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11/03/2005: "“Just Blogging Along” by Scott Allen Rinker"

So faithful readers, what do you want to hear about tonight? What fascinating topic can I ruminate upon for your delight and edification? How about this one: “What happens once you’ve shot the film, and it’s in the festival holding pattern? What do you do in the meantime?”

Well, and I can only speak for myself here, pretty much a lot of nothing. You look for the next gig. Read a lot of books on loan from the public library. Audition, when you can, and lament the times you don’t. And you wait. Then one day, you call up your old boss at whatever survival job you last held and ask if they could still use you.

I know what you’re thinking, “How glamorous! How exciting! How great it would be to not need an alarm clock!”

My answer is, “Yeah, it is nice, until you choked down your 48th packet of Top Ramen mixed with Tuna (for protein) and swilled about 600 gallons of Kool-Aid because that’s all you can afford. When you look in your cupboard and think, “man, remember how great hamburgers used to be?” The day you discover yourself longing for Brussels sprouts (or any vegetable of its ilk) is the day you really begin to understand the life of an actor.

Now you may be thinking, “Hey, this blog is a real downer. What happened to the peppy, upbeat, witty crap you used to write?”

And to that I guess I have to say, “OK, you’re right, I’m making all that stuff up.” See I didn’t want you to feel bad about having to go to your dead end job at Video Hut, punch your time card after 8 hours, bitch about the fact that the copy of “Hooters Girls Gone Wild” you’d set aside for yourself got swiped by the guy who clocked out an hour before you and think that no one had it worse than you. I was trying to do you a favor.

Truth be told, I’m sitting on my back patio next to my Olympic sized swimming pool, staring out at my country club sized estate and pondering whether to

1.) snort another line of coke off the naked ass of the nubile 18 year old chick sunbathing next to me OR
2.) to call my personal pilot to have the jet prepped and ready to go ‘cause suddenly I wanna have sex with six Swedish stewardess at 30,00 feet.

God’s honest truth, some days I gotta pinch whatever bimbette is blowing me just to make sure this is real. Life is really sweet.

Now tell me, which “truth” woulda made you feel better about your day? Thought so.

Later.