ASSHOLES LOVE L.A.

Dear Los Angeles,

I love how your people monologue about their lives. Just a well-rehearsed monologue, then it’s my turn. Ex: I listened to a great monologue by this director, who told me to keep him informed about anything I did. I told him. Then he said, great. Keep me posted on anything I did. I told him, I just told you.

I love how there is no such thing as a conversation out here.

I love how no one is curious about anyone else.

I love how your people only hear what they want to hear. Even when I write it down. And then they act shocked when I say I never said it in the first place.

I love your people who say no for a living. They live in perpetual fear having risen to such a position, the Peter Principle in effect. They found a job that has justified their ignorance and lack of courage. Or curiosity. They have no qualifications, no creativity, no insight into the human condition. They just know how to keep an expense account. They are the parasites that are driving their corporations into bankruptcy. By not taking chances they are killing the industry. They go through the human race and justify why they can’t do anything. They are a waste of life.

I love your agents and managers and their childish high school culture of business. They are bottom feeders who scoop up the leavings of the creative and energetic. They start each day figuring how their clients fit into their agenda. And their agenda is to make money for their bosses. And each of them dreams every night of slitting their boss’s throat. They must cherish the moment when their clients realize their agents are not working for them but they are working for their agents. They must laugh their collective asses off.

I love how these cannibals do not care how many careers they strangle in their infancy as long as they can go to each weekly meeting and say, yes, we sold another package to the studios, yes, we pulled another one over them. They’re worse than I am after a one night stand, never answering your phone, hiding behind their assistants. An 8.9 earthquake up and down Wilshire Blvd would not disturb the bullshit they rake.

I love your people who spend their day with their head down scrolling on their smart phones. Presidents and heads of state are not as busy as they appear to be. Are they really that important and significant to the world? They wish.

I love how every rejection feels like a mugging. No matter how much marijuana I am legally entitled to.

I love how I expect the best from someone, but then I realize they do not even expect the best from themselves.

I’m an asshole.

And I love you, L.A.