August 2006 - petrostudio LLC
So, our girl did not win an Emmy. Although, they don’t call it “winning” anymore, because everyone in Hollywood (as in preschool, apparently) has such low self-esteem that they can’t handle “losing.” Instead, I suppose, they just don’t receive the Emmy and someone else does. Don’t say win or lose. And certainly don’t follow that with “draw.” That brings up way too many painful New Year’s Eve party memories.
By the way, can you say MILF? I think the Academy just fears a woman who’s this pregnant and yet still this hot.
To be fair, I’ve never seen “The Amazing Race” and, frankly, don’t want to. Let me ask you this – what’s the point of a “race” when you have to stop, wait for the other competitors, and then perform some arcane, constructed set-piece? Doesn’t that negate the whole point of a “race?” Or maybe I’m just a moron.
OK, I told you that story to tell you this one. I watched most of the Emmys (just why the hell I did that, I have no idea) and, more than any other time watching one of these celebrity-fests, it struck me: what a perfect image of posh, elite America. And the paradox is that most of Hollywood and its artist caste are considered to be Liberal. I know there is a liberal elite (at least I’m told it in the press, and I believe everything I am told like a good little Nazi) but the point is that the views that most “liberals” hold dear are only supported in the annals of power that is Hollywood. And let’s not even get into which party people SHOULD be voting for anyway, based on who is really representing their best interests (read this book, everyone.) I’m merely looking at who we associate with, politically.
Here’s the gist of it all – nearly everyone we look up to, nearly everyone that we hold up as “role models” for our political and moral viewpoints, who “speak our language” and “understand our problems,” are, most likely, nothing like us. They dwell in far-off places, globally or metaphysically, work in comfortable, though perhaps stressful, jobs, and live in a world that many, if not most of us, will never know.
It’s evident right on the screen, no matter what the event: the red carpet, the endless talk about what she’s wearing, how his hair looks, the fraudulent tone of the presentations and, finally, the after-parties. These parties make MTV’s Sweet 16 show look like a hooker convention in Trenton.
Here’s my point, dude, here’s my fucking point. There’s no reason, there’s no fucking reason why the hell we look up to any of these people – liberal, conservative, right-wing, left-wing, celebrity or political figure – when they can’t relate in the least to what our individual plights are. Why do we love to watch elitist, soulless television and movies, or listen to empty political pandering? We know its all lies, so why don’t we speak up?
Because its escapism. We escape our lives, and live in the nether world that is nothing… for a short time. We forget our troubles until they come thundering down the superhighway to knock us right back off our feet and back to work, where we do what? Talk to others about the shows we watched, the movies we saw, the news reports that we assimilated the night before. We don’t MAKE our own entertainment anymore – we watch it.
So I suggest that we do what I had to do as a kid – come home, do our homework and chores, eat dinner, and then go the fuck outside and play. Parents were right – television will rot your brain. And just as with Diet Coke, the damage to your memories can be permanent.
All that to say – please, America, think about stuff for a change. Think about people, and places, and things outside of your little corner of the world. And learn to see things like the news, the awards shows, the press conferences, the pundits, etc. for exactly what they really are: theater.
All the world’s a stage, a wise man once said. Direct yourselves, for once.
By the way, there are two movie quotes in this entry. Find them for a lolipop.
It’s a curious life that some of us live. Those of you that share this life with me, you know what I mean. Early mornings, late nights, no weekends, postponed showers, quick meals – the bliss and challenge of being a freelancer.
Though, most of us choose to say that we own our own businesses, which we do. But it sounds better. But I also think that there’s a distinction for those of us that work offsite, rather than onsite. Onsite is freelance, offsite is a business. Just because the business involves one person doesn’t mean you’re a (dread music) “freelancer,” right?
Wrong. You’re a freelancer, too. I’d be willing to say that if you don’t work for someone else, you are a freelancer. There are pros and cons. For those of you thinking of going off on your own, in any field, and becoming a freelancer, here are the top 5 pros and cons, surveyed from a group of 543,645 freelancers. (Note: there is a +/- error of 543,644 on this survey.) And the desert island, top five… are:
1. You make your own hours.
2. You are your own boss.
3. Your work days are based on your schedule.
4. Your level of success is based on your level of commitment.
5. You can spend more time at home with your family.
1. You’ll need to “make” hours, because there are not enough in your life.
2. You are just as shitty of a boss as your old one.
3. It’s amazing how much you really can’t fit into your schedule.
4. Health insurance is not free, no matter how committed you are.
5. The last thing you want to do at night after being in the house all day is be in the house all night.
What’s worse is, sometimes you, as boss, have to kick yourself, as employees, in the ass. And that sucks, because you just don’t want to do anything – sometimes. There are days when you just want to sit around in your drawers watching reruns of M*A*S*H (I have seasons 1-5 on DVD, so that doesn’t help) all frickin’ day, eating slices of fresh mozzarella right off the ball.
But I digress. The trouble is, you are everyone. And as much as you piss off you sometimes, you’re all the employees you’ve got. I need these guys, even when they fuck off. I can’t fire them. I hired these guys for three days a week and they just started showing up every day. That was four years ago.
I think I need to make a mix tape.
So, moron that I am, I didn’t realize that I had “moderate comments” selected in my settings, so I had no idea that people were actually reading AND commenting on this blog. Jeez, I’m dumb. So I just wanted to say to all of you:
I love you. You’re my girlfriend(s).
I was kicking myself for several weeks trying to come up with something new and witty to write here. I honestly want to get this thing to a place where I am updating this almost daily and providing more that just rants and raves. I just can’t seem to figure out that million dollar idea. You know the one, where you suddenly stop mid-walk/dump/sentence and profess, “I’ve got a great idea,” at which time you enumerate the great talking points of your idea to whoever happens to be the unlucky sod(s) that are near you? You know that idea? I wish I had one.
Incidentally, if anyone has a spare, please email it to me.
There is actually quite a lot to write about happening in the world at this time, to be fair. What with the (new) war in the Middle East, to the elections in the US (we should just change the party names, that’ll make it clearer to voters who is actually on their side) to a plethora of poignant and hopefully beautiful films on the horizon (SoaP not being one of them, Marys,) there is no end, seemingly, of important subjects to conquer. And I’m not going to turn this into another rant about the culture of celebrity. If you want to get my opinions on that shit, just read my previous posts. That’s all I have to say about that.
So it seems that I have a veritable boatload (or buttload, your pick) of subjects to chat about. So I’m going to pick one that with really seem like it comes completely out of my ass. I’m talking about a piece of television pseudo-drama called reality TV that I have (I must admit) been drawn to inexplicably. Well, it’s partially explicable, if you will, consider the host is hot. Über hot. So hot, she’s German.
I’m talking Project Runway.
Slap my jaw if this isn’t a great show. I mean, I could cut out the useless reality TV histrionics with the camera moves and the OVER. EMPHASIZED. EXPLANATIONS. I mean, I’ve been watching the show, I get the format. Honestly, you have to be living under a rock to not know the catchphrases for these damn things. We know that one of them will be out, Heidi. Just Auf Wiedersehen their ass and move on. Then come back. Then walk away again. I need Tivo.
There was a TIME article on the subject that really sums it up for me. Aside from the great drama (who doesn’t like to see queens and mother hens screech at each other for minutes at a time?) and the interesting challenges, these people all know how to DO SOMETHING. They are all talented. This isn’t a show about how pretty the contestants are, whether they can jump from one moving steamshovel to another, eat a sheep’s ovary or out-diva the next bitch into TV history. This is about real, talented folks from all walks of life (and all stages of ugly/pretty) that actually know how to do what the point of the show is: make great clothes.
Best of all, those of you that are watching, you know that the guy that is on top right now is the LAST guy you’d expect to be ahead in a women’s fashion design competition. I love it.
So there. I’ve exposed myself (again) to ridicule and scorn. I’m used to it. But I think that more people might actually read this now. Of course, the key is to attract more readers than you piss off, I guess.
Ah, celebrity! Here I come.
(Incidentally, there’s another movie quote (besides the title) in this post. Find it.)