[Editor's Note: PubliCola's D.C. correspondent is taking a break from the politics beat. He's spending the summer in America's real capital city, Brooklyn, NY—where he's going to become a movie star.]

I've spent the serious part of every day this summer scanning Craigslist for jobs. But I'm not really qualified for anything, and when they say Brooklyn has a 9.6 percent unemployment rate, they're talking mostly about dopes like me with no skills. So, to break up the monotony, I responded to a couple of ads just for the fun of it; it's not like I was busy doing anything else. And now I think I'm about to be famous.

After a long subway ride, I found the address I'd scribbled in my notebook. The lobby inside was a lot nicer than the dingy building I had entered— a five story loft buried inside Midtown Manhattan. An old man with a faded Dominican accent signed me in at the front desk. The walls were paneled with brown Siberian wood. A waterfall calmly sloshed.

The elevator took me up and the doors opened onto a corridor with the charm a suburban pediatrician's office (soft carpeting, frosted glass doors). I looked at my notebook and checked the sign before pushing open the door.

The line of people waiting to audition filled the entire room, starting at the closed door of a small office and snaking around all four walls. Two men were sitting at desks in the center. The younger of the two was swiveling back and forth in his chair, and it sounded like he was talking to his girlfriend. The older one was much more serious. He was quickly switching circuits and repeating several crucial bits of information. “Casting. Yes. Do you have a pencil ready? Sure. Tell me when you’re ready. Ok. We will be casting today, tomorrow, and Friday. Yes. Our address is ---- W. ---- Street. Between 5th and 6th Avenues. You’re welcome.” He switched to another line and started again. This was the man I had spoken to.

A woman in a black dress with a Billie Holiday haircut saw me come in and approached me with a sheet of paper. “Are you here for the audition?” I smiled and nodded. “Okay, great!” she said. “We’ll have you read for the part of A&R Man.” She handed me the sheet. “Sign in on the clipboard and we’ll call your name when we’re ready for you.”

I wasn’t the only one reading for A&R Man. Everyone else was, too. An older man in cargo shorts shuffled his feet nervously. A large woman in a bright gold dress played with her hair and stared at her sheet. A man with sunglasses pushed up into his hair and the first four or five buttons of his shirt undone whispered the lines out loud to himself. They went, to the best of my memory, like this:

MARLEY MARL: Who are you? You some kind of cop or something?

A&R MAN: Hey, look, it's cool. I'm not a cop. I just want to ask you a question. There was a record you played yesterday, by a female rapper. What was her name?

I repeated the lines once in my head. I looked at the wall, where a collage of people shaking hands with Woody Harrelson and the guy who plays the nerdy friend in "Rudy" hung next to a framed Batman poster. I could hear a muffled audition going on through the wall.

"Hey! I'm not no cop. Lemme axe you a question!" No one standing near me seemed to hear it. Most of them were mouthing their lines.

They called my name. I was actually feeling kind of nervous. I tapped my foot manically and looked back down at my lines, trying to remember as much as I could. When they called me into the office I went in and a sloppy guy in a rumpled rugby shirt was sitting behind the desk. I told him I didn't have any headshots, and that I did have a resume, but that it wasn't, like, an acting resume. He didn't seem to care.

Then we started. He looked at me seriously. "What are you, some kind of cop or something?"

I looked back at him. I relaxed my shoulders. "Look ," I said. "I'm not a cop, or anything." I glanced at my lines. "I do A&R over at Diamond Records." I paused, and slowly raised an eyebrow. "There was this record you played yesterday... it was a female rapper? What was her name?"

After a moment of silence the rugby shirt guy nodded. I took a deep breath and he handed me a business card. "I want you to call Helen tomorrow at 12:45. Call her at this number, not the one on the card." I handed him back the sheet of paper with my lines on it and realized my hands were shaking a little. I let myself out and spent the rest of the day drifting through the city.

The next morning I checked on their business license from the New York Secretary of State's Office, called the Better Business Bureau to see if anyone had called in complaints, and tried to get a hold of the actor's guild to see if my new management company is reputable. I'm still pretty sure it's a scam. But I called the number the man had written on the card anyway. The woman on the other end said she was excited to work with me and that there was maybe something she could get me into with Cuba Gooding, Jr. if I could hurry up and get my head shots done. I was embarrassed because the idea of working with Cuba made me excited.

So now I have something to keep me busy, at least. I'm rehearsing lines for my role in the new Queen Latifah movie. Helen (my agent) says we start shooting in two weeks. And I feel like I've earned a break from Craigslist.