Extremely Perishable

Just like the Titanic, my virginity and acid-wash jeans.

The Test for the Teenage Boy

February 25, 2005
I'd forgotten what little boys were like. One of my roommates brought her little brother to the apartment today and we were all surprised. He could almost pass for 18 I thought - she asked me to guess how old he was - and I said 19 just to be safe.

The kid had recently turned 14.

But later, after witnessing his reaction to the words "Salma Hayek" (eyes rolled back into his head, spastic bouncing, loud slurping sounds), I knew it was true. The method is fool proof.

Salma Hayek, by the way, may or may not be one of three.

You Make Me Wanna...

February 22, 2005
I think I know what Ashlee Simpson meant by the term she coined in her most recent song. And trust me - I wouldn't go to her for an expressive term unless it was something as unintelligible as that one. Because...I can't put the feelings I've been having lately into words.

Whiney drives me INSANE. I never knew that a person could be this deceptively stupid. But lo and behold...there she is. This is the person who's mouth is always hanging slightly open, who speaks with a baby voice on the phone, who asks simple-minded questions one, two, three times over. This is the person you most want to bitch-slap. This is the person who makes you want to drill holes into your own brain or bring a glock home one day and wait until she's asleep and...

And that's all I'm sayin.

City of Stars

February 11, 2005
While it wasn't quite as hot as seeing Drea Matteo at CBGB's, I did run into Anne Hathaway from the Princess Diaries at the corner of Broadway and Waverly on thursday. I didn't have time to stop and chat cause I was late for class, but it was an experience worthy of a mention.

She's a pretty girl. You can't deny that. She's like Belle from Disney's Beauty and the Beast - nevertheless there are about 100 other girls on campus who fit into that same category. Thus, I wasn't exactly bowled over when I saw her. For one - she was in street clothes, not a couture gown and secondly, I was a little fixated on how thin she looked. I hope she hasn't been hanging out with the wrong Olsen twin. Speaking of which - I wonder if I'm ever going to see those pesky little Full House imps. Maybe I've already seen them and I just didn't know it. Magazines have been showing them dressed like bums lately. Only in New York. The rich girls rock rags, while the ghetto girls rock riches. Uptown is downtown and downtown is up.

By the way, I cried after seeing Robert DeNiro's American Express commercial, during the trailers at the movies, last night. I'm not kidding. Perhaps only New Yorkers will appreciate that fact. Or perhaps not.

Monologue on Dress Rehearsal Pt. 2

February 09, 2005
Forgetting the ode to Raisin in the Sun that was my last post, let's linger on the fact that I can always live vicariously through the aspiring actors on HBO's new show "Unscripted." I Fucking love HBO.

"Unscripted" is off the hook. I used to watch "Entourage" which is about a young actor who has already had his big break, how he and his close group of friends deal with his new found fame and how they help him navigate through life in Hollywood, riding on his coat tails. Season one finished a while back and before that, I watched "The IT Factor," a Bravo reality series which documented the lives of 8 struggling actors in New York (first season) and 9 struggling actors in Los Angeles (second season). You see a theme here. I love watching shows about actors. All of these shows were great but they are eclipsed, in terms of creativity, by this new show.

"Unscripted" is part reality, part fiction. It follows three main cast members, young LA actors, as well as their friends, lovers and acting instructors. Simple right? The characters are, however, essentially real - what I mean is, The actor, Bryan Greenfield, plays the character "Bryan Greenfield" and most of the auditions we see in each episode are real life auditions. (Most, not all.) The show is entirely unscripted. Everything is improvised. There are no rehearsals and no reshoots. The "writers" simply get together in a room with the actors and producers, discuss real life Hollywood stories, put together a basic story arc and decide the issues they want to cover for an episode.

Oh and did I mention that George Clooney is executive producing? Ain't that some shit?

All this can be disregarded. The show basically kicks ass. Supposedly some people find it depressing because it reveals the constant rejection and failure that actors face daily. But fuck that. People are ignorant about the industry. Serious aspiring actors have been wise to this shit for a long time and it doesn't depress them as much as motivate them to find work and do what they have to do. If I felt okay about taking that chance myself...maybe I'd be out there waiting tables and going up for audition, after audition, after audition. For now, though, I'll watch it on TV like the slob that I am. "Unscripted" gets 5 stars and my undying groupie love.

Monologue on Dress Rehearsal

February 08, 2005
I tried to be really discrete on my last blog because people knew who I was. I currently exist in semi-anonymity on Extremely Perishable. And I like it that way. Nevertheless, on the dead blog, I occasionally posted on the subject of an unfulfilled dream or corrosive desire that caused me a fair amount of anxiety. I never said what it was but I discussed how crazy it made me feel. I was in the closet. And it did make me feel crazy.

It might not seem like the admission of wanting to be a professional actor should be difficult...but it is. For me. And probably many others.

Firstly, my family - i.e. my parents - tend to only validate the status quo. Telling my father, for example, that my career goal is to become an actor would be embarrassing, perhaps even shameful. Secondly and more importantly, the majority of actors in the United States are unemployed. I fear what any other person who is already on the cusp of being broke fears. I fear the low quality of life and financial instability that a life in theatre arts pretty much promises. I fear falling through the cracks of society if I pursue that type of career. I mean, I'm already in debt...Student loans, people. Many of them.

So this dream dries up. Except...it's still there. I feel it most of the time. I break my life down, almost automatically, into camera shots and script lines and conflict. It's a natural, spontaneous drive. (As a side note - I still have high aspirations in the field of journalism. But these are muted in comparison to theatre and film.)

Some people would suggest that I go for it. I have one life and I can't live it with half of myself longing to be somewhere else. This is the final performance, they say, not the dress rehearsal. It's too easy to use that rhetoric though. Let's get real. I've learned, over the few short years I've been alive - you can't do everything you want. Some things must be sacrificed for the sake of others. And for me it's this unrealistic fantasy that money doesn't matter and that nobody will care if I 'waste' my college tuition.

Four Letter Word

February 07, 2005
I just realized that Valentine's Day arrives in seven days.

I hate it.

It's the one day when we are supposed to celebrate love and I myself don't harbor anything but hatred for it. It's not because I'm not in love. It's because of the forced nature of the celebration. It's because stupid people think they can get away with saying "I love you" or doing something compassionate only once a year. It's because it is the second most commercialized day of the the year and it's because people pretend it's about love when it's really about two other things, which seem to eclipse the four letter word every single time you turn around: sex and money.

My grandmother used to say "sex and money!" instead of "cheese" when somebody took a photo of her. Who knew that wisdom could come from such an awkward display of senior sexuality? Grandma was basically pointing out the two most important things in modern civilization. Those two things are what keep the species alive AND YET...with all the crime and inequality that money propagates as well as HIV spread through sexual contact (the number one killer of black women by the way) - maybe money and sex are in fact killing us - not keeping us alive.

But I digress...

Valentine's Day is supposed to be about love. And it ain't. It's about the above. I've made my point with that. The other thing that I can't deal with is the gruesome displays of "love" that we are forced to watch and/or emulate for 24+ hours. "O...you bought me a bear holding a pink heart that says 'I luv U' on it. It was on sale at the Hallmark store for $7.99." Wow. It must be true then! I can't wait for the cheap-ass wedding!

And finally...

Women, on Valentine's Day - they let themselves be bought. Women get too many jollies out of requesting stuff from their husbands, fiancees, boyfriends, just because it's the national day of love. What separates you from being glorified hookers ladies? "If you love me...you'll buy me that necklace for Valentine's Day." Translation: "If you want sex tonite...hand over the bling."

My advice for the day is this: hit it all you want but use a condom and instead of spending money on chocolates, which are just gonna go to your girl's thighs anyway, why don't you spend some compassionate dollars on the relief effort in Asia, after the Tsunami. Help for those in need...now that's love.