I'd Sell Out, But Nobody's Buying
Okay. Maybe not. I've had my closest brush yet with selling out and I can't help but sabotage my financial future by having standards and taste. It just isn't in me to be poppy. I can't do it. Okay, I can do it, but it makes me physically ill and I get needlessly weepy about it. The rest of the world is just going to have to come along with me instead of the other way around.
What a stupid dilemma. Honestly, no one else I know has suffered from doing crap the way I have. Doing crap is an actor's job, for the most part. 456 pieces of shit for every 1 morsel of genius, I believe that is the ratio. I can honestly say that I have only knowingly (note the use of the word KNOWINGLY) walked into a crappy project twice and both times I wrecked myself. I got sick, spent hours on end crying and doubting my worth as an artist and a human being, alienated my friends and earned the sour looks from artists I respected. I got paid,though. I don't know anyone else who has had this kind of conflict. Not to this degree, anyway. So I have to wonder what makes me such a dumbass drama queen? Why can't I just do it for the money and get out like everybody else? Why can't I make money? What would be wrong with that?
My indoctrination is complete. I bought the bullshit artist integrity line with my credit card at 27% interest. I'll never pay it back, not at this rate anyway. So, I've come this far with a project and done my best to make it something with which I can tolerate an association. In doing so I've turned it from a pointless, poppy crowd pleaser into an esoteric exercise that will be cheap to make but impossible to fund. HA HA! It won't get made and I am going to walk away without making my downpayment on a Carroll Gardens brownstone.
Now, this is not to say that I don't enjoy pop. I do. There are some poppy things I love. The reintroduction of the word "dude" into my vocabulary is a testament to an enjoyable evening viewing "Dude, Where's My Car?". I can consume it. I just can't make it.
I am also not saying that I have not made crap. I have. It is just that, with those two previously noted exceptions, I haven't done it on purpose.
The question is, do I actively work at numbing myself so that I can make the stuff that will bring me money so that I can fund the things that I want to do? Do I feed that monster? Or do I spend the rest of my life in total obscurity making things that no one will ever see? Are those the only choices? Or is there another option?
Tell me. I need to know.
What a stupid dilemma. Honestly, no one else I know has suffered from doing crap the way I have. Doing crap is an actor's job, for the most part. 456 pieces of shit for every 1 morsel of genius, I believe that is the ratio. I can honestly say that I have only knowingly (note the use of the word KNOWINGLY) walked into a crappy project twice and both times I wrecked myself. I got sick, spent hours on end crying and doubting my worth as an artist and a human being, alienated my friends and earned the sour looks from artists I respected. I got paid,though. I don't know anyone else who has had this kind of conflict. Not to this degree, anyway. So I have to wonder what makes me such a dumbass drama queen? Why can't I just do it for the money and get out like everybody else? Why can't I make money? What would be wrong with that?
My indoctrination is complete. I bought the bullshit artist integrity line with my credit card at 27% interest. I'll never pay it back, not at this rate anyway. So, I've come this far with a project and done my best to make it something with which I can tolerate an association. In doing so I've turned it from a pointless, poppy crowd pleaser into an esoteric exercise that will be cheap to make but impossible to fund. HA HA! It won't get made and I am going to walk away without making my downpayment on a Carroll Gardens brownstone.
Now, this is not to say that I don't enjoy pop. I do. There are some poppy things I love. The reintroduction of the word "dude" into my vocabulary is a testament to an enjoyable evening viewing "Dude, Where's My Car?". I can consume it. I just can't make it.
I am also not saying that I have not made crap. I have. It is just that, with those two previously noted exceptions, I haven't done it on purpose.
The question is, do I actively work at numbing myself so that I can make the stuff that will bring me money so that I can fund the things that I want to do? Do I feed that monster? Or do I spend the rest of my life in total obscurity making things that no one will ever see? Are those the only choices? Or is there another option?
Tell me. I need to know.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:11 AM
4 Comments:
About your title, Rob Zombie hit it big about a year and a half after he said pretty much the same thing in an interview.
Why didn't you tell me that a year and a half ago? I could have said it back then and I'd be home by now!
Your post inspired me to examine my own navel.
Oooo a Cheerio!
Hi X. Nice to hear you still have a productive navel.
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