written

i feel like i've lost my poetry.

Running on Broadway may be Bourgeois

I have become an interview fiend the last week or so. Endless interviews trying to find something to fill my days in a way that will also fill my checking account. Today however I went on an interview I truly cared about, for, of course, an unpaid position. For, no REAL artist should ever find happiness in work they do for money. How bourgeois.

yeah. right.

But I did truly care about it because it is an opportunity this summer to mentor young playwrights and ultimately direct their work. More exciting. It will be a RADIO PLAY. A new artistic venture for me as well as for the kids. And I speak of this future endeavor with great confidence despite my interview taking place only this morning because I was called back soon after to be offered one of the director positions. It was the first interview I had felt at ease at in the 100 interviews of the last week. It was the me from a year ago at that interview. The me I wanted to be and became and then lost somehow. Recently. At least I know she's in there. I was getting worried. But i think she came out because I did care. Because I knew I was the best person for this job, I knew my talents & my education could be utilized when at my previous interviews all I could boast was my ability to make the perfect foam. Which really. Can I?

Doubtful.
Good thing I'm an actor.
I'll just pretend to make it.




Two steps forward. Finally. A job for necessity and a job that reminds me why I'm willing to do what's necessary.

I'm ready to start running.

Final knot needed. Final knot tied.

No looking back.

UPDATE :: Paid to Do What?

He was replaced.

And I finally got a job that will pay the rent.

Paid to Do What?

Amazing it is. How sitting around doing nothing but that & occasionally clapping can leave you so physically and psychically drained. Empty even.

Luckily I'm paid for it. Unfortunately I found out sitting next to a girl [in hideous jeans from 1998 that attempted to echo those of 1981 bleach stains, awkward waist line & all who obviously didn't get the 'business casual, bright colors' memo in her too tight black shirt nor the 'those jeans didn't work the first time before we were born don't try them on now' memo.] that she was being paid $10/hour compared to my measly $8.

Great.

Especially since I am booked to repeat my appearance in the audience of a [non disclosed reality dance show I can't name or talk about specifically] or I'll be sued for all of the nothing I currently have in the bank since I didn't have the chance to deposit the $48 cash I walked away with after standing in the cold  for 45 unpaid minutes. 

But hey, if I find just one more dollar I can fill up my gas tank. Like ALL the way. 

Now. if only i had had a camera yesterday, I could have taken some very disheartening yet possibly artistic pictures of us audience members sitting on the curb waiting to be ushered in past the port-a-potties (from where you could see the real bathrooms) into our seats where we would remain for 6 unmoving hours. And then again lined up like studio streetwalkers waiting to be cashed out. A Hollywood exhibit in the waiting for any photographer better than I. Which most are.

And my final comment on being paid to do nothing [which most in these hard times would love to find anything let alone nothing that pays & yes I appreciate the income, however would rather be mucking out horse shit] is...

The audience fluffer - and yes I use that word specifically because he... wait for it... blows. 

For example (and I have many although the stupidity & generalness of his comedy & comments tend to blur themselves together into simple hatred): I don't think you're supposed to make overtly racist comments and attempt to play them off as funny (by talking fast after saying it) when they aren't and then get in a fight with an asian audience member who stereotypically probably has a higher IQ than you despite the fact she's working for $8 an hour doing nothing and not becoming a doctor or a violinist. 

Now. If the joke had been funny I almost guarantee no fight would have occurred. Because laughter fixes everything. But he's not funny and I'm not going to see your show at the Comedy Store even if you give me free tickets. Because $8/hour is already not enough to listen to you make a fool of yourself. 

And Scene.

Still searching the streets of Hollywood for a job to pay the rent... not sure how much longer nothing is going to keep paying.