Updates
No news is bad news in Los Angeles. There is nothing to report on my life. When you don't
hear anything about your work, this usually means they're not interested.
A little inconsiderate of them, yeah but if you're nobody; they don't have to extend the
common courtesy of a phone call or a letter. They don't care.
Remember that role I got in that play, Teahouse of the August Moon, well I though I
did a god-awful job in the audition and I was RIGHT. The role has four lines and it's all
in Japanese. I didn't find out until the first rehearsal, imagine the look on my face.
I wanted to leave. I really, really wanted to leave, but everyone was so nice and they had
cookies. What do you say to the director? I'm sorry but I'm Chinese and you need a Japanese
actor? You can't say that! Well, you can but... I don't know.
It's acting. Acting is acting is acting. So the play opened last Friday at the Secret Rose
Theatre in North Hollywood to a good crowd. If you're in the area, check it out, it runs until
the end of August, every Friday, Saturday at 8pm and Sundays at 2pm. The show's not half bad.
It's a comedy, you're laugh, what else do you want? I'm the retarded looking guy with the
funny hair.
What the hell have you been doing?
This is the second late column this month. I know. I'm sorry. There's no excuse. I haven't
been doing anything really. Who knows where the time goes.
I haven't been writing.
I haven't been auditioning.
There were tons of rehearsals for the play.
Many days working and losing my soul at the restaurant.
Slaving myself at the management company twice a week.
That's it. That's all I do. Nothing else. No fun. No girlfriend. No love.
And it's the summer, too. Time for barbecues, beers, beaches and babes.
No, none of that for me.
Instead I've been feeling sorry for myself. Feeling sorry that in pursue of my dreams, I've
grown old. Feeling like that old guy in the corner of the bar drinking by himself.
What a loser. He's here every night drinking his whiskey. (I hate whiskey, but when you're
an old drunk, you'll probably turn to whiskey.) No one will go near him. He smells.
What a loser. Someone tell him to stop filling the Juke Box with sappy love songs. Even worse
is when he sings to the songs. He scares the girls away. Why doesn't he just go to the beach
and get drunk by himself.
Believe me, I have. It's boring and the cops kick you off at ten. When you're around people
and the music's blaring and the booze flowing, you don't feel as bad? Maybe you do. I'm too
drunk to notice.
Someone said once, it's not the victory that's so rewarding, but the journey that you live
for. Whoever said that can go f**k himself. The journey sucks.
Waiting tables at 29 is not a journey, it's hell.
Someone wrote once, "These are the days that time remembers"!
F**K that!
Written by Charlie Cheng
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