Making Theatre is Kind of A Dumb Thing To Do [California Seething]

Author’s Note: I know I promised to reveal my pick for “”The One Summer Movie I Dragged My Ass Out to See” – but, sadly, the demands of my so called “real job” have prevented me from doing any real meaningful Seething. That is to say, any meaningful Seething, which I feel comfortable sharing on this blog. Ahem. Cough. Ugh. So instead, I’ve decided to share this classic Califronia Seething, in which I explore the sheer idiocy of my chosen artform with the hope of inspiring young people. Seriously, if just one aspiring theatre professional with stars in his eyes reads this post and decides to go to Law School instead, I’ll consider my work here done. I’m joking, of course! I love what I do, and if you are a young person who is interested in theatre, I encourage you to follow your heart. Hell, the job market is so totally crappy now that you’re hopelessly fucked no matter what field you go into, so you might as well be unemployed from doing something you might love. That way, at least you’ll be excited to interview for the jobs you don’t get. Enjoy!   OK, all kidding aside, it’s very important that all of you come see my show when it opens. Not just because the actors are amazing (which they are), and the director is brilliant (which he is) and the writer is halfway decent (name rhymes with Flakespear- and I don’t mean Blake Steer, renowned Cherokee porn star). You should all come because I’ve been working my ass off on this show for no money or hope of professional advancement and I need as many people as possible to validate this incredibly stupid and self destructive life choice that I’ve made....

Stand and Occupy LA [Nerd in Transition] Oct06

Stand and Occupy LA [Nerd in Transition]

It’s 10am and I’m standing in the glare of California’s unforgiving sun. My delicate epidermis glistens as it cooks to a cancerous brown. The lamp post supporting my back displays a Metro sign informing would be riders that the 78, 79 & 378 buses all stop here. There is no bench. There is no shade. There is only the sun, the pole and the wait. At 10 a.m., I am already late for my first political protest. I’ve spent years shaking my head at the government. In coffee shop conversations I have fought for the masses. Online, I spread news articles and amusingly honest memes. Yet never have I gathered to shake the peoples fist. As our Rome falls, and the rubble lands on the backs of the populace, I felt it was time to stand up and yell. I want to yell at the 1% riding off into a future of greater economic prosperity and the banks that continue pushing them forward. I want to scream in the face of my “for the people by the people” government that refuses to end Bush-era tax cuts and take greater measures to help level the playing field. I am desperate to bring back the middle class, because at only 33, I don’t like the prospect of a life toiling from paycheck to paycheck. So I stand waiting for a bus to transport me from my low income neighborhood of Lincoln Heights to Los Angeles modest downtown where myself and an unknown number will gather for the beginning of Occupy L.A.. Unless you only get news from major media outlets you have probably heard of Occupy Wall Street, the protest that began in New York three weeks ago with a few hundred angry students that has...

Summer Movie Wrap Up – I Didn’t See Any – You Can’t Make Me [California Seething] Aug15

Summer Movie Wrap Up – I Didn’t See Any – You Can’t Make Me [California Seething]...

If you ask me, I blame the Prius. Recently, a big name celebrity came to see a show at the theatre where I work. For security and convenience reasons, we allowed him to park in the loading zone in front of the theatre rather than the slightly farther Peon Lot. Since this isn’t exactly legal, I arranged with his people (He has people. I want people! Even midgets would be fine. Do they work cheap? Can I get two for the price of one? I could stack them on top of each other, put them in a really long trench coat and pretend they are a super-tall publicist named KiKi. That would get me in to Sky Bar) that I would hold on to his car keys and watch his car while he was watching the show- never mind the fact that giving me car keys is about as useful as handing a bone to a monkey and telling it to drive the big black monolith around the block in case the cops come. You’re just going to end up with a smashed cow-skull and a big parking ticket. As I waited for him, I fantasized about the sort of supercar that would soon be at my disposal. Certainly, it would be some kind of Italian Dream Machine- a Maserati or Lamborghini or some other juicy word that sounds like food but isn’t food but still makes you drool like lasagna made out of money. A car designed to look like a spaceship if spaceships were designed to look like naked ladies (NOTE TO NASA: Next time, hire Italian designers. Endeavor is whatever but Endeavero is magnifico!!!) Maybe I would slip inside and sit behind the wheel in the tan leather interior all snug...