Friday, February 19, 2010

How To Laugh When God Pours Hot Grits Over Your Head

What it do homies!

It's Friday my friend and I hope you are getting paid and laid.  I know that's crass and juvenile but you don't read this blog for any pearls of wisdom.  You read it because you are most likely

A. bored beyond belief
B. an orthopedic shoe wearing outcast who enjoys flattened Snickers bars and Tab soda.
C. ate too many paint chips as a child.
D. break out in hives every time you see an ad for the overstuffed celeb film Valentines Day.

It could be all of the above.  Lord knows I won't judge you.  If you are a freak, then you've met your long lost cousin.  Most days I walk thru life feeling like I'm still in the halls of a high school, desperately trying to figure out where I belong.  I know by this age, most people have it figured out...well at least they pretend to.  I think I have a pretty solid grasp on who I've grown into.  A geek chic chick armed with a pen and pad.  But for Hollywood High School standards I'm in a weird class. Literally.  I am too fat to be the ingenue who men pine for, and I'm not fat enough to be the funny unfuckable sidekick.

Ideally I'd like to play the funny unfuckable ingenue who men pine for.  But Tina Fey currently holds that title, so I will wait until its my turn.
As a child I was always friendly and played well with others. Even in high school I was quite popular. But I always had a nagging feeling that I "didn't quite belong." I wasn't the pretty girl, or the school slut. I was the likeable harlequin AP geek class president. WAIT.  Before you get to thinking anything, this is by no means a ploy for you to email me or comment  on how awesome  I am. NO no no need for you to email, facebook or tweet me...I don't need your approval or adoration okay? I don't need you to be my cheerleader or recite sappy sonnets about my beauty or awesomeness.

All jokes aside, I did have a moment yesterday where my demons seemed to emerge the victor.  I know our western culture can be silly and places way too much attention on actors and singers. We all know that teachers, cops and firefighters are the ones who deserve much better paychecks and accolades.  Everyone is up in arms about Tiger Woo and his press conference this morning. I could fucking care less. Seriously who gives a rabbits ass about this dude being "sorry" for fucking scores of greasy looking white chicks?   When I become rich and famous, its the first thing I plan to do.  I'm fucking every white woman I see.

Back to mine own demons...I've been at this acting thing professionally for 12 years now.   And I'm grateful for every project that I've worked on.  But there comes a time where, I'd like some steady work ya dig?  Imagine training for years, going to college and still not being able to get a leg up in your chosen field.

Last night while sitting in a dark theatre during acting class I gently laid my head on my friend Parvey's shoulder and I cried. I know that sounds dramatic, but pretend like you care asshole.  All I could think was "Lord, I've trained and trained and trained...workshops, scene studies,  plays in church basements, acted in student films,  bit parts in films and everything you can think off...I've chopped and chopped the wood, and I know I'm not supposed to mind the pile...but I can't it sometimes. In this crazy HollywoodTheatre High I can't help but thinking---Is There Room For Me?"

I watch my heroines of the screen and stage and get giddy with hope.  Melissa Leo, Diana Sands, Tina Fey, Cherry Jones, Viola Davis all make me think "yay! chicks rule!"  But then I look up and see a billboard for Valentines Day and I search for Parvey's shoulder all over again to cry on.

Cue the violins:

I'm not quite ready to give up...but like my man Captain Ahab, I don't want to become obsessed by chasing after the white whale and destroy myself.  I don't need to be some skinny celeb on the cover of fuck mags like Maxim, or being hounded by the pappers on TMZ or nothing like that. I just want to do my thing...some TV, Theatre and plenty of films.  Buy a crib, get good credit, cake my loved ones, and have Andre Leon Talley go shopping with me.

I suppose if Shani Davis can get Olympic Gold, than surely I can keep fighting for my own gold. It's just so goddamned slippery on this ice.  But like Bambi, I'm gonna get up every time I fall on my ass. And dear reader, I hope you will do the same.

Ciao for now kids!

NEXT BLOG: Don't Ask Don't Tell. The Emergence of Yeast Infections in the Military.

1 comment:

Milauna said...

words escape me now, in the meantime... Brillant