I attempted to find the origin of the term “cattle call.”  For all of its vast amounts of knowledge, covering everything from basket weaving to meat helmets, the Internet proved utterly useless.  Useless.  Apparently, no one cares about the origin of the term.  No one seems to acknowledge that it might have, at one point, referred to something other than a gaggle of actors standing in line (for hours) in the hopes that a director will spot them, shout “Great googly-moogly,” and then cast them as the lead role in the next summer blockbuster - featuring every hot actress (or actor) as their multiple, and intimate, love interests. 

As a Texan, I was quite offended.  Having attended more than my fair share of rodeos, I can tell you that there’s a reason they call it “cattle call.”  When you watch five young bulls - as they are lined up, prodded into position, and then ranked on everything from neck extension to testicle size - you realize that, as an actor… in the eyes of some… you are just a piece of meat that might fetch a good price at market. 

And yes, if the bulls have taught us anything: size matters.  Good Lord, have you seen a Brahma bull?  Can you say bowling balls in a sling shot?  Well hung is an understatement.

B. O. 

Stephen Spielberg is known for it.  George Lucas is gaining a lot of press for his.  And Julia Roberts has generated more of it it than any other woman in film. 

Yes, these members of Hollywood's elite reek.  They stink of money.  For B. O. is an industry abbreviation for box office.  Box office is short for box office receipts.  And at the end of the day, the more receipts, the sweeter the smell.

Call is butterflies; call it fear; call it whizzing in your pants.  But whatever you call it: beware of it.  For stage fright can stike anyone standing before an audience for the first time (or the one hundred and first time).  And it takes no prisoners.

In the on-camera world, a person experiencing stage fright is often said to be "camera shy." Sounds cute.  Like Tupperware or snickerdoodle. But there is nothing cute about the pure intimidation inflicted by the camera.

If the camera were an inmate in a federal penitentiary, his name would be El León.  He would have tattoos amassed across an entire arm and down the length of his back.  One of them would be of his brother, the man he was convicted of killing.  Twice.  He would wear a red bandana like a headband, carry a shiv made from a broken cafeteria tray and duct tape, and only button the top button on his shirt.  He would be the toughest, meanest, most alpha vato on his cellblock.

The maturation of computer imagery and animation has given rise to new levels of cinematic special effects.  Gone are the days of model planes on fishing wire, hand puppets, and little people in furry suits.  With Computer Generated Imagery, anything can be created. 

Or removed.  This just in from WENN Movie News at IMDB:

Teen actress Lindsay Lohan's breasts have been digitally reduced for forthcoming Disney film Herbie: Fully Loaded, to avoid offending family audiences. Test screenings for the new movie, the fourth sequel to the 1968 film The Love Bug about a Volkswagen Beetle car with a mind of its own, indicated that some parents felt Lohan's character Maggie Peyton was too raunchy for a children's film. Disney technicians were forced to plough through numerous scenes - especially those showing the busty actress jumping up and down at a motor racing track, reducing her breasts by two cup sizes and raising revealing necklines on her T-shirts.

Thus proving, officially, that Michael Eisner is Satan incarnate.

In the second quarter of the twentieth century, a craze of 15 to 60 minute films were produced to teach America such things as why the Commies were evil and why abstaining from sex before marriage would keep you from getting cooked in Satan's deep fryer.

Film production companies, such as Knickerbocker Productions, were hired by fraternities, universities, governments, and corporations to develop these films, dubbed "industrials." The first industrials - including Going Steady?, Duck and Cover, Habit Patters, and The Snob - are still cherished for their campy acting and blatant undertones. 

It is all together possible that the first industrials inspired storylines for the popular after school specials of the early eighties and such hair-raising Lifetime movies as A Date With Darkness, My Stepson, My Lover, and Bastard Out of Carolina.  Yes, those are real movies.  Yes, I have seen them.  No, I am not proud.  And neither is Meredith Baxter.

Today's industrials cover topics from airline safety to harassment in the workplace.  Most industrials are - honestly - filled with hours of brutally boring crap that you are typically forced to watch when new to an organization.

The word zit, unknown in origin, refers to a spot or blemish on the skin.  A pimple. 

Zitcom, a term coined by Variety, refers to a television sitcom aimed at and/or featuring teenagers.  Much like a zit, such sitcom's are typically shallow, annoying, difficult to eliminate, and just like every other blemish on television.  And yet, for some anomalous reason, when you see one: you can't help but stare.

Mindlessly.  Stare.

Back to holding.  To an extra, this means: back to your cage.  Because when it comes to movie making, extras are the true beasts of burden.  After hours of standing, miming conversations, and walking in areas that are guaranteed to be completely out of focus, these background players are corralled Chisholm-Trail-style into designated holding areas - commonly abbreviated as "holding." 

Holding is an interesting place, reminiscent of a refugee camp run by NATO sanctioned peace keepers.  Typically, food is provided.  In small rations.  Usually granola bars, Lance sandwich crackers, and warm, slightly browning apples.  For larger movies requiring massive crowd scenes, holding becomes cramped with hundreds of people.  And when hundreds of people crowd for twelve or more hours, you begin to experience hundreds of smells.  No, there are no showers in holding.

While in holding, one can easily distinguish veteran actors from "civilians" off the street.  Extras are commonly required to provide their own costumes (except for period pieces, where everyone is provided with either frilly, frou-frou stuff or rags, leather mail, and battle axes).  Your union card-carrying, professional actor can be observed lounging near two shirts and maybe an extra pair of pants.  Your newbie, never acted before (but heard about an open casting call via their local radio station) extra can be observed lugging a suitcase massive enough to safely smuggle a small family across the Rio Grande.

Please note: holding is a hotbed of human rights violations.  The UN has failed to recognize this, but letters have been mailed to Amnesty International, Greenpeace, and Bono.

The term is bizarre. Or rather, "headshot" sounds like something with which you are inflicted. Like flesh wound or Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.

Nonetheless, headshots are the calling cards of ever actor and actress.  Simply put, they are photographs.  Typically of someone's head.  From the front, in case you were wondering. 

Most headshots measure 8 inches by 10 inches (at least in the US), and on the back of every headshot is a résumé.  Just like any other résumé, this résumé details the experiences of the actor in the entertainment workplace - with some element of fabrication and/or embellishment, as expected.

Headshots are mailed, dropped, or forced into the hands of decision makers, such as casting directors and producers.  They are then filed in either: A) a cabinet, or B) the nearest trash can. 

Show business is a business, and like any business, it has business terms.  Variety, the go-to periodical of the entertainment industry, defines "nut" as, "operating expenses to be recovered."  As used in a sentence, "On Broadway, most shows need to operate at 60% of audience capacity to cover their nuts." 

Oh, yes.  This is no lie.  It takes that many people to cover their nuts.