Tons of people want to break into Hollywood. Whether they’re an actor bouncing from one commercial audition to another, or a screenwriter/valet who casually leaves his screenplay in every expensive car he parks, they all have dreams of making it big. Some people, however, want to break into the entertainment industry, but are unsure as to what kind of job they should be looking for. Well, fear not. I’ve gone to all the trouble for you to identify the five greatest jobs that currently exist in showbiz.
Writer for “The Tonight Show w/ Jay Leno”
Jay Leno is widely ridiculed on the Internet as a backstabbing, unfunny, pandering clown. All fair points. Lots of people didn’t like Leno before he gleefully shoved Conan under a bus, then threw his hands up blamelessly as if to say, “Why everyone so mad at me? I just pushed him in front of a speeding bus. The bus is the one who ran him over.” So now, the hate has really escalated. However, one point that gets glossed over in all the Leno hate is that his crappy jokes are not entirely his creation. He has a team of writers that help him churn up the rancid butter he serves America every night. Yet, Leno takes all the blame. That is why his writers have a tremendous gig.
Let me first start out by bringing this to your attention: depending on seniority, Leno’s writers reportedly make somewhere between $150,000 and $500,000 per person, with access to the benefits provided by the Writer’s Guild of America (health, dental, etc.). What the hell? I was under the impression that unskilled jobs such as these had all been outsourced to Asia or Mexico for ten cents on the dollar. If I were an NBC/Comcast investor, I’d be furious.
Because I am a masochist, and it was less expensive than an hour with Mistress Dragonspear, I watched Leno’s Tuesday night monologue as research for this post. I’m including the link only so that no one can claim I fabricated the horrible joke I’m going to be pulling from it as an example:
Because I respect you, I’ll assume none of you clicked on that. Two things jump out: first of all, there is a brief appearance by my future girlfriend Sofia Vergara. She hasn’t hasn’t subjected herself to anything so embarrassing and deplorable since her starring role every night in my dreams. Secondly, here is the sample joke, in reference to the recent health care bill:
“President Obama is feeling like a Toyota driver today … there’s no stopping him!”
That’s just crappy and lazy. People got paid a buttload to write that, and they had all day to hash it out. A cursory glance of the comment sections at the Uproxx cabal of sites shows infinitely more creativity presented with significantly more speed. I would be embarrassed to leave a comment that bad. Some commenters, like Burnsy or Chino, rip out multiple jokes better than that for a single post. And we do it for free, without access to benefits. Wait a second …
*draws up commenter unionization papers, mails to Uproxx overlords, never hears back*
*reads obituaries a few days later, finds out they laughed themselves to death*
So, to recap: Leno’s writers have a job where they get paid tons of money to write crappy, lazy jokes, they have great job security because their show is always #1, and when anyone realizes how poor the product is, their boss gets blamed. High pay + job security + no accountability = WANT.
Fashion photographers and I have a lot in common, in that we both spend an inordinate amount of time around naked supermodels. They’ve just figured out a way to do it that doesn’t involve the crippling back pain and arthritis associated with tunneling under the models’ homes to install a periscope-like device that snakes through their plumbing and rises from the commode. Patent pending.
For my money, any discussion involving fashion photographers (and I’ve had tons) begins and ends with Terry Richardson. That’s him above, trapped inside a sexy sandwich. He’s taken tons of classy and elegant pictures for classy and elegant magazines. But the gig of his that all straight men across the globe are jealous of is his role as photographer of the 2010 Pirelli calendar. For those unfamiliar, the Pirelli calendar is the world’s foremost month by month depiction of topless supermodels in naughty poses. Are you in an area where topless Brazilian chicks are kosher? Please to enjoy the decidedly NSFW ‘Behind the Scenes’ footage. To give the rest of you an idea what I’m talking about, I’ve SFW’d two of my favorites pictures from this year:
Here’s what I like about those pictures (besides the topless ladies) – they are preposterous. Leading up to the shot being snapped, Terry Richardson was able to convince two of the most beautiful women in the world to pose like this. From my experience, women don’t react kindly when one produces a machete and asks them to stick it in their underpants, or asks if they’d mind posing for a picture while licking a 16-inch cock *high fives self*. This is the world fashion photographers live in. Supermodels are their canvasses.
Further proof Terry Richardson’s life does not suck: while using relatively benign search terms* to find pictures he’s taken, I came across multiple pictures of Terry Richardson’s penis. It is gigantic, and often in a model’s mouth or hand. Always posing as “art.” Well played, sir.
