To celebrate Andrew's birthday last night, I not only reserved Othello's for 25 people and spent $60 in books for a gift; I braved treacherous road conditions to travel to Norman. Did I hear so much as a "Thank you" for my efforts? No. Did he laugh disgustedly when he opened "A Prayer for Owen Meany?" Yes. Am I going to ever buy anyone a gift again? Not in this lifetime.

Perhaps the worst thing about "artists" (read: aspiring actors) is that we're easily offended, quick to hold grudges and entrenched in the severity and melodrama of simple and mundane situations. And by grudges, I don't mean a "You killed my brother" grudge. I mean an "I command your full attention" grudge. Actors can swear up and down that they're only interested in giving great performances. Bullshit. Actors crave attention. It's not enough to be liked, hated, admired or lusted after. Entire lives must revolve around an actor before he/she feels truly appreciated.

So, for example, an actor goes to, say, a birthday party. In an effort to shift a slight amount of the attention on himself, he voluntarily organizes it and intentionally spends the most money on gifts. As the birthday boy and his friends tell lame jokes and do dead-off impersonations of ethnic stereotypes, the actor clutches his sides, knowing his impersonations and jokes are 100% funnier. But a smart actor knows not to pursue attention in obvious ways. So he makes an occasional sarcastic comment that sends everyone into convulsive laughter.

But once the generosity of the actor has been overlooked (or worse yet...laughed at), the shit hits the fan. You won't be able to tell that the actor is seething because he knows if the truth comes out, he'll look like an immature brat. So instead the actor thinks of the many ways in which his friends have forsaken him. He plots to use this angst to strengthen his "performances" (should he ever actually be in front of a camera or audience). And worst of all, he can rationalize this behavior just as easily as he can laugh at it.

Song of the Day
"One" by Aimee Mann