9-06-04

The next morning, our new roommate, Natalie, gave us our first experience of Los Angeles in the form of a small breakfast diner in Hollywood called, "The Griddle". It's a scenery eatery where all the hot Los Angeleans gather to consume a variety of bread and poultry products, among other things. Natalie could not have known that this was the worst place to bring us on our first day. When I entered the restaurant, I started to notice attractive person after attractive person. Looking around I saw that every single person in the joint was dressed immaculately. T-shirts bulged with pectorals and/or implants. There wasn't a bad fit in sight to make a meek individual feel confident. I started to realize that this was no coincidence or natural phenomenon. These were actors and models and singers and stars. All were glamorous and unsurprised when someone like Jeff Goldblum walked in the door and casually dined with friends. These were my "peers". No, not peers; competition. I slowly began to feel inadequate as imaginary eyes sized me up. I'm sure there is a "Twilight Zone" episode that might parallel my experience that day in "The Griddle". Maybe it's an experience we all have in some way or another when we realize that we are not special and talented just because we tell ourselves so.

The gauntlet had been laid before me to test my dreams. The surprising thing was that it wasn't the obstacle of impenetrable doors of opportunity locked tight by an over-abundance of talent, as I expected. The obstacle was how many values and standards would I be willing to lose to make my dream a reality. Would I be willing to kiss ass better than my competitor? Also, how many shitty commercials and background work would I be willing to do to get one good role? When you're in an entertainment hot spot like LA, you get a better idea of the ratio of quality entertainment versus crap. The crap is pretty damn thick and is shoved down your throat around every corner via billboard or bus side or any available flat, blank area.

My dream was slowly being tested. I worked a horribly aggravating job as a bar tender in a private club at the LAX airport. There I met a fellow actor on the LA scene. Everyday I listened to him beam with pride about some audition he had done, complain about a role he had missed out on, or tell me of his ingenious plan to sell himself better. His lack of self esteem fueled his never wavering drive to be rich and famous. This was his goal. Fame and fortune. He would tell me how he would one day be a member of that same place where he was cleaning tables. Then he would commence to act snooty and make the managers work for him. It's the very stereotypical revenge fantasy from a disgruntled employee that I'm sure you've heard. Less stereotypical than the ones involving murder, I suppose. I listened, slightly attentative. Eventually it occurred to me that this sad, whiny, money hungry, success deprived, meager 28 year old was the person that I would have to become if I were willing to play the audition game.

With that being realized, the choice was obvious. I wasn't going to do it. That is, I didn't want to be an actor. I'm surprised at how easy it was to let go of a dream that I had had for about 7 years. I didn't fight it at all. I didn't make vows that I would succeed on my own terms and make everyone realize that I was talented and uncompromising. I simply let it go. The dream to be an actor lightly floated away. It wasn't an incredibly fulfilling choice, however. Everyday afterwards seemed more and more pointless.

LA repeatedly taunted me with all the tools that LA uses to crush a spirit. The pollution, the noise, and the lack of dimension in people all ate away at me like flies on a dogs ears. Every day of work was the same and drug on for hours. The TV's beamed pictures of and stories of soldiers dying in combat. I'd read the more in-depth stories in the news papers during breaks and cry for these people that I had never really thought of before. People doing important things in important places. I had an urge to join the military and actually set a date. This is not entirely unusual as I tend to do this anytime I become depressed.

Christmas came along with my first trip back home since I had moved. It was heartbreaking to sum it up. When I came home, I was tormented even more by LA. The only thing that kept me going was the plan for David and I to quit our jobs and start our own business full time.

In February, we took the plunge. It was rocky at first, but slowly we built it up into a comfortable endeavor that provided outlets for creativity as well as allowing us to live comfortably while working from home. I suppose I can't really ask for much more and I don't have much to complain about.

Los Angeles has become our home and I wish I had a better account of why I went from hating it to calling it home, but I don't. It was abrupt and I can only make assumptions as to why it happened that way. It probably started with an "A" though. In any case, a year later, David and I are adjusted for the most part. We've come a long way, literally I suppose, and we continue to look forward to living happily ever after.

The end, I guess.

Josh Gilpatrick