Murdered on the interstate While the red bells raaaang like thunder

So, full disclosure: I don't think I know what the internet is.

Obviously, I use it every day and I don't know what I'd do without it...Actually, yes I do: I'd go to the Library, mostly, maybe make a zine, and never know what time anything started or how to get to anywhere.

Perhaps this fundamental confusion is why it took me so hilariously long, as a kid, to discern the difference between the AOL "Channels" and actual websites - "HOW ARE THERE ONLY TEN WEBSITES AND THEY ALL SUCK? This internet is dumb. I'd better go to some chat-room and A/S/L? it up! YEAH ALSO I AM SO INTO ACE OF BASE!!!"

Anyway - is it really a series of tubes? Sort of? I kind of believe that, along with the entire state of Alaska. However, if somebody told me, I would also believe the interweb was powered by Alaskans blowing their noses really hard, or something to that effect. I take it as a real sign of my American-ness that when I am faced with a concept (such as the internet) that is confusing or overwhelming to me, my instinct is to just leave it alone. Eh, why do I really need to know? It works well enough for me. But it occurs to me that I spend basically all of my time ON "the internet," and I couldn't really define it if somebody were to ask me.

Attempts:

1. "It's where the pictures come from!"

2. "I use it to watch TV shows that have been cancelled, and others that have not yet been cancelled."

3. "There is porn on it."

4. "I got bored and looked at a bunch of stupid stuff while I was doing this."

5.

6. "The Google."

6.5. "The Online Wikipedia."

7. "Where old, fat people pretending to be young, nubile people come together, from far away."

8.

book i want: Los Angeles - The Architecture of Four Ecologies

This is one of the more depressing things I see on a daily basis, and by far the most annoying thing about casting notices:
"Pay: None. We are a pro-production theater. There are pro-production fees."

What does that mean? To me it means: "Pay: None. We are a scam. You pay US! Yippee!"

But, of course, things are indeed more complicated than that, and some (though certainly not all) pay companies are less of a scam than others. You pay to be a member (usually a voting member) of the company/ensemble, but if you get a part or you stage manage or whatever, you do get paid for your time. Many of the better pay companies/ensembles charge membership to remain a producing entity, certainly, but offer members workshops and classes for their money. Of course, it's sort of up in the air whether the class they offer is in any way worth your time, money, whatever. Discerning that, actually, can be surprisingly (embarrassingly) difficult.

For example: very soon after I moved here, I took a class at Playhouse West, which John recommended. And I liked it alright. Back to Meisner exercises - kind of nice to work on fundamentals a bit. But, it was at 6 pm in North Hollywood. So driving there meant, for me, at least an hour and a half in terrible, terrible traffic. So I'd arrive stressed out and with frayed nerves - and then have to sit in perfect silence (save my five minute exercise) for three hours. I think it's a pretty good school but...well, let's just say it was pretty unpleasant for reasons that aren't the school's fault. So I quit.

A month or two later, I got a forwarded e-mail from a friend about a class at the Promenade Playhouse (which is, like, a mile from my apartment). I felt a little funny about the sketch level of the guys teaching (if you've got so many ties to The Actors Studio, why don't you teach there?) and the fact that, apparently, half the class would be Italians (what?), but it was basically all scene study, and it was so close I could ride my bike or walk there. +1 exercise bonus too! So I felt like I was working on things, albeit in an independent way, since I largely ignored the two instructors, not that they offered much besides pseudo-psychological babble vaguely relevant to the scene they'd just watched. They just never seemed to know what they were talking about. Maybe that sounds mean but, well, if you assign a scene to someone and then a week later have no idea what the play is about, I have to assume that you don't spend much time preparing for the class. But whatever, it was nice to do scene study for a while and laugh and cry about various imaginary things. I got sick of paying, so I decided to stop going and audition for more things. This has had variable (or: very little) success, but, well, I'm in a show right now (w/ Vox Humana), so that's nice at least.

THE POINT OF THIS LONG-WINDED STORY is something I have not yet reached. But I am so close. The point is that one of the students from that second class recently sent me an e-mail inviting me to join his class. THE ONE HE'S TEACHING. I found this very, very funny. Oh, how I laaaaughed. Because, not to be a total bitch, but this guy is in no way at all qualified to be teaching acting to actual (or wanna-be) professionals. IN NO WAY AT ALL. I mean, obviously, neither am I, certainly not to teach a class anybody is paying for. But, hey, I guess it's a way to make a quick buck, which I suppose he needs since the last time he got acting work, according to IMDB, was in 1996. ZING!

Anyway. Pay companies. Vox Humana is one, but I made a deal with the lady who is kind of in charge - I agreed to help her write grants if I could be a member for free. But I've decided it's not really worth it even if it is free. It's not just actually having to pay money, it's the attitude of a company where most people pay to be there, just like they pay for ceramics class and yoga. It's a hobby and that's it. Kind of sad. So after this show, I totes quit. Whatev. I'd love to find the perfect class, or be part of the perfect ensemble, but so many classes seem to be taught by people who are clearly unqualified to be teaching but are doing so out of some kind of scary (to me) misplaced notion that they really, really do know their stuff and so many ensembles look to be straight-up scams. So much bullshit, everywhere. It's hard not to feel constantly duped. The whole thing feels like paying to go to camp, but then it's actually just a scary shack in the woods with a scarecrow and tape playing on a loop: "Have fun kids!" and I can't imagine that people can ever really take doing a show with a pay company as seriously as they would if it were a real gig, or even if they were doing it for free.

But then, hey, what the hell do I know? Here's hoping I book something from the Theatricum Botanicum audition on Saturday. Fingers crossed, hopes low, ambition high! MARCH!