Monday, March 06, 2006

Selling Out to The Man?

When I was in college, we had this joke with our friend Garrick Pass about putting on a pair of Dockers and selling out the The Man. This is how we talked about leaving the arts and getting a "real job." At the time, it was meant as a diss.

A couple of my friends aren't as active in the arts as I am right now. They probably wear khakis and either work for The Man or are The Man. They drive nice cars with full-coverage insurance. Their bills are paid. They work all week and can afford to recreate on the weekend. While they're not rollling around in the artistic world with their bellies exposed, they are making a respectable living and raising families. I have nothing but respect for these guys.

Sure, I wear khakis and work for The Man (he's a nice guy). I make some money, but I spend a lot of my time working on the art part. Yeah, I'm living the dream (sort of) and do something every week to build my career. Sure, I live in Los Angeles and go on lots of auditions. But I'm always behind on some bill or another. We're a one-car household. I work during the week and on weekends, then I use the time I'm off to go to classes or do submissions or go to auditions. For fun, I usually clean my house or rent a dvd, maybe shoot a puppet video. While I am rolling around in the artistic world, my belly is exposed and I always run into a significant lack of time and/or money.

It's funny how the grass tends to be greener on the other side, isn't it? We all choose what game we want to play, and that game has certain freedoms and barriers. Their games include Dockers and The Man and weekend mini-vacations. My game includes The Man and being labeled too fat/too thin/too young/too old and meeting a new person at every audition and doing plays and scraping under the couch cushions for gas money. I guess that's what makes it a game. If it was all sunshine and pancakes, we'd all get really bored really fast.

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