Biting the hand that makes me sit up and beg before it feeds me.

I go on plenty of commerical auditions, which is exciting. And also scary, but not for the reasons you might think. By now, I'm pretty much over the self-consciousness of auditioning in a little room for one person standing behind a video camera. And for the most part, the often terrible copy I have to read doesn't make me sweat too much anymore.

No, the scary part is usually the character I get called to audition for.

Sometimes, it's right out in the open. I get a call from an agent saying there's an audition for blah-blah and the part is "Tough Gangster," "Hitman," "Sopranos-type," or "Mafia Boss." But often, it's more subtle. For example, "Blue Collar Guy" often means "A Sopranos-type but it's unclear if he's a gangster." Not to be confused with "New Yorker" which means "A Sopranos-type but it's unclear if he's a gangster." Then I have to decide if I want to even bother, since I don't want (and am never offered) parts like that. There's a whole crew of guys who audition for nothing BUT those roles. Sitting in a casting office with them is like I went to Hell. And Hell is Bensonhurst, 1987.

I'm always the happiest when I get called for parts that sound really boring. "Guy in Office," "Casual Dad" (which would be a good name for a clothing line) "Husband." Those roles are usually just about who might be right for the commercial, rather than who has the olivest skin and the heaviest Brooklyn accent.

Last Sunday I got a part in an American Express commercial. Very cool right? Cool-ish, maybe. First, it was non-union, which means you only get paid a one-time (very small) fee. Second, it will only air in Israel. Third, I was cast to play a New York cabbie, which, as I found out, means "A Sopranos-type but it's unclear if he's a gangster."

I got to the wardrobe fitting and the stylist had generic cabbie gear ready; a baseball shirt, t-shirts, stuff like that. But hidden behind that stuff was the clothes the Israeli Trio (director, producer and some guy who looked like a Monchichi) REALLY wanted me to wear.

Weird rayon shirts with loud patterns, fancy tracksuits, fake gold chains, fake gold rings, "wife-beater" t-shirts (okay, who are we kidding, Guinea Tees). Very Atlantic City. As I sternly tried each outfit on, the Israelis giggled like schoolgirls and chattered away in Hebrew. Every few seconds I could make out "Mafia," "Sopranos" and "Italiano." Then more giggling.

During the shoot, they made small talk with me and were all FASCINATED that I was Italian-American. I have to say, I never felt so exotic in my life, standing outside Newark airport in a velour warm-up jacket and a giant pinky ring. Serves me right I guess for wanting to be in commercials. As a friend of mine once said, "listen, once you decide to stand under the streetlight, it just becomes a question of how much you charge."

And until I get my SAG card, I charge very little.

So, today is Devil Day (a.k.a 6.6.06). The remake of The Omen comes out today, in one of the most clever uses of Satanic symbolism to launch a movie since they had that 20-foot flaming pentagram at the premiere of "Hope Floats."

In the TV ads for the Omen, 6.6.06 comes up at the end, but then the inconveniently placed "0" fades out so it reads 666. In my book that's cheating. You can't just delete the zero because it gets in the way of your marketing ploy. What if this movie had come out in 1966? Would the announcer say, "Opens 6.6.66...just leave off the last 6 for Satan."

When I was a kid, the original Omen scared me shitless. Maybe it had something to do with being a Catholic kid in Catholic school. But Devil movies have always gotten to me in a way regular old horror movies never could. Don't even mention The Exorcist in my presence or I'll run away with my hands over my ears.

Okay enough with the Devil stuff. I'll just wrap up this post with a fun fact: my mother's name is Rosemary, which of course makes me... Rosemary's Baby.

I have my father's eyes.