Guest Column: Dear Hollywood

 

And now a guest editorial from one of my readers.  Got something you want to say about the state of Hollywood? Send it to tempx@tempdiaries.com.

Dear Hollywood,

Hey!  How are you?  I know we haven't met yet but I wanted to run some questions by you before our rendezvous.  After all, it's going to be pretty expensive for me to come all the way out to you. (I've tried for years to get you to come to me, but you refuse.)  I'd like just a few answers before I give everything up to fall into your somewhat vain and often times self-absorbed arms.

Question one revolves around your job situation.  I hear you make it pretty hard for people like me to find employment.  Is that true?  Because if it is, that is so not cool - especially because I paid like three billion dollars for an MFA from a really famous arts school.  Do you know how much three billion dollars is?  I was under the impression that an MFA from a really famous arts school would help me, but so far no one seems to care.

Along those lines, if I do secure a job out there, will the people I work for be as insane as the people I worked for in New York City?  Just tell me now so I can go out and buy a few boxes of black market Valium.   Will I have a boss who will require me to deliver a certain newspaper to her nail salon minutes before she gets there or walk around aimlessly for an hour in attempt to find a bag of ice?

How about dating?  What if I'm not interested in repeating scenarios that involve "artists" of various genres who forget my name but remember to repeat their own seven times within the first five minutes of meeting me? What if I don't want to talk about career during the entire first date?  What if I only have eyes for Joseph Gordon-Levitt?  Can you hook me up with him?  Sure I'm not a model but I know how to make a fucking awesome meatloaf.  

Most importantly – what is your crazy person population like?   Can you guarantee I won't be screamed at before 8 a.m. or offered a headless doll as barter for lodging?  One time, a crazy lady took a poop right outside my apartment.  In the middle of summer.  Can you promise this won't happen again?

Basically Hollywood, will you love me the way I'm prepared to love you?

Signed,
~J

[J is a freelance writer/editor to pay the bills, a screenwriter to keep her muse at bay and a blogger at TwenySomethings in an attempt to stay sane]