I’ve never disowned my mother, my keeper, my employer.
I work in the “entertainment” industry.
I must put that in quotation marks because really, as we all know, this is a very Special industry. Nothing approaches the romantic bullshit nature of show biz. Los Angeles was built on this tissue castle of egomania and emotional whoredom. Los Angeles is as flimsy as any foundation you can ever attribute to that based on the most shallow aspect of human nature and intervention. In other words, Hollywood, ie, show biz, is a big steaming pile of shit, and it’s populated by even bigger piles of living self-important steaming shit.
I wonder how someone such as I ever came to land in such a despicable playland. Me, of all people, working in the Industry. Ha!
Such sweeter irony could never be penned in a novel.
Perhaps this is why I have evolved as I have.
Perhaps spending my working life among the shady inhabitants of the Industry has inclined me toward an utmost distrust of their way of life and value system. Perhaps I’m really saying that I’m sick of my co-workers.
But I’m not. My immediate co-workers are great people, or at the very least, somewhat tolerable. It’s the management and ruling class who incite nausea and disgust.
In fact, tonight I was checking out some photos on my company’s Facebook page and a whole bunch of shots, an “album” of sorts, were posted of an event in which our corporate dignitaries visited another show biz corporation and schmoozed with its dignitaries.
Hollywood is all dignitary bullshit. Smiling faces, pretty faces, fake faces, it’s really a lot like life, but it’s magnified tremendously in Hollywood, because in real life, there is room for the lower level undesirables to shine. In real life, you can get by with that freaky aloof genuflection, but in Hollywood dignitary circles, there is no fucking room for this behavior!!
You will be quashed and excised and never be allowed to return.
Earlier I was looking at a photo in which one of our young dashing dignitaries was arm-in-arm with a dignitary of our Studio customer. The studio dignitary was an old fucking sickening fart. How I wish I could post his photo here. But I value my job just enough that I won’t. But maybe I will one day!
The guy is about 80. He’s got a uniform plate of enameled teeth that look chillingly like…teeth. Teeth should never look like teeth. And his were small and puny, like his soul, which seemed to peer out hesitantly from that swashbuckling gray suit that looks as if it’s hanging on a store rack, not a skeletal old frame with an old Jew nose. Combed back silver hair, the dish of privilege. This drawn piece of geriatric shit has more money than I can make in 20 lifetimes. And he can probably get more girlfriends in one night that I can ever have.
This is Hollywood.
The land of old and aging men who parked their souls at the front door while they cleared way for the schmoozing behind the velvet ropes.
God I hate this town with a passion.
But I sorta like my job.