Pensive Peyote #5

He didn't look like a genius, he looked more like the same nameless face I pass on the street every single day. You know the type…the dark, perfectly gelled hair and overly tanned skin. The “I want to be so Prada, but I’m not even close” reputation, and the perfectly positioned aviator sunglasses with their platinum plated frames. Ugh, I hate this city more and more every day. Not only is there a toxic feeling to the mere utterance of the phrase “L.A.” there’s also the Hollywood sleazes that tend to interrupt my nice little cynical day.

Somehow at the age of 27 I ended up in the hell of hells. Commonly referred to as “hell-A” by those of us who recognize the place for what it is, I was sent here by an easily excitable mother who believed that my full-ride theater scholarship to some nameless east coast liberal arts school meant that I was ready for the big time.

“Why spend money to supposedly develop the talent when you already have enough for their recognition?”

Great reasoning. So good in fact that aside from an appearance as an extra on a few soap operas, I have managed to create an artform out of responding to audition calls. I thought that acting was supposed to be my artform, but apparently I’m more of the auditioning kind of artistic genius. Oh, and the appearing as a fucking extra on only the worst television genre on the planet kind of artistic genius. That too.

Whatever. I have talent and I know it. That’s all that really matters. I’m pretty sure that Jodie Foster and Julia Roberts weren’t judged for the lame gigs they did in the beginning in order to get by. For some reason the most wretched city in the world is also one of the most expensive to live in. It must be the Hollywood “experience” that drives the real estate prices up. This audition is the turning point and even boy wonder over there in his overly priced suit and sunglasses can’t throw me off my game. In fact, mocking his ridiculous attire and demeanor might do me some good…

She didn’t look like a genius, she looked more like the band groupies running around the underground music scene. You know the type…the platinum blonde hair and orange “spray on tan” skin. The “I’ve been to Phil Spector’s house this many times, teehee” girl sporting the overly large sunglasses with the thick fake diamond-studded frames. Yeah, guess what? He’s on trial for murder you idiot! His victim was another girl just like you…too bad it wasn’t you. Maybe I should move back east to New York or something. At least then I could find some serious artists.

I thought L.A. would be the start of it all. I wasn’t interested in the mongoloid summer action movies that tend to spawn a dozen stupid sequels, prequels, trilogies, whatever. I wanted to make serious art. Something that really moves people and makes them think. But no, I’m stuck in the Hollywood hills with poodle-skirt toting dipshits like that one over there. What is she thinking with that? Doesn’t she realize the 50s were over, oh, about 50 years ago?

Whatever. I’m a serious artist. She’s a fashion accessory. She should really consider just auditioning for billboard ads and magazine ads…they don’t require talking. Or feeling. Or acting. Does she know what it feels like to really feel the art? To really understand what the characters are feeling…thinking? I highly doubt it. Maybe I should consider Broadway. Maybe theatre in the way it should be experienced. The greatest artistic geniuses find their starts there; maybe that’s where I’ll find mine…

“Cooper?”

“Yes?”

“Angelina?”

“Yes?”

“You two are next. This will be the physician assisted-suicide scene. The doctor will be coming in to administer the lethal dose of drugs but first he will reveal to the patient that he is actually her father and he’s so sorry for what he’s about to do. Angelina, you will obviously play the patient and Cooper, you’ll be the doctor. Okay?”

“Okay” they said in unison.

Too bad I don’t actually have lethal drugs.

Ugh, does that mean he has to touch me in this scene? Gross.

“Hi! As you’ve heard I’m Angelina…so…how long have you been an actor?”

“I’m obviously Cooper…I’ve been around a few years…you?”

“Oh, the same…off and on appearances…soap operas mostly, you know? Looking for my big break!”

“Yeah…me too…know what you mean.”

…

Hopefully this scene is over soon. He’s just as much of a tool in the verbal form as he is in the physical form. And he claims to be an actor…hah! I’ll never turn into this guy.

My god, what a ditz! She’s about as loud as her damn poodle skirt…and as obnoxious. What an actress she must be. I’ll never turn into that.

“Okay you two! Lets go!”

Wow, what a couple of schmucks I have here…as soon as I end this scene I’m getting them both out of here! And what the hell are they wearing?!?