you hate me, you really hate me!!!

FUCK SHIT PISS! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Goddamn it! Arggghhhhh!

I’m so mad I could fucking spit tacks. Or nails. Or whatever the hell it is that you spit when you’re as mad as I am.

I am a very competitive person. Part of the reason is this: for better or worse, I have been highly praised as an actor for as long as I’ve been doing it. High school. NYU. I didn’t get every role I wanted, but I often did. I was a favorite of most of my teachers. My classmates thought of me as just being really good. Comedy, drama, whatever. I rock. I have tons to learn, yes, and I’ve been bad before. But… OK, you get the point. I was always told how great I was, and it’s not like I was in Pippin at high school in fucking Treehump, Idaho. (if there is a Treehump, Idaho, I’m sorry) I’m talking New York. OK, I’m well respected dammit. (I sound like Willy Loman.)

Then I moved to LA. Not only have I had no luck getting a theatrical agent. Admittedly, I’ve never tried very hard, but self-sabotage is not an excuse. I sabotage myself to insulate myself because as I was always praised so I’m really not used to rejection. Well, I’m getting used to it.

What’s gotten me in a tizzy is this: my friend Todd, who has done like 15 commercials in the past 2 years, just landed a 6-spot contract for some .com thing which I auditioned for last week, and did not even get a fucking callback for! The two times I know we’ve gone out for the same thing, I didn’t get called back, and he did. And this one, he books. I should be happy for the guy. I pretended to be, I did. He said, "I booked blah blah blah" and I said, "Dude, congratulations. That’s really cool."

Then I hung up and threw my coffee cup at the wall.

I tell ya, I’m at a fucking loss. I am. (Now I feel like Dr. Evil: "Throw me a friggin’ bone here people.") To his credit, this guy hustles his ass off and has been for a long time. And he’s good. Me: I do theatre. I write. I watch TV. I go on auditions but "I really don’t care because if I care too much and fail, then I’d really be lost". Oh man, this shit isn’t working anymore. I can’t go just on this blind faith and deep-seeded belief in myself anymore.

It’s about evidence for me. I collect evidence about whether or not I’m a good actor. I catalogue the good things and weigh their tone of voice, my relationship with the person, hidden agendas, my own feelings about the piece, etc. etc. into a big mathematical equation that ends up with some number, some figure that either goes as positive evidence, negative evidence, or inconclusive evidence. So as I’m like gathering data, worrying about my external image, others, like Todd, are just firmly believing in themselves and their earthly right to succeed, and they are. Like Reese Witherspoon’s character in Election, Todd says, "God, I really must insist that you help me book this spot tomorrow."

I just drank a Diet Coke and feel a bit more philosophical about the whole thing. But no, philosophy leads to inaction, and that’s exactly what I need to avoid.


(From Fuck Shit Piss to Sigh in 30 minutes. Not bad.)

This is where I let Larry King take over my body for a few minutes.

Larry is suffering from a touch of scabies today.