Jan. 8th, 2004

If I were theoertically going to audition for something that requires singing a rock song, what would I sing? I never thought it possible back when all I listened to was "alternative rock", but I'm not sure I'd know a rock song if it bit on the ass. I mean, everything I listen to these days is pop (if not odder), and Nick Cave and Sinead O'Connor and all that? Not rock.

I am dead tired in a deader than a dead dead thing way.

Meanwhile, it's becoming clear this is going to be the ugliest election in a while -- currently one of the anti-Dean ads running in Iowa features an elderly couple stating, "I think Howard Dean should take his tax-hiking, government-expanding, latte-drinking, sushi-eating, Volvo-driving, New York Times-reading, body-piercing, Hollywood-loving, left-wing freak show back to Vermont—where it belongs."

This, understandably galls me. First, it continues the message that only some people are Americans, and that if someone isn't exactly like you, the audience, the consumer, the individual voter, they're not worthy. Two, The New York Times, for all its many flaws is the paper of record in the United States. Additionally it is the largest funder of the Associated Press, which means that if you're not reading the New York Times, and are not reading one of the other very top U.S. dailies, most of the national and world news in your local paper is coming from wire reports, and there's not a bloody hell of a lot of difference.

I don't even comprehend most of the rest of the charges other than to create a vague association between latte drinkers and supposed sexual depravity or something.

The group responsible for the ad has defended it by saying, "What we're trying to show is Dean is supported by the cultural elite and not by anyone with middle-American values and finances."

I didn't know we were still talking about the cultural elite. I didn't know I was a bad guy for having an education or because of where I was born (that pesky north east), and I'm sure a whole host of other reasons that will come out as the months wear on. I really hope they don't decide to break my eye glasses and send me to work on a farm, but snce they're not the cultural elite, I suppose they wouldn't understand that reference.

So. totally. disgusted.
Slept in a bit. It's the tip of the iceberg of what I need, but it helps.

Post office.
Bank.
Going to work.
Visiting Kinkos.
Coming home and mailing out lots of headshots for the first time in too long.
Sending email to photographer I work for telling her my schedule is haywire for next week and seeing if I can wedge something in on Sunday.
Figuring out what I am and am not auditioning for this weeend.
Figuring out how to find a monologue I like, now that I've finally formulated a very clear picture of how to tackle the problem of learning/grokking/performing one.

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