And you wonder why Diogenes lived in a cave.....

Authors note:  I wrote this at a very low point this morning; and was instantly reminded of a quote from Ben Franklin:  "He who lives on hopes, dies....farting."

I hope to feel less.  Soon.

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In the early morning hours today, the television news agencies began a looping report of an innocent soldier, murdered on the streets of Woolwich.

They quickly escalated their reporting by playing (more than once an hour) snippets of one one of the murdering bastards giving an interview to a witness, who recorded it all on his phone.

His hands were wet with the blood of his victim.

He still held the instruments in his hand.

And he spouted vituperative horseshit thinly disguised as regular horseshit.

The police showed up, and shot the murdering bastards in the legs.  They have since arrested two more people for the crime.

I think they should shoot them in the legs, as well.

The truly annoying part was that these purveyors of sensationalistic news, these morning news jockeys, had the nerve to look astonished that the witnesses seemed unaffected by the murder.  One women simply strolled nonchalantly past the murdering bastard as he spouted his aforementioned horseshit.

Strolled by.

Astonished?

Not me.

When you're inundated with this stuff 24/7, on the television, in the papers.....when it's brought to you in living color into your living rooms and such.....how can you NOT be desensitized?

And that, my friends, is the truly frightening part.

'Cuz some other murdering bastard is lookin' at this and thinking.......

"Cool."

Good faith gifts and the reactions they elicit....

I'm a snob.

I suppose that's not easy to admit; but it's certainly true and I'll own it....because you have to go through life down your own road.

So.  I'm a snob.

I recently received a good natured gift from a friend.  A coffee mug, which is one of the strange things that wind up collected.  I have a few dozen of them in various places of the house; some in the kitchen for practical use, and a few on a top shelf in my office to serve as decor.....the rare, retired ones.

I thought about creating a whole "retirement ceremony" for the coffee mugs; a ceremonial last cup, followed by the hand washing while a dirge like version of the Folgers jingle played on a single bugle.

But I digress.

The mug was a simple white one, and I believe that this person did actually go to pains to procure it...it looked liked something purchased from CafePress or some similar place.  Functional, to be sure.

I objected to the slogan on the side.....

"I'm not crazy.  I'm an actor."

God, do I HATE that.

First of all, yes, I get it.  From the outside, it would seem that the career choice is one based entirely on a fractured mental state:  hard work, little pay, no hope for long term success.  Even writing it down seems crazy.  And I did it for a long time.

But I'm not crazy.  I've never truly been crazy.  And if anything, the vocation actually contributed more to my sanity than it did steal it.

Yes, I have my peeves about actors.  I despise actors that treat the rehearsal process cavalierly, like it was some kind of inconvenience prior to getting in front of an audience.  I despise actors that do not give proper respect to the text, as if their words are better, somehow, than the ones created by the Wright.  I despise actors that spontaneously break into unbidden or unwanted song at dinner, or on the street and justify this behavior by stating, "It's okay, I'm an actor."

Seriously....my Father never broke into spontaneous Engineering in public.

It smacks of the need for attention, and although I acknowledge the need for attention is one of the reasons people do what they do......there is a place for grabbing attention, and in the line at McDonalds while waiting for your McChicken isn't it.

Being involved in a creative, performance-based PROFESSION is not an excuse to act like an a**h**e.

I'm not crazy.  I AM an actor.  Even when I'm NOT acting.  It's what I do, it's ingrained in my soul.
And I wear my adornments upon my soul, and not like a peacock.

I thanked the giver for the gift.  It was personal; it was thoughtful; and it was nice.  And I will put it in a place of honor on the top shelf in my office, among the retired mugs.

But I'm not crazy.  My Mother had me tested.

The younger me would just never stop slapping me.

I'm reminded of something that the current Chairman of the Department of Fine Arts at Culver-Stockton College said, back when he and I were basically both back in Graduate School....

We were working the Summer Music Theatre at the WIU, and the days usually started around 8 AM and ended sometime just before 8 AM.  Three shows, one after another, in two months.  Doing the tech in the morning, rehearsing in the afternoon, and performing in the evening.

Long days.

So, a bunch of us are sitting in the lobby of the building, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes (you could still do that in buildings back then) and looking generally hang-dog.  We worked hard, and played hard.

The current Chairman rolls up, looking like a half eaten pot pie, and in one phrase, sums up the entire experience...

To wit: "Mom told me there would be days like this.....but I thought the b**ch was lying."

And then when we all composed ourselves, we dumped the coffee and flattened the cigs and went to work.

Hard work must've killed somebody....but not that summer.

The itch has begun in earnest; that thing that comes every spring around this time....when in my youth I would be preparing for the summer season.  Things and feelings I took for granted.  People.

The world was full of really great sunrises. 

There's nothing with which to scratch that itch, in this place and time.  There are THINGS to do, mind you, but there comes a time when the desire to do SOMETHING becomes less important than the desire to ENJOY the experience.  And I'm tired of playing down to a level.  Tired of being the pace horse.

So.....as of right now, if I'm going to do anything, I'm going to have to do it myself.

And I am having a series of days, my friends, where the echo of the words of the current Chairman of the Department of Fine Arts at Culver-Stockton College rings in my head.

Mom told me there would be days like this......

She did NOT say that there would be an entire series of them.

I'm waiting for the revival that comes with the sleep of the just, and the calm of the righteous.

I fear I will be waiting for quite.  Some.  Time.

Compass points.

"We've decided to go in another direction."

Which, as you well know, means that the "direction" is away from you.

But most of my life has been about rejection, so I am......accepting of it.

And yet, not.

I remember the world of academia, and the path to tenure.  Most people worked hard for tenure; played all the games, put the best foot and the best face forward, and got through the process of application in order to accept the burden of the academic Teflon coating.

But if you didn't get tenured, you only had one choice, and that was to exit.  Usually under the cover of nightfall...leaving no trace behind.  The higher education version of falling on your sword.

Yeah.

F**k that.

I'm going to go in a different direction, as well.

I'm tired of being used.  I'm tired of being called an asset, and being blocked from any upward movement.  I'm tired of being wooed and dismissed.

And I'm tired of pretending I'm not pissed beyond the definition of the word.

You hurt my pride, and dismissed my abilities.

Don't ask me for any favors.

Oh, Lord....we're giving awards for rank stupidity now.......

Yesterday, while watching a national news network, I observed a story about a man who spent his "life savings" at a carnival, trying to win an X-Box. 

Instead, he won a stuffed banana with dreadlocks.

And apparently, he paid almost $3000 for it.

At a CARNIVAL.

Of course, I think I've mentioned the story about the Northern State weekend anchor person who, on his first night of broadcasting, used several profanities as the camera was firing up.

On his FIRST BROADCAST.

You would figure that in the course of getting a college degree in broadcast journalism, the first lesson would be, "Don't use profanities when you're MIKED UP."

Of course, he didn't get a second broadcast.  He was fired before the camera went dark on that fateful Sunday night.

Of course, this fellow was given national attention; with his moments of glory on TODAY, LETTERMAN, mentioned on CNN, FOX and all sorts of LATE SHOWS...and interviewed by the ghastly Kelly and Michael.  And further rewarded with a red carpet gig at some such award show.

And the banana winner has people opening Indegogo accounts to get him his money back.

My question:

WHY ARE WE REWARDING THESE PEOPLE FOR ASSHATTERY?