4/18/2011 - bodyguard or Chinese gangster. . .

My aunt, whom I have affectionately dubbed "The Real Housewife of Taipei," lives an enviable life.  Married to a successful textiles business owner (at least I think that's what he does), she has not worked since, whiling away her days at the gym doing aerobics, having brunch with her girlfriends, and shopping.  She was, and probably still is, a marathon shopper.  She used to make annual trips to America during the summer, bringing my cousins with her, and she would take us to the mall weekly, letting us loose for a couple of hours while she parks at a cosmetics counter.  The women working there would know her by name within a few weeks, be her best friends by the end of the summer.

I always enjoyed her visits; they symbolized "summer vacation" for me.  Anyway, she visits less now, and not always during the summer, but each time, she shares with me the same two pieces of information:

1. I can't understand why you don't have a girlfriend!!  Come back with me to Taiwan, and I'll have your cousin introduce you to a slew of girls you would love.  And they would just love you!
2. Come back with me to Taiwan, and we could put your good looks to use.  Turn you into a model!  Or a pop star!

Obviously, I have yet to take her up on this offer.  I figure, if she has yet to figure out why a 30-year-old man has never had a girlfriend or shown any interest in romantic female companionship, she could very well be wrong about #2 as well.

Not that fame and fortune in Taiwan hasn't been a nice thought to daydream to.  Sam gets a good laugh about it but is also ready to pack and move tomorrow if it could happen, eager to become a "Real Housewife" himself.  I told him that he'd likely have to go back in the closet and become my bodyguard or personal trainer or accountant or something.  "Fine," he said, "as long as I get a hefty allowance and have full oversight on hiring the help."

As it turns out, this Thursday may be the beginning of these dreams coming true.  (Not really, but it's fun to think about.)  Late last week, I received a casting call opportunity from a Facebook friend asking for local San Francisco Asian actors to apply for extra work on a 1930s movie shooting this week.  Some "parts" include: pedestrians, hotel guests, and opium addicts (no joke).  When I told Sam about the last role, his eyes widened and said, "Oh my god, how cool!  I'll get my sticky buns!!"

Since the casting office sits right down the block from my office, I thought, "What the hell," submitted my information, a photo, and hoped for the best.

This morning, a woman from the agency called and told me that instead of an opium addict (sorry, Sam), I was being considered for the role of a bodyguard or Chinese gangster (her words).  I would be in scenes that call for fewer extras (and presumably more screen time).  My first thought: "It's not exactly a Taiwanese pop star, but it'll do. . ."

I hope I get to be a Chinese gangster.  I should ask makeup to give me a goatee.  Chinese gangsters sport goatees, don't they?  I have always wanted one.