I just really felt sorry for Steve Buscemi's character. This is a kind of spoiler conversation, so you might want to skip a bit. I didn't like his girlfriend at all, so I thought it was great when he broke up with her. But I don't like that after he slept with Thora Birch's character that she blew him off for a while. I understand why she did, but I didn't like it. Then I really felt badly for him in the end when he was going to therapy and his Mother was waiting for him. Not nice, poor guy.
I also thought it was really awful that they censored her Coon Chicken poster and she failed her class and lost her scholarship. I just feel depressed, maybe because I relate too much.
My hands are really hurting. I'm listening to Art Bell. I have to go deal with money issues with my Mother and I'm dreading it. At least my new dog is getting along with the other dogs. Oh great how perfect, a Forest Lawn advertisement on the radio, weeee.
On our way home from the movie we could see that a film crew was setting up in Westwood. There were the usual film cops and PA's. Lots of frumpy dorky jerks acting self important. Normally I wouldn't be so judgemental, pissy, and resentful, it's just that I'm not working, and I watched this series of mini movie things on this Diet Coke site today about a PA gal struggling to be accepted in her shit job, and then as I was leaving tonight, I stopped and asked this guy what they were filming, and without even giving me a second thought he just said, "Just move along," in this totally rude dismissive tone, and it made me really angry. Of course I had to say Fuck You to the guy, like that would really solve anything, but it made me feel better.
I'm just so tired of living as a slave to this dream, and being stuck here in this town with the tease of it all around me all the time. I feel too old to take a PA job, and I sort of feel like I've been there done that. I used to have two dozen interns work under me at my cable production job. Plus I don't have the stamina to be a food and coffee slave to a bunch of farting bastards who think they're better than everyone else. My therapist was telling me I'm not too fat to act, but I've definitely been feeling that way. My Mother just told me she's going to call Betty Ford and ask them if they do anything for compulsive eater/spenders. Maybe I should just work up a comedy routine based on my life. I have a very unfinished play about my Mother I've been working on, and loads of ideas for documentaries, including the one I'm planning to shoot somehow at Burning Man. Yep that's it, I have to create and market my own work, stop waiting for someone else to come along and discover me. I have to say though, and it certainly isn't Zen of me, but I would really find satisfaction in going back to Westwood, tracking that oafish nobody down, and telling him what I think, in detail, about his shitty attitude. Then I would twist off his unimportant little head. Dick.
At least I can listen to Art Bell and worry about the face on Mars, aliens, ghosts, and government conspiracies.
Hey Sera guess who I was in a past life?
You were Melissa Auf Der Maur in a past life. You're highly artistic and enjoy expressing yourself in a variety of mediums. You're extremely fashion-savvy and take pride in your appearance, seeing fashion as yet another form of self expression and have developed a distinctive style of your own.