Many fine people I spoke with today wanted me to get back into acting.
A very odd experience, indeed.
Someone I know is writing an Indie feature for me to be in. I don’t know if this person is just very foolish or afraid to find someone better or thinks I'm just the perfect bulldog for his picture. (Or if he will ever really get down to finishing.)
A very good director and associate of mine in The New Theatre asked me today, “When are you going to do your one man show again?”
And, a producer I had drinks with on La Brea, a lovely friend who has made some very good movies filled with deservedly famous people said, “It’s time for you to do another show like American Air (my one man joint). I’ll do everything I can to help you. You are dynamic, not many people can do what you do, you are a deep thinker with lots of things to say about our culture, and the type of performance that you do is very underrepresented. Plus, it will help sell your book. You should adapt your book.”
And I said, “Okay, I’ll do it!”
This is not the first time I’ve been in a bar and exclaimed, without too much reflection, that I would do something. Sometimes, I follow through.
It was one of those puffy ego days when everyone was feeding me. And oddly enough, I was just recently saying something along the lines of, “I’m so sick of being a brown haired, middle aged guy that no one notices.”
All comments from the you-oughta-be-in-pictures crowd are suspect. Who knows why people ever say anything? But that it came at me today so concentrated makes me think that maybe the hammy pig that lives in me might feel trapped and so he is subconsciously oinking. Does he need a little free range action?
Perhaps I should just go do some karaoke and be done with the urge. Come home and put my flat nose back in my laptop. Tap my cloven feet against the floor. Eat my own crap.