Checked my bank account this past week. I don't have enough money to stay in New York, but I also don't have enough to leave. I'm not sure what happens next. I think this is the part of the movie where show biz calls me up and everything works out. Right?
I've been looking for work but my resume is filled with large, gaping holes. And that's always the first question.
"Can you explain the gaps in your resume?"
"Yeah, those are times in my life when I had faith that my dreams would work out, and I wouldn't be in a position where I'd be begging for 8 dollars an hour again. Do you feel better about yourself? Are there any other existential scabs of mine you'd like to pick at? Are you really going to make me feel like a pile of shit because I don't know what Quickbooks is? Are you and your minimum-wage charisma really going to sit across from me and judge me? Who are you, you shitheel fuck? ... By the way, I have open availability if that helps."
I imagine those people going home and being asked by their significant other, "how was work?"
"Oh it was great," they say. "I ruined 9 people today. Reducing everyone to the lowest common denominator really relieves me of the responsibility of trying to be a better, understanding person!"
A while back, I was doing shows at clubs and when I'd get there, I'd find out that a creditor had called looking for me. I figured they were looking at my schedule to figure out where I was performing next so they could get the drop on me. It was kind of amusing. I thought to myself that I'd have to start promoting my gigs like Harriet Tubman - on the down low. She was famous, and really, no one should have ever known who she was.
So, creditors, if you read this, I'm not ducking you. I don't have money to give you. And yes, I feel bad about that. But you can go fuck yourself if you're going to rub my nose in the shit areas of my life. I'm a human being - not a commodity. Plus, I feel like I ever had enough money to pay off my student load debt, I wouldn't have to. So fuck off, and I hope you or your wives shit out cluster after cluster of Harlequin babies who choke to death on the vomit you hurl into their face when you gaze upon them with your spiteful eyes. I hope the ghosts of your babies haunt your dreams until the end of time. And, if I can ever get steady work, we can work out a payment plan. Deal? Deal.
Well, that's life. City life? Who knows. I'm not really sure what it means to live in NY yet. I'd like to stay long enough to be at peace with whether or not I stay permanently. Any place I end up, really, I'd like to go there on my own terms. I feel like that's the point of life - to have a sense that whatever is ahead of you is worth it and is the product of the efforts you have made to put yourself in a better position.
And, I suppose that's it for now...
I spend so much time trying to write things that I believe in -- things that have meaning. And by the time I work them out on stage and get them memorized and ordered, they've lost all meaning.
Check out this clip - several friends from Austin TX involved in this one.
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