*examples – “Terry Richardson’s giant penis”, “Terry Richardson” + “giant penis” – “girls”, etc.
Katy Perry’s Breast Arranger
Three things are true about this picture:
1) It was taken on the set of the music video “Starstrukk” by the epically douchey band 3OH!3.
2) I would slaughter 100 kittens in front of my mother for that guy’s job.
3) Seriously, that’s a lot of semen.
That is all.
There are two kinds of Hollywood producers. The first kind of producer actually works. He wakes up reasonably early (for Hollywood), reads scripts, attends meetings, and all in all participates in the process of taking a movie from a screenwriter’s head to the silver screen. Coupled with this hard work is an absurdly high salary, but also worlds of stress. They become tied to the films they produce, and it’s not easy to wash the stink of a terrible failure off. Hard work, stress, and consequences? No thank you.
The second kind of producer on the other hand has a cushy gig. These are guys, usually already fairly wealthy, who are only in the business for the perks. They’ll toss money and clout around to get their name on a film, then use that credit to enjoy the spoils of the industry – unfiltered access to the most exclusive parties, the swankiest restaurants, and the most pristine vaginas on the planet.
A day in the life of this kind of producer breaks down like this:
11 am – Wake up in mansion. Direct driver to bring home the 20 year old you defiled last night. Give him discrete signal to take the “scenic route” so she won’t be able to retrace her steps back to your home.
Noon – 2pm – Eat $400 brunch at Beverly Hills Hotel. $20 for spinach and feta cheese omelet, $380 for champagne cocktails. Charge bill to production company’s tab.
3pm – 6pm – Hang out on set. Drive golf cart around holding megaphone. Repeatedly ask director to cast some girl you want to sleep with. Explain to director she has lots of “talent” (while cupping your hands 12 inches from your chest to imply she has giant breasts).
6:30pm – 9pm – “Cocktails with Robert Evans.” No, not actually having cocktails with Robert Evans. That guy won’t shut up. This is code for meeting with an unscrupulous doctor to pick up a myriad of prescription and party drugs. While doing piles of cocaine.
9pm – Put in call to Channing Tatum’s agent about the script your doctor/dealer wrote, Da Land of Milk & Honeys.
10pm – 2am – Party. Start at the mansion, find out from Brody Jenner which club has “the choicest tail” that night. Approach multiple girls by asking, “Have you ever been in movies? No? You should,” then flash your business card. Identify one who may sleep with you tonight. Ply her with drinks and said party drugs.
2am – 4am – Sexual debauchery that would make Caligula blush.
So yeah, that’s a good gig if you can get it. You have to sell your soul and become sleazier than Joe Francis, but isn’t that what America is all about?
Host of “Three Sheets”
This is the guy. This is the guy who inspired the whole pitch for this post. For those unaware, Zane Lamprey is the host of “Three Sheets” on the Fine Living Network (FML … sorry, FLN. I may be a little jealous), and coming soon to the Travel Channel. His duties as host require him to travel around the world to various countries, and detail the local alcohols and drinking customs of the area. It’s a really entertaining show, and does a good job of educating the viewer as to how different cultures treat their booze. Oh, and in the process Lamprey has drank his way back and forth across the flat Earth on someone else’s dime, like an Anthony Bourdain-lite.
Speaking of Bourdain, some might argue that his job is better. He does just as much drinking, even though that’s not technically part of his show, and couples it with eating some of the best (and/or most exotic) food in the world. But I counter that Bourdain’s “job” doesn’t exist without him. The whole show “No Reservations” was based kinda on how he was already living his life: traveling, eating, doing equal amounts hard narcotics and foreign chicks. Saying that you want Anthony Bourdain’s “job” is to say you want Anthony Bourdain’s life – a fair request to be made in exchange for your soul, perhaps, but a not realistic position to tailor your resume towards. Zane Lamprey, on the other hand, auditioned for and got a gig that already existed.
I think this clip from the Scotland episode sums up my point pretty well. At the part I’ve cued up, Zane begins at a tour of the Glenfiddich distillery, where he samples the Glenfiddich 50 year old (retail price: approx $10k/bottle). I can’t even fathom what a $10,000 bottle of scotch would taste like. If I had to guess, I’d say smooth and incredibly complex, with hints of sex with models. Then, he goes to an exclusive club where he continues sampling only the finest scotches … for free … while getting paid. That’s his job. And it is the greatest job in the world.