hurts and my stomach wants to exit my body through my mouth. I manage to get to the bathroom. No way that guy in the mirror is me. I’m blink twice, raise a hand… Shit, it is me. Looks like I’ve been in a huge fight. Rings under the eyes: deep and dark. Beard: three days long… Face: pale as death. But the most important, hands: in perfect shape. Maybe somebody will give me some coins in the subway, but my hands look awesome. Shower and dress. Exit. The subway journey feels eternal. Then the walk to the spot. All this for 240 euros less the 20 percent the agency takes and what taxes suck. I feel like a jerk. And that is if they hire me, don’t forget it’s a casting. I finally get to the place. I ring the door. A guy opens. I am Jaume Aguiló, my voice sound like crab. Come in, come in. He makes me fill a casting form: name, I.D., someshit… Height, Shirt size, Trousers… Do you really need this? Yes, yes, he says. I shut up and keep writing. I’m really fond of the form’s question: are you free on the designated filmind date? Hell, I hope so, after the shitty day I’m having. But the greater was yet to come: I finish filling the data and he asks me: Do you snowboard? Eeeeeeeeeem… Now I don’t follow. I come for the hands. Aaaaaah! He says. I knew it. Come inside, we’ll do the casting. The stuff is hard. It is about holding a rectangular pad before the camera in an unbelievable position even for a kamasutra expert and turn its pages with a certain speed so the printed images on them can look like moving. Ok, it’s fine so far. The trick is the so called movement has to be put on top of actual characters who are sitting in the back. That is, you can see real people’s legs in the back and their torsos are printed on the sheets of the pad and I have to make it look like they are actually moving. On top of that the torsos on the imprinted stills move too from side to side, which means I have to adapt the positions with the real characters in the back. In that moment I feel God’s hatred towards me. In the end, the guy likes how I did it. I take a look to the clock: one hour. David Mamet used to say actors were whores, lucky me he never spoke about hand models. I go bakc to the subway, taht huge non cybernetic social network. There I find a woman who is supposedly talking to her mother through the phone and who reveals to me an unquestionable truth: mom, she says, there are fights in every marriage, and those who say there aren’t is because they don’t love each other. Fuck me. I figure the United States are a very love giver nation. The world’s teletubbies. I bomb you because I love you, buddy. Meanwhile I notice I cought a cold in the street and feel snot running down my nose. So I do what every man or women with studies but without handkerchief would do. I wipe myself with the back of my hand. And this way, with snots and bombs I give an ending to this post. I know it has been a while since the last one, but there was a little logistic misunderstanding which has been already solved.