Oops. I’ve become one of those industry types.
In Los Angeles there exists a division: “Industry” and “Not.”
Industry people tend to hang with their own sort, as do non-industry people, although the motivations of the two groups are different. The reason industry types want to meet other industry types is because they expect those people can help them somehow. And the reason the non-industry types want to meet other non-industry types is because they are sick of industry types looking for other people to help them somehow. So prevalent is this dichotomy that one can often find ads for roommates who are” clean, neat, responsible… no actors, writers, etc.”
I don’t blame the Nons. They’re just trying to live a normal life, and it’s not their fault that they’re doing so in a city in which half of the citizens are part of the world’s diversion factory. At the same time, I don’t entirely blame the Industry types, either. They have been cursed with a calling in which a small percent ever succeed, and almost all who do required the help of someone further up. How can they help but be a bit Machiavellian in their socializing?
Still, I always thought that was the way others would act. Not me.
But I caught myself last week, when my new housemate brought home a friend. Sure, I was cordial when first introduced. I probably would have remembered the woman’s name. But it wasn’t until later in the evening when my housemate mentioned that she was an animator that my ears perked up, and suddenly I was asking questions and eventually giving the spiel for my online comedy project. Oops. Guilty.
I need to go meet some doctors and accountants this weekend to redeem myself.
jane on
April 26th, 2009 at 11:18 am
I guess the responses to this were so harsh that you’ve had to remove them all.
I’m telling you, you did the right thing. I’m actually quite guilty of the opposite. When I lived in LA I dated a screenwriter chickie who had like 3 greenlighted scripts by that time. I’m so unambitious that she got suspicious and asked me, “What do you WANT…I mean really want from me? Do you want me to make contacts for you, set you up with meetings? What? WHAT?” When I stroked her hair and said, “Want? What do I want? Nothing like that. I’m just enjoying this relationship,” she stormed out the door. The next time I saw her, from afar at a party, she was bald. Just kidding, she did cut her hair though. And I mean she cut it. When she got home. She called me and told me how she panicked, because she thought I must be lying. We got back together and she soon realized she couldn’t handle my seeming lack of ambition.
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