Hilarity Ensues.
August 13, 2008
So.
Today Mark and I got in an AIM conversation/arguement/chest-puffing competition about the entertainment industry. It kind of put into perspective what my course of career has done to my mind – it’s completely warped it. I’m a completely self-righteous fuck with absolutely no respect for anyone else on my level; I only pray to the Gods that work above me, and as soon as I’m there with them, fuck everybody else. When I’m on top of the pile, everyone is my bitch and I can make interns pick up my dry cleaning, wash my car, and give me foot massages.
Oh wait. I have a conscience.
Let’s just say this argument started with the definition of “PA” – whether it meant “Personal Assistant” or “Production Assistant.” Well, I can tell you that “PA” means Pennsylvania, and quite honestly, that’s all I know for sure. That part of the argument/chat/puff lead to “well I know the answer because I’ve been in the industry longer” “no I know because I’VE been in the industry longer!” (That’s where the chest puffing came into play.)
I don’t think it matters who has been here longer or who you know or who has a better job or a bigger dick or who you saw at Area or whatever we were arguing about. I think what matters most to me is how you got there and how you acted along the way. I pride myself a lot on the fact that I’m completely self-made. I’m from a small town in Oregon. My parents have absolutely no connection to anyone in the industry (or even CLOSE. They’re pharmacists, history teachers, doctors, beer brewers, and failed entrepreneurs.) I one day decided this is what I wanted to do, got into college, worked my ass off doing student films, applied for internships in Los Angeles, worked my ass off all summer for no pay (and quite frankly was humiliated the entire time because I “wasn’t pretty enough”.) I am proud that I have earned my stripes from nothing. I don’t name drop; shit, I barely tell anyone at first meeting who I work for in detail. I don’t rely on my connections, and I play by the rules. I am fighting for my spot in this industry, and quite frankly, I am going to beat down everyone in my way with grace, skill, and a swift kick to the balls.
In conclusion, I’m sorry I snapped at you, Mark. For some reason, something was triggered when you questioned my knowledge of this realm, and that sent me into a world of hate. I don’t mean to question any of your abilities. It was like walking up to a rookie player, fresh on the team, and telling them they don’t know their shit. Mark, I completely respect your presence in the industry, and although we took different paths and ended up at similar places. (I’m using the word similar, because every day I realize even more what DIFFERENT jobs we work…) We’re killing it for being this young and this “in it.”
I’m tired of fighting/chatting/chest puffing about who got the better campaign or who is working harder and who is getting paid the most. Quite frankly, I am so sick and tired of talking about work that it makes me want to gauge my eyes out with the pens my boss’s assistant has labeled with her name so no one steals them. (I started labeling mine this morning.)
I didn’t mean for this to be such an open letter, but I guess it ended up that way. I suppose I should finish with honesty: I love you, Mark. I’m so glad you’re my bestfriend/roommate/couch co-owner. I love our late night “dinners” (AHEM), our love for Wii (I WILL finish Bully… one day) and our occasional disregard for turning off the television.
Oh. And http://www.immovingout.com
Or you can check out on MTV tonight: True Life: I’m moving out
Or you can play my beta version of I’m moving out, but you gotta play it on my computer because they only have it for Mac because PC sucks.
inspiration in the weirdest places 
Honestly, if I ever wind up in a field of work regarded as “industry,” it will probably be something like setting up textile factories in Sheboygan or human trafficking.
I’ve got this whole scheme worked out where I’m going to kidnap Comcast techs and repairmen and sell them to people who don’t want to wait 5-7 days to have their internet/cable fixed. People can buy one themselves and trade them around (kind of like leasing or subletting,) or they can split one with friends (like a time share.)
It could be like Lost where a neighborhood has a house set up real nice to make him or her feel good about the fact that they have just been shanghaied into a life of servitude and misery. Eventually he/she would just come to be known as “neighborhood cable guy/gal,” and they’d feel perfectly content. That part of the plan isn’t really my end of the deal. Those are just a couple of the packages I would offer in my “industry.”
You’re kicking ass and I’m glad you know it because while you’re doing cool fun stuff I’m still doing shitkicker jobs in Oregon and trying to find interesting things to write about. I wish that I was half as motivated as you are.
ruv u.