Why, I'm in show business!
So I'm going to try writing a post that doesn't paint myself as being self-centred and narcissistic. Haha. That's not going to happen. I am both. You wouldn't guess it, but I'm actually really shy (at first) and terrified of speaking before large groups. Must rethink plans to become a professor.
In LA, nearly everyone is part of The Industry. After all, isn't that why they're out here? (That, or because LA has the most perfect weather of anywhere 90% of the time.) Fuckwit used to tell people he was an actor to get strangers to stop talking to him, because well - aspiring actors are a dime a dozen here. Anyone with a pretty face is trying to make it in that nasty world of show business. Or they're trying to get in behind-the-scenes, as a screenwriter, an assistant to the assistant of a producer, a mail room clerk, a floater in an agency..
It's a nasty business, and utterly cutthroat. Of all the career choices I considered, getting involved in The Industry never even crossed my mind - probably because you have to slave away and kiss some major ass for years without getting paid much before you've "made it." As can be guessed, I'm none too good at pandering to other's needs, especially if I don't benefit from it in any way.
But it's fun - sometimes - to hang out with people in The Industry. They do do cool things and more often than not have some very interesting stories. Or they make for interesting stories. Back when I used to keep in touch with a girl from college who worked as an assistant at one of the larger talent agencies, I'd go to parties with her when I was in town. It was always interesting when, after about an hour of being at a party, it would suddenly double in size because the people in the back room doing coke were done snorting their lines.
It's also fun when you're at these parties and everyone just assumes that you're part of The Industry in some way. Such was the case at Comedy Guy's party Friday night. (Thankfully, the drug of choice there was good ol' alcohol, instead of anything more illicit. I'm no prude, but it's just odd when you know that there's some line-snorting going on next door.) Conversations - when the Fortress of Four (explained below) was penetrated - went something like this:
Oh, the Fortress of Four consisted of Scarlett, my friend Katie (who was mightily irked that the only reason she was invited to this party was through me, so she'd proclaim to anyone who'd listen that she lived in Comedy Guy's entryway freshman year. You snooze - or in her case, you're a massive studier with a chip on your shoulder who doesn't know what fun is unless you're bashed over the head with it - you lose. She's more fun now. College wasn't a good time for her) another friend and me. We stood in the corner and made fun of people. Hey, you wear an ugly micro-pleated skirt with even uglier brown suede stiletto clog mules (yes, that's what they were), you are going to be made fun of. Indeed, we were those girls who come to parties and drink and socialise with only each other - which I realise we can do without being at a party, but then who would we make fun of? We were an impregnable fortress, for the most part.
I think the most fun of the night was had when we decided to find Scarlett the love of her life at this party because, well, I told her that he was going to be there. I just know these things. So we picked out the most decent-looking guy (rather damn hard, this was not a pretty party with wannabe actors; there's a reason behind-the-scenes people are behind-the-scenes), who also happened to be the only guy wearing a tie and slacks and wildly out of place in the land of vintage shirts and jeans and therefore a much easier target. And then we got Comedy Guy to try to figure out what his deal was (even though he did not know him), and to tell Blue-tie Guy (which is henceforth how I will be referring to him) that it would be preferable if he could speak with an Australian or any British accent. Unfortunately, Blue-tie Guy did not have a foreign accent, but it was rather amusing how Comedy Guy dragged him inside, mid-cigar smoking and all, deposited him before the Fortress of Four and promptly abandoned him, leaving him in front of four mouthy girls who then proceeded to barrage him with questions, the poor guy. It was like the Spanish Inquisition. I have to say, he held his own and more. In retrospect, he was very dodgy with his answers too. I think all we got out of him is that he's 33, lives in North Hollywood, drinks rye, had chicken for dinner that night and came to the party with a friend. That's it! (Or that's all I can remember.) He never even divulged as to what he did or as to why he was so dressed up, and I know we peppered him with many a question regarding those two fronts. He's a clever and sneaky one!
To be continued, perhaps, at some later date.
In LA, nearly everyone is part of The Industry. After all, isn't that why they're out here? (That, or because LA has the most perfect weather of anywhere 90% of the time.) Fuckwit used to tell people he was an actor to get strangers to stop talking to him, because well - aspiring actors are a dime a dozen here. Anyone with a pretty face is trying to make it in that nasty world of show business. Or they're trying to get in behind-the-scenes, as a screenwriter, an assistant to the assistant of a producer, a mail room clerk, a floater in an agency..
It's a nasty business, and utterly cutthroat. Of all the career choices I considered, getting involved in The Industry never even crossed my mind - probably because you have to slave away and kiss some major ass for years without getting paid much before you've "made it." As can be guessed, I'm none too good at pandering to other's needs, especially if I don't benefit from it in any way.
But it's fun - sometimes - to hang out with people in The Industry. They do do cool things and more often than not have some very interesting stories. Or they make for interesting stories. Back when I used to keep in touch with a girl from college who worked as an assistant at one of the larger talent agencies, I'd go to parties with her when I was in town. It was always interesting when, after about an hour of being at a party, it would suddenly double in size because the people in the back room doing coke were done snorting their lines.
It's also fun when you're at these parties and everyone just assumes that you're part of The Industry in some way. Such was the case at Comedy Guy's party Friday night. (Thankfully, the drug of choice there was good ol' alcohol, instead of anything more illicit. I'm no prude, but it's just odd when you know that there's some line-snorting going on next door.) Conversations - when the Fortress of Four (explained below) was penetrated - went something like this:
Me:And so, what are you doing out here?Repeat ad infinitum. It is also really damn hard (especially when drunk) to explain what a Master's in Education is, especially to someone no longer in academia. "So you're going to be a teacher?" they inevitably ask. NO!!! That's an MAT (Master's in the Art of Teaching? I think..) I will be studying what education is.. which I realise sounds awfully lofty and abstract.
Person in Industry: I'm [an assistant at an agency/an assistant sound technician/a writer/a professional brown-noser/an actor on Punk'd/etcetcetc]. What do you do?
Me: I'm doing research for the summer..
PiI: Oh, how refreshing! It's always nice to talk to someone who isn't in The Industry!
Oh, the Fortress of Four consisted of Scarlett, my friend Katie (who was mightily irked that the only reason she was invited to this party was through me, so she'd proclaim to anyone who'd listen that she lived in Comedy Guy's entryway freshman year. You snooze - or in her case, you're a massive studier with a chip on your shoulder who doesn't know what fun is unless you're bashed over the head with it - you lose. She's more fun now. College wasn't a good time for her) another friend and me. We stood in the corner and made fun of people. Hey, you wear an ugly micro-pleated skirt with even uglier brown suede stiletto clog mules (yes, that's what they were), you are going to be made fun of. Indeed, we were those girls who come to parties and drink and socialise with only each other - which I realise we can do without being at a party, but then who would we make fun of? We were an impregnable fortress, for the most part.
I think the most fun of the night was had when we decided to find Scarlett the love of her life at this party because, well, I told her that he was going to be there. I just know these things. So we picked out the most decent-looking guy (rather damn hard, this was not a pretty party with wannabe actors; there's a reason behind-the-scenes people are behind-the-scenes), who also happened to be the only guy wearing a tie and slacks and wildly out of place in the land of vintage shirts and jeans and therefore a much easier target. And then we got Comedy Guy to try to figure out what his deal was (even though he did not know him), and to tell Blue-tie Guy (which is henceforth how I will be referring to him) that it would be preferable if he could speak with an Australian or any British accent. Unfortunately, Blue-tie Guy did not have a foreign accent, but it was rather amusing how Comedy Guy dragged him inside, mid-cigar smoking and all, deposited him before the Fortress of Four and promptly abandoned him, leaving him in front of four mouthy girls who then proceeded to barrage him with questions, the poor guy. It was like the Spanish Inquisition. I have to say, he held his own and more. In retrospect, he was very dodgy with his answers too. I think all we got out of him is that he's 33, lives in North Hollywood, drinks rye, had chicken for dinner that night and came to the party with a friend. That's it! (Or that's all I can remember.) He never even divulged as to what he did or as to why he was so dressed up, and I know we peppered him with many a question regarding those two fronts. He's a clever and sneaky one!
To be continued, perhaps, at some later date.
posted at 10:32
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