where's my peeps?
Me and Garofalo, baby! Guess what we have in common. And its not that we both wear black a lot, like dogs, are cynical optimists, hang out down on Larchmont, and hate ourselves. Nope.
Were both bowlers.
Well, I dont know if shes actually a real bowler, but she plays one on TV. (OK, on the big screen.)
Yesterday as I said, my group (17 people, give or take) went bowling to celebrate our boss, Lisa, leaving. Ever since she announced her resignation a week ago, shes been like walking on sunshine. Its a totally different person. Shes freed herself from this massive albatross and I am a little jealous. Then I realized that she is experiencing freedom from the massive pressure of being in a powerful position in one of the few divisions in the Evil Company that is losing money. (Evil Company doesnt do "losing money".) I, on the other hand, have no pressure whatsoever, so quitting would make me happy for about 3 hours and then Id say, "Oh. Uh OK, well, that was stupid".
So we left work early and went to a nearby bowling alley. I used to be on a bowling team, like, years ago and have since bowled about the same amount as most of you: maybe 2 times a year, if that much. I really had no concept of how Id do and expected out of 17 total losers there must be at least one or two who spend some of their empty life trying to find the satisfaction they dont get from their spouses, jobs, or their quilting or whatever, out of knocking down pins with a heavy ball. (Disclaimer: Im just kidding. Theyre not all total losers.) But apparently they did not. A few of them scored over a hundred. A few scored in the sixties. Me: 172. Did I get satisfaction from beating them? About as much satisfaction as I find in being thought of as doing well in a job that a semi-intelligent hamster could do. The satisfaction was just about me and the pins, baby. Not whipping my co-workers.
Meanwhile I realized whats been bugging me lately why Ive been kind of mopey: Im lonely. I went shopping last night and while in line at Trader Joes with a cart full of limes, black beans, handsoap, and vodka, I saw Rachel, a former co-board member from our old theatre company, walk into the store. And I left line and ran over and hugged her. She looked so smiley and fantastic and I found myself really glad to see her. And then I realized that I dont even like her that much (shes cool and all but we were never close). Said theatre company used to take up much of my time and I was constantly surrounded by people working with them, fighting with them, building sets with them. We closed shop a year ago, but then I got the same sort of family in my comedy group, Film Pigs. Well, were on an extended hiatus as of mid-June and hence, aside from my aforementioned mostly dull co-workers, I dont have much of a group anymore. A group of artists. And I desperately miss that. And even more, most of my friends are plugging away at their own thing and when you fit jobs and lovers into the equation, there really isnt that much time and/or opportunity for us to see each other. Hence, I be a lonely cat.
Elsewhere my two weekend nights are going to be spent not remedying the above situation, but nose to the grindstone in the editing suite. It starts tonight at 8 when I head down to the Sony lot to record some voice-overs, and then continues at the editing house at 10pm. (Like a high-school party. 10:00 to ???) Same tomorrow. There is a party tomorrow night for one of my fringe friends Jen, so I think it would be good for my mental health to make a concerted effort to get out there and be social...
...and theres also the drinking. Drinking helps.
This is where I let Larry King take over my body for a few minutes.Last night M. and I were watching a Discovery channel show on the Venice, CA police department. These two female cops were tracking a murderer (the murderer was a homeless woman) and these cops offered to make a deal with another homeless woman to rat out where the murderer was hiding. What they offered: six 40s of malt liquor. Fucking awesome. (She didnt accept.) I have an audition for Twelfth Night tomorrow and the reason Im going and the reason Im dreading it are the same: Im a bit scared of Shakespeare
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