If you are reading this blog, then congratulations! You've survived not only the week, but the day so far. You were not arrested for throwing a pot of hot grits on the meter maid for giving you a ticket, you didn't get arrested for ejaculating during a TSA pat down, and you didn't shoot your television after realizing that Jay Leno still has a television program. Attaboy! Attagirl! You have survived the things that drive you absolutely mad.
Speaking of flying over the coo coo's nest, I wasn't too sure that I was going to make it through the week. Whats wrong with mummy you wonder? Oh I'll tell you possum. Money. MONEY. MONEY MONEY that shit that makes the world go around. Who ever had the audacity to say "Money can't buy you happiness" was a goddamned liar and I want to rip his pubic hairs from his flesh. What kind of dweeb actually believes this jive? Money is fucking great. I can't wait to make so much of it, that I can wipe my ass with silk from Hermes. I love money so much that there are times I pray that I find a wad of cash. Because I'm going to take 5 dollars from that wad, go to CVS Pharmacy purchase condoms and promptly insert the money in my vag. Why? So that the universe knows how much I love money and am willing to protect it.
Oh shuddup you. Don't give me that "the best things in life are free crap either." Okay lets say it is. I'll go with that. If you're sad? Sure take a walk. Parks and gardens are free. And it's lovely to walk through, smell the roses and forget your problems. But on the way back from the walk, you get hit by a car, and oops you've got ZILCH medical insurance---what then? How are you going to pay for that? Right pole dancing. I would have said the same answer. Seems like a good way to make lots of quick cash. But NO! It won't work if you break your goddamned pelvic bone.
I don't need to remind you that unemployment and under employment is at an all time high--or low depending on where you stand. I've just spent my entire morning dealing with Unemployment Assistance. I know some of you might think actors don't have the right to complain about pay. But please do not be fooled by those ass monkeys in Hollywood that get paid 20million a picture and fêted with awards because they put on a prosthetic ears, showed their snatch to the paparazzi while exiting a vehicle, learned an accent or didn't bathe for 2 months to really get inside the mind of an addict. Eat a bowl of fly covered elephant dung you dips! I'm talking about the no named jamokes like me, who are chomping at the bit. The ones who can barely afford to pay their union dues. Wanna know what it feels like to strike it rich when you're an actor? Gold: If you happen to make enough to qualify for SAG medical insurance. Platinum: Residuals from a commercial. Honorable mention to 8 weeks of performances at the theatre. Hooray!
Do you know what it's like to train in a profession in conservatory, graduate with honors and then spend the next 13 years trying to get a job? Seriously can you imagine making less than 20K annually with not much to show for it? And believe me friends, my story isn't nearly as exciting as some of my other comrades. I know people who've been in this fresh hell for 20+ years, still unable to pay rent. Still holding their wombs hostage, for fear they cannot feed a child. People who perputually couch surf, house sit, and return bottles for gas money.
I'm barely into my 30s and already I'm freaking out thinking "I'm too old. It's never going to happen." Or "Hello! You there, Skycap! Yes, Can you come help me with the bags under my eyes? Because I look like Vince Vaughn. Here's a tip for your troubles. Thank you." I can't stand myself at times.
I know many of you have jobs that you hate, or wish you had a job to hate. Try not to take my rantings too close to heart. I've had magnificent feats in my young career. But it's not enough. And so I'm blogging at this moment because if I don't get it all out, you will see me on the evening news. Woooosahh. Inhale, exhale.
My rent is late, but I still have a warm bed. I don't have a theatrical or literary agent, but somewhere in the universe someone is speaking my name, and is lauding my artistry. I may feel like a manatee and whimper when I go to the gym, but I have limbs that work. I try very hard not to lament too much, for fear of turning into an asshole. But I also know, that humility only gets you so far. At some point you've got to take out the brass knuckles and mad dog any fool who stands in your way. People in this industry (and I don't mean this city) will test you every moment they get. There is NEVER security. This business of show ain't for sissy's let me tell you. I dunno maybe my story will be like The Tortoise & The Hare. I know deep down past the tears, cussing& fussing I will be okay. I'm trying not to give up, before the reward from God, and the award from man. Because I still have room for 20million in my vag--oh trust me I am a spiritual captialist.
I wanna be in pictures gatdammit.
And I ain't gonna for go bathing to do it. Dip shits.
I command you to release my money NOW universe! Trust me, I'm gonna do great things with it.
ciao for now,
NEXT BLOG: Veal & Valium. My new idea for a cooking show! Instead pairing the food with wine, you pair it with mind altering drugs. Awesome